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anoctoberpepper · 10 months

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Sparrow Oak and the Continuing Saga of Convincing Grant to take Linc to the Park

It’s late. Sparrow is doing everything he can to keep himself awake and driving, because he’ll be damned if he and Grant don’t get home to their kids for another day. It’s been three days so far, a long trip to a dangerous place, and a fight they scraped their way through. Rebecca is going to be fraught about the cut on his arm, and he doesn’t even want to begin to think about what Marco’s going to say about Grant’s cracked rib, black eye, burnt leg. But it’s Marco, and Marco takes things in stride. Irritated sometimes, and confused, maybe, but in stride. It’ll be fine.

Sparrow lightly turns the wheel around another bend on the long highway home. Grant taps on his phone. He’s clicking around a crossword puzzle for questions they might actually know the answers to. He got a subscription to the New York Times just for moments like this, and also because he’s a librarian, and behind all the layers of murderer, anxious gamer, he’s a giant nerd.

“Six letters, ‘men following orders.’”

“Is this a crossword question or an existential one?” Sparrow asks. The roads are dead quiet, which is good because he’s leaning his head on his hand, while his arm’s resting on the windowsill, and he really shouldn’t be.

“Crossword question,” Grant says, letting the entire secondary question slide right by. Not in the mood for existentialism, then. Sparrow takes a deep breath, peels himself away from the window and stretches. Hopefully that will wake up his bones.

It doesn’t.

He rolls down the window, gets blasted in the face by icy air that helps for about five minutes before becoming too much. He rolls up the window. He’s got to keep some kind of conversation going.

“What are you gonna do first when you get home?” Sparrow asks, it’s the dullest question in the world and they’ve all asked it of each other enough times that they can repeat the answers back to one another.

Lark- check the windows and doors, the protective seals above them. Eat everything in the fridge.

Nick- High five the beam between his open concept living room and kitchen leaving a charcoal smudge that Cassandra will playfully scold him about in the morning. Then he’ll noodle on his guitar until his nerves chill enough that he can sneak into Taylor’s room to kiss him on the head. Then he’ll pass out, either next to Cassandra in his underwear or in a pile of stuffies next to Taylor’s bed. That particular resting place has been the topic of several group chat goofs and photo bombs.

Terry showers. Washes off whatever adventure they’ve been on. Scrubs his skin too hard, but no one mentions that. Then he eats. Gets what sleep he can.

As for Sparrow and Grant, they’ve got their own particular ritual. Check in on the kids, first and foremost. Reassure themselves that they’re asleep. That they’re safe.

He doesn’t know how long Grant stares at Lincoln, checks his head for scratches, his arms down to his toes. Feels the heat of his skin, and watches him breathe in and out. If he’s anything like Sparrow it’s an hour. An hour of waiting for the other shoe to drop, reassuring himself that it didn’t happen this time. That it’s all okay, at least for tonight.

He knows Marco inevitably peels Grant away, gets food in him, puts him to bed. Sparrow can at least get himself up. Hero’s okay, Normals okay. Food, sleep. A shower if he remembers that Rebecca doesn’t like the smell of sulfur on the pillows or the feeling of dirt on their sheets.

“Check on Linc.” Grant says, unsurprising. Sparrow finds himself smiling at the certainty of that answer. The comfort in knowing it’s the same every time.

“Me too,” Sparrow says.

“You’re gonna check on Lincoln?”

Sparrow burst out laughing. He sometimes forgets that Grant’s a dad, just like him, bad jokes and all.

“No, idiot. Jesus.” “So you’re going to check on Jesus.”

Maybe it’s because it’s 2 am, or because there’s been so much tension in the air for so long, but it breaks Sparrow right then. Gets him laughing until he’s coughing.

“Yep. Checking on the lord and savior Jesus Christ.” he says when he finally catches his breath.

Grant’s smirking. Proud of himself. Git.

“Linc’ll be fine,” Sparrow says. “Probably grown a few extra toes, but he’ll be fine.”

“I’ve heard they do that when they’re around 4.” Grant says playfully, but Sparrow can hear him straining to “yes and” Sparrows game. He’s always worried about Linc. If the kid really did grow two extra toes it would be the end of Grant’s sanity, what little bit there is left of it, that is.

“Are you finally considering bringing him to the park with me and Normal next week?” Hero’s started Kindergarten and Normal’s been chewing the furniture looking for things to do and people to play with. It’s driving Rebecca mad. If he can just get Lincoln out of the house and to a playground then at least Normal could have a normal friend, because it’s not going to be Taylor. The kid’s four and running around with katana’s and talking about Anime just like Hero. Lincoln’s a little naive and sheltered, but at least he likes sports and video games. A normal, average kid. “I don’t know,” Grant says, straining to come up with another excuse.

“It’s not far from your house. We can go when it’s quieter.”

Grant looks out the window. Sparrow can practically feel the fear radiating off of him. The pancake stacks of specific and not-so-specific eventualities that could befall Lincoln three miles away from his house. It’s the messy combination of Grant’s anxieties, Marco’s need to make Grant feel okay, and the fact that Lincoln started his life orphaned on a sinking ship. If that’s the way the kid came into the world, how much messier is it going to be moving forward? Lincoln bumped his head on the corner of a table once and needed two stitches. Sparrow and Terry spent the next week talking Grant through panic attacks and padded coffee table shopping.

“One hour,” Sparrow encourages, “three miles from your house. I’ll be there. I can bring Lark. You know he would stop the world for those kids.” Sparrow wavers, “He would also look like an absolute lunatic with a kevlar vest at a kid’s playground, but I don’t think he’s terribly concerned about what people think about him.”

Grant doesn’t take the bait to smile at the image of Lark at a playground. It’s an image Sparrow’s already seen multiple times, and still finds it at least passingly amusing when he doesn't think too hard about it.

Grant shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Sparrow fidgets, knows he shouldn’t, but ends up pushing anyway.

“You need to give that kid a little more freedom,” Sparrow says quietly. They’ve had this conversation before. Terry asked him to have it again. He’s going to follow through. Grant sucks his teeth, and Sparrow can see the irritated reaction he’s going to have from Grant instead of the panicked reaction.

“I can’t,” Grant says. He leans forward in his seat and clicks open the glove compartment, clicks it back shut, a frustrated little tick.

“One hour,” Sparrow says. “We can all be there if you need. We can do whatever you need, but let that kid enjoy a park.” “We have a great swingset in the backyard,” Grant says.

“Ah yes, but do you have a teeter-totter?” It’s not the point, Sparrow knows it’s not. Grant would get a teeter totter if it meant keeping Lincoln at home, but he needs to say something.

Grant moves the vent toggle back and forth, opens the glove compartment, closes it. Sparrow wonders how close to a meltdown he is. “He’s only four,” Grant says.

“I know,” Sparrow says.

The five of them were abducted on a drive to a soccer tournament. Out of the blue, no warning. Anything could happen, anytime, at home or not.

Sparrow doesn’t have an argument, at least not one they haven’t already hashed out. His kids are fine, Taylor’s fine. Grant’s house isn’t any safer than anywhere else (an argument that definitely didn’t do Marco or a panicking Grant any favors) the park is as safe place for kids, bouncy ground, large enough spaces for Grant to follow Lincoln around every obstacle.

“What can I do to convince you?” Sparrow asks then. If he can’t argue, then maybe Grant can explain himself. Grant opens the vent again, closes it. Opens it, closes it. Opens it, closes it.

“Grant, you’re okay. You’re safe,” Sparrow reminds.

“I know,” Grant mumbles too fast. Opens the vent.

Sparrow considers reaching out a hand. Grounding him. He doesn't because he doesn't want to accidentally freak him out instead. Give him space is a good option unless he’s in a throwing fist panic mode.

“I could try,” Grant says after a long time and several deep shaky breaths. Vent opens, Vent closes. Vent opens, Vent closes.

“Really?” Sparrow tries really hard not to let too much excitement enter his voice. He tamps down shock. If Grant could just give him an hour, show that it’s safe, then maybe next they could get a trip to the ice cream parlor out of him, an outing to a zoo. Well maybe the zoo is a little far-fetched, but perhaps they could get him to the park with the dinosaur slide. Lincoln would love that.

“One hour?” Grant asks.

“One hour, whatever you need to feel safe,” Sparrow bargains. Grant is quiet for a long time. Opening and closing the vent. He moves to playing with the button on the glove compartment, and that seems like a good change.

“I want Marco to come with me.” “Anything you need,” Sparrow repeats.

Grant swallows, then says, sounding a little embarrassed by the request,

“I like the idea of having Lark there.” Lark. Sparrow has to admit, is Grant’s broken other half. They’ve all been through the ringer, and Sparrow and Lark are the same person, twice, but Grant and Lark came out the other side of The Forgotten Realms fretful, angry, fighters. They understand the other’s fear.

“I’ll make sure he’s there,” Sparrow says. It’s an easy request and one Lark would be happy to fulfill.

Grant nods. Opens the glove compartment Closes it.

Sparrow doesn’t know what to say. The relief he feels is palpable, and only matched by the worry he feels that something might go wrong. Something tremendously small, but something nonetheless. He has to make sure that nothing happens, that Lincoln has a good time and doesn't get so much as a bump on the head. He has to make sure everything is okay, so maybe Grant can be a little more okay.

#dungeons and daddies #sparrow oak #grant wilson #lincoln lee wilson #dnddads s2 #dnddads spoilers #dnddads

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

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I'd like to see more of the Jiang Cheng has spider venom fic. Mostly because I want to see him bite someone else. How about a Jin?

Normal For the Spider - Extra: 5 People Jiang Cheng Bit, Some of Whom Deserved It

ao3

1 – Wei Wuxian

“So I’ve been exchanging letters with shijie on account of the whole theoretically banished business,” Wei Wuxian said as they strolled down the Qiongqi Path together, Wen Ning behind them making shy stuttering friends with the handful of Jiang sect disciples Jiang Cheng had brought along with him – he’d deliberately picked the friendliest and most social of the lot, the ones that acted like overgrown puppies and wanted to adopt everyone they met, and sure enough they’d mobbed Wen Ning like a bunch of crows intent on raising the poor little sparrow they found into a proper bird. It was no more than Wen Ning deserved, in Jiang Cheng’s opinion. Someone needed to socialize him, and clearly neither his sister nor Wei Wuxian were doing crap about it.

“That’s nice,” Jiang Cheng said. “If by nice you mean extremely suspicious. What about in particular?”

“Your family inheritance.”

“Is this about the summer house we have near that mountain lake? I told you, it’s been deserted for years and may possibly be haunted by something resistant to the usual liberation techniques, but if you really want to go there, you’re of course allowed…”

“That’s not the inheritance I meant and you know it.”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. He did know it. “What questions do you have now?” he asked. “More medical stuff from Wen Qing?”

She’d recovered from the venom very well and immediately started wanting to know everything. Recovered a little too well, in Jiang Cheng’s opinion.

“No, this one’s for me,” Wei Wuxian said. “We’re going to Lanling City in order to let Jin Ling bite me as a way to establish familial ties and let him ‘absorb’ good aspects from my personality, right?”

Jiang Cheng nodded.

“So in some cases, biting is an act of affection?”

Jiang Cheng nodded, a little more warily.

“Then how come you’ve never bitten me?”

“It’s only affectionate when you’re a baby,” Jiang Cheng said. “Once you grow into your childhood venom, it starts being dangerous, even to family; you don’t do affection-bites after that point. And when you’re an adult…well, you saw Wen Qing!”

“Eh, she’s fine now,” Wei Wuxian said cheerfully. “I feel like I missed out! It’s not fair, Jiang Cheng. I deserve a bite! I’m practically your brother! We share essential bodily organs!”

“Wei Wuxian! Don’t talk about that!”

“Bite me and I’ll stop.”

“I’m not biting you just to make you stop being annoying –”

2 – Jin Zixun

“What are you doing here?!” Jiang Cheng demanded. “This is an ambush! Is the Jin sect considering waging an act of war against the Jiang sect?”

Jin Zixun scowled at him. “Not against the Jiang sect,” he said haughtily. “Against the Yiling Patriarch.”

“He’s my head disciple!”

That got a confused sort of frown. “But you banished him…?”

“Rumor,” Jiang Cheng said, with dignity, the way they’d always planned. “Baseless rumor, that’s all.”

Rumor he’d never denied, and had instead implicitly encouraged so that people would leave his Jiang sect alone for a little while as he gathered up strength and resources to tell them to fuck off.

“But…” Jin Zixun hesitated. “You just – attacked him?”

Jiang Cheng glared at Wei Wuxian, still lying prone on the ground with his head in Wen Ning’s lap to elevate it and his neck bandaged but still a little red – surely the paralytic had worn off by now?

Wei Wuxian noticed him staring and gave a jaunty little wave, grinning and very clearly regretting nothing, which meant that the paralytic had worn off and he was just lying there to be comfortable while watching the fun.

Typical.

“A friendly exchange,” he said, trying to maintain his dignity. “Also? Not the Jin sect’s business. What about you? What did you want with him?”

“I want him to remove the curse he cast on me,” Jin Zixun said, and he strode forward before Jiang Cheng could stop him and kicked Wei Wuxian in the side. “You hear me, you bastard?! I want the damn thing gone this instant or else –”

3 – Wen Ning

“So this is going to be a little awkward to explain,” Jin Zixuan said, rubbing his face. He looked tired, but that was possibly a side-effect of having Jin Zixun as a cousin. “Tell me, why are my cousin’s flunkies – er, I mean, my cousin’s friends convinced that it was Wen Ning that poisoned him?”

Jiang Cheng scowled.

“No offense meant,” Jin Zixuan added, nodding politely to Wen Ning. “It’s just, you know, you’re very much not a Yu, or even a Jiang.”

“No offense taken,” Wen Ning mumbled, though to Jiang Cheng’s eyes he looked a little pleased, even if his stiff wooden face still didn’t do emotions all that well. “It’s nice not to be automatically feared.”

“It’s because Wen Ning punched Jin Zixun in the face at the same moment that I bit him,” Jiang Cheng interjected, because someone needed to answer the actual question. “And then Jin Zixun fell over and someone started shouting about corpse poison – even though he’s obviously turned purple! Purple venom, purple spider, purple lightning…what part of this thematic color scheme is not obvious?!”

“Technically, the livor mortis spots generated by corpse poison are also purple,” Wei Wuxian said, completely unhelpfully. “According to Wen Qing, it’s the lack of oxygen in the blood pooling under the skin or something, which is the same thing your mom’s poison does.”

“Do you think you’re helping?” Jiang Cheng demanded.

“No, not at all. Did I sound like I was helping? I didn’t mean to.”

“I’m going to bite you again, you little…”

“My father isn’t going to want to let Wen Ning through the door if he’s considered a possible threat,” Jin Zixuan said, wisely deciding to carry on with the conversation despite their bickering. “You know he’s been saying all those things about how dangerous the Yiling Patriarch is – this’ll just feed into that.”

“I’m not going to Lanling City without Wen Ning!” Wei Wuxian exclaimed. “Wen Qing made me promise! It’s his first time visiting such a big place, too!”

“I’m pretty sure Wen Qing made you promise not to leave him behind because she was worried about your well-being, not Wen Ning’s ability to be a tourist,” Jiang Cheng said.

“Doesn’t matter! I’m not leaving him, and I’m definitely not going to not attend the party, so you have to fix this!”

“I don’t know how to fix this –”

Wen Ning coughed lightly. “Uh,” he said. “Jin-gongzi…would your father let me in if I wasn’t a threat? Say, if I was unconscious?”

A moment of silence.

“…does venom work even on fierce corpses?”

“Of course it does,” Jiang Cheng said irritably. “It wouldn’t be much of a defense mechanism for a cultivator if it didn’t.”

4 – Jin Guangshan

“I didn’t mean to!” Jiang Cheng said, his hands over his mouth. “I really didn’t mean to! It’s Wei Wuxian’s fault!”

“How is this my fault?!” Wei Wuxian asked. He looked amused, which was never a good sign, and even less so given the extreme crisis of the situation. “I wasn’t even in the room.”

“You encouraged me to keep biting people as a solution to everything!” Jiang Cheng hissed. “It got me in the mood. I wasn’t thinking!”

He looked down at the unconscious (and swiftly purpling) Jin Guangshan and grimaced. There was no convenient Wen Ning to put the blame on this time: it had been just the two of them, Jin Guangshan and Jiang Cheng, alone in a room together. Jin Guangshan had wanted to have words with him, sect leader to sect leader, which mostly meant that he wanted to throw his weight and seniority around to try to brow-beat Jiang Cheng into doing what he wanted, except that wasn’t going to work because Jiang Cheng was prepared, okay, he’d worked so long and so hard to try to build up the Jiang sect until it could resist Jin sect pressure.

And he’d probably just ruined everything.

“He has legitimate grounds to declare war against us now,” Jiang Cheng said miserably. “Or maybe to demand that we hand over that stupid Tiger Seal he keeps bugging you about as reparations, or in order to keep him from declaring war…”

“We can’t let him have it,” Wei Wuxian said at once. “It’s far too dangerous. I’d destroy it, first.”

“But then he’d still have a reason to strike against us…”

There was the soft sound of someone clearing their throat, and at first Jiang Cheng thought it was Wen Ning but when he looked up it was Jin Guangyao, instead. He looked the same as always, gentle and personable and smiling, which struck Jiang Cheng as being unaccountably weird for some reason that he couldn’t figure out until he remembered that the man’s father was currently lying on the ground being poisoned and maybe Jin Guangyao shouldn’t be smiling so much.

“If you don’t mind,” Jin Guangyao said, “I might have a suggestion that would get rid of that problem…”

5 – Wen Qing

“…and long story short, Jin Guangyao is going to run Lanling Jin until Jin Zixuan is done having kids, which may be never based on the soppy looks he and my shijie keep exchanging, and we all have the Jin sect’s blessing to move back into the Lotus Pier,” Wei Wuxian concluded. “All’s well that ends well, right, Jiang Cheng?”

Jiang Cheng crossed his arms and glared, admitting nothing.

“I’ll be happy to move anywhere that has decent food,” Wen Qing remarked. “This damn place won’t even grow radishes properly, and it’s Yiling; the radishes should be practically growing themselves.”

“I’ve arranged for some farmland for your people,” Jiang Cheng said, because practicalities he could do. “There’s still lots left over from before the war, lying fallow, and some of the places are medicinal herb fields – we need people with cultivation to tend to those, so I figured that might work for you. You’d have half regular farmland, to make sure you can grow whatever food you feel you need to be comfortable, and the other half, the herbs, can be sold to the Jiang sect at profit.”

“That sounds good,” Wen Qing said.

“Especially since they’re medicinal herb plants,” Wei Wuxian chimed in. “You could stock up on medicines you need!”

“A lot of medicines have to be obtained through trade, you utter nincompoop! I can’t make medicine just using what a single medicinal herb field will generate!”

Jiang Cheng nodded approvingly, thinking to himself that at least there was someone else in the world who understood exactly how aggravating it was to have to deal with Wei Wuxian’s unbridled and illogical optimism on a regular basis.

“And as for you,” Wen Qing said, turning to Jiang Cheng, who blinked owlishly at her. “Don’t think I missed the part of that story about how biting people is a sign of affection!”

“It’s – what?! No, you don’t – that’s when we’re children– it’s –”

Wei Wuxian started cackling.

#mdzs #jiang cheng #wei wuxian #wen ning #jin zixun #jin zixuan #jin guangyao #wen qing #my fic #my fics #normal for the spider

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blue-pastel-cat · 3 years

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Xiaobedo Fanfic Recommendation

Welcome to my personal “if you are new to xiaobedo peeps please read these” list. As said before this is my personal list so please feel free to reblog/comment/hit me for not including any gem here. I might miss a lot of them because I am drunk or blind. (mostly have them on my to read and then forgot as I am being assault by real life shit).

I would like to say first that so far there are 150+ Xiaobedo fics on Ao3. I can’t review all of them but I can say that I have read a majority of them. Most of them are just pure love and I would like nothing more than a thousands thank you for all the fic writers who spent their free time writting these gems for us to read for free. But these...these takes the cake as it finds a special landing spot in my heart that I would just thrust them into someone’s hand if they say “I am new to this ship can you recommend me?”

