Gen-uary Jubilee

a ficwip server event celebrating gen fanworks Cover Photo by Casey Horner on Unsplash

[genuaryjubilee]

Thank you so much to everyone who participated in this year's @ficwip Genuary Jubilee!! There were a collective 79 gen works created for this event!

Week 1, mentor & mentee and/or parent & child: 26 works

Week 2, allies and/or found family: 19 works

Week 3, neighbors and/or pets (and plants): 17 works

Week 4, solo character and/or ensemble cast: 17 works

Check out all of these great works on AO3 or here on tumblr!

[perfectpurls]

Genuary Jubilee Masterpost

For the second year in a row, I participated in (and completed!) the 4-week @genuaryjubilee challenge! I had so much fun writing these little stories and hope they are just as fun to read!

Week 1 Prompt: mentor & mentee and parent & child the people v. Lewiston Sin Eater: The story of a sin eater, told only through the Crew’s interactions with Carson. (1,506 words//AO3)

Week 2 Prompt: found family Moving Day: The Tornado Wranglers help Kate move into her new apartment. (889 words//AO3)

Week 3 Prompt: pets future’s in our hands and we will never be the same: After Charlie returns, he and Rex need to rebuild their relationship. (990 words//AO3)

Week 4 Prompt: ensemble cast NASA Moon Crew: Bess gets a little too invested in NASA’s #MoonCrew competition. (1,297 words//AO3)

[otaku-girl-ao3]

Moonlight Confessions | Bullet Train | Tangerine & Lemon | 2.5k

AO3: Otaku_girl | Fics only blog: @otaku_girl_fics | ATJ: Aaron Taylor Johnson masterlist | Main: Otaku-girl-ao3 masterlist

Moonlight Confessions

Rating: M Category: Gen Tags: Angst, whump, introspection Warnings: Author chose not to use Archive Warnings. Summary: His hands curl around the gun; one finger settled on the trigger, the other bracing his aim. Bloodied knuckles gleam black beneath the soft glow of neon lights; the time for brass knuckles has long since passed. He should already be here. Why isn’t he here? Left alone to wait for Lemon, Tangerine turns over the mess of their last job, discovering that some choices are harder to live with than the blood already on his hands. Author's notes: Written for @genuaryjubilee week 4: Solo character or Ensemble cast. Y'all know how much I love Tan~

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Read the full fic on AO3

[zyrafowe-sny]

Genuary Jubilee 2026 Fic Masterpost

written for @genuaryjubilee

Week 1: "mentor & mentee" and "parent & child"

family business (200 words) Fandom: The Owl House (Cartoon)

"I want to work with you."

Week 2: "allies" and "found family"

I wish I was home (I wish I was back there) (100 words) Fandom: Nimona (2023)

It shouldn't have hurt so much.

Week 3: "neighbors" and "pets (and plants)"

abomaloenation (300 words) Fandom: The Owl House (Cartoon)

Jerbo asks Willow for a favor

Week 4: "solo character" and "ensemble cast"

my name is legion (for we are many) (100 words) Fandom: Knights of Guinevere (GLITCH Web Series)

Guinevere is one.

from solo to ensemble (200 words) Fandom: Gachiakuta (Anime)

Cthoni didn't plan on getting sentimentally attached to a manhole cover.

[ursae-minoris-world]

Kosmo's Playtime

vld | Gen : Keith & Kosmo | rated G | Chapters 1/1 | 1k 

Keith is too busy to pay attention to Kosmo. So Kosmo steals his blade!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/78192671

A Keith & Kosmo fic for @genuaryjubilee week 3 : neighbors and/or pets (and plants)!

[on AO3] [on Bsky] [on Pillowfort]

[abubblingcandle]

Alex Rider + Tom when he realizes Alex has a clone and his perspective on the events of the finale?

Sorry this took so long love! Hope you enjoy it.

