#can take a long walk off a short pier that's not a particularly opinion of mine

[navree]

'feel free to find a necktie and test how tall your doorframe is...' good lord, man. I'm not even anti-Dem but what the hell is THAT supposed to do for enthusiasm or turnout?

If your enthusiasm and ability to show up to fill in a bubble on a piece of paper hinges singlehandedly on a college student on the Internet who spends most of her time talking about niche historical figures, television shows, and comic books, you were never going to vote anyway and I don't need to modulate my language to accommodate your sensibilities. My being blunt that the "both parties are the same" equivocation is not only stupid but makes you a bad person unworthy of respect or decency on my part as someone who will be severely negatively impacted by a return to power for Trump is not going to affect anyone who was ever remotely serious about this election or the democratic process.

[lideria]

Lost in Yesterday. | Jeno (POV shift)

Request: helllooo!! i just read lost in yesterday and it so heart-wrenchingly beautiful that i must ask; is it possible for you to make the same fic but in jeno's point of view?

Author’s Note: I tried and I’m not mad at it! Keep in mind that I’ve done a write-the-same-fic-but-from-a-different-pov thing for the first time ever in my life, I’m suggesting you take this piece with a pinch of salt please and thank you! Plus, this was kind of hard to write? As in, I had a clear vision of Jeno’s character and feelings but when it came to expressing them it was really difficult. (and that’s on my alexithymia lads)

Important: If you want this piece to fully make sense, I’d highly suggest you read the reader’s pov and the backstory.

Warnings: Swear words, brief mentions of suggestive themes, mentions of war, mentions of heartbreak, mentions of family distress/unhealthy relationship, themes of manipulation, themes of confusion. English is my second language so there might be errors, please let me know if there is more that I should add!

Word Count: 4.003 again, like the first part, idk why but that’s so satisfying to me.

Genre: MUCH ANGST SUCH WOW, royal!au, rivalkingdoms!au, loverstoenemies!au

Hope you all enjoy it, loves! And anon, I hope this lives up to your expectations! Stay safe and healthy, and take care of yourselves for me 💚

Jeno gets done with writing his notes down with an exhausted breath through his nose.

The conference is stretching out and it is only the first day out of the three. There are demands from every monarchy aimed towards him and his rule. Every single letter that leaves his mouth is a step on the mighty thin ice that is the peace between the nations, one that must be protected at all costs, and he recognizes that. And he tries to meet everybody’s needs and wants. Figures that is the least he can do to ensure the continuity of this peace.

But in reality, he knows most people in the room would like to tear his monarchy apart in pieces if they were given the opportunity. That intimidates him even though he tries to hide the fact that it does.

As years go on after the war he expects the requests to get lighter. But they do not— if anything, they get heavier and even more challenging to provide. Even though he gets further into his life as the primary ruler and collects more experience.

And if there is anybody that gives him a particularly difficult time, it is you.

He has to watch you every year. He has to watch you stand up from your seat and take a deep, heavy breath as you link your hands and shut your eyes momentarily before proceeding with your speech. He has to see you do anything and everything to avoid looking at him as you speak up about what the monarchies and the governments must do to ensure the safety of peace the upcoming year, word out your opinion on the political problems that are the agendas for the session and your share of possible solutions that are up for a debate, and see the way you look forward frozen in place as you talk about the matters that regard his kingdom specifically. Even when you talk about the espionage, and the soldier you still could not hand over to his rule since his judicial process was yet undecided, you would not look at him. Never. Not a single time in years.

Yet, he cannot take his eyes off of you. Not for a single second, watching you as you act like the powerful and strong monarch he always knew you would come to be. It makes him proud.

The only thing— person— that pisses him off is the King. The man that took your hand in eternal marriage months, almost a year ago now, that was once your personal guard. The King that was once his friend, the only man outside royalty and his staff that he could share a laugh with, as well as a heart-to-heart conversation. Jeno does not hate him. But he hates the fact that Donghyuck gets to sit next to you and deliver speeches with you in this conference, and he hates that he can do it so well— matching your, a person who was born into the royal world, level of knowledge and confidence after such a short amount of training and education when Jeno had to pave the way for himself with his nails and teeth from day one. He hates that he gets to eat with you and see you from the moment you awake to the moment you go to sleep.

But when he finishes taking his notes and the conference goes into a break with the tired sighs leaving nearly everyone’s mouths, he can see you make your way to the doors opening to the balcony after a couple of words with your husband. Who, to his great surprise, does not accompany you because, to his great pleasure, a representative starts speaking to him.

Jeno knows this would be the right moment to talk to you. To tell you. Because you deserved to know.

So he follows you promptly, grooming his attire before making his way out.

The palace guards open the door for him, and he can already spot you, leaning on the parapet slightly. Your hair sways with the ocean breeze. He takes a second, not more nor less, to watch the way it does, because it is the most peaceful sight he has seen in a long time.

And then he walks over to you with his hands placed on his back. There is a growing tension as he does, he can feel it, but he feels fine. He is in control of every atom in his body. You, not so much. He can basically see the way you stiffen up when he stands beside you.

So he tries to ease you into the conversation. Jeno puts a smile on his face, partly because he finally gets to talk to you after all the years. “It’s a pretty day here,” The contentment is apparent through his words. He does his best at trying to sound welcoming but it still feels weird to be talking to you directly after all this time.

“It is.” Your voice sounds colder than the winter nights he spent traveling through the roads to get to you and your secret meetings. The signal gets across— you do not want anything to do with him. Hell, you sound more enthusiastic in the conference room doing politics.

Jeno knows you do not want to have anything to do with him. If it ever came to your defense, you had made that much sure when you spit the words take your men and never come back with all the disappointment and spite onto his face years ago, on that faithful night that ultimately caused all of this to happen according to the butterfly effect. But he does not give up on the opportunity to speak to you. Even if it will make you feel uncomfortable.

Because he knows how it feels when you do not get the news beforehand.

With a breath for starters, he turns his head to face your profile. You look so familiar, he smiles. “I need to tell you something, if you would hear me out.”

Either his words hold a weight to them heavier than he would ever like to make them out to be or you are so sick of him that you want him out, out of this area of peace or out of this world; out of your eyesight and out of your heart and mind because the way you breathe is almost concerning. That is, if he had not known you like the back of his hand still. You nod, and Jeno sees your eyes fixed on the harbor, where a carrier ship is being loaded. He can remember setting foot onto the pier during the war with his father.

It was the very place his father had smiled to him genuinely for the first time, and had landed his heavy hand on his shoulder, before telling Jeno how proud he was of him and his strength. He remembers having actual conversations during dinner for once, about what they would do with the land and how they would develop the towns and such without his father shutting him up even once. That very harbor was the first place Jeno’s father had listened to him and what he wanted. The first place he had acknowledged him as his son that needs to be heard rather than the Prince who needs to be educated and trained until he is perfect, and it was not even their home.

And then Jeno had given the city up as an area of peace once the war had ended shortly after his father’s passing. It seemed like the right thing to do although he knew his father would not have liked it.

Lost in the nostalgia of everything, the need to look into your eyes grows bigger. “Can you look at me as you hear me out then?”

