#this is unedited and unformatted

[seth-shitposts]

Kanan & Dimal

CW// descriptions of dissociation, reference to the grand inquisitor’s suicide attempt, reference to order 66 & everything that followed. Portrayals of slight dermatillomania [i think that’s all the relevant pieces]

UNEDITED AND UNFORMATTED BECAUSE MY INTERNET IS A BITCH

——

Backstory+Context:

What I’m adding in is that he had become a temple guard almost immediately after his knighting, that he and the council had thought and agreed it to be a good idea. His connection to the force is atypical, much different from most Jedi. He doesn’t connect in the same way, and it’s far easier for him to be detached. The line of thought for putting him as a temple guard was that it would be highlighting his strength, since a key element of a guard is choosing to forego all attachment and dedicate to the title.

There was a single oversight on all sides, one that would lead to his obsession and therefore his fall. He hadn’t built a strong sense of self. [It’s one thing to have had a sense of self and then choose to let it go in favor of committing to something higher than yourself. It’s another thing entirely to have not had that foundation before hand.] Because he didn’t go through building that in a secure way, it left him liable for insecurities down the line. There’s a lot he didn’t know about himself and he didn’t know how to figure out, or even be aware of it. One of the major things having been why the force had chosen him, because he didn’t have the same innate empathy that Jedi have. It started as a curiosity to learn more about the force and how it works, to go deeper than the base line of understanding. The answer had to be somewhere. He attempted several times over the course of a few years to learn more about the sith as well, but he was declined from those deep dives.

Through his search, he found a series of journals written by one of the founders of the Jedi Order, but only random volumes. He really resonated with this author; they had written a description of their connection to the force that matched his own, and *that* is something he’s never found before. He thought that maybe this author would have written more not just about their struggles, but how they preserved through them, because he had access to the final volume, which painted an ending where they had worked through their struggles, and now would help build the future that their friends are envisioning to help everyone across the galaxy (thus, beginning what becomes The Jedi Order). All of the other volumes were restricted. The harder he tried to gain access, the more obsessed over it he became, which only led to a more firm decline, resulting in him beginning to have doubts.

(Long story short, Palpatine had planted thoughts similarly to as he had with Anakin and swayed his unsureness of himself to a full betrayal of the order)

———

+[Following the events of s1 finale]+

It draws him back to consciousness at a slow pull before thrusting him back in all at once- the sound of life that surrounds him. A breeze that ruffles through leaves and rustles grass, chirps and clicks of different species of insects, hums and songs of avians as their wings flap in time with a heart beat, constant trickling of water.

It’s all soft… no, it’s separated. Far away. Like his head is trapped in a bubble, but the moment the bubble pops, as does the separated gentleness.

And then it’s all so deafening to his sensitive ears, it reminds him not to allow himself to be so vulnerable and ill informed of unknown surroundings in such a vastly open space.

Alarmed and with lightning shooting through his veins, he rushes to sit up, trying to gather his bearings.

Surrounding him are thick forestry. A quick twist to peek behind him gives him two different pieces of information. One being the sight of some ruin, something older than his knowledge as the only thing that still stands is a stone arch of sorts with scribbled writings. The second vital detail is the fire that shoots halfway up his back.

Fire…

Wincing, he tries to shift his lower back away from the blazing pain. As he does, he realizes he’s moving farther into some pool of water his legs are soaking in. The water is the home of some type of strange colored algae that glows with unique flowering floating on it. It takes him a moment to look to his legs through the clearness of the water. Burns that… look like they had rapidly healed.

He withdraws his limbs from the water to inspect them, and the moment he does, the algae no longer glows.

Picking at the healed scarring gently, he tries to piece together…

The last thing I remember… Speaking to Kanan Jarrus, right before I…

Curling his lip, he glares at the flesh on his bones. I threw myself into an exploding… How in the entirely blasted galaxy did I survive that? How did I wind up on… this…

The last person he had seen before his vision was over taken by flames trying to swallow him whole, forcing him to succumb to the burning inferno of pain enveloping him.

Kanan Jarrus.

He shakes his head in disgust. Fucking nobility of a Jedi, their need to save and spare everyone. No matter the monster.

It had been the last choice that would have been my own. And now…

He can’t very well just return to the inquisitorius, not after the string of failures he’s just weaved for himself. That last one being just a beautiful ribbon to wrap it up. And not going back isn’t going to grant him any safety from what will begin to hunt him. He’s still blood in the water. He can’t wait for the sharks to find him.

It’s pathetic, having run to death with open arms and failing even a task as simple as that. Simple in comparison to what the alternative was. And now… And now there has to be another escape. There’s always…

Dragging his nails across his scalp, he rattles his recollection, but every thought is so, so far away.

Distance…

Separation.

Can’t be tracked with no trail to follow. He doesn’t like it, but it will buy him time until there’s something better; an opportunity.

Until then, a decision has been made. Throw distance between himself and the force.

——

+[Soon after Kallus agrees to help]+

Kallus holds out an indie commlink, “I’ll gather equipment and resources, and once I’m available to meet up with you, I will contact you through this. If you ever have an emergency, contact me. Just to be safe, don’t use-“

The spy halts suddenly, staring up at him, seemingly trying to think.

He can feels his brow twitch from being stared at. “What?”

“Forgive me, I just realized I have never learned your name.”

Growling, he snatches the commlink from Kallus’s open hand. “You don’t need it.”

He can hear that Kallus has some kind of bite back on the tip of his tongue, but thinks better of it, and swallows the bitter words with a second thought. If he’s being honest, he would rather Kallus bite back at him than…

Straightening his shoulders, he places the commlink in one of his most secure pockets, tucking it close to his chest.

——

+[One of the first sessions; probably the first session, ngl.]+

“So,” Smirking, he levels with Kallus, about to enjoy when the moment when realization strikes this blond that he is in way over his head. “Tell me about how exactly you plan on helping me become a Jedi Knight again, Agent Kallus.”

Rolling his eyes, Kallus organizes stolen imperial equipment. “We’ll start with you telling me about the Jedi.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you were a Jedi Knight yourself, so wouldn’t you know the basic principles best?”

Tearing his gaze away from the rebel spy, he crosses his arms over his chest, suddenly finding the wall much more interesting.

“Look, I’m going to need you to be the least bit cooperative if I’m going to be of ay substan-“

“I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember?” Kallus stops what he’s doing entirely. “What exactly?”

“The principles. Anything, really.” He masks his frustration with an amused smile, turning back to Kallus, hoping to irritate him, with the reality of the situation.

“How do you not remember? What do you mean? What, did you just eviscerate your understanding of your enemy when you decided to leave your station in the empire?”