1. Orange dust by bobamilkteas (Wes)

In which Xiao learns to open himself up to the world a little more after the collapse of Rex lapis's contracts but it was not always easy for a soul doomed to eternal damnation. Meanwhile, Albedo liked to tempt fate where the extraordinary are concerned.

If only the traveler's comrades are made of saner bunch.

Comment: Long ago when I like both Albedo and Xiao as a character, I was wondering hmmm....will anyone actually even write about them lmao they never met each other. I am surprise to see this one as the 3rd fic in the whole 3 Xiaobedo fic on Ao3 (yeah back when there’s literally only 3 fic for this couple). I was like I’ll read it for the curiosity, I’ll probably won’t ship them. And that people is how I put my clown make up on my face upon finishing reading it. This ONE fic alone convert me into a devotee of Xiaobedo. Please consider joining me in this circus if you want to know what is Xiaobedo. I would put this as the first of my “Big 3″

Orange Dust also come with its compliation of short stories over the course of the game and a big sequel to it. Please also consider reading ALL OF THEM.

2. Solar Wind by birdpriestess (Sparrow)

For the yaksha, his duty was his life, and his life was his duty. No human could ever hope to understand the eternal war he fought out of sight and in silence.

So why, then, did he feel that Albedo would understand?

---

Finding himself at death's door once more, Xiao is saved by a surprising person, setting off the unlikeliest of adventures.

Comment: Do you like crying? Do you like the feeling of getting your heart ripped into pieces as the author destroy your emotions over the end of each chapter as the story picked up the climax? Yeah, this one is for you masochists. The action, the characterisation, the drama THE EMOTIONS OH WOW. I kid you not that it was so good I read this while workinng when I am not suppose to me. Also, this fic has my favourite characterisation of Gold ever. I love that dramatic queen Mad Alchemist. AND DAIN. I LOVE DAIN IN THIS FIC. Our dearest Sparrow manage to toy with our feelings like how I bully ruin guard for big numbers lmao. This is the secound of “Big 3″ of my Xiaobedo list.

Again, just like Orange Dust, Solar Wind comes with its own compliation of short stories of what came after that. Please also consider reading ALL OF THEM.

3. Castle of Glass by AlchemicalStardust (Morgie)

A black shadow rises over Huaguang Stone Forest. Caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, Albedo flees the shaking ground and the crash of boulders tumbling form the sky. As the dust settles, Albedo finds a young man – an Adeptus – amidst the carnage. Despite the karmic agony ripping his body from the inside, Xiao’s only question is “How?” How did a human survive after witnessing his battle?

Comment: The last of the “Big 3″ of my Xiaobedo list. And it is still on going! Castle of Glass? More like I AM IN A GLASS CASE OF EMOTIONS! Have you read a fic about 2 people yearning, longing, reaching out for each other so damn well that you just want to throw your phone in the air as they both had their impending doom coming down upon them? Yeah this is one of them. You will like want to be stuck in the moment they express how much they just yearn for each other’s love and care that you want to shake the author for what comes next. Like...everytime Morgie update I am expressing my gratitude at the end of the chapter by writing on Xiaobedo discord “MORGIE COME HERE AND LET ME BONK YOU WHY ARE YOU ENDING IT THERE”

trust me when you read you will def feel the same. With just Big 3 and their compliation alone that would give you like a LONG list of reading already LMAOOOOOOO

4. Find a place to call it home by yamajiroo

Our room, he said. Xiao’s brow twitches. Zhongli never said anything about this. But then again, perhaps he should anticipate this from the beginning...

Xiao looks over at Albedo, who is now tilting his head, his look as innocent as ever.

“Are you not okay with sharing a room?”

Comment: College AU for Xiaobedo! One thing that I love this is the slow burn and what made me LOVE LOVE LOVE this fic more is how cute Klee is in this fic. Their relationship in this one is very simple, but that simplicity highlight why their chemistry work. Xiao is someone who was just very gentle, who was largely misunderstood by his lonesome nature. Albedo was someone who like peace and quite in his introvert bubble. And how they respect that bubble that each other has actually made their relationship work. I love it when fic highlight this and this one captures it.

5. I Can't See Your Face From the Other Side of the Classroom by MissWeaver

When Albedo and Xiao unexpectedly start eating lunch together, they begin to find that they have more in common than anyone would have realized. They both struggle in their own ways with blossoming feelings, too many assignments, and annoying classmates as they navigate a relationship for the first time.

Comment: I’ll be honest, I usually hate high school au just because its so cliche. I don’t even watch and drama/anime surrounds high school student anymore LMAOOO (unless it’s very good). So if there’s an high school AU that I actually keep come back and read after a couple of chapters, it means that the cliche that I hate wasn’t there or barely was there at all. The pinning in this fic makes me want to bang their head together sometimes LMAOOO The tag wasn’t kidding when they said both Xiao and Albedo are bad at feelings. Also that’s a lot of heart broken caused by these two idiots XD

6. new world, same me, same bullshit by bobamilkteas (Wes)

At the belly of Dragonspine, Albedo lost control to the festering corruption that permeated his senses and watched, from the recesses of his mind, as his devoured body turned his allies into enemies. Before his rampage reached its climax, he is sealed in a crystalized confinement by the last hand of Reindottir, where he then reawakens centuries after, in a rebooted Teyvat.

Comment: Yeah I know it was list in Orange Dust but here me out. This sets out in an entirely different universe. And if you like Polyamory, this one has Zhongli joining the duo and I love it because I also love ZhongXiao with my life. Time Travel is my biggest kink. Especially when I am the person who love it when people explore Archon War era/ Alatus!Xiao. So this one hits double of my kink. Of course it is still on going and I will bully Wes whenever I can to see that new chapter. Albedo is a total fucking badass in this story and I completely agree from using him in Abyss so often. Everyone should write badass Albedo.

7. misplaced heart of mine by inkburn

“If you are ill, then you should be resting at home. In Mondstadt.” He emphasized Mondstadt with a pointed look in his direction.

“I assure you I won’t be troublesome, Adeptus Xiao,” Albedo said, “You’ll find I’m a rather low-maintenance traveler.”

“Travel,” Xiao scoffed, “without airstep?”

Albedo looked him up and down. “Are your legs just for decoration?”

(albedo is sent to liyue on mandatory vacation. xiao is his unfortunate bodyguard.)

Comment: Most of the time you will see Albedo and Xiao starting their relationship with one of them taking interest in another. But this one took another approach, they starting off by make them hating each other’s guts LMAOOOO and I live for every second of it. There’s only 1 chapter so far but wow it was SOOO GOOD. I am really really excited for next chapter and is waiting patiently ;w;

8. Blossom of Grace by birdpriestess

One day in Liyue Harbor, Albedo watches a street performance by an enigmatic dancer named Xiao. And he becomes completely obsessed.

Comment: Have you ever look at Xiao fight and thinking that he’s one of the most beautiful deadly thing ever? How it was like he was dancing around the battlefield? How about actual dancer Xiao being so absolutely beautiful and perfect and that slow burn of Albedo falling in love with that beauty with a touch of Modern AU and cute Ganyu as the Wing woman. Yes, Sparrow delivers yet again another beautiful slow burn and while it’s still ongoing it is worth the read.

9. i think we could make this work (could get used to this) by outspaced

“Xiao? What are you doing out here?”

“I—”

“It’s raining,” Albedo says, as if it isn’t obvious. “You could get struck by lightning.”

“What are you doing out here then?” Xiao does the only thing he knows how to do, he challenges Albedo. “It’s raining.”

Albedo just hums. “If I get struck by lightning, it’s for science.”

Comment: A short one-shot where I read the summary and went “This is it... this is their relationship.” I am sold immediately. Oh god Albedo why are you like this.

10. Ephemeral by criedprinz

“It’s not for your investigation, is it?” Aether asked mildly.

Albedo traced a finger around the sketchbook, considering the question. “No,” he admitted finally. “I... I just want to see them again.”

He opened the sketchbook to reveal the drawing he’d just finished. Aether nodded, clearly recognizing the sharp golden eyes.

“Xiao,” he said. “You were rescued by an adeptus.”

When a visit to Dragonspine goes horribly wrong, Albedo is rescued by an unknown stranger, wielding powers he's never heard of. Led on a search to find out who it is, he finds himself in the middle of an unforgettable encounter..

Comment: A really really well written one-shot that I love. The yearning oh godddd the yearning from Albedo side is just so so much that I have to put it here. (I think you can see the trend here lmao. I am a sucker for yearning). And the moment they get to meet each other again is just chef kiss. MWHAA

11. Idle Yaksha, Brilliant Yaksha by Pit0fTheEarth

Alatus didn’t have a lot of responsibilities to keep. He spent most of his days dancing across the sky and eating away all nightmares that plagued a person’s sleep.

But one fortunate encounter led to too many unfortunate ones, taking his carefree existence and plunging it in darkness. His wings, stripped from him. His gentle touch, replaced by an unforgiving grip of destruction.

There was a lot of blood on his hands. With each passing moment, it became harder for Alatus to recall the last time someone gently held him.

Comment: This is one of the ongoing fic where I am very very much excited on the take of Naberius. And the way the author portray Xiao when he’s still the innocent Alatus is just *clench fist*. Baby ;w; Baby why do you have to lose all that innocence. Also the fic has long LONG flashback to Xiao past and his relationship with Naberius. We are unwielding more what happened to both of them and why perhaps does this have to do with Albedo.

That’s it for now, might add more later! Thank you <3

#xiaobedo #tetsu likes to ramble #genshin impact

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borkthemork · 3 years

Note

think you can do a drabble based around maddie and marcy? maybe set after season 3 with the two just bonding over sorcery in peace afterall that tragedy. i mainly just wanna see more of the former in fanfiction 'cause she's way too interesting a character not ti have a ton of wriitng based around her.

"We need a cup of grounded Baphomet root."

"You got it!"

"And don't forget to grind it very well," Maddie instructed, tapping her chin as she looked through the book’s contents. “If we don’t do this correctly then we’ll bewitch the entire forest and I really don't want to be grounded for the rest of my life."

Taking the mortar and pestle Marcy smiled, letting out a light scoff. "I think we'll be fine. We've been doing this for months, and you're talking to a guaranteed perfectionist over here.”

That was true, but Maddie still ogled the ingredients in front of her. Everything looked in place. There was a distiller, jars of various contents they scrounged up from the forest, and the whiff of sulfur from the newly-churned pot reassured Maddie enough that yes, they should be on the right track.

The only worry came to exact measurements, or that aforementioned bewitching if they messed up. With the amount of potions and hexes she made during the Battle of Newtopia, Maddie could say that she leveled up enough to handle this rank of magic, but best to be prepared regardless.

Especially now that Marcy was back in one piece...and it would be awful if she had to endure another stressful situation just from a simple mistake in the calculations.

“Hey, Teach.” Marcy walked toward her. Looking down, Maddie was pleased to see that the roots had been grounded to a fine powder. A fine powder full of death and bad choices. “If we grind all of this together, do you think we have enough time for a potion? I was thinking...something spicy.”

“Spicy?” Maddie arched an eyebrow. “If you’re talking about fire potions, we don’t got any ingredients to—”

“No, no. Not like that.”

Okay, so no fire potions. But Marcy wasn’t making any sense at the moment, or at least giving Maddie a straight answer. “Then what are you implying? We’ve done protective seals, bond material, and cursed nutritional dirt. Potions take longer.” Not to mention that they spent an entire day with dark magic. They were practically going to be out past her curfew, which was a massive no in her book. “So what’s the rush?”

“Weelll,” Marcy pursed her lips. She was skipping around the subject again, but before Maddie could say anything else, Marcy grabbed the book and started flipping through. “I took a gander at your book a few hours ago, and I recalled seeing this chapter that talked about advanced healing.”

“Uhuh.”

“And I wanted to see if there’s a way to heal deep scarring, 'cause trying to get treatment back home isn’t uhh—” Marcy rubbed the back of her neck. “—working so good.”

Oh.

Maddie fumbled with her hands for a moment. “Right, Earth doesn’t have magic.”

“We know how to remove scars, but yeah can’t do much with big pharma these days. Well, I can go to Finland, but that’s long-term planning.” Marcy shrugged. “Doesn’t matter anyway. Since I’m here I wanted to research the idea. Doesn’t hurt to try.”

With that, Marcy turned the book. The page she was on displayed numerous pictures and lists about growth and skin development, and sounded like something that could transition Maddie to a Level Four Witch if she and Marcy had the time to fulfill it.

“Okay, I can definitely work with this,” Maddie mumbled. “I’ve never healed scarring before, so I wouldn’t mind practicing if you’re up for that.”

“Totally!” Marcy tapped a finger at her shirt’s center. “Test away. After all, it’s the only way to check out a hypothesis.”

Maddie understood that well, but that wasn’t what she was worried about.

Few nights would pass as the two started their newest project. Advanced healing needed a lot of ethereal products; thankfully, Joe Sparrow and a few messages to-and-from Newtopia had allowed them to gather the materials from the farthest corners of the continent.

Some pinches of obsidian rock salt. Jugs of spider milk. A cache of ticks, axolotl slime, and a whole load of bio-luminescent mushrooms. Everything they gathered were at their purest form, but what surprised the two most of all was that when the book ‘needed ethereal products’ they didn’t expect it to take practically a full month to cover their bases.

Or that Marcy would grow more and more tense with the oncoming passing of days.

Marcy had been chipper about the whole concept — enthusiastic too because who wouldn’t want to be enthusiastic about cheating the natural cycle of body decay? But still, actually hearing mention of what happened months prior was still awkward to partake in.

Maddie wasn’t dense. Observation was a key skill for a witch to have. If one didn’t watch simmered milk then that milk would eventually froth and explode. If one didn’t check the accuracy in volume then consider yourself cursed for all eternity. Observing ingredients was akin to observing people, of how their facial expressions twitched and stretched even when it was hard to see inside their thick skulls.

For Marcy, they were friends. It wasn’t that hard to know when she had something on her mind. Being the enthusiastic assistant she was, any stress that piled on to the work led to the typical signs: Marcy’s voice would get strained in higher pitch, less focused with the work at hand, and trying to get a forward answer from her became straight-up impossible.

So on a day like this, where the blood moon peeked through the canopies and bathed them in light, Maddie had to ask the question:

“Are you alright?”

Marcy glanced at her. Her arms were occupied, stripping the last of the conifer leaves into the bowl below her. “I’m good. Pretty fine if I do say so myself.”

“I think you’re lying.”

Her assistant widened her eyes, but when Maddie stared more Marcy didn’t seem to be that surprised. She just laughed. “Aw c’mon, Maddie. Give me a good reason as to why I’d be lying right now.”

“Well, you’re an inch away from putting the conifers into the Bunsen burner.”

“Wait, I am?”

“And now they’re on fire.” For the fifth time.

Marcy shoved the tinder into the water pot beside her, mumbling a string of ‘Ow’s under her breath. When the smoke fizzled out, Marcy’s shoulders slumped. “Okay, you've got a point. I am pretty out of it today.”

“You want to talk about it?”

"Well," Marcy set her instruments down, and bore wearily at the table's surface. "I just really want this to work. Back on Earth there's a potential guarantee that the scar will heal, but there's still that pesky margin of error, regardless. And even if I get the treatment I need, it'll never remove it.”

"In Amphibia, I've witnessed the miracle of revival and resuscitation,” she continued, starting to gesticulate. “These are things unexplainable to my world's current rules, anything’s possible. So...I just want to make sure this potion doesn’t fail.”

Maddie furrowed her eyebrows. "Why though?"

"Huh?"

"I get it. You want to heal your scar, but what's so bad about having one?" Maddie asked. "It shows you survived, and surviving isn't a bad thing."

Marcy's expression grew illegible.

Maddie stopped. "If it's really personal, I'll just get back to making the—"

"No, no, it's okay." Marcy's lips twitched. She looked exhausted now, and Maddie wondered if she crossed some line in their friendship that should never be crossed. But before she could say anything, Marcy continued. "I'm gonna be honest for a second. Is it okay to spill something dark? Are you okay with that?"

"We're all about dark things here."

Marcy giggled. She stared more into the pot, brewing the concoction to a creamy mush. They both remained like that for a while, until the mush coagulated into clots.

"I don't want to see the mistakes I made."

Maddie glanced at her. The jade pot glow held the outline of her face, accentuating the curve of her brow, the grimace on her lips.

“I don’t want to think it’s selfish, but I have to look at that scar in the mirror everyday,” she said. “It drives me nuts sometimes, can you believe it?” She chuckled. “I wake up everyday and think ‘wow, I cannot believe this happened, and that I trusted a jerk like him’.”

Marcy sprinkled something into the gunk.

“And sometimes, even when I’m trying to be mindful of my causes, then the scar’s association switches from guilt of betraying everyone I love to the guilt of being duped so easily. I can’t win. Pretty dang weird.”

For a moment, Maddie remained silent, not knowing what to say. She had never seen Marcy so downtrodden before. During the Battle of Newtopia, she had only seen a few glimpses of her face during the rescue, and when they returned to Wartwood, any appearance of Marcy grew lesser so due to the stress of oncoming war.

But now, Marcy was showing vulnerability, and it was the first time Maddie grew stunned to no response.

Before Maddie could say anything else, Marcy laughed. She lifted her spoon from the pot contents, and showed off the goop melded to its surface, shiny in the eery light. “Look at that! You know we’re almost finished when it smells like rotten oatmeal! We just need to let it ferment for a while and then the potion should be ready.”

“Hey, Marcy.”

Her assistant paused, a quizzical look on her feature. “Yeah?”

“You know I respect you.” Maddie held her scrutiny. “And the fact you’re very much into dark stuff as much as me.”

“Of course, who doesn’t love eldritch concepts?”

“A lot of people,” Maddie said. The words were stuck in her throat. After all, what was the correct way to say condolences? Either way, she went for it. Marcy needed the support. “Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that if this potion is really important to you, I’m going to make sure it works. No mess-ups. No unneeded side-effects. As long as it makes daily life easier for you, then I’ll take the chances. And even if it doesn’t work, perhaps there’s another way. Whatever happens, my book’s always open.”

Maddie recognized the beaming expression on Marcy’s face. It practically lit the entire forest. “Hey, has anyone told you that you’re the best teacher an assistant can ever have?”

Nope. But it was great to be told the first time.

#amphibia #amphibia spoilers #Marcy Wu #asks #Anonymous #Here you go anon #fanfic #Maddie Flour

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mooncustafer · 3 years

Text

Recover, Regroup, Roadtrip

Agent Dale Cooper disappeared in March 1989. The case is still open. Agent Dale Cooper disappeared in October 2016. The case is still open.

for @laughingpinecone /

/ @countdowntotwinpeaks‘ WONDERFULXSTRANGE 2021

“Diane, I am uncertain of the date and time, or indeed if such concepts have any meaning in this place. Nor do I have my recorder, but I find verbalizing my thoughts helps me to resist the confusion and lethargy. As for addressing my words to you, even though you’ll never hear them— well, old habits die hard.”

It pleased Wally Brando on a profound level to discover that a few pay-phones remained in Philadelphia, that reaching out was not yet the prerogative only of those who could afford a landline or a mobile. He could also have checked his email on a terminal at one of the city’s Public Libraries, and indeed, made a note to do so within the day so that he might catch up on the news of parents and former school friends. The pay phone was also blessed with both the yellow and the white pages, and the number he sought appeared under “F.” Getting transferred to Dr. Albert Rosenfield was a more complex quest, but he was persistent as well as polite, and after a few minutes he was able to speak to Dr. Rosenfield’s voice mail, if not the man himself.

He introduced himself with salutations, and was about the explain the nature of his request when a beep signalled that the allotted time had run out.

“To listen to your message, press one. To re-record your message, press two,” said the voice of the machine.

Silently cursing his volubility, Wally pressed two. This time he simplified the introduction, and asked if Dr. Rosenfield would be good enough to meet him that evening at the Morimoto Japanese restaurant not far from the FBI offices, to discuss a matter of deep concern connected, he believed, with the little town of Twin Peaks. When the beep came this time, he listened to his message and then, satisfied, hung up. The restaurant he’d named was slightly above his means, but he was meeting a friend of his godfather, and wanted to do justice to the occasion, even if the reason for it was one of peculiar anxiety to himself.

