#truly i just like seeing all of the fic headers that i designed for this event in one post

[aidanchaser]

Only one more week left of the @mlsquaredance event! I had an absolute blast working on this project and getting to play in the space of some wonderful ML fic. If you haven't had a chance, please read the originals!

Originals & tags linked here:

Partners in Clown by MiaBrown (@miabrown007)

how fair you were in summertime by MissNoodles (@ladyofthenoodle)

Full Exposure by MissNoodles (@ladyofthenoodle)

Close Your Eyes by jennagrins (@jennagrinsoverml)

A Bad Dream by walkingonthestars (@hamsternamedmarinette)

A Fair Trade by sariahsue (@sariahsue)

but princess, wishes do come true by MiaBrown (@miabrown007)

Midnight Snack by Papillon10 (@valiantlyjollynightmare)

When You Let A Ladybug Cure Your Bellyache by wyomingparmesan (@wyomingparmesan)

Another shout out to @sunshinemarauder, @ladyofthenoodle, @wield-the-mighty-pen, @rosekasa, and @ccboomer for all of your help beta reading these 9 remixes! My writing is nothing without an editor, and it was great to get to work with friends from the HP AU in a new context and to make new friends through writing and editing! Thank you all for your hard work, and a double-triple thank you to ladyofthenoodle and the rest of the Miraculous Square Dance team for putting on this event. It has been so much fun! I haven't gotten to write this consistently since I had the HP AU. I was back into doing 3-5k a week again, and it felt so good. Thank you!!

Link to all of my remixes (except for Partners in Chaos, which will drop next Friday!) Link to all event remixes!

[navybrat817]

Down to Business

Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Andy Barber x Female Reader Summary: You meet Andy for lunch and discuss a new potential job. Word Count: Almost 3.1k Warnings: Reader is broke (is that a warning?), sugar daddy offer, slightly d/irty thoughts, slight insecurities, slight power imbalance if you squint, inner monologue, Andy Barber (he's a warning, okay?) Graphic talent and thanks: Banner - @sgt-seabass, Divider - @firefly-graphics , Header - yours truly A/N: More of my Terms and Conditions AU! Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby and @flordeamatista (thanks!), but any and all mistakes are my own. ❤️ Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You knew you were out of your element the moment you stood in front of the restaurant. The pillars and steps were reminiscent of a courthouse, hence the name, but more lavish in design with the ornate marble. It seemed to tower over you, silently judging you for daring to set foot there. You didn't belong there, even if Andy had asked you to join him.

No. I'm not going to let him or myself down by chickening out.

Straightening the skirt of your dress and checking your folder once more to make sure you had your resume, you held your head high as you went inside. You wouldn't pretend to belong in a place this nice, but you refused to belittle yourself. You were smart, determined, and capable, which was how you got your old job. Whatever job Andy had to offer you, you'd make sure he knew you could handle it.

"Hello," you greeted the hostess. "I'm here to meet Andy Barber."

"Yes, he's expecting you," she smiled, giving you a quick once over. The dark blue dress you wore was, you hoped, nice and professional enough for the place and Andy. "Follow me, please."

The emptiness of the restaurant was eerily quiet and made you feel almost uncomfortable before you spotted Andy seated in the middle of the main room. Power clung to him as he rose to his feet, perfectly at ease as he buttoned his suit jacket. You would have thought you were a lamb headed for the slaughter if not for the gentle smile on his face. Your breath hitched before you smiled back and you were thankful you didn't trip over your feet.

"It's good to see you," he said, moving around to pull out your seat. "Thank you for joining me."

You were used to the barrier of the diner counter between the two of you and it hit you just how large and imposing he was up close. The man could break you if he wanted with his size, but it was the gentle smile on his face and the intensity of his blue eyes that struck you as he helped you into the seat. The gesture told you he was a gentleman, but his aura said something lurked beneath the surface.

"Thank you for asking me," you said, his musky cologne lingering as he went back to his chair. "I hope you weren't waiting long."

After Andy invited you to lunch, you downed some coffee and immediately got ready. You wanted to give yourself plenty of time so you wouldn't be late. It would've given a bad impression if you couldn't even be on time for lunch.

"Not at all," he said, the glittering chandelier above him giving him an otherworldly glow. "You look lovely."

Your heart raced as you caught him gazing at you. A man as attractive as Andy Barber calling you lovely felt like a dream. The crackling tension had to be your imagination. Wishful thinking.

"Thank you," you said, wondering if you should tell him how handsome he looked.

No. Don't flirt with your potential boss. Lusting after him won't do me any good.

You opted instead to look over the menu. You didn't see any prices and wondered how much everything cost. Or maybe people didn't care about what they spent at a place this nice. Since you had no clue what the cheapest selection would be, you decided to go with the entree that sounded the most appetizing.

"They have a nice wine selection if you're interested," Andy offered.

You glanced up and locked eyes with him. It was hard to get a read on him, but he likely had a good poker face from practicing law and his business ventures. You wondered how others reacted when he focused his attention on them. You refused to look away.

"I think I'll stick with water," you smiled. Not that there was anything wrong with having a drink in the middle of the day, but you were there to discuss business. He could have offered it as a test and you didn't want to fail. "I appreciate the offer though."

Andy hummed and leaned back in his seat. He didn't look upset, which was a good sign. "Nervous?"

I'm just sitting in one of the nicest places in the city with the most gorgeous man I ever laid eyes on who could change my future. No nerves at all.

"What makes you say that?" you asked.

"Your posture," he answered as he gestured to you. "Tension in your shoulders."

"Oh," you said, only a little surprised that he noticed. "Is it wrong to say that I am?"

"No, because I told you I appreciate honesty," he reminded you. "May I ask why you're nervous? What happened to being 'cautiously optimistic'?"

He listened to me.

"Because," you began, setting your hands in your lap so he wouldn't see you twist your fingers together. "I want to make a good impression and I don't want you to regret asking me to this lunch, especially since you went through the trouble of having them open the place."

I want my luck to turn around.

"If you hadn't made a good impression on me to begin with, I wouldn't have asked you to lunch," he spoke, reaching for your folder and opening it as your shoulders relaxed a bit. "Time is precious and I wouldn't waste mine or yours."

"That makes sense," you said as his eyes skimmed the paper. "I kept my objective simple since I wasn't sure what the position was, but I could update it if you need."

"No need," he said, lifting his gaze once he finished looking it over. "You have a wonderful resume, which I knew you would, and you're a hard worker. You have nothing to worry about. Trust me."

You felt your insides warm up from the praise that poured in. While Andy hadn't seen you in an office setting, he had seen you in action at the diner. He knew you had a can-do attitude and could remain calm under pressure. You were friendly even when people were rude. You just needed your luck to turn around so you could stay on top of your bills.

"Thank you," you whispered, the knot in your stomach unraveling. "I appreciate hearing that."

"It's the truth," he assured you before the waiter came over. "But why don't we order before we discuss anything further? Pick whatever you want."

"Okay," you smiled, mentally telling your stomach not to growl as the waiter poured you each a glass of water and went over the specials.

You took the opportunity to glance at Andy when he ordered, trying not to get lost in how confident he sounded while simply picking out something to eat. While he wasn't stern with the waiter, you noticed his voice wasn't as soft as how he spoke to you. Maybe it was a coincidence.

Maybe it was also a coincidence that he stared down the waiter when it was your turn to order. An unreadable expression again, but something colder. At least he wasn't rude to him.

"Did you have any questions for me?" you asked once the waiter left.

"Down to business, aren't you?" Andy smiled. "That depends on how the next part of this conversation will go. Have you heard of Huffman Enterprises?"

You nodded. Scott Huffman was another former lawyer and an associate of Andy's. The name came up when you did your research.

"He's expanding thanks to a merger and needs new employees," he explained, tapping the folder with his finger. "I know for a fact he has openings for positions similar to your previous job on what's likely a higher pay scale. All I have to do is make a call and he'll hire you on the spot."

You placed your hands on the table as you leaned forward slightly, trying not to appear too eager. You enjoyed your last job before they had to let you go. The opportunity sounded too good to be true though. And you weren't sure why, but it disappointed you that it was a friend of Andy's that would potentially be your boss and not Andy himself.

Maybe it was a blessing in disguise since I'd probably be too busy fantasizing about the man in front of me.

"That sounds wonderful, but why do I feel like there's a 'but' in there?"

"There's that cautiously optimistic side you talked about," he smiled sadly, the knot in your stomach starting to form again. "Because the job isn't available immediately. It will be a few months before you can start. I'm sorry it isn't sooner."

There it is.

Your heart sank, but you didn't hang your head. Maybe that was why Andy didn't tell you the exact details of the job. Had he said immediately that you couldn't start right away, maybe you wouldn't have taken him up on his offer to meet. It could still work if you had to tough it out for a few months. Maybe you could get a second job in the meantime to help cover your expenses.

Only maybe.

You jolted when his hand covered yours, snapping you out of your thoughts. "I can see the wheels turning in your head, honey. Be honest with me. Can you survive the next few months on what you're making now?"

Tears threatened to surface when you didn't answer. You would have to find a way, even if it ruined your credit if you couldn't stay on top of your bills. Or even if you lost your small apartment. You didn't want to be another crushed dreamer in the city.

"I didn't think so," he said, his voice laced with sympathy. "What if I offered to help you?"

"Help me how? By giving me a loan?"

No one helped for free and no way would you be able to pay him back within a reasonable timeframe. The interest alone would drain your bank account. It would be another circle of issues. You didn't want that with Andy or anyone else. You also didn't want to be a charity case.

He brushed his thumb over your hand in a featherlight motion before he pulled away. "Not a loan, but what if I got you caught up on your bills and covered your rent until you could start that job?"

"And what would I have to do for you, Mr. Barber?" you carefully asked.

"I told you to call me Andy," he said, his eyes not leaving yours as he sipped his drink.

Heat rolled down your chest as he licked the liquid from his lip. "What would I have to do for you, Andy?"

"Be there for me," he stated as a matter of fact, running his fingers along his beard. They were so long and thick. "I have some functions to attend and some traveling to do over the next few months. I need someone by my side for all of them and I want that person to be you."

"An assistant?"

He shook his head. "I have an assistant. I'd like you to be my companion."

It wasn't humiliation that washed over you as he waited for you to speak. A wave of shock, perhaps, as you processed his words. Maybe you hadn't heard him correctly.

You waited for the laughter. The punchline. It wasn't a job he was offering you.

It was something else entirely.

"You want me to be an escort?" you asked just above a whisper.

"If ‘escort’ is what you want to call it, but I prefer companion," he said, the corner of his lip lifting. "Escorts sometimes sleep with their clients and I didn't say you have to sleep with me."

You were thankful you didn't have a drink in your mouth. You likely would've spit it out or choked. Maybe he didn't say it, but did he want it? Would he ask that of you?

Would he eventually expect that of me?

"First thing, if you agree, you'll have to quit the diner so you'll be available. Which means you can't take another job in the meantime. I'll have clothes and jewelry bought for you and also give you petty cash in a sense for anything else you need. I'll cover your bills and expenses, so you won't need to worry about that," he explained when you stayed quiet.

"All that just for a few functions?" you asked skeptically. It seemed to be a bit much.

"Some of the traveling would be for days at a time. I'm hoping you and I can get to know each other a bit before those take place so you feel comfortable," he said. Hearing that made sense since the two of you didn't know each other very well. "And I won't ask you to move in with me since that's both fast and takes away your independence, but I would feel more comfortable knowing you're not alone in your current apartment. I have a place in my building you could use in the meantime."

You exhaled once he finished. The man seemed to thrive on control and he would essentially take over your life if you agreed. No job meant no income unless he gave it to you. Even living in a nicer place, it was his building.

"I don't understand. Why me?" you asked, searching for something on his face that could give you an answer.

It didn't make sense to you. He could hire someone if he needed dates to functions. He could find any woman on the sidewalk if he wanted to.

Why was he asking you?

You didn't jump this time when he put his hand back on yours. "Because you're one of the only honest and kind people I've met in a long time and you shouldn't have to struggle. I want to help you, even if it's just for a short time," he said, your heart skipping a beat when he smiled a little. "And between us, I'm a bit lonely and I like talking to you."

The vulnerability in his gaze was an emotion he was allowing you to see. It was enough to shake your resolve because you understood how loneliness could eat at a person. And while you didn't find yourself interesting to talk to, he deserved to have someone in his life who didn't try to use him for their gain. He probably had more than his fair share of that.

I'm not using him if he's offering, right? I wouldn't take more than necessary. Just enough until things were right again. Still doesn't seem like a fair trade.

"Say I agree to this. When the job comes up, that's the end of our arrangement?"

"If that's what you'd like," he answered evenly. "You'd be working, so I wouldn't exactly be able to whisk you away on a whim. And you'd start with a clean slate so to speak since everything would be paid for until you receive your first paycheck."

That was something to consider. "And if I say no?"

"Then I pay for your lunch and your cab and contact you when the job opens up down the road," he offered with a casual shrug. "If you still want it, it's yours. If not, no harm done."

That surprised you. Andy would have nothing to gain by setting you up for a job if you didn't agree to spend time with him. And you didn't get the sense that he would sabotage your chances if you turned him down. It was as if he wanted you to succeed.

Who are you, Andy Barber?

"I think I know why you asked me to meet you here."

"And why is that?" he asked.

"You didn't want to speak over the phone because I could have hung up or blocked your number if your offer upset me, so you chose this place. Almost a middle ground, but a place where you still hold the cards because you're showing me what I can have if I agree to this," you said, waving your hand toward one of the empty tables. "You also chose to speak to me alone in a semi-public place. The public aspect so I wouldn't be uncomfortable, but alone as a way to keep my dignity intact in case I insulted you or worse. It's smart."

And a power move while still considering my feelings.

He gave you a single nod, seemingly impressed. "That's a good analysis and I'd have to agree with you. I'd like to add it was also to keep my dignity intact in case you threw your drink in my face or slapped me."

"I imagine the staff here would be discreet on your part," you smiled. "And lunch isn't over yet. There's still time in case I decide to make a scene."

His warm chuckle sent heat down your spine. "I'll be on my best behavior to ensure you don't, though I wouldn't mind."

"I'll need to think about it," you told him, smiling more despite yourself. It was a lot to consider. "And we'll need to discuss specifics."

"You're talking to a former lawyer. I'd insult myself if I didn't have some kind of contract drawn up for the two of us."

"A Sugar Daddy contract?" you teased before you could stop yourself.

God, why did I say that?

The waiter chose to return at that moment, the enticing aroma of the food filling the air. Andy didn't take his darkened eyes off you as he dragged his teeth along his bottom lip. You barely managed to say "thanks" when the plates were put on the table, too entranced with the man across the table. Virtually a stranger, but determined to help you and get a little something from you in return.

"Call me 'daddy', honey, and I can't promise I'll be on my best behavior, but if it will convince you to be mine? Say it all you want," he said in a low voice, deep enough to make you rub your thighs together as he smirked. "So. Exactly how much time will you need to think it over?"

You sat in thought for a moment as you tried to weigh out his offer. "I'll let you know how much time I need after we're finished with our lunch," you finally answered with a small smile.

And you had a feeling you'd say "yes" a lot sooner than you thought.

So, yes. The answer HAS to be yes. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Andy Barber Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[chubsonthemoon]

Last Binderary book is DONE!!!! This is the incredible Maybe sprout wings, by @moorishflower.

This post is going to be a doozy, so gonna just skip straight to the cut!

INTERIOR

INTRODUCTION

I really wanted to model this bind after my own copy of the Odyssey, (which is all highlighted and bookmarked and annotated to hell from my Great Text courses in undergrad ehe, so this bind was such a fun trip down memory lane!). But beyond just the cover/general aesthetic, I also wanted to give the book a similar feel to these kinds of editions of classics--there's usually an introduction, translation notes, and other supplementary materials, right? Like, a physical manifestation of the work of many, many people, all having conversations with one another across time and space.

So that's what I did! I wrote a short introduction (I will also probably post it to my AO3/my blog as well, in the name of preservation etc. etc.) and began reaching out to folks in the fandom who I knew had created art and meta for the fic. The result? 18k words of analysis, comments, and meta, and nearly twenty pages of art!

And this is what I love most about this bind, I think! This book is the work of several people--truly a collaborative work by the fandom--all of whom I will now be shamelessly calling out below :D

CHAPTER HEADER ART

First and foremost, this book would not be what it is without the gorgeous header art by @fancy-rock-dove! Thank you so much Dove for letting include your work, and for being so supportive and kind these past few weeks about this bind <3 You in particular have contributed so much to this book (which I will be getting more into in the next section ehe), and I'm so psyched I get to hold your art and words, too!

NOTES ON THE TEXT

This section was divided into four parts: Asks and Answers, Meta, Selected Comments, and Chapter Heading Art: Process

For Asks and Answers, I trawled Heather's blog for meta she had written in response to questions and other meta about the fic. Asks came from @fancy-rock-dove, @quillingwords, @kulapti, and myself! (I THINK I got all of them--tumblr's search function is finnicky even on its best days, so so sorry if I missed something T_T) I first got hooked into reading this fic because of one of these asks, so I'm very fond of this section in particular :D

For Meta, I included two wonderful essays written by @pastrypuppy (also known as @kulapti) about Hob as an author figure and the Disrupted Fisher King narrative in MSW. Her analyses were so fascinating and I just had to include them in the book! (And thank you as well for your permission, friend!) (also hello fellow Renegade comrade 🫡)

For Selected Comments, I owe everything to (once again :3) @fancy-rock-dove, whose insights are the epitome of transformative fandom at work. I'd look for their comments after I read every chapter to see what their takes were on this or that element of the story, and every single time I would go "!!!!! I didn't even realize!!!" or "OOOOOOOH I hadn't thought of that!!" It was like being in a lecture hall and always whipping your head around when one of your classmates raised their hand, because you knew they were going to say something fascinating that you hadn't considered before.

Aside from one of my own comments, Dove's comments make up the entirety of this section (for which I owe you my life--your long-form responses to fics are a gift to this world) but GOSH was it also so much fun going through the comments section while typesetting and seeing all the keyboard smashing, yelling, and crying from the other commenters. Communal nature of storytelling and ongoing meaning-making of fanfiction, babey!

And finally for Chapter Heading Art: Process: once again Dove coming in clutch with some wonderful insights into the design of each of the chapter heading art pieces! This kind of stuff is honestly my favorite: meta about art for a fic which is, in turn, a transformation of an existing story (not even to mention that The Sandman is its own kind of fanfiction of existing mythologies and histories)--I just!! Think it's all really, really neat :'D (for more coherent/polished thoughts on this pls see my introduction asjdfkls)

ART

The art gallery!!! A million thanks to @fishfingersandscarves, @honeyseller, @jazzpsych, @doctor-rainbowfoxey, and (HI AGAIN DOVE) @fancy-rock-dove for granting me permission to include all of your beautiful pieces!

As usual for artworks in my binds, I printed each piece out on specialty photo paper to really make the colors pop, then sewed each page separately to the text block! Behold, everyone's beautiful beautiful pieces!

The art gallery also satisfies the certain "oooh shiny" part of my brain that always activates when I see pictures in a book, so am also very fond of this section :3

CONSTRUCTION

And now on to the nitty gritty stuff! I used the German Bradel binding technique again, my second time using it. Even though it's more complicated than the case bind, I really love how it gives you the full board space for the cover designs (~it's free real estate~). Keep it a secret but I kiiiiiiind of made a small goof in the last few steps (I did the turn-ins a step too early and so had to paste an extra sheet of cardstock to secure the spine to the boards, whoopsie), but it's a pretty small difference, aesthetically speaking, so it wasn't the end of the world XD

Edges are once again fake gilded, but this time I tried something new with the colors! I did two layers of acrylic paint--one watered down shade of red for the base, then one metallic gold on top of that. I really like the red/gold effect! I'll have to keep experimenting with this kind of layering:

ALSO. Y'ALL! I think I'm finally getting the hang of endbands!!! Many thanks to the folks at Renegade who hosted all the endband workshops last month--I'm still working through them, but even the few sessions I've seen have been TREMENDOUSLY helpful. I learned that tension is Very Important, as well as thread thickness, so I tried doubling my thread and keeping a Very Close Eye on how I was holding the threads while doing the beads. And behold! I still have a ways to go (and one day I would LOVE to do the fancier designs), but I'm v happy with the progress I've made so far!

And finally the covers!! ARCHIVAL MOD PODGE MY BELOVED. I printed on the same matte presentation paper that I used for the art, then did several coats of archival matte mod podge + a pass of gloss mod podge over the title strip to make it ~shiny~. Then once those had dried and I'd adhered them to the boards, I sprayed two layers of matte clear acrylic sealer (also mod podge!) to finish it off. I had some issues with the paper tearing when I handled it before it was fully dry, but luckily the blemishes were small enough that it was easy to do spot corrections with my black acrylic paint. And now I know to be more patient next time LOL

(some non-photoshoot shots that show the shine a little better!)

FINAL THOUGHTS

I had a lot of thoughts while I was binding this book--about Sandman fandom, about Dreamling fandom, about the Odyssey, about storytelling, about fanbinding, about Binderary, about Renegade, about my friends--but really what came to mind the most was gratitude!

Simply put, I'm so grateful to everyone I've met both in this fandom and throughout the years I've been active online--this is SO fun, y'all. It's so much fun to love stories together--to talk about them, to write them, and of course to bind them! I hope I've adequately conveyed that gratitude.

But of course, this book would not exist without the wonderful words of @moorishflower. Heather, thank you so, SO much for sharing your stories, thoughts, and time with us--it is always a happier, better day when I get an email notif from you and when I see you on my dash. I love your work so much, and I'm so happy I finally get to put it on my shelf! So thank you so much again, for everything <3

and OKAY THAT'S IT FROM ME FOLKS!!!!! Binderary 2023 is officially a wrap! I had SUCH a blast--will probably write up a reflection post on it uhhhh after I take a very long nap ajslkdfjslk _(:3」∠)_

all my love! <3

[hexagonspress]

BE by tothewillofthepeople

Grantaire is earnest in this, and it’s heartbreaking. Enjolras can’t look away. This is just a rehearsal. Grantaire is still wearing skinny jeans. They have lights and phones and textual analysis and thousands of years of history between now and then and yet– When Grantaire speaks, the distance collapses. (Grantaire as Hamlet.)

Title: Middle Ages Deco Headers/Accents: Letter Gothic Standard Body text: Adobe Caslon Pro Case title: Goudy Initialen

38,667 words | 224 pages

Binderary book 1: a long-favourite EXR fic. I love wild Les Mis AUs and I love Shakespeare and this is all of that in such a lovely lovely form. Stage manager Enjolras is inspired. Also, I've been frothing at the mouth to use my special blackletter fonts and go suuuper overboard designing and this was Perfect for that purpose.

More pictures/design/process under the cut.

Design and Construction Case: Flat-back case binding with bradel board covers and spine. The spine cloth is Hollander's pearl linen in charcoal grey. The painted titles were done in Amsterdam acrylic ink in silver, with a pair of scissors because I don't own a painting brush and likely never will. The cover papers are printed on 80gsm white printer paper and glued with a regular Elmer's glue stick and PVA on the turn-ins, and the whole case is sprayed with workable fixatif to (hopefully) preserve it longer-term.

Covers: The front and back covers were designed in Photoshop. The centre image is a William Morris pattern, and the top and bottom little circles are Renaissance printer's ornaments (pngs by the lovely @helle-bored of Renegade Bindery) that I vectorized in Illustrator (Illustrator and I were sworn enemies until this month. Now we're forced friends. Like enemies to lovers).

Insides: Endpapers are a William Morris pattern recoloured in Photoshop to be a richer green and red, obv, for EXR. Printed with inkjet on 80gsm printer paper and glued to gold cardstock, and sewn into the textblock. Endbands are pre-sewn from Hollanders, dyed gold with acrylic ink to match the endpapers.

Typesetting Typeset was done in InDesign. This is a one-shot with scene breaks, so to match the theatre theme of the piece I replaced the horizontal line breaks with flagged scene numbers. I tried to strike a balance in the typesetting between classic Shakespearean aesthetic with the blackletter drop caps and cover fonts versus what you might see in a theatre script book with the monospace accents. The title spread uses a transparent decorative frame, again from Helle's collection; the large box in the middle with the title was part of the original frame and then I duplicated and resized it for the author name and my imprint.

We All Do It, or, the Mistakes Section I somehow managed to print the cover papers nine inches tall and didn't see a problem with it until they came off the printer. Truly who knows how that happened. I was working on the case at two in the morning and cut the spine cloth the wrong length three separate times...earned the measure once cut twice badge big time for that one. The endpapers were an ordeal and a half for real. What I learned: print them too big and glue the cardstock to the back, then trim the paper to size, not the other way around otherwise you'll end up with big ugly gaps where the trimming was a few millimeters off. Whoops.

And...more pictures

I'm particularly pleased with how the covers here came out so here's closeups. Also, the arc on the spine that you can see in the endband on the last one is really pleasing to me lol I fought a war trying to get the flatback hinge calculations right.

[valyrfia]

When you said rpf fallout I immediately checked if you ever were a fan of dnp cause now that, that was some disaster for years. But I do think Charles and Max have a much much more distant relationship both from each other and from the fans. Chestappen vs Lestappen I don't see one being more jokey, maybe cause I interact in Spanish spaces of the fandom but there ARE people who believe it to be real. And checo specially gets asked this a lot (just three times since the last triple header!).

But I agree the general sentiment of avoiding containment breach in any rpf ship should the default. Ollie x Kimi and other rookies worry me a bit, cause I think we are seeing this shift of bromance being a good marketing strategy and it could be a slippery slope from there on.

Those of Phan trauma truly recognise each other blind. You never truly leave the phandom, just as the phandom never truly leaves you.