I used @genuaryjubilee week 4's prompt (Solo) to inspire it

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

In an MI6 interrogation room, Tom muses on how he knew which Alex to hit

[littleladymab]

Genuary Week 3 - Pets

I wrote this one earlier and then held off on posting it in case I got the opportunity to expand it. Alas, I did not, so you get this little bitty @genuaryjubilee week 3 fill!

Fandom: Clair Obscur: Expedition 33 Characters: Verso + Monoco Prompt: Pets Warnings: I guess sort of general late game spoilers re: Verso's backstory.

++++

“Monoco,” Verso begins with all of the seriousness a ten year old child can muster. “We are going to undertake an adventure.” 

The dog cocks his head to the side and his tail begins to thump excitedly on the hall’s parquet. For Monoco, the word ‘adventure’ holds the same weight as ‘walk’ does for any other dog. 

Verso nods approvingly and stands up straight. He shrugs the satchel over his head, fixes the weight of his snacks and sketchbooks against his hip, and glances around for his hat. “Alicia is napping right now, so we have to go quietly.” 

They also have to go quietly because if they’re caught, then it’s another afternoon indoors doing lessons and enduring Clea’s admonishing glare, but he’ll pretend the courtesy is for his new baby sister. 

Monoco gives a low, muffled woof in understanding. 

“Good boy.” He pats the dog affectionately and ends his preparation by fitting his hat snugly on his head. “You know the drill. Let’s go.” 

(joke convo between Verso and Monoco under the cut)

The temptation to use Gestral!monoco for this fill was VERY strong but I knew it didn't adhere to the letter of the prompt but this is what I sent a friend when I was plotting it:

Monoco: I'm not a dog. Verso: I never said you were. Monoco: Fine. Verso: Fine. Monoco: Completely fine. Verso: Yes. Monoco: …… (nods)

[abubblingcandle]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Ted Lasso (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Ted Lasso & Dani Rojas Characters: Dani Rojas (Ted Lasso), Ted Lasso Additional Tags: outsider pov, Post S2 E1, Fluff, Dani Rojas being a Ray of Sunshine Summary:

Rosa had been skeptical of having a footballer as a neighbour. But that was before she met Dani Rojas.

—

For both @genuaryjubilee Week 3: Neighbours

And

@tedlassocreativecorner Picture Paints A 1000 Words challenge for January

[littleladymab]

Genuary Week 2 - Allies/Found Family

omg rolling in under the deadline for this, it is @genuaryjubilee Week 2 prompt! I might make it longer and post it to AO3 proper but for now, please enjoy this little ficlet! (also first time writing E33 fic oml)

Fandom: Clair Obscur: Expedition 33 Characters: Maelle + Verso Prompt: Allies/Found Family Warnings: Post Act I, and we're in it for the irony

++++

The grief still hits Maelle in new and painful ways. 

(“It always will,” Sciel says, her voice low as she holds Maelle close. “It won’t exactly get easier, but you won’t always feel like you’re drowning.”) 

(“Grief is natural,” Lune advises, her hands warm and reassuring on Maelle’s shoulders. “You will learn to accept it as a part of you.”) 

(Verso doesn’t say anything, at first, but he doesn’t have to. Maelle can see it written into every line of his face when he looks at her, especially when he thinks she doesn’t notice. A man who has lived as long as he has knows what it means to mourn.) 

“Would you like another song?” Verso offers as they sit side by side on the piano bench. 

It’s not the first time he has played for her since that evening where grief threatened to pull her under and not even Sciel and Lune — her friends, her family, the remaining members of Expedition 33 and everything she has left in the world — could draw her back to safety. 

It was Verso, awkward and still trying to find his place among them, that did. That shy, rueful twist to his lips that reminded her so much of Gustave in that moment that she didn’t know if it hurt or helped. 

“Yes,” she answers finally. “But not another depressing one. Don’t you know anything happier?” 