Although he is very impatient, he relaxes the words as he speaks them out. He wants you to know that he respects your choice, even though love is not prominent in whatever it is the two of you have. And if your choice happens to be pretending like he is not there as you let him speak to you, that is fine too.

But you turn your face to look at him. Like the good monarch you are. Ready to face the past and the present and, as being a monarch demanded, the future.

But he sees something falter immediately. Truthfully, he sees many things falter immediately. He sees doubt and longing and nostalgia that is much like the one he had been experiencing just now. The look in your eyes are like ancient ruins to him: it looks so familiar, he knows what it means, yet it is impossible to make it into what it once was. Jeno chuckles even though he tries to help himself not to, because he sees it.

There is some sort of care in you for him still. Even after everything.

He almost feels this giant lightness, something so big it can swallow him whole, wash over him, but he brings himself back to the world so quickly that it is like the feeling never even existed. If anything, this made things harder to tell.

It is a pity that he cannot bring himself to care all that much, but he internally justifies it by telling himself you had not showed him half the mercy he has been showing you, months ago. “I’m to be wedded this winter.”

Shock covers your eyes. The kind that tells him you are clearly dumbfounded. But that only lasts for a few seconds before he sees it shift into hurt, and your breath hitches as the look in your eyes shifts. “Oh.”

The shaky response pulls a string on his heart only you can pull and it is hard to not give into it; maybe, just maybe, he would have given into it, had you not turned your face away from him back to the harbor before he could. It gets him feeling somewhat angry, though. He was being considerate of you, and he was being considerate of what you two had in the past, and he was being considerate of your right to know. All three of which you had not been considerate of when it was him that should have listened to you, and now you would not even face him after facing him. After showing him you can do it. He cannot understand that. “With all due respect, your Majesty, haven’t you been married for months now? I cannot understand your response,” He calls you out with every bit of frustration in him, laughing lightly in the hypocrisy you seem to be showing. “Especially when I’ve taken the time to tell you about it.”

“Everything was over with, I wasn’t obliged to tell you.” Your attacking defense comes just as he finishes what he is saying, but he can tell that even you do not believe yourself all that much. There must have been a mutual respect. Jeno would like to believe that you too had loved him magically and wonderfully like he feels he had loved you, and if you did, then there should not have been an excuse for him to not know until it happened.

With his own fair share of hurt now, he turns to look back at the town he once ruled, with his once-lover. But he does not dare drop his hands, or his shoulders, or his smile— like his father had taught him. If you stand straight enough, you will be strong. If you keep your head high enough, you will be stronger. And if you smile long and hard enough, nothing and no one will be able to break you, my son.

As he looks down he wonders if the shoemaker remembers him, because he is wearing his shoes today. Actually, he is wearing the pair that used to be his father’s. He had never used them or cherished them the way his son did, whereas Jeno had made sure he wore them until they lost any shape they held.

“Who are they?” His ear perks a bit at your question, and he looks at you from the side of his eyes, smile widening ever so slightly. “A princess,” He figures you would like the answer instantly. “From one of the state kingdoms. You must’ve seen her at least once, but I hardly think you know her name.” Maybe you did, but he would not bother telling you. You would be learning about her soon enough.

“Do you love her?”

Everything stops. You stop breathing, his heart momentarily stops beating, the world seems to halt.

Do I love her the way I loved you? No. Never. That is really hard to do, and for that matter, I do not think I will ever be able to love someone like I loved you. I may have kissed her, but never have I once ever got the same sparkling feeling on my lips or the warm feeling in my chest like I did with you. I may have hugged her, but not once did I feel like she would be able to catch me the way you did if I fell. I may have sobbed in front of her, but I never gave her the key for the lock on my mouth and just let her hug me into her chest as I kept everything inside— sometimes you inside. I may have danced with her, but only because she makes it easy to dance with the way she moves around. I may have let her sob in front of me and listened to her struggles, but no matter how hard I tried, I could not listen to her struggles as deeply as I had done with yours. I may have shared my body with her, and accepted hers, but only because she is in love with me and has told me herself that she is ready to accept me the way I am; once too in love to ever be in love again. But I care about her enough to take her hand in marriage and have children with her, because she might be the only one to love me ever again, and I respect her for it. “I presume we can say that. She’s the bearer of my child— the heir to my throne, after all. That must mean something.”

Jeno only looks at you again because of the deep, aching breath you take and the intense inhaling sound it makes. Your face is once again turned away from him, not even looking at the harbor anymore, just anywhere but him. Your body shivers only for a short amount of time, maybe a few seconds, before it stops and when it does, he can see your eyes from the side.

He knows that look. He would know that look anywhere at anytime, even if he forgot his own name. It is the same look you had given him when you looked at him for the last time. Hurt, broken, betrayed and so, so disappointed. And this time you would not look at him. “We could have been amazing.”

The way you say it, and the way your head tilts slightly in disappointment before going back to how it was, makes Jeno feel like a monster.

Because he feels the same way. You really could have been amazing.

He could have been the one to properly ask you to marry him, because with Donghyuck he was sure you had asked first, even though he once asked you in private, and you had asked him also. He could have been the one to hold your hands at the altar and to tell you he would love you day and night and in sickness and health and would have meant it. He could have kissed you in front of the thousands of guests, he could have been the one prompting the thunderous applause that followed, the one that he had learned from one of his close friends that cared enough to call him to tell him about it— your wedding. He could have cried after seeing you in your beautiful attire.

Jeno could have taken the oath with you. He could have taken a knee before you with the cape around his shoulders and the crown on his head. He could have hosted many royal balls with you, to dance with you again and again until you hated dancing. He could have gotten lost with you in palace gardens to reminisce the old days. He could have imagined the idea of having heirs with you, and he could have grown old with you.

He could have made you happy. He could have taken you to the forests he knew you loved more than anything, he could have played snow fights with you in the never-ending snow, he could have gotten lost in the library countless times with you as you read novels. He could have played guitar to you, and serenaded you with moonlight hitting your cheeks. He could have dragged you to the palace kitchen and the two of you could have made your own meals with all your staff, making them laugh with the way you act— dancing, singing, laughing, smiling, kissing, putting sugar instead of salt, stupidly in love— and at the end you could have had grand meals with your staff and their families. Could have established a festival celebrating your love and the unity of the two of the biggest reigns.

But that is the point. These are things that could have happened. Amazing is something the two of you could have been, not what you were supposed to be. He had his duties, and he had his family, and he had his people that he had to protect. The same went for you. And during the war, your stances were different from one another.

So it was maybe for the best that what once was ended when it did. Maybe, if what could have been  actually came to be, it would have gone worse, like his father had suggested him. Maybe the two of you would have used one another, like his father had suggested him. Maybe you would betray him, like his father had suggested him— and you did, because you acted like he never existed. Did not tell him anything, did not look at him, threw your experiences out the window just like that.

Maybe, just maybe, his father was right.

Yet, if he was, why did Jeno feel like the world was against him and he was all alone? Truly, and utterly alone, save for the soon-to-be queen?