Okay tbf I didn’t know about the Chestappen lore, thanks for the education! But yeah I just think that jokes and all are fine and most lestappen-leaning tweets or edits I see I enjoy or laugh with. But there are a few who take it too far. Like you said it’s a slippery slope, I don’t want to get to the place where people are happy discussing fic openly on twitter (which I’ve seen!) especially because so many of the content people seem so happy to be openly discussing on twitter is made by people who wanted to keep it within traditional rpf circles of tumblr and ao3. It’s a violation of trust, as much as anything else. Similarly, I lived through the heat waves nightmare—and trust me that was a nightmare for MANY reasons—but it taught me that containment breaches are not fun! Actually! It was least fun for the author of that fic, who I believe ended up quitting fandom entirely because of it.

Again I think a lot of people are misunderstanding my point when I say “rpf should be kept in fandom spaces”, I mean the serious stuff. I don’t mean the lighthearted tiktok edits or the jokey tweets. I mean don’t share fic, don’t share art outside of designated spaces, for the love of god don’t get parasocial with it. Keep it cool, keep it casual. Don’t post anything you wouldn’t be happy discussing at work drinks face to face with someone.

[velvetwyrme]

Font anon again! Thanks for indulging me. Yes it is the fic where SF!Papyrus is Palatino. It’s one of my favs. I agree with Serif as a last name because it’s funny.

I’m going mostly off vibes. You completely nailed what I was going for with UF! Papyrus (you are definitely the right person to brainstorm with and have great insight.) My original font search prioritized fonts people complained about, sticking to the theme of Comic Sans and Papyrus being “annoying fonts.” If you can think of any other ones I’m down to hear them.

Here is my list of names:

Courier

Helvetica

Trajan

Bradley Hand

Gentona, Avenir

Calibri

Verveine

Corsiva

Frutiger

Bodoni

Vivaldi

Zapfino

Rockwell

Amadeus

Clarendon

Arvo

Avenir

Casion

Cooper

Didot

Carrington

Anviers

Fontin

Fertigo

Harrington

*waves hand at you* nOOOOO WORRIESSS and thank you for the clarification ;D!! I'm always here for indulgence owu!! And thank you! I'm glad you like my take on things haha! (ANNOYING FONTS LETS GO!!!!)

This is a fantastic list :o!! I pulled up all the fonts in your list in another window for maximum ponderance lol.

I stuck my thoughts under the cut because as usual it got long (and for some of them I'm spitballing more than anything) but hopefully it's of some help ^^!

Swap!Papyrus: Hands down (haha), he suits Bradley Hand visually- the font is like Papyrus (font) but more loose and scribbled- it has more curves and thus has a more laidback kind of vibe, which is why I think it'd suit him... but also I'm losing my mind at the idea of calling him Bradley (derogatory) (/lh).

(I'm also biased though. I used to use this font for writing when I was younger LMAO. You know how people say to write with Comic Sans? I did that with Bradley Hand.)

Swap!Sans: I reckon he'd fit Cooper.

Round, bold, a little bit 'childish' when compared to other fonts, but infinitely more put together than Comic Sans. It also makes me think about comics like Archie or Garfield, which used similar rounded fonts for their titles! Cooper (font) feels so... cartoony to me, y'know? Also it makes me think of Sly Cooper just namewise lmaooooo

Underfell!Sans: Ok. OK. Listen I don't think this font suits him BUT!!! Fontin would be REALLY FUNNY just purely because I think he'd have the time of his life making jokes about "Fonting". Like: "ey! i'm fontin' here!" type of jokes which would get old so so so quickly. Do you see my vision.

If Carrington was less... curly-cursive I'd say it'd suit him purely for the potential visual association with like. the typeface you might see at a stereotypical tattoo parlour or something. IDK it makes me think about tattoos and motorcycles.

SAYING ALL THAT THOUGH: I think he could suit Rockwell! It makes me think of titles and bold headers, also cowboy westerns and Very Masculine and Cool products lol. Except... Rockwell is usually used with Uppercase, Title case or Sentence case. Purely lowercase Rockwell feels inherently cursed to me. (Like truly, what are you doing if you're using Rockwell in lowercase. That's committing a violence.)

Swapfell!Papyrus: Weirdly enough, I reckon I could see him with Corsiva or Fertigo? (Which... looks strikingly similar to Fontin. Huh!)

(Fertigo on the LEFT, Fontin on the RIGHT)

IMO, Fertigo feels more laidback due to the curling tips (which still come to sharp points). The way that the ends of "strokes" get flicked gives it a sort of lazier vibe.

BUT the font choice here also depends on your interpretation of SF!Pap!!

If you want to have a font that's underrated and everywhere?? GO Calibri. It's used as the default font for Microsoft, and is designed to be very easy to read. This is particularly befitting of the interpretations of SF!Pap where he's well versed in computers/electronics and/or doing spywork. His presence is not actively noticed, but he's always there! Alternatively, if you wanted to name him after a serif'd font, similar to Calibri, one of the fonts from your list, Caslon, has a somewhat ubiquitous presence, and also feels a little rougher/crunchier than stuff like Calibri or Fertigo.

Other notes:

I know you already decided on a name for him, but Trajan is also a really good alternative option for UF!Papyrus imo. Similar Roman-Commander vibes except even more explicit LMAO. Plus, it's a solely uppercase font, which is even more fitting.

Didot... if you swap the 'i' for a 'd' and vice versa, you get 'idiot' which is simply ripe for the teasing, but I don't think it fits any of the skeletons lol.

I would have suggested Arial as an option due to it's former prevalence, but honestly that name (+Verdana) have like… cemented themselves in my brain as 'fan-made skeleton' fonts ajbhjsmhjmdh (no shade whatsoever to anyone who uses them ofc, but MAN are they used a LOT.)

[java-dragon]

Bookbinding for Beginners by a Beginner Part 3

*braces self on a door frame* Right there's a lot of information I still need to cover so lets get into it.

I don't recall if I told everyone to set up the document to be booklet type or not but here's how to do that (I'm not re-reading what I wrote my brain stopped working at some point)

But Layout Tab, Page Layout, hit the little arrow pointing towards the document:

I have the sheets per booklet set to 32, but this site is helpful for helping you get the exact number of signatures (a portion of the fic you are printing it is one section of the book, whereas a text block is the whole thing together)

That's if you want to print through the program you're type facing (the text within the pages all of the formatting and indents and everything we started covering in part 2 is type facing). I have totally done printing through the word processor but there is a different option that I will cover later down this post.

For now I'm going to try and remember all of the extra stuff I need to cover. A lot of this is trial an error and fiddling, farting, and sometimes sobbing your way through this.

OH! Right if the fic you're type facing has a fake email. Like.... I don't know "lighthousekeeper@email.com" Word will sensor it automatically when you paste it onto the document. The only work around I have is to have the OG link to the fic you're working on, and try your best to locate the email copy it, and find it within the text of the document using the headers to skip to the chapter in question and scan for the brackets with [Email redacted] or some such, it's usually blue text with "[ ]" going on.

I can't truly think of anything else at this time pertaining to my tips and tricks for Word. There is more I may know but my mind is fizzling out I may circle back to this but I think I'll move on towards downloading and uploading fonts to use in your bookbinding adventures and some Canva stuff.

DaFont and 1001 Free Fonts work

Dafont:

1001:

I'll be using these two Fonts as my examples cause... well I actually quite like them.

Hit "Download"

This will pop up on your screen hit "OK"

Go to your Downloads or where you put your downloads,

Right click on the file in question and hit "Extract All"

Hit Extract.

Click on the folder post extraction. The file type you're looking for is "Open Type Font File" Right Click, "Install" or "Install for all Users" works as well and the font will be available to anyone that has a User key for the computer you're on.

Sometimes the file will look like this:

The Greyed out one? That's the type file.

There will be a pop up that says "Installing Font" give it a few seconds and it will disappear.

You will now be able to open up your word processor and go to the font section and be able to find your newly downloaded font

Enjoy your new found power in getting fancy pants fonts on your word documents!

Now... Canva...

You can download it for free like I said. I have it on my phone and on my computer as a software application:

So I don't accidentally doxx myself this is all you really need to see- you can do much much more than bookcovers, I've done bookmarks, and logos and a few other things.

but for our purposes we'll open up a document and make a few pages:

At the very tippy top that I did not show there's "create Design" I usually hit either "Bookcover" or "ebook cover".

There will be a document with some template examples and you can scroll and see if you like any of those. OR You can just go down to "Elements" and start playing and toying around with that.

You can also grab screen captures of decorative lines to replace the "***" on your document.

How to do this- in elements there should be a search bar type in "decorative lines" and you can refine it "Decorative Rainbow" "brush stroke" "ornate" then open up the application on your computer that allows for screen shots Snip and Sketch for Windows, I don't know for Mac. Sorry.

Select something you like and when it appears on the document click outside of it.

open up your screen grab and grab the line in question

Here's my example.

Now in your word document feel free to go into the Pages tab of the Navigation bar and find whatever the author has used to break up the text. Highlight, right click, hit "search" There will be a pop up on the right hand of word hit the tab that says "Search this document/file" you can see how many times "***" or the equivalent has been used. I would suggest opening this link and reading all of the other tips and tricks since they break it down better than I ever could.

Edit as of November 18th 2023: But the root gist of it all is to highlight the "***" or equivalent divider on the document. Right click, "Search" there will be a prompt that opens on the right hand side of Word hit the "In this Document" and it will bring up every instance of what you have highlighted.

Have the image you intend to replace "***" with right click "Copy". Back in Word, hit "Replace" there will be a box that pops up with "Replace with" Type: ^C . What this does is take the image you've just copied and will override the highlighted "***" Hit "Replace all". You may have to scrub through the document to center it properly but thankfully it's easier to find especially with the Navigation Bar on the "Pages" tab open.

End Edit

Though you can just scroll and find the breaks highlight and drag and drop the image to break up the text if you so choose. Do what works for you.

Now you can also do the same thing with decorative chapter headers, just choose or fiddle and make something that works for the fic in question. Remember when I made you do all of those "Next Page" breaks for the fic? Well on the top of that page with the chapter, double click the header insert an image and "warp image" to "Behind text" and you are free to resize and move the image around.

Just so you know whatever is next to the image will repeat with this example it's the author's name, it will appear no matter the page number odd or even. I don't know the work around and it doesn't bother me much at the end of the day. At this point I'm just trying to pull all of the tips and tricks I've learned over time out of my ass to help people out.

Back to Canva. You can make your Covers if you'd like in this and you can do decorative cover pages. Just go to the page that you want the title page on, insert an image, and warp image to "In front of text" You will be free to stretch and fill the page as much as you please. I do the same thing with my logo placement for the logo page.

Now... if you're still with me... Congratulations I'm not sure I'm still with me or not.

So I'll move on to the "OK I like how this all looks and I've saved everything I've done"

GREAT you can calculate the right number of signatures and print from here OR you can take a few extra steps.

Hit File, Export, hit Create PDF/XPS. I hope you have at least a free Acrobat or PDF reader. Wait. Don't panic if it looks like the processor is freezing up on you. there should be a pop up of a PDF after that minor heart attack.

Now. With your new PDF you're going to go to Bookbinder JS

Upload the pdf file you've created and I'll walk you through the steps.

Letter 612 x 792 is your standard 8.5 x 11 paper.

Printer type- Duplex I hope you have a duplex printer. You'll need it or else you will be manually flipping the pages to make this book bind.

Folio- That is just 8.5 x 11 paper folded in half to make 8.5 x 5.5 booklets. Keep these numbers in mind.

Signature format- there you can select "Perfect bound" AKA Paperback. Or Standard signature. Here I select 20 page signatures. Keep in mind that there will be four pages per one sheet of paper.

Preview output ALWAYS preview output because it will tell you how many signatures will be with the upload. For example:

What this means: Total pages of the file uploaded, since the fic I'm type facing is 300+k words I divided the chapters up.

so you know what a 100+k word fic looks like printed folded and the air compressed (I will cover this as well) Keep this in mind this was Celestial Navigation now add similarly stacked pages atop of what's here. 100+k fics it's wisest and best to split this in half. Keep in mind your wrists. 500-600 pages is comfortable holding. You can get to around 800 pages but if it's 900+ pages I would think about dividing the document up.

After you are happy with the number of everything. Hit "Generate Output" wait for the popup for the save file to appear and hit "Save" this will be in a zip file as well. Head over to your Downloads and hit extract, open up the file and some terminology that will help with this:

Aggregate book means "the whole damn thing" Signature 0 is the first signature.

To spare the wrath and protest of my printer- I print one signature at a time and fold it since I don't have to worry about getting the page numbers to line up.

Take however much time you please. Next post. Folding signatures, pressing signatures, stitching, gluing end bands and ribbons.

aka- welcome to the world little fic. We hope you enjoy your stay. You're going to be a real book soon.

If I wasn't running out of steam I would cover Quartos. But if you wanted to print a smaller fic know this- increase the text size through out the whole document, these things are SMALL. 4.5x5.5 all said and done. I would go to TikTok and Youtube and look up "Quarto Book bind" if you want to see the smallest, cutest most pain in your ass book you've ever wanted to try and make.

I've done those as experiments as well... they can be fun but my god I'm bad at mathing at times.

[kay-elle-cee]

I just wanted to tell you how much I love you're Slytherin Lily fic! It has gone on my top 5 anticipated chapter release list so quickly I think I have whip lash. Thank you so much for sharing such great content with the fandom and I truly wish you well. I'll be checking out your other series soon and likely leaving a heap tonne of comments if the writing quality is even to half the level.

P.S. Your blog has such a lovely aesthetic, what inspired you in that direction?

Oh my goodness this is so kind of you to say THANK YOU! This fic has been close to my heart for over a year now, and I'm SO excited to finally post it and it's been an absolute joy to see how people respond to it 💕💕💕 I hope you're able to find some other fics of mine you'll like- I feel like by now I've dipped my toes into a bit, so there's a little bit of everything to choose from!

And thank you! I've had this blog for about 14 years or so and I don't think I had updated the layout in like....several years when I decided last summer to revamp it (I found the layout from pirateskinned). I've always liked the one-columned layouts with an 'about me' sidebar, and the colors and links were pretty customizable on this design. I had just created my masterlist post and I decided to choose a color from the header photo and played around with a few different pinks until I landed on this kind of muted one!

It took a few days of looking around and playing around 'til I got it where I wanted it, but I'm glad you like it, and thank you again so much for all your lovely words!

[s-brant]

Pirates and Princesses (8/8)

(gif: @beccs) (PART SEVEN) (SERIES MASTERLIST)

Summary: JJ must confront his childhood trauma when returning home for the first time since his dad went to jail and prevent it from sabotaging his new relationship. Meanwhile, something sinister happens at the Chateau that brings Y/N face to face with her grief over John B’s death.

Word Count: 13.4k

Warnings: Angst, implied sexual content, strong language, parent/child abuse, mental illness, post-traumatic stress disorder, grief, and fluff.

A/N: Welcome to the final chapter of Tokens! This one has a little bit of everything in it, but it also has detailed scenes about JJ and his dad, so proceed with caution if you’re easily triggered by that topic. The love you guys show this fic warms my heart so much, so thanks to anyone who stuck with this story until this chapter. Hope you enjoy it!

Now that she has been sentenced to both punishments, one as a consequence of the fight with Kacey and the other as a consequence of the stunt she pulled with JJ to break out of ISS, Y/N can confidently say that out of school suspension is superior to in-school suspension by a long shot. Instead of sitting in a humid room with Alec for the duration of multiple school days, she's allowed to stay home, go out surfing, and do whatever she wants in lieu of doing classwork.

She promised herself not to make it a habit, promising the invisible presence of John B that she likes to pretend follows her around that she will never get herself into trouble again, but she sees no problem in enjoying her suspension while it lasts.

For the first few days of her suspension, JJ skipped school to spend it with her. Their memories of the conversation they had at three in the morning on Sunday were fuzzy, but not missing entirely. She noticed a difference in his behavior for the first few hours after they woke up under the tree together for the second time in one week. It wasn't a difference in their relationship or how he treated her, it was a difference in him.

He was quieter than usual as they cleaned up cans of beer and tossed them into the recycling, sending pictures to Kie while she was in class after she made them promise not to throw them in the trash. Rather than cracking jokes or making casual conversation with her, JJ made his way around the yard with the recycling bin in his hands and his head in the clouds. It disappeared as the day progressed, but for a little while, he wasn't completely there.

Today, he went into school instead of ditching to spend extra time with her in between shifts at work and time spent with their friends. Since they can't exceed three consecutive absences without a doctor’s note and he doesn't own a printer or laptop to forage the header from a doctor's office, he had no choice but to part from her this morning.

He bites his lip to contain his smug facial expression at the recollection of her wake up call for him. The hand holding his locker door open for him to lean on in the midst of his not-so-wholesome thoughts of her squeezes the metal hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

The curtains weren't shut all the way when they fell asleep before midnight last night, allowing a shaft of sunlight to shine in and land on his face. But that wasn't what woke him up from the dream he was having. In fact, the reality he opened his eyes to was a hell of a lot better than any dream he remembered.

Most of his memory of those moments spent suspended between consciousness and unconsciousness consisted of feeling her pressing a kiss to his shoulder, then her hands rubbing up and down his waist to slip lower and lower until they settled on the waistband of his underwear. It was then that he woke to find her looking up at him for permission from where she peppered kisses along his chest.

Their eyes met right as she kissed the edge of his nipple with this pleading, needy look that he took pride in causing without actively attempting to. She woke up on the brink of coming undone from a pleasant—to put it tamely—dream about him. With a glimpse at the time displayed on the alarm clock, it didn't take much for her to roll over to wake him up.

It ended with her beneath the sheet, finishing what she started Friday afternoon until he was clutching the pillow beneath his head in the midst of his orgasm. It happened so fast, a fault of how hot he found it to wake up to her wanting him so badly, but it felt slower than it truly was in the early morning haze of exhaustion they felt.

The memory as he relives it is as heady as it felt the first time around. He sees it in fractions; her eyes looking up at his, warm palms finding the familiar planes of his muscular body with the exploratory touch of someone who's never traveled it before, and the intense sensations he felt at the end...It's easy for him to stand here and lose himself in it. Despite the class he has to go to, he bargains with himself for one more second spent in the paradise of his memories before he has to come back to reality.

Reality, as his shitty luck would have it, comes in the form of a familiar feminine voice chirping from behind his back as he replays his morning bliss.

"It's good to see you're alive and well, Maybank."

He decides, based on who he knows he'll see when he turns around, that he might invest in a sharpie to write "Bang head here" on the inside of his locker door for instances like these where he'd rather suffer brain damage than speak to someone he can't stomach the presence of.

When he turns to see Kacey with one arm still stretched to hold his locker open, he doesn't bother concealing the genuine reaction from his face for the sake of her feelings. Any care he had for her and her feelings was thrown to the wind as soon as she decided she could steal from and put her hands on his girl last week. However, after a second of thought, a condescending smirk finds its way to his face.

He says, jerking his chin to vaguely gesture at her bruised up face, "Purple really suits your complexion. It makes your eyes pop, don't you think?"

Though the swelling of her black eye has deflated in the days since the fight that’ll soon tally up to a week, the verbal jab hits right where it intended to if the light leaving her eyes tells him anything. She bounces back after a second, though, ever the relentless pest they've come to see her as.

She offers a sickeningly sweet, yet fake smile to mirror the one gracing his striking features and spins so her back meets the locker beside his, allowing herself to invade his space further.

A collection of Y/N's stickers decorates the inside of his locker door that he briefly entertained the idea of designating as a place to bang his head against. They range from girly, glittery ones to those he willingly picked when she gave him the choice. Whenever they're at his locker together, she sticks one on the inside, and the evidence of the habit catches Kacey's wandering eyes.

Her fingertips brush against the surface of the sticker-covered metal while she ignores his protest of, "Can you not touch my stuff?" to inspect them. Since one of the Pogues in particular is famous for her endless supply of stickers, her expression sours at the thought of the girl responsible for them.

She spares him a quick glance out of the corner of her eye as she continues to analyze the sticker collection against his instructions not to, asking, "Why weren't you at the bonfire?" A failed attempt at a seductive look in his direction makes him fight not to roll his eyes. "After how last year's ended, I thought you wouldn't miss it for the world."

JJ doesn't bother to take a second to think things through before he reaches to slam the door closed with her hand still outstretched inside of it. Watching her pull it away just in time to avoid jamming it in the locker probably pleases him more than it should, but he can't help it. His hand catches on the edge of the door, halting it in place right before it closes where her hand previously rested.

She doesn't look too happy with him when he opens the door with no harm done except for the drop of her stomach when he initially pretended to swing it shut on her bruised knuckles. She didn't get many shots in on Y/N when they fought, but apparently it was enough.

He doesn't bother with the fake niceties she's giving him after the disrespect she showed him, his friends, and, most importantly, his girlfriend. The fact that she thinks she has any right to breathe in his direction, let alone flirt with him, after she stole JB's bandana is criminal. 'Cause not only did she mess with Y/N, she messed with John B on multiple levels, and his loyalty to his best friend hasn't disappeared with death. Kie and Y/N told him everything she said about their departed friend in the locker room last Thursday.

But he's smart enough to know what'll hurt her more, so he doesn't go for the general scolding he imagined giving her in his head. Since he was told everything about the encounter in the locker room, he knows she's still holding their history together near and dear to her heart.

"We stayed home," he says, casual and cool as always, with added emphasis on the first word, "You know how it is, my girl doesn't like parties. Especially not ones with kooks."

Hook, line, and sinker.

She scoffs, "Your girl?"

Looking at her now, he wonders if she was always this stupid, or if this is a new development she's had in the year since he last spent more than a minute or two at a time with her. It’s easier to trick her than it was with Kie and Y/N a few days ago, and those poor girls flew into that trap like moths to a flame.

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

The ire is visible in the way her face tenses up in places, her lips pressing together a little more firmly and her forehead creasing between the brows.

"Doesn't your, um, history bother her?" she asks, and he's gotta give her credit for being a sneaky little shit when given the chance. The girl takes every possible opening she can to strike for a potential weakness. "No offense, but you kinda get around."

He shrugs this time, deciding to drop his casual act and aim straight for the jugular.

"She likes having someone who knows how to fuck her right, actually, but I really appreciate the concern."

Much like Kie's reaction to their matching tattoos in the hot tub the other night, her jaw is unhinged to meet the unswept hallway floor they stand on. It makes him wish Y/N weren't suspended in order for her to see the gobsmacked reaction Kacey has to the harsh dismissal. Though he wouldn't want to incite an extra round of the Kacey vs Y/N WWE showdown by having her watch another girl flirt with him and essentially call him a slut upon rejection, he knows she'd get a kick out of it.

This one's for you, baby, he thinks with a quiet laugh to himself and turns his focus to the sticker collection she so lovingly crafted.

There are plenty of summer themed ones left over from the same pack he gifted her for her birthday with the surfboard sticker she used to tease him, as well as a newer genre of Valentine's Day stickers she started using the closer they grew since first getting together. They're mostly different colored candy hearts with corny phrases ranging from "U SXY THING" to the classic "BE MINE" and one printed with "ANGEL" on it—his favorite by far.

However, others are random ones from her endless stash built up over the years from birthdays and holidays deemed worthy enough by her dad to stop by Dollar Tree for a new pack, so the one he sets his attention on is likely meant for teachers or coaches to give to their students. The opportunity appears too good to be true to him when it clicks, but it isn't.

He peels the sticker off of the locker door, careful not to disturb the ones around it, and leans in closer to her to place it on the front of her tank top.

"Leave us alone or I won't stop her next time," JJ says lowly, past the point of civility, then backs away to slam his locker shut for real this time as his voice raises back to a normal volume, "And keep John B's name out of your mouth, got it?"

All she can do is look down at the sticker placed on her shirt with squinted eyes to try and read it while he walks off in the direction of his next class. It tears away from the fabric with a soft noise, and when she finally reads it, she rolls her eyes.

“Good Try!”

​​Walking out of school to see the Twinkie parked in the usual spot Y/N takes when she isn't suspended is a delightful treat he didn't know to expect after a rough day in class and his run in with Kacey. His head was hung low on his way to Kie's car to hitch a ride to his house before going home to the Chateau, since he had some things to pick up with his dad out of the picture for the near future, but then he heard her greet them.

JJ's body melts into hers upon contact, and he nearly pushes her up against the closed passenger side door of the van with how hard he hugs her. Though he doesn't want to acknowledge it, his dad has been living in his thoughts more than usual today. Ever since he texted him goodbye, he's been withdrawn inside of his head more and more, and after today's inconveniences, the rising anxiety of his plan to visit home has him two seconds from losing his mind.

Her eyes widen at his zeal, meeting Kie's concerned gaze from over the shoulder she rests her chin on. She stands with her keys swinging around her finger as she watches the couple embrace one another. In an answer to the silent question Y/N asks her in their stare, her lips mouth the words, "His dad," to her.

Deep down, Y/N had a feeling.

It began with his impromptu request to run away with her a few days ago and extended into his uncharacteristically reserved attitude the next morning that receded somewhat, but has yet to fully disappear. There is a part of her that's upset that he hasn't come to her to talk about it, to communicate the way they swore they would, yet she also knows it isn't that simple.

She has to remind herself that she knew what she was getting herself into with him. That's not to say that dating her must be a walk in the park for him, it isn't.

She knows based on the amount of times he had to hold her as she cried, or the time he curtailed her panic attack in this very parking lot, that she hasn't made it easy for him in the aftermath of John B's death. But it's because she knows how it feels that she has such patience with his communication issues.

It's not a conscious choice most times, it's an involuntary blockage preventing the words from being spoken no matter how desperately they long to be. They may have made a promise, but she won't chastise him for succumbing to the same pitfalls as her. It’d be hypocritical.