“Diane, I have tried so many times to escape— on the last attempt I really did get out into the world, but my plans, I fear, had dire repercussions for you, and to no end— my course still led me back to the Black Lodge. Some flaw in my own nature keeps trapping me in this loop; perhaps it’s what they sometimes call Saṃsāra.”

It was Agent Tammy Preston’s custom, when scraping the internet for information relevant to one or more recent cases, to check her email inbox every seven minutes— to do so every five minutes would disrupt the flow of her work, but ten-minute gaps might let something important go unanswered for too long. Just now the inbox was due another glance, and switching tabs she saw that two minutes earlier Director Bryson had replied to Tammy’s email of that morning with an invitation to come by her desk at her earliest possible convenience.

Tammy locked her screen, paused ‘Soft Fuzzy Man’ on her playlist and removed her headphones. Picking up the folder marked Missing Persons, 1989– Palmer, she slipped back into her pumps and made for Bryson’s office. The door was open but Tammy stopped at the threshold and rapped on the wall.

“Come in,” said Director Bryson, looking up from a folder. Bossa nova music played softly in the background as Tammy entered and pulled up a chair. It sometimes puzzled Tammy that apart from herself and Director Gordon Cole, no one in this particular division of the FBI seemed to have any interest in music recorded after 1979. (The first few times she’d heard ‘Du Hast’ pounding through the walls of Cole’s office, she’d wondered if this taste for metal was the result, or perhaps the cause, of his hearing loss; but after he’d joked to an unamused Agent Rosenfield about how these were difficult times and difficult times called for Dave Brubeck, she’d looked up the reference in case it was a coded message, and then the next day had overheard Gordon whistling ‘Mister Sandman,’ a song she knew primarily from an internet meme, at which point she concluded that the ear wants what it wants, regardless of demographic.)

“You told me you’d found some serious inconsistencies in the records surrounding Twin Peaks and the Palmer case?”

Tammy nodded, hesitated:

“I believe there may be inconsistencies as well in my own perceptions of the case.”

“Well now, that I find a little harder to believe.” Bryson smiled, but then her voice grew serious: “I’ve looked over the notes you made, and it confirms my own doubts about events.”

“Worse yet— the fact that I truly left the Lodge and then returned to it, will enable the beings that inhabit this place to take another twenty-five year turn in my likeness, unleashing even more evil on the world. The only thing stalling them is the doppelgänger I had MIKE make for the Jones family, but I don’t know if he’s still under the White Lodge’s protection.”

After all these months it still surprised Harry Truman there was so little physical pain, and so much boredom, to dying. Oh there’d been pain at the beginning, when he’d started treatment and had had to stop drinking; the memory of detoxing still made him shudder. But now he only felt a tiredness too huge for sleep to make any dent in it; and since he couldn’t sleep all the time, there were a great many hours during which all he could do was lie in the hospice bed or sit in one of the hospice chairs, and think.

At this point dying didn’t even sound so bad— it wasn’t like the past three decades had been all that great. He imagined going to sleep, just filling up a big bowl of silence and darkness and sinking into it, and then he felt bad for thinking that because Frank had already lost enough people without Harry lighting out too. Anyways, with the things he’d seen over the years he’d be a damn fool to think there was anything peaceful about death and whatever came after. So he’d lie awake trying to find some other topic to ponder, and that’s generally when the boredom set in.

Right now, courtesy of the nap he’d had in the afternoon after today’s treatment had left him especially exhausted, he was lying awake in the wee small hours. 3:52 am, said the clock on his bedside table beside the stack of paperbacks Frank had brought him on his visits— Harry wasn’t afraid of e-readers the way Lucy was of cellular phones, but he found the smell of paper comforting. It reminded him of the Bookhouse. The hospice tended to smell of disinfectants and sweat and soup. The food actually wasn’t as bad as the food at the hospital in Twin Peaks used to be, not that any food could be as bad as the hospital food in Twin Peaks used to be, but it made no difference to Harry, whose appetite had been gone for months. Frank always brought a slice of Norma’s pie too, carefully sealed in an old cookie tin to keep it fresh, but Harry could never manage more than a couple of bites, and they didn’t always stay down.

Being awake in the middle of the night in a hospice wasn’t as bad as being awake in the middle of the night when you were alone at home— the occasional voices or footsteps from the corridors beyond were reminders that whatever might be happening to Harry, life went on for the staff; and the lights from the city outside showed that life went on for others outside the hospice walls. When he’d first arrived, those city lights had made it hard to sleep, but now they substituted for the starry sky above Twin Peaks. There were fewer birds to watch in the city, though sparrows, pigeons or a starling sometimes lit on the ledge outside his window and peered in at him, or maybe at their own reflections. The frequent rain pattering against the glass— well, that sounded the same here as it did in a cabin.

Frank had called to tell him about Margaret Lanterman. Harry sometimes wondered if he should have stayed in Twin Peaks and died in his own home like her, instead of lingering in this hospice like the doomed heroine of some nineteenth-century novel. Or like Annie Blackburn. Or Audrey Horne.

The rain was spattering now against Harry’s window, bending the light from the Japanese stone lantern in the pocket-sized garden below. Harry couldn’t remember what the hospice building looked like from the outside, but he guessed it was similar in style to the mid-century one next door where the day-patients came for their treatments. A flash silhouetted the roofline; five seconds later came the thunder-crack. Harry settled back and closed his eyes.

Sleep pulled him into dreams of an espresso machine, like the one in the coffee place down in the lobby next to the gift shop for visitors. This machine filled a whole room, metal pipes feeding back on themselves like some kind of espressouroboros, neither steam nor coffee escaping from the grotesque contraption. Agent Cooper stood wearily before it with two empty coffee-cups. Harry was just wondering who the second cup was for, when Coop looked up and met his eyes:

“What year is this?!”

Harry sat up in bed, listened intently for two full minutes, but he didn’t hear Coop’s voice again. He sighed. Sometimes the mind pulls imaginary sounds out of the background noise. False pattern recognition or something— Coop would have known a word for it. Harry had little hope left they’d ever find Cooper, or if they did, that he’d still be the man he’d known. Yet he’d carried on, more (he told himself) out of habit than any real hope. He’d kept in touch with Agent Rosenfield, even when it meant letting him know about the cancer— not that Albert would blab the secret to anyone in Twin Peaks.

“Hello?”

“Good, you’re still alive.” Albert’s personality hadn’t mellowed with the years, exactly, but familiarity had worn the edges off his jibes.

“Shut up, Albert. So what have you found?” Albert’s calls generally came every three months, but never at nine in the morning, and he’d last spoken to Harry only two weeks back. Something important must have happened.

“Actually, Sheriff Truman, I’m the one coming to you for information.”

“If you hadn’t noticed, it’s not easy to do investigations from a hospital bed. What can I tell you that you can’t get from other sources?”

“I need you to summarize the Laura Palmer case back in 1989, and the actions of Agent Cooper in Twin Peaks at that time.”

“Albert, is this one of your damn cognitive tests? You already know—”

“We’re both too tired to argue, just humor me.”

“How detailed do you want?”

“An outline will suffice.”

Harry took a deep breath and briefly listed the finding of Laura’s body, and the living but dazed and injured Ronnette, and the arrival of Agent Dale Cooper to lead the investigation. He skimmed over the crimes of Jacques Reneault and some of the other peripheral drama that had occurred in the town around that time, noted that Leland Palmer had murdered his own daughter, albeit while not fully himself, and was beginning to recount Cooper’s temporary suspension and Windom Earle’s campaign of terror, when Albert interrupted:

“You’ve still got the unofficial version, then.”

“Unofficial?”

“According to FBI records and your colleagues at the Twin Peaks Sheriff’s Office, Laura Palmer is an unsolved missing-person case.”

Harry began to feel sick.

“Goddammit, Albert, you did the autopsy. I punched you and you fell across her body. You found a broken poker chip in her stomach—” Albert broke in:

“I hadn’t disclosed that detail to anybody I’ve questioned about this.” His voice was a little shaky. “Listen, Harry,” he continued. “Last Friday I was contacted by a young man wearing motorcycle leathers and talking like Jack Kerouac on quaaludes.”

“Wally.”

“Naturally I supposed him to be from your iodine-deficient neck of the woods even before he introduced himself as your godson and the offspring of those lieutenants of yours. He told me he’d come because he wasn’t sure where else to turn. Apparently he keeps in touch with his parents as he rides across the continent, but in their most recent conversation he’d noticed their memories of certain events had become confused. I was about to tell him I wasn’t the least bit surprised, when he added that he’d checked with other townsfolk, including your brother, and they all seemed to have had the same— how’d he put it? ‘The walls of their memory painted over like a childhood bedroom converted to a study.’”

”That sounds like Wally, all right.”

”Eventually he got round to explaining why he’d come to me. The message that had prompted him to call home was from Lucy; she said she’d shot a suspect who was attacking your brother Frank. She’d also mentioned some FBI agents arriving a few minutes later.”

Harry swallowed. He tried to imagine Lucy shooting anyone:

“Frank never said anything about this.”

“And when Wally called home, Andy and Lucy not only denied it had happened, they had no idea what he was talking about, not that I’d guess that to be an unusual state of affairs. Anyway, after I sent your godson away, I began to have contradictory memories myself of what Cooper had told me about the case. I remembered the poker chip after waking in the middle of the night from the worst dreams I’d had since medical school. I’ve been telling myself it was a false memory, maybe a composite of all the young female murder victims I’ve had to examine in my career, but I told myself I’d make one more phone call, just to check. And now you confirm it. Also, in my recall you knocked me across Leo Johnson’s body. Thanks for the correction. Are you still there?”

“Yes,” Harry answered, glad he was already sitting on his bed.

“Now that that’s established,” said Albert’s voice on the other end of the phone: “here’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question: when do you remember Agent Cooper disappearing?”

“March 1989.” Harry tried to keep his voice steady, as though he was giving evidence in court. He briefly explained about the Black Lodge and Coop’s reappearance and unsettling behaviour and how he’d checked himself out of the hospital and was never heard from again. There was a long silence on the other end of the phone. “Are you still there, Albert?”

“According to FBI records and, up until two days ago, my own memories: Coop disappeared this past October while driving to Odessa, Texas for a case. The last record of him was a credit-card charge at a motel just outside the city.”

“What was he investigating in Odessa?”

“Missing person. I’ve tried looking into that case, but it seems to be a dead end, especially since Coop never seems to have arrived at the diner where the man he was looking for had allegedly been running drugs.”

“Sounds like the kind of establishment where nobody’d admit anything. Maybe Coop did get to the diner.”

“Gee, you’ve cracked it Sheriff, we would never have thought of that. The diner was old-school, but not so old-school they didn’t have a security camera trained on the front counter. We went over three days worth of footage. I admit we can’t be sure he didn’t slip in through the back for some reason; but you knew Coop— can you honestly picture him entering a diner and not ordering a coffee?”

“Not the Coop I knew, but— I already told you he was acting pretty erratically just before he took off.”

Harry heard Albert sigh.

“I’ve been checking with a few of my colleagues who were involved in the original Palmer investigation. I think Gordon knows something, but being Gordon he’s saying nothing, and as loudly as possible. Denise— Director Bryson, now— remembers the unofficial version, and according to her so does Agent Preston— oh right, you never met Agent Tammy Preston, the poker-faced glamazon computer hacker— I’m not sure she was even born yet in 1989, but she was on a case in Twin Peaks in October 2016, and during the course of the subsequent paperwork, she started noticing a lot of records and statements didn’t match up, and then she realized her own memories didn’t match up. Which brings up another problem with trying to reason this out by conventional methods: something in that Salem’s Pacific-Northwest Lot of yours is rewriting memories, documents, maybe the facts themselves. But so far it’s predominantly affected the people who were on the spot this past October.” Albert’s voice rasped a little from the long phone call, and he paused to clear his throat. “Unfortunately, that also means the people most likely to remember the original version of events are people who weren’t in the Sheriff’s Office during the incident that seems to have triggered the change. At the risk of sounding like one of those bullshit shows on the History Channel, we may never know exactly what happened that night.”

“Wait, what even was the case that brought you all back in 2016?”

“That’s the problem— I’m one of the people who was there, and I only have vague and disconnected memories of a British man with a gardening glove, the chorus of Guys and Dolls, Agent Cooper leaving the room with Diane, his secretary who quit the FBI decades ago, and Gordon, and only Gordon coming back.” Albert paused again. “It goes against my personal feelings and medical opinions, but would you be willing to let me visit you in person? I’ve some vacation time and enough frequent-flyer miles that the trip will probably cost less than the long-distance charges if we continue this conversation.”

Harry opened the drawer of his bedside table and took out the key to Coop’s old hotel room:

“Yeah, come by.”

“Diane, I am currently alone. I realize that statement implies that I’m not always alone here, and indeed I sometimes have a companion, who I still think of as Laura Palmer, though I don’t know if that’s her identity anymore; I’d hoped, after my last attempt, that Laura would no longer be in this place at all. She comes and goes, or perhaps we both come and go and our orbits occasionally intersect. I’ve tried to find some pattern to it, but with no reliable way to measure time, I’ve had little success.

The last time we met she told me about a room she hadn’t seen before, all white walls, in which a dark-haired woman was contemplating a mirror with a puzzled look. I can’t help but feel this parallels my own situation.”

“Frank sent me this last month. But when I thanked him the next time he called, he didn’t seem to know what I was talking about.” Albert hesitated before taking the room key:

“Great Northern Hotel,” he read, turning it over. “Twin Peaks. Isn’t the front desk going to want this back?”

“Unless I miss my guess, it’s from 1989 when Coop was staying there.”

Albert’s ears stuck out more noticeably, or perhaps it was his face that was thinner. He’d spent the first part of his visit scrutinizing Harry and questioning him about his case and what the doctors were doing for it, until Harry told him to quit it or he’d run out of time to discuss Coop’s disappearance before visiting hours ended, and anyway weren’t Albert’s patients usually dead to begin with?

The trouble with the subsequent discussion was that it went in a circle— the people who’d been present for the 2016 Unknown Event had uncertain memories of what had actually happened; and the people who clearly recalled the 1989 Palmer case as a murder hadn’t been present for the Unknown Event. The one thing that seemed likely was that there was some connection between the 1989 case and the 2016 case, particularly since both had been followed by the unsolved disappearance of one Agent Dale Cooper.

“I hate to say it, Albert, but I’ve given up hope on ever finding Coop.”

“What’s hope got to do with it?” Albert asked. His tone was not sarcastic.

“Diane, I’ve decided that, if only to keep my mind occupied, I will go looking for the white room and the woman with the mirror. I’d feel happier if I had a ball of twine or some breadcrumbs to leave as a trail back to the waiting room, but I’m coming to terms with the idea that’s there’s no advantage to remaining or returning here— it’s not as if I need food or drink in this place, and I cannot be any more lost than I already am.

So far, I believe I’ve walked down five identical red-curtained hallways, and turned left five times. It therefore seems likely that I’m following a counterclockwise, roughly spiral path, although I’m uncertain if I’m proceeding inwards or outwards.”

“If this search is going to require juggling two sets of memories, then I’d better come along so you don’t get brainwashed again.”

“Sheriff Truman, if you haven’t noticed by now, you’re in a cancer hospice.”

“I just finished a round of treatments, I’ve got a couple of weeks free.” Albert snorted and Harry added: “You can monitor my health while we’re on the road.”

“I’m already thinking of your health. You’re immunocompromised, travel is too risky.”

“We’re crossing a few state lines, not going to the other side of the world.”

Albert pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Fine. I’m driving. Which also means I get to choose the music.”

In fact, they went most of the way by plane, after Albert weighed the odds and decided five hours in a tube of recycled air would still be easier on Harry than a two-day road trip. Some of the passengers threw suspicious looks at Harry’s N95 mask, but they’d cleared it in advance with the airline, and Harry had briefly removed it when he went through TSA, and Albert was prepared to flash his FBI badge, but the flight crew were understanding.

They picked up a car at Midland International. Someone, presumably an employee of the car-rental company, had left a bundle of tourist-attraction pamphlets on the front passenger seat.

“According to these, Odessa has replicas of the Globe Theatre and Stonehenge,” Harry observed once he’d got himself settled.

“Why?” Albert asked.

“Got me there. The pamphlets don’t explain the motivation.”

Albert reached up and pulled down the car’s sunshade on Harry’s side, though the Sheriff insisted his cowboy hat was protection enough for his pale scalp:

“We’re not in the northwest where it rains every fifteen minutes,” he muttered, “and I’ve been looking up the side effects of your meds— you sunburn easily now.” Albert’s driving skirted the city, and they did not pass the Globe or Stonehenge.

The Pearblossom Motel, last recorded location of Agent Cooper, proved to be closed down. They’d noticed the papered-over windows as they pulled up, the sign unlit, not even to say NO VACANCY, but Albert got out to knock anyway. Harry watched him from the car; eventually he clambered out and slowly walked over to join him.

Albert was peering through a spot where the paper had torn away behind the window-glass. He stepped aside for Harry, and the sheriff took a look into the motel’s dim interior. He saw an ordinary, rather old-fashioned registration office, wood-grain panelling on the walls along with a few faded posters for local attractions. Rows of keys still hung on a board behind the desk, and a daily calendar read October 15, presumably the date the motel had closed, or the approximate date— Harry could imagine a concierge might not bother to keep tearing off the pages if they knew it was their last week on the job.

“I now realize that despite everything, I’ve still been harbouring hopes of finding my way back to the waiting room, hence my continual choosing of left-hand turns, as if attempting to mathematically navigate a maze. I must make a true leap of faith if intuition is to guide me, so I’ve closed my eyes and spun around several times in this corridor, first clockwise and then counterclockwise.

Now that I no longer can tell which direction I’ve come from… Diane, can you hear that? Of course you can’t, I don’t really have my tape recorder. I’m going to fall silent and listen for a bit.”

There seemed little else of interest at the motel (Harry, feeling a bit silly, had even tried the Great Northern’s room key on all the doors), so they turned back towards Odessa to look for the diner Cooper had been investigating. The motel was only a mile behind when they saw, ahead of them, a tall woman walking along the highway, her fire-engine-red hair, black t-shirt and pencil skirt out of place in a locale that was rural to the point of emptiness. Albert swore under his breath.

“This can’t be a coincidence,” he told Harry. “Roll down your window, I’m pulling over.” But the woman only threw a glance at the car as it slowed, flipped them the bird, and kept walking, though she stepped gingerly and Harry noticed she was barefoot on the asphalt. Albert leant across him and stuck his head out the window:

“Diane!”

“Fuck off, guys. I’m not Diane, and whoever she is I bet she’d tell you the same.” Harry gently pushed Albert back and leant out the window himself:

“Sorry, ma’am, mistaken identity. Are you all right though? I see you’ve mislaid your shoes.”

“Looks like somebody ran off with them,” the woman answered, her tone mocking despite the tired set of her shoulders. “I haven’t been up to anything illegal, officer. Just a bit of fooling around.”

“We can give you a ride into town,” Harry offered. “If it helps, you’ll be alone in the back seat— means you can get the drop on us if you start to feel nervous.”

The woman narrowed her eyes at the offer, then abruptly barked out a laugh and opened the back door of the car, took a seat and folded her long legs in after her. “Only because I need a lift,” she insisted, rubbing her bare feet. “I knew office romances were a bad idea, but he didn’t have to be a dick about it. Nothing to do now but go home and drown my sorrows in Hallowe’en candy.”

“You’ve still got candy left over from Hallowe’en?” In the mirror above the dashboard, Harry saw Albert raise an eyebrow and the woman in the back seat frowned, insulted:

“No! I may not have a maternal bone in my body, but I’m not going to give the trick-or-treaters candy that’s a year old.”

“Ma’am,” Harry asked, thinking about the calendar back in the Pearblossom Motel office, “what date d’you think it is?”

“Mid-October,” she began. Harry saw her reach into her purse with her black-and-white nails and pull out a mobile phone. Her eyes widened at the date: “No, it’s March. The fuck?—” She ran a hand through her scarlet hair. Harry wondered if it was dyed or a wig. Perhaps she was bald too. “Must be losing it. I was so sure it was October. And it’s not like I’ve could’ve been wandering around this desert for five months.” She tapped her phone screen. “5,230 messages?!” She looked frightened now, raising her head to meet their gaze in the mirror. “Where the hell have I been? And you guys— you’re feds, aren’t you?”