He laughs as he knocks his shoulder into hers. A fond, brotherly gesture that somehow doesn’t push her over the edge but keeps her standing firm. “I don’t see you offering to play the piano.” But still he obliges and after a moment’s consideration his fingers dance across the keys in a light, lilting tune. 

Maelle closes her eyes and sways in time with the man squeezed onto the bench beside her. 

He’s not Gustave — she can’t ever pretend that he could be a replacement for her brother and best friend. But his unspoken grief resonates with hers in a way that doesn’t feel so lonely.

[otaku-girl-ao3]

Four a.m favours | Bullet Train | 2.6k

AO3: Otaku_girl | Fics only blog: @otaku_girl_fics | ATJ: Aaron Taylor Johnson masterlist | Masterlists list: Otaku-girl-ao3 masterlist 

Title: Four a.m favours Fandom: Bullet Train Pairings: Tangerine & Lemon, Lemon & OFC Wordcount: 2.6k Notes: Created for @genuaryjubilee week 3: Neighbours and plants. All gen, no romance~ Summary: When Tangerine and Lemon get home late from a job, they have an unexpected welcome home waiting to greet them at their doorstep.

─── ✦ ───

“The fuck do you mean you’ve lost the bloody keys?” Hands searched trouser pockets, moving up to check his shirt, the inside of his suit jacket, even his waistcoat pockets when his searching bore no results. 

“What d’you think I mean?” Lemon said slowly, his voice even-paced and calm. “See, I knew where they were. They were in my pocket, oh, about ten days ago now. Then we got a little busy. And now? They’re not where I left ‘em.”

Ringed fingers ran through dishevelled curls. Tangerine hadn’t had the chance to fix his hair in days. All he wanted was a hot shower and the chance to pass out in his own bed. Apparently, even that was too much to ask. 

“Are you being fuckin’ serious right now?” Tangerine asked, exasperation dripping from his words. He was met with an even-eyed gaze. 

“No.”

Tangerine paused, words stopping short. Lips parted. He met Lemon’s gaze. “No?”

“No. I thought this would make a great joke at four in the fucking morning. Of course I’m being serious right now!” 

Read the full fic on AO3

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[spideyladman]

Drew these three fellasssss 🫶

Also yeah these are my HC designs for 'em, I wanted them to have extremely different styles, since you know, I'm a TAWOG/TWWWOG fan lmao- But also!!! This is a submission for @genuaryjubilee 's 2nd week!!!!! The prompt was: "allies and/or found family" and I quite enjoyed drawing these three together!!!

Yesterday I had a Charlie's Angels situation happen where only a Gigi, Yatta and Connie (me) where left, though I did kinda pull with almost always finishing the last machine/s lmao- But after that whole experience I realised just how interesting these three are, with them having bad habits/addictions (Connie spying on people's convos, Gigi being kleptomanic and having her room practically be a hoarding space, and Yatta going crazy on candy to the point that she craves for more machines to do so that more candy comes out of her) so I wanted to draw them as a found family, made out of mentally ill and chaotic folks 🫶 they're also allies too so it's practically a combo too lol✨️

Also here's the AO3 version of this!!! Added a lil bit of the aftermath for this pictureeeee 🫶🫶🫶

https://archiveofourown.org/works/77831426

[this-world-of-beautiful-monsters]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

They're not friends; Pauline hasn't had friends since she was a lonely little girl with skinned knees and a hungry heart. They're not acquaintances, either; a bit too close for that. Fellow soldiers, maybe, fighting side by side in a war against cosmic evil, babbling madmen, and high insurance payouts. ___ The Pauls, hurting towards the end of the line.

Title from the song The Jig Is Up by Ice Nine Kills.