"Bad day?" she asks.

Her voice is tender with him, prodding gently for a clue as to why he pounced on her on sight. He sinks further into her arms at the sound and lets the sanctity of her touch sway him into submission. Everything about her sets him at ease, if only for a second. Her hand lifts the beat-up red hat from his head to allow the other to brush through his hair.

There's a hum of agreement that she feels vibrating through the center of his chest into hers, and her arms pull tighter around his shoulders in response. This time, when she looks up to see Kie there, she's waving a quick goodbye and setting off toward her car, clearly giving JJ the space he needs.

"We can go to the beach," she says softly, "I have a towel in the back of the van, we can just lay there and talk about it if you want."

The idea of her kind offer to him should add to the comfort he finds in her embrace. It should make him nod and whisper his gratitude to her for being the one person that knows him better than anyone, but it brings him back to the gloomy headspace he was in before seeing her.

It started as a minor distraction when he first arrived at school after carpooling with Kie. It followed him in the quieter moments, only making appearances when he wasn't distracted with more pressing matters. It began as that and built the closer the day came to ending. The sooner his inevitable visit back to his childhood home came, the more he lost himself in his fear, reverting back to a state of helplessness he now occupies with no small amount of shame.

His bottom lip trembles with the urge to cry.

"Can we stop somewhere on the way home first?"

The last place she expected him to drive the Twinkie is here.

As they made their way down each street, taking each turn necessary to bring them closer to the house he seldom let her go to over the course of their lifelong friendship, she felt her heart begin to race. And now, as the van rolls to a stop in the yard in front of his house, she has swallow back the lump in her throat at the sight of it.

She has only been here a few times.

The first time, she was seven years old.

It was a sweltering summer morning in the Outer Banks for her and John B as they set off to retrieve their friend after he missed their plans to meet up at the Chateau for a day of having fun, riding bikes, and playing on the boat. Pirates and Princesses was her favorite game to play with them because JJ would switch roles with her halfway through when she grew tired of being the damsel John B had to rescue from the most cruel and vicious Captain Jesse James Maybank.

The HMS Pogue would rock beneath his feet as he marched across the deck of the boat and took her place as the kidnapped Princess Routledge. He handed off his "sword" to her, a stick he found in the yard, and stood at the edge of the boat with his hands behind his back as though he were a tied up damsel in distress for her to hold captive. The sun setting behind them laid a picturesque backdrop that made the scene all the more vivid to their imaginative young minds.

The boat floated in the afternoon current as John B approached the pair with his best pretend face of worry for the fair Princess Maybank, who had the sharp sword of the pirate queen pressing into his throat with the threat of death should he have tried to escape.

Sometimes, she'd let John B advance on them and tie make believe rope around her wrists and ankles while he and Princess Maybank claimed their victory. Other times, they'd get backed up until the heels of her sneakers hung off the edge of the slippery deck. One move from her brother would have her yell something along the lines of not taking either of them alive, then she'd let her and JJ fall back into the marsh together with gleeful laughs infiltrating the humid air upon their return to the surface.

On the day he didn't show up, none of that happened. She and John B rode their bikes together along sidewalks until they pulled into a driveway marked with the address number he remembered from the other time he sought him out to play before.

Y/N didn't understand what they were hearing when they pushed their kickstands down and called out for their friend, but John B's little face blanched at the sound flooding out of the opened windows of the dilapidated yellow house. It was a combination of banging against the walls, glass shattering, and childlike shouts of frustration and pain. Her big brother placed himself in front of her protectively when the front door opened and smacked against the side of the house, but it wasn't his dad storming out of the house, it was JJ.

His eyes widened at the sight of the siblings standing there, and his heart dropped to his stomach at the realization that they heard it. Maybe not all of it, but based on how the girl peeking out around John B's shoulder looked at him, they heard some.

The van is parked in the exact same place their bikes once were, the exact place she and John B stood years ago when they were first confronted with the harsh reality about their best friend's home life, and he looks like he has fully backpedaled into the state of mind his childhood self inhabited. Even when he turns the key in the ignition and lets the rumbling engine sputter down in silence, he sits in the driver's seat with his lip drawn between his teeth in thought.

Yet as soon as she summons the courage to say something, he takes a deep breath and opens the door without a warning or the typical instruction for her to stay in the car. He doesn't tell her to follow him in, nor does he order her to stay out as he used to when his dad still lived inside. He gives her the choice to make on her own, and, when faced with the opportunity to support him or stay outside like the confused little girl she once was, she chooses the first option.

Her swift steps kick dirt up from the earth onto her ankles as she follows him out of the van to the front steps of the house. She tries not to make her concern for him as evident as it'd be without her intervention on her way up the porch, but it's impossible to erase every sign of it from her face.

It isn't a particularly special or scary house. It's a normal home that'd likely look more inviting if JJ were still living here to mow the lawn and tend to the household upkeep his father saddled him with since he was old enough to be put to work. But she knows better than to trust the street appeal. As he takes her hand to lead them through the threshold of the haunted structure, she is overcome with a sense of creeping trepidation that she can't shake.

"You're sure he isn't here?" she asks.

The entryway is crowded with stacks of mail his father wasn’t bothered to open, as well as empty cardboard boxes that once held cans of beer that are scattered, empty, in various places around the house. Her question is answered by the state of the rooms they breeze past in the direction of his bedroom, but she needed something to say to fill the silence. With them, they usually don’t feel uncomfortable not speaking to each other, but this feels different.

The way he stares out in front of him with his hand squeezing hers hard enough to cut off circulation unnerves her more than the tainted energy of the house itself. He isn't himself. He's a shell of the JJ they know and love, the JJ who is most comfortable tucked away in the safe walls of the Chateau with their friends, not here. If anything, how he is while he's here is the antithesis of his behavior while living with her.

Ever since John B died, he's practically moved in with her. When they're hidden away in her house without the reminders of his home life in sight, he's usually the caretaker of the relationship. It comes naturally to their dynamic, both with him being slightly older and his promise to take care of her, but everything is flipped here. It's an alternate reality for him, or, perhaps, actual reality smacking him in the face after a carefully constructed two months in utopia with her.

They come to a stop in front of his closed bedroom door.

"He's gone," he says, not even sparing a glance at her for reasons she can't decipher, "He texted me a few days ago to say goodbye."

With that, he turns the doorknob and lets the door swing open to reveal the bedroom she only saw one other time.

The second time, she was thirteen years old.

It was a Friday.

Since his dad was supposed to be at work, they stopped at his house on their way home from school exactly like they did today so he could share with their friends what he got from his cousin the night before. Being the good girl she was, she didn't even know what he was showing her when he dug it out of the backpack in the bottom of his closet.

Her brows furrowed at the ziploc bag, more specifically the contents inside of it. She was knelt down on the floor in front of the opened closet door with her shoulder pressed up against his to inspect it. The dried green cluster of a plant didn't look like anything she'd seen before, and she couldn't help but ask him what the hell it was rather than react the way he knew the others would.

"What is it? It looks like dried up moss."

JJ laughed and pulled another bag with rolling papers and a grinder stowed inside.

"It's weed. My cousin Ricky gave me a discount since—"

He halted mid-sentence abruptly enough to startle her, his head turning in the direction of where he heard a trunk pulling up to the front of the house. Her stare was still set on where he was holding the plastic bags in his hands, and she noticed, after he stopped speaking in reaction to his dad coming home, that his hands began trembling. It was so minimal, she almost didn't catch it until she saw the bag wavering under the light coming in from his window.

Before she could open her mouth to say anything more, she felt his hands on her shoulders shoving her into the closet. He followed in closely behind her and crawled in until they were both crammed into the confined space together. With the closet doors shut in front of them, he clamped a hand over her mouth, whispering in her ear for her to be quiet.

She stands with her arms crossed over herself in the center of his room, and though nothing has yet to be said or done to convince her anything is wrong, that's the exact reason why she feels so unnerved by the entire experience of coming here.

He's silent.

The closet doors are wide open as he stuffs the rest of the clothes he had yet to bring to the Chateau into the biggest bag he could find. He rips through his belongings in a fit of melancholy driven anger. His thoughts are swirling with similar memories to the ones she conjures from being here again, but his are tinged with a darkness hers don't have, even with hearing him crying in pain as a child and hiding in the closet with his hand smothering her mouth to evade his dad.

JJ visibly grimaces at the memories he's forced to relive in flashes with every glimpse he gets of the room he spent so much time hiding in. It used to be more tolerable to be here, or at least easier to suffer through. At least he was used to it before, but he got so accustomed to life somewhere else that the second he was confronted with coming back, he started to fall apart.

Whatever he can't live without, he finds space for it in the bag and prepares to leave the rest behind. But every object he touches and step he takes around the room brings him back to the person who he spent his adolescence simultaneously fleeing and wanting more from. More notably, it brings him back to the train of thought that has been nagging him ever since he texted him over the weekend.

The third and final time she came here was over the summer.

It happened right before Hurricane Agatha waged war on the island, when none of the Pogues heard from JJ for two days after he said he had to go home to help his dad with something. She didn't want to track him down to his house after they went over twenty-four hours without a single message. She didn't want to have to go back to the house that gave her chills to think about, let alone go to again after they hid in his closet when they were younger, but he gave her no other choice.

What was she supposed to do except go check on him where he last said he'd be? After all, if she lived in the hazardous environment he did, he'd do the exact same for her. If their friends were involved in her thoughts at the time, they would've gone out on a limb to say he would've gone beyond what she did to protect her if the situation were flipped. If he knew someone was hurting her, he would've come in swinging first and asked questions later, but, in her defense, he strictly told her to never come back to his house. By walking over in the first place, she was breaking one of the fundamental rules of their friendship.

Nevertheless, she found herself crouching around the side of his house to find his bedroom window and check if he was in there. Kie and Pope weren't aware of what was happening with his dad yet, but she and John B accidentally found out years ago, so she wasn't wondering why he wasn't answering them, she was wondering if he was alive.

Part of her truly thought underneath it all that Luke might've killed him. He might've been too drunk or high and went too far when beating him, too far to the point where he didn't want to risk going to jail to take him to the hospital for help. She couldn't live with herself if she didn't check, and if he got pissed at her for showing up against his wishes and didn't want to speak to her ever again, she could live with that.

She knocked on his window in a cadenced beat loud enough for it to heard through the room but not any further. After the first series of knocks, no one came to the window. It ripped her heart to pieces to wonder if she'd see him again as she continued to knock and allowed the sound to increase in volume in hopes that maybe he was asleep, but it didn't bring anyone to the window.

It wasn't until she turned back around to go to the front of the house again that she bumped right into the solid wall of his chest and was pushed back up against the house. The question of what she was doing there was on the tip of his tongue, but she said something that stopped him from asking it.

Her arms were thrown around his shoulders in a desperate bear hug.

"Oh God, JJ, you scared me half to death!" she cried into the front of his shirt, "I thought he killed you!"

He can't help but think of it as he packs his belongings away for a final time to bid his hellish childhood home goodbye: What kind of life are they going to have together if they can't get off this island? Running away may have been an idealistic drunken fantasy for him to entertain after his conversation with Pope got him to admit his true feelings for her, but they both know his consistency can't be trusted.

One moment, he's planning to tell her. The next, a day like today comes along, sweeps his legs out from beneath his body, and he's questioning whether it's worth it to force her to put up with his fickle commitment to her. It isn't fair to her, is it?

Right now is just about when he'd normally start to hyperventilate with an oncoming wave of panic, and he does, but he can't let it fully sweep into him with her here. He fights the urge to smack his head with the heel of his palm, as if that'd forcibly remove the poisonous thoughts infiltrating his mind and ruining the careful work they've done together to remedy their issues with communicating their feelings.

Just like you ruin everything, a thought whispers in the corner of his mind. What made you think this would be any different?

His actions around the room have turned somewhat aimless and distracted, which she notices as soon as he starts to disintegrate into a mess of heavy breaths and self-sabotaging thoughts. She picks up on the shift in his energy as soon as the anxiety starts to wash over him, and she'll be damned if she continues to stand here quietly to let it happen.

It's one thing if he's being silent because being here upsets him, or if he simply doesn't know what to say, but she refuses to let him tailspin into a mental breakdown without doing something to stop it. Whether he knows it or not, after what they went through with him trying to push her away last week, she knows what's occurring within his mind right now.

He flinches at the feeling of her hand grabbing his shoulder to turn him to face her at first, and when she reaches again with her other hand to try to hold his hand as he cries, he shrugs off her touch.

"JJ..." she lets the solemn sound of her own voice murmuring his name trail off, "it's just me."

His head shakes at her consoling words. Everything else inside of his mind is so earth-shatteringly loud, he can't drown it out with logic or reason to bring himself away from the memories of his dad. Those intrusive thoughts keep attacking him with doubled, then tripled force the harder he tries to resist them, and he's so exhausted from it. All of it—the memories, his dad going to jail, and his inability to accept her love to its fullest extent without convincing himself she'll abandon him—is exhausting.

This time, when she rests her hand on his shoulder, he swats it away as the frustration of today crushing him with the force of an avalanche. Not to hurt or scare her, but to get her hands off of him before he bursts out of his skin with the sickness it stirs in his stomach. So detached from himself, he anticipates pain from every touch she gives him, and he knows it hurts her.

JJ hardly recognizes his own voice as he backs away from her a step and says, "Don't."

He can tell it hurts her based on how she looks at him immediately after, but he can't handle being touched right now. How did this happen so quickly? It was overwhelming when they first parked outside, but as soon as he stepped foot inside, it was as if a switch was flipped inside of him and all of the buried feelings he kept hidden over the past two weeks exploded into this.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"You need to leave. I just-I can't breathe and"—He still refuses to look up from the ground or see her face as he paces around the room with no real intent in mind—"You can't see me like this."

That is what breaks her out of her soft spoken, timid attitude to handle the situation the way it needs to be handled. Their natural dynamic worked best for him to take charge when she had her panic attack because JJ acts first and thinks later. He saw that she was in distress and jumped in to help her before things got worse rather than allowing her to keep him at an arms length where he couldn't do anything about it.

Taking a page from his rule book, she takes action.

The room surrounding them is in a state of disarray from him searching through it for the items of clothing and objects now stashed in his duffel bag. There are multiple obstacles in her way as she steps between them like navigating a minefield to reach him after he backed away in instinctual fear, but they don't stop her from reaching him. Nothing could.

Y/N walks right up to him and reaches to grasp his face between her hands, forcing him to stop pacing around and actually look at her for the first time since they arrived her so he hears what she says. To say the least, the way he looks right now is enough to make her cry. There are tears welled up to the brims of his blue eyes, his lips are downturned with his sobs, and he's staring at her like she's about to strike him.

She says it as slowly and clearly as she needs to get it through his head, "He's not here," and before he manages to squeeze out another word of doubt between his rapid inhalations, she cuts in, "Take deep breaths."

He isn't listening to her.

The movement of his chest that hits hers from how close they stand to each other has yet to settle into the familiar pace she remembers from nights of falling asleep with the rhythm of his breaths beneath her head.

Her eyes search his face frantically, from left to right and top to bottom, for any sign of the person she's known for years, but she doesn't see him. Instead, she sees the same panicked child her and John B saw the first time they visited this house. It's uncanny how similar the expression in his face is. It feels to her as if she's been hurled back in time to the moment itself, and when she tries to think about what would've worked with him back then, she doesn't know what else to do except help him escape.

So, with the helplessness of having to watch him turn into a sobbing, incoherent mess, she decides to step into the darkness with him and do what seven year old Y/N would've done. Just like their games of make believe, of pirates and princesses, she assumes the role John B would have and rescues him from what holds him captive. It’s his own mind in this case, but, in the physical sense, it's the house.

She drops her hands from his face and takes his hand in hers to drag him out of the room. The packed bag sits on the floor in their wake as she pulls him back through the bedroom door and into the living room, not caring about what they came here to do.

It doesn't matter anymore.

The various rooms of his dad's house pass by them in a blur as she leads him down the hallway to the front door with one sole objective in mind: get him out of here. If he wants his stuff to bring back to the Chateau, she'll go back inside and get whatever he needs her to, but she isn't letting him inside of this house again. Not under her watch.

Thankfully, since he is undeniably stronger than her and she wouldn't have stood a chance, he doesn't fight it. He stumbles after her guiding hand the same way he always has, just like how he followed her back to the Chateau after she and John B saw him that day when they were kids. She led the way as he sat on the handlebars of her brother's bike, and he watched her hair flutter in the wind with the momentum of their bicycle spokes until the tears dried up.

He watches her drag him out of the home until they've reached the safety of the yard at the bottom of the porch steps, and as soon as the soles of her shoes meet the dirt, she feels his hand slipping out of hers.

"JJ?"

She turns around to see him clutching his chest, rubbing his hand along the front of his shirt over his heart as though it'll loosen up the tightened muscles preventing him from catching his breath. His body weight is leaned onto the railing of the porch steps for support. He's partially slumped on it, looking at her desperately, like she somehow knows the answer to every question screamed inside of his head, and she has never felt as useless.

"You're gonna leave," JJ says through the gasps and cries that leave his cheeks stained with tears.

When she reaches out again to help him remain upright without leaning over the railing, he doesn't shove her hands away as he did inside of his bedroom. It's a small battle won, but she takes it as a win nonetheless.

"What are you saying? I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere—"

"You're gonna leave! Everybody does! My mom, John B, my dad, and you"—his head falls to look at the ground instead of her, and she watches him work through it in his head—"I mean, look at me. You don't want this."

"Don't tell me what I want," she says.

Her voice remains as steady and calm as she can force it to be amidst the turbulent situation, but the way he said it...It takes her right back to sitting in the back of the Twinkie with him at the Cherry Bowl, except it's ten times worse. That felt like a break up, but based on what he's saying, this is one. She hasn't prepared herself for the heartache she feels in response to it.

"You don't want me, you just think you do 'cause I was there after John B died, but you don't. You're gonna go off, find some perfect guy that isn't as fucked up as me, and have a great life somewhere else, but it ain't here," JJ says, his breathing evening out with the distraction of the argument to keep him tethered tor reality, "And it won't be with me."

He can see it every time he's looked at her and debated saying those three titular words that have been floating around in his head since he first met her.

How could she want someone who can't walk into his childhood bedroom without breaking down, or someone who still has years-old scars from cigarette burns on his skin when she touches him? Her bright future contrasted with his pre-designated fate on the Cut, her personality better matched with someone more similar to her, her life continuing on whether he's there or not—it's his worst nightmare, but he's prepared to see it through.

What he doesn't expect is for her to hold her ground.

"You honestly think I'm buying into that bullshit?" she asks.

"What?"

She doesn't put it softly, she states facts with as much harshness as his cruel fantasy had, "You're trying to push me away and I won't let you."

Her typically sweet, soft features have hardened into a bitter expression he's sure he mirrors. The arms holding his waist to keep him upright move to climb up his chest and cup his face between her hands with all of the gentleness her face and voice don't have right now.

She sees right through him.

When he tries to look away again, to avert his eyes to make what he's trying to do easier on himself by not having to look at her when he does it, her grasp on his face holds firm. Her hands guide his chin back up so they're face to face, and he realizes what a mistake everyone makes in assuming her this dainty, broken girl whose only source of strength came from the brother she lost. She's a forest fire.

"You're not hearing what I'm saying—"

Y/N interjects, "I am hearing what you're saying, I'm just saying it's bullshit."

She refuses to let him off the hook, and though it frustrates him on the surface, deep down, it makes him fall in love with her all over again. Her insistence against his speech about her leaving him proves him wrong more than anything else could, 'cause he gave her the perfect chance to dip and she shot it down instantly.

The house looms behind them as a menacing presence that threatens to take control of him again, but she doesn't let it. She keeps his eyes on her no matter how many times he tries to look away and doesn't let anything get in the way of what she says next.

"You think that if you push me away and get me to leave you right now, it'll hurt less than it would if I did it later, and I don't accept that. I won't take the bait and let you torture yourself anymore, okay? I can't speak for anyone else, but I know I'll never leave you. Not willingly, anyway."

She looks into his eyes, and this time its softer, more loving, and he's never felt as understood as he does when she continues to speak.

"I'm in love with you. Whether it scares you or not, it's the truth, and I'll never stop saying it. If you think that your issues with your dad are gonna change that for me, you've officially lost your mind." Their noses brush as she leans in to ghost a kiss over his mouth and pulls away a second later to whisper, her forehead pressed to his, "I love you, JJ. Stop being so stubborn and just let me."

His next breath in trembles as he lets her words sink in, and he's stuck at a crossroads inside of himself without a clue of what to do.

The breeze blows her hair away from her face, the afternoon sunshine painting her golden, and when he sees her hair flutter in the air like it did so many years ago, he can't help but feel as calm as he did during their bike ride home. The further away he got from his dad and the house where it all happened, the calmer he grew, and it hits him at this moment that he's so taken aback by her confession to him, he forgot why he was so upset.

It's sobering. The intoxication of his panic hurtled him back in time to the frightened, childlike state of mind his dad's violent abuse often sent him to, but it was hearing her say those words he's feared for weeks that brought him back. Like the jolt of a defibrillator, he's roused back to life with more clarity than before.

She loves him, but, perhaps more importantly, she said she'd never leave him, and that is what he needed to hear more than anything. That is the statement worth more to him than the four letter word he has agonized over endlessly. No one else every attached the promise of "I love you" with the stipulation of it lasting forever. They said the empty words and contradicted it with their actions, but she hasn't done that. Her actions spoke the words long before her mouth did.

He sighs.

It's a deep, yearning sigh that sends him melting into her with the acceptance of what he's denied for too long. He savors the hands cradling his head, as well as the body pressed up against his that he has memorized down to every beauty mark and imperfection, and makes the right choice.

It isn't like it was the night at the Cherry Bowl, or the night he spoke to Pope about it. It still takes more bravery than he possesses to form the words, but there isn't a physical incapability stopping him anymore. It's just him against the trauma beckoning him into its trap again, and he won't let it lure him back into that house.

"Alright," JJ says to her through a sniffle in acceptance to her command, as if he were agreeing on afternoon surfing plans rather than something as monumental as allowing someone to love him, then continues onto with a timid tone, "I love you too."

Before he can watch for her reaction, she's surging forward through the few inches of space left between them to connect their lips in a kiss.

It's vastly different to the kiss they shared in the hallway at school last Friday. In contrast to that one, the reigning emotion within him that drives the kiss after the hesitant beginning doesn't lead them into increased intensity, it gets gentler. It doesn't explode into chaos and passion, it's a tired kiss that he never wants to retreat from. It's the physical manifestation of his feelings for her underneath the guarded exterior he uses to protect himself: gentle and yielding, yet undeniably powerful.

He feels her smiling through her tears against his mouth. In the face of everything that happened this afternoon, he doesn't feel like he should be smiling back at her, but he does. He smiles while kissing her with tears streaming down his face, still reeling from his traumatic response to coming home for the final time, and wonders how a person can feel such contradicting emotions all at once.

Y/N is the one who starts to pull away first, though it's only to check in on him. If she had it her way, she could stay here with him until the sun sets, but he did just come back from the brink of a full-blown panic attack, so she can't in good conscience ignore his well-being for the momentary bliss of their love confessions.

Her thumb brushes over his bottom lip, her smile drooping with worry as she asks, "Wanna spend the rest of the day on the boat? You always say being on the water makes you feel better. Maybe it'll make it easier to talk about it."

His Adam's apple bobs with how he swallows the lump in his throat.

"Can we maybe take baby steps for now? I don't think I can handle telling you all that shit yet."

It was already enough to allow her to follow him into the house, watch him break down into a fit of panic no one else has seen him in, and tell her he loved her, but it'd cross the line into uncharted territory to talk about everything between him and his dad so openly. Between the minor annoyance of dealing with Kacey to this hellish visit home, he thinks he's reached his quota on feeling uncomfortable today.

She nods in agreement.

"Baby steps."

Drawn back to each other by a force stronger than gravity, they collide again, but it isn't a kiss this time. It's a hug charged with all of the previously unspoken emotions they've buried inside of themselves for years, the same hug she gave him the last time she came to this house with the fear of his potential death lingering in her thoughts.

She throws herself at him with the same desperation she did that day and relishes the feeling of his muscular arms returning the embrace until their bodies are tangled together. She'd usually never refer to something as inherently affectionate as an embrace as violent, but it's the closest she can come to capturing how it feels as their bodies meet. It makes her lose her footing on the bottom step they stand on together, teetering on the edge she'd surely slip off of with the force if not for him keeping her steady.

He's about to say something, a thank you to her for calling him out on his bullshit and not letting him go that easily, when the grating sound of her ringtone blares from the back pocket of her denim shorts.

The contact popping up on the screen along with a series of frantic messages when she pulls away from him to answer shows Pope's name.

Pope You and JJ need to get back to the Chateau ASAP!!

The van doors slam shut behind Y/N and JJ as soon as it rolls to a stop in front of the Chateau.

Under the assumption that something dire happened, as in injury or death or catastrophic damage to the house itself, they bolted off of that porch faster than they knew they could move. She only turned back when she remembered the packed back of JJ's things they abandoned on his bedroom floor and, not wanting him to reenter the house, she brought it back to the Twinkie in record time.

They're preparing to trample up the porch into the house like a stampede of animals when they hear Kie calling them over to the backyard and change direction.

"No one's hurt!" she shouts, knowing that was likely where their minds went after everything they went through during the summer, "You have to see this though, I don't know who did it!"

Sticks and fallen leaves crunch beneath her feet on her way around the side of the house. Her mind races with the possibility of what could've happened that didn't hurt their friends but necessitated a series of texts and calls as frantic as the ones she received at JJ's house. She drove over here in defiance of the speed limit, something she rarely does, and prayed nothing terrible was happening.