He watches a tear run down your cheek, and sees you biting at your lip, and he thinks why? Why are you so upset by this? Are you really all disappointed? Did you have the right to be?

Jeno keeps on smiling. If he smiles long and hard enough, nothing will be able to break him.

The balcony doors open, and he knows who it is that is coming. This scenario has happened many times already, before he was the King but a guard, and usually he would tell you either that he had spotted royal photographers nearby and that you have to move, or that things were starting to get suspicious, anything of that sort. But now he did not know what Donghyuck might say or do, which is unsettling to him.

Without even making his presence known first, Donghyuck places a hand at your waist, and Jeno notices how you do not get surprised. “Dear,” He does not see even a bit of the discomfort on your face that you had on your face when he first approached you. Jeno is incredibly envious of that, and he must be glaring at your husband, because he turns to look at him in such a way. He can feel Donghyuck accusing him of screwing everything up yet again, and he can hear him asking what is wrong with him, what part of ‘never’ do you not understand?

Donghyuck looks at him only for a flash, but Jeno understands what he has to say.

He sees you lean against him slightly. “Shall we go inside? We can go get you something.” No, do not go yet, not now. I want to make things right with you.

If he only knew that he would never be able to do it.

You actually nod at Donghyuck without much consideration, which is almost bad enough in itself, but then you hold his hand, which seems to just emphasize everything Jeno did not like— and everything that once made him feel bad. And it infuriates him to see.

But it should not. Because he does not love you anymore. You cannot break him if he does not love you anymore.

He watches as you leave, wanting to be relieved, yet not quite able to feel that way. And he hates to admit it but there is hope in him, flickering in his chest much like a candle light in the wind, when you turn back around to him with Donghyuck.

“Send an invitation for us, too,” You say to him. Gentle and kind, and strong, despite your disappointment and hurt. Slightly, he sees you raise your chin a little to keep your composure as well, and he thinks of his father’s words. How true they are. “Our monarchs must be better than abandoning each other on their best days. Let us host you in our palace once honeymoon is over, which I hope is enough to make up for my mistake.”

It is not, he thinks. It is not enough. How do you expect me to come to your palace, where so many of our memories of love— kissing, hugging, listening to each other, seeing each other, looking deep into each other’s eyes, whispering sweet nothings and sometimes all that we know will keep the other one going, hiding from the photographers and the guards and your family and anyone who can catch us, adoring each other, cherishing each other, making love to each other, dreaming of the future will haunt the two of us, and be there with my wife that knows I will not love her fully like I did with you, and your husband that you have a deep enough relationship with that you give in to his support? How do you expect me to sit at the same table with you, knowing you told me to never come back and yet you invited me back? Knowing you would not even look into my eyes after all this time no matter how much you try? How do you expect me to look at you and see you when you will not do the same for me and expect it to be enough in return for your erasure of me and our memories?

He sees you smile, and once again you are eye to eye with him. “And if you do not, then I wish all the happiness to you and the queen, your Highness.”

You blow the flickering light in his chest.

Not your Majesty, no. You do not call him that, the title for the Kings and the Queens, and any primary rulers, but instead you call him your Highness. The title for the heirs. The name you would be calling him years ago, before he did any of what he did, before the two of you became what you have become.

You remind Jeno, with a sure and firm voice, that you do not, and you will not recognize the person he is today.

And when you turn your back and proceed with your way inside amongside Donghyuck, he cannot help himself as his shoulders drop— ruining his perfect posture for the first time since whoever knows how long.

Suddenly, Jeno cannot find it in himself to smile anymore.

[itsmagnetsbabey]

MEVAKIM

@nxtsoordinary, (x), this one's optimistic

charles didn't need to be telepathic to notice as the days stretched into weeks that there was an imperceptable (OK, lie, a hugely, immediately perceptable) tension between erik and the rest of the settlement workers, most of whom avoided him or made snide comments behind his back. to his credit, despite the fact that charles knew first-hand that erik could give as good as he got, and had a mouth on him like a razorblade-cutting, sharp, even cruel-he almost never engaged with it. in fact he wasn't particularly interested in defending himself at all, exclusively dedicated to the project, wherein he spent days at a time awake in the hot sun working with the tools needed to shape temporary housing structures where new immigrants would be staying. (except in the case of daniel shomron, whom he routinely antagonized and goaded, possibly because shomron was one of the few people who openly disliked erik and wasn't afraid to verbalize his opinions-namely that erik didn't belong there, that he was there solely because it was diplomatic suicide to outright deport anyone who'd had the misfortune of serving in the 7th.) not that-and daniel made sure to remind erik frequently of this-he had anyone who'd take his side if he were really backed up against the wall. charles was perhaps the only one who spoke more than two sentences to him at a time, who smiled at him, who tried to engage with him in any meaningful way, but apparently not even charles could have saved him if ben gurion got his head out of his ass and did something about those people. not to mention that even though shomron didn't seem to have any sort of problem with erik taking a long walk off a short pier, he still came to the man's defense on more than one occasion-just as often as he did for charles-snapping irately at anyone who deigned to interrupt the smooth flow of construction by focusing on him. their understanding was uneasy, rivals bonded together from something more than heritage or blood. but friendship it certainly doesn't make, so it's not surprising that erik ends up spending most of his time with charles. the construct is starting to take shape now, with small one-bedroom houses with kitchenettes and basic toiletries aligned in neat rows connected to one another, and erik's most at-home digging into the metal guts of pipework and wire circuits around the time he notices when charles starts to falter. and he must have expected it, because charles's laid up in their tent with a cloth over his forehead and the shades drawn down, and erik merely pads in quietly, holding a glass of water. it's after he outed himself as a freak yesterday morning by boldly levitating a six meter pipeline from crushing charles's throat, casting it aside like crumpled paper and daring anyone to comment. they're already afraid of him. he has nothing to lose. (nothing changes.) his mind is a soothing balm amidst the raging firestorm of swirled frustration-grief-pounding-screaming-loss-vortex-ulfaiate mizrach kadimah, ayin leTziyon tzofiyah hatikvah bat shnot alpayim, Eretz-Tziyon virushalayim-pride-vindication-glory-woe unto the man one of us here and there may die in faith at the sight of the promised land from the top of Pisgah into the good time coming-this is the land i promised on oath when i said 'i will give it to your descendants.' i have let you see it with your eyes, but you will not cross over into it- "can you sit up?" he keeps his voice pitched low, and the bed creases under his weight as he sits down on its edge beside the prone man. this is a miserable place for a telepath, he can't help but think. for all that he had judged charles unfavorably, he has to wonder if telepathy and experience are comparable. if you know the mind of grief as you know your own mind, do you not know grief? does charles lie awake at night, reciting shema yisrael adonai eloheinu adonai echad before his eyes close, when they open anew to greet the unforgiving sunlight, when the clear-loud pound of nails into wood echoes like gunshots and every bullet is a body? does he know? it's in moments like this that erik sees him as something different, more akin to carmen prydeman than an interloper desperate to make a hero of himself on the frontlines, more-than just desperate to turn their pain (and when did he become so protective of their pain, anyway?) into his own personal accomplishment. occupying the liminal space between foreigner-and-one-of-our-own. at least to erik, that was something to fiercely guard against the swell of bleating, animal disease that is war and the aftermath of war. maybe it's because charles is the only person there who smiles so brightly at him every breakfast across the picnic-bench table, whose eyes watch carmen prydeman as erik had asked of him that first day when he doesn't have to. he doesn't have to care about any of this. this isn't his home, but then, if you know a person's home the way you know your own, is that not yours? they aren't friends only because erik never learned how to make friends, but he reaches under his shirt and unhooks the chain that carries his coin, the familiar touch of worthless pressed copper and its stamped in letters a reprieve in his hands, and he lays it on charles's chest, reaches out to curl charles's dirt-caked fingernails over it. "time for another lesson," he says simply, setting down the plastic container of warm water. "this is hei," he started, tracing charles's finger over the grooves of foreign letters. this coin isn't a vengeance-spiel, not something charles would anticipate because erik's all harshness and his mind is singularly crafted for bitter justice (tzedek, tzedek, you shall seek winds the passage on the undercurrent of his thoughts)-but it's a root. a twine to tie you back. "yod, bet, alef, yod, raysh, taf, shin, chet. do you know what it means?"