He isn’t getting he satisfaction he thought he would from this, and he can’t tell if that’s more or less frustrating than the truth he’s having to swallow and now spill. “No,” the syllable is released through gritted teeth. “It’s not that I chose not to remember. It’s that I can’t remember.” Just another blaring fact of his own short comings.

“Elaborate.” Kallus is withholding his own frustration. Withholding it, but still choosing to patiently listen.

“Best I can explain is that after choosing to close myself off from the force, I also shut myself out from the dark side of it. It was shell shocking. For the first time I could breathe properly without having realized before that…” He takes in a sharp breath. “Long story short, my memories are a ‘mess’. Some are twisted versions of the truth and I have no way of figuring it out on my own. I have more gaps than I do recollection.”

He watches as Kallus turns away from him, slowly dragging his fingers through his hair as he tries to process this unexpected challenge. Still feeling bitter at his admission, he waits to see this man who had once not been able to apply the definition ‘quit’ throw in the towel. He had missed it the first go round. He wants to see it for himself.

“Change in steps,” Kallus swiftly strides back to the speeder, “we’re starting from scratch.”

Eyes narrowing as they follow the ex-imperial, he tries to grapple the words just given to him as if it’s a silly little errand. “What?”

“We are going to outline a series of expeditions to find the pieces we need to start with.” Grabbing the most tattered and slapped-together datapad to exist, Kallus begins to break through firewalls to cross reference imperial databanks with ones that existed before the empire itself, to find any trace of a location that may have been overlooked where they could find more information about the Jedi.

Trying to wrap his head around Kallus’s words, he’s reeling as irritation claws its way up his spine. “Would be great, but one of the first orders I had been given as grand inquisitor was to carry out and oversee the destruction of anything relating to the Jedi. There’s nothing-“

“There’s always something. There’s always ones that got away. Ones never found to begin with.” Kallus skims over the lines rapidly. “Don’t be so eager to give up. If you want to turn me in so bad, know that I won’t go down without a fight, but same applies here.” He pulls out an empty datapad and scribbles some locations on it. “I said I would help. Just because you chose to hide some details doesn’t mean I’m done here.”

He can’t tell if he’s more annoyed or further intrigued. Sliding a couple fingers across his jawline, he considers his options.

While he, personally, would see the value in handing over someone like Kallus, nestled so deep in the empire, he’s well aware that the spy wouldn’t get him nearly as far as he would need him to. Going back is still wildly out of the question. The middle ground action, leaving altogether, would just leave him back at where he had been. Aimless, unable to focus. Some could settle for that, and maybe he could too, but…

Maybe entertaining the notion a bit longer will be worth the effort. As the one who had been in charge of overseeing the destruction of the Jedi’s existence, he can remember that he hadn’t entirely agreed with the decision. He had thought the command was purely out of a place of emotion rather than reason. Even if the Jedi had been wrong and mislead, from a scholar standpoint, it would have been smarter to keep their archives, to teach why they thought how they did and show how it would have been misinformed.

But at the time… Had it been another moment where he was thinking through that false clarity? The lense of the dark, had it led him to choosing anger over reason? Or did that come later? Why had he gone through something he didn’t agree with? Or did he actually believe it to be a good idea at the time?

The face of the man who gave him the orders still escapes his memory. Why can’t he remember the face that he followed at the cost of everything? What was he looking to gain? What did he lose?

“Hey,” Kallus’s voice is soft, gentle. “You won’t have to go looking through these places by yourself. I’ll slip away when I have the chance. I’ll also try getting in touch with my informant again. They may have intel that could help.”

He blinks down at the human whose harsh features and guarded demeanor has momentarily shifted to make room for assurance.

“Seeing as how no other option is appealing, you’re still the most interesting choice.” He smirks teasingly, “Regardless of how annoying you get.”

Returning to his usual rigid posture, Kallus rolls his eyes, “I get that frequently, thank you.”

“You really don’t give up, do you? Is chasing ghosts something you’ve just always done?”

“Seems so. We’ll leave for the nearest location in half an hour.”

———

+[After much training and progression and work put into slowly dedicating to this task.]+

+Context for this next part:

Through [redacted], an informant, Kallus is told he has to make the decision to either continue missions with the former grand inquisitor on their own, attempting to gather an understanding of the Jedi that is doomed to be lacking and incomplete, or make contact with Kanan Jarrus and gain his trust when Kallus has yet to have much experience or credibility as fulcrum, having only been given the mantle shortly ago.

Initially, Kanan (rightfully) believes that they have lured him out as a trap and that they are both still loyal to the empire. Only after a lot of convincing is it that Kanan is willing to even hear them out.

-I am still working the timeline out and locking it down, but this would take place not long after the season 2 finale, Kanan being more on edge and untrusting than ever.

Kallus had believed it wise to bring peace offerings a an attempt to be heard out. Kallus instructed the former inquisitor to retrieve and bring a Jedi artifact while Kallus brought intel.

The former inquisitor had still been undecided on whether he would want or even ask for help from the Jedi knight. It wasn’t until Kanan addressed him directly, asking what his intentions are to be. A bitter response sat on the tip of his tongue, but he caught a glance of Kallus, who’s eyes were still on the Jedi.

Thinking on how far Kallus has put himself out for him, how the spy time and time again met him where he was to figure things out with him, and now how Kallus has chosen to pursue the superior aid directly from the knight at the expense of his own plans and compromising his own position- all because he has faith in him.

He resists the urge to lash his tongue at Kanan and admits to wanting to understand the full picture, learn and preserve the truth.

Eventually, Kallus has to leave and it is just him and Kanan. Kanan is still untrusting. (Again, rightfully)

+++

“I have no reason to trust you. Either of you. Not after everything.”

Pulse still racing, Kanan keeps distance from him, facing harshly in his direction.

Curious. If he’s so against me surviving as a perceived threat, why would he have gone through the effort of keeping me alive? He decides to view this as a trial, a test. Prove himself. Show that he’s taking this seriously, that the sacrifices Kallus chose to make won’t be wasted, that he won’t be left back where he began.

“You’re right. You have no reason to take either of us at our word. Nothing I do or say will take back what has been done. It does not make what I’m pursuing any less true. It’s taken a lot for me to get where I am as I am here today.” He makes sure to keep the distance between them Kanan holds, hands clasped behind his back. “I will be honest, at first I had no intent on taking this seriously, but then Kallus took the time to show me that what I had previously thought to be true were only lies to get me to side my loyalty to the empire. I’m still unsure of many things. I desire nothing more than to stand by the truth. Kallus started me back on that devotion. The only thing I am asking of you is to remind me of who the Jedi were and what they stood for.”

“Why?” The tension in Kanan… shifts. Still present, but different. “You were there, weren’t you?”

Taking a deep breath, he tries to find the right words to string together. This doesn’t get easier for him to digest each time he explains it. He runs the tip of his tongue along his sharpened teeth before he speaks, the slight motion reminding him of his body. “My recollection of the Jedi, my perception of them, had become… twisted as I fell. Overtime, memories shredded until there were few left. As an inquisitor, as a servant of the dark side, I had been under a false belief that I had a clear mind. It wasn’t until I finally distanced myself from the force entirely that I realized that not to be true. And now most days I cannot differentiate between what memories are real, what’s true, or not.”

“Still, why should I help you?” It feels as though the Jedi knight is cutting his eyes at him, holding what is a more than reasonable grudge and distrust towards him.

“Because I am asking for it.” Despite trying to appear calm, he can feel his ire rising like a heat traveling up his spine, setting every cell of skin on fire on its way up. This would be simpler if he just out right says he does not wish to help me. Instead, we’re playing this game.

“What gives you the right to ask? After how many of our people fell at your hands? After the betrayal you committed?” Kanan’s voice slowly rises in volume, adding fuel to the flames in the former inquisitor’s body. “And you just forgot? You forgot?!”

“My inability to remember detail does not negate the damage I’ve done, do not confuse my desire to understand what happened and inability to remember as a cowardly attempt to evade accountability for everything I’ve done, Kanan Jarrus,” he meets Kanan’s spit of fire with the same level of heat. “If you were to be so against rising above and helping me understand where I went wrong and would rather I have died, then why in this blasted galaxy didn’t you let me?!” He can no longer smother the sneer on his lips, a growl almost becoming audible from his vocal cords.

“What in the hell are you talking about?”

“Don’t play ignorant with me! You know what I’m talking about! Back on that star destroyer, when you had bested me in a fight and I made my choice! My way out! When I succumbed to the flames, you and your crew dragged me off that ship and abandoned me on an uninhabited planet!” He glares, the scab of it being ripped open raw right when he had thought it was finally healed.

“I don’t know what you are imaging,” Kanan seethes, the words hissing out from gritting teeth, “I had other priorities than making a futile attempt to save someone who had very clearly made their choice!”

The words wash over his body as though he had been thrown into a lake of ice. His voice loses its rage, “What?” There is no lie, no deceit in the knight’s features. “Then… How did- that doesn’t make- That’s impossible, I shouldn’t have survived- Much less unharmed- healed even-“ Dragging his nail along the ridges on his skull, he can feel his back hit a wall. The walls spin and blur in the background. The foundation that he had scrapped together since waking up in that algae filled pool shatters beneath his very feet. Not because Kanan hadn’t chosen to save him, that what he would have expected- hell, it’s what he would have done himself; but its the fact that now, no he doesn’t have any iota of a clue.

As improbable as it was, Kanan being the one to have pulled him from the fire, it was the only answer that had been viably possible; so much so that he latched onto it. Believed it. Been convinced.

But now? His thoughts are spiraling every which way, wrecking his brain for anything, but there’s no feasible way he should have survived, especially nearly unscathed aside from scarring of the burns he had endured that should have been much more detrimental.

Boots step into his line of vision, dragging him out of his mind slowly. “You’re… serious. About all of this?”

Realizing not until now, he had slid to the ground against the wall.

It’s a fight, trying to get back into his body enough to meet the Jedi’s face. He has to force his eyes to focus on the other’s features. Guarded, but curious, almost open. Something distinctively empathetic. Despite who it is Kanan is talking to.

“Jarrus, I’m always serious.” He screws his eyes shut after pain washes over them from the force he had behind them to manually focus them. His vision blurs in and out when he opens them once more. “I need to see the full picture. I’m sick of only having pieces. I want the truth, nothing more. Nothing less. So I can make informed decisions about what is just.”

Through the blurred vision, he’s able to make out that Kanan offers out a hand.

He only stares at it for a long moment. Not sure if he’s waiting for it to come into focus, if it’s his turn to be distrustful, or if he just isn’t able to get his body to cooperate.

“If you’re willing to be receptive, then I might be willing to help.”

He finds his hand setting into Kanan’s offer. Not without immense effort from himself.

———

+[The second meetup between Kanan and Him?]+

+Contextual notes for this scene: Kanan and the former inquisitor are in a Jedi temple, thus far they have pulled against the grain and become lost in the temple. At this moment, they are in the middle of an argument.

“I may have said that I could help, but you still have yet to prove that you are trustworthy,” the Jedi Knight pushes the words out through gritted teeth, body tense and on edge.

It’s been taking everything in him not to inflame and agitate this man’s every blaring fault and flaw; physical and psychological.

Remember why you’re committing to this. Remember the balance. Let go of that which is fleeting. Return to the pursuit of unbiased truth. Let go of that whic-

“Hey! Don’t ignore me just because I can’t see you!”

Whatever happened to Kanan Jarrus has no just changed his physical abilities, but also his mentality. “You’re lashing out, I am trying to ground myself. It is not a easy process for me. Whatever happened to having nothing to fear? You are currently laying out all this fear in open and it’s the worst temptation.” Remember what Kallus taught you.

“That right there does not make me any more enthused to help you.”

“Then don’t. I will find my way out of this temple. And I’ll find my own way to the light.” His own words are just as guarded and defensive as Kanan’s.

“You’re well aware that’s not an option, you cannot leave on your own-“

A painfully wide grin cuts across his face with a breathless chuckle, “Actually, Kanan Jarrus, I don’t. I told you already, my memory is as about as reliable as your sight. And what’s better is when I cut myself off from the dark, it’s false sense of clarity is not the only thing that left me. My patience has warn thin. I always had an extraordinarily high amount of that, if I remember even that much. But you are cutting it shorter.” He pauses, breath halting in his lungs before he releases after a moment. “You have no reason to trust me, I do not belittle that nor whatever it is you are personally dealing with. I would give you my honesty, but you do not trust it.”

“I don’t know your intentions, I don’t know your allegiances, and I don’t know your values. And you expect me to be willing to trust you? After everything? That you suddenly grew a conscious?” Shaking his head, Kanan sneers. “I shouldn’t even be here.”

He brings his palms up, open hands, open mind, willing mind. “You’re right, I haven’t ‘suddenly grown’ what you would call a conscious. I never had one- even before my fall, and being honest with you, I probably never will.” He uses every bit of will power he can muster to relax the tension within him then turns to face Kanan.

“Figures,” Kanan scoffs, shaking his head as he turns away from him. “Why did I even-“

Taking the extra effort to humble his own tone, he tries to will out every bit of gentleness he’s capable of producing. “If I may continue. Please.” He keeps his voice calm and even.

The knight still looks displeased, but holds his tongue as he turns back to face him.

“I’m not sure why I never had that innate ability, the one to be empathetic, but that doesn’t mean I’m disqualified from the light. I can built skills. I can dedicate myself. More than anything, I want to pursue the truth. It’s been a rough pill for me to swallow that for too long I have confused my perception for it. My perception is but a limited lense of the full picture. What I believe to be truth may not be what is real or what is true. I think, I have been lied to and misled. But I have nothing else to compare to. It’s a battle just for me to stay grounded at all.” He sighs, cutting himself off. “I find that I don’t know…”

A darker hand slides on top of one of his pale palms. He blinks rapidly, trying to force his eyesight to focus back in. He can make out the notable details of Kanan’s face. He’s noticeably calmer.

“I make no promises, nor obligations. But as long as you are making progress, I’ll see what I can help with. You’re right, you’ve lost patience and you’re fighting for real clarity, but you’re willing to be open, to relearn. If you really are after the truth, I will give that to you.” Sighing, Kanan steps back. “I myself have… been more on edge. I’m more guarded than ever now.”

“It’s hard for you to tell if you’re being reasonably cautious or cynically guarded?” He studies Kanan.

“Yeah.”

He watches as the tension Kanan holds does not lessen. He tries to think of someway he could lessen that stress of distrust from the Jedi, maybe finally make some headway. It’s very appearing that the man worries that he is only using this exchange as a way to get the knight to lower his gaurd, get him closer to his crew before springing a trap.

“I have a deal to offer you, something to set your mind at ease?”

Scoffing, Kanan shakes his head, “What could you possibly-“

“You’ll have my word. No harm will befall you or your crew. As long as you tell not a soul about Kallus’s change in allegiance. You will pretend you know nothing.”

Kanan looks taken aback, almost skeptic. “Tell me why.”

He rolls his eyes, “You know full and well that you need to be very clear about your questions while i lack my proximity to the force, Jarrus.”

“Why should I trust that Kallus’s position as a rebel spy- whether he really is or not- holds any importance to you?”

“Because Kallus has risked much more than a shiny little status to help me, to reveal himself to you. I also don’t like owing people, regardless of whether I consider them a friend or not. And at this moment, everything I am working on, everything I’m cultivating to be is owed to him. If it’s a future I owe him, it’s a future I will secure for him.”

———

+[This either will take place at the end of them in the Jedi temple, or during a third or final meet.]+

+The two have just finished a session where the former inquisitor spoke of what events he thinks he can remember before becoming The Grand Inquisitor. It will be snippets from the first set of notes on this post.

+Kanan pieces together that he needs to carve out an identity for himself. That before he can commit himself, he has to at least know himself, or the cycle will only repeat.

���Figure out who I am?” He has been avoiding dwelling on that line of thoughts. It’s visceral, the reaction to not allow himself to. The very thought makes him sick to his stomach and threatens for the planet to swallow him whole. “How- I can’t-“

“You can, but you don’t have too all at once. One piece at a time.”

“Where would I even begin?”

“A name is a start.” Kanan smiles genuinely, almost as a light hearted tease.

“I can’t remember my-“

“It doesn’t have to be what your name once was. You can chose anything.” Kanan rubs his chin after a short pause, “To make it easier to narrow options down, is there anyone in your past that resonated with you? Or something that holds meaning to you?”

He pauses, pieces of the journal series floating in his thoughts. “Maybe, but I cannot remember their full name. Just a couple syllables.”

“That would be as good a start as any. It can be yours, unique to you, inn that light.”

He nods slow, chewing on his lower lip for a moment. He takes a deep breath, Kanan listening intently and patiently.

“My name will be Dimal.”

[hardly-an-escape]

I have a twelve-hour car drive tomorrow and for once I don't have to do most of the driving

so how's about you come and drop a prompt in my inbox and I'll write you a drabble <3

[jtownraindancer]

thinking about how no one will ever fully know you

thinking about how there are thousands of versions of you that will be remembered and not one of them will fully be you

how the bus driver you shared a joke with will remember your laugh

how the waitress from a restaurant you'll never see again will remember you comforting her during a stressful shift

how someone you passed in the street fell in love with you because of how you stopped to watch a musician or stare at a chalk drawing or shared a smile with a stranger

how the person who loves you most will remember how you made them smile and many of your flaws with fondness

how your first roommate will remember secrets and stories that no one else will ever hear

how your coworkers will remember how you helped them get through a shift

how your neighbors will remember you for your sense of style or your favorite color or how you greet them hello

how a friend you met online may not know what you even look like but has come to love you as if you were frequent visitors

thinking of how these thousands of versions of you are all living and breathing in someone's memory long after you're gone

thinking of how something you've done- something you said- could live on for decades through stories passed down through generations or offhanded conversations

thinking of how no one will ever fully know you

thinking of how out there, somewhere, you could be the hero in any number of stories that you'll never hear or know of

thinking of how much more that makes me want to be a better person

[ardentpoop]

there’s more to these messy old drafts than I remembered lol bc I felt like sharing bits of this one too. samndean bodyswap fic set during early gadreel era. again: unformatted, unedited, I could do it a million times better today if I wanted to. also written around 2014.

@spntrunk @arobats

obnoxious reminder that I’m on ao3 @/idiotbrothers if you’re interested in my more recent writing

[coldarena]

tagged by @kindsummer . Rules: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

i don't have many wips i just have a onenote compiled of 200k of unedited/unformatted ackeddie fic i cba to upload

civilian

the house that heaven built

reverse course

168 hours

alltlao

the price of oil in ploiesti

anopheles (wip)

letter fic (wip)

tagging @pfctipper @revolverbibelot

[wildmtthyme]

I know, I know... but y'all don't understand just how many unfinished, unedited, unformatted fics and drabbles I have on my laptop.

.:WIP Preview:. Seventies AU SanSan written entirely from Sandor's POV

Tor chuckled and Robb glanced over his shoulder at them, shaking his head as they moved past boxes and piles of packing materials. They don’t listen to anyone but her half the time. He said it in a frustrated tone and they were following him and it was all normal, passing what looked like a room that was going to be a living room and into a room that was apparently the large dining room with the kitchen nearby.

They all jumped and Robb’s hands went into his hair as he yelled… Sandor just barked out a shocked sort of amused sound while Theon? Theon howled with laughter, falling against the wall and clapping loudly… Tor froze and Sam and Gilly just looked shocked as hell! Because they walked in… and there was a boy standing there wearing what looked like a football helmet… they heard him call out Robb, look! I found my helmet! Right before a girl who looked to be a little bit older than him fucking whacked him in the head with an aluminum bat, the ping echoed through the room and the boy went down only to pop back up and hold his arms up victoriously.

Sansa came rushing in and wrestled the bat away from the girl. No, no, no, no! No hitting your brother in the head with a bat, Arya Stark! – He’s fine! Look! We have to test the equipment, San-sah! – San, I’m fine, see?! It worked like it’s supposed to. He shook his head as Sansa tried to wrangle these two kids… she held the bat in one hand that was also holding a kitchen towel… and then using the other, grabbed each child one after the other by their upper arm and directed them out of the room. Go wash up for dinner!

She snapped at them before she shot an angry look at Robb and then at Theon, holding her hand up in question. Just stand there and watch, huh, Robb? Robb held his hand up. I just walked in the room! What was I supposed to do? Flash Gordon myself over there?! Chill out, San! His brow shot down and he felt the sudden urge to tell Robb to back the fuck off… it was clear to him that Sansa was stretched way too fucking thin at that moment. But the woman just took a deep breath and held the bat up towards him. Go. Put. This. Up.

[moonlightpeddler]

Learned a valuable lesson.

If you have subs, always keep your credit card information up to date.

Couldn't use any of my documents because I forgot about it and didn't bring my new card, so I had to write and code in win editor and now I have 100% unformatted, unchecked and unedited docs that I have to sort out before I can use them for anything.

Great time.

[noxturnalnymph]

WIP Wednesday! (What Hurts the Most)

Thank you to @theywhowriteandknowthings for the tag (last Wednesday) and I decided to wait until this week to respond.

I wanted to post a snippet of a WIP I have been working on but isn't anywhere near finished. This is a bit of the 20k+ words I have so far, it is unedited and unformatted.

It's a story loosely inspired by the movie Waiting, featuring a 24 y/o (NoOutbreakAU!) barback Joel Miller in the year 1999, meeting the restaurant's new young Hostess (reader) who goes by the nickname Sweets. Angst and love and more angst ensues.

He slowly takes his guitar out of his lap and sets it down next to them. “Maybe you don’t really like country mus-” and then she’s launched herself across the small distance between them, crushing her body against his, tipping him onto his back with the force of it. She lands on top of him, bodies pressed together, her face inches above his, tears spilling over her eyes and hitting his cheeks. When he realizes this is her reaction, all he can sputter is a quiet, “oh,” before both of his hands wrap around her head and he crashes his mouth on hers. 

She can’t stop the literal sob that leaves her mouth, traveling into his. Her eyes squeeze shut, spilling more tears out. He moves his thumbs across her cheeks soothing her, while still firmly gripping both sides of her face, their mouths slowly moving together. His thumbs drag down the hollow of her cheeks, gently pressing her jaw open and he slides his tongue into her open mouth, letting her moan into the wet cavernous heat of him. 

His hands leave her face to wrap around her waist, and he pushes his hips up, rolling over and guiding her gently to the ground, positioning himself over her. His knees straddle one of her thighs, keeping the core of his body a respectable distance away from her. He tilts his upper body forward to plant open mouthed kisses along her jaw and down her neck, gently nibbling along her collarbones. She gasps loudly. 

He pulls back to look at her. Oh my god she’s so fucking pretty. She’s so fucking responsive. She’s so fucking soft. He moves his hands, still at her waist, up to her ribcage. He pauses for just a moment before moving both palms overtop her breasts, kneading them while she throws her head back, keening with her eyes screwed shut. His eyes keep darting back and forth between her breasts and her face. He can’t decide if he wants her to make eye contact with him or if that would overwhelm him with shame. He must look like a mess. Pupils blown wide, mouth parted, face flush with lust. He keeps gently caressing her, rubbing his thumbs over her hardening nipples. 

He looks back to her face to find she is finally meeting his eyes. She looks wrecked. He fucking loves it. But he also can’t look at her. He can’t have her look at him. Especially if she looks at him like that. Like she’s doing right now. Like he’s water in the desert. Like he’s the answer to a prayer. Like he’s a dream come true. 

He moves to rest on his elbows, caging outside her shoulders, and lowers his chest down to press against hers. He kisses her neck again, this time licking and sucking along her pulse point, tucking up under her jaw, moving towards her ear. He hits a spot along the way that makes her CRY out, her arms squeezing around him, pulling him so tight to her that he can feel the stiff peaks of her nipples poking into him. He stops momentarily and she whines a quiet “nooo.” His mouth begins again, finding the same spot and sucking as hard as he can while her moaning increases, her body beginning to writhe under him. 

“OH MY GOD!” Joel hears being shouted from the doorway. He pushes himself off her, quickly scooting backwards. Time freezes. His whole body tightens. The pumping of his blood in his ears drowns out any ambient sound. When did Ben open the door? “Oh…. nevermind…” Ben says, exhaling with relief, “for a minute there I thought you were a vampire,” he says, taking slow steps forward. 

Sweets still hasn’t moved. Laying flat on her back, chest heaving, eyes black with desire. Joel doesn’t even know what to say. How do I explain this? What is Ben thinking? What should I say to him? Wait, did he say he thought I was a vampire? And Ben is just making his way across the room towards his bed, stepping a semi-circle around where Sweets is still laying on the ground, panting. He goes under his loft bed, grabs his giant orange bong, and follows his path back to the doorway, exiting and closing the door behind him without a second glance. 

They are left alone together again, the now quiet room almost echoing with the moans it was just filled with. Joel tries to focus on his breathing, still feeling half deaf from the panicked blood flow surging through his head. Sweets finally sits up, hair wild, eyes lidded, a purple mark blooming on her neck. “I’m sorry abou-” he starts, not even sure which part he’s apologizing for. “It’s okay,” she interrupts, probably meaning for all of it.

[0rbwitch]

I'm hosting a game jam! I want bad games, unfinished games, unformatted games, unedited games, broken games, whatever is haunting your notes app that you think people should read.

[thatpocketninja]

Major spoilers for Ika's character not that I think any of you really care or will remember by the time it matters but I just want to gush about the symbolism surrounding their character it's so good and perfect and I love it so much so yeah I'm going to rant

This is an unformatted, unedited rant that I rushed out on my lunch break. Do not expect quality.

So the central conflict to Ashi and Ika's characters is "Are you a weapon?" Ashi sees how they are used and the damage they cause and if course rejects that, they defect and to do well... The plot. But I want to focus on Ika. Ika is the opposite, they see all these horrible things they've done, and it hurts. So they buy into this weapon mentality. They choose to believe that they are simply a machine following orders, and thus not responsible for the damage they have caused. During Ashi and Ika's initial fight, Ashi asks the question.

"Are you just a weapon?"

They throw their guns to the ground, rejecting the idea. But Ika, Ika looks at their own weapons. They aren't things that can be tossed away. They are in their arms, on their back, part of them in every way. They can't rid themselves of the weapon mentality. The more they buy into it, the worse things they do, and the worse things they do, the more they have to buy into it to escape the responsibility.

As the plot progresses Ika is always under the command of whoever is currently the main antagonist, carrying out their wishes. Just following orders. Eventually our protagonists, Ashi included, take down the big bad and suddenly Ika has no one to tell them what to do. But they're a weapon, and weapons kill, so that's exactly what they do. Without someone giving orders though, someone to pass the blame onto, the guilt piles up. They lash out, doing worse and worse things, escalating further and further in an attempt to prove to themselves that they have no choice, that they are nothing more than a weapon. But it doesn't work. Not without someone else to blame. So the pain compounds and eventually it's too much to bear, they decide that the only way to escape it is to end their life, and take as many people with them as possible.

Obviously, Ashi can't let that happen. And in the climax of everything that has happened, using that connection between the two machines, that connection that has been beaten and abused but never broken, Ashi sacrifices themselves to stop Ika. The exact opposite of what Ika was trying to do. The exact opposite of what a weapon would do. In the face of this action Ika is forced to accept that there is a choice, that they can be more. The weapons that were once so integral to Ika's being fall away, as the weapon mentality fades. The armor that held back the weight of their transgressions peels off and hits the ground. And Ika collapses into Ashi's dying arms, unable to stand against the guilt. And then Ashi is gone. And Ika is alone, forced to grapple with their mistakes for the rest of their life.

[spiteless-xo]

i always set up the next tbaw chapter in ao3 in the drafts so i can check formatting and make final edits directly on ao3. that way, i can just post it first thing when i wake up on tuesday

and i almost posted the next chapter just now!!!! my mouse literally hovered over the "post" button for a solid second before i caught myself and switched to "draft"

omg i'm sure you guys would've loved that but i would've cried 😭 plz don't look at my unedited, unformatted mess

[sclitvde]

here's a snippet of the first chapter of the barimen x fem!oc fic. unedited and unformatted. word vomit. it'll be live on ao3 sometime in the next week.

“Will you not kiss your husband farewell?” The question is a pointed one, coming from thin lips curled in a devilish smile. Aaron, son of the Governor of Akenash, means to critique his wife, to offer, in the question, that for her to not fall at his flank and beseech him to not leave their apartments is nothing short of a great insult. 

Daena picks at the dry flesh around the nail of her thumb, chin dipping in an attempt to hide her face from her husband’s cold, prying gaze. She sports a pensive frown as she was not one to hide her emotions, great or small, and only lifts her head when the words spiraling in her mind align. 

“You have my heart,” a debilitating truth she is beginning to regret. “A farewell is too permanent, no?” She expects no answer back, relenting before she continues her hypothetical.

On the tips of her toes, neck elongates to press a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. But before her lips bless him with a kiss, he turns his head sharply, hand forcefully at the nape of her neck, roughly pressing his lips to her own. The embrace forces her in that lifted position, legs and feet in a painful, burning limbo. Frantically she leans back into his hand, unable to escape his slick tongue as it drags across her lips in their frenzied embrace.

It is a painful few seconds before Aaron loosens his grip, her head turning to feel his tongue slide against the fullness of her cheek. Instinctively she raises her arm, presses the velvet of her sleeve to her cheek to wipe the saliva stains from her face. The back of her hand stops at the corner of her mouth and, while she would delight in removing all she could of him from her, she was all too aware that wiping away his kisses could invoke his ire.

She presses the fullness of her lips together, bears through the slickness of his tongue still on them, and waits for his triumphant, cruel, amused laughter to die down.

“Farewell, husband.” Her tone is less than lovely, his title escaping her in an exhausted sigh.

Amusement falls starkly from Aaron’s features, replaced by a cold cruelty she has never known from him. The blood rushes from her face, a chill creeping through her body, pulse pounding in her ears. In her discomfort of his reaction, she shifts, placing shaky hands on his chest to steady them and, to then, appease him. “Will you not return to me quickly?” Fingers play with the cloth buttons of his doublet, a wry smile hiding the twisted pain in her chest. The seconds of silence between her question and his response kills her little by little, dread eating her alive from the inside out. But finally her husband speaks, a smile replacing the wildness in his eyes. “I will, Sweetness.” The pet name conveys his contentment and she can breathe again. How terrifying it is, the instability of his temperament; his volatility is noted in the back of her mind, where she begins to carefully plan and foretell a way to quell it the best way to tame a rabid dog.

Rough, large hands hold her face as he forces a kiss to her forehead; a farewell she has long waited for. And, before she may gather her bearings, he is gone, the echo of their chamber's doors slamming her only company in the sudden absence of his presence.

She will relish in this silence…. until his return.

[starfinss]

I accidentally just posted an unformatted, unedited draft instead of saving it to drafts and if you saw that no you didn’t.

[allstatic-nonoise]

Y’know they said they were gonna be worse than Game of Thrones and, well, after everything they did in fact deliver on at least that promise

would anyone like a summary. for laughs

[heroiclives]

@hclybranches

      " Daddy!" Smile is given up to him. Mommy was special, and so was daddy. He wanted to be special to - and he was. "Watch this!" Hand set down a glass of water and he made a small hand movement. The water started to rise out of the glass. "It's not the only thing I can do! I'm like you and mommy!"

[abraxos-the-phantom]

Scum Disciple Deleted

-scenes. Here you go @vodkassassin. Unformatted and mostly unedited save for some awkward phrasing I fixed as I skimmed through it. I have a habit of merely taking out scenes rather than straight deleting them when I don't think they work out so if you see it on the fic shhh I probably just found a better place for it, but for the most part I think these are unused

TLJ + MF; Flashback/Illusion

[Log: File:Save_??-???.?.????.log]

“You know, for a man so keen on maintaining the preference of a dignified cultivator, you are fairly quick to disband such things as you see fit,” Tianlang-jun mused.

Ming Fan threw a dirty look to the former Overlord of the Demonic Realm over his bowl of beef stir fry lily bulbs. It was a specialty in this region, boasting a sweet lily bulb due to the length of time the farmers around the area spent cultivating the plant. In other words, it was delicious and a welcome change to the guilt trip galore that was eating Lou Binghe’s cooking.

Oh to eat that delicious snow congee without feeling the compulsion to throw it all back up-

Well, no use dwelling on such things.

“Most of anything could be considered vulgar when in close proximity to you,” Ming Fan quipped, taking a generous helping of the stir-fry between his chopsticks. “If you had as much sensibility as you had sensuality, I guarantee that people would be more fond of you. Unfortunately, it is too late for me.”

“Hoh? Is that so?” Tianlang-jun’s lips curled in a smirk in spite of the fact that Ming Fan had no interest looking his way, regardless of the other demon happened to do. Some odd five or so years have taught Ming Fan that there were times when the best move for dealing with the other was simply ignoring him.

Ming Fan maintained his bland tone as he briefly paused to speak, “Yes.”

Tianlang-jun shook his head, “Honestly. Are all disciples of Cang Qiong like you, or are you just the special one.”

Said disciple only gave Tianlang-jun a significant dirty look, “You’d have to actually behave yourself to get to know another disciple of Cang Qiong.”

“Eh,” the Heavenly Demon leaned back against his chair with his hands crossed behind his head. “Too boring.”

Ming Fan made a noncommitting sound as he finally ate the last of his order, letting out a satisfied sigh as he leaned back in his seat.

“Ming Fan, a question if you are so gracious enough to grant me such a thing.”

Ming Fan only raised a brow, “You may ask, whether I answer is not on the table.”

“Why?” Tianlang-jun paused as he attempted to think about his question. “Why do you maintain this relationship of ours? It’s not as if you’re on any obligation to maintain basic relations for a political reason, and you hardly ask me anything so you aren’t after my wisdom. With Lou Binghe going in and out Cang Qiong Sect, it’s not as if I can threaten your Sect any more than I could try and fight with my son.”

Ming Fan crossed his arms, humming for a moment tilting his head just enough to convey thoughtfulness he turned to look the demon lord in the eye, “If you were to be confronted with a former enemy of a war without meaning, what would you do?”

Tianlang-jun hummed, “I wouldn’t care.”

“Exactly,” Ming Fan pointed out. “Now what would you do if you discovered you were on the wrong side of that war?”

“…I still wouldn’t care.”

“Would you?” Ming Fan hummed, “Well, that’s your choice.”

“So is that all? You pity me?”

“Not quite,” Ming Fan shrugged, idly arranging the finish plate on the table. “More like my recompense of sorts.”

Tianlang-jun’s expression was unreadable as he stared, quietly adding, “You realize that I’ve killed hundreds of cultivators like you. Your age, younger- older. It didn’t matter, they were obstacles in my path and I removed them.”

“Of that I do not doubt, but these days- the line between righteous and mad is thin,” Ming Fan snorted. “I stand at the meager in-between myself. But what else can I do? I am but a mere mortal, attempting to right his wrongs.”

Ming Fan took a final sip at his tea, “Sometimes, that is all one can do without going well and truly mad.”

Tianlang-jun chuckled, “I suppose that’s true.”

The hours seemed endless after that, a moment in time felt like hundreds upon billions as the two simply- existed.

“So,” Tianlang-jun said after an eternity’s moment. “What are you doing here Little Cultivator?”

Ming Fan blinked, “Is this not one amongst our many meetings?”

The world seem to blur around him like ink amongst a pool of water. Fading into implied images as the sky and trees distorted. The sounds of the earth quieted to a hushed whisper. Ming Fan’s eyes casted around in confusion as the lively village dulled into a dead silence.

“It isn’t,” Tianlang-jun leaned back, smirking. “You’ve spent so long with me that I am now here with you- in limbo. I’m flattered Fan-er.”

Ming Fan narrowed his eyes, scowling, before looking away, “Definitely. Tianlang-jun never called me that to my face.”

Ming Fan twisted away from the…demon for some time to think.

TLJ + MF - Actual Flashback

“You look like you went a round and three more with a golem,” Tianlang-jun tsked at him.

“Are you going to lecture me about coming out while I look like I lost against said golem or are you going to sit your ass down and have some tea like we agreed?” Ming Fan snapped, wincing as he sat.

Tianlang-jun whistled wolfishly. “Why, I never took that War God to be the kinky type.”

“Don’t be so obscene,” Ming Fan rolled his eyes. “He landed me flat on my ass almost a dozen times. Of course sitting down would be a pain.”

“You know there’s this flower that-“

“No.”

“But I hurt just looking at you,” Tianlang-jun whined like a particularly annoying brat. “One tiny little adventure to look for a flower that heals bruises instantly, it’s a Lotus of a blue hue, I hear those people from the far West have been using it for some time.”

“And then Liu Qingge will have me spar against him, again, and this hellish circle will repeat itself. I am only saved by the fact that my cultivation is not as advanced as one of a Peak Lords, otherwise I would be healed by the end of the week and my pain begins anew,” Ming Fan shook his head. “I appreciate your concern, I really do, but no.”

“Aww, well since you’re being so polite about it…” Tianlang-jun sighed and sipped from the tea. “Mn- this is good. Where did you get it?”

“Shang-shishu taught me how to prepare lemon tea before the fruits go out of season, apparently there is a sweetened-cold version of this as well, but he has yet to refine the technicalities of the ingredients. I worry for him, he always seems so busy.”

“He looks like a rodent who accidentally ate a pepper, though I suppose in this case it would be a block of ice what with Mobei-jun being his lover and all.”

“I did wonder how that happened, and worried a brief time. An Ding Peak’s disciples had said that their master would occasionally come home bruised and barely able to walk, they were rearing to go to war with the Northern Demons far before everything else happened.” Ming Fan sighed, “Well, it isn’t any of my business. I’m sure they’re dealing with the situation in their own way.”

“True that, those An Ding Peak children…physically they are weak, but it is always the weaker ones that surprise you the most. Especially when angry,” Tianlang-jun smiled as he mused. “Afterall, hornets don’t seem like much at first glance. That Mobei-jun has his work cut out for him, ah, speaking of. What of those two? Surely the boy is tip-toeing these days.”

“He tends to keep to the bamboo house, and we tend to stay far away from the bamboo house, especially at night.” Ming Fan raised his hand to drink. “That is all I will say of the matter.”

Ming Fan sighed, rubbing a hand against his eyes, “I am getting far too old for this.”

“Oh please, you’re not even a century old.”

“Hm, and yet somehow I am still significantly more mature than you. Have you reached the regression stage of life Tianlang-jun? I must say, I’m rather peeved that it’s a mental deterioration rather than a physical one for you demons.”

“Hoh?” Tianlang-jun leaned forward, smirking. “Wish to test how youthful I can be Little Cultivator?”

Ming Fan raised a hand idly pointing at the silks of Tianlang-jun’s clothes, startling the heavenly demon as he wondered just what the other had found on his clothes.

Then Ming Fan flicked up, hitting the former Demon Lord up the lip and under the nose, causing Tianlang-jun to recoil, sputtering from the unjust attack. The audacity.

“I’m sure you’d at least warm the bed,” He deadpanned, sipping at his tea without a care as Tianlang-jun sputtered indignantly.

NMJ/MF - Original Re-meeting for ch 52; added here for my convenience (cus i don't wanna make another post)

“Gather everyone who can fight!” One voice called. “Sect Leader Nie is being surrounded by a pack of hell hounds! They need help.”

Ming Fan was out and running before anyone could even blink- with only Liu Qingge and Tianlang-jun holding enough time to react by following him.

-

“Shit-“ Mingjue cursed, swinging around Bàxià to hurl one attacking hound over to the side. “Meng Yao- you alright?!”

“Could use-” Meng Yao grimaced as he had to back off to avoid the snapping jaws of another hound. “Some help.”

“Reinforcements should be on the way!” Mei Lin cursed venomously under her breath. “Just where the hell did all these damned dogs come from?!”

“We’re being overrun!” Lang Fengyi yelped as he narrowly avoided claws.

“Fuck-“ Mingjue gathered his energy, willing it to fill him once more. “Get ready to run! I should be able to distract them long enough to-“

“Don’t worry about that.”

The disciples of Nie turned to find a man arrogantly walking through the field, the hounds yipping in fear and running from him, as well as another man clad in white and silver who eyed the hounds back.

Tianlang-jun stood before the disciples of Qinghe Nie with a bright smile, “Relax now, everything will be fine.”

Liu Qingge huffed, drawing his sword, “Says you. We have to make sure he’s not overworking himself remember?”

There was a distant rumbling- an ominous presence that washed over them to the point where all the hounds began to shudder and shake in fear as they too yipped around fearfully.

Descend with great speed. Swift and merciless. Run my enemies. Leave none left alive. May death greet you well.

Formation formed.

Ming Fan dropped his sword with militaristic precision, tilting all the swords generated by his power towards the ground in varying angles.

Heavenly Wrath Formation.

Tianlang-jun looked up in the surprise, “Don’t tell me that’s-“

“It is,” Liu Qingge scowled.

“Who-“ Nie Mingjue began- before all hell broke loose.

Liu Qingge’s expression was thunderous as he swept past rows of demonic hounds, tilting on hand and waiting-

Another man dropped from the sky not a second later, catching Liu Qingge’s robes and righting him before swinging his legs on the man’s waist to get around and jab another hound in the back- Tianlang-jun was swift to join the fray, allowing the shorter cultivator to move around him to get at all the lucky hounds who managed to move away from Ming Fan’s deadly aim fast enough.

While Tianlang-jun added to the deadly partnership with his own flare, it was the pair of Ming Fan and Liu Qingge that showed the obvious years of partnership between them- for the two had years of spars and night hunts to guide their blades where they need be.

Heads flew, limbs joining them as the immortals of Cang Qiong Sect and Tianlang-jun of the Heavenly Demon Line slaughtered the feared and the rowdy- leaving those of Qinghe Nie in awe.

“..Wei…” Meng Yao said, knees beginning to grow weak. “Wei Fan?!”

The man abruptly froze, glancing towards their direction before seeming to move on instinct- the War God sensing the sudden change and using his arm to propel him outward, allowing the man to fly across the air and land his sword true through the skull of the hell hound that was just about to take a chunk from Nie Mingjue’s side.

Ming Fan, not upset as he was, barked at them venomously, “Just what do you think you’re doing?! Fucking move! You’re in a battle field! Fight damn you! Are you not of Qinghe Nie?!”

“Teacher Wei!” Mei Lin cried- openly actually, crying.

“Oh for the love of-“ Ming Fan cursed. “I’ll take your crying and yelling and cursing later, lift your sabres and fight!”

“Xiao-Fan!”

Ming Fan turned, grunting as he launched his sword in the Heavenly Demon’s direction and skewering the hound. “What?!”

“Lower your blood pressure!”

Ming Fan felt his blood pressure rise out of sheer spite. “Fuck you!”

“A-Fan,” Liu Qingge growled. “You just performed one of the most powerful formations while silent. Calm down.”

“I can’t!” Ming Fan caught himself with a scowl. “But I’m not upset!”

“For the love of-“ Liu Qingge turned to Tianlang-jun. “Can you handle the rest?”

“Yeah I got it,” Tianlang-jun batted away a hound with his bare fist. “Just take care of our pissed off little horse first.”

Liu Qingge wasted no time, grabbing the now fuming Ming Fan, his nose beginning to trickle with a line of blood and generally causing the already shocked disciples of Qinghe Nie to panic.

“Hey,” Liu Qingge’s voice was soft as it was firm. “Calm down. Calm. That’s not a request.”

“I’m trying,” Ming Fan hissed. “You try doing this in the middle of battle.”

“Alright back up plan,” Liu Qingge turned to the still shocked Nie Mingjue. “You. Make yourself useful. He needs a distraction.”

“Wha-“

Liu Qingge shoved Ming Fan into Nie Mingjue, the taller man abruptly catching the man by the waist to steady him before something else caused him to loose balance.

Forgot one: Deleted Extra feat. Yang Yixuan + MF; written with it's og formatting since notes preserved my italics somehow

Cold wind swept past the ravine.

Shaking trees and rustling branches provided the background noise for the twittering creatures who lived in the back mountains. Within this quiet land was a surrounding of high elevation mountains spanning all around the mountain side.

There, Ming Fan sat quietly. Watching the creatures bellow- there were no humans for miles save for those few people within the Ancient Sect, and they were hardly just human anymore.

“So, you’ve finally decided to get off your ass.”

Ming Fan stiffened.

Yang Yixuan’s arms were cross across his breast, idly looking down from the view of Qing JIng Peak.

The landscape had changed much since Ming Fan had last come here, it was greener. With the trees far taller than when Ming Fan had last seen them, the older trees cut down by the ravages of war and time- but new ones taking their place. The silence too, was new. With no disciples Cang Qiong Mountain was a far quieter place than it had been during the height of its Sect Years. Some ascended, some peacefully settling into their next life, and some sticking around. Going to and fro the place carrying out errands and enacting a firm hand where the average Cultivator could not handle. The war had put a damper on such things, what with their stance of neutrality, bu it was no less somewhat of a sobering surprise that those of Cang Qiong Mountain had seen what was happening and judged it would be better to remain quiet.

He knew why of course, it was more practical in the long run for a mythical Sect, they were not here to force the future into their own hands- merely to counter the monsters of the yester years. Still. He wondered.

“You’re thinking so loud I could practically here it,” the former head disciple of Bai Zhan peak, the former Peak Lord himself, continued with a raised brow. “You’re normally quick to empty your mind and dump it onto others.”

Ming Fan scoffed softly, “Normal is a poor basis to use to pass judgement at the moment, even a Bai Zhan Peak buffoon like you should realize such.”

“…”

Ming Fan pursed his lip, anger simmering.

Settle.

Settle.

Settle.

“I’m sorry, that was uncalled for.” He said softly, allowing his fist to slack from their death-like grip.

“You just lost your brohter,” Yang Yixuan said bluntly. “You were a raving asshole when Liu-shifu dragged you here. Pretty much spat at Luo Binghe’s feet and insulted just about everyone.”

Ming Fan restrained the urge to flinch at every word.

“I’d be more than a little troubled if you didn’t act like that after losing your brother.” Yang Yixuan continued with a shake of his head. “It’s good to know that our illustrous Ming Fan is still a human.”

“Have I not proven that time and time again?”

“Dunno,” Ming Fan turned his head, the Bai Zhan Peak’s former sole disciple’s voice turning uncharacteristically soft. “You were doing a pretty good impression of acting like an immortal before.”