“No,” Harry began.

“I am,” said Albert. “He’s not.”

“Well, can you tell me what’s going on? Or is it classified? God, it’s not aliens, is it? I always assumed alien conspiracies were bullshit to cover up real conspiracies.”

“It’s probably not aliens,” Harry answered, unable to keep doubt from his voice as he remembered Major Briggs, “but I afraid it’s not going to sound any less weird.”

“To start with, we’re in the area investigating a colleague who disappeared in October,” began Albert, “and then you turn up, apparently amnesiac since that date.”

“And with my messages unchecked since then.”

“Yes, but there’s another detail— you look exactly like a former colleague of mine who was close to our missing man. That’s why I called you Diane when I slowed down.”

“I need a smoke.”

“No.”

“Albert,” Harry interrupted, “I’ve already got cancer, what’s the worst that can happen?”

“Do you want me to answer that in detail?”

“No I don’t.” Harry turned to look over his shoulder at the woman in the back: “Just roll down your window first.”

“We’ll pull over and she can step away from the car,” said Albert.

He stopped on a shoulder, and their passenger got out and lit a cigarette. Examining the packet, she called to them:

“Three left. That’s fewer than I remember having on me in October, but not by much.” Albert, meanwhile, had pulled a shopping bag from the back seat:

“You should eat something,” he said to Harry, producing a sealed cup of applesauce and a box of plastic spoons. Between rounds of treatment, Harry’s nausea receded, but his appetite was still pretty weak. “There’s saltine crackers, too.” Harry chuckled in spite of himself as he tore the foil off the applesauce:

“This all makes me feel like I’m home from school with the ‘flu.”

“You’ll have to watch Roadrunner cartoons on your own phone, I’m not paying for the data,” Albert snapped.

“I’m surprised we even get reception out here.” The red-haired woman had strolled back to the car with her cigarette, though she took care to stay downwind from Harry’s rolled-down window. “Guys, is it just me or is this highway really deserted— like, Rod-Serling-voiceover deserted?”

“We were just thinking Roadrunner cartoons.”

“Can’t be, there’s no weird rocks.” She flicked ash onto the pavement, “Though it does feel like if someone painted a tunnel entrance on a wall around here, you might be able to drive into it. If you weren’t a coyote.” She took another drag and glanced at the power lines humming above their heads. “Maybe it’s the hum from those wires that’s giving us brain cancer— oh sorry, dude.” She broke off and looked at Harry in apology.

“It’s all right, ma’am,” he said when he’d finished swallowing his mouthful of applesauce. “I’ve got leukaemia, not brain cancer. And the sound from those lines is unpleasant. Like the whine of mosquitoes in the woods.” As he spoke the hum intensified, becoming a loud crackle. Albert glanced up as a shadow fell over the three travellers and their car.

In the sky a dark, nebulous shape twisted, circled, formed a comma or an apostrophe, and dove towards them.

The first few grackles, out of thousands, came down on the roof and hood of the car. Harry could see one pecking at the windscreen and glaring at him with hard yellow eyes. He suddenly remembered Coop had been afraid of birds; until now, he’d never been able to imagine why. He turned and pushed open the back door as the woman dove inside the vehicle. Around them, the flock blotted out the landscape.

“Hope they don’t scratch up the finish,” Albert shouted over the sound of wing-beats, “or I’m not getting my deposit back.”

“Is this nesting season? I mean, are the grackles round here normally this—”

“Oh fuck, one got in!” came a yell from the back seat. Eardrums ringing, Harry turned to see a small black shape ricocheting around the car’s interior as the woman flailed her long, bare arms. The grackle made for the gap between Albert’s seat and headrest.

And got stuck, its beak not quite touching the back of Albert’s neck.

Harry reached for the little feathered body, thinking of how to pin the wings against the bird’s sides to avoid injury to it or the surrounding humans, but the moment his fingers touched it, it crumbled. At the same time the din outside the car ceased.

“That— that’s not natural.” Their passenger was covering her mouth with her hand. Even Albert looked shocked. Harry stared at the palmful of ash that was all that was left of the grackle.

“Let me get a sample bag,” Albert muttered. He pulled out a small clear plastic bag, and held it out while Harry poured the remains in. Then he handed him a packet of wet wipes. “You all right, Diane?” The woman in the back seat did not correct him on the name this time.

“Couple of scratches,” she said, examining her right arm. Albert passed her a mini first-aid kit. Got to give him his dues, he prepares for everything, thought Harry, adjusting the brim of his cowboy hat.

“Y’know,” he said, “This could be a good sign. In that it’s any kind of sign. There’s nothing worse than working in the dark, waiting for some hint you’re getting warmer or colder— that’s the kind of thing makes you wonder if the thing you’re looking for is even out there at all. But this—”

“Someone tipped their hand, you mean, when they tried throwing a Hitchcock movie in our faces,” Albert cut in. “But what exactly did we do to worry them?” His glance, and Harry’s, moved to the dashboard mirror’s reflection of their passenger.

“You think the birds were after me, or wanted to break up our merry band?” She raised an eyebrow. “Trouble is I know a token effort when I see one.”

“Or a warning.”

“We found the Pearblossom Motel;” Harry thought he saw the woman flinch at the name. “And then left it, to head for Odessa.”

“Are you suggesting we drive around in circles and see if they attack again?” Albert muttered.

“I think that’d be a little unfair to our passenger.” Harry turned to her: “Ma’am, I believe Albert when he says he knows you; but I also believe you when you say you don’t remember him. We can drop you anywhere you like— your call.”

“Give me a few minutes, fellas. Given all the weird shit I’ve just been through, I’ve got to think about whether I’m safer away from you two, or sticking close by. Plus I’ve got messages to check.” She took her phone out again. Without taking his eyes off the road, Albert pulled his own phone from his suit jacket, passing it to Harry:

“You’d better check mine. Maybe Tammy’s got some news—she’s been looking up everyone connected with events in Twin Peaks, but not living in the area. She even emailed some couple in Japan, though I’m still not sure what they’ve got to do with this.”

Harry peered at Albert’s phone screen, occasionally commenting if something looked to be of interest:

“Gordon’s sent a grudging OK, tells you to be careful. Also tells you to look after me. I’d always imagined he’d type in uppercase— didn’t realize it was him at first. Hm. Do you know a coroner?”

“I know lots of coroners, we get together for an annual poker tournament and lucky draw. And when I say draw…”

“Do you know a Dr. Talbot in Buckhorn?” Harry interrupted. “Autopsied a headless body last September that turned out to be Major— wait, he— is this one of those revised timeline things?”

“Not exactly.” Albert brought Harry up to date as best he could on Major Briggs’ disappearance and decades-later reappearance. “I certainly remember meeting Constance,” he added, after a pause, and cleared his throat again. “According to Tammy, I made a favourable impression on her, which is… unusual among my acquaintances, even those who share my profession. So what does she have to say?”

“Something about a wedding ring and Schrödinger’s Cat?” Harry looked at the message again. “She says Tammy spoke to her, and was going to contact you too… a gold ring they found on Briggs… sorry, in Briggs… keeps disappearing from her office’s records and the FBI’s evidence files, then coming back again?”

Albert frowned in thought as he drove: “Does it have anything engraved on it?” Harry tapped a message on the phone screen, CC-ing Constance and Tammy.

Outside the car, suburbs, or at least car dealerships and big-box stores, were beginning to sprout up along the highway.

Albert’s phone pinged and Harry read the message from Constance:

“Yes, scribbled it down last time I could find the record. This ring any (wedding) bells? TO DOUGIE, WITH LOVE, JANEY-E”

“Janey-E,” said Diane from the back seat, and Harry heard her drop her phone. Turning around he saw her wringing her hands, the nails now robin’s-egg blue. “Albert,” she gasped, “Oh, Albert, I was almost lost again.”

“I believe the change in method may have led to a breakthrough: I haven’t found any rooms leading off of the corridor I’m following, but the decor has gradually changed from black-and-white flooring and red curtains, to dark brown linoleum flooring and institutional green walls hung with large relief maps of different parts of the world. The maps appear to have been manufactured some time between 1954 and 1965, as they show North and South Vietnam as separate nations. I’m just passing the continent of Antarctica, now, and… oh. I think there might be…

Diane, I found the white room, and when I call it that, I’m not simply echoing Laura’s name for it. It was like a cross between a sanatorium and a snow cave, if a snow cave had furniture. There was a bed with white blankets and a white metal frame like a hospital bed. Audrey was sitting on one end of it, wrapped in a white bathrobe and looking at a round mirror that stood on a little white table. She turned as I entered, and her face was older, drawn and, for a moment, frightened. Then she looked at me again and relaxed, saying ‘Oh, it’s really you.’ I fear she must have met one of my nastier doppelgängers at some point.”

At Diane’s request, they stopped to eat at a fast-food chain before approaching the diner Coop had been investigating in at least one timeline.

“I’m hungry, but I’d be too nervous to eat at the place where Dale might have… well, if they’re a front for something, then the food’s either spectacular or terrible, and I’m not feeling lucky right now. I want to be someplace as bland and mundane as possible for a while, so I can regroup.”

“Well this place has a twenty-minute limit.” Albert jerked his thumb at the sign.

“That’ll do.” Diane curled up beside Harry in the booth as Albert went up to the counter to place their orders. She still wore her pencil skirt, but on on of their stops she’d purchased tennis shoes and a couple of fresh t-shirts— the one she was wearing at the moment read NOT TODAY in flowery letters. “Now he’s got two of us to worry about,” she said under her breath. Harry decided to reply:

“Someone needs to worry about him.” Diane nodded, and Harry offered his hand: “Sorry, we never did the proper introductions did we? Harry S. Truman.”

“I know.” Her expression relaxed slightly. “I see why he likes you.”

“Not sure Albert likes anybody, exactly—”

“That’s not who I was talking about.”

Albert returned with a eye-searingly-orange plastic tray:

“Mushroom burger, cheeseburger, buttered biscuit for you, Harry, because they can’t just serve toast like a real restaurant and those things they claim are bagels are made out of lies.”

“Don’t worry Albert, I’ll survive a biscuit.” Harry picked up one half of the baked item and took a bite. It wasn’t too bad, actually.

“Diane, the ring that jogged your memory—”

“My half-sister and her husband. Don’t ask me how they’d be mixed up in this though, Janey-E’s aggressively normal.”

“And her husband?”

“Never actually met him. Janey-E and I don’t talk much,” she explained. “But from her comments he’s… passively normal. Works for an insurance company, drinks too much sometimes, the whole man-in-the-gray-flannel-suit thing.”

“I’ve been talking with Audrey, or the version of her that existed in the white room. You’ll notice I use the past tense. Still sitting on the bed, she raised a finger and pointed to the mirror in front of her, saying:

‘The other me— she ran away from home, like she thought Laura had done. I’m amazed she survived her first year in the big city, but look:’

Diane, I saw Audrey searching records online, tailing suspects, testifying in civil and sometimes criminal courts. It’s a life that can make a cynic of the kindest soul, but there are situations the police don’t or can’t investigate, and those were— are, I suppose— Audrey’s bread and butter, in that mirror world. And they seem to pay well enough she can afford to do some pro bono cases.

‘I wish I were out there,’ she said, and the mirror clouded and shifted. She patted the bedspread, and I sat down beside her. ‘You know how,’ she began, ‘when you’re a kid, and you’re reading your favourite book, and a little after the halfway point, you start to think ‘I’m getting near the end of the book?’ And really, you’re not— there are pages and pages left of scenes and pictures. You’re always surprised just how much more there is. But it’s not enough to shake the feeling it’s putting off the inevitable. Dawdling before bedtime.’ She stood up suddenly, bent and kissed me on the brow. ‘Say hello to the other me, if you ever run into her.’ And then she was gone, Diane. Not in flame or fadeout, just gone.”

I look up, and Laura is beside me.

The diner, when they found it, was not what Harry’d pictured. Instead of a lonely Edward Hopper tableau, or a grimy spoon where toughs whispered to each other along the lunch counter and cast knowing glances in the direction of the men’s room, “Wispy Dreams Cafe” was a blandly cheerful donut shop, the logo rather obviously altered from that of a national chain.

“Looks like they’re under new management.” Diane observed as they got out of the car. “Or else they got tired of paying for the franchise?” The three of them made their way across the parking lot the cafe shared with the landscaping company next door. Inside, the sound of chattering customers and a hum from the coffee machine both soothed and overwhelmed. Harry steadied himself against a gleaming, cream-colored formica counter. The woman on the other side— not a fresh-faced high-school senior or a kindly-faced matron, just a woman with her hair in a ponytail and circles under her eyes, doing her best to smile— threw him a glance and Harry nodded.

“I’m ok. Albert, Diane, what do you two want?”

A couple of minutes later, they sat by the window, feigning interest in their donuts and coffee.

“Well, we’re living the cop cliché,” whispered Albert. “So, what do you think? Soulless suburban hangout, or den of villainy?”

Harry gingerly sipped the brew in his cardboard cup and eyed the other customers. You couldn’t say the place wasn’t busy; the woman at the counter had already served a family of four in the time it had taken Harry, Albert and Diane to seat themselves with their coffees, and another customer had just come in the door.

“That counter’s been installed recently. Deep-fat fryer’s been replaced too.”

“And they don’t know how to use it yet. You could wax skis with these donuts. That’s hardly a crime, though.” Diane looked around at the blue and yellow walls painted with large trompe l’oeil sprinkles. “Doesn’t seem to be anything else funny about the place— I hate to say it but this place might be legit.”

Harry watched the new customer lean in to the counter. Harry couldn’t quite make out what he was saying— presumably the man was placing his order, but it seemed to be taking a while and there was something tense in the woman’s expression. Beside him he heard Diane swear under her breath, and faster than he could turn his head, his peripheral vision took in that she was getting up. She strode towards the counter and Harry had a glimpse of the angry red scratch on her arm as he struggled to his feet.

Diane was leaning on the counter now, trying to insert herself between the customer and the worker.

“What did you just say to her?” she was asking.

“Look, I come in here all the time, we joke around. What makes you think it’s your fucking business?”

“What seems to be the trouble?” Harry loomed up behind the customer— he might have only half his usual strength but he was still a good six inches taller than the other man. Behind him, he guessed, Albert was approaching. Harry knew the agent was unwilling to use physical force and not exactly skilled at defusing situations through diplomacy, so he turned his gaze on the customer with all the quiet confidence he’d used as Sheriff. In his ear Diane hissed:

“It’s nothing to do with the case, this asshole’s just creeping on the staff.” She must’ve locked eyes with the man too, for he was staring at her now, his bland pink features shifting expression from anger to terrified fascination.

Rather an unimpressive face, thought Harry, and then, what’s Diane doing? He turned to look at her sharp, smiling profile, and saw a tear slide from her eye.

“No,” she said loudly and abruptly, and blinked hard. “Do you want us to escort him out?” she asked the woman behind the counter; but the man was already out the door and running for his car.

“Diane,” Harry whispered.

“Diane,” whispered Albert. Diane was passing one hand across her eyes.

“I could have fried him. Just now. Something wanted me to; but I just wanted him to back off.” She beamed at them as Albert held out an arm for her to steady herself. “I think I’m back to normal. Well, normal for me.”

“Are we the only two left here now?”

“I’m not even here anymore.”

“I don’t know how to get back to the waiting room.”

“It doesn’t matter, the coffee’s cold.”

Somehow, the white room has become even more featureless, despite that being both a logical and a grammatical impossibility. Only the bed, the table and Audrey’s mirror remain. A moment in the glass catches my eye, and I look to see— oh Diane, I’m so glad you escaped! I see you travelling with Albert, and… oh, Harry…

…the cafe’s fluorescent lights flickered as the background hum, noticeable since their arrival, now rose to an ear-splitting volume then died away just as suddenly. As the three of them looked on, an old-fashioned hospital bed, its steel frame painted white, materialized between the counter and the booths, replacing two unoccupied tables. At one end of it sat Agent Dale Cooper, fully dressed in his suit and tie, a look on his face of mild surprise that turned to the familiar joy as his gaze met theirs. Coop had grown older like the rest of them, sharper angles in his face, but he looked hale and well, and his eyes did not have the cruel gleam that chilled Harry’s memories of their last meeting.

“Harry,” he said, as though a quarter-century hadn’t passed. In response Harry silently doffed his cowboy hat, revealing his pallor, his naked scalp. Coop’s smiled wavered a little. “I’m sorry I was gone so long,” he whispered, and rose from the white bed. In the background, the cafe staff and patrons continued to chat and serve and drink and eat coffee and donuts as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on right in front of them. Albert made a hesitant noise in his throat and Coop raised his hand in that just a moment gesture he always used to make, and in that moment Harry knew his friend really was back from wherever he’d been all those years.

“Apologies for being brusque,” Coop said, “but there’s a family in Las Vegas who I’ve reason to believe are in danger right now—”

“Janey-E?” Diane asked.

“Right on the button. For personal reasons which I’ll explain later, I can’t get in touch with them myself. The Mitchell brothers might be able to help, but I don’t know how much they’ll be able to recall of our last meeting.”

“Tammy and Constance are already on it.”

“Good,” Coop looked relieved, and Harry stepped forward, shaking a little in spite of himself, and as if the motion had at last given him permission, Coop sailed forward and embraced him— very gently, as if he feared Harry might break. He’s gauging by touch how much weight I’ve lost, thought Harry, but it’s all right. He’d forgotten how warm Coop was. He became aware of Albert and Diane joining in, arms circling his shoulders and Coop’s. If I died right here and now, it’d be all right.

But this embrace was not an epitaph, or an epilogue. Outside, somewhere else in the city, was an imitation of an ancient stone monument; and a copy of an old theatre where real audiences watched real actors. Somewhere the forces that had sent the dark cloud of grackles prepared another attack, and somewhere Tammy Preston was moving to protect Janey-E and Dougie Jones. Elsewhere Audrey Horne walked the mean streets and was not herself mean. This was an interlude, but let them have it for a while.

A couple of patrons turned their heads to smile at the reunion going in their midst.

#wonderfulxstrange #@laughingpineapple #twin peaks #@laughingpinecone

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translations-by-aiimee · 3 years

Text

Dig a Grave to Dig Out a Ghost - Chapter 35

Original Title: 挖坟挖出鬼

Genres: Drama, Horror, Mystery, Supernatural, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 35

The bungalow was surrounded by aged trees, blocking the sunlight year-round. A chill ran through his body as he walked into the building. The faint musty smell and moisture in the air reminded him of a basement filled with children's toys. Lin Yan followed the Zhongshan man into an office with an old-fashioned wooden table. On the table, there was a large stainless steel thermos. The desktop computer occasionally made some buzzing noises. The office was close to the toilet. It didn't take long for the smell of amonia to rush into his nose.

"Sit down, Lin. I'll grab the contact information of the recent archaeologists that were there. It's still locked in the cabinet." The Zhongshan suit man said as he poured Lin Yan a glass of water in a disposable paper cup. "The files on the table are more than 20 years old. They were just transferred out of the archive room. Feel free to look through them."

"Thank you for your help." Lin Yan said politely.

"No, it's no trouble at all. It's great to see young people so active nowadays. We all heard about what happened with the porcelain appraisal. That was really something. Professor Chen wouldn't stop bragging about it when he got back." The Zhongshan suit man chuckled. He placed a bowl of melon in front of Lin Yan then grabbed his key and left.

Lin Yan sat at the table and waited. The office decoration was old but good quality. The real leather swivel chair was comfortable to sit on. The shade of leaves outside the window blocked the sunlight. A sparrow leaped lightly among the branches. It flapped its wings and flew away.

There were a lot of files about the Ming tomb on the table, sorted into vellum envelopes. Lin Yan flipped through them. They included a large amount of background information on the time period, project approval forms, equipment rental statements, reimbursement vouchers, and so on. An envelope labelled 'Staff Information' caught his attention. Lin Yan brushed off the dust and opened the envelope. There were several smaller envelopes inside with labels written in faded ink. The top one was labelled "1987 Shanxi Archaeological Team Payroll", followed by several others, such as rosters, contact information, etc. The bottom one was marked with the word 'important,' written in red, and the label read: List of work-related casualties and compensation details.