sorry that so much of this is a bit obscure, so here are some references! the hope, novels, poems & letters, the promised land, shema yisrael, the letters: ה׳ בְּאִיָּר תש״ח

[jarienn972]

The Right Place - Chapter Nineteen and Epilogue

For anyone who has been following this fic, you’ll know it was last updated in early October, 2018 and while my plans were to finish it at that time, it ended up being exactly one week before my mother passed away and I just couldn’t get myself into the right mindset to complete it.  Then, a couple of months ago, the @csmarchmadness idea came along to help give us writers a little boost of confidence to finish those nagging WIPs and I decided to go ahead and tackle this story. (I’m a little late getting it posted today, but technically, it is still 3/22 here in FL as I’m posting)

I’ve loved this concept from the beginning as it took Emma out of her magical comfort zone to solve a real world crime, working alongside law enforcement colleagues in Portland, Maine.  As I did with the opening chapters, I tacked the epilogue onto the end of this chapter to provide a fitting bookend.  

This is the last installment of a nearly 80K word fic so it has honestly been a beast to write, especially since it ended up taking far longer to complete than I’d planned.  You can read the entirety of this story on AO3 or FF.net or find the earlier chapters here: Prologue/Chap1  Chap2  Chap3  Chap4  Chap5  Chap6  Chap7  Chap8  Chap9  Chap10  Chap11  Chap12  Chap13  Chap14  Chap15  Chap16  Chap17  Chap18   I’m also tagging my cheerleader, @hookaroo who has been looking forward to the final chapter of this fic for a while now! (edited to add Tumblr link to Chap 18 after I realized it had never been posted on Tumblr.  Oops...)

Saturday Morning – Portland Harbor

The tempest of the overnight thunderstorms had given way to a breezy, warmer Saturday morning. Hazy sunlight filtered through the window coverings of the McCallen's guest room as Emma was awakened by the persistent blip of notifications popping up on her cell phone, all of them informing her of the incoming text messages from Regina. According to the texts, Ursula would be waiting for them at the same Harbor front park at 9am with some updated news regarding her offer to return the Jolly Roger to her berth in Storybrooke's marina. While Killian wasn't keen on anyone else taking the helm of his beloved ship, he'd conceded to the basic fact that at the present time, he lacked the physical stamina to sail her back home himself.

Emma would have preferred another hour of sleep since it this was far too early on a Saturday morning by her opinion, but since they did have the drive home ahead of them, she begrudgingly swung her feet over the side of the bed. It wasn't a particularly long trip, but she still needed to be wide awake and she didn't want to get back too late. After nearly a week away, she was certain there would be a mountain of backlogged work awaiting their return. She noticed that Killian had already vacated his side of the bed, waking up before his wife to wander into the kitchen where McCallen had left coffee brewing for them and a note stating that he had ventured out the station to finish his paperwork from yesterday's major breakthroughs in the case.

Killian seemed a tad more upbeat this morning and even seemed to handle the walk from the parking lot down to the waterfront better, only needing to pause once to catch his breath. The Sea Witch was already waiting for them, scouting out a quiet bench away from the multitude of park visitors who were enjoying the pleasant start to what was shaping up to be a beautiful day.

"You're late," Ursula grumbled in greeting. "I thought you seafaring types were known for better timing?"

"My seafaring timing is as precise as ever," Killian replied, voice tinged with a hint of offense. "However, you should be aware that in this realm there's a thing called traffic."

"We would have called to let you know we were running a little late if we'd had a way to contact you aside from a conch shell," Emma reminded the witch.

"Cell phones simply aren't the most reliable where I come from," Ursula countered with a grin that Emma wasn't sure was intended to be jovial or sinister. "Anyway, I've made all of the arrangements to transport your ship as promised. My niece will not be allowed to interfere with the vessel's passage."

"May I ask what arrangements you've made?" Killian queried. "Who did you find to sail her or is the transport to be more of a magical variety? I prefer not to have someone inexperienced at the helm."

"I managed to round up a few of your remaining crew, led by your former first mate, Mr. Smee. It'll primarily be for show though as once it reaches open waters, I can push your little boat along a bit easier…" Killian frowned at her use of the term little boat in reference to his ship, but held his tongue.

"So, my ship should be back in the harbor by the time we reach Storybrooke?" Killian chose to ask instead.

"Should be. Your crew is on their way here as we speak. I managed to find a fisherman who was willing to bring them down here to retrieve the Jolly Roger, although you may need to round up some of those gold doubloons you have stashed to pay the man for his service."

"How generous of you to offer up my funds as payment," he quipped sarcastically, although he was secretly grateful for all Ursula had done. She'd already rescued him from a watery grave so having her assistance in returning his beloved Jolly Roger to her home port was truly going above and beyond.

"I assume you have plenty of funds hidden, pirate," Ursula responded while flashing a broad grin. "Anyway, I need to get out of here before this park gets any busier so that I can supervise the return trip. See you in Storybrooke, Captain."

"Aye," Killian responded with a nod and a smile as the Sea Witch turned to depart, leaving him wondering exactly how much gold she'd promised his crew. But as she began to stroll towards the water's edge, Killian recalled one additional thing he wanted to ask her. "Ursula?" he called to her before she was out of earshot, grateful when she turned to face him again. "One last thing, if I may?"

"And that is?"

"Would you have my crew sail a pass through the inner channel? Not too close to the harbor, but around this side of the islands so that I might see her off?"

"I suppose I could do that," she replied as she took a few steps back towards the Joneses so she wouldn't have to shout. "I would have to uncloak the ship though."

"For a few minutes, revealing the vessel should be fine. This far from shore, she may appear as merely an illusion to anyone who may catch sight of her," he offered, eager to garner even a momentary glimpse of his ship nearly a week after he'd left her abandoned offshore.

"I'll see what I can do. You may want to hang around the harbor for a while though," the Sea Witch suggested.