Prompt (Genuary): Allies @genuaryjubilee

Prompt (Flash Fiction Friday): Parallel Lines @flashfictionfridayofficial

(tw character death)

[abubblingcandle]

I’m so glad u like my brainrot but now you’ve encouraged me so i have another one 💙❤️💛

What if instead of Ted coming out and talking to Rebecca at the Gala, it’s Jamie trying to get some air after that horrid joke Roy and Keeley made or after the auction where Rupert calls Jamie a victim and it triggers him more than we see in canon (I know it doesn’t really work with the timeline but whatever)

We see that Jamie really dislikes Rupert (while everyone claps for him, Jamie leans back, snaps once and then looks away with this vaguely disgusted/disinterested face - such a good moment for S1 Jamie) so if he can communicate that, it would endear him to Rebecca, especially in that moment where she feels that no one sees Rupert for the sack of shit he is.

Also Jamie probably has experience helping in such situations considering Georgie and James Sr.

However Rebecca knows about Jamie’s second date and likely assumes he’s cheating on Keeley who she’s vaguely fond of.

How could it happen that Jamie comforts Rebecca? And she allows him to do so?

How would that change things? Especially with Jamie’s second date becoming Rupert’s new flame and then Rebecca sending Jamie away, kind of as a reaction to what the paper says about it? And much later on Bex coming to Rebecca to seek help with Rupert? Honestly just the relationship between Jamie and Bex intrigues me but throwing Rebecca into the mix???

Anyways if Rebecca doesn’t allow Jamie to comfort her, maybe it could at least clear the air a bit so it could lead to a conversation in S2 where Jamie is on his apologies and amends tour and Rebecca sees him trying and relates it to her own redemption arc. So when they are both pissed about Zava in S3 it’s not their first conversation but instead it builds on sth.

Thank you for these amazing prompts and I'm so sorry it has taken me this long to get to them. I have other things from your prompts in the works but in collab with @genuaryjubilee week 2 (allies), here is the first one

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Rebecca needed some air at the gala. She needed to be away from Rupert and his gaggle of cronies. Jamie needed some air at the gala. He needed to be away from Keeley and Roy.

[nicky-gabriel]

[FIC, ATLA] A Chance for a Family

Title: A Chance for a Family Fandoms: Avatar: The Last Airbender (Cartoon 2005) Event: @genuaryjubilee Word Count: 3000 Rating: M Category: Gen Characters: Bato, Ozai, Ursa Tags: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Found Family, Friendship, Platonic Relationships, Arranged Marriage, No Romance, Good Ozai, Best Friends, Established Relationship

Summary: The one where Bato is playing doctor, Ursa is treated as a national treasure, Ozai is pretending to be a peasant and Bato’s father saves the day. And it’s not even morning, yet. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/77774221

[spideyladman]

Joan expects to see her regular patient at her office's door. What she doesn't expect is that big red book in her hands.

Posted a fic onto AO3 regarding these two for @genuaryjubilee !! The first week's prompt was "Mentor & mentee and/or parent & child," and at first I was planning to submit a long piece but since it was taking too long and my wrist was aching so I decided to go for something simple. Ended up drawing this piece for about 3 hours since I haven't seen any content regarding these two's dynamic and meant to write a little drabble to pair. This is NOT. A DRABBLE. LMAO-

So anywayssssss Hope y'all like thisssssss!!!!!!! It was really fun writing from Joan's POV and how she's realising bit by bit that she cares more about Teri than she realises!!!!!!!! <:3🤲

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[this-world-of-beautiful-monsters]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Jake is still talking, and you pull your attention away from the other children to focus on him. "Your mother...I mean, your other mother...fuck, this is going to be hard." He chuckles, rubbing his face. "Don't tell Mommy I used a bad word, sweetheart." Kiri doesn't seem interested in telling anyone anything. She's abandoned the rocks to poke at the feathers instead, plucking one from the pile and twisting it between her fingers. Her eyes widen as her nail catches on the slender shaft, bending under her touch like a spine. ___ Jake and Grace, Kiri and Ewya, and the endless problems of bodies in motion.

(Title from the song A Fertile Wood At Heart by James Currier.