It gave her flashbacks to when she found out John B and Sarah died in the storm. The pedal beneath her foot brought the van to an uncomfortably swift speed, then she remembered the sound of Shoupe's voice when he gave them the news. JJ warned her to slow down, then she remembered how it took multiple people to help her restrain him from attacking the new sheriff for letting his men drive their friends into their deaths.

At first, she doesn't realize what's wrong.

Kiara and Pope are standing and waiting for them across the grass near the large tree that sits as a centerpiece to their yard. Based on the body language screaming their frustration and the tears in their eyes, she can tell something bad did happen, but it's not clear what it is until she looks past them to the tree. More specifically, until she looks at what's on the tree.

"Oh my god," she whispers to herself.

Her hand is already up to cover her mouth and conceal the instantaneous frown besmirching her previously relaxed face. They both are stopped in their tracks halfway to where their friends are standing, and she can’t hear JJ's reaction over the rising volume of her hysterical thoughts.

Spray painted in red on top of their memorial for John B are the words "COP KILLER" in bold letters that conceal what they burned into the tree trunk for his gravestone. It sticks out from the beauty of the greens, browns, blues, and swathes of other earthy tones composing the scenery around the Chateau like a thorn amongst flowers, so much so that she wonders how she didn't instantly see it when they rounded the corner to come back here.

Yet that isn't the only thing amiss in the peaceful sanctuary they call home, there are random things strewn around the ground around the tree. An old t-shirt spray painted with the word "murderer" on the front, four ripped up envelopes, and a gorgeous mahogany jewelry box...broken on the grass.

The freshly turned dirt they had the contents of the box buried beneath is scattered around the trashed area as well. It clicks with her a few seconds late that whoever came here to do this must have seen the pinwheel she put in the ground to mark the "grave" and dug it up to add insult to injury.

She moves forward without consciously realizing it and stumbles until she reaches the first object of the debris field. Before this, she was doing a masterful job of holding in her cries, but as soon as she crouches down to pick up the pieces of the jewelry box, the lid snapped clean off the hinges to separate it from the bottom section, it comes rushing out of her against her will. The first unrestrained keen is the first thing to snap JJ out of his shell shocked trance.

He walks after her as fast as his legs will take him without breaking into a run, but she isn't letting him get close before she puts the box back down and shuffles forward to collect the torn letter remains. She doesn't want them to get blown away by the wind anymore than they already might have been, so she scrambles to gather the pieces until they're cupped in her hands to protect them.

"Why?" she asks and looks up at Kie and Pope with tears dripping down her face, "Why would anyone do this? Who would do this?"

Pope says, "My guess is as good as yours. We didn't see anyone leaving when we got here, so it must've happened before school ended. This is all we saw before we called you guys."

For a second or two, JJ is grasping at straws for why this happened and who did it like the rest of them are, but then something Pope said makes it click into place. It sets off a domino effect in his mind as he brings back the memory of a certain offspring of satan being absent from gym this afternoon despite being at school earlier, since his encounter with her before Physics made him, unfortunately, aware of her existence again.

His face is set in anger, jaw clenching with the tension of him grinding his teeth together, and he takes his hat off to fidget with it between his hands for a second. Their friends are too focused on her crying to see him contemplating it, but as soon as he speaks, they look up to see him setting his hat back onto his head in preparation to leave and track Kacey down.

Y/N's head snaps up from the torn letters in her hands to the sight of him storming off across the yard with his only goodbye being the words, "I'm gonna kill that bitch."

Her and Pope stare after him in shock, unable to put the pieces together about who that "bitch" is, but Kie doesn't miss a single beat. While Y/N is crumpled over on the ground in tears, she's rushing after JJ before he can approach the bike parked in front of the house. He doesn't even make it five steps before he feels her hands latching onto his wrist to stop him.

She asks, "Who the hell are you talking about? And why would they do this?"

His eyes narrow at her. His unreleased frustration for the situation in general and having to watch Y/N cry after an emotional afternoon together comes rushing out when he snaps at her.

"Kacey. She talked shit at school and I put her in her place. Now, if you don't mind, I'm gonna pay her a little visit."

He yanks his arm sharply towards himself to free it from her grip, but she's a step ahead of him. Quicker than he can think to stop her, Kie swipes the keys hanging out of his back pocket away and throws them to Pope, who, bless his heart, can't catch to save his life. The key ring jingles with its contact at the dead center of his chest, and she mouths an apology to him before turning back to face JJ.

"What the fuck, Kie?"

He makes to stomp past her and retrieve the keys from Pope only to be stopped by her hands reaching out to grab his shoulders.

"Listen to me, you can't go anywhere. Look at her," she whispers lowly enough to keep Y/N from hearing, pointing behind her to where she sits on the ground with Pope knelt beside her, "I wouldn't put it past Kacey to pull a stunt like this. I'm just as mad as you, but revenge can wait and you know it. She needs you."

The fury visible in his expression is subdued by looking past Kie's shoulder to see Y/N crying softly to Pope about the vandalized memorial.

The last time he saw her so distraught over something, it was the day they made the memorial and buried the box in the first place. She sits on her knees with her mom's broken jewelry box between them, shuddering with the sobs she has no control over, and pours the torn paper into the empty bottom half of the box. Exhausted to the core, she looks more like a sullen, kicked puppy than she does herself.

It makes his anger-fueled instincts that urge him to hunt Kacey down and do something, anything he can to make her feel the pain they do right now bubble down into sorrow. It's visible in his eyes when he looks at her.

Kie knows she's gotten under his skin when he sighs, sparing a parting glance to the bike in the driveway, and nods once at her before setting off back to where they're sitting in the grass.

Meanwhile, Y/N is stuck staring down at the disarray of her backyard with nothing but pain aching through her to the bone.

Her brother did wrong things sometimes as a consequence of being human, but never this, never something worthy of having his name dragged through the mud and being branded a murderer after his death. He stole scuba gear from Ward and broke dozens of laws in their hunt for the gold, but he never crossed that line into moral bankruptcy. Rafe did, and it kills JJ to see someone like Kacey do this to his best friend while hanging off of Rafe and his friends like a leech.

The fabric of his worn t-shirt is tarnished by the dried paint clinging to the front of it to the spell the lie written there, and her vision blurs with tears for what feels like the millionth time in the span of an hour. First, it was JJ. Now, it's John B, and she can't help but wonder if the heartache will ever end. It began to feel better over the course of the week, her grief for him slowly beginning to slip from her mind until now. Until the storm clouds converged again to batter her with another wave of it.

Through the deafening volume of her mind racing with thoughts and feelings to process what's happened, she hears Pope shuffling around to stand on his feet. Then, another person sits down in his place and scoots closer until their bodies are touching, and she knows it's him. She doesn't have to wait to hear his voice or look to see his face, she can tell based on the feeling of his touch and the smell of him she's so intimately familiar with, yet couldn't describe it aloud if she tried.

He doesn't smother her. He sits close enough to touch her and doesn't push it any further.

The background of the pale, cloudless sky frames him in the foreground like the subject of a painting—a living, breathing painting that she could study endlessly. The other trees planted in the yard's leaves flutter distantly behind him and try to draw her gaze away, but she keeps her eyes on him.

Maybe that's how it is, she thinks.

Maybe it'll get better and worse in a dance that'll only stop when they're no longer here to agonize over it. Maybe this is what moving on from John B will always be like. It'll feel like they've made strides in the right direction, then something will come along to shatter it to sharp pieces that'll reopen their stitched up wounds. If that's the case, at least the four of them have each other to lean on when it gets worse again.

JJ sits with her and lets her crawl onto his lap, resting her head on his shoulder, until the sun sinks below the horizon.

The gentle bobbing of the HMS Pogue at the surface of the water steadies her amidst her eddying thoughts. It keeps her present to the moment the way the ropes tying the boat to the dock keeps it from floating adrift into the marsh. It's a motion engrained in her from the start of her life until now from countless days spent on the water. Whether it be for fishing, swimming, or playing make believe with her boys all those years ago, it's as much a part of her as her personality or body itself.

JJ was right about one thing: being out on the water makes it easier to think.

He hasn't followed her out since she woke up before sunrise and snuck out of bed to come here. Despite her efforts not to wake him, he woke up when she disentangled her body from his, silently cursing the fact that they always cuddle so closely, and he tried to pull her back to him with a whine of displeasure in his groggy, half-asleep state. Sleep finally found them after hours of staying up together to talk about what Kacey did, unable to relax from the chaos of yesterday, so he wasn't prepared to wake up that soon.

"Go back to sleep, angel," she whispered as she hovered over him, brushing a chaste kiss to his lips that he was too tired to return.

That was the last time she saw him since this morning, and now that the sun has risen to its peak in the sky without her moving an inch from her perch atop the bow of the boat, she's begun to wonder if he's awake yet. It isn't uncommon for them to sleep in for half of the day when there isn't school or work, so it isn't surprising to her that he's just now waking up when she hears the back door to the Chateau opening and closing.

Unbeknownst to her, JJ has been awake the entire morning since she left bed.

They were so attached to each other yesterday night, he didn't have the time to put it together without her seeing and ruining the surprise, but once he heard the door to the porch close to signify her leaving, he kicked the blankets off of himself and got to work. He wasn't originally planning on starting so early, since they stayed up late into the night together, but once he woke up to the feeling of her sneaking out of his arms, he was too awake to fall back asleep.

The sound of his footsteps on the dock warns her of his approach, but she doesn't raise her head from where she rests it in her palms to stare out at the water.

"I was wondering when you'd finally wake up," she says.

There's another few steps, then the boat jostles with his weight stepping onto it.

He doesn't say anything to her in response. The only clue she gets as to what he's doing are the footsteps on the deck that lead closer to her until she feels him sitting down on the bow next to where she is. And she's about to open her mouth to ask if he's okay when he sets something down in front of her.

It's a shoe box.

Y/N turns to see him, eyes flickering over his tired face, and looks back at the box with furrowed brows.

"What is this?"

His hair is messy, exactly how it was when she left him in bed this morning, and if she weren't more focused on the mysterious box he plopped down in front of her, she'd be combing through it with her fingers. He's gotten used to those casual displays of affection from her; how she runs her hands through his hair on mornings before school when he forgets to brush it, or when she fixes a button on his flannel that he missed.

JJ's lips are tipped in a smile, and she can't help but blush with how he looks at her. She never used to see it, but he has always looked at her like this. Like he's hopelessly, utterly in love with her. Even before they lost John B, back when he'd expend all of his romantic and sexual attention on girls he hardly knew, he still looked at her this way.

He gestures at it and says, "Open it."

The lid of the box is coated in a freshly dried layer of blue paint to match the shade of the sky overhead. She knows instantly that he must have dug through the arts and crafts box she specifically labeled with a warning for him and John B to stay out. It's painted with aimlessly sloppy brushstrokes and stickers placed at every corner of the cardboard box, all of which she recognizes from the stash she kept under her bed alongside the India ink he borrowed last Friday.

As she gives him a skeptical look and reaches to lift the lid off of the shoe box, she makes a mental note to rewrite the label on the arts and crafts box without the warning for him to keep out. Since John B isn't here to steal anything from it and JJ never follows that rule anyway, it's redundant at this point.

Any skepticism is washed away from her face as soon as she flips the lid open to reveal what's inside. It leaves her speechless as she looks down at it all.

"JJ..." she murmurs in awe.

Sitting at the bottom of it is a folded up t-shirt she saw JJ wear multiple times, but never again since John B died. He refused to glance at the shirt his best friend gave him the year before they never saw him again, let alone dig it out of the corner of her closet where he keeps his things...until now.

But that's a scratch on the surface of all of the things about his gift that stuns her to silence. The next thing to catch her immediate attention is a picture she hasn't seen in years.

It's one that Big John took of the three of them together right where she and JJ are sitting. She was much younger in it, flashing a toothy grin with her arms thrown over both boys' shoulders. To her left, John B was leaning his head on her shoulder. To her right, JJ was wearing an eyepatch they crafted out of an old black shirt he stole from his dad. It was cut with the kitchen scissors and tied around the back of his head in a knot.

She brushes her thumb over John B's face, then sets the crinkled photograph back down atop the folded shirt and moves her attention to the last surprise.

Letters.

Torn up pieces of paper painstakingly taped back together sit one on top of the other, some missing pieces here or there, and it makes her mouth part in shock. Her hands shuffle the letters apart to see each one and recognize the handwriting: Kie's bubbly, swirling letters, Pope's neat cursive, hers, and JJ's chicken scratch writing that she's able to decipher from years of proofreading his essays.

She pictures him at her desk all morning while she was sitting out here, ripping tape off of the roll and arranging the puzzle pieces of the ripped letters until he was sure he got it right. It made him want to rip the hair from his scalp, but he sat there and pushed through the frustration to make it as perfect as he could for her. The missing pieces were primarily from Kie's letter, which fluttered away on a balmy breeze when Kacey tore it up and threw it to the ground, but the one he wanted her to have the most wasn't missing more than a single piece.

Y/N looks up from the letters held like a precious treasure in her hands to see him watching her with that same classic JJ smile on his face, but he doesn't let her get a word in yet.

"Go on," he says, leaning closer to pull his letter to John B out and place it on top of the pile for her to read, "I want you to read it."

"You didn't let me read it when I asked before though, are you sure you—"

He interrupts her before she can worry herself over it, "Dude, just read it. I promise I'm fine with it. I want you to."

The letters crinkle under her touch as she looks back down and smooths them out on the deck enough to read through the clear tape. With one last confirming glance to him for permission, she takes a deep breath and reads the first line.

Dear John B,

You really know how to keep a guy on his toes, don't you? You really outdid yourself on this one. I was so sure we were gonna make it, but I guess you had to go all Romeo and Juliet on us, huh? As long as you and Sarah are happy macking on each other in heaven, it's okay.

In all seriousness, I fucking miss you, bro. I miss you more than I realized a person could miss another person. Whenever I need to talk to you again, I don't know what to do. I guess that's why it's good that Y/N made me write this.

Also, I'm really sorry for—

"What does it say there? There's a whole chunk missing," she murmurs.

He scoots close enough to her that she can feel his body warmth radiating onto her through the shoulder of his flannel. Sunlight reflects on the silver rings decorating his fingers as he holds one side of the paper to tilt it enough for him to squint at.

"Macking, I think. It's supposed to say "I'm sorry for macking on your sister."

—macking on your sister. You can totally kick my ass for it, but before you come back from the grave to murder me, let me defend myself, okay? She isn't just another girl for me, John B.

I think you knew it before I did.

Last summer, you asked me straight up if we were hooking up behind your back after I kissed her in front of you on the porch. I laughed in your face, but you were right.

You saw everything before me, man. You knew I loved her since we were kids and waited for us to come to you about it, so that's gotta mean something, right? I hope it means you wouldn't be mad at me for this.

I swear I won't fuck it up with her, but you already know that. That's why you asked me to take care of her,. I didn't know why at the time but I do now. I won't let you down.

I'm keeping my promise.

- JJ

P.S. Don't miss me too much. We'll be shotgunning beers together up there before you know it.

There are tears blooming in her eyes when she lifts her gaze from the tattered paper to look at him again, but they aren't sad. For once, the tears slipping down her cheeks are happy tears, not born from grief, sadness, and pain, but bittersweet happiness.

They're caught staring at each other for a second before he asks her shyly, "It isn't too sappy or anything, is it? 'Cause I thought it—"

"C'mere," is the only thing she can get out before she's tugging him forward by the front of his shirt to kiss him.

JJ stumbles a little with the unexpected force of her pulling him to her, but he takes it in stride. He steadies himself and lets his hands shoot out to grapple for purchase on her waist, keeping her pressed up against him tightly as he kisses her back.

And it doesn't get much better than this, does it? This is it for him. He meant what he wrote to John B, he won't fuck it up with her, especially not because of his trauma with his dad getting inside his head and sabotaging his relationship with her. This is what makes everything worth it.

It brings happy tears to his eyes too.

She can taste the salt of them where their lips meet in the middle. It makes her smile, wrapping her arms around his neck and clenching the letters he mended for her in her fist to keep them from blowing away in the wind, and they both start to laugh into each other's mouths at the poignant feeling they both share but can't quite place.

They pull away from each other to catch their breath after another moment of it, and she can't help but stare. How could she not when she feels like this? It’s less like he’s her boyfriend and more like a piece of her soul has attached itself to his with no hope of letting go in the near future.

"You're the best thing that ever happened to me," she whispers to him.

Plain and simple. No room for disagreement or a bashful rejection of the compliment. She's pulled back from him enough to hold his gaze and make sure he sees her seriousness, and there isn't anything he can do to refute her statement.

He brushes his nose against hers affectionately, dipping down to kiss her again, but when he leans back to see her face, he can't help himself.

"Ditto."

The rest of the day after their moment on the boat, locked away in their own little world where none of the monsters chasing them could sneak through and ruin it, melts away peacefully. After another half hour spent looking through the box together, of her thanking him over and over again, he hops off of the HMS Pogue onto the dock and extends his hand to her in the most gentlemanly manner possible.

His lips are curved into a smirk as he kneels down on one knee as though she's a revered royal and bows his head in subservience, "Princess Routledge."

Her hand fits in his warm, calloused palm as a perfect match, and she steps off of the boat onto the dock beside him with an expression to match his.

"Captain Maybank," she says in her most regal royalty voice.

Her stellar performance breaks into a laugh they share as he stands and throws his arm around over her shoulder to walk back to the yard. The cardboard box is tucked beneath one of her arms while the other slips around his side to hold him back, and her heart feels full with both the presence of JJ and John B alongside her.

They bury it together.

Tag List: @gabiatthedisco, @fangirlvoice, @black-syren, @apparrio, @particularcth, @planetdemon, @idk-ijustworkhere, and @krisphann

Also, now that it’s over, let me know what your favorite part was in the comments or tags if you’d like to :) I’m curious.

[sheresh0y]

Mar'eyce: Chapter Two

Pairing: Din Djarin x Mando OC Kaiyah Awaud. Soulmate AU

Word Count: 3,273

Warnings: Swearing, Feelings, surprise Paz Viszla (he wasn't supposed to be here honestly, just kinda forced his way into the story). Too much Mando'a and too many run-on sentences.

Author's Note: No beta, translations, and lore dumps at the end. Header by: @bucketheadredacted thank you for making such beautiful edits! Let me know if you don't want them on posts and I'll remove it. Dividers by yours truly. I hope I did our large blue man justice, I wasn't really planning on Paz being in this fic until he just was. Thank you for reading!

Summary: A brief look into what The Tribe has been doing, Din finally getting to Arumorut, and kids attempting a meshgeroya game.

Read from the beginning: Mar'eyce Masterlist

Paz was tired. He had been tracking down other Covert members, getting them all in one spot, reminding them that they were stronger together, and spent weeks in space with little privacy.

Now that they were here it felt like everything had stopped. Jobs were surprisingly scarce and The Covert was going… Stir crazy for lack of a better term. He needed to find the leader to talk about jobs, contacts, anything they had to get them off the ground. Everyone was telling him different things, to talk to Nejaa, Kaiyah, or their actual alor, Kai.

He was starting to believe that they were avoiding him on purpose, no matter what the settlement said. Why have three different leaders? And how could any person be such a great leader if they were unreachable? It was insane. Immature. Poor leadership. It was -

“Kai - Kaiyah, don’t walk away! I don’t get what the big deal is, I’m doing you a favor!” A lithe, tan Zabrak man stated. He had facial tattoos like the rest of the race, but instead of the heavy and bold designs, Paz was used to seeing on Zabraks this man had delicate, swooping lines that seemed to emphasize his features.

Orange armor pulled away from the produce stand that was across the street from him, following them out of the always crowded marketplace he finally caught up with some kind of leader touching their shoulder. “Kaiyah?”

Turning to face him, a woman looked up as Paz, “That’s me. Can I help you with anything, Kebiin?”

It was odd to him, seeing a Mandalorian state their name and hold their helmet in their off-hand. Not only was did it seem unpractical, leaving one hand occupied in case of an emergency, but it was like seeing something in a mirror that wasn’t supposed to be there no matter how you angled it or cleaned it. It was unnerving and wrong. He didn’t want to be here with these people.

“I need to speak to your alor, Kai. Do you know where they are?” Paz wasn’t going to waste any more time. He was over this hunt for their alor. Kaiyah moved the conversation out of the dirt-packed street, veering left as a group of speeder bikers passed by, forcing Paz to follow her again.

“That’s my buir, however, the alor isn’t taking meetings right now. I’m his successor and can answer any questions or settle any concerns you might have about Armorut. I don’t do business in the middle of the road though, it’s rude.”

Paz followed Kaiyah down the roadside for a few buildings until they stopped at a large structure. “This is the catina, I don’t know if Ba’buir gave you a tour when you first landed, but it’s also the town shelter. After you,” Kaiyah held open the door and ushered them inside, taking a seat at the first table she saw.

Purposefully sitting with her back to the room, it allowed Paz to scan the room. It was open, despite how busy it was, and built in the old style like everything else here. Wood was carved and cleaved to build the structures, hinged doors were in use; it wasn’t mass-produced like the rest of the galaxy. He could appreciate the work that went into making Arumorut what it was even if he didn’t agree with the tenants.

The bar sat on the left wall across the room, a Wookie in no armor working there. The other three walls were used for various games or booths, a staircase went to a second-floor though he couldn’t see the landing. It was a generous move, allowing him to view the room, but it was undercut but the fact that these were still her grounds. She would have the upper hand wherever they went.

Waving to the barkeep, Kaiyah signaled for something while she was talking, “So, what do you need, Kebiin?”

“The name is Mando.”

“I get that, but consider the fact that Arumorut has, what, twenty, thirty ‘Mando’s here now. How are you going to know who I’m talking to?” Kaiyah asked and dropped her helmet in the chair next to her.

“I’m the only Mando here now, aren’t I?” Paz gruffed. The Wookie slid a plate of skraan'ikase in front of Kaiyah and set a box next to his elbow. Kaiyah laughed and pulled her gloves off, about to start digging into the food.

“True, you are. I suppose I’ll save ‘Kebiin’ for when there’s more than one of you. So, business. What do you need?”

Paz dove into his concerns for The Covert. A lot of them worked in The Guild, but who knew, that could be shot with what happened on Nevarro a few weeks ago and they were all looking for work. Few of them had skills and jobs within The Covert that were now basically useless since they had fled and everyone was getting a little restless with nothing to do.

Kaiyah listened intently, nodding along to the concerns. Finishing off her plate she pushed it away from herself and waited until Paz was done speaking, “I will say that’s the only downside to Arumorut being independent, we don’t have a lot of job openings usually. The farmers could always use a few hands, but that’s because it’s farming. It sucks.”

She could tell her jab fell flat, even through all the armor Paz wore. His shoulders were taught and his posture was rigid and straight, poor guy looked like he might snap if someone put one more thing on his plate.

Kaiyah sighed, “I’ll ask around. Dagon, my brother-in-law, might need extra hands at his shop if you know anyone that can sew. He’s a tailor and town gossip so whoever you send there will get an earful. A few of our hunters should be in town and I can connect you with them. We’ll work out patrol units and I have a mission coming up in a few weeks I’ll need extra hands on. I work out of here, usually, so send your Mandos when you figure out where you want them.”

Paz nodded and thanked her for her time. It would probably create a stir, not necessarily working with outsiders, but heathens. People who didn’t respect The Way how they did. Kaiyah’s comm crackled a question out that he didn’t catch as he moved to the door.

“Hey, Kebiin, you know anyone who pilots a Razor Crest?”

Kaiyah knew she didn’t need to follow Paz out to the docks, but she did anyway. If whoever was flying this Razor Crest wasn’t who he thought it was, well, not only was this Mando built like a blue geometric brick shit house but there were perimeter guards and dock workers all trained in some kind of weaponry.

As a Mandalorian settlement, Arumorut had a lot of defensive positions to not only make it hard to get to but hard to see and that was due a lot to its location and in part to its size. The town was remote and the terrain wasn’t the easiest to navigate on the ground, from the air it was a speck nestled in some foothills. It was easy to miss unless you were looking for it, so whenever a new ship came in it always felt like a gamble.

The gunship lowered itself to the dock and started going through the landing protocols. Kaiyah bumped Paz’s elbow with the box of food, “Forgot this. Zaalbar would’ve been offended if you didn’t take it.”

Paz’s helmet tilted towards the box, “The Wookie?”

“The Wookie,” Kaiyah nodded, still holding the box out.

“Thank you,” Paz gingerly took the box tucked it under his arm.

Kaiyah’s hand went over the hilt on her right side as a beskar covered Mandalorian walked down the ramp, a pram floating gently behind them. Kaiyah was shocked, beskar was rare in Armorut, even before The Purge, now it was almost impossible to find. Enough to make nearly an entire suit? This Mando had to either be crazy or connected.

“Mando,” Paz nodded as they approached, the pram not far behind. The front of it was shut, leaving everyone on the dock wondering what the Mandalorian had.

Mando nodded to Paz and turned their helmet to her. Even though the helmet didn’t move it felt like they were sizing her up. She wasn’t expecting a warm welcome by any means, she knew from the brief interactions with the rest of The Tribe that they were militant in the way they wore their armor, helmet and all.

What she wasn't expecting was the way the hairs rose on her neck. It was adrenaline-inducing in a new way, not the anticipation of a mission or fight like Kaiyah was used to. It felt like when she was a kid and had to wait for dinner to be over for a sweet treat, it was electric in a way she couldn’t describe.

Taking the initiative she stuck her hand out, “Kaiyah Awaud, second in command here at Arumorut. If you need anything let me know.”

The silver Mandalorian didn’t say anything as he gripped her forearm, shaking it respectfully before responding, “Mando.”

Kaiyah spilt off from Din and Paz at the dock. She received a comm from someone in town and took off after introductions.