"Any idea of approximately how long it'll take?" Emma questioned. "We do still have the drive back to Storybrooke ahead of us."

"Give me an hour," Ursula stated, not waiting for Killian to offer his thanks as she departed without another word.

As they watched the Sea Witch vanish behind a pier, Killian dropped his weary body onto the bench before he collapsed.

"Guess we have a little bit of time to kill before we hit the road then," Emma chuckled before noticing the forlorn cast to his gaze when he stared out over the bay. "I know you'd rather be sailing the Jolly Roger back home yourself…"

"It's alright, Swan," he said with a faint sigh of disappointment. "In my current condition, I'm well aware that I lack the necessary strength and stamina to properly man the helm. I'd much rather that she be safely returned to port, even if not by my hand." She could hear the disparaging tone of his voice and decided to think of something to distract him.

"Well, I really don't want to sit here on a cold, hard park bench for an hour while we wait for your ship to appear. Can we go grab a doughnut or something? And how do you intend to see the ship from across the bay anyway?"

"I believe you have a set of of spyglasses – I believe you call them binoculars? Aren't they somewhere in the vehicle?"

"Uh, yeah, there's a set of binoculars somewhere in the back seat."

"Then those should be sufficient," he replied. "I do have to agree with you though that sitting here for an hour is probably not the best option. I know we aren't far from the ferry terminal so perhaps we might pay a visit to the shopkeeper? I'd like to let her know personally that I'm alright if it isn't too far out of the way?"

"I'm pretty sure it's only a few blocks down the harbor from here. I think Ms. Scott would be very happy to see you. Think you can handle the walk or would you prefer we drive?"

"I'm feeling far better today, but I still believe it would be more prudent to drive."

"Okay, then let's get back up to the Bug and we'll go see if Ms. Scott has the shop back open."

Ten minutes later, after the short walk back to the parking lot and a four block drive through busy weekend harbor traffic headed for the marina and ferry terminal, Emma parked her little yellow Volkswagen beneath the old service station overhang. Although there were lights on inside Scott's Mart, the Closed sign still hung in the window, but Emma noticed that it was now accompanied by a notice that the shop would be reopening Monday morning. Emma exited the car and strolled up to the entrance door, rapping forcefully on the glass to garner the proprietor's attention while Killian ambled slowly behind her.

"We're not open yet!" a female voice shouted from inside.

"Ms. Scott, it's Sheriff Emma Jones. I was here with Deputy McCallen a few days ago…" They heard some rustling from beyond the door and something akin to metal scraping against tile before the smiling face of Jean Scott popped up from behind the register counter. The shopkeeper's face lit up even more when she caught sight of the man in the black leather jacket standing behind Emma.

"Sheriff! My apologies for being so curt. Come on in!" Jean immediately unlocked the door and yanked it open for her guests, a mix of elation and gratitude expressed through her welcoming grin. "You're always welcome around here. Sorry it's still such a mess but I'm trying hard to get things straightened up and ready to get back to business. I know I owe you both a huge thanks. I heard from the other police officer – not the one who was here with you but the other guy… His name escapes me now…"

"Sgt. Haviland?" Emma offered.

"Haviland, yeah that's his name! He called me to let me know I didn't have to worry about Donovan Donleavy coming after my property any longer. He said there's a warrant out for his arrest, as soon as they can locate the slimy son of a bitch."

"Yeah, unfortunately it looks like he might have been tipped off somehow and slipped away on his boat sometime last night after the Toliver brothers rolled on him for having hired them to intimidate you, not to mention the kidnapping and stabbing of my husband," Emma explained.

"Well, when they find him, I hope they lock him up and toss away that damned key!" Jean exclaimed before turning her head toward Killian with a softening demeanor. "And you – I'm so glad to get a chance to properly thank you. If I'd have had any idea what those bastards planned to do… I don't think there are enough words in the whole English language for me to express my thanks. You may have truly saved my life that morning and I'm still mortified to think that it nearly cost you yours. I knew Donleavy was scum, but I had no idea he'd actually stoop this low."

Emma though she detected a faint blush creeping across her husband's cheeks as Jean Scott thanked him, but he was trying hard not to let it show. "It was the right thing to do, Milady," Killian assured her. "Neither of us knew that their nefarious plans went so far beyond robbery. I certainly must have had some luck on my side that morning, but the important thing is that the guilty parties are being held accountable and won't be able to harm you any longer."

Jean's head lolled to the side as she caught Emma's attention with a cheeky grin. "Is he always like this?"

"Pretty much," Emma replied, sporting a broad smile of her own as she watched the tips of Killian's ears redden as he flushed with an uncharacteristic embarrassment.

"How do I find one like him?" Jean sighed. "I'd love to have my own little British knight in shining leather." Emma found her husband's blushing even more endearing as he tried to brush off the compliment, realizing it was part of why she loved this man so much. Sure, he could be a total ass sometimes, but when the sweet, old-fashioned, chivalrous side would surface, she'd fall head over heels in love all over again.

"I don't know if there's a clone of him out there somewhere, but if I find one, I'll send him your way," Emma laughed. "For now though, we've got to get going. Now that the case is solved, we're finally heading home."

"Well, please have a safe drive back to your hometown and remember that anytime you're here in Portland, please stop by. It'll be coffee on the house! In fact, if you'd like one for the road, I'm pretty sure the pot is still hot. I've gone through plenty myself while trying to get this place cleaned up but there's more than enough to share. Would you like some?"

"I would absolutely love some coffee," Emma replied graciously.

"As would I," Killian said with a smile.

"Hang on a sec…" Jean scurried down a partially stocked aisle to her coffee shop counter and disappeared behind it. She popped back up a few seconds later with two tall paper cups of steaming hot coffee. "Either of you take cream or sugar?"

"No thanks," Emma replied. "We both take it straight."

Jean made her way across the shop to hand over the coffee cups to her guests. "Here you go. Hope it's not too strong for you."

"I'm sure it will be fine," Killian replied as he accepted her offering. "This wasn't at all necessary, but thank you."

"Anytime," Jean insisted. "Any time at all. I won't keep you from your drive home but I really do appreciate you stopping by. I'm so glad to see that you're alright."

"Good luck with getting your business back on track," Emma said as she shook Jean's hand before departing. "Hopefully things will go better now that there isn't a greedy developer breathing down your neck."

"Oh, there will be another," Jean chuckled. "It never ends around here, but hey, I know I'm in the right place for now. I'll manage."

Emma and Killian said their farewells to Jean Scott and had just started their drive back to the park when Emma's phone started ringing. Seeing that it was McCallen calling, she gestured for Killian to answer and as he did, he pressed the speakerphone button so that they could both hear the conversation.

"Hey, McCallen," Emma answered. "Sorry we missed you this morning, but we locked up before we left."

"I'm the one who should be apologizing," McCallen's voice responded through the speaker. "I had to run into the station this morning to finish up paperwork relating to this case and I was worried I might miss you before you headed home."

"Well, you haven't missed us. We haven't left Portland yet," Emma informed their friend. "Killian wanted to see Jean Scott so she could see he was alright and now we're on our way to the harbor front park so that he can see his ship off. The crew sailing it back to Storybrooke for us offered to make a swing through the bay."