Prompt: Parent-Child and Mentor-Mentee)

@genuaryjubilee

tw discussions of ableism and past character death

[belovedstill]

Broken Cycles Still Leave Shards (ao3) set in the world of: Unfamiliar Rites (ao3) Luo Qingeng & Luo Fusheng | T, Gen fic | 2.9k, inspired by fanfic, AU of an AU, missing scene, father-son relationship, child!Luo Fusheng, magic, memory alteration, mentions of blood and implied gore

Reading this fic without knowing Unfamiliar Rites will most likely make no sense.

Set in the world of Unfamiliar Rites by @the-marron, after the prologue. On the night after the failed ritual, Luo Qingeng chances upon his sleeping son and gets to see the consequences of his own actions.

for @the-marron as a big, big thank you for sharing your amazing work with others. I'm so grateful I found it and that it wormed itself into my brain to the point of theories, suspicion, excitement, and creation 🥺💕 looking forward to the remaining chapters! written as part of #ficwip's @genuaryjubilee for week 1's prompt of "parent & child"

Full fic on ao3 & below, under the cut

Since the moment Luo Qingeng was born, his life was not his own.

That, at least, was what his father told him — a man who, unlike Qingeng, used to never let his son leave his side. He took a young boy to every mission and used every opportunity for the boy to gain practical experience.

It didn’t matter that the five-year-old Qingeng was not proficient in spells or that, at seven, he burst into tears when he fell under a shaman’s compulsion for the first time. His hands made Mother bleed then. Father was furious.

He didn’t cry when, at eight, he watched Father’s wolf of a guardian tear into the bodies of rogue sorcerers, or when they found the funny yao man who usually sneaked him candy whenever Father wasn't looking tied to a crude stone sacrificial altar, both his eyes and chest wide open. He wouldn't wake up no matter how many times Qingeng tugged at his hand.

“That's what we prevent from happening,” Father said then in a voice so flat and with a look so severe, all Qingeng heard was an accusation. He could only nod and swear to never let anything like that repeat ever again.

The duty of the Luo family had bound him so completely, the contract with his Divine Beast settling into his blood didn’t feel like anything about him changed at all. It was inevitable. His legacy. His purpose. When the Fox accepted his call and acknowledged him as an Ally, there were no sudden revelations, no gained wisdom, no surge in maturity, even if Father was proud and everybody cheered: the servants, the Hongs, even the representatives of the Wu and Bo families sent over just for the occasion.

Mother was no longer with them at that point.

Father passed two years later, way before the end of his prime. It brought no new meanings. Qingeng buried him, paid his respects at all the right dates, and, together with his Beast, he continued on.

His doom came the first time he held Fusheng.

Luo Qingeng wouldn’t call himself an absent father, per sé. He was a busy man chained by age-old shackles of relentless servitude passed on through generations of worthy achievements and great deeds. The duty he carried, as long as he had it, belonged to him and him only. Until the time came for Fusheng to enter into a contract with a Divine Beast of his own, the child needn’t… see.

His own life was forfeit by now, but his son’s had barely just begun.

Luo Qingeng watched Fusheng’s tiny fingers wrapped around his thumb, the big eyes staring into his own as he bottle-fed him in his arms, the delight of his smile first thing in the morning—

—he thought about the gored sorcerers, and Mother’s bleeding arms, and the murdered yao—

—and started to scheme.

Things didn’t go quite the way he’d planned.

Still, the result was the same.

Tonight, the Luo mansion is not empty.

He should have expected it, really. Fusheng’s ceremony of entering a Divine Contract took place just this morning — the mansion is still the place holding ceremonial garb. Everybody should have left by noon.

The ritual is broken. The Luo bloodline is free. There is no point in staying.

But one of the Hongs’ men is sleeping on the couch and a dim light is on in Fusheng’s old room. Luo Qingeng puts the pieces together.