Casualties? Lin Yan picked up the envelope. It was very thin. It was almost like there was nothing inside. The glue on the seal had expired and could be opened just by a light tear. The brownish-yellow paper had become hard and brittle after not being handled for a long time. Lin Yan carefully slipped his hand in. The envelope was empty. Only after fumbling inside the envelope for a while did he find a small thin piece of paper. The hand-drawn table lines were smudged at the top. At first glance, he knew that whoever wrote it had drawn it in a rush. The ink hadn't dried before they dragged the ruler across the page.

A series of footsteps echoing in the hallway approached. Lin Yan jumped, instinctively shoving the paper back into the envelope. it took him a second to remember that he had been given permission to go through the documents. The old information always gave him an anxious feeling, like he was intruding. He felt like a thief, fleetingly travelling back in time from modern times.

The footsteps moved further away. Lin Yan carefully examined the paper in his hand. Everything had also been written in pen. The names, reasons for compensation, amount of money compensated and other items were divided into columns. Lin Yan skimmed over the columns, heart bursting with fear

"Li Erzhuang, hand fracture, compensation of 30 yuan for medical expenses, collected and signed for."

"Sun Dapeng, psychosis, compensation for medical expenses of 150 yuan, collected and signed for."

"Wang Aiguo, psychosis, compensation for medical expenses of 150 yuan, collected and signed for."

". . ."

All the remaining reasons for compensation written in after the names were for psychosis, but the diagnosis details are all blank. The signature on the back was pretty crooked, too. Some of the ink was written so lightly that it was barely visible. Back then, villagers weren't very educated and many could only write their names. He glanced at the page filled with awkward handwriting. When he reached the last two lines, the signature column was blank. After a double-take, the column for the reason for compensation was listed as 'dead'.

"Jun Xiangdong, Jiang Ying . . . did these two die?" Lin Yan gulped. He carefully flattened the paper and muttered: "Compensation of one thousand yuan . . . Hey, that's weird, for these two people. How come it's written that their compensation hasn't been claimed? A thousand yuan was considered a huge sum of money in a village at that time . . ."

Lin Yan confusedly opened the envelope containing the staff list. He pulled out a stack of yellowed paper, flipping through each of them. Besides the detailed information of the students sent by the university who participated in the excavation of the Ming Tomb, the rest were locals. Most of the villagers were uneducated. They only filled in their name, age, gender and village name. Lin Yan counted them. There were 13 people in total. The oldest was only 24 years old, and the youngest was only 16 and 17. Eighteen-year-old children make up the majority. Lin Yan recalled what the professor said and let out a sigh. He couldn't imagine what it must have been like for those children to be haunted by illusions and see their friends die in front of them in such a strange way.

It was too much to think about. Lin Yan glanced back at Xiao Yu. The ghost was standing leisurely by the window with his arms crossed, looking at the scenery, as if this had nothing to do with him.

When turning back to Jun Xiangdong and Jiang Ying's forms, Lin Yan was surprised to find that the information left by these two people was almost blank. Compared to the information awkwardly filled in by the other villagers, only their villages and names were listed. Written next to them in black pen were the words "wage uncollected".

Lin Yan stared at the list of villages and frowned. He mumbled: "They're all foreigners? No wonder no one got any money after they died . . ." As he turned over the page of information on the two, there was only one last name at the bottom. The name on this page was Wang Zhong. Similar to Jun Xiangdong and Jiang Ying, there was almost no information is almost blank. He also wasn't a local. Written in big black letters in the upper right-hand corner was: "Wage uncollected".

"Wang Zhong, Wang Zhong . . . This person isn't on the compensation list." Lin Yan glanced through several forms and muttered: "Was he so afraid that he ran away without even getting paid?"

Lin Yan was immersed in a few old documents when, suddenly, the office door squeaked open. Zhongshan suit guy rummaged through the file in his hand as he walked in, muttering to himself: "What's going on . . . "

Hearing his voice, Lin Yan hurriedly put down the files and stood up. Zhongshan suit guy stepped in and waved his hands: "Sit down and sit down. My memory's not what it used to be. Obviously, I put it all away before I went on a business trip. Why can't I find it? "

"What can't you find?"

"Professor Chen said you are looking for the staff roster from the Ming Tomb archaeological expedition in Shanxi. I purposely found it and put it together. The cabinet was opened just now and everything else was there. The fortune-teller's information is the only one that's gone." Zhongshan suit guy shoved everything back into the folder and said to Lin Yan: "Look, everything is numbered. Everyone has one. I filled it out when I joined the team. I kept a copy of it for payroll statistics."

Lin Yan flipped through several forms, each of which was detailed with the staff’s name, ID number, telephone number, address, working hours and position, etc. Indeed, like Zhongshan suit guy said, the number between No. 34 and No. 36 was missing. But the information from the 30th onwards was very brief, some even only listing names and phone numbers. Those people are temporary workers. No. 34 was hired to drive a tractor. No. 36 and 37 were temporary cooks. The form ended on No. 37.

No. 35 should be the mysterious fortune teller.

"This man wasn't part of the team. He came to watch over things with a feng shui compass. He stayed to explain his plan for the excavation then left. He negotiated the price with me and said that he would wait to get paid until his method was proven useful. We had the money ready to go but he never came to get it, otherwise, the financial account would have been recorded."

Everything was done so neatly. Lin Yan stared at the extra space between No. 34 and No. 36 and furrowed his eyebrows. He didn't even want the money? What was he after?

"Please think it over again. Did you take it out before and put it somewhere else?" Lin Yan was a little impatient. "Or did another colleague take it away?"

Zhongshan suit guy rubbed his hands and stroked the key in his hand in confusion: "Impossible. I'm the only one with a key to the cabinet. I had organized everything and locked it in the cabinet before I left on the trip. It was gone as soon as I got back."

Lin Yan's heart skipped a beat. This seemed too coincidental. He glanced back at Xiao Yu. The ghost was staring at the door with furrowed brows and didn't respond to him.

Seeing that Lin Yan's screwed-up expression, Zhongshan suit guy picked up the paper cup on the table and filled it at the water dispenser. He put it back in front of him and comforted him: "It's okay. You sit and drink some water and eat some melon. I'll keep looking for it. I remember when that man first came and spoke in a mysterious way, no one believed him. He left a phone number and address, saying we would definitely have to call him again. And he was right."

"Where did I put it . . ." Zhongshan suit guy talked to himself while fiddling around in the office. Lin Yan wanted to help but was pushed back into the chair. He was forced to stare at the desktop screen saver. A bright, shimmering mass of lines shifted on a black background. Green, red, and blue lines slowly changing, becoming larger and smaller, rolling into a big mess. He couldn't make sense of it.

"Today isn't a good time. If you come at another time, you could ask someone else. Actually, today is our day off so the whole building is empty. I'm the only one who came here for a reason."

Lin Yan smiled embarrassedly: "That's too much trouble for you." Then a thought struck him and he casually mentioned: "There are still people here. I just heard footsteps in the hallway. They just passed by but didn't come in."

Zhongshan suit guy was washing his hands in the washbasin by the door but abruptly stopped when he heard this and looked up: "Impossible. There's no one in the building but flies. There are only three offices, I just checked them and no one's there."

Lin Yan took a sharp breath. He looked towards the dark corridor in the doorway and suddenly felt an ominous feeling.

Maybe it was just him passing by to check the information, Lin Yan reassured himself. When the sun changed its angle, a few loose beams of light penetrated into the room through the gaps in the leaves. The soft yellow light peaked in. The dust dancing in the light fell onto the dark brown tabletop. Beams jutting to the side illuminated a cactus that had been watered too much, its petals hanging down limply.

"Hey, I remember, wait a second." A hint of excitement flashed through Zhongshan suit guy's voice. In the lower part of the glass cabinet, he pulled out an old jacket and searched through the pockets. He fished out a crumpled note from a small pocket in the lining. He fumbled with the crumbled note, studied it over, muttering: "Right, right, this is it."

Zhongshan suit guy slapped the note down in front of Lin Yan's eyes: "The address and phone number."

Lin Yan's expression relaxed.

By noon, the weather was getting hot. Zhongshan suit guy turned on the fan. The buzzing of the fan blades and the rustling of the papers being blown rang out incessantly. Lin Yan put the phone up to his ear and held a pen in his other hand, scribbling on a notepad, the tip of the pen trembling slightly because of the anticipation.

"Beep . . . beep . . ."

". . . The number you have called is temporarily unavailable."

The voice of the phone message came four times in a row. Lin Yan and Zhongshan suit guy exchanged a glance. He dropped the receiver and languidly stretched. Looking at the lower part of the note, the address handwritten in pencil looks familiar. Where had he seen it? Lin Yan tugged at his collar. He wanted to unbutton it to get some air, but he suddenly remembered the string of hickeys on his neck and he hurriedly buttoned it back to the top.

There was a splash of water from the water dispenser, followed by a series of gurgling noises. A thought flashed through his mind. Lin Yan froze in place with his cup in his hand, like the solution had smacked into his brain like a hammer strike.

"Mr. Chen, what does the fortune teller you mentioned look like?"

Zhongshan suit guy thought for a moment and recalled: "It's been a long time so I don't remember clearly. He looked like he was in his 40s or 50s. He's about the same height as me, and his hair is very short."

Lin Yan gulped and entered the address into his phone's GPS. The green route map was displayed, extending all the way to the northwest.

That's it. Lin Yan stared at the red dot indicating the destination in the upper left corner and quietly thought to himself: I found you, temple master.

#dig a grave to dig out a ghost translation #dig a grave to dig out a ghost #danmei novel #danmei #chinese bl #bl novel #english translation #yaoi novel #yaoi

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valhallanrose · 3 years

Text

Zephyrus

In which a storm leads Tamryn to making an unexpected new friend.

This is a minor event, but still something I wanted to write about to flesh out Tamryn’s story a little more. He’s about fourteen, so this is taking place about two years after New River.

Fic Title: Zephyrus by The Oh Hellos

2.9k words. No particular CWs apply, save for Magnus being a shit.

Storms were no stranger to the seaside town of Nevivon, but occasionally, a storm would hit harder than the rest. Many of the streets would flood, between rainfall and proximity to the beach, and it would take a few days of sun and warmth for the water to lower enough for people to comfortably leave their homes and resume life as usual.

Tamryn, though he loved his family, usually felt a little like he wanted to climb the walls after a few days spent trapped indoors. So when his father suggested that he might go down to the beach to see if the storm had washed up any kelp - something about fertilizer for the vegetable garden - Tamryn leapt at the chance, already halfway out the door before Galen could finish his thought with a call of “don’t worry, I’ve got it” thrown over his shoulder.

The blond picked his way down the path, hand running across the stone cliff face as he descended, and pulled off his shoes once he reached the shores of the Strait of Seals. A few sure steps took him to the water’s edge, where he remembered seconds before it was too late to hike up the legs of his pants to avoid them getting soaked.

He took a deep breath in as the water rushed over his bare feet, filling his lungs with salty air and smiling broadly as the sun warmed his face. A seagull cawed overhead and drew his eyes up to follow its meandering path through the air, feathers ruffling as it caught a breeze and glided further down the beach.

Birds had always intrigued him. For as long as he could remember he stared up at the sky, watching the seagulls and the sparrows and the songbirds soar overhead and wondering - first what it might be like to soar like that, and then what they saw in the world that made it so worthwhile to ever want to come down again.

He wiggled his toes, feeling the wet sand shift under his feet, and began to walk along the waterline. Occasionally he’d lean down to pick up kelp caught in the surf and let the water wash away the sand caught up in the leaves, wrinkling his nose at the schlap-like sound it made when it dropped into the bag he’d brought with him.

When he’d walked a fair way down the beach and the bag he’d brought was three-quarters full, he bent down to pick up one last piece of kelp - then immediately frowned as he noticed the net tangled with it. Anyone who went fishing in Nevivon knew the risks of losing their net, and though this one likely just washed up with the storm, he still didn’t want to leave it. Even if it wasn’t his, it wouldn’t be right to let some poor animal get caught up in it.

Tamryn lifted the edge of the net, folding it slowly so he could stick it in the top of his bag and find a way to get rid of it, grimacing once when a dead fish made itself known to his nose when he lifted the net away. He began to pull the net a little down the sand, away from the offense to his sense of smell, only to freeze when the net...squawked?

His gaze traveled down the mass until he noticed a moving spot beneath the kelp, and he frowned, crouching down to lift the kelp away and see what was underneath it -

Only to reel back as the ball of white down screeched at him like a creature straight from hell.

Tamryn let out a small ‘oof’ as his rear hit the sand, staring at the beady black eyes that glared at him with so much fury, he almost couldn’t believe it was coming from something that looked like it could have blended in among the stuffed animals on his sister’s bed. It looked like a chicken, but...for a lack of better words, pointier. And bigger.

It screeched at him for a moment longer before it turned and tried to fly away, but it was too tangled up in the net and the kelp, flapping wings leaving it to flail and screech at him while he tried to figure out what to do.

Well, he’d done his fair share of chicken catching for the old woman who lived down the road. Couldn’t be that hard to wrangle a wild bird, could it?

* * * * *

Couldn’t be that hard to wrangle a wild bird, could it?

That had been the understatement of all fourteen years of Tamryn’s life.

He’d had to peel off his simple shirt to cover the falcon’s face so it didn’t shred his hands, one clutching it around the chest and the other hand pulling at the net to free its body from the tangled mess. The talons nicked him a few times, but as the net loosened, the bird seemed to relax in his hands, as if it came to realize that all he wanted was to help.

He’d chattered mindlessly the whole way through, anything and everything that came to mind - the alchemical principles his mother had taught him when he was old enough to understand what had been written on the pages, Zelda’s favorite fairy tales that he’d read to her so many times he knew them like he knew his prayers, even his mother’s recipe for sufganiyot when the last of the net fell away and he heaved a sigh of relief.

“Alright...alright, that’s one thing done.” He muttered, eyeing the shirt warily as the falcon’s head moved beneath it. “You probably know where your nest is, right? I’m going to take this off your head now, but if you bite me, I’m going to be sincerely upset with you.”

Carefully, he set the bird down on the sand, keeping its head covered until the last possible moment, when he whipped the shirt off its head and practically dove backwards to avoid any lunging

It sat for a long moment and simply stared, almost...mournful, in a way, as it watched his face

Tamryn couldn’t explain it, but something in him - like rope tugging lightly at the back of his heart - made him think that no, the falcon didn’t have a home to go back to. He knew there were falcons that nested on the cliffs, and if no others had been around...maybe he’d gotten lost in the storm, too.

“Okay. Tell you what - if you let me pick you up again, you can stay in my room while we figure this out.” He stretched out a hand, watching with bated breath as he watched and waited for the falcon to do something, anything…

And then he beamed when it hopped neatly onto his palm, looking at him with wide black eyes that reflected the shape of the clouds far overhead.

“There we go. Now, just to figure out how to get you in the house…”

* * * * *

“I’m back!” Tamryn called, heart in his throat as went past his mother, whose eyes had barely lifted over the rim of her reading glasses when he rushed by. “I’ll be back in a minute, I fell in the water and I want to change.”

“Make sure you clean up any water trails soon, Tamryn, the salt will ruin the floors.” She said, already lowering her eyes to the page she’d been reading again before she paused mid-line. She leaned back, eyes following him down the hall for a moment before the door to his bedroom fell shut.

Odd, she thought. His trousers weren’t wet.

Tamryn breathed a sigh of relief as he pressed his back to the door, lifting the edge of his shirt and grinning down at the disgruntled face peering back at him.

“Okay, I know, that wasn’t ideal, but mama never would have let you come in the house if she saw you. Here, let me…”

He glanced around before his eyes fixed on the bookshelf, cradling the bundled up bird in one arm as he slowly shifted the books around to clear a wide enough space for the too-small sweater he dug out of his closet to sit in a pile of sorts. Once he was satisfied, he raised the bundle up, carefully unwrapping it and smiling broadly when the falcon chick snuggled into the makeshift nest.

“There we go. Not so bad, right? We can figure out what to do tomorrow. It’s probably been a while since you’ve had something to eat, right?” Cautiously, Tamryn reached forward, but quickly snapped his hand back, seeing the razor-sharp beak snap at the tip of his finger curiously before those black eyes gave him an almost quizzical look.

“Okay, no, not yet. Let’s figure out what you are, and then maybe I can figure out what to get you. Seems like a reasonable first step.”

A few moments of pilfering his shelves led him to his mother’s old field guide of the region’s flora and fauna, rifling through the tattered pages of plants until he reached the largely pristine section on birds of prey to examine the sketches on each page.

He had a pretty good feeling that the bird was a falcon of some kind, but he’d only ever seen them fully grown, which this one very much was not. But he thought he remembered that one of these books had diagrams of different stages of growth, from when his mother had gone through a birdwatching kick like somebody’s retired grandparent with too much time on their hands.

Tamryn wasn’t sure how long he sat on his bedroom floor, flipping through books and stacking them on the rug around him, but he’d been distracted enough to not realize his mother had been calling until he heard his sister’s voice through the door.

“Tam? Mama said dinner’s almost ready.” The doorknob twisted, and for a moment, he panicked - eyes flickering up to the bird that had gone rigid on his bookshelf and to the books scattered across the floor, knowing there were few ways this could go well - but he froze, Zelda opening the door and peered inside. “Papa made kurnik -”

The bird flapped its wings suddenly, and Tamryn flinched as Zelda’s eyes shifted to the movement on the shelf, spotting the falcon and staring at it for a long moment.

Zelda stared.

The falcon stared right back.

Zelda’s nose twitched, and when she sneezed, the falcon let out an ungodly screech that made Zelda burst into tears and rush from the room with the door still standing open.

“Mommy!”

Tamryn winced as he heard her footsteps racing down the hall, and though the words were not clear, he could hear his mother’s voice speaking in soothing tones as Zelda nearly wailed about the ‘scary monster in Tam’s room’. Her whimpers would eventually quiet, and his hand fell to awkwardly rub at the back of his neck as he heard what he assumed were his mother’s footsteps draw nearer. The house wasn’t that big, there was no way for him to hide the bird before she made it to his room - he just had to hope he wouldn’t get in too much trouble when his mother found out what he’d brought into the house.

“Tamryn?” Evalina called, stepping into the doorframe and raising a brow at Tamryn. Zelda was noticeably absent, so Tamryn assumed she must have gone to find their father, but he floundered and gave his mother a sheepish look as she folded her arms neatly across her chest. “What on earth scared your sister so badly she screamed like that?”

Though perhaps unluckily, Tamryn was spared from answering when the bird shuffled around in the makeshift nest, the screeches turning into something of a grumble as it watched Evalina with a wary eye.

Slowly, Evalina removed her glasses, letting the chain catch them against her chest as she massaged the bridge of her nose between two fingers.

“Tamryn Galenovich...please explain to me why in the world you brought a wild bird into this house, and preferably quickly.”

The blond teen quickly began to recount his adventure that afternoon - finding the net on the beach, how the bird was trapped in it, how he had looked for the nest and failed to find where the bird had come from and how he hadn’t wanted to leave it behind. Evalina listened quietly, eyes closed and leaning against the doorframe, until Tamryn had no words left to share and silence hung between them. She sighed, an almost bemused look on her face as she opened her eyes and looked between the bird and the boy and nodded to the room.

“May I?”

Tamryn nodded, and Evalina stepped inside the room, dropping down neatly to sit on the edge of her son’s bed.

“I have a theory -” She began, and Tamryn laughed, laying back on the floor and staring at the ceiling from amongst the piles of books. It was such a familiar phrase to him, having spent all his lessons with his mother, listening as she worked through theory after theory in magic, alchemy, chemistry, and everything in between. It was familiar like the sound of chalk on the board in her study and the stains of ink on her hands, everything that made up his mama as he knew her.

“Oh, no, should I be worried?” He teased, and Evalina snorted, shaking her head lightly.

“Not at all. Not long term, anyhow, but this will be an adventure for us all.” She rose from the edge of the bed, approaching the falcon with a calm smile on her face and a hand extended.