"Alright then, can you hang around the park for a few minutes? I've got some new information you'll want to hear, but I don't want to deliver it over the phone."

"Oh, don't worry, we'll be there for a while. We still have about half an hour to kill before the crew sets sail," Emma explained.

"Oh, good," McCallen replied. "I can be there in about twenty minutes. I'd really like a chance to see that ship too."

"You'll see just how magnificent she is," Killian said proudly.

"If you can see it at all," Emma countered. "The ship is going to be clear on the other side of the bay and I have no idea whether or not my binoculars will be strong enough… You two can figure that out though…"

"Okay," McCallen chuckled. "I'll see you in a few minutes."

The stroll down to the waterfront from the parking area took a little longer this time but Killian had insisted on heading to the furthest pier where they would have the least obstructed view of the bay. There was still one barrier island that partially obscured the horizon, but Killian was certain that they would be able to see enough of the channel to get a decent glimpse of the Jolly Roger. He was quite certain of the route his crew would take and that it would provide a brief window as the ship emerged from the far side of the landmass, before she headed out of the bay and into open ocean.

A visibly exhausted Killian dropped his fatigued body onto an unoccupied bench near the end of the pier as Emma's phone buzzed with a message from McCallen asking where he might find them. She typed back their location and half-expected to see the young deputy arrive in full uniform. She found herself a more than a little surprised to see him approaching dressed in casual attire after he spotted them and waved from the boardwalk.

As McCallen got closer, Emma thought about how this inexperienced deputy had become such a pillar of strength for her this week. He'd been so involved from the beginning, eager to help her out in any way he could and always trying to learn techniques to help himself grow as an investigator. McCallen still had a lot to learn and of course, had some physical obstacles to overcome, but Emma couldn't help to think about what Jean Scott had said about being in the right place and how it applied to the deputy as well. What had begun for him as a seemingly routine case to identify a John Doe had blossomed into a multi-jurisdictional investigation of a corrupt land developer. While McCallen's role in the Donleavy case may have been minor, the deputy's name was forever attached to the investigation and it would likely make a huge impact on his career.

"Hi!" the deputy greeted them once he was finally within earshot. "I haven't missed anything, have I?"

"Not at all," Killian assured their young friend as he lowered the binoculars. "I've not yet caught sight of her but it shouldn't be long now."

"Don't worry," Emma added. "You'll know the moment he sees it. It's all he's talked about all morning."

"So, this is kind of a big deal, huh?" McCallen asked with a crooked grin, almost as a tease.

"She's been a huge part of my life," Killian replied. "In fact, she was my life for a very long time, before I met Emma." He failed to notice the way McCallen glanced at Emma with a look that seemed to ask Is he kidding?

"I think that what Killian meant to say is that he spent many years working on that ship before we met. He puts a lot of effort into keeping it ship-shape. But yes – sometimes I swear he treats that ship like a person…"

"It's a good thing she's not able to hear you speak such blasphemy," Killian feigned offense as his wife laughed it off.

"See - I share my husband with a ship," Emma chuckled, shaking her head. "Anyway, I know you didn't come down here just to talk about Killian's ship. You said on the phone that you had some new information to share with us? Is it news about Donleavy?"

"Well, yes and no…" McCallen began as he took a seat on the bench next to Killian. "We got a call this morning from the RCMP…"

"RCMP?" Killian interrupted with a confused query as he didn't understand the reference.

"Royal Canadian Mounted Police," the deputy clarified. "Sorry, I should have been more specific."

"It's alright," Emma insisted. "We usually just refer to them as the Mounties." She'd explain the reference further for Killian when they were alone.

"Oh, okay," McCallen continued. "As I started to say earlier, we, well, technically Sgt. Haviland received a call from the Mounties this morning letting him know that Donleavy's boat was located. Appears that it ran aground along the coast of Nova Scotia and by all accounts, was pretty beat up. Unfortunately, they found no sign of Donleavy. Haviland forwarded me a copy of the report. Guess he thought you'd already be back home if he didn't get in touch with you yet."

"I haven't looked at my email all morning," Emma confessed. "If he sent something there, I probably won't read it until we do get home – especially if it isn't giving us any whereabouts of Donleavy himself. At least we have an idea of where he escaped to."

"I do recall saying that he wouldn't get very far by sea," Killian reminded them. "The seas would have been far too rough for his minuscule craft. Even a sailor as experienced as myself wouldn't have fared well in that storm."

"Yeah, Donleavy was probably thrown overboard somewhere between here and Canada, before his ship crashed onshore," Emma suggested.

"There's still a remote chance he survived so the Canadians are going to continue their search to see if he turns up. They weren't entirely convinced that he'd survived either, but they're not giving up the search yet."

"Serves him right, if I do say so myself," Killian said with an eyebrow raised playfully. He lifted the binoculars to his eyes to survey the bay once again, scanning the horizon for a glimpse of the Jolly Roger. He stood as he caught sight of a set of familiar masts and sails materializing from beyond the inner harbor islands. "Ah, there she is!" he exclaimed with a huge grin stretching across his lips. "Such a thing of beauty…"

"Alright – you know I'm dying to get a look at this ship I've been hearing about. I mean, you've got the rings, the tattoos, the skull and crossbones pendant – there's definitely some kind of pirate obsession there so should I be expecting a pirate ship too?" Killian gave him a slightly nervous smile and Emma was practically biting her tongue as they both began mentally scrambling for a plausible explanation for the fact that Killian did indeed have have a pirate ship, and a marvel of one at that.

"Of course," Killian said as he offered the binoculars to the deputy and pointed to a distant location across the bay. "If you look out there to the northeast, you'll see her riggings just beyond that island." McCallen raised the binoculars and pointed himself in the direction Killian had indicated, his jaw dropping the moment he spied the tall ship on the horizon. He didn't know a lot about classical ships - he wouldn't have known a schooner from a frigate or a galleon, but this vessel looked like it could have sailed straight out of any pirate movie he'd ever seen.

"Wow! That's really your ship? It's definitely not what I expected, but seriously – you can sail that all by yourself?" Killian had to chuckle at the deputy's excited rambling.

"Indeed, I can," Killian replied proudly.

"That is so cool!" McCallen gushed, unable to contain himself. "What did you name your ship?"

"The J-…" Killian started to reply Jolly Roger, but something made him stop and reconsider, responding with the vessel's original moniker instead. "Jewel of the Realm."

"That's a really great name," McCallen told him as he passed the binoculars back to his pirate friend. "How did you ever come to own a ship like that?"

"Killian repairs and restores these old ships to keep them seaworthy," Emma jumped in with the most logical explanation she could determine. "And if you haven't noticed, he's a bit obsessive about his job."

"History deserves to be preserved," Killian stated, going along with Emma's lead. "And what can I say – I immerse myself fully into my work."

"Well, by the looks of it, you're very skilled at what you do! How do you manage to find the time as a deputy?"

"Don't have as much time as I used to so sailing has become more of a hobby now, but if you're ever in Storybrooke, I'd be honored to give you the full tour and a run about the harbor."