Ever since the day he left, he’s visited the mansion several times. Never has he set a foot in his son’s old room — there was never any reason for it; it stood empty, cold, and covered in white sheets everywhere to preserve the seep of magic and prevent the gathering of dust. Now that he hovers inside, itching to retreat into the shadows, not many things have changed in here. While Fusheng’s books—both fairytale collections and compendiums on the yao and magic—still fill the bookshelves, the half-opened wardrobe and drawers are empty of his clothes. His toys are missing. Whether he plays with the same ones as he did several years ago is unknown.

…does he still play with toys? The year Qingeng had to run, he didn’t have much time to check.

Hong Zhengbao has kept his promise of taking the boy in and is still bringing him up, then.

Good.

Fusheng is sleeping in his bed. The pillow and the duvet aren’t dressed in linens, and he’s lying on the same white bedsheet that covers the rest of the unused furniture in the house. His breathing is rhythmic, if heavy and wet — in and out through his mouth. Qingeng doesn’t need magic to know that he’s not sick. His nose is stuffy, his cheeks wet, eyelashes stuck in salty clumps, trembling. His forehead is marred with small lines right between his eyebrows.

“What is there to cry about?” Luo Qingeng wants to ask, softer than he’s had a chance in years, but doesn’t dare disturb the night. Instead, he sighs and, as carefully as he can, sits down at the edge of the bed.

The last time he saw his son was a little under two years ago, in this very same room, also past midnight. Fusheng was fast asleep and bundled up in the cocoon of a duvet and a blanket, guarded from the chill uncommonly severe for the season. The white-gray dog plushie he favoured at that time, claiming it was a silver fox instead, had ended up on the floor, most likely lost when fussing with the covers. Luo Qingeng picked the toy up, dusted it off, and put it under the duvet within Fusheng’s slack arms. It didn’t take long for the boy to hug it close.

The image of Fusheng’s peaceful face from that night—the night of the quiet, lonely, and unreturned goodbye—blends in with the closed, puffy eyes of right now. 

His son has always had a gentle heart. Luo Qingeng refuses to think of it as a weakness, not when he fought for Fusheng’s right to keep it. If the price for it was costly—well…

Grief and hurt—that the boy feels them still, feels them at all, is a relief. It means he still has the capacity for softness.

Good, he thinks again, and gently brushes Fusheng’s hair away from his face. It’s gotten so long it nearly falls into his eyes now, but the child underneath is still recognisable. He hasn’t changed much; his face is a little longer and the one hand half-curled around his pillow is a little bigger. If he were awake and standing straight, Luo Qingeng is sure he’d be taller now, too.

It’s better that he’s asleep. He can’t know Luo Qingeng is alive. Not yet; not when it’s still not safe.

Maybe not ever.

It’s for the best, he reminds himself and steels his heart once more. There’s no place for regret, not when he’s long past taking another path. He’s made this choice all on his own and he’ll live with the consequences if it paves a better way for his son.

Fusheng swallows in his sleep, his frown deepens and he fusses with the covers, familiar to the point of ache. Even on guard in case he wakes, Qingeng watches out for the stuffed dog to fall out from under the covers, keeps his hand at the ready to return it right away in the only comfort he can provide—but it’s not a toy that he catches.

It’s a notebook. The soft cover is worn with use, its edges frayed. A piece of brown tape holds the spine together.

Luo Qingeng has seen it before: in Fusheng’s backpack; on the living room table, half-tucked under his homework; under the pillow, when he slept.

A diary, he always thought and let private things remain private. Fusheng was an open book as he was — if something troubled him, Luo Qingeng knew. There was never any need to take a peek.

Now, though…

He hasn’t seen his son in nearly two years. The Divine Beast checking in on him at his order and reporting on the boy’s well-being isn’t the same as hearing Fusheng talk about his day himself. Back then, he seemed ready to burst at the seams every time Luo Qingeng returned home, even if all he talked about were his studies. He looked happy.