“Careful, mama, it wasn’t happy the last time I tried to touch it -”

“No wonder, you stuffed him in one of your shirts. I’d be miffed, too.” Evalina teased, keeping her voice relatively low and calm as she stroked one knuckle against the bird’s belly. It began to relax, slowly but surely, even as it eyed her warily while she spoke. “Keep a gentle touch with your friend here. Delicate, like the mechanisms we work with, and your voice soft. They’ll respond to your emotions, too. You know how Pom pushes my pen cup over when I’ve been working too long? It’s because he knows my eyes are weary and my mind needs the rest, but I won’t go without the encouragement.”

Pomarańczowy - the chubby orange tabby, affectionately nicknamed Pom (or PomPom), had been Evalina’s familiar for as long as she could remember. He was older than the dirt their house was built on but never failed to find his way to the sunny spot on Evalina’s desk, dozing until the time came for a meal or for the alchemist to take a break from her latest project.

Tamryn’s brow furrowed as he watched the falcon hesitantly step onto Evalina’s outstretched hand, head turning to look between his mother and himself before its eyes fixed solidly on Tamryn’s own. Uneasily, he shifted,

“I don’t know, mama, I didn’t feel any sort of ‘magical connection’ or whatever like we talked about when you taught me about Pom. You said you knew when you met Pom that he was meant to be yours, but I just wanted to help the bird get to its home.”

“It’s different for everyone, Tam, sometimes those bonds need time to form. Like I said, it’s just a theory - all we have to do right now is wait out the night. I know someone in the market who raises falcons as a hobby, and they could give it a bit of a checkup.” Evalina ruffled his hair with her free hand, then took his arm, coaxing the bird to step onto his hand with a smile. “Your bird is a peregrine, by the way. They live out on the cliffs by the beach. Let’s check your books, and then maybe we can find something for it to eat.”

“Don’t we have to go eat dinner?”

His mother waved a hand dismissively, dropping neatly to the floor and folding her legs under herself. “Your father’s still finishing up, and this won’t take long. We have to see where the chance to learn takes us.”

She began to sift through the books as Tamryn lowered himself to join her, the pair quickly falling into a comfortable rhythm of flipping through pages searching for every entry they could find in those bird-watching books about peregrine falcons.

Tamryn felt a tug on his sleeve, making him pause mid-line and look up as the falcon slowly began the climb up his arm - using its beak and claws to grip the material until it worked its way up to his shoulder, sidling up until Tamryn could feel its wing feathers brushing lightly against his cheek. He couldn’t help but smile, lifting his hand up slowly to gently pet the side of one wing, the feathers soft and silky under his fingertips.

He didn’t know why the birds chose to come back to earth - and he likely never would - but perhaps he could learn, should this bird stick around, why it chose to stay rather than let the westerly winds carry it away once again.

#tamryn olenev #been a while since i finished a fic oop

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tabletoptrinketsbyjj · 3 years

Text

Trinkets, 39: Interesting baubles, semi magical objects and items touched by mystery.

An umbilical cord in a neat wooden box, lined with velvet. The cord itself has small, glassy eyes over its surface.

A disc of black iron four inches across and almost an inch thick, set with raised sigils around the edge, one side having a leather cover held in place by a strap. If the cover is removed a spiraling set of sigils is revealed, each like a twisted spider and there is something deeply unwholesome in the way they hold the eye and seemed to writhe. Touching the sigils underneath the cover creates feeling of extreme pain as if the disc was white hot iron. The feelings dissipate the second the disc isn’t making direct contact with skin.

An iron bracelet shaped like a coiled serpent with rhodochrosite eyes.

A simple looking box made of plain, unstained and untreated pine boards. The box is two feet high, three feet wide and one foot deep, and has horrific pictures of undead silhouettes burned on the outside of it. The lid is attached by a simple brass hinge and bears foul necromantic symbols. Inside, the box holds ashes that look suspiciously like cremation remains.

A roll of old bandages that has been inked with strange pictograms.

An unusual standing lamp made of brass sporting a vented wheel over top of its wick and a number of crystal chimes along its outer edges. When lit, the rising hot air from the flame slowly turns the wheel which has a number of outward reaching pins which strike the chimes creating soothing tinkling noises, while the light refracting from the crystals creates a rosy glow. While much more suited for an upscale pleasure den, the lamp is sturdy enough for travel if carefully wrapped in fabric beforehand. The lamp will burn for six hours on a flask (One pint) of oil.

A pewter goblet with dark and rancid blood lurking within. The lip is black and caked where it appears others have tasted from it. Scratched deep into the pewter are the words "Taste My Fear."

A vest fashioned from the hide of a large darkhaired ape.

A gallon jug of thick smoky glass wrapped in braided twine. The container is filled with a potent liquor strong enough to strip paint from wood. Only the eldest brigands of the wildlands know the secret to distilling a libation so pure. The devout have no need of drink, but vagabonds always thirst for more. One who consumes this superior moonshine feels they can take on the world and is filled with resolve.

A demonic gnoll totem of gold and silver coins hammered and nailed into a chunk of wood topped with a sheep skull.

—Keep reading for 90 more trinkets.

—Note: The previous 10 items are repeated for easier rolling on a d100.

An umbilical cord in a neat wooden box, lined with velvet. The cord itself has small, glassy eyes over its surface.

An iron bracelet shaped like a coiled serpent with rhodochrosite eyes.

A roll of old bandages that has been inked with strange pictograms.

A pewter goblet with dark and rancid blood lurking within. The lip is black and caked where it appears others have tasted from it. Scratched deep into the pewter are the words "Taste My Fear."

A vest fashioned from the hide of a large darkhaired ape.

A demonic gnoll totem of gold and silver coins hammered and nailed into a chunk of wood topped with a sheep skull.

A shard of a mirror that shows strange shadows in its reflections.

A bizarre, metallic lump of iridescent crystals of concentric geometric shapes expanding outward in rough steps. Knowledgeable PC's can identify the mineral as bismuth.

A small silver dish inscribed with a smiling moon that will fill with fresh milk or food when placed in front of kittens, orphans, and kindly old half-blind men.

A black glass orb eight inches in diameter, that appears to have octopus tentacles that reach to grasp the inside of the sphere. Often, they separate, revealing one large cephalopod eye.

A steel mirror set in a fanged maw of iron.

A mask made from white ceramic in the round shape of a cherubic human child’s face. The lips are painted bright red and the hair deep black. The eyes are blank and empty.

A one gallon cask of Well Wishes Whisky that has a smooth finish and a warm, golden scent. This whisky is distilled from an ancient wishing well and rumor has it that the liquor grants people luck when drunk. Knowledgeable PC’s have heard that it is especially popular among students at the Wizard Academy during exam time.

A mage’s rod made of the smoothest black wood. It stands about three feet in height and had a base of five inches or so. At the top held by four intertwining pieces of silver ivy is held a crystal orb.

A set of pewter tankards, five in all, which have various pictures of historic castles and their coats of arms. On the back of each tankard is a verse which, if deciphered, will reveal a ribald and amusing fact about the holders of the coats of arms.

A small leather pouch, about the size of a book. Unfastened, it reveals inside several sheets of fine writing paper, a wooden stylus, a wax tablet, two quills and a pen-knife plus a small bottle of ink. A careful examination of one of the sheets of paper will reveal that it bears the impression of what was written on the sheet above it (now long gone). This will be the first half of a letter that gives some tantalizing hints regarding a mystery of the DM’s choosing.

A tall, black hat of a witchfinder, inside the hat is sewn the name Erasmus Pottingley.

A roughly circular slab of obsidian an inch thick, or thereabouts, and just the right size to be cradled comfortably in one's palms. Roughly shaped around its circumference, though one broad side is simply stone-pecked to a slightly convex, pitted surface the other has been polished to such a high degree that the surface is unblemished as still water. Perfectly smooth, the polished side can act as a fine (If dark) mirror. Those who peer into the silky smooth reflective face of slab long enough, however, see floating within the midnight depths a rendition of the starry skies in smoky points of light. Focused on the zodiacal constellations, these tiny dark "stars" change with the day and the seasons in perfect step with those in the sky above.

A small idol made of bone and crimson gems of unknown nature. It represents the blackened skull of a horned ox with six red eyes that seem to gleam slightly in the dark.

A burlap sack in which is stored a 2d4+1 days’ worth of trail rations. The foodstuffs take the semi-appetizing form of sparrow jerky which has been pressed into small cakes of many thin sheets. Each cake is wrapped its own linen cloth for travel.

A cherry-wood box carved with arcane symbols of conjuration and binding. The interior is covered with scratches made by small claws. Knowledge PC’s can deduce from the nature of the magical runes that the box is meant to trap and contain an imp so that it can be become a mage’s familiar.

A fine pine box bound with a leather strap. Inside are five hand rolled cigars. They smell of spice, toasted almonds, and honey. They look quite expensive.

A small ivory box, carefully engraved at all sides. It depicts scenes of a nobility: feasts, dances, a marriage, and peasants tending fields. On the inside, it is divided into small square compartments. They were probably meant to store makeup or perfumes, yet none remain. It might have been part of noble bride's dowry.

An old but seemingly undamaged piece of abstract art containing a pattern designed to befuddle the viewer's brain.

A floor tile with a footprint on it that reads: "Step here to summon Balog." The tile is slightly charred.

A cheap wax seal stamp, depicting a generic shield shape.

A light woman’s coat with the emblem of a gryphon embroidered to the back of it.

A black obsidian crystal sphere filled with a dark inky fluid. Inside the sphere is a small white dodecahedron with black text on each of its faces. The sphere gives off a faint divination aura.

A pewter brooch with a galloping horse embossed on it.

A silver turtle shaped locket with a black opal shell. Inside the locket is a picture of somebody's loved one.

A scabbard of black ash and bronze decorated with a sneering bearded face with tourmaline eyes. It is suitable for longsword or similar straight blade.

A large tapestry depicting an ancient battle with tentacled monsters.

A missing poster with the image of a well dressed Minotaur and his children. It reads, “Hyam Hyrule. A loving, kind and down to earth family man. 200 gold reward to whoever can find him alive.”

A candle made from the grisly, severed hand of a hanged criminal, if lit it is believed to help people remain undetected as they enter an abode.

A soft cloth handkerchief on which is a limerick, written in blood: There once was a man with one sandal. His appetites most couldn't handle. He stalks the streets hunting souls. Cooks their feets over coals. And writes limericks about being a cannibal. A soft cloth handkerchief splattered with blood.

A scrap of parchment that reads; "It is done. Meet me in the graveyard at dawn, near the crypt."

A fine doublet of incredible intricacy and beauty, with a pattern of nymphs playing in a garden along the back.

A beautiful painting of a late autumn lake in the forest. The longer you look at it, the more mesmerizing it becomes. As you stare, the leaves on the trees seems to jostle in the wind, the lake seems to breathe as water, and the clouds seem to drift ever so slightly into the sunset, like a portal into a perfect glimmer of peace. The only curiosity is a sad old man with a gnarled crown sitting upon a small bench, not quite in the foreground though impossible to ignore. He seems to loom over the lake, and is vaguely familiar… He seems to weep, giving the painting a sense of loss and sadness, as if this world so perfect was dying with him.

A boldly colored quartz the size of a pigeon’s egg, etched and painted in such a way that when it is placed to one’s eye in the light, they see a clever but naughty image of a beautiful person in the nude.

A baby’s blanket made of the finest cloth. It was kept in a mothballed container for years. It smells faintly of mint, as if someone meant to store it for a very long time.

A durable, clear glass bottle filled with ashes and a note. The says “These are my wife's ashes. She always wanted to see the world but spent her life looking after me and our children. Please take her with you on your travels, we'd both appreciate it”.

A spiked red leather dog collar with a steel dog tag on it that reads “Murderface”.

A sadistic violin that no matter how much it’s tuned, will always play terribly. The instrument seems to want to annoy and bring misery to as many people as it can. If anyone ever starts to actually enjoy the out of tune music, the violin will change to a different worse sound, ensuring no listener ever brought joy by its sounds.

A fist-sized glass bauble with beautiful coruscating colored lights inside.

An iron gorget with a large peridot in the center of it.

An ancient cup, now cracked and chipped, that was carefully carved out of a single large block of translucent red amber.

A simple framed painting of a figure leaning back in a chair, it's face shrouded in shadow.

A small, black, triangular stone, about the size of a human's fist. Engraved in the center is a spiraling mark.

A perverse and gaudy replica of a cleric's mask. When this facial covering is worn, the spirit feels nebulous, boundless even. The vast distances between each being dissolves, revealing a vision of the world beheld by a thousandfold eyes.

A censer filled with perfumed incense that can be held or hung from chains. The sweet smell wafting from this censer hides a poisonous reaction within. Knowledgeable PC's will know by the style of the stylized inscriptions that cultists used these burnt offerings to confuse and confound their senses. In a state of rapturous delirium, they behold obscene truths and righteous falsehoods.

A crudely made jack in the box child’s toy constructed from unfinished unpainted pine carelessly hammered together with varying sized of nails. The crank is a rough twist of metal bound with a length of burlap over the handle. On the front of the box, burned into the wood are the words “Turn the crank, close your eyes, and pray to the gods for a pleasant surprise.”

A stone tablet with fine holes drilled through it that seem to be arranged in some sort of pattern.

A bracelet of bone beads carved into skulls, the eyes are polished jet.

A brass monocular telescope, etched with decorative markings, but due to poor maintenance, stuck in its collapsed state.

A wooden peg-leg in the shape of a dragon's leg complete with splayed-toed clawed foot tipped with hooked claws of iron.

A shipwreck in a water-filled glass globe. At the bottom is a massive kraken with tentacles up through the water. The ship is in big pieces that float with different levels of buoyancy. There are tiny sailors that float and sink to the bottom.

An incredibly life-like sandstone statue of a cockatiel.

A chipped and cracked porcelain tea cup with a rose and leaf motif marked with a stamp on its bottom in an unknown language.

An agate scarab the size of a human palm with writing in Mulhorandi that reads "Even in death, I serve".

A brass and crystal hourglass that when turned over plays softly tinkling chimes as the sand passes through it for the unit of time known as a "song", lasting a minute or two.

A seemingly normal conch shell. When pressed to the ear, faint sounds of surf and wind, rustling palms and crying gulls can be heard. The area around the listener's ear is specked with sand afterwards.

A pair of carefully wrapped baby shoes, never worn.

A silver holy symbol sculpted to resemble a shining sun. Such an image is sometimes used by clerics and paladins not associated with any particular deity. The amulet is small enough to be gripped in one hand and a religious bearer can feel that it contains the divine spark of a truly holy object.

A gilded acorn containing a feather, a tuft of fur and a fish tail.

A one gallon cask of The Nine Hells, an alcoholic beverage that's traditionally served in tiny flasks. The drink is a very potent brew of vodka, extra-strength peppermint, pure capsaicin extract and garnished with a single drop of wolf's blood in each serving.

A violet shawl that twists and melds with the darkness, becoming as black as coal in even the faintest shadow.

A swirly mahogany wand that changes to a different color every night at midnight.

A copper chalice engraved with a geometric pattern.

A wooden jeweler box with copper detailing.

A simple chunk of flint broken off of a larger rock eons ago by natural forces. A closer inspection, however, reveals one edge of the rock has been carefully napped down to a razor edge, while the opposite side has been shaped into a crude handgrip. Small, primitive figures of deer, wolves, and bears are etched into the stone. The carvings sometimes appear to have changed places of their own accord, though they never move while being observed.

A brass statue of a winged wolf with quartz fangs.

A copper candle holder shaped like a galloping horse.

An embroidered silk tablecloth edged with lace.

A set of sheet music for a lost operetta composed by a respected composer.

An ornate scabbard set with agates of multiple colors.

A wooden flute from a birch tree from the feywild that sprouts small leafy branches.

A golden cloak clasp in a pattern of knotted vines covered in small leaves.

A large musical horn carved from the tusk of a mammoth and decorated with gold bands.

A brass lever nutcracker with head shaped like a bird of prey.

A drum made of dark oak and covered with hide from a giant elk with drumsticks carved from antlers.

A wand made of a sturdy ash. Each end is seamlessly reinforced with bronze.

A black chunk of obsidian that is roughly a round shape and has no sharp edges. Looking into its cloudy depths one can see an almost infinitely receding sea of gold, white, and blue flecks of colour. When held, the bearer will swear that he can hear the sound of perfect silence, the call of the infinite void...

A large forest green tapestry bearing a symbol stretching across its length switched in gilded thread. Its accented with white and red and all along its hem is a complicated mantra of magical sigils and signs.

An angular carved crystal vial holds a thin light blue liquid. The crystal vial feels chilled to the touch and when let sit for long periods of time it forms crystals throughout the liquid that quickly dissipate when disturbed again.

A porcelain disk painted with a detailed representation of the God of Random Domain.

A map to a series of underground tunnels with an area marked ‘tentacle-head’.

A set of sheet music for a popular folk song adapting it to tablature needed for a three-handed mandolin player.

A staff that more resembles a long and skinny marble column with white pearls embedded along its length. When used as a cane or walking stick, the wielder's step feels sturdy and secure.

A sturdy cloth backpack made of high quality cotton, adorned with exotic feathers and pretty cross stitches.

A small, framed painting of a castle, the details of which (The number of towers and parapets, the banners flown, siege weaponry on the battlements, and similar features) change subtly when no one is looking.

A crumpled map of Corvid Commons marked with the entrances to the hidden shrines of the Shrouded Lord.

A bewitched slip of paper which, if placed on the bark of a tree, reveals in writing the species of that tree.

The deed to a mysterious abandoned house in the Dreamers’ Quarter, wrapped around the brass key to the front door.

A fashion magazine, Rich Filth, describing the latest trends for the ultra-wealthy, including the most recent Slimewear, Cathedral Chic, and Roachdress looks, as well as even more outré fashions such as “Patching," which involves magically transplanting patches of flesh (Usually taken from corpses) to one's body in peculiar designs.

A taxidermy wolpertinger (A hybrid of rabbit, bird, squirrel, and deer) native to Mooncalf Valley.

A blackened diamond corrupted in a failed resurrection attempt.

19 notes · View notes

carewyncromwell · 4 years

Photo

Whew! Three drawings for the price of one for the POTC AU! The first two feature our new Pirate King Jules Farrier-Weasley @cursebreakerfarrier (flanked by Jacob “Black Jack” Cromwell Roberts and Orion Amari), and Cutler Beckett (flanked by Carewyn Cromwell “Carey Weasley” and Patricia Rakepick). The last one features the human form of our Davy Jones, Finn McGarry @theguythatdraws, with his One True Love Chiara Dalma, A.K.A. Calypso! These took a while, but they were fun to do, so I hope you like them.

Jules’s “tunic” is actually the same chemise she cut up while she was still on board the Artemis, as seen in a doodle on a previous post. Carewyn’s new uniform (which we’ll address in this part) is based on yet another of James Norrington’s costumes, this time the one he wears in the third Pirates film. Unlike the character whose role she roughly fills, though, Carey isn’t going to die unceremoniously in the middle of the damn story after getting this costume change. (Why no, I’m not bitter about the fact that Jack Davenport didn’t get more screentime and that Norrington didn’t get to be the Javert to Captain Jack Sparrow’s Valjean in the sequels the way he so could’ve been after the first movie, why would you think that? *snort*)

Now that we’re getting more into the Davy Jones/Calypso stuff, I can acknowledge how much I’ve changed from the original films’ depictions of the characters, as well as why. Personally I find the characters’ relationship to be a bit toxic and not as romantic as it should be. Calypso, being a goddess, could very easily not understand things like the passage of time through a man’s eyes, but the excuse she gives for why she wasn’t there to support her lover after all of the hard and lonely work he’d put in for her after ten years is just “it’s who I am.” I get that she’s a manifestation of the sea and not something you can pin down and all that jazz, but at the same time, it was cruel to follow her own selfish whims over considering her lover’s feelings. She presumably then also didn’t even try following up with Jones after he returned to the sea, as they aren’t able to sort out that misunderstanding before the events of At World’s End. (I mean, she’s a shape-shifting goddess of the sea, and she made him that way in the first place, so it’s not like she couldn’t have met him somewhere that wasn’t dry land.) I understand Jones couldn’t expect her to change her nature, and that’s fair, but it doesn’t make me like Calypso very much or feel much of anything for her relationship with Jones. And on the flip side, Jones decides to take out his pain at this misunderstanding (which he really should’ve tried clearing up AGES before the events of At World’s End) on his lover in the most spiteful, vindictive way -- teaching a bunch of pirates how to trap an immortal goddess into a mortal body that definitely has none of the power innate to her, presumably feels pain, and could even age or die. Rather than trying to quit the job Calypso gave him or even trying to figure out what happened, he decides to clip the wings of the woman he supposedly loves, all due to his own pain at being betrayed. So I don’t feel much for Jones as a character and for his relationship with Calypso either. In the end, when they quasi-make up, I didn’t think it was earned or that it was a good outcome for either of them. I do think there’s some tragedy in the situation, for they clearly feel deeply for each other, but their romance is really dysfunctional in my opinion, and I think it could’ve been handled a lot better if you wanted to make the pairing as romantic as the theme Hans Zimmer wrote for it. (As a side, take a listen to this lovely lyric cover someone wrote for the Davy Jones theme, it’s so good!) This is part of why I like being able to write Chia and Finn (the Calypso and Jones analogues in this AU) with a more sympathetic backstory, as well as some organic development for both them and their relationship while they’re apart from each other, which I kind of think was lacking in Tia Dalma/Calypso in particular.