Din couldn’t shake the sight of her, the feeling of her. It was like he had seen her before, knew her presence. He could swear to the manda they met before, he just wasn’t sure when or where he would have.

Following Paz down the trail, it was silent. Neither had anything to say. Whether that was due to anger or comfortability Din wasn’t entirely sure, the last time they saw each other was Nevarro and it wasn’t exactly the best way to part.

“Get what you needed from Nevarro?” Paz asked.

“Yes.” Din looked around the trail on the foothill, they were about halfway to the town and the vantage point let him know that no one was coming down from the foothill docks or going up to them. The pram clicked open and the kid blinked up at the two Mandalorians, looking from Din to Paz he cooed, obviously interested in the new face - helmet.

“The Guild sent you after a ik’aad?”

Din nodded, not wanting to rehash the story on the side of a hill, there would be time later, in a more private space. “Why don’t they wear their helmets? The Armorer said they were allies.”

“I’ll fill you in vod, skraan'ikase?” Paz held the box up to Din, shaking it lightly.

Sitting around Paz’s table they took turns telling their stories since splitting up, Paz trying to find The Covert remnants. Din’s final discussion with The Armorer and his subsequent mission to find the kid’s family, the green child eating the food Paz sat down on the table.

“Was The Armorer right?” Din asked. The Covert couldn’t risk not being safe, not now. The leather of Paz’s glove creaked in his fist as he sighed, “Of course she was right. They’ve been frustratingly hospitable. Doesn’t make it an easier pill to swallow knowing they’re aruetii. I’ve seen them train, speak Mando’a, how they raise children. They would be true Mandalorians if they followed The Way.”

Din’s guilt was alleviated, slightly. The Covert was safe, they could rebuild. With Paz taking up the mantle of leadership it would be easy, he was dogged. Never could let anything go.

“So, you know any Jetti?”

The kid was going to be the death of him. Din was sure of it. Paz had set up the entire Covert into the old-style houses with true glass and hinged doors that made up Armorut which meant both the kid and Mando were adjusting to amenities they didn’t have before.

The homes didn’t come fully furnished, beds, a table in the dining area, and chairs were all that was provided. It was bare and basic but more than Din ever had to his name, even when he stayed on Nevarro. His personal quarters there consisted of a hot plate and a mattress on the floor; here the beds were off the floor on frames, there was a kitchen, and a proper ‘fresher with water, all of which fit on one floor.

It was a lot, more than Din was ever used to. It felt indulgent and wasteful for two people. The kid didn’t seem to agree with his caretaker though, running through the one-story home trying to get his claws on everything. Din had just found the kid bouncing on the windowsill, giggling at something that only he could see. Pulling the dancing toddler off the very precarious edge he found himself on, Din was ready to scold him out of terror and exasperation. How many could such a tiny person find so many things get into?

A knock at the door kept the kid laughing and he made an attempt to squirm out of Din’s arms, sighing Din sat him on a chair and told him to stay, fully knowing it probably wouldn’t happen. The hinged doors were a plus in his mind, you could control how much you wanted the person on the other side of the door versus the sliding durasteel doors the rest of the galaxy used.

Opening it enough for whoever was on the other side to see him and not the rest of the house, he was surprised to see two nearly identical Zabrak boys, both with red skin and short horns, one had cropped hair the other had his hair pulled back. They were older than the kid, around the time to start training if he was right.

“Hi, Mister Mando. I was wondering if they could come play with us?” the one on the left with cropped hair spoke up first, pointing in the window as a reference. The one on the right glared at his companion, landing a pretty good blow to the side with his elbow.

“Di’kut, Ba’vodu said to tell our names first, then ask. It’s nicer that way.”

Din glanced up from the arguing boys, finding who he assumed their ba’vodu was. Kaiyah waved at Din from the road, holding a meshgeroya ball under her arm. She nodded towards the boys, raising her eyebrow as if silently asking if she should get the boys off his porch.

After a small shoving match the boy on the right with longer hair raised his voice, “Anyway, Mister Mando, I’m Ellis. That’s Kato. Can they come play meshgeroya with us?” Din looked at the boys and was about to decline when the kid made his appearance, shoving his way between Din’s legs, looking up at him. He didn’t want the kid going anywhere he couldn’t see or get to easily, but the kid hadn’t had normal companions since Sorgan and that was weeks ago now. Besides, it wasn’t like he could ever say no to the womp rat.

Sighing lightly Din moved out of the home. “Sure, he can come.”

The group of boys took off from the porch and down the road. Kaiyah waited, keeping an eye on everyone; it wasn’t like they could go far since the kid could only toddle so fast.

“Mando, pleasure to see you again. I hope my nephews haven’t bothered you this morning,” the orange Mandalorian greeted. It was pleasant, nothing out of the ordinary for a neighborly greeting, but it felt like she was talking to Din instead of Mando.

He felt it through the T-Visor, the impersonal nickname, it felt like Kaiyah was talking to him directly and that hadn’t happened in a long time, even in The Covert.

“Not at all, I appreciate your nephews inviting him out,” Din matched his pace to hers, trying to keep an eye on the kid and be polite at the same time.

Silence crept in for a few moments, both of them watching their respective wards and the town. It was different from The Covert but not enough to make it uncomfortable. Kids running through the dirt-packed roads, Mandalorians and not standing around talking about work or gossiping. It was lively compared to the silence that Din’s people needed to keep in the sewers.

Kaiyah broke the silence. “Can I ask you how you found Arumorut?” It wasn’t accusing or tense. He figured if a group of Mandalorians he didn’t know showed up on Nevarro he’d be asking the same questions, albeit not as politely.

“Our armorer knew about its location, told us to come here for support.”

“Smart. We don’t turn away people often, not at all actually. Those who come looking for trouble tend to not leave.” Kaiyah smiled up at Din, flashing a smile and a wink like they were now in on some joke together.

“Can people leave?” He didn’t want to have to shoot his way out of another situation so soon after the heat of Nevarro. Kaiyah scoffed and rolled her eyes up to look Din in the visor.

“Of course, we leave all the time. Work, life, not wanting to be here anymore. Doesn’t matter why you came, doesn’t matter why you leave. Most people find their way back, though.”

The conversation lapsed into silence again and Din wasn’t quite sure why he wanted her to keep talking. They didn’t know each other, hadn’t said more than a handful of words to each other a few days ago. They finally made their way to the edge of town, it wasn’t a long walk, maybe ten minutes by Din’s count, until they reached a grass field bisected by the path that would take them into Arumorut.

“The other field is best for meshgeroya, but this one is closest and Ba’vodu didn’t want to walk all the way there, but that’s good ‘cause you’re here and we can all play together,” Kato, or Ellis, Din wasn’t sure how to tell them apart other than hair, mentioned to the kid. A squeak followed the boy’s statement as the one with longer hair asked Kaiyah for the ball. After a playful game of keep away, she gave the ball to her nephew and told him to play nice.

The ball was nearly as big as the kid, how he was going to keep up with the Awauds Din wasn’t sure, but it would be fun to watch. Kaiyah stood back next to his shoulder while the kids kicked and pushed the ball around, it wasn’t meshgeroya or anything at all, but the kid was out of the house and not attempting any death-defying feats so it was a win.

The space between the two adults wasn’t too close, or too far. Maybe two feet, if either of them had to guess. It didn’t help the way either of them felt though. Mando made Kaiyah feel… strange. Like when you left hyperspace too fast and your stomach jolted past the rest of your body for a moment, but in an exciting way.

Din’s skin tingled. It was like she was watching him under the armor, he felt unprotected around her. Not many people had been able to make The Mandalorian feel like he was something past The Way and none in the startling short amount of time Kaiyah had.

Whatever was going on, they both knew they needed to get a grip.

Translations & Lore (in order of appearance):

alor: leader, chief

kebiin: blue

buir: parent

Ba'buir: grandparent

skraan'ikase: Literally "small eats" this meal is more like tapas, quick snacks or food to eat in the field since a full Mandalorian meal can take hours to eat and is often finicky.

Quick tidbit about farming: Concord Dawn is where a lot of farmers resided (including Jango Fett's family in Legends) the Mando'a word for 'farmer' is vhett pronounced 'fet'. The Fett family is literally the word for farmer, which I think is kinda cool.

manda: heaven, collective Mandalorian soul.

ik’aad: baby, child under three.

vod: sibling, comrade.

aruetii: outsider or traitor; colloquially a "non-Mandalorian".

Jetti: Jedi

di’kut: idiot, useless individual.

Ba’vodu: aunt, uncle

meshgeroya: limmie or bolo ball in the Star Wars universe. A riff on soccer.

[hayjeon]

Practical Tips on getting your fics out there!

I’ve gotten an influx of these types of questions here recently, and the more i thought about what i was gonna add, it became really long :(  

disclaimer: a lot of the things i bring up are just from personal experience as a writer on this site, what my followers have told me they appreciate, and what i tend to look for when im looking for fics to read! If you don’t like these tips then pls move on :) 

although i’ll mention them, i’m also not going to be focusing on cliche tips like “write for yourself” or “grammar issues” cause those are pretty obvious!

1. accessibility of your blog 

when you’re trying to get your name out there, make sure that you’re creating an inviting experience for any potential followers! this includes:

a memorable url! be creative!

have some fun designing your blog’s aesthetic! (i love cute blogs because it reflects a bit of the writer’s personality), and (i prefer blogs with white backgrounds because it’s easier to look through/read, say, in contrast to a pitch black one where the words need to be white!) 

put your masterlist link in your bio (even better if you can link most recent fic! found this most helpful when i revisit authors that i like and can easily see if they’ve updated or not)

an organized and easy-to-navigate masterlist (personally, i prefer masterlists organized by band, instead of types of fics ie. i hate when i have to choose between drabbles, oneshots, and series masterlists; i really prefer to see them altogether!) --> see section 3 

organized tags (if you’re going to be posting a lot of non-fic-related content like pictures or videos, tag them properly so followers can sort through and find your fics easily!), or (if you’re going to be writing in different mediums like drabbles, or answering asks, make sure to use a unified #mine or #writing or #fics to centralize your content) 

2. get your name out there!

write write write! once you have some fics that show your talent, don’t be shy! 

join writing groups: when i first started out, I joined a bunch of groups that would reblog my fics in the midst of the content of much bigger writers; these blogs developed a following, and as a result of my content mixing in with bigger blogs’ content, so did my own tumblr! there’s been a stigma recently with these groups, but im sure you can find one thats supportive and not clique-y! 

send your fics to rec pages: what’s the harm? the only bad thing that can happen is that they ignore you! who cares! get out there! 

if you can do the above, i really encourage you to ask your fave writers for advice/to read your fic: again, the worst that can happen is that they say no or don’t respond or don’t have enough time, but it’ll be a good opportunity to get some feedback! i for one read (or try to read) every single rec that falls into my inbox. if i like it, i’ll #rec it, and if i don’t, unless the writer asks me for feedback, i move on!! 

utilize your tags!!: i’m not entirely sure if this is still the same or not, but from my memory, it’s the first 3-5 tags that matter the most? so utilize them well; push back the tags that aren’t really relevant (ie. #writing, #fics) and push more the main subject line of what you wrote (ie. jungkook fluff, bts smut, namjoon angst). these will populate your fics into the tags better!

headers!: when i’m scrolling through an infinite page of fics, the headers catch my eye the most; try being creative! you can find a lot of info out there on how to make ur headers super aesthetic, but i can share my tips too! --> see section 3

3. your masterlist 

here are some practical tips! 

organize by band, not type of fic/member/centralize your masterlist: i went onto a blog recently and clicked their bio mlist link to find a page full of 20~ish “JUNGKOOK MASTERLIST”/ “JAEHYUN MASTERLIST” and when i clicked on each one, they only had like 2 or 3 fics per member. i think it would’ve been better if she’d centralized all her fics! that keeps whoever is looking interested and more likely to click on another fic while browsing

add info about the fics!: when scrolling through a masterlist, it’s easy to get lost; try to add some snippets of info (ie. a short sentence you liked from the fic, a quick summary, a description of the au/scenario, or even a header!) this all gives some info about the fics you have tagged! 

headers: this isn’t a requirement, but i personally love a good header on fics i read and i love making them myself as i finish up a fic and get ready to upload it; here are free sources: unsplash for HQ stock pics, crop/edit/filter in VSCO, and then add aesthetic script with fontcandy) 

try to fill it up!: after i visit a blog after reading one good fic, i usually browse through their mlist to see if there are any more that i’d be interested in. if there’s a lot to look forward to, i’ll almost always follow; try to write as much as you can in the first few months to try and fill up your mlist and give blog viewers a reason to visit your blog again, follow, or even reblog your content!) 

4. try not to reproduce cliche fics: 

honestly tumblr’s writing community (and armys) has grown insanely these past few years and, unfortunately, even from my perspective, in the past 3-4 years, all the writers have sort of become blended together in my brain. but, i can say that the ones who consistently stand out are the ones who produce consistent content and think outside of the box! 

i tend to gravitate towards fics that have really interesting plotlines (ex. btssavedmylifeblr’s VOID is always a surprise to read because it’s sO unique! i usually don’t read ot7 fics but this one is legit my fave) 

I know it’s tempting to try and just write typical smut fics to try and gain some traction, but tumblr is already too overloaded by that kind of content; try to write something that’s special and unique! this will set u apart from the thousands of other writers here --> see next section

5. create unique fics: 

this is also personal to my writing style, but i get so bored writing just casual fics about the members, and it affects the fics i choose to read too; i prefer unique fics which you can achieve through: 

circumstance/au: create a fun au!; don’t just create an arranged marriage, create an arranged marriage in joseon dynasty, or between a werewolf and a hunter! (shameless self plug); don’t just give me friends to lovers, but give me spiderman!jungkook friends to lovers! (ie. cupofteaguk’s exchanges)

jobs: give them out-of-the-ordinary jobs; don’t just give me enemies to lovers, but give me rival!anchors who end up loving eachother! (ie. jimlingss The Newscasters)

fun dialogue: create good back-and-forth, (something i’m still working on!)! this will help your characters develop personality, and that way, readers will start to develop that themselves as well (ie. dad!yoongi from insemination wars by prolixitae is such a specific character that i love so much!, or obiwrites’ garden characters were so memorable!)

create memorable personalities: don’t give me a flat character, try to develop 4d personalities in all of your characters! (im still working on this too!) this way you can really make an impression on your followers! a great way to practice/recognize this is: “Ask my Character.” Can your followers ask a specific character a specific question, and would you be able to deliver an answer that is very specific to that character’s tone/voice/personality? If yes, then ur doing well! If not, try to think of ways that you can make tht specific character from a specific story, really unique and separate from your other characters.

6. some practical writing tips

be yourself, write for your own pleasure, blah blah blah; yeah you know already haha but here are a few more practical tips! 

grammar check: if you can, try and hone your grammar! makes for an easier read 

write like you: i personally LOVE this by obiwrites, but even the way she writes exudes her personality and is so specific; try not to be caught up in adding hundreds of synonyms and exquisite language; in fact, simpling it down and being more concise and honest with your writing is better than a superfluous sentence; this will also give ur characters so much more dimension and funk

use those commas/sentence variation: try to use more commas; this will feel like you’re the narrator to your own story; it also makes it more fluid to read in my opinion, over those short. clipped. sentences. (ie. “he came over, sitting down on the corner of your bed with an expression you’d never seen before” over “he walked over. he sat down, looking sad.”) 

half-half dialogue/narration: a fic with too much dialogue can get confusing, and a fic with too much narration can get dry; try to balance them out, and weave in and out of each! 

quality over quantity: don’t feel burdened to write a 30k word fic. in fact, i think some of the shorter fics (ie. any of versigny’s stuff) made a bigger impression on me over the longer fics because they were short, left me wanting more, and were just so high-quality in such small quantities. try out your hand at drabbles and one-shots, and don’t feel too burdened to try and develop a series right off the bat! 

abandon pigeon-holes: i’m guilty of this; i start series and then end up with no vision for the stories and they end up giving me writers block. its okay. just stop or discontinue them or leave them on a hiatus; it’s okay. your priority is yourself, and if abandoning certain works are part of that, then go ahead. it’ll help you progress more. 

and finally.......

i’ll add more as they come up! but if you liked this, then pls lmk! i’d love to give more tips and tricks; i think i started this blog 3-4 years ago when there weren’t as many writers here, but im glad you’re thinking of starting out/wanting to grow more! don’t feel intimidated! it’s not all about the notes/followers but creating a blog you’re proud of. 

so write what you’re proud of, or interested in, and keep going. i truly thoroughly had so much fun writing this post. if there are any writers who read through this and have some more advice, pls msg me! 

all the best to you! 

[satonthelotuspier]

Truly Indomitable

I’m still here! Honestly, I’m still writing, I just haven’t posted much to tumblr recently for various reasons. I’m still quite active on twitter and AO3 though, for anyone who’s interested, links on my blog header.

That being said, I finally got around to writing the post canon golden core rejection fic I talked about many moons ago. This is endgame Xicheng with some Yunmeng Shuangjie reconciliation (because once you’ve written one rec, you need to write more). There is a pre-fic to this I wrote for the Untamed Spring Fest back in April or May, its been so long I can’t remember when it was (2020 has been A Year right?) but the odds of me being able to find it with tumblr like it is...(it’s series linked on AO3 if anyone is interested)

15k+ words with a happy ending.

Introducing Jiang Cheng’s Vipers.

CW for: Body dysphoria, blood, past torture, MC peril, discussions on death.

“Jiang-zongzhu!” Jiang Cheng heard the call, and ducked behind a tree to avoid one of myriad people who had been bustling for his attention over the past day.

Was there little wonder, with the kind of hassle he was subjected to when attending conferences like this, he was virtually becoming a hermit in Lotus Pier most of the time?

If it wasn’t sect leaders looking to curry favour, or arrange marriages with their daughters (even though he was officially persona non gratis in the eyes of most female cultivators now, due to one or two...unfortunate – yet highly convenient...mishaps,) it was Wei Wuxian and his horde of adoring ducklings, after permission for Jin Ling to join them on this adventure or that adventure. As if the little shit didn’t do as he pleased and paid no attention to Jiang Cheng’s opinions, anyway.

Not that that was necessarily a bad thing, his nephew was the Jin sect leader now, after all, and if he could continue to show that kind of spine in that role, all the better.

He froze, his musings halted, as his body temperature rose suddenly, and he automatically dropped to the ground, placing the bottle of contraband Emperor’s Smile beside him, and tried to clear his mind.

He rarely got much pre-warning when it happened, but he never had, and twenty or so years later, he was more than used to dealing with it.

It began with the increase in temperature, and then the qi began to roll through his channels, burning like fire as it surged and flowed, molten and rampant.

It was the usual mixture of meditation methods Lei Shirong, his sect physician, had vaunted, and force of implacable will, that he eventually quelled the tide, though he knew it was becoming harder and harder for him to gain control as time went by.

He had suffered periodically from the same issue since he had been a young man.

He had initially thought the problem was attributable to the fact he had been given a new golden core, and he just needed time to grow used to it, it hadn’t been the one he formed himself, after all, and was one Baoshan Sanren had given him, with all the implications that had.

No matter how long he’d waited, however, no matter how much he’d worked to bed the new core in, it had always felt like something alien in his body, something uncomfortable, painful, and always unpredictable. Several times, usually in the midst of battle, where he called on his spiritual energy for extended periods of time, he had completely lost control. Once, he had been saved by Lan Xichen, who had carried him away from a Sunshot campaign battlefield and settled his meridians with his own spiritual energy.

When the fact that it was actually Wei Wuxian’s core, rotating behind is lower dantian, had been revealed, it was like everything clicked into place.

How could the core behave like his own, when it had been formed by his shixiong, who was as different from Jiang Cheng as day was to night?

The fact it had been so many years, and it had still not been fully responsive to him, still felt like a stone in his gut, now made sense to him.

And since the Guanyin Temple, Jiang Cheng had felt it suddenly spiral out of control with much more frequency, and it was becoming harder each time to steady that surging tide of qi.

It had never been meant for his body, so how could it behave as if it had?

How could he control it as if it had?

He placed an open palm against his navel, where the core twisted and churned behind his dantian.

It was only a matter of time now, surely, before it reached the point he couldn’t settle it’s reaction. It wasn’t exactly caused by qi deviation, but he thought the outcome would likely be the same.

Hopefully he had a little more time, to make sure Jin Ling was secure as Jin Sect Leader, and make arrangements for the succession of his clan. There were several promising candidates who he could add to his family registry, to ensure the clan he had given everything for, survived after he was gone. Not least his physician, Lei Shirong, or his head disciple, Yang Hai, or his sister, Yang Mei. All were extremely competent, intelligent members of his sect. All were strong cultivators in their own right. And all were unfailingly loyal to Yunmeng Jiang.

He was climbing back to his feet, intending to return to his accommodations and continue his quest to get drunk, when the strident call of; “Jiang Cheng!” had his hackles rising.

Not Wei Wuxian, not now. He genuinely didn’t think he could face the man knowing his body was making the final move towards rejecting the core his shixiong had sacrificed everything to give him.

Wanted or not, it had cost Wei Wuxian so much, he couldn’t look him in the eye and pretend everything was fine at the moment, so he scooped up the jar of Emperor’s Smile, and slipped carefully deeper into the shadows. He found himself in a courtyard surrounded by residences. They were all dark and unlit, silent, probably empty. It wasn’t yet the designated Lan sleeping time, so he thought he had fallen lucky, and, at the sound of Wei Wuxian’s quick, heavy tread still approaching, he did the only thing possible, and slipped over the windowsill of one of the empty buildings, intending to wait Wei Wuxian out.

He settled himself on the floor next to window, and removed the seal on the jar, tipping it up and taking a deep drink. He might as well wait in style.

“Jiang-zongzhu,” a rich, timbred voice sounded from out of the darkness, and the lamps placed around the room suddenly leapt to life, illuminating the sparsely, yet elegantly, furnished rooms, “it’s very kind of you to drop by, quite literally. Altough, I believe it’s customary to wait to be invited.”

He was frozen for a few beats of his heart, which then began rabbiting in his chest thanks to the shock of hearing a voice from the darkness.

How in the world had he been stupid enough, unlucky enough, to accidentally breach the Hanshi; who’s master was currently in seclusion after the events of the Guanyin Temple?

Could he have made a bigger mistake if he’d tried?

The elder man was currently hidden from his sight, sat behind a screen which partitioned off that side of the rooms, and the gentle click of a tea cup being placed on a lacquered table sounded.

“Lan-zongzhu…” he was about to offer his apologies, but heard Wei Wuxian’s still-loud voice from somewhere outside the Hanshi.

“Jiang Cheng! I know you’re here somewhere.”

Lan Xichen murmured an understanding, “Ah,” then remained silent for a while, until they were both sure Wei Wuxian had moved his search on elsewhere.

“Lan-zongzhu, I apologise unreservedly for intruding on your seclusion.” It was now time for him to salvage what he could out of the encounter, and beg for forgiveness.

There was a few moments before the other answered, “No harm done. Perhaps, if you will, merely stay that side of the screen. I assume you wish to wait a while to ensure Wei-gongzi is well and truly gone?”

He flushed a little at the other reading him so very easily, but there was no use denying he had been avoiding that man, like a coward.

“Then I’ll trouble you for a little while longer.” He couldn’t deny it, however, and there was nothing for it other than to accept the elder man’s generous offer.

He lifted the jar in his hands to take another deep, settling drink. Except he had forgotten…

“Jiang Wanyin, is that Emperor’s Smile that you’re drinking, in the Sect Master of the Lan sect’s private rooms, which you have just breached, without permission?”

Suddenly, he was a fifteen year old boy again, caught in the process of sneaking Emperor’s Smile into the Cloud Recesses with Wei Wuxian, and he felt the flush creep up his neck as he put the earthenware jar back on the floor like it had suddenly become red hot to the touch.

Luckily Lan Xichen couldn’t currently see his blushes of shame.

He also couldn’t see that the jar Jiang Cheng held was Emperors Smile. He could just lie.

But that felt very wrong to him, so he made a non-committal sound, to which Lan Xichen chuckled gently in response.

“Some things never change.” Lan Xichen said, a hint of something like nostalgia in his tone, then; “And some things change completely.” And then he was silent.

Jiang Cheng didn’t feel like breaking that silence. He was, after all, intruding on the man’s seclusion. So he sat there for a while, making no sound. He was therefore surprised when eventually Lan Xichen was the one to speak. He had been on the verge of getting up to leave, but Lan Xichen’s voice made him pause.

“How is Jin Rulan fairing, Jiang-zongzhu?”

Jiang Cheng was thrown, and wasn’t entirely sure how to answer. Well, he obviously knew how Jin Ling was fairing, but he didn’t know how much it would be sensible to refer to the Guanyin Temple, it was, after all, what had driven Lan Xichen into secluded meditation, all those months ago. He played for a little time to order his thoughts.

“How is it I was Jiang-zongzhu, then Jiang Wanyin, then back again, in the space of minutes?”

“Jiang Wanyin.” Lan Xichen took the hint, and settled on the less formal mode of address. Alone together in the Hanshi, it made the most sense.

He had decided, in the precious extra seconds the comment had bought him, that there was no point prevaricating. Once the other exited seclusion, the world couldn't be expected to never bring up the subject in front of him ever again.

“It was a blow to him, no doubt. It’s taken a lot of adjusting for him, and the weight of a sect leader sits heavily on his shoulders, he’s so young…”

Even younger than Lan Xichen had been, than Jiang Cheng had been, when they had taken over their respective clans.

“I thought we were done with a world that forced it’s children to grow up as quickly as we had to, when the Wens fell. That I was party to that…that I enabled it…” there was a catch to his voice.