That he keeps his diary behind the shield of his arms now…

It’s not Luo Qingeng’s responsibility to know, not anymore; he gave it up two years ago in this very room.

…not wasting another moment, he flips the notebook open somewhere in the middle. The first entries should be dated around Fusheng’s seventh birthday, that’s the earliest he remembers the notebook pop up. The middle of it, then, could be sometime around—Fusheng’s tenth—

…

Luo Qingeng looks at the pages in front of him and doesn’t see a journal entry but smudged pencil lines and colours, panels of drawings depicting humans, animals, trees, and buildings.

He flips a page, then another, and another. A mountainside here. A lake there. Castles. Towers. Fields, villages, markets—

The drawings continue. In some, there are lines of words, clearly written by Fusheng’s own hand.

It’s not a diary.

It’s a story.

Luo Qingeng’s chest grows heavy as what he’s seeing finally sinks in.

Most of the drawings feature the same two characters: one is Luo Fusheng, the other — a silver fox with striking gold eyes.

The Fusheng on the page is drawn with downturned eyebrows and a sad line for lips. The speech bubble next to him reads, ‘Dad’s not here, either.’

On the next one, the fox is pressing its snout to Fusheng’s smiling cheek. The bubble in this one says, ‘You're right! We can’t give up! He’s waiting!’

The next couple of pages have Fusheng and the fox travel to a forested mountain, looking into a cave, a shack, a temple... Each time, they remain the only two characters. Each time, the drawn Luo Fusheng is comforted by the fox and proclaims anew to keep searching for his father.

A recurring theme.

Did Fusheng always treat his absences this way, he wonders, something prickling at his heart. Did he always feel like he had to look for him? Is that why the notebook was always there until Luo Qingeng returned?

Or…

An idea slowly forms in his head and Qingeng goes back to the first page. Sure enough, there's a simpler drawing there, years older, but the characters in it are no less recognisable. There, in the center of the page, stands a happy stick-figure boy. Its thin black-lined arm is holding the hand of a taller person wearing a blocky suit jacket and a square smile.

‘Fusheng and Dad…’, reads the text above them, and continues below their feet with, ‘…save the world!’

On each side of the drawing is a gray-coloured creature with pointy ears and fluffy tails. Both are helpfully described with arrow-pointed text.

‘Dad’s Fox’ is bigger and hovers near the drawn Luo Qingeng with his eyes closed.

‘My Fusheng’s fox’ barely reaches stick-Fusheng’s shoulder. It reflects the boy’s exact smile.

A small, nonsensical part of Luo Qingeng confirms that he was right about the time frame — Fusheng’s handwriting hasn't looked like this since he was seven.

That first page is littered with gray fingerprints and small spots of unevenly dried paper. He carefully doesn’t think about those. Instead, he turns the page.

It’s mostly Fusheng and Luo Qingeng helping other stick-people in the saturated coloured pencil-world. Luo Qingeng’s stick-hands sometimes shoot rays of sparkly yellow light. Sometimes, both foxes chase away the vague dark clouds haunting the drawings.

Always, Fusheng is right there, always standing right next to his dad. Always, their hands are linked as if they were drawn with the same stroke.

‘Dad is a hero!’, drawing-Fusheng says. Or, 'The yao is safe!’ Or, ‘We fixed it!’

The smiling stick-dad answers, every time: ‘Sheng’er helped a lot’.

It goes on like this until halfway into the notebook where another double-page spread is still divided into familiar four story panels, of which only the first one is finished. In it, Fusheng sits alone at a low table stacked tall with books. Within the second frame, there’s the beginning of lines of a taller figure, but the drawing has clearly been interrupted. The other panels are blank. This particular adventure has never even begun.

Luo Qingeng has a feeling he knows when that one was drawn.

He turns the page.