Previous part is here, whole tag is here, and I hope you all enjoy!

x~x~x~x

Carewyn was perturbed by how fast an armada of ships from Port Royal caught up with the Flying Dutchman, once Rakepick had Jones send one of his cursed crew members with a message for Beckett. It was as though the head of the East India Trading Company had been waiting in eager anticipation of the Dutchman locating Shipwreck Cove ever since he gave her and Rakepick the mission in the first place.

Among the armada was the Clearwater, and Carewyn was shocked and a little happy to see Percy crossing over to the Dutchman from his ship and leaping off the gangplank to greet her. The youngest of the three Weasley brothers who’d joined the Navy gave her a salute for formalities’ sake, but he couldn’t keep the relieved smile off his face.

“Commodore Weasley,” he said formally.

“Captain Weasley,” said Carewyn in return.

As soon as they’d greeted each other, both of them loosened considerably. Carewyn opened her arms and brought Percy into a rather mannish hug, clapping his back the way Bill often did whenever he hugged his brothers.

“Jones’s men treated you well, I hope?” Percy murmured under his breath, his voice betraying some cold suspicion despite himself.

“Well enough,” Carewyn said softly.

When they broke apart, Percy was smiling a bit more fully.

“It is good to see you, Carey,” he said, his faintly pompous voice nonetheless incredibly sincere, “though I’m afraid I’ll have my own ship to run now...”

Carewyn smiled proudly. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. A Commodore needs a talented Captain in his fleet.”

‘I know how long you’ve dreamed of moving up the ranks. Even if the Navy isn’t what it should be...I’m glad that you’re living your dream, Percy.’

Percy’s brown eyes softened, clearly touched. Before he could say anything, however, a familiar, aloof voice interrupted him.

"A Commodore does indeed need a talented Captain...”

Both Weasleys turned to Cutler Beckett as he stepped down onto the deck of the Dutchman beside them. His small eyes were locked firmly on Carewyn.

“...as does the Admiral of the fleet.”

He materialized a folded letter and held it out to Carewyn. Her eyebrows furrowed as she opened it, before her eyes widened upon its contents and the royal wax seal at the bottom.

“I’d already had this prepared ahead of time, prior to your departure from Port Royal,” said Beckett with a cool smile. “I wrote to the King of how impressed I was with your dedication, ingenuity, and talents, and he was most pleased. When I requested you to be at the head of my fleet for this upcoming venture, he agreed immediately. Upon receiving Madam Rakepick’s letter about you initiating the search for the Tower Raven’s old fleet and using one of their own ships to guide us to our target...I knew that my faith had been more than warranted.”

His eyes narrowed slightly over his cold, satisfied smile.

“Congratulations...Admiral Carey Weasley.”

The “honor” the King had bestowed upon her, if one could call it that, made Carewyn feel ill for multiple reasons. Not only did she truly not, NOT want to fight the Pirate Lords and whatever ships they gathered together, but she knew that she had largely gotten the position thanks to the effort of Rakepick -- who had for whatever reason credited Carewyn for following the Phoenix rather than taking credit herself -- and Beckett -- who Carewyn didn’t trust as far as she could throw him, but couldn’t figure out why exactly he had so much “faith” in her. Was she truly that good of an actress to completely fool him? She wanted to think so -- and yet the way he looked at her, not unlike how Rakepick looked at her, spoke of him knowing something she didn’t. Sadly Percy, even if he had seemed legitimately troubled by the hangings in Port Royal, was not distrustful enough of Beckett to express anything but pride in Carewyn’s accomplishment, so Carewyn couldn’t talk to him or anyone else about her suspicions.

When she confronted Rakepick about what she wrote to Beckett, the older woman’s response was oddly coy.

“I already told you you don’t belong on this ship,” she said, her dark blue eyes locked firmly onto Carewyn’s with a murky emotion she couldn’t quite identify. “Now that you’re Admiral, you’ll have more power to command your own ship, overlooking the Dutchman as well as the rest of the fleet.”

Carewyn’s eyes narrowed. “So you wrote that so I’d get off the Dutchman?”

Rakepick’s eyes narrowed slightly too, becoming more solemn. “You heard Lord Beckett -- he’d already planned this for you in advance. Although my reasons are different from his, I’m more than willing to play along with his whims, if it means I get what I want.”

“And what is it you want, Rakepick?”

Rakepick’s red lips curled up into a cool smirk. “Now, Admiral...one can hardly expect a lady to answer such a personal question.”

Not long after confronting Rakepick, Beckett summoned Carewyn to his cabin on his flagship, a Man O’ War called the HMS Lion. Unlike any of their previous meetings in his office, Carewyn found the cabin completely empty except for Beckett when she arrived -- in the past, Percy or Rakepick had been there too, as well as one or two employees of the East India Trading Company. It gave her the feeling that Beckett wanted this meeting to be more private than the others, which gave her a terrible sense of foreboding.

“You wished to see me, Lord Beckett?” she asked, once she’d finished saluting him.

“Yes,” said Beckett.

He was sitting behind his desk, which once again had a map laid out with different model soldiers and ships littered all over it. There were also seven Piece of Eight coins lined up in a neat little row -- he was once again playing with the eighth, rolling it along his fingers lackadaisically.

“Word has come from Shipwreck Cove, from the so-called ‘Pirate King,’“ he said, his eyes on the coin in his hand. “She wishes to rendez-vous on a tiny island on the far side of Shipwreck Island at sunset tonight, a ways away from the Cove. No weapons -- just talking.”

Beckett’s eyes flickered up to Carewyn’s face almost critically.

“...The Pirate King...signed her name as ‘Captain Jules Weasley’ -- so she’d be an old flame of yours, would she not?”

Carewyn stiffened slightly. ‘Jules is the Pirate King?’

She covered up her surprise quickly, her blue eyes narrowing.

“Miss Farrier -- pardon, Mrs. William Weasley -- never commanded any affection from me. Although her father bid she court me, her feelings were always for my brother -- so much so that she followed him into piracy.”

Beckett’s lips spread into a cold smile. “Then it’s as I surmised. Governor Farrier expressed frustration that his daughter had not managed to ensnare your heart, as opposed to your older brother’s -- especially considering how much she seemed to enjoy your company...”

Carewyn could not figure out what Beckett was trying to suss out from this conversation and it troubled her greatly -- so she put on her best, coldest expression and lied through her teeth.

“Whatever woman I respected in the past is dead, now that she’s an enemy of the Crown,” she said harshly. “I know no ‘Captain Jules Weasley’...nor do I wish to.”

Beckett’s smile did not shift in the slightest. If anything, his small, dark eyes flickered in something almost like triumph.

“I understand your sensitivity to the matter. You truly do love with all of your heart, don’t you, Admiral Weasley?”

Carewyn’s eyebrows knit tightly over her eyes in confusion, but she did not reply. Beckett put the Piece of Eight coin down in the row on his deck and rose from his chair, moving over to the decanter of red wine on the side table so he could pour a glass.

“I saw you with Captain Weasley, before you left Port Royal -- and of course, your reunion on-board the Dutchman, earlier today. I also heard quite a few interesting rumors circulated among our prisoners from Tortuga, speaking of your honor and the respect you showed them despite their criminal status...even moving a woman into a cell with her husband without being asked, if I’m not mistaken...”

His voice was very aloof and was tinged with a bizarre fascination, like an entomologist might have for a rare butterfly he’d pinned to his wall. Carewyn felt like her heart was being squeezed, but she dare not say anything.

Beckett finished pouring out two glasses of wine and put down the decanter so he could pick up both glasses.

“It’s not something I’m familiar with, that kind of concern for others.”

He offered the glass of red wine to Carewyn, his eyes boring into her face. Carewyn kept her face as blank as she could even though she could feel the blood leaving it as she took the glass of wine from him, but did not drink it.

“...I did not mean to displease you, Lord Beckett,” she said lowly.

Beckett’s eyes flickered again with that strange satisfaction as he took a sip from his glass of wine.

“On the contrary -- it’s only appropriate, for a woman to have a gentle heart.”

Carewyn stiffened sharply.

‘No. No, no, no -- !’

It was one thing for Rakepick to find out, but Beckett to know -- did Rakepick tell him? No, she said she wasn’t really doing any of this for Beckett -- should she deny it, Carewyn wondered? But if she did, and he caught her in a lie, could that make it worse -- ?

Her hesitation made Beckett’s eyes gleam with greater satisfaction than ever.

“Then I was right,” he murmured. “I admit, I wasn’t sure. True, your voice is higher than one normally hears and you’re smaller than most, but I know first hand that means nothing. And your military record...had it not been for me having met and employed Patricia Rakepick previously, I would never have believed a woman could be so skilled in battle and strategy, nor so aggressive. But when Captain Weasley expressed such interest in me having hired a woman, and even went out of his way to bring it up to you...my interest was peaked. All the more so when I found out how truly useful you are, as an officer.”

Carewyn felt like she was drowning in horrifying, icy cold water. Beckett knew she was a woman -- he knew she was a woman, and could tell anyone about it, if he so chose. She’d not only lose her position -- the one thing that she had left that she could use to protect Jacob, Orion, Bill, Charlie, and Jules...but she’d be cast out in disgrace, leaving her with nothing -- possibly taking Percy along with her for having kept her true gender a secret --

Her blue eyes had drifted down to the floor absently, but were not focusing on anything.

Yet...Beckett had said nothing of his suspicions to anyone. True, he hadn’t known for sure...but why would he recommend her to the King as an Admiral, if he’d suspected?

And then it hit her.

She bowed her head, casting her eyes into shadow as she put down her untouched wine glass on the side table.

“...What do you want from me, Lord Beckett?”

Beckett raised his eyebrows but did not respond.

“You very easily could’ve gotten both Percy and me cast out of the Navy in disgrace,” she said, keeping her voice low in an attempt to try to keep it steady, “yet you’ve kept me and even helped get me promoted, presumably because I’m so ‘useful.’ What use do I have, for you?”

Beckett gave her something of a patronizing smile as he stepped forward, coming up right in front of Carewyn so that his chin rested just shy of her shoulder and he could look at her face out the side of his eye.

“Isn’t it obvious? You are an excellent Naval officer -- a leader and inspiration to those who serve under you. You’re world-renown for your honor, your courage -- your passion. You prompt people to fight with you -- for you -- with a loyalty that even the King of England himself cannot boast. Were you a man, you would be someone I’d be very threatened by, indeed. But since you are a woman...I can appeal to your heart.”

Carewyn could feel his breath sliding past her ear and she couldn’t help but cringe. She stubbornly refused to look him in the eye, keeping her gaze firmly on the floor.

“I’m afraid my disinterest in the once-Miss Farrier was not a one-off thing, Lord Beckett,” she said very dryly. “Romance is not something I think about very regularly.”

Orion’s face rippled over her mind, making her heart ache. Oh, if he were there, in that room -- the thought of him seeing her letting herself get pushed around by the man who’d branded him and sent the Navy after him for piracy...it made her feel ill.

Beckett’s lips curled up in a slightly tighter, almost miffed smile as he pulled away just enough that he was facing the wall behind her rather than looking at her face.

“...Oh...no, Admiral...you misunderstand me. I know I own no part of your heart...but Captain Weasley, he most assuredly does.”

Carewyn’s head shot up so she could look at him, her expression stricken despite herself.

“Your younger brother is not nearly as useful as you, but he has shown great dedication to me, since I threw him a bone and ensured his promotion. It’s a loyalty I hope that you will likewise show me...especially considering that both you and he have been given access to information that few others have been...and that I would do just about anything to ensure doesn’t become common knowledge...”

Carewyn stared at Beckett, her shock giving way to cold hatred.

“So that’s it,” she murmured. “You’ll hold Percy’s and my lives and livelihoods over our heads, to make sure that I don’t surpass you, somehow. How I don’t know, considering that the Navy is not part of the East India Trading Company, nor shall it ever be, but clearly you feel loyalty is something to threaten out of people, rather than earn -- ”

“The only thing one can really earn in this world, Admiral, is money, and therefore power,” Beckett cut her off sharply, “and I have no intention of losing either, now that I’ve earned both of which I’m owed!”

He turned to look Carewyn straight-on in the eye, their faces mere inches apart. Gone was any hint of attempt at gentlemanly poise -- there was a hard edge to his gaze, not unlike the way he’d looked at Jones, but because he was actually an inch or so taller than Carewyn, he seemed to relish the power he had looking down at her both literally and figuratively.

“You will use your talents to serve my interests,” he said under his breath, “and I, in return, will continue to reward you and your brother, by ensuring that your careers and lives flourish under me. It’s just good business.”

At sundown, Beckett and Jules met at the tiny island agreed upon. Jules strolled down the long, narrow beach toward the shoreline where they were to meet, Jacob on one side of her and Orion on the other. She’d originally wanted Bill with her, but McNully was able to persuade her that she’d look that bit more intimidating to Beckett if she arrived in the company of two of the most wanted pirate captains in the world, and even Bill had to agree. Jules was determined to stand between Jacob and Orion, though, considering that there was still a lot of tension between them.

Jules had been furious with Jacob, when she’d learned about the deal he’d struck with Davy Jones. Even if he’d originally planned to give Jones “a Cromwell” as in Charles or Blaise Cromwell -- two objectively bad people who had been largely responsible for Carewyn and Jacob’s abusive, unloving childhoods -- Jules was also confident in thinking that Carewyn would be horrified, knowing that Jacob was willing to enslave another person to Davy Jones, just to find her. Jacob refused to feel guilty for that, but he clearly was destroyed by the knowledge that his choice had put Carewyn in so much danger. It was apparent from the way he talked about it and the way his hands and shoulders shook with silent sobs that Jacob would’ve sacrificed himself a hundred times over, if it would guarantee Carewyn wouldn’t be harmed.

Orion, by contrast, hadn’t said a word since Jacob told them what was going on. Throughout the entire conversation, he’d had his hands clasped tightly in front of him and kept his gaze downcast, even taking time to close his eyes for long periods of time as if he were meditating. Despite his silence and his detached affect, his usually stoic expression and unsteady breathing betrayed genuine anxiety. At one point, Bill brought a hand onto Orion’s shoulder to try to comfort him, and Orion actually subconsciously smacked his hand away.

“I’m sorry,” said the Captain quickly, his voice very hushed and tense as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose. “Just...please, don’t touch me.”

Bill, Charlie, and Jules all thought they could guess how Orion was feeling. Although the others had forcefully shot down the idea that Orion was the least bit responsible since he couldn’t have known the consequences of calling Carewyn by her real name, their words had done little to soften the Pirate Lord’s brow. If Orion’s past behavior hadn’t been indicative of how deeply he felt for Carewyn, then the way he clasped anxiously at his own hands and shut himself off from everyone else at the thought of her being doomed to spend the rest of her life trapped on board the Flying Dutchman made it crystal clear.

“Orion’s always valued his own freedom more than any kind of loot,” McNully murmured to the three Weasleys under her breath, “more than anything, really. And if he cares about the Commodore so much...”

“...He probably couldn’t bear it, if she lost hers,” finished Charlie, bowing his head and closing his eyes as they welled up with pain and righteous anger.

As Jules, Jacob, and Orion approached the shore, they caught sight of three people standing in the distance. The man in the middle dressed in black Orion identified as Cutler Beckett. On his left was an older woman as tall as Orion with hair as ginger red as Bill and Charlie’s that Jacob immediately recognized as Rakepick...and on his right was Carewyn, dressed in a new yellow-trimmed navy blue uniform and a black tricorn hat.

The three pirates stopped five feet away from the Head of the East India Trading Company and his two female companions, a notable sting of tension prickling at the air. Jules tried hard to keep her focus on Beckett, but her eyes were drawn to Carewyn despite herself. Although her friend faced Orion -- the person directly in front of her -- with a hard, stoic expression, she looked so pale. When Jules glanced over, she noticed out the side of her eye that Orion’s unreadable gaze was also locked on Carewyn, even as he took deep breaths through his nose and his hands clenched absently at his sides.

“Well, well,” said Beckett, his eyes narrowing darkly upon Orion’s face, “if it isn’t my old friend, Orion Amari.”

Orion glanced at Beckett out the side of his eye without turning his face away from Carewyn’s. Although his face remained rather calm, there was a faint edge to his soft-spoken response.

“...I did not think you were ever much in the market for friendship, Cutler Beckett...considering it’s something you cannot buy.”

His gaze returned to Carewyn. Beckett glanced from Carewyn to Orion, his lips curling up in a very cold smile.

“Ah, yes -- you and Amari are old friends also, aren’t you, Admiral Weasley?”

“Admiral?” repeated Orion, taken aback despite himself.

“Yes,” said Carewyn, and although her response was very cold, her eyes pulsed with emotion that she attempted to obscure by glancing to the side in Jacob’s direction rather than straight at Orion. “By order of the King, as a reward for my work alongside Lord Beckett.”

Jules could see Jacob’s jaw clench out the corner of her eye. She too felt like her heart was being squeezed. Carewyn no doubt hated her promotion with everything in her, if it was something she’d earned chasing after them on Beckett’s orders. Still...Jules couldn’t express that flat-out, so she put on the strongest expression she could.

“...I suppose congratulations are in order, then.”

Carewyn flashed Jules a look. “I don’t want congratulations from you, Mrs. Weasley. Or should I call you ‘Your Majesty,’ now that you’ve started playacting as a royal?”

Jules’s lips came together tightly when she saw how broadly Beckett smirked. The small man’s reaction seemed to piss off Jacob too.

“You will show proper respect to the Pirate King,” he said with a fierce look at the Head of the East India Trading Company.

“Respect,” scorned Rakepick. “Is that a word you can even define, Black Jack?”

“As well as I could wring your neck, if I were allowed,” spat Jacob.

“I’m surprised your ‘Pirate King’ would want a man in her company who’s so comfortable threatening a lady’s life,” said Carewyn sharply.

‘Don’t start a fight with her,’ she thought desperately, praying that Jacob would be able to sense her intent even with the act she had to play.

Unfortunately Jacob, as smart as he was, was never the best at reading people’s emotions -- and so when his narrowed eyes shot to Carewyn, she could see a flicker of pain. She surmised that even if he clearly didn’t think she believed what she was saying, it hurt him beyond reason, to see her having to defend the woman who’d tried to kill him.

Orion, however, very quickly adapted to the new method of “conversation,” fixing Carewyn with a calm, but piercing gaze.

“And I’m surprised that a honorable officer such as yourself would be so comfortable in the company of those with no honor whatsoever,” he said.

‘You’re in danger,’ Carewyn surmised he was trying to say. Her eyes narrowed upon Orion’s face.

“I beg your pardon?” she retorted. “I fail to see how a pirate has any leg to stand on, speaking of honor.” ‘What are you trying to tell me?’

“Even I have more honor than a captain who would burn an entire settlement to the ground,” murmured Orion. ‘Davy Jones.’

“Jones follows orders, as do we all...something else a pirate wouldn’t understand.” ‘What about Jones?’

"Orders...from Cutler Beckett, or from you? From what I’ve heard, you were on the Flying Dutchman yourself -- hardly a place one would expect to find Port Royal’s greatest hero.” ‘You must get away from Davy Jones. Get off of the Flying Dutchman.’