"I just might take you up on that one day, but since I have a tendency to get seasick, just admiring her from the dock would probably be enough for me," the deputy admitted with an embarrassed chortle.

"Well, my friend, if you ever want to try for your sea legs, my offer shall stand," Killian laughed as he raised the binoculars one last time to see if the ship was still visible but it appeared as though Ursula had already reactivated the cloaking. "Appears as though she has sailed beyond our purview."

"Oh, sorry… I'm guessing you're hoping to get back home around the same time as the ship?" McCallen wondered, not wanting to impede their plans.

"Yeah, that's sort of the plan," Emma stated as she glanced at her watch. "We definitely should get on the road soon, but Aaron, we really want to thank you for everything – for your help with the investigation into what happened to Killian... for opening your home to us. You've done so much more than you ever needed to."

McCallen's cheeks flushed as he tried to figure out how to respond to her gratitude. "Honestly, not many people have put as much faith in me as you did. I'm grateful to you for including me when you could have brushed me off in favor of letting Sgt. Haviland take over. I'm glad you didn't."

"You've got the instinct," Emma assured him. "You're going to be a great investigator."

"I guess we'll have to see how far a man with an artificial foot can get," McCallen said sullenly.

"As far as a man with an artificial hand can get," Killian insisted. "And that's as far as you desire."

Epilogue

Saturday Afternoon – Storybrooke

It hadn't taken Killian more than a few seconds after they'd exited the interstate before the gloved, wooden hand was discarded to the back seat in favor of his preferred attachment. Captain Hook was back and on his way home. By the time they passed the Welcome to Storybrooke sign at the edge of town, he was certain he could already smell the marine air again and began to imagine the sound of crisp sails flapping in the wind.

They finally parked in front of the Sheriff station nearly two hours after they'd left the Portland harbor and Emma was eager to find some lunch to appease her growling stomach. Maybe as anxious for food as her husband was to get to the harbor.

"Are you really sure you don't want me to heal you?" she asked as they climbed out of the Bug.

"For the last time, Love, I'll be fine. Aside from a few aches and pains – and a bit of general tiredness, I'm honestly alright. I assure you, if I change my mind, I promise, I will let you know."

"Okay, okay… I'm gonna call the family and see if they want to meet over at Granny's for lunch. I'm sure they'll all be looking forward to seeing you."

"Sounds good, but allow me a few minutes first?" he implored.

"I know – you're heading down to the harbor. Want me to drive you over?"

Killian smiled and shook his head with a subtle No. "I think I'd like to walk."

"Alright. If you aren't back in thirty minutes, I'll come looking for you."

The quarter-mile stroll from the Sheriff station to the dock was normally a brisk, five-minute walk for him, but today, it took a few minutes longer and he was clutching his chest tightly as he reached the gangplank. He pressed on with stubborn determination, pushing himself up the ramp and onto the deck of his ship. Reaching the helm, he leaned his aching body into the wheel to catch his breath, fully aware that he was not alone.

"Returned, safe and sound, as promised," he heard Ursula's voice call out from below the quarterdeck.

"Aye, thank you for your assistance. I do appreciate all you've done for me."

"You are one lucky pirate. Although I suggest you try to stay away from sharp, pointy objects for a while. One of these days, your luck will run out…"

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind," Killian said with a half-hearted chuckle. "Am I also to thank you for last night's events?"

"Afraid I've no idea what you mean," Ursula replied with a feigned innocence.

"Of course not," he grinned, lifting a knowing eyebrow at the Sea Witch. "Pardon my error, Love. Guess I should make my way over to Granny's pretty soon. Emma will send out a search party if I don't make it back. Why don't you join us?"

"As pleasant as an afternoon eating greasy diner food with the Charming family sounds, I'm afraid I'll have to pass. But as for you, I'm serious – watch your back, pirate. One of these days, you'll find yourself in the wrong place at the wrong time and there won't be anybody around to save you."

He opened his mouth to reply, but she was already gone, leaving the words caught in the back of his throat. As much as he wanted to argue, Ursula was right. He belonged at Emma's side and that was honestly the only place he wanted to be.

Early Saturday morning – off the coast of Nova Scotia

It was late in the season for such a powerful Nor'easter and perhaps it was a foolhardy decision to be venturing out in such horrific weather but Donovan Donleavy preferred to take his chances upon the stormy seas rather than face the tempest that would be brewing at home if he hadn't run. He'd slipped out of the marina under cover of darkness before the authorities had descended. His sport fishing boat wasn't really designed for these conditions so he'd tried to remain as close to the coast as he could, but the howling winds and torrential rain kept blowing his battered craft further out to sea.

He was only a few miles off of the Canadian coast, estimating his position to be somewhere near the Province of Nova Scotia, but he was beginning to doubt he'd be able to reach a safe harbor. Rain lashed at the deck, making visibility near impossible as the ten to twelve foot swells pummeled the tiny boat. Donleavy clung to the wheel as long as he could until a towering, fifteen foot swell sent the vessel listing hard to starboard and it never recovered, capsizing in the cold waters of the North Atlantic.

He bobbed to the surface, struggling to keep his head above the waves as his arms flailed in futile attempt to grasp for anything that would keep him afloat. After a few minutes, he found his muscles tiring rapidly and he knew he wouldn't be able to tread water much longer. Of course, he still believed that drowning was far more dignified than the humiliation of watching his empire fall apart.

He was gradually giving in to the reality of a watery death when he felt something brush against his leg. Probably just a fish or a piece of debris from his boat he thought – until the offending object slithered its way up body and wrapped around his torso. While moments ago he'd conceded himself to drowning, suddenly Donleavy was in a panic as he recognized that he was being enveloped by a giant tentacle. He struggled only for a few moments, trying futilely to free himself as the tentacle constricted tighter - just before yanking him forcefully beneath the unforgiving waves.

[cinnamonandpancakes]

Thinkin about the Yi City Crew (as you do) and idk, I think the tragedy (in CQL) for LWJ in particular is seeing these cultivators who he took notice of (he knew their names! when they met! he doesn’t like people this is very unusual!) reduced to this terrible fate where one’s soul is shattered and the other is a living corpse doomed to walk the earth forever and how that mirrors him so completely.

WWX’s soul was presumed lost! He was left to uphold their promise together and raise their son alone! Song Zichen doesn’t even have a son! He just has a bag holding the shattered remnants of the man he was going to spend his life with, who he cruelly pushed away and spent the rest of his life trying to find and make amends and then had to watch kill himself as he realised he’d killed his dearest friend (soulmate). Idk it’s Tragic in a different way to the MDZS Yi City.

There IS something incredibly tragic about WWX missing meeting his shishu and being the reason for his demise due to his demonic cultivation but the tragedy there is of Missed Connection. The CQL tragedy is of connection brutally ripped away and that just gets me more, especially in relation to LWJ whose whole life is filled with these connections that are brutally severed, beginning with his parents and then continuing through almost everyone he’s ever cared about or admired.