‘Places where Dad could be’ sits at the very top, heavily underlined twice. What follows is a list that spans several pages, some items crossed out, some with a question mark, some corrected or scribbled in later, and some not being places at all but people. Only after that point do the drawings of Fusheng searching for him start.

They copy the same pattern as that first one, and keep going.

And going.

And going.

No drawing is quite the same, each explores a different possibility, but in each of them  the drawn Fusheng fails, and pouts, and cries… Never does he give up.

The story is rewritten again and again until just shy of the final couple of pages. Those are untouched.

On the inside of the soft back cover, however, there is one final piece. The tape is the only thing keeping it attached to the rest.

The drawn Fusheng and Qingeng are hugging. Fusheng's fox companion, a constant presence throughout the notebook, looks at them with smiling golden eyes.

The text in the final speech bubble is nearly illegible with how smudged and blurry it is.

‘I knew you’d find me.’

A gaping heaviness sinks to the very pit of Luo Qingeng’s stomach as he stares at that last drawing.

He knew, of course—he’d always known that this child had high hopes—for his family, his heritage, his life—but…

The fox’s white fur is almost completely stained with muddy gray fingerprints.

Sheng’er…

Luo Qingeng rubs at his weary eyes and wishes he never looked.

“...Dad?”

He freezes. When he looks at his son, Fusheng’s eyes are bleary, startled, and staring straight back at him.

The boy’s breath hitches. “Dad! Dad, the Fox said—”

Qingeng’s hand is as fast as lightning. Before the boy has the chance to scramble up within the restricting duvet, Luo Qingeng spreads his fingers wide over his smaller head. Immediately, the magic reaches out and lights Fusheng’s face in a golden glow.

“—it broke out and said that I'm—”

“You’re dreaming,” Luo Qingeng says, hard and focused as he weaves the spell into Fusheng’s sleep-scattered memories.

“—I’m sorry—”

“You’re dreaming right now,” Qingeng repeats, forceful enough to drown out the boy’s quickly slurring words. Fusheng’s eyelids start to quiver. “Your father was never here tonight. You read your story before bed and fell asleep missing him.”

‘He misses you, too,’ he can’t say. An orphaned child wouldn’t think that. But looking at Fusheng now, his eyes wet, unfocused, and already half-closed under the magic, he selfishly wants to leave something behind. Something small. Something true.

And so, he whispers, “Dad has always been proud of you.”

It’s as much truth as Qingeng can allow either of them at this moment.

Fusheng’s arms go slack under the weight of his body; his head drops back on the bare pillow and his lips tremble with the last of his voiceless babbles. No matter how heavy his eyelids are, though, they struggle against the spell with unexpected tenacity, like he’s desperate to see. As if the father he’s been searching for all this time will disappear the moment he looks away.

Luo Qingeng’s heart twists.

“Time to go back to sleep,” he tells him, finally. With a wave of his hand, Fusheng’s eyes close at last as both his consciousness and the spell melt away.

A beat passes. Then another. The room is completely silent but for the hammering in Luo Qingeng’s chest.

The spell will keep Luo Fusheng asleep till daybreak and by then Qingeng will be out of this house and gone again. Fusheng will be taken back to his current home. He’ll change into fresh clothes there, eat breakfast, and play with little Hong Lan, like children his age do.

A normal day. A normal life.

He deserves this chance, even if it’ll take him a while to catch up.

Luo Qingeng carefully closes the notebook and puts it on the bedside table where it won’t get lost, then fixes the duvet around Fusheng, tucking him in safe and warm and as far from harm as can be. With gentle touch, he brushes away the stray tears on the boy’s face and presses one last goodbye kiss to his head.

“Sheng’er did very well,” he whispers against the soft hair. “He can stop searching. Everything will be alright now.”

It’s not a spell, not even a promise. A reassurance — for his son, and for…

A final look, then Luo Qingeng steels himself and gets to his feet. He switches the bedside lamp off on his way out.

The moonlight paints his retreat in haunting silver.