Carewyn’s blue eyes narrowed a bit more. First Rakepick wanted her off the Dutchman, and now Orion? Yes, Davy Jones was dangerous, but at present she found him much less of a threat than Beckett...

“A true hero knows that his reputation comes second to the good of the others,” she said very softly. “As does a loyal officer.” ‘I can’t leave.’

Something in Orion’s dark eyes flinched.

“Your older brother will be very disappointed, to know you’ve sold your loyalty so cheaply,” he said just as softly.

Carewyn felt her heart clench. She knew he didn’t mean Bill -- and yet the thought of both her surrogate brothers and Jacob was a silent knife to her back. She didn’t dare look at Jacob for fear her strong facade would crack, so she kept her focus solidly on Orion.

“I would think given your own history with Lord Beckett, you’d know full well how valuable of an ally he is, ” she shot back quickly, feigning temper as best she could, “and how dangerous of an enemy, as well. Both I and the brother who chose to follow the law rather than spit in its face are certainly glad for his aid, in ending your reign of terror.”

‘I can’t leave, not with what Beckett has over me and Percy. And if I do leave, then you’ll be in more danger than ever...’

Her eyes bore into Orion’s fiercely as she begged beyond reason he’d understand.

“...You may tell William...that I am no Bedlam maid in need of saving.”

‘You can’t help me. I love you.’

Deep in the depths of his sparkling black eyes, Carewyn could see a flicker of desperation, almost like anxiety. Afraid that Beckett might notice the crack in Orion’s expression, or in her own at the sight of it, she quickly whirled on Jules.

“He is the one who should stand down,” she said, her voice hardening further in an attempt to obscure her emotions. “All of you should, unless you wish to face down an entire armada.”

‘There are 34 Man O’ Wars waiting out there for you,’ she hoped Jules would be able to discern. Even if she didn’t know an armada had that many ships, Jacob and Orion would.

Jules, to her credit, matched Carewyn’s act with her own cold gaze. “Don’t underestimate us, Admiral Weasley. Both the British Navy and the East India Trading Company have done that consistently from the beginning.”

“And now we have come to the end,” said Beckett smoothly. “Of you and the rest of your Brethren.”

The others all turned to look at him. He flashed Orion a look better suited to a cockroach before redirecting his gaze onto Jules.

“Tell your Court this,” he said in an aloof, condescending voice. “You can fight, and all of you will die...or you can stand down, in which case only most of you will die. I daresay the Governor could be persuaded to spare you from the gallows, if you threw yourself on his mercy...and if I were to be merciful enough to leave out your new position, in my correspondence with the King...”

Jules’s dark eyes flashed with hatred as she strode forward, coming to a stop two feet from Beckett so she could glare right into his face.

“There are few things I can tolerate less than cowards who resort to blackmail just to make themselves feel powerful.”

She didn’t look at Carewyn, but Carewyn could sense Jules was thinking of her, as she said this.

“We will fight. And you’d best hope that we will show more mercy than you would, in our place.”

The Pirate King turned on her heel and walked away. With some reluctance, Orion and then Jacob turned away and strode quickly after her, leaving the other three alone on the shore.

“So be it,” said Beckett with a cold smile.

Carewyn couldn’t look at Rakepick or Beckett at her side. Her gaze was solidly locked on the departing backs of her brother, friend, and love as they began to shrink into the distance.

She’d never been very good at relying on or having faith in others...but in that moment, more than anything, she knew all she could do now was put her trust in Orion -- in Jules -- in Jacob -- in Bill and Charlie and all of the other pirates on Shipwreck Cove.

‘Please...please, be careful. Please be safe.’

In that moment of helplessness, she felt her heart ache all the more, watching Orion walk away. She closed her eyes, trying to bring back the memory of him standing shoulder to shoulder with her on the Artemis -- of him lying in bed as she tended to him, when they were young -- but it was no use. The graveness of the situation was too dire even for escapism...

Carewyn clutched her own arms behind her back. They suddenly felt so much heavier...as if there really were manacles there she couldn’t hope to break.

‘...Please...please live.’

On the opposite side of the island, both Jules and Jacob noticed the silent tears that had streaked down Orion’s face...but none had the heart to address it as they boarded the jollyboat that would take them back to the Artemis and to Shipwreck Cove.

At the same time that the pirates and the leaders of the British Navy were meeting, Davy Jones had been left behind on the Flying Dutchman with Percy supervising the troops. Beckett thought that Jones was threatened into line by how many soldiers were still guarding his heart, but thanks to Carewyn, Jones knew that Rakepick had stolen and relocated it. Now that he didn’t know where his heart was at all, he knew he couldn’t afford to move until he’d found it again -- and with Carewyn likely leaving the Dutchman with her new position as Admiral, it was likely it’d take a while before she could smuggle him any more information she might acquire about that. For the moment, though, Jones had put that concern on the back burner, for the Dutchman’s arrival near Shipwreck Cove gave him the opportunity to catch up with the Phoenix.

As luck would have it, when Jones phased through the Dutchman and onto the Phoenix, the ship was largely abandoned, since the crew had all gone ashore to Shipwreck Cove. The only person remaining was a small woman with long white hair, looking out to sea over the deck. In her hand was a pretty silver locket in the shape of a moon, the lid of which was cracked open so that a sweet, tinkling music box melody played.

Chia Dalma closed the locket half-way through the song, her eyes closing sadly as she clasped the locket close to her chest. She straightened up in shock, however, when she suddenly heard the rest of the tune echoing from behind her. She whirled around, to be faced with a giant, hulking shadow with writhing tentacles sprouting out from his jaw, holding an identical locket in his claw. Anyone would’ve been terrified at the sight -- but Chia looked upon the figure with tears in her eyes.

“Finn,” she breathed. Her lips were curled up in a weak smile, just as they had been before, but the joy was stained with so many other emotions -- grief, shame, and regret.

Davy Jones regarded Chia critically as he took several plodding steps toward her. “You know I haven’t been called that name in years.”

Chia bowed her head. “Nor have I been called my true name in years.”

Jones tilted his head, trying to read her expression better now she was looking away from him.

“I had not expected to find you like this,” he said very lowly. “You’ve never taken on such a small shape before.”

Chia’s eyes flashed with righteous anger as she raised her head. “That’s because this form is one I did not choose to take. It was thrust upon me by the Brethren Court.”

Jones straightened up slightly. His eyes narrowed to slits.

“...Then they did not kill or trap you. They transformed you.”

His voice was as low and growling as thunder. Chia clutched at the sides of her arms with her hands, her gaze smouldering with resentment as she glared down at the deck.

“Oh, but they did trap me,” she said bitterly, “trapped me in this single form, which can’t do even half of what I should be able to. I’ve been able to use what power I have to slow down the aging process, but this body still feels pain. This body still feels strain, and weakness, and hunger, and exhaustion, and longing...”

Something rippled over her eyes -- something more ashamed and pained.

“...I never knew...how much time truly weighs on a human,” she murmured.

Jones’s expression grew much more grim. “An immortal such as yourself should never have had to learn that.”

“Should never have had to, yes...but...”

She looked up at Jones, her gray eyes pulsing with strength despite the pain rippling within.

“...why did you not tell me, how long ten years felt for you? I have felt those ten years several times over, trapped in this tiny, fragile, helpless body every single moment -- and it’s...it’s been torture. To know you took the job I gave you -- only coming ashore once every ten years, so you could help me with the burden of tending to the dead at sea -- when ten years feels like that, to you -- ”

Chia’s eyes flooded with tears.

“I gave you the position of ferryman because I wanted to spare you from death,” she whispered. “Because if I didn’t give you that role and give you some of my power, you would’ve died. I’d never thought that those ten years would feel so long -- drain you so much...”

Jones was quiet for a long moment. Then he brought up his claw to brush her bangs from her eye.

“It’s only natural that you saw things the way an immortal would. Time is no object to you -- ten years no doubt felt like a small price to pay, in the face of your life span. And...”

His eyes became a bit smaller.

“...it’s not exactly like I wanted to die and be separated from you either. Even though part of me always doubted you’d be there waiting for me, when I returned...even though I resented you for years because you weren’t there...”

A ghost of a smile flickered over his features.

“...I know I shouldn’t have expected you to see things as I have -- to change yourself to suit me. If you did...you wouldn’t be the goddess I fell in love with, would you?”

Chia smiled up at Jones, her eyes shining with tenderness.

“I tried to make it back to you,” she murmured. “When the Court transformed me, I tried so hard to get there, to reach you...”

She extended her hands, tentatively trailing them along his tentacled face. Jones seemed to tremble at her touch.

“I know of the danger you’re in, Finn,” said Chia seriously. “As long as Cutler Beckett has your heart, I know you’re beholden to him. But I have allies among this newest Brethren Court. If they convince the others to break my chains, as I’ve foreseen they will...then as soon as I am free, I will come for you. I will make sure you and I are never separated again...and I will make sure your captors suffer the consequences, for hurting the man I love.”

As her small white hands held his face, Jones’s face and frame suddenly began to morph. In an instant, the slimy texture, the tentacles clinging to his face, and his claw all vanished -- and there stood the tall, handsome pirate she’d fallen in love with so long ago.

Finn McGarry’s face broke out into a broken, soft smile. He stretched out his hand, caressing his love’s human cheek with more gentleness than his claw ever could have.

“Calypso...” he murmured.

Chia’s face broke out into a full smile as well. She knew she couldn’t permanently remove the fishy transformation, as it was something that had mutated Jones over the many years they’d been apart, due to his heartbreak and grief...but seeing him looking so much like his old self after so long...it made her currently human heart swell with love.

“Just as you gave me your heart, when you became captain of the Flying Dutchman,” she murmured, “so too will you always have mine.”

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #potc au #au #pirates of the caribbean #carewyn cromwell #patricia rakepick #jacob #jacob cromwell #orion amari #chiara lobosca #percy weasley #jules farrier #finn mcgarry #other people's mcs #my art #my writing #these drawings and especially the writing took longer than I expected #oh orion you and carey truly do think alike!! you're both so good at reading people and adapting to them!!#why can't you be together the way you should?? DX #look at finn and chia! they're perfectly adorable!#don't you guys wanna be adorable too??#also yes beckett is a complete arsehole #I see him LOVING the fact that he has a new 'pet' who can bite into orion for him #i see beckett harboring a similar kind of resentment for orion as he did for jack in the original films #even if orion was much younger when he became a pirate I see beckett being that little bit younger too #and more importantly orion as an adult ended up being even more of a thorn in beckett's side #all thanks to beckett effectively robbing orion of the freedom to do anything else with his life but be a pirate #don't get me wrong orion's adapted well to being a pirate but you do lose some freedom being branded that way too #the freedom needed to return to port royal and go searching for this girl you once knew without being arrested for example :<

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miasma-of-fear · 4 years

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The first few times Jonathan was sent to the Keeny Chapel, he instinctively ran from the crows. As the visits became longer, however, he found he couldn't run forever, instead focused on shielding his face and head when his legs grew too tired, using his arms and leaving them along with the rest of his back open to attack. He would always inevitably tuck his arms between his knees and chest as the pain grew, ultimately skipping straight to this position once he couldn't run anymore. (This lead to the peculiar, generally uniform stopping point of the scars on his mid upper arms, shoulders, and upper back, entirely absent from his chest, neck, and the rest of his arms.)

Over time and countless nights in the Chapel, and countless lasting injuries, Jonathan's willpower began to dwindle until he stopped trying to run from the crows entirely. He'd convinced himself that he truly was an evil seed and deserved such punishment, that he needed to repent, so he ought to take it while shielding his arms and hands so he could still work once he was out again. He would make his way to the same corner each time, or as close as he could, double over into his tried and true upright fetal position, and cower until he was finally freed again- whenever that was, sometimes the next morning, sometimes not until the next night. Jonathan was too young to entirely grasp the concept of suicide, yet he was far too scared and tired to even try not to perish by that point, allowing the angry crows to rip and shred his flesh, gritting his teeth and trying to will himself away into nothingness.

It was one of these through to the next night sentences in early winter that saw Jonathan getting a slew of infections that together nearly ended his short life. The dilapidated structure did nothing to keep out the freezing wind and rain, creating puddles throughout the soil that had reclaimed most of the Chapel's floor, the crows divebombing him and knocking him over into several of them. Water dirtied with more than just mud seeped into his cuts, gasped into his lungs, exacerbated by the rain cutting him worse with its cold than the crows themselves. Of course, once she at last retrieved him from the Chapel to find him with a horrific fever, Granny only treated him as much as she needed to make sure he lived and recovered healthy enough to keep slaving away for her. This near death experience was what finally snapped him out of the submissive, fearful stupor he had been in most of his 10 years of life, inspiring him to at last stand up for himself.

Once he was physically well again, waiting for one stormy night so the thunder may cover up his light footsteps, he snuck into the forbidden room- the room he had already been accused of entering countless times, most of which lead to a visit to the Chapel, even though he had never even considered entering before. He discovered Granny's diaries that spanned years, in which he learned that his mother Karen hadn't died giving birth to him (Granny's vague recounting leading him to believe he'd been abandoned), that the previous groundskeeper that helped bring him into the world was murdered after Grandmother Marion left with Karen, that Granny was utterly convinced Jonathan was the Antichrist- the horrid reveals never seemed to end. Most importantly, however, he learned why the crows really attacked him and how to make it himself. As he had already spent hours in that room, he waited until the next night to copy down the recipe, and the night after to try making it himself.

The next time Granny sent Jonathan into town, he tested the compound on a flock of sparrows and an older boy that had once broken three of his fingers, among other attacks. It proved most effective, the songbirds plucking free the boy's eye as Jonathan fled. He continued to test it on equally horrible people- a cruel schoolteacher that physically punished her students, a father he'd often see hit his children as they walked down the street, etc.- until he thought he was ready for one final use. (These tests inadvertently further solidified his fear of birds in general.)

Only two months before his 11th birthday, on yet another stormy night, he snuck out to the Chapel with a sealed container of the compound and a shovel, and climbed up into the rafters to wait. When Granny came to look for him, he dumped the compound onto her from above and used the shovel to startle the crows, who promptly swarmed Mary and chased her out into the rain. Jonathan hid for what felt like an eternity, listening to the caws and screams, clutching the shovel until he finally got up the nerve. Climbing down as quietly as he could, he took a moment more to steel himself before rushing into the swarm of black wings, talons, and beaks, beating his Granny over the head with the shovel, continuing to bludgeon her until she stopped moving. He quickly fled to the Chapel then, using the shovel to smack the birds away from him and throwing it down once he was free from the violent cloud, leaving the crows to pick at her. No one heard the commotion due to the manor's isolated location, not that anyone would care on the off chance they passed by. Just as the sun peeked up above the horizon, the crows asleep in their nests, Jonathan carefully crept from his hiding place to drag Granny's half eaten body into the structure to bury. He wasted no time afterwards throwing the shovel into the thick forest behind the manor, cleaning himself up, gathering his things, and beginning his escape from Georgia, skirting westward around the Appalachians and aiming to head north.

#The maze of the mind : headcanons #suicide mention tw #child abuse tw #religion tw #murder tw

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kylosupremeimagines · 4 years

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Going On Vacation With Them Would Include: (Kylo, Adam, Clyde, and Charlie)

Kylo:

Being in such a vast galaxy, there would be so many places that he could take you to for some time alone. In the end, he decided to take you to his favorite place he’s visited with his mother in his childhood: Naboo. Or more specific, Theed. There was just something about it that he loved. From the beautiful architecture to Lake County being close by, there was so much to do. So of course you wouldn’t get bored during your vacation in the city with him!

He was surprisingly looking forward to visiting the palace with you. Kylo remembered a few times he would with his mother when she was on business there so he already had a few fond memories from the palace. It was a bit strange for him to be back touring the palace but to be able to show you all the history behind it was actually enjoyable for him. It brought him back to some of the few good moments from his childhood when he came with Leia. But nonetheless, being able to spend some time with you there was enough for him.

You certainly can’t go to Theed without visiting the Lake Country. One day, you went out there to enjoy the sites of the waterfalls, the fields. With the fact that you rented an entire suite in your hotel, Kylo was able to cook you up a lunch to enjoy out there in a picnic. If you were interested, you could go swimming with him, skinny dipping even! Afterwards, he surprised you with a trip to his distant family’s lake country estate, Varykino. Although you weren’t able to stay there, at least being able to see it was a wonderful sight.

Another thing that he was excited to show you was a marketplace in the city. It had a plethora of shops and stalls for you to explore. He even surprised you with a small piece of jewelry from one of them. His favorite part was when you stopped by a garden side cafe where you shared lunch together and talked for a while as you ate. After, you just explored the garden and surrounding area. You brought back some nice souvenirs to keep as mementos reminding you of the trip you went on with Kylo.

Adam: (As a resident of Massachusetts, I can confirm the Cape is a very nice place to go on vacation!

Considering he’s enjoyed the couple of times he went with his family growing up, Adam wanted to bring you to Cape Cod in Massachusetts for a week or so to get away from everything in New York. You could get there after a short road trip and there would be plenty to do for the week away. The trip down there was pretty fun, stopping at a few places along the way to eat. The bridge connecting the arm to the mainland was interesting since you got to see a lot of boats going under.

One of the musts to him for visiting is to take some time to head to ProvinceTown, the tip of the arm! There’s so much to do down there that you had to spend an entire day dedicated to the town. For lunch you went to a restaurant where you got to sit by the ocean. There was also the option to either go on a seal or whale watch, to which he’d let you pick between. Also, there’s the stretch of shops along the road right by the water. Jokingly, he took you into one of the sex shops just to look around. But hey, if you ended up finding something you liked, then you could get it!

Getting to his interest of exercise, you two rented some bikes and took a ride down the bike bath to see a lot of different sites. Despite it being a busy tourist season during the summer, there weren’t too many people on the trail to make it hard to enjoy. Through the trail, you stopped by Hot Chocolate Sparrow, a candy and coffee shop that you spent a little time at. You also went through Nickerson State Park which gave you some time to enjoy the wildlife.

Of course you can’t go to Cape cod without going to some of the beaches! There are plenty of them so no matter where on the cape you were staying, there was always close by to go swimming. Adam loved being able to see you in your bathing suit, maybe even teasing you a lot on the beach. And even though there are beaches in New York, there was just something different about being there. As a fun gamer you and Adam took some time collecting shells to see who could find the most. Whoever won got to pick where to go to eat that night.

Clyde:

For your first real vacation together with Clyde, he surprised you with a trip up to the mountains. He rented a small cabin for you and him to have some privacy. For the week, he took time off from work so that he wouldn’t need to worry about going in. The others working at the bar knew very well how important this trip with you was so they all made sure to have someone filling in and available at all times. He was extremely grateful for them, seeing as how there would be no distractions.

Being up in the woods, of course you two went on a nice hike around the mountain and lake. It was the first time in a while he went on such a long hike and was honestly relaxing for Clyde. Being able to take in such fresh air and see wildlife up close was one of his favorite things to do as a child. To now experience it with you was a new memory that he would forever cherish. While out on the trail, he made sure to capture some photos to put into a family album he’d been making over the years.

Even if you didn’t sleep outside, one night you and Clyde sat out by a fire pit after the sun went down. You cooked some hot dogs over the fire and talked for hours. And then you even roasted some marshmallows to make fresh s’mores. He nearly fell asleep when you cuddled under your stars to watch them for a while. He lost track of time as you enjoyed the sight together. With how relaxing laying on a hammock beside you and hearing the crickets, how could he not nearly fall asleep?

No matter if you were any good at fishing or not, he took you out onto the lake in a boat so that you could fish together. Since he did it often as a child, he was pretty great at it. You two ended up up catching a few fish that you were able to bring back to the cabin. There, he took some time to prepare the fish and cook it for dinner that night. You sat outside with him at sun down with some drinks and the fish, enjoying a nicely prepared meal for the night.

Charlie:

As cliche as it may be for an artist, especially someone in the theater scene, he would want to take you around Los Angeles and even Hollywood. Although partially it would be to get some inspiration for his work, he still wanted to be able to enjoy such a popular destination spot with you; it doesn’t matter if he’s living in the area at the time to be closer to Henry. He felt as if he didn’t get enough time just to enjoy his young life when married to Nicole, so he was going to change it. Why not go out and enjoy the city with you?

He didn’t care that he had a place of his own close by to the city, he still wanted to rent out a hotel room for the