And there was a part of Jiang Cheng that uncharitably thought Lan Xichen should suffer for his guilt, but that was the part of him that had watched, powerless and vulnerable, in the Guanyin Temple, as everyone in the world that he cared about, was put in danger at the hands of Jin Guangyao. Considering his past, no one could have blamed him for his fear for them.

But he also understood what kind of a person Lan Xichen was, and it was a good person. He had a lot of advantages in life, there wasn’t a doubt about that; he came from one of the richest sects in the world, he was an extremely powerful cultivator, he was impossibly handsome, and he could be whatever he wanted, but he was still a genuinely kind person. And they were so very rare.

He knew, in his heart, that Lan Xichen couldn’t be held accountable for Jin Guangyao’s villainy; the man had fooled the entire world for years, with his dazzling dimples and accommodating smile. Jin Guangyao alone was responsible for what had happened. And there would have been no guarantee that his twisted little snake mind wouldn’t have found some way to remove Lan Xichen, if his naivety hadn’t left him blind to what the Chief Cultivator was doing.

Really, the twists and turns of that man’s plots didn’t bear trying to follow, someone as straightforward as Jiang Cheng just couldn’t fathom him.

And he was glad for that.

He might not be perfect when compared to Jin Guangyao’s perceived perfection, he might be rough around the edges when compared to Jin Guangyao’s smoothness, his forcefulness might have looked overbearing when compared to Jin Guangyao’s subtle misdirection, but people got what they saw with Jiang Cheng.

Jiang Cheng was a blunt instrument compared to Jin Guangyao’s sharp little dagger.

Did it make him a better person? He couldn’t say. And he didn’t care much anymore.

Would he have preferred that his nephew was able to be a carefree child for longer? Yes. Of course. Although, since his cousin’s death there had always been an understanding that he was the heir to the Jin sect, and had been treated as such, trained as such. Jiang Cheng knew from personal experience that the heir to a sect only had so much freedom to be a child.

But Jin Ling would be fine. He was strong. He would be fine. He had Wei Wuxian now, and his friends, when Jiang Cheng was gone.

He wet his lips with his tongue. Despite the fact he tried to consider the positives, the thought of leaving Jin Ling alone, like so many others of his family had, tasted sour on his tongue.

There wasn’t much he could do about it, however, the core inside him was a measure of his mortality, and when that measure ran out...

They had drifted into unhappy silence again, each man lost to the abyss of his own negative thoughts.

To try to distract himself, Jiang Cheng picked up the jar, and raised it to his lips. He glanced at the screen, trying to imagine the expression the Jade might be wearing on the other side.

“He seems to have made some firm friends out of the experience, however,” Jiang Cheng said, suddenly uncomfortable at the lack of discussion, “I’m glad. It was something he never had growing up, and it was something I could never give him. I could protect him, and teach him, and be his uncle, but I could never be his confidante, or his peer.”

“The younger generation don’t want old relics like us spoiling their fun.” There was a hint of a smile back in Lan Xichen’s voice.

“Just so.” Jiang Cheng agreed. Wei Wuxian, with his breezy personality and easy charm, however, would tame the birds from the trees.

He was just the kind of “uncle” teenagers would find fun.

He settled back against the wall, and, giving the Emperor’s Smile the attention it deserved, began to recount one of the many incidents he could remember from their time at the Cloud Recesses, where they had gotten into trouble, mostly at Wei Wuxian’s fault for the famed alcohol.

He was feeling a little nostalgic, a little melancholic, and perhaps, a little mellow.

Jin Ling would probably be surprised he was capable of the latter.

“In your honest opinion, is it to be as vaunted as Wei Wuxian would have us believe?” Lan Xichen asked as his low laughter faded.

Jiang Cheng took another mouthful and savoured the taste, considering Lan Xichen’s question.

“Perhaps. It’s very smooth. But Wei Wuxian always had a better head for this kind of thing than I do.”

He had drunk as a youngster to keep up with Wei Wuxian, who had always had more of a taste for alcohol than the young Jiang Cheng. Now, he occasionally overindulged to numb and forget for a while.

“Did it never bother you, growing up with so many rules? Being expected to be so damn perfect all the time?” Perhaps it was the Emperor’s Smile that loosened his tongue enough to ask Lan Xichen that very personal question.

“You of all people know as much as I that a sect leader in waiting is expected to be so much more than any other children of the sect, Wanyin.” Lan Xichen answered, eventually, his voice low. And the use of his courtesy name on it’s own caused the hairs at the back of his neck to stand on end. “But I learned a lot earlier than Wangji it was possible that, while some rules should be considered absolute, others we can learn to bend sometimes, if necessary.”

It was a fair comment, Lan Wangji had been a stickler for rules and order back then. Much less so now, if it came to his beloved Wei Wuxian. Whereas Lan Xichen never seemed to see the world is such shades of black and white. Perhaps it would have been kinder if he had, and hadn’t been quite so accepting of Jin Guangyao’s grey. Perhaps not.

The evening had drawn on, and it was only as Jiang Cheng heard the other stifling a yawn that he realised his intrusion had kept Lan Xichen up beyond his clan’s sleeping

time.

It appeared Lan Xichen still bent those rules when the need arose.

He climbed to his feet, “My apologies, Lan Xichen, it appears as well as being rude enough to trespass on your seclusion, I’ve intruded upon your rest as well. I appreciate your kind, if unwillingly provided, hospitality.”

“Jiang Wanyin, I’ve enjoyed having your company, perhaps you could visit with me again before you’re due to leave.”

“I’m sure you’re merely being kind, and I thank you for it, I would hope not to disturb you again, and bid you a good night”

“Quite the contrary, I would be very happy if you did, Jiang Wanyin. Goodnight, sleep well.”

He took his leave.

He wasn’t sure if it was the numbing effect of the alcohol, but he did, indeed, sleep well that evening.

********************************************************************

The unusual feeling of being well-rested stayed with Jiang Cheng for most of the rest of the next day. The morning was taken up with routine discussions, and the afternoon was set aside for a joint hunt.

As a sect leader Jiang Cheng wouldn’t be taking part, and he intended to take the opportunity to meet with Jin Ling on his own, and press him on how he was faring, as his friends would all be busy in the activities.

He would search Jin Ling out after he had seen Yang Mei and Yang Hai on their way as Yunmeng Jiang representatives in the same.

To that end they made their way towards the front gate, where the party would be forming.

Yang Hai was recounting the news from Lotus Pier, that he had received via dispatch that morning, but Jiang Cheng, unusually, only half paid attention to him, the other part of his mind had wandered to Lan Xichen’s words of the previous evening. He wondered if he could take them at face value, or whether Lan Xichen was merely being polite?

He had sounded genuine. But Jiang Cheng, as ever, didn’t always trust his ability to read people.

He was jerked out of his thoughts at the sudden appearance of Wei Wuxian, annoyed and frowning.

“Jiang Cheng!”

“Shit.” He didn’t realise he’d verbalised the curse, until Yang Mei stepped forward and into Wei Wuxian’s path.

“Wei-gongzi, Jiang-zongzhu is particularly busy at the moment, perhaps you would like to make an appointment, if there is something you wish to discuss.”

“Jiang Cheng can stop pretending to be too busy to talk to me, and face me like a man.” Wei Wuxian said it mockingly, like he always had. Unfortunately he was now walking among people who didn’t understand his, admittedly trying, character. Wei Wuxian hadn’t been part of Yunmeng Jiang for too many years. Then, he made the mistake of reaching out to take her by the shoulders, intending to move her to one side, so he could pass her to reach Jiang Cheng.

Jiang Cheng of course expected the series of events, and moved quickly to enact what damage control he could. He was between Wei Wuxian and Yang Mei in an instant.

Behind him, the air crackled as two identical navy-coloured whips appeared in Yang Mei’s and Yang Hai’s hands, but Jiang Cheng spread his arm, hand flat and indicating they should stay back as he also raised Sandu, hilt reversed in his hand, to catch Bichen’s forward thrust.

He knew Lan Wangji wouldn’t have moved to kill, and merely reacted to defend Wei Wuxian, but he was also aware Yang Mei and Yang Hai didn’t particularly like Lan Wangji. They were loyal to a fault to Jiang Cheng, and his less than harmonious relationship with Wei Wuxian’s husband was no secret to anyone in the cultivational world. He didn’t know how they would react to the perceived threat. Therefore, he put himself between them before they could all find out.

The greater part of him hoped Lan Wangji would recognise his actions as the de-escalation they had been, but there was a small, secret, part of himself that wished he wouldn’t, Sandu had never been tested against Bichen, and it was a battle that was probably long overdue.

Considering his own impending mortality, it wasn’t really a battle he could lose.

They were all frozen in the odd tableau for a few beats of the heart, before Wei Wuxian, who had been shocked at the demonstration of the twins’ link to his mother’s clan, turned to take Lan Wangji’s wrist, and pull it back, “Lan Zhan,” he said soothingly, and Lan Wangji took his eyes off of Jiang Cheng to look at Wei Wuxian.

Weak, to take your eyes from an enemy, but what was love if it wasn’t a weakness they all shared?

“I shouldn’t have laid hands on one of Jiang Cheng’s Spiders.” Wei Wuxian continued, and Lan Wangji withdrew Bichen after a few seconds, with a nod of agreement.

Jiang Cheng sheathed Sandu, and the pressure in the air behind him indicated the Yangs’ spiritual weapons had also been dismissed.

“We need to go, or we’ll be late.” Jiang Cheng stood back, and turned to Yang Mei, who nodded, and fell into step with her brother, at Jiang Cheng’s shoulders.

“Why are you avoiding me, Jiang Cheng?” Wei Wuxian called after him.

He stopped short, and turned, temper flaring. Even now, the things he did for Wei Wuxian were never enough of him. “Wei Wuxian, you said everything was settled, and we should forget the past and go our own way. You don’t get to yank at me for your amusement, like I’m a dog on a rope. If you wish to speak to me on sect business, make an appointment, like everyone else.” And he spun on his heel and marched off, his Vipers in tow.

His mother had had her Spiders, and Jiang Cheng had his Vipers, sent by his relatives in Meishan Yu shortly after the Siege of the Burial Mounds, the twins had their orders to assimilate into the Jiang sect and protect him, as Yinzhu and Jinzhu had for his A-Niang. They had quickly earned positions as his most trusted disciples.

“Foul-tempered wretch.” Wei Wuxian called at his retreating back.

But he ignored it, Wei Wuxian wanted him to react, to interact. Wei Wuxian didn’t deserve that from him anymore.

“Jiang-zongzhu-,” Yang Hai began to question.

“We have somewhere to be,” he repeated, and that was the end of the matter.

********************************************************************

Later than evening, and for some unknown reason, he found himself in the Hanshi’s courtyard again.

He had another jar of Emperor’s Smile tucked into the crook of his arm, and he made his way up the steps, and decided entering through the window two nights in succession was pushing his luck. He sat, instead, beneath the window, on the verandah.

It was a relatively warm evening for the time of year, although the mountains of Gusu were always significantly cooler than the lakes of Yunmeng.

Jiang Cheng found it quite soothing to be there though, and unstopped the jar of alcohol, drinking deeply.

There was a soft sound from inside, and Jiang Cheng thought it was likely Lan Xichen sitting on the floor beneath the window, mirroring Jiang Cheng’s posture through the wall.

“You came, Wanyin.”

He made a non-committal sound; but he was a little embarrassed at how happy Lan Xichen sounded about that. He had returned, but he really didn’t know why, except that the more he thought about it, the more it seemed to him that Lan Xichen’s invitation had been a definite request, rather than a suggestion. It wasn’t too much to believe the other had become very lonely in seclusion, and perhaps he was now working towards re-entering society, chatting with Jiang Cheng might be Lan Xichen beginning to interact with the wider world again, in a situation that was still relatively safe for him.

“I was passing, drinking my Emperor’s Smile.” He said it almost challengingly, but Lan Xichen let it pass, as Jiang Cheng had expected him to.

They talked on lighter subjects that the previous evening, it was pleasant and undemanding, to sit and talk about things that didn’t matter in the slightest. This was something Jiang Cheng had never really had. Not since he’d lost his A-Jie and his Shixiong had Jiang Cheng had anyone to talk about anything but the most important matters. He knew that was his own fault, and due to the nature of his personality; he wasn’t easygoing or personable like Wei Wuxian was. He never had been, he had always tended more towards shyness, and seriousness as a boy, even despite Wei Wuxian’s best efforts to change that, and as a man, the seriousness hadn’t changed, but he had become cold, closed off, as a defence. He had lost too much to let anyone else in.

That evening Jiang Cheng excused himself again at the point that it became obvious Lan Xichen was flagging and ready to sleep. Again, the other expressed his hope that they could continue at a later date, and Jiang Cheng again wondered at anyone choosing to spend their time with him.

He wasn’t much of a charming conversationalist, he wasn’t erudite, or witty, but still Lan Xichen had asked him to return.

It became a regular meeting, this faceless companionship through the open window of the Hanshi, some evenings they talked of nothing at all of worth, and others they touched on more delicate, important subjects. It was almost like some form of mutual therapy.

Except Jiang Cheng never touched upon the most important subject of what was happening with his core.

Beyond Lei Shirong, his sect physician, Lan Xichen probably was the closest to knowing about the issue. Not even Wei Wuxian himself knew Jiang Cheng had suffered losses of control, as he had sworn the other two to complete secrecy on the matter. Not that Lan Xichen had reason to believe it had been anything more than a qi deviation he had rescued Jiang Cheng from.

That over the last few days there had been several more instances was a good indication that the core was becoming increasingly unstable. It was likely only a matter of time until he actually went into whatever form of qi deviation it would cause.

He thought he probably ought to return to Lotus Pier. He wanted the end to come in the same place his parents had fallen.

It would be of no real benefit, but it was his wish.

Luckily the conference would only last a few more days, then he could return.

That night, he found Lan Xichen in quite an introspective mood. He spoke more of Jin Guangyao, and how he had tried his best to change the darkness he had always sensed lurked beneath the surface.

Jiang Cheng sympathised, he knew himself how helpless it left a person feeling when someone you cared for began to slip through your fingers, and, like sand, no matter how tightly you tried to grasp it, it only made it trickle away faster.

“I felt so guilty for my part in what happened, for enabling him-,” Lan Xichen paused.

“I don’t think you’d be human if you didn’t feel a sense of guilt, we all do, that we let things happen they way they turn out, even when it isn’t our fault. It’s not unusual.”

They drifted into contemplative silence again. There were very often periods of silence between them, but they didn’t feel uncomfortable, neither felt forced to fill them with pointless noise.

Left to silence, his mind wandered, he had been thinking a lot on the subject of his impending demise recently, and he was again, just full enough of Emperor’s Smile that it had loosened his tongue a little.

“What do you think death is like? Not what you’re told to believe it’s like, what you actually think it’s like?”

The question seemed to have surprised Lan Xichen; he made no immediate response.

“I don’t know,” was the eventual reply, “sometimes I wonder if it might be kinder if there just wasn’t anything, a soul may just find rest in oblivion, unhampered by what it had suffered, and caused to suffer, in life. But that’s also a scary thought, isn’t it? That everything you do, or struggle to be, in this life, doesn’t matter after all. Oblivion isn’t what we strive for as cultivators,.”

Jiang Cheng made a sound of agreement.

“Perhaps this would be a discussion best had with Wei Wuxian-,”

“No.” He realised as soon as he spoke the single denial it was too forceful, too much. “No need to bother him, it was merely a musing.”

Silence again.

Then, “I take it things are still...difficult between you and your shixiong, Wanyin.”

He let the shixiong pass, “We’re different people now, Lan Xichen, that’s all. Wei Wuxian left that life behind him.” He stood up. He knew it was earlier than any of their previous evenings had ended, and he knew it was running away. But there were some things he wasn’t equipped to deal with. And Wei Wuxian, was one of them. “You’ll excuse me, I have an early start tomorrow. There’s still much to get through before the end of the conference. Good night, Xichen.”

“Good night.” Gods, why did that touch of sadness tug so much at Jiang Cheng’s heart? Like a kicked puppy, and if puppies weren’t Jiang Cheng’s biggest weakness. “I’m sorry if I overstepped any boudaries. Sleep well, Wanyin.”

“I-,” he had no idea what he had been about to say, Lan Xichen hadn’t really overstepped, but he was so sensitive on the subject of Wei Wuxian. He closed his eyes; he didn’t know how to extract himself out of this situation without hurting either Lan Xichen, or himself. In the end, he made the same decision he always had when the choice was his, and chose himself. “You didn’t overstep, I’m sorry I’m so-,”

“Don’t, Wanyin. You don’t owe anyone anything you aren’t willing to give. I’m sure you really are busy tomorrow. Perhaps you’d be kind enough to forgive me, and come again tomorrow evening. I know your time is limited, and the conference ends shortly.”

Lan Xichen really was too kind for this world of theirs.

“I’ll do my best.” It was so easy to give such a promise to Lan Xichen. “Sleep well, Xichen.”

********************************************************************

There was no disguising from himself that Lan Xichen was on tenterhooks after their awkward parting the previous evening. He spent a lot of the following day wondering how it was possible he had become so very dependent on the company of Jiang Wanyin, in such a very short time.

While they had always been cordial in the past, they were never particularly close. Lan Xichen was ashamed to remember he had been too tied up in his brotherhood with Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao, too focussed on trying to help them, to pay very much mind to the young man in Yunmeng who had lost virtually everything, and still limped on, dragging his sect up from the remains of Lotus Pier, by the sheer force of his hard work and will, to return as one of the strongest, most influential sects in the world.

He had been considering for a while, before Jiang Cheng had crashed through his window to avoid Wei Wuxian, that he would shortly start making a move to leave seclusion. He thought he had taken away what measure of peace, and atonement, he could from the process. He knew from personal experience with his father, that when a Lan entered seclusion, the people left on the outside were hurt the most, carrying on the burden, and therefore it had only ever been intended to be a temporary measure for him, to reflect on and repent for his own part in the villainy Jin Guangyao had undertaken, and to mourn for Nie Mingjue properly.

The Jiang Sect leader had smashed into his seclusion, and, with his personality, an odd mixture of sarcasm, matter-of-factness, pragmatism, humour and cutting insight, had reminded Lan Xichen that life was for the living, and there was a world outside the Hanshi, and it wasn’t all bad.

And he had accidentally stepped into a hornets nest last night, and hurt Jiang Wanyin, which he would never wish to do.

What if Jiang Wanyin hadn’t forgiven him? What if he didn’t come back tonight?

Lan Xichen gnawed on his lower lip, glancing at the door to the Hanshi. He could visit Jiang Wanyin, and apologise again, if needed. If he left the Hanshi.

He began pacing as the evening mealtime passed, and the time approached that Jiang Wanyin had normally arrived outside his window, with his jar of Emperor’s Smile.

Nothing. The time came and passed.

He paced a little more.

But it grew obvious Jiang Wanyin wasn’t coming.

He could genuinely be too busy, sect leaders were greatly in demanding during discussion conferences, especially from the larger sects, as lesser sects jostled and fought for a little of their time. Jiang Wanyin was also a very eligible bachelor, despite, as he understood it, most female cultivators having put him on a blacklist.

More fool them.

He paused in his pacing as he examined the thought.

Yes, Jiang Wanyin was a catch. But one had to look beneath the tough exterior, the facade, the defence, to the man underneath.

Something he doubted Jiang Wanyin himself wanted people to do. He wouldn’t be entirely surprised if the other had ended up on this “blacklist” through his own machinations. While the other was blunt, and had a temper, he had still been raised a statesman, politically aware, and he doubted anyone, female or otherwise, would have the power to make Jiang Cheng say, or do anything, that would put him under their scorn, without him meaning to. It just didn’t make any sense.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He would almost want to be a fly on the wall, to see how the gruff Jiang Cheng play-bumbled his way into a woman’s bad graces over the course of an afternoon, or evening.

His paused, and licked his lips. Much like he had, accidentally? In upsetting Jiang Wanyin?

He lost his smile, and moved to shrug into an outer robe. He would just pay Jiang Wanyin a visit. He would likely find the other was actually busy with sect business, and be able to return to the Hanshi, his conscience clear.

Jiang Wanyin didn’t owe him anything, but he did value the sort of companionship they had fallen into over the past evenings.

He of course realised the flaw in his plan as soon as he left the sheltered private clan areas around the Hanshi; he’d had no input into the planning for this event, and he had absolutely no idea where Jiang Wanyin might be located.

Except, it seemed, luck was on his side, as he saw a pair approaching in what were obviously Yunmeng Jiang colours.

The pair noticed him almost at the same time as he noticed them, and they paused, covering their shock up quickly.

He vaguely recognised the pair, always at Jiang Wanyin’s shoulder during other night hunts and conferences.

“Yang-gongzi, and Yang-guniang.” He dug their names out of his memory, Jiang Wanyin wasn’t the only one who’d been groomed to have all these little tricks at his disposal, Lan Xichen had received just as rigorous an education in politics and people pleasing.

“Lan-zongzhu.” The twins greeted him in perfect unison.

“What a fortuitous meeting, I wonder if you can direct me to Jiang-zongzhu’s accommodations? I wasn’t party to the arrangements this time, for obvious reasons.”

They both paused, their respect for another sect’s leader, and their host one at that, fighting against their well known preciousness over their own sect leader.

“We have an appointment.” He smiled. It was only bending the truth slightly, he had come to think of their evening meetings as a set thing, even if Jiang Wanyin hadn’t. And it worked in breaking the pair’s reluctance.

“Jiang-zongzhu was assigned the house next to the magnolia tree, Lan-zongzhu.” Yang Hai gestured in the direction, “please allow us to accompany you,” and Lan Xichen lowered his head in thanks and acknowledgement of their joint bows.

He set off, trailed by the Yang twins, and soon arrived at the residence Jiang Wanyin was currently in possession of.

He paused at the foot of the stairs, at the sound of a sword tearing through the air and burying in something wooden, from inside the house.

He drew Shuoyue automatically, and heard the swords of Yang Mei and Yang Hai slide out of their scabbards behind him, along with the crackle of Meishan Yu spiritual whips.

“Jiang Wanyin?” he called out, half warning that he was outside and intended to enter, half hoping the other would just call out to acknowledge them, and provide a perfectly reasonable explanation for why there was a sudden breaking of something like pottery. And then something flew through the window and smashed into a hundred pieces in the courtyard. It had been a small table.

He could wait no longer.

“Jiang Wanyin!” He dashed up the stairs, and into the residence, the Yangs barely a footstep behind him.

He paused just inside the completely destroyed interior, and sucked a breath in.

Jiang Wanyin stood in the middle of his rooms, he was surrounded by the debris of what had been a table and tea set.

There might have been some confusion over what had happened, except Jiang Wanyin had Sandu in his hand, and Zidian was active.

Blood had begun to leak from his nose, and the corner of his mouth, probably only the start.

He spun to face the door at the sound of the new arrivals, and, not even pausing to identify who the intruders were, swung Zidian.

Lan Xichen had no time to hope he wasn’t too rusty, no time to think. He countered Zidian with the flash of a sword glare, and summoned Liebing.

Except he hesitated at the thought of playing Song of Cleansing, after recognising the qi deviation for what it was. It was a fatal pause. Or it would have been, if Yang Hai’s sword hadn’t flashed over his shoulder to catch and deflect Sandu.

It shocked him out of his indecision, “Use your whips to hold him.” Liebing was returned to the ether, and he raised Shuoyue again defensively.

Although Jiang Cheng was stronger due to the qi running rampant through his channels, he had no control, and stood no chance against three highly trained cultivators, and was soon trapped in the coils of identical navy whips.

As he struggled the first trails of blood collected in the corners of his eyes, and began to roll down his cheeks like tears.

Lan Xichen swallowed. He hadn’t been there, of course, when Nie Mingjue had qi deviated, but it was still a harsh reminder of what had happened to him. He was determined he wouldn’t lose another friend to this.

Decisively, Lan Xichen stepped forward, placed a palm against the struggling Jiang Wanyin’s chest, over his middle dantian, and began to feed qi into the other, quelling and reversing the surging tides causing the other to deviate.

It was no easy thing to achieve, either, the tides were fierce.

Jiang Wanyin eventually lost consciousness, and Yang Hai caught him as he fell. The Yangs’ whips were both dismissed, and between the three of them, then managed to carry the unconscious sect leader to the bed, where he was placed comfortably on top of the blankets.

“I’ll summon a physician.” He left them briefly, to waylay the first Lan disciple he came across, and send the boy to collect Xiao Qingyue, despite the fact he nearly tied his own tongue in a knot at having Lan Xichen, last known to be in seclusion, suddenly appear in front of him like this.

********************************************************************

His head pounded when he woke up. Jiang Cheng raised a hand and pressed his palm to his forehead. He didn’t remember how much he had drunk last night; it didn’t usually affect him enough to give him a hangover, but why else would his head hurt like this?

He pushed himself upright in the bed, and concentrated on trying to stop his head spinning, then he had to work out why he couldn’t really remember the previous evening.

He glanced up, and gaped at the small coven surrounding his bed. Yang Hai and Yang Mei were at the forefront.

“What in all the gods names are you doing hovering over me like that?” his hands automatically went to his chest, to check he was wearing his inner robe and his chest was covered from prying eyes. It was, so that was a worry dealt with. “Is this some kind hazing ritual? Was I meant to wake up naked in the middle of the woods?” As usual, sarcasm was his default setting when he didn’t feel like he had control of the situation.

There was a soft chuckle, which Jiang Cheng couldn’t process at the moment, because his eyes landed on Lei Shirong, stood against the wall with his arms folded, talking with a serious looking woman in Lan sect robes. She didn’t have the cloud motif stitched into her headband, so she wasn’t a blood Lan.

He realised Jiang Cheng was awake, and staring at him, and they both turned to face him.