In the book I liked the Yi City arc, don’t get me wrong, I love Xue Yang as a villain and it’s a great lil section but I think having that point of connection beforehand where the reader already knows the people involved makes it that more emotionally impactful. After all, let’s be real, Yi City is mainly a plot vessel to explain how Empathy works so it doesn’t need to be explained later with Nie Mingjue’s head with a lil bit of angst sprinkled on top.

Also! WRT WWX, Xiao Xingchen isn’t just a name! He opens that coffin and it’s someone he knew! Someone he respected and whose opinion he cared about! Someone to whom he’d expressed a wish to emulate! There’s a particularly angsty blend of CQL and MDZS where WWX is still the First Demonic Cultivator but he knew Xiao Xingchen before his death and he’s slapped in the face with the knowledge that if he hadn’t messed with this cultivation then his shishu whom he greatly admired would probably still be alive, another on the list of people he cares about whose deaths he indirectly caused.

I think there’s a blend of canons that I think I’d like best where the Yin Iron arc doesn’t happen, but Wen Qing and Jiang Yanli and Wen Ning still go to the lectures and WWX and LWJ still go nighthunting together after the lectures and they still meet XXC and SZC out doing their thing, baby faced and wide eyed and they all express their wish to leave politics behind to just help people. (The don’t fight Xue Yang because I think it’s funny when he’s Baby)

Then they get called back to go to the Wen Cultivation Conference and they thrash everyone at archery because power couple (ribbon shenanigans are more along the lines of WWX trips and pulls it off and LWJ goes bright red and freezes, it’s v awkward) [[JC sees WQ at the competition and does the best he’s ever done]].

Then the Wens do their ‘we’re banning nighthunting’ and CR burns and Indoctrination happens. Xuanwu cave, LWJ bites WWX as in MDZS because that’s hilarious. Lotus Pier as in CQL except Yanli is sent to Meishan because fuck Lanling. WWX becomes CorpseMan a la MDZS because all the giggling female corpses is Gross but also like such a Look, WWX accepts help a la CQL because I like the vibe of LWJ trying and failing to bring his crush back from the clutches of Evil.

Idk if I’d keep the Shooting at Wens thing from the pheonix mountain hunt? on one hand it demonstrates how everyone is scared of the Jins now (and that scene where wwx shoots 5 arrows is hot) but on the other I don’t that no one would speak up?? and I don’t think the Jins would want to be Conspicuously Evil so soon??? Blindfold yes, no kiss tho because I found the ‘LWJ punches trees when angry’ aspect of it annoying and I’d rather have a heartfelt talk about being soulmates (could have a sexy scene of LWJ walking up and taking off the blindfold and declaring WWX doesn’t need to prove himself to Jin Zixun)[[maybe an almost kiss before yanli appears]]

Qiongqi path: Wen Rescue as in CQL because that shit hurted but Wen Ning would Definitely Be Dead a la MDZS. Burial Mounds Life happens. [[JC refuses the comb from Wen Qing ‘what use would I have for it?’ he says]] There is no second flute, WWX lost control and Jin Zixuan is dead at his hand and his hand alone. Wen Qing and Wen Ning go to turn themselves in alone. [[Wen Qing leaves the comb in a tree stump where later a small boy will shelter as his home is destroyed around him]] WWX loses control at Nightless City, JYL dies, WWX jumps off a cliff. LWJ, wounded and heartbroken, takes his stand at the Burial Mounds, trying to protect WWX’s people after hiding A-Yuan in Cloud Recesses [[A-Yuan has the comb, years later Jiang Cheng will find him reminiscing and will have to leave the room to cry angry tears]] LWJ is incapacitated and punished. The Wen Remnants are killed and thrown into the Blood Pool.

16 years pass. 16 long years.

Mo Xuanyu summons back a Wei Wuxian who wanted to die but one who hoped against hope the Wen Remnants hadn’t been murdered after his death. A Wei Wuxian who regretted letting himself die without making sure they were safe. (A Wei Wuxian who had to find out he had failed when he arrived in the Burial Mounds to rescue the juniors). [[A Wei Wuxian that looks like Wei Wuxian and Mo Xuanyu combined]] In this canon they find body parts, a la MDZS. They share inn rooms with the knowledge of what they had meant to each other and how in the end it hadn’t meant a thing. They go to Yi City and find a boy, barely older than the juniors, playing house with the bodies of their friends, the ones they wanted to be like. WWX is reminded of all he put LWJ through when he jumped off that cliff. It is no wonder LWJ drinks that night.

Koi Tower happens, right? Idk it’s got to happen at some point. Probably CQL canon if only because I know that one better? I don’t think there’s much difference between the two for this bit.

At the second siege of the Burial Mounds the bodies in the blood pool come to their rescue. Wei Wuxian is horrified. ‘How could you let them do that!’ LWJ stays silent. (‘What else could warrant 33 lashes of the discipline whip’ he will whisper later, drunk off a single cup of wine.) ‘The honourable Hanguang-Jun was in seclusion after you died.’ Jiang Wanyin will say in his best sneer. Lan Qiren says nothing. (’I tried, I tried but it wasn’t enough’)

After the Burial Mounds they return to Lotus Pier. The revelations happen. [[Jiang Wanyin is horrified for more reasons than Wei Wuxian realises. No wonder Wen Qing could not accept his help after what she had done to him]]

Guanyin Temple bores me for the most part, JGY is allowed to monologue for far too long. I like the idea of them confessing at the most awkward time but at the same time it drags out JGY’s monologue even longer and that shit took like 4 episodes in CQL and it Dragged. I skimmed most of those chapters in the novel. JGY and NMJ’s body end up in a coffin trapped under a statue in the image of JGY’s dead mother. Probably have the iconic novel line where JGY is like ‘I hold LWJ’s life in my hands’ or w/e because that’s kinda hot. [[WWX comments to LWJ about how in the ancestral hall they’ve already done most of their bows, LWJ short circuits, JC asks if WWX would like his wedding planning books from when they were kids, WWX short circuits because ‘you KEPT THEM???’ ‘yeah dumbass, you’re still my brother even if I hate you!’]]

There’s that cute scene in CQL where WWX touches LSZ’s ribbon and they hug and cry, keeping that. LWJ and WWX kiss because I Said So and then also have sex because the UST is killing me (but not in front of LSZ, after he’s gone off to travel with Uncle Ning) They handfast but LWJ has to go be interim sect leader while convincing his brother to come out of seclusion and wwx decides to go try and set his demons to rest. LXC demands to be allowed to plan Wangji’s wedding as a stipulation of starting to return from seclusion. Wangji wisely does not mention they already consider themselves married.

[[Wen Qing is found in the cells of Jinlintai. JC tells her that he forgives her. She tells him she still can’t marry him, she has broken her oath as a healer. He lets her go.]]

[[2 years later she turns up in Yunmeng with her brother and her nephew in tow and suggests he join them on their latest night hunt. It’s not love, but he’s beginning to realise he can move on from her. Jin Rulan is disconcerted to find his uncle smiling the next time he visits.]]

[[For some reason, Sect Leader Yao is appointed Chief Cultivator. Everyone is appalled but a surprising amount gets done in order to avoid letting him talk too long.]]