Uncle's jaw works in the way that suggests he's about to say something irredeemable. Jin Ling, in a move of diplomacy he hopes the Chief Cultivator appreciates, distracts him with spicy food and his favourite subject: the incompetence of his own officials. "I hear the lakes in the south east are having drainage problems?" he asks nonchalantly, sticking three big slices of braised pork belly into his Uncle's bowl. Jin Ling just wants to get through the Discussion Conference with his Sect, his dignity, and his heart intact.

Five people who (sort of) learn how Wei Ying became pregnant, and one person who doesn't. (Alternate title: How Lan Qiren lived on in ignorant bliss)

Mingjue has been working too much, so Huaisang brings him lunch and a special surprise. Huaisang's motives aren't entirely altruistic...

From Delight in Misery by nirejseki: "There was a period when da-ge’s temper was getting worse and worse, and A-Yao was doing everything he could to irritate him while pretending he’d never done anything wrong in his life, which of course irritated da-ge even more…I honestly thought one of them might try to kill the other. But then I ended up having a small fit while the two of them were bickering, and by the time I recovered they’d somehow managed to get over the worst of it.” Lan Wangji raised his eyebrows. “I think they realized that I couldn’t handle losing either of them at that time,” Lan Xichen said with a shrug, indicating clearly that the fit in question was not a subject that was open for discussion. “I’d had the abrupt realization that I really might never see you again, if not even they could locate you...it really was a surprise that Jiang Cheng turned out to be such an accomplished liar.” What did that "small fit" look like?

Wei Wuxian is ready, waiting. The front and back doors of the Jingshi wait open, allowing the early summer breeze to pass through the house, bringing with it the scent of the flowers from the back garden. He has rope, crimson and smooth and well-worn, coiled in a neat pile. He has tea, perfectly brewed, the lightly flavored (nearly tasteless) kind that Lan Zhan likes, waiting in a pot with a warming talisman. There’s a comb, fine-toothed of carved white jade. There’s fruit, for later, perfectly ripe. There’s a small knife with a curved blade, still sharp as anything but stained with years of sap. There’s the garden, lovingly tended and fully in bloom in waves of pinks and purples and whites. There’s him, lounging against the frame of the back door, limbs sprawled about in the languid way that looks careless to an outsider but is actually carefully choreographed to put as much of himself on display as possible. He’s technically fully dressed, red inner robe and black outer, but the black outer robe is unbelted, half-hanging off one shoulder, and he’s decidedly not wearing trousers. His bare feet poke out the red folds, pale against the wood of the Jingshi deck. Or: Rope bondage as the deepest expression of affection.

It feels, sometimes, like Jiang Cheng's waiting to have a bad day so he has an excuse. It’s a Tuesday and Jiang Cheng finds himself huddled under the portico in front of Nie Mingjue’s impressive double-doors, wondering what the fuck he’s doing with his life. He’s drenched to the bone, all of his formal clothes sticking to all of his skin, waiting for someone to answer the door before he freezes to death. Or maybe he’ll just freeze to death! Maybe that’s the option at play here. Considering how the rest of his night is going, he doesn’t think it’d actually be all that surprising.