“How much do you remember, Jiang-zongzhu?” Lei Shirong asked, and he shook his head. Obviously the headache wasn’t caused by a simple overindulgence in alcohol then.

Which meant it had finally happened.

So why wasn’t he dead already?

“Well, considering you were almost certainly back in Lotus Pier at the last point I can remember, I assume it’s been at least a few days.”

Did that mean those present now knew the truth? That he was a walking corpse, just waiting for the end?

The thing that had been tickling at the back of his mind for a few minutes now solidified, and he turned to the owner of the soft chuckle he had heard earlier.

“You’re out of seclusion.” it was a statement, not a question, it was obvious that he was, after all.

“I am. I came to check up on a friend. Just in time, it seems.”

Yang Hai dropped a bow to Jiang Cheng, then Lan Xichen.

“Lan-zongzhu saved your life, Jiang-zongzhu. We’re eternally grateful, Lan-zongzhu.”

Lei Shirong stepped towards the bed then, followed closely by his Lan equivalent, and picked Jiang Cheng’s wrist up, testing his qi flow and meridians.

“Unfortunately, Jiang-zongzhu, I believe it’s time for you to come clean. We can’t ignore it any longer.” Lei Shirong said, as he stepped back, and the Lan sect healer enacted the same examination. He was about to snatch his wrist out of her hands, when he looked up and met her gaze. He settled like a quelled puppy, and she nodded once in congratulation for his sensibility.

He turned back to Lei Shirong. “Even if I did “come clean”, who here would be able to do anything about it, Lei-dafu?” he asked mockingly, then glanced around the others. He was about to comment that he owed none of those gathered here a damn thing in terms of explanation, but he realised he probably did, and the words died. Yang Hai and Yang Mei definitely needed to know, seeing as they were likely due to inherit a sect very shortly. Perhaps even Lan Xichen deserved the truth, having been concerned enough to check up on him, and then rescue him. And he had referred to himself as a friend.

That caused Jiang Cheng an odd kind of feeling.

But he ignored it for now.

“Where is Wei Wuxian?” he asked instead, looking specifically at Lan Xichen.

The other answered immediately, “Wangji and Wei Wuxian left the Cloud Recesses yesterday morning on a night hunt. They weren’t aware you hadn’t already departed for Lotus Pier, we thought you would prefer Wei Wuxian didn’t know.”

He relaxed a little. The last person in the world he wanted to know was Wei Wuxian. And knowing he was out of the way was soothing.

A low sigh of relief left him, before he began, matter-of-factly, “Very shortly after the razing of Lotus Pier, Wei Wuxian and I were hiding in Yiling, on the way to Meishan to seek safety with my mother’s people. In the streets, Wen soldiers were searching for us, and Wei Wuxian had gone out to bring food back. I created a diversion, and was taken back to Lotus Pier.” He forced himself not to lay a hand over the scarring on his upper chest, like he wanted to, and to keep his voice neutral. “Wei Wuxian and Wen Ning rescued me later, but it was too late to save my core. Wen Zhuliu was more than worth his title.”

He saw Lan Xichen wince. “The title wasn’t merely grandstanding?”

Jiang Cheng’s laugh was half-hysterical, but he controlled himself again, eventually, “As literal as can be.” Or how else could that worm Wen Chao best the Violet Spider?

“And that was why Wei Wuxian cooked up his insane plan to have Wen Qing transplant his golden core into me. He lied, and told me he had heard that his mother’s Shifu, Baoshan Sanren, could give me a new core. And I, stupid, naive little boy, believed my shixiong, because if it wasn’t true, what did I have left? I didn’t know the truth until after the second siege of the Burial Mounds, but in hindsight, I do wonder how I could have been so blind as to not realise, even once, in all that time.”

Most of those gathered were hearing this information for the first time, only Lan Xichen, who had been at the Guanyin Temple, knew some of it, and Lei Shirong, who he had told the bare minimum to, as his physician.

“Ironically, ever since the operation, the core has been fighting against me. What you thought of as qi deviations, like when you carried me from the battlefield during the Sunshot Campaign, were instances where Wei Wuxian’s core got away from my control. They usually happened after extended periods of calling upon my spiritual energy, but occasionally they happened without anything apparent being the cause. Until recently I was also been able to redirect and quell the qi with a little concentration and effort, however, they’ve become more frequent, and almost impossible to control. The core is going to kill me, sooner or later.”

“You asked me to keep the incident on the Jianglian front from Wei Wuxian all those years ago, Wanyin, are you seriously telling me Wei Wuxian isn’t aware your body has never really accepted his core?”

Jiang Cheng shook his head. “Telling him his greatest sacrifice was actually a death sentence for me? That would be cruel,” he laughed, because the world probably thought Jiang Wanyin wouldn’t hesitate to be cruel. “And besides, at that time, back on the Jianglian front, I genuinely thought it was this new core that Baoshan Sanren had somehow made, taking time to become used to me, to synchronise with my meridians, channels and dantians. In reality it was never going to, because it was made for Wei Wuxian’s body to use, never mine.”

He settled more comfortably back against the headrest.

There was something almost freeing in finally speaking the truth, as much as it left him exposed and feeling vulnerable.

“Is there really nothing that can be done about it?” Lan Xichen looked at Lei Shirong, who shrugged.

“I’ve been researching for years, Lan-zongzhu. And we never found what happened to Wen Qing’s books after the Sunshot campaign, I did have a hope that after Wei Wuxian found the Jin’s secret treasure room at Jinlin Tai, they may be discovered among the things Jin Guangyao kept there, but they weren’t.”

“Do we have nothing in the Lan Library, Xiao-dafu?” Lan Xichen asked his own sect’s healer, who also shook her head.

“Not even in the forbidden library, Lan-zongzhu, Wen Qing was the theoriser, and the only doctor in the world to perform a Golden Core transplant. The idea is ludicrous on it’s own, without being put into practice. I do wish I could have discussed it with her.”

Lan Xichen rose to his feet, and strode over to stand at the window, looking out into the silent courtyard.

Jiang Cheng threw the covers back, and rose, “Perhaps you could excuse us now, I have some important sect business to take care of.” He turned to Lei Shirong. “I don’t suppose you thought to bring my family registry along with you, did you?”

“It wasn’t foremost in my mind, no.” Lei Shirong replied dryly.

Jiang Cheng frowned at him, and then turned to Lan Xichen, “Perhaps you could be witness and executor for my wishes, then Xichen.”

The other turned back to look at him. Jiang Cheng had almost forgotten how intense those dark amber eyes could become when the Lan sect leader was being serious, focussed. All the time they had spent together since he’d arrived at Cloud Recesses and barrelled unwittingly into the Hanshi, had been without seeing each other face to face.

“Wanyin-.”

“I apologise for having to ask, Xichen, but unlike the Lans, I have no clear blood successor, and have to ensure Yunmeng Jiang will be well cared for after I’m dead. If I make it back to Lotus Pier, I will add Yang Hai and Yang Mei to the registry, it’s my wish my head disciple succeeds me as sect leader upon my death.”

Lan Xichen continued to regard him, “As you wish, Wanyin, I will bear witness to that wish.”

There was something further he wanted to say, but he didn’t know if he could, Jiang Cheng realised, at the look in those eyes.

He waited, never one to push. He had the agreement he wanted, anyway.

“I know of someone who may be able to help. But I don’t know if they would be willing. I’ll dispatch a messenger.”

Jiang Cheng frowned, who could possible help him now? The only person in the world who might have been able to remove the core again had been turned to ashes long ago by the Jins.

Lan Xichen refused to be drawn further on the matter, however, merely begged Jiang Cheng to stay in the Cloud Recesses a little longer.

For Jin Ling’s sake, he agreed. While he may be perfectly ready, willing, and able, to die with equanimity, and at peace with his life, for Jin Ling’s sake he wouldn’t give up. Lan Xichen also promised him that if “things” got much more out of hand before help arrived, he would personally ensure Jiang Cheng was taken back to Lotus Pier to die amongst his ancestors.

********************************************************************

It was nearly a week later before the one who Lan Xichen had sent a missive to, arrived at Lotus Pier.

In that time there had been a few more incidents, but, with Lan Xichen’s help, they had been kept relatively minor.

It had been trying on Jiang Cheng’s patience, however, that the other had barely left him alone in that time. But he couldn’t complain, as it was to ensure his safety. And at least Lan Xichen wasn’t terrible company. It was just that Jiang Cheng wasn’t used to relying on others, and it was odd to feel the indebtedness to someone else for it.

He frequently fell to wondering, in those days spent waiting, who it was that Lan Xichen thought might be able to help him. And what that help might look like. He was a pragmatic man, and he knew the likeliest form that salvation could take was the complete removal of the golden core. Whatever happened, his life was going to change drastically. He could look on the possibility with equanimity now, something he hadn’t been able to do as a younger man.

He was in a reasonably secure position politically in the current climate, not a refugee running for his life, desperate to avenge the deaths of his parents and sect brothers and sisters, his sect was almost certainly powerful enough to withstand the loss of his personal cultivational power, especially if he maintained good relationships with the other large sects. One of which he was tied to through familial bonds, the other through a childhood friend he was still on reasonable terms with, and the third; well, even though his relationship with Lan Wangji was a fraught one, he thought he and Lan Xichen understood each other quite well now.

The morning was spent in such musings, and sect correspondence. He had already sent Yang Hai back to Lotus Pier, despite his protests. Yang Mei had chosen to remain, despite the assurances there was nothing she would be needed for. Some time in the afternoon a Lan disciple arrived to inform Lan Xichen their guest had arrived, and Lan Xichen rose, Jiang Cheng close on his heels.

“I cannot promise anything, Wanyin.” Lan Xichen paused at the doorway, and turned, to place a holding hand on Jiang Cheng’s arm.

“I’m aware, Xichen. Whatever happens, happens.” He tilted his head a little, gazing into the dark amber depths of Lan Xichen’s, “I’m grateful for your concern, and the fact you’ve done as much as you’re able. I don’t fear my own death at this stage of my life, but I would be incredibly sorry to leave Jin Ling after all he has already lost.”

“I wish you wouldn’t talk so cavalierly about your life, Wanyin.” There was a hint of censure in his voice, but Jiang Cheng shook his head.

“With my relationship with this core of Wei Wuxian’s, I’ve had many years to contemplate my own mortality, that’s all. I did originally think it was just going to take some getting used to, but its been a long time now, since I began to understand it only gave me a limited lifespan. It’s one hell of a way to focus on what matters, Xichen, that I can assure you.”

“And you can honestly say to me you don’t feel like you’ve left anything undone, no regrets, nothing you wished you’d achieved, if this was the end?”

He didn’t hide the flicker in his gaze fast enough, he knew that, and damn Lan Xichen for being able to understand him so well.

“Nothing I can control,” he said instead.

Lan Xichen’s perfect eyebrow raised a little, but he turned to move out of the door, Jiang Cheng, again, following.

They made their way through the Cloud Recesses, and Jiang Cheng wasn’t too proud to admit to himself he was actually nervous over the outcome. He genuinely couldn’t hazard a guess over who the person who Lan Xichen had sent a request to was, but they were about to find out.

They entered the Yashi. There were two visitors, one he recognised immediately, and felt a flare of…defensiveness…anger…but it was quickly overtaken by shock.

The pair rose to their feet, and the tall, slim figure of a woman in dark robes turned to face them.

The Ghost General Wen Ning had been enough of a surprise, to be faced by another ghost, was a bigger shock still.

“Lan-zongzhu, Jiang-zongzhu.” Wen Qing greeting them both with a slight bow, despite the distaste on her face. Lan Xichen returned her greeting, and Jiang Cheng must have do so too, although he didn’t recall.

He didn’t miss how carefully watchful Wen Ning was as his sister interacted with the pair.

“I hope your journey wasn’t too taxing, Zhao-guniang.” Lan Xichen said pleasantly, and she made some non-committal response.

“I won’t waste your time, Lan-zongzhu. I came because of the debt I owe you, and because I don’t like the thought of my work being so shoddy it killed someone. There is no love lost between us, but I will assist you, Jiang-zongzhu, if you give me your word I will be left alone afterwards. Lan-zongzhu obviously trusts you enough to reveal what his clan did for me to you, but I would like your personal guarantee on the matter.”

He pressed his lips together, but nodded. His need for vengeance had never stretched to the pair here, but he had never felt any personal responsibility for their fate either; he had just detested the sight of them, it being a grating reminder of everything he had suffered and what he had lost. If they existed in the world still, he didn’t care, as long as he didn’t have to interact with them, see them, be reminded by them. His vengeance on their clan was long since spent, the feeling dead and buried with the deaths of Wen Chao, and, ultimately, Wen Ruohan.

“You came because you’re a healer, Zhao-guniang. You owe me nothing, after all.” Lan Xichen was speaking to Wen...Zhao Qing.

She gave him a sharp, searching look. But it wasn’t mere politeness from Lan Xichen, he was too good, too kind, and a little naive. His actions were never about what he could personally gain from them, his kindness was selfless, genuine, the kind of paragon someone like Jiang Cheng could never hope to emulate in this life.

And, as usual, it confused people.

Lan Xichen understood her implicitly though, in the way that she was a healer first and foremost, and it was very obvious she wanted nothing more than to get to work.

Jiang Cheng had no wish to prolong their contact. And he wasn't even entirely sure he wished to put himself in Wen...Zhao Qing’s debt. He didn’t consider himself in that debt already for what had happened before, between the others, between Wei Wuxian, and Wen Ning, and Wen Qing, as she had been then, they had stolen his right to make an informed decision and choose for himself, to turn down his shixiong’s core, to decide what was put inside of him. That negated any gratitude he should feel, and always had, from the moment he had discovered what had truly happened.

The next few hours were spent in examinations, consultations, and discussions.

After those she spent some time in consideration, and consulting the books she had brought with her, and with Lei Shirong and Xiao Qingyue, who seemed to hang on her every word. In the end, the only treatment option she could offer him was, as he expected, the full removal of the core.

And he had already had quite a long time to consider that. He had always known it was likely the only way to save his life. Basically, he was reconciled to it. Considering it was that, or death, for Jin Ling’s sake there really wasn’t a choice.

He agreed instantly, which seemed to throw those present.

But he would hear no arguments, he had long ago prepared himself for this. In reality, Wei Wuxian had loaned him this core, to enable him to enact his revenge, and resurrect his sect. He had achieved both. He didn’t need anything more, except to be there for his nephew as he grew to full manhood.

“What will happen with the core? Will you be able to return it to Wei Wuxian?” he asked. Ideally, he would avoid Wei Wuxian ever knowing, or being involved, but practically speaking, there was no point in it core going to waste.

He already felt incredibly guilty that Wei Wuxian had sacrificed so much for him, but Jiang Cheng had virtually thrown that away, by being unable to assimilate the core his shixiong had given up for him, wanted or not. If it could be returned, then it would still be useful, still serve a purpose, and salve his conscience. It wouldn’t make what Wei Wuxian had suffered better, wouldn’t remove that, but nothing could turn back time, for any of them.

“I think I will be able to, if you’re willing to be awake when the core is extracted, and if the core survives the process.” Zhao Qing informed him matter-of-factly.

“Whatever is needed.” He agreed without thought.

“You don’t know what being awake entails-,”

“I don’t need to, I’ll have Xichen send a messenger to find them immediately. We don’t have very long.” He left the infirmary, where Xiao Qingyue had invited Zhao Qing to set up her surgery, and delivered his request to the Lan sect leader.

Lan Xichen complied, and dispatched a butterfly messenger, then invited Jiang Cheng to sit and talk for a while, over tea. He was aware Lan Xichen was eager to know the outcomes of his examinations, and Zhao Qing’s findings.

He seemed genuinely disappointed for Jiang Cheng, when he informed him that he had agreed to the removal procedure.

Jiang Cheng told him he was genuinely accepting of the outcome, but, uncomfortable with Lan Xichen’s sadness, he changed the subject.

“It seems I should apologise to you, for dragging you out of your seclusion before you were ready.”

Lan Xichen accepted the change of subject, but not the apology.

“Not necessary, Wanyin, I had been considering it time to end my seclusion, you merely took away the agonising and overthinking about when it should be.”

He laughed at the cheeky smile Lan Xichen directed at him.

Really, he had enjoyed their clandestine discussions through the Hanshi’s window, but talking to Lan Xichen face-to-face, being able to watch the warm expressions flit across his face, the teasing light in his dark amber eyes, was far superior.

“I’m a treasure, its true,” he said, his tone loaded full of self-deprication.

“You truly are, Wanyin.” Lan Xichen agreed, but he meant it sincerely, and their eyes met, and held, but Jiang Cheng couldn’t bear the surge of emotion it caused, and had to break the contact after a few moments.

It was his nature to read too much into another’s feelings; he always had, he knew his own mind well enough to know he was far too ready to cleave to someone who showed him even the smallest amount of affection. He was well aware, and he hated that about himself, but he couldn’t change it. He could stop himself making a fool of himself over it, however.

He rose and made his excuses as soon as it was polite, and made his way back to his accommodations next to the magnolia tree. There was a fat, full moon hanging in the sky and there was a new crispness in the air that suggested autumn had finally arrived, and winter wouldn’t be too far in the future.

There was now a hope in his heart that he might see that winter.

He was a little distracted, and extremely comfortable in the protection of the Cloud Recesses, which was why he was slow to recognise the danger for what it was.

He had reached his door before he felt it. He turned to identify the threat, reaching for Sandu’s hilt.

There was the sudden sound of a dizi, and he only had seconds to identify the twin red pools of rage in the darkness, before something hit him solidly in the chest, and sent him backwards into the residence. Dark, smoking tendrils wrapped themselves around him, pinning him against the wall, he could summon, but not swing Zidian, nor could he form a sword seal to infuse Sandu with his spiritual energy and defend himself with her.

The dark figure stalked into the residence behind him, shadows swirling around him, the only brightness in his blood red eyes. It had been a long time since Jiang Cheng had seen the Yiling Laozu in all his rage-filled, vengeful glory. Even if he was significantly shorter these days…

“Wei Wuxian, you fucker-,” his air was cut off suddenly, a tendril tightening around his throat. He glared daggers at Wei Wuxian, as it was the only response he could make. Not that it had ever worked on that man.

“Appointment made, dear Shidi. I see now is a good time for you.” Really was there anyone in the world who could get under his skin as quickly and effectively as Wei Wuxian? He was going to kick him in the balls the minute he got free. “So, were you ever going to tell me about the core? Why didn’t you tell me it was failing as far back as the Sunshot campaign, when we could have done something about it? What if Xichen-ge hadn’t accidentally found out, and summoned Zhao Qing? WHAT IF YOU HAD DIED OF A QI DEVIATION WITHOUT ANY OF US KNOWING IN TIME TO STOP IT, JIANG CHENG?”

The tendrils pinning him to the wall vanished, and he dropped back to his feet, coughing and choking at the sudden rush of air returning to his lungs.

He looked up just in time to catch the flash of a fist, but not stop it, as Wei Wuxian punched him in the face.

“You stupid fuck.” Wei Wuxian snapped, smashing Chenqing into his belt, then raising both hands to run them down his face as he calmed a little, rage spent.

Jiang Cheng, painfully aware of his own strength compared to the coreless Wei Wuxian, knew he couldn’t return like for like with physical violence, not unless he wanted to break Wei Wuxian’s jaw. And, as tempting as it was, he didn’t really want it.

Verbally, he could definitely fight fire with fire however.

“Try because you fucking lied to me, for years, Wei Wuxian. I didn’t know it was yours, I just thought I needed to get used to it. If you’d told me, even after it was done, I’d have known it wasn’t going to get any better, it wasn’t going to stop feeling like something painful and invasive inside of me. But you never did, you lied and you lied, and kept me in the dark like a stupid child, so don’t blame me.”

“You didn’t tell anyone…”

“Wrong, Wei Wuxian, I discussed it with my physician, who was the only other person in the world who had a right to know If I wished him to know.”

How could Wei Wuxian argue with that?

Except it was Wei Wuxian, who could argue with his own reflection, because he was just that contrary.

“You’re so fucking petty, Jiang Cheng, age hasn’t improved that about you.”

“And you’re so fucking annoying, Wei Wuxian. You haven’t noticeably improved either.”

They stared at each other for a few moments, before Wei Wuxian turned, and walked to the window, planting his hands on the sill, and pulling in a deep breath.

“I don’t want the core back.”

“Fine, then W-Zhao Qing can throw it away.”

Wei Wuxian spun at his comment, frowning, “Why are you always so bloody minded?” he demanded.

“Bloody minded? Wei Wuxian, as much as I hate throwing your sacrifice back in your face, your core is going to kill me if Zhao Qing doesn’t remove it. I can’t use it anymore, my body is rejecting it. Either you take it back, or you don’t, but I can’t keep it.”

Wei Wuxian’s hips hit the windowsill as he leant back, a sigh left him. “I’d hoped she was just grandstanding because you’d asked her to. It’s really a case of it has to come out then.” It wasn’t a question. Wei Wuxian folded his arms and looked away. “I’ll speak to Zhao Qing tomorrow, we’ll finalise things and arrange the operation for as soon as possible.” He stepped away from the window, then, placing a soothing hand on Chenqing, “You know if the core needs to stay viable you have to be awake during the transfer, don’t you? You know it’s painful? You know you can feel your qi settling and never reawakening in your channels, don’t you?”

“Zhao Qing may have tried to mention something of the sort. It’s a novel idea, but perhaps it’s time to stop treating me like a fragile piece of glass, who’ll break at the slightest pressure, Wei Wuxian. I’ve walked through hell in this life, and survived. Perhaps it’s time to start crediting me with having strength, and a mind, of my own.”

Wei Wuxian’s face was unusually expressionless. “Perhaps it is.”

~ Several Months Later ~

He opened the chest, and gently lifted the scroll out. It was an exquisite rendition of a lotus lake, in full bloom, with a shadowed pier in the distance. It was done in beautiful shades of purple and blue and was truly a gorgeous piece.

He had seen enough of Lan Xichen’s paintings over the years, like the sceneries in Jinlin Tai, that he had painted for Jin Guangyao, to know who the artist was, if he had any doubt. Which he didn’t, because it was the third gift that had arrived this month.

It would go over his bed.

“I really should send a return gift,” he said to himself. Unfortunately, himself currently also included his new shadow, Wei Wuxian, who was laid out on top of his bed, swinging Chenqing through the air and watching the tassel trace patterns.

“He doesn’t want a return gift, stupid. He wants your hand in marriage.” His shadow sat up, and stared at him like he was insane.

Perhaps he was.

But he wasn’t yet insane enough to take Wei Wuxian’s words at face value. How could Lan Xichen, the foremost cultivator of his generation, the most handsome man in the cultivational world, want his hand in marriage? He was nothing. Less than nothing. A nobody holding on to power by default, not a cultivator anymore, nothing special, just an ordinary man living his life, and definitely not worth such a man’s regard.

He sighed, and placed the painting back in the chest. He resolved to have it hung later, and send a thank you note for the very kind gift to the Cloud Recesses.

“Why are you even back here? Hasn’t Yang Hai already removed you from Lotus Pier once? Why won’t you stay away?”

“Actually, three times this week, so far, I don’t understand why I keep getting kicked out and Lan Zhan doesn’t, I’ll get a complex, and start feeling like I’m not wanted here.”

“Please do.” Jiang Cheng snapped, and thought he’d have a word with his head disciple, there was no earthly reason Yang Hai and Yang Mei should keep ignoring the Second Jade and just remove Wei Wuxian. Why should this pair of freeloaders be suffered to stay in Lotus Pier just because his supposed right and left hand were scared of Lan Wangji?

“I don’t like your head disciple much, Jiang Cheng, he’s very...dull.”

“Really? You mean efficient, responsible, and dependable.” He recognised Wei Wuxian’s petty jealousy for what it was, and couldn’t help needling him.

“Yes, like I said, dull, boring. Not the kind of head disciple my shidi needs.”

“Exactly the kind of head disciple I need, Wei Wuxian, and we’re not having this discussion.” He stalked over to the bed and caught Wei Wuxian’s wrist, pulling him into a sitting position. “Why don’t you go home, Wei Wuxian? Lan Wangji must be getting bored here by now.”

“I am home, Jiang Cheng. I’ll need to divide my time up a little, but I’m here for now.”

“I don’t need you here.”

“And yet here I still am. Get used to it. And order more alcohol, your kitchens ran out yesterday for the second time. It’s truly an embarrassment.”

“You’re the only embarrassment around here, Wei Wuxian. Don’t drink so much.”

In the time since the transfer, when Zhao Qing had returned Wei Wuxian’s core to him, Wei Wuxian had hovered over Jiang Cheng like a mother hen over her chicks.

It had grated on his nerves from about the second hour, now, it was just a constant irritation. Actually akin to how it had been in the past, really.

He knew why, he really did, and while he appreciated the thought, it was unnecessary. But convincing Wei Wuxian of that was impossible, Wei Wuxian never changed his mind, he was tenacious and stubborn, and he always thought he was right. They’d always had that in common.

Hopefully, though, Wei Wuxian would leave after the mid-year alliance conference, which was due to start in a few days. It was a short catch-up event, meant to build and improve on the agreements and plans that had come out of the larger meeting at the Cloud Recesses several months ago, and so it would only last a day, with a celebration feast in the evening to close. It would also be the first time Jiang Cheng had taken part in the wider cultivational world since Wei Wuxian’s core had been removed. It was safe to say he was anxious over how the world would react to him now.

Recovery had been slow, at least slower than he had wanted, so he pushed himself relentlessly, but at least the constant discomfort and pain, like having a rock in his guts, had gone. And the ever present fear of losing control was now refined solely to his temper.

There was still tenderness around the second incision wound, just below the first, now-white scar on his navel, that Zhao Qing had made; it was still pink and angry, although it would be even more so if Wei Wuxian didn’t wrestle him down and pin him long enough to feed him qi every now and again, usually when the wound was particularly troubling.

Mentally…he thought he was getting there. He hadn’t lied before, there had been some measure of making peace with everything that might happen, this was a definite step up from death, after all.

But it had still been a huge shock.

The procedure itself had been incredibly taxing. Although he had been warned, it hadn’t been the things they’d told him to expect that affected him. The pain he could deal with, and the sensations of his qi flow, of being able to guide and direct it, vanishing, was traumatic, but it was mostly due to the feelings and long buried memories it brought back to the surface. It had felt like being back under the power of the Wens, tied and helpless and begging for mercy as his core was destroyed.

It had brought the nightmares back with increased frequency, although they had never really gone away entirely.

If he felt a little adrift, a little lost, a little like an imposter again, it was to be expected. He was dealing with it the best he could.

Having Jin Ling at Lotus Pier like a protective, yet bad-tempered little bodyguard was actually a help. Not least because his nephew was trying particularly hard not to rile Jiang Cheng up into a temper too often. It wouldn't last, but it was nice while he had it.

Even having Wei Wuxian back, with all the annoyance and aggravation that man caused just by breathing, was a benefit.

As was Lan Xichen’s kind friendship.

He wandered back to the chest and took the scroll out again. It really was an exquisite piece.

“How do you really feel about Xichen-ge, Jiang Cheng?”

He almost dropped the scroll in shock at the question, so sudden in the silence that had fallen. He had almost forgotten. Forgotten that Wei Wuxian was there. Forgotten how shrewd he was behind that sometimes clownish exterior. And forgotten how well he knew Jiang Cheng.

“How do you really feel about broken legs?” But what was the point in pretending? Wei Wuxian already knew, or he wouldn’t ask. And if he decided to tease Jiang Cheng about it, no force in the world, not least Jiang Cheng’s denials, would stop him. “You already know,” he said instead, “you know me far too well to doubt it. We both know I’m in love with him. Like a whipped dog shown an ounce of kindness, ready to wag my tail and beg for scraps of affection. Isn’t that what I’ve always been like?”

Wei Wuxian sighed, which made Jiang Cheng turn to him in surprise. He had expected to be teased, but the other was exasperated with him instead. He didn’t understand.

“What?” he demanded, but Wei Wuxian shook his head.

“Jiang Cheng, Xichen-ge is courting you. Anyone else in the world would recognise it, but you’re so blind you can’t see it for what it is. Just don’t be an idiot when he asks you.” And there went the teasing.

“How can he be? Why would he? Lan Xichen..he’s everything, Wei Wuxian, and I’m nothing. I’m not even a cultivator now.

“I don’t know how to be amusing, or witty, or cute. I have a foul temper, and I don’t know how to let people in. I can’t even be honest about my feelings.”

Wei Wuxian spread his hands, helplessly, then walked towards the door. He paused on the threshold, and looked back, however, “You took me to task, a while ago, for treating you as if you were weak, as if you weren’t able to make your own, informed decisions. Do you remember that, Jiang Cheng?”

Of course he did. He nodded.

“You are not nothing. You are Jiang Cheng, courtesy name Jiang Wanyin. You are the Sandu Shengshou, a mention of your name is enough to make grown men tremble in their boots. You are Yunmeng Jiang; the bones that this sect, that rose from the ashes like a phoenix, are built up around. You did that, Jiang Cheng, not my core, not Lan Xichen. You.

“So maybe you should remember that strength that you promised me you had. That indomitable spirit that you said had walked through hell and survived. And perhaps you should do Xichen-ge the honour of accepting that, just perhaps, he also knows his own mind.”

It was a long time before Jiang Cheng could respond, and Wei Wuxian had long left the room. And the thought terrified him, but when had Jiang Cheng, courtesy name Jiang Wanyin, the Sandu Shengshou, able to make grown men tremble in their boots, ever allowed himself to be scared into inaction? “Perhaps I should,” he whispered.

********************************************************************

The alliance conference came in the blink of an eye, and the morning passed in a whirlwind of arrivals, and social niceties. There was little time to give anyone, not even Lan Xichen, anything in the way of personal attention, and he had one huge hurdle to overcome before he felt he could actually address what may or may not be between himself and the Lan sect leader.

It was that afternoon, in the hall, where Jiang Cheng had to take the Lotus throne under the eyes of the assembled sect leaders, that loomed large in his mind. Everyone there, who didn’t live under a rock, that was, would likely know the truth. He was spiritually weakened now, coreless. But he had learned at the side of an expert, how to cast the facade of strength, of being an equal to these vultures. Wei Wuxian had swaggered amongst them for years, convincing them he was the most powerful being on the planet, and his ‘fuck you’ attitude had been an integral part of that, (and the demonic cultivation, which actually had made him one of the most powerful beings on the planet, but he chose to ignore that fact). If there was one thing Jiang Cheng had gained over the years, as he had grown up, as his sect had turned into the powerhouse it was today, it was a ‘fuck you’ attitude to rival his shixiongs’.

He stood outside the doors for a few seconds, Yang Hai and Yang Mei, the Sandu Shengshou’s faultlessly loyal Vipers, stood at his back, and at his shoulder stood the Yiling Patriarch, unusually serious, and well-behaved, but with the new look those that knew him well were just growing used to again, that being a Wei Wuxian who carried Suibian, although now her scabbard had been altered to add hooks to hold Chenqing too.

He had told Wei Wuxian his presence wasn’t necessary, with Yang Hai and Yang Mei there. Which was actually a sure-fire way of ensuring he would be there, because he was just that contrary.

“I’m the Chief Cultivator’s husband, I go where I will.” Wei Wuxian had argued, and Jiang Cheng hadn’t actually felt like pointing out that the Chief Cultivator’s husband wasn’t a political position, and even if it had been, that position wouldn’t have given him the right to march in there at the shoulder of the Yunmeng Jiang sect leader.

Because, he actually drew strength from knowing Wei Wuxian was there, and, curling the hand held behind his back into a tight fist, setting his face into it’s usual resting frown, fingers tightening around a sword he couldn’t use, until the knuckles showed white, he stepped forward.

It was quite a sight, no doubt, as they swept down the central aisle, and to the throne, and as he settled, flicking his sleeves out, and resting Sandu against the arm, he threw a look around the room.

There were speculative looks, neutral looks, nothing overtly confrontational. At least not yet. He tried to avoid the one gaze in the room that he wanted to to see, but it was the one he wanted to assess the most, and it was a losing battle. His eyes searched out Lan Xichen’s gently smiling countenance, and he felt something warm and nourishing grow in his chest.

It felt like the moment lasted for a long time, but it was likely mere seconds, before their gazes broke, and business, very much like during any other meeting, began.

It almost went flawlessly.

But, as Jiang Cheng spoke up in the midst of a dispute, someone decided to test the waters.

He would have laid money on Sect Leader Yao being the one to do it, too. He had dared to put Jin Ling down after the Guanyin Temple, because he thought the Jin Sect too weak to retaliate for a slight against one of it’s juniors.

For a man who had a strong moral compass, who claimed to be on the side of justice, he had something of a bully about him.

Still, the statesman in Jiang Cheng allowed his comment to pass, knowing overreaction to a perceived slight would come across as grandstanding from a position of weakness, although he heard Yang Mei let out a small breath of irritation.

Sect Leader Yao decided to push it further, however, and dared to ask why Jiang Cheng thought he was qualified, now, to try to railroad smaller sects.

Despite the fact he had been mediating, and had made no such move, it gave Jiang Cheng the opportunity he needed. He had hoped to get through this conference without a show of power, to give himself more time. But now, or in six months, or a year, it had always been something that would have to happen sooner or later.

He rose, and strode into the centre of the room.

A gesture, and Zidian crackled to life in his hand, her coils falling to rest around his feet like a purple snake, still and threatening, just as deadly in her readiness to strike.

“Yao-zongzhu. I know you think now might be the time to test me. But don’t ever make the mistake of assuming I’m weak, or defenceless. Stronger men, cleverer men, than you have tried to destroy me in the past, and failed. They’re dead. I’m still here, like a phoenix, rising again and again from the ashes of my enemies. I was thirteen when I formed my first core, our generation was quite precocious like that, under the threat of Wen tyranny it was cultivate and become stronger or die. How long do you think it will take me to form a second? With the foundation of thirty years training? Two more years? Three? I’m a stubborn man, too obstinate to know when I’m beaten, you see.” He sucked a breath in through his nose. “Now, may we continue, there is an excellent feast awaiting us after we finish here?”

As expected, Yao backed down, full of bluster and claims Jiang Cheng had misunderstood. He ignored him, and allowed Zidian to return to her resting state.

He had so much iron in his spine at the moment he couldn’t relax, as he sat down. He thought if he did, he’d sag, and reveal his exhaustion, his hands had retreated into the deep sleeves of his formal robes, to hide their shaking. The only part of his body that didn’t show his drained state was his face, which he kept carefully set in it’s frown. He had, of course, been too verbose, and as a consequence had had to use too much spiritual energy to keep Zidian active while he spoke, as a visual demonstration of his power, a reminder of who the Sandu Shengshou was.

He didn’t quite have as much foundation as he might have suggested, yet. But he was working hard towards it; he really was too stubborn to know when he was beaten.

He projected that facade for the rest of the meeting, and made it out of the hall in one piece. He even made it as far as an antechamber, where he dismissed Yang Hai and Yang Mei, and a hovering Wei Wuxian, ordering them to begin the feast, assuring them he would be there shortly, he just needed to meditate for a while, to rest for a few minutes and recover his reserves.

They knew he’d overtaxed himself as well as he did, and he was surprised this wasn’t one of the times he had to fight Wei Wuxian off, from his invasive sharing of qi, but the other went docilely enough, as if knowing Jiang Cheng didn’t have the spare energy left to argue.

He closed the door behind them, and slid down it.

The silent, wrenching sobs, a tangled mixture of exhaustion, relief that he had managed to pull off the biggest act of his life, and pent up emotions over everything that had happened over the past few months, grief, hopelessness, frustration, and anger all mixed together, wracked his frame.

Then, exhausted, he wiped at his eyes, let his head drift back against the door, and cleared his mind enough to meditate.

He couldn’t deny he felt lighter, the biggest obstacle had been overcome, now the rest was just hard work, which he had never shied from.

Well, there was one other thing, that caused his stomach to explode in a sudden fluttering of butterflies. He had promised himself, though, that after the alliance discussion, he would devote himself to the second issue.

A little while later the click of a jar being placed on the floor by his side drove his eyes open.

He almost wished he hadn’t at the dazzling sight of the First Jade of Lan, all pure white robes, and beatific smile, sat cross-legged on the floor in front of him.

The click had been a jar of alcohol.

He fought the urge to lift his hand to protect his eyes from the brightness.

He was about to ask how the other had entered the antechamber, considering he was still rested against the door, but he realised there was a window.

He hadn’t needed a door himself to crash into Lan Xichen’s carefully cultivated seclusion, and it seemed that the other had only taken a page out of Jiang Cheng’s book of impressive entrances.

He failed to hide the chuckle, which made Lan Xichen smile even wider.

Was it rude to tell a man to stop smiling because he was more blinding than the sun?

Probably.

“Xichen.”

“Wanyin.”

They were silent for a while after the greeting.

Then Lan Xichen broke it, “You were magnificent in there, Wanyin. Truly stunning.” Then, no doubt knowing how badly Jiang Cheng was equipped to deal with compliments, he moved on. “Dare I hope the Lan meditation techniques are helping in qi refining?”

He had felt the beginnings of a flush at Lan Xichen’s praise, but could do nothing but pretend it wasn’t happening. How should he respond to someone telling him that he were magnificent?

He really didn’t know. A simple thank you seemed...either like he didn’t care, or received such compliments at least once every Thursday, whereas the truth was no one had ever described Jiang Cheng as magnificent before.

Perhaps Lan Xichen’s seclusion had addled his mind?

But that wasn’t fair was it?

And perhaps you should do Xichen-ge the honour of accepting that, just perhaps, he also knows his own mind.

Wei Wuxian’s words had profoundly affected him. How could he want that for himself if he didn’t offer others the same respect?

“I have never felt magnificent in my life, Xichen, but I thank you for the compliment. The Lan meditation techniques are very useful, thank you again. I’m not always the best suited to them, I’m not always able to find the level of focus they require, but when I can, they’re incredible.”

A gentle smile was his answer, and another pause.

Jiang Cheng thought he knew...hoped he knew...what came next. And Wei Wuxian was right, Jiang Cheng wasn’t weak, he wasn’t a scared child, he was strong, he was driven, he had known what he had to do at every stage in his life so far, because it was what was expected, what was needed.

This time it had to be about what he wanted. He deserved that.

In one single leap, although admittedly, it was a slightly wobbly-legged one, he had closed the distance, and overbalanced the first Jade of Lan.

“Lan Xichen, I love you.” He said, ignoring the fact his face still burned, his embarrassment stronger than a thousand suns, and lowered his head to capture the soft-looking lips of the most handsome man in the cultivational world. He was met half way, and Lan Xichen’s arms found their way around his neck. It was regrettably short, but he poured his whole heart into it, and it was beautiful, as was Lan Xichen, who’s ears were just as pink as Jiang Cheng’s cheeks when they pulled apart, who’s well-kissed lips glistened in the evening light seeping in through the window, who looked at him with such love in his amber gaze.

“I love you, my Wanyin, you gave so much of yourself to me, so selflessly, when I had nothing, and you thought you were at the end, and must have had a million more important concerns that one lonely man stuck in the past, how could I fail to fall for you?”

His embarrassment intensified. How was it even possible at this point?

But love confessions required certain amounts of reciprocation, he wasn’t such a novice he didn’t know that.

“I only gave you what you deserved, what you’d give to anyone in return. Xichen, you’re kindness incarnate, and this cruel, vicious world might have taken advantage of that, but it never killed it in you, and that truly is the most amazing thing of all, a testament to who you are. You deserve to be treated like the beautiful soul you are.”

“And you like the treasure you are. No matter how much the world took from you, you still had more to give.” Xichen reached up to trace his cheekbone gently, “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met, Wanyin, truly indomitable. Marry me?”

“Is tomorrow soon enough?”

[quintessence-sentimentalist]

quintessence-sentimentalist Takes on 30 Days of W.i.t.c.h.versary!: Week Four

Well, I’m a bit late and also exhausted, so not as much to say this time around. Still, Days 22-29!

Day 22 A wonderful pet

Oh, Dormouse/Mr. Huggles, for sure. Comics Dormouse was as iconic a symbol of Will as frogs or, hell, even the Heart. He was as adorable as he was troublesome, and he was just so precious with Will. His death still packs such a wallop that it’s outright unfair.

Mr. Huggles of the cartoon has a slightly better time of it, with the exception of literally being turned into a monster. I generally prefer comics Dormouse’s brown coat (and lack of name, I’ll admit) to Mr. Huggles’s white-gray, but I do think the color change works a bit better for animation. And while it’s a little... odd that they largely did away with Will’s close bond with him, at least they still kept him in his little family by having Matt take him in for good. Their relationship - a boy and his not-a-rat-he’s-a-dormouse - is reminiscent of another one from a certain other Disney teen hero cartoon around the same time, so that’s enjoyable to me. (And now I’m headcanoning Matt and Mr. Huggles meeting Ron and Rufus in a team-up of sidekicks to badass redheaded ladies and I really need this now.)

Day 23 A magical item

Is it too cliché to say the Heart of Kandrakar?

Really though, I absolutely love the design and concept of the Heart. Do its actual powers vary frustratingly from time to time and randomly do incredibly powerful things without any prior hint that it can? Sure. But the fact that such a pretty crystal packs that much of a punch is pretty darn cool.

Day 24 A group shot

I’m sure I could think of multiple from the comics, but hey, I’m just going to go with my header image, because I feel like I’m one of the only sources out there for it (somehow??) and honestly I love it too much because I feel like it should have been the season 3 promo art, with the way it has the girls looking super badass and surrounded by their allies.

Day 25 A minor character

For some reason I keep thinking of Principal Knickerbocker?? Her comic design is just really sticking out in my head for some reason.

But okay, I’m going to cheat on this one and go with pretty much the whole non-family/non-significant other supporting cast in Heatherfield (with the exception of Uriah and the gang). I just think they made a very... eclectic cast of background characters in the girls’ civilian lives that make for some fun and interesting moments outside of saving the world. There’s a running gag with how Mr. Horseberg and Coach O’Neill can’t stand each other (and literally come to blows over it), poor Bertold the custodian is Knickerbocker’s confidante/sidekick in running the show at Sheffield, and yes, I’m going to include Medina, McTiennan, and Sylla in this group because I enjoyed the concept of getting actual law enforcement involved in a magical girl series. 

Day 26 A fantasy people/race/species

I think I’m going to go with the Banshees, partially for the reasons I discussed already in regards to Yua (beings that are supposedly super evil but frankly just want to be left alone in their bog home). I also find their design fascinating, as they all pretty much look the same and have the silhouettes of a beautiful woman, but get on their bad side and they’ll show you exactly how otherworldly and terrifying they can be. 

Runner-up goes to the Basiliadians, because they’re so markedly diverse and I’d be fascinated by that worldbuilding.

Day 27 A personal headcanon

Oof, okay, let me think of something that I haven’t already blathered on about... 

Hmm, well it’s not so much a headcanon as, like... a vindictive moment of satisfaction I’d love to see (and will maybe one day fic), but sometimes I like to entertain the concept of Will running into her old friends from Fadden Hills - who rejected her in the Year Before special - and just seeing them react to how much better her life is, having these friends who legitimately care about and love her and how she’s grown into this confident leader. I’ve been in pre-series Will’s place before, so this would be a cathartic thing for me, as well as a means to revisit prior canon.

Day 28 A personal memory

Oh dear, there are several of these that come to mind, some of which I’ve definitely mentioned before. But I guess I’ll choose one for the comics and one for the cartoon that I haven’t discussed previously.

I honestly just distinctly remember the wait for new issues - whether of the Philippines comics or the UK magazines - after my dad would order them on Ebay, since the US had largely stopped releasing any books or graphic novels by that point. I just remember being 13 and zoning out in history class because the package was supposed to come that afternoon (it oftentimes took a few more days) and I was so ready to binge-read when I got home. 

As for the animated series, we didn’t get cable until near the very end of season 2, and the series had stopped running on network TV in early season 1, so I had to watch the majority of the series via YouTube. Mind you, YouTube had only been around for a year at this point and I think we had just switched over from dial-up, so most of my viewing happened at the kitchen table on my mom’s brick of a work laptop, having to rewind the low-quality recording every few seconds because it was buffering again, and then having to track down parts 2 and 3 of the episode because there wasn’t a capacity for more than 6-8 minutes of footage per upload. It was tedious, but the memories are somewhat fond. 

And then some six years down the line, when I was a senior in high school, I would pop the DVDs I had into my computer and rewatch the series in the middle of the night after I finished studying, conveniently forgetting that I needed to be up for school about five hours later. I guess I just have memories of watching the series on a smaller screen.

Day 29 A word of thanks to any official W.i.t.c.h. artist(s)/writer(s)

I mean, you can’t have a W.i.t.c.h.versary without toasting to the minds behind our beloved girls: Elisabetta Gnone, Barbara Canepa, and Alessandro Barbucci. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for giving us these wonderful, truly magical heroines who have shaped my life in more ways than I can list. I’m a good 15 years into my adoration of this series, and I don’t see that train losing steam anytime soon.

Also, a nod to Greg Weisman and crew for season 2 of the animated series, which took the narrative in some intriguing directions that I still enjoy to this day.

[gentlethorns]

eleven writing questions

thank you @neurtsy for the tag!

1. how do you choose titles or chapter headers? (or do they choose you?) truth be told, i don’t use chapter titles or headers much. unfortunately, i’m terrible at titling (and that goes for all types of titling - i’ve gotten slightly better at titling poems, through hard work and practice), so i find it works better for me if i don’t bother with chapter headers.

2. what are some pieces of literature that have heavily influenced you?

definitely stephen king’s work. if i had to pick a specific book, i’d pick the shining, but his body of work as a whole has taught me a lot and has had a hand in the formation of my style.

the harry potter series influenced my writing style and syntax style.

the work of poets here on tumblr (like @americansport and @exit152), as well as crush by richard siken, caused a gradual but extremely significant shift in my style of poetry and expression.

3. what certain themes do you find yourself more strongly drawn to? in fiction, i find myself often turning to the theme of twisted/soured religion - either religion used as manipulation or religion taken too far (i.e., cults). in poetry, i often draw on heartbreak or emotional turmoil (but what poet doesn’t?).

4. do you underline in books you read? how do you feel about this? i don’t underline, but i do highlight and jot notes in the margins. i don’t mind people marking books as long as they own the book and as long as they don’t plan to give them away or sell them in the future. personally, i don’t ever get rid of books that i care about or write in books i don’t enjoy, so i feel like i have a good system going.

5. if someone were to design a cover for one of your stories, how do you imagine it looking? i honestly think it varies with each story, because each of the stories i’ve ever worked on to a significant extent vary widely in genre and general vibe. however, one thing i do think they’d have in common is an element of mystery and danger, so i’d like their covers to convey that. in addition, i really enjoy book covers that focus on one object or character in particular that ends up having significance in the story, so that would probably play a large part in my cover(s) as well.

6. do visuals influence your writing? typically my writing is more influenced by action. i imagine things pretty vividly, but i transcribe them pretty loosely and leave much to the reader’s imagination as far as appearances go. i’m more descriptive with settings than i am with characters’ appearances, but even then i only mention important things or single details that enhance the reality of the setting. i guess visuals don’t inspire me much, typically, so they don’t influence my writing much either.

7. do you draw inspiration more from the people and happenings around you, or the writing and media you consume? definitely both! but i think i typically draw it more from media i consume, in the sense that after experiencing media that tells a particularly good story or is very well-executed, i feel inspired to create something on the same level.

8. what film(s) would you love to see fic adaptations/references of? i would love to read the dead poet’s society as a work of fiction.

9. what is one trope you think is overused, and one that is underused? i think “woman dies as a plot point” is drastically overused, and i’m tired of reading it. i hate it when one of the only women characters (if not the only) is made to be badass and likable, seemingly with her own autonomy, and is then killed so that her death can grieve/motivate the main male character. as for an underused trope, i’d really like to see more comedic tropes used in narration (such as unreliable narrators that tell events in an obviously contrived or biased way, or narrators breaking the fourth wall and adding commentary).

10. what book/story has absolutely rattled you to your core? here are a couple of faves that have really stuck with me:

the shining by stephen king

the alienist by caleb carr

crush by richard siken

bone by bone by bone by tony johnston

lord of the flies by william golding

11. when was the last time you felt truly moved by a piece of writing? yesterday, when i read LONELY BODIES by adrian bouvier ( @slaughtervoid ).

now, for my eleven questions:

1. where do you often find yourself turning for inspiration? 2. what genre is easiest for you to write? what genre is your favorite to write? 3. what literary work(s) have been major inspirations to you? 4. what was the event that set you on your journey to become a writer (if you can remember one in particular)? 5. what were some of your favorite books growing up? 6. what are some of your favorite books now? 7. is there any specific writing skill you’d like to become better at or master? 8. what is your greatest creative strength? 9. do you generally feel more inspired during the day or at night? 10. what are your long-term writing goals? (e.g. being published, just having fun, etc.) 11. what piece of your writing are you most proud of? (if you’d like, provide links!)

i’d like to tag @americansport, @anonymous-hoper, @victoria-writes-sometimes, and @christinawritesfiction! (ofc, only do this if you have time and would like to!)

[murderlight]

Everyone, I am absolutely overjoyed to introduce you to...

The Fists and the Furry: a paperback collection of grimmichi short stories written by myself, in lovely collaboration with the amazingly talented @trevoshere!!! ✨

Containing all my short stories including Love Potion #9, Fangs for the Memories and Something Fishy, wrapped in a delicious bodice-ripping cover completely designed and laid out by Trevo, this beautiful piece of shelf candy legit looks like an aged and weathered romance paperback that you’d find in a local library somewhere. And it’s amazing. 😍

We (I use the term ‘we’ loosely) have been working on this in secret for a couple of months now, puttering about with formatting and proofs (thank you @peppertea!) and generally putting a fingerprint or two on this project when time permitted. Today it’s finally ready, and it’s so gorgeous I can’t even deal.

As I mentioned before, Trevo did the absolute vast majority of the work on this, which I can’t begin to thank her enough for. From the cover art to font sourcing, index, header work, down to the adorable art on each story title page, she turned this thing from ‘AO3, but printed’ to a truly epic piece of grimmichi collector’s merch. I am not worthy. 🙇‍♀️

Now, to business! The book is offered as zero-profit, meaning Trevo and I don’t earn anything off the money you pay for the book. The order pricing is flat-rate worldwide and includes shipping.

At 336 pages, it contains the following eight short stories: 

🔹 Love Potion #9 🔸 See You Never 🔹 Something Fishy 🔸 Beans 🔹 Bushfire 🔸 Soul Asylum 🔹 Fight Me 🔸 Fangs for the Memories

...and each title page comes with its own @trevoshere original doodle. Gasp! ♥

Really and finally, Trevo and I just hope you enjoy. That’s what this whole thing is for, after all!! A little physical chunk of fandom to hold onto, wedge doors open with, bend and dog-ear and whatever else you might like to do to it. Go nuts.

Trust us, The Fists and the Furry can take any punishment. 😉

Update 2/3/24: I am choosing to no longer make my fics available for zero-profit purchase. While I truly love that people wanted a physical copy of my fics, I don't believe it's the right thing to be doing as a responsible member of fandom.

For those who missed out, I’m very sorry, however these won’t be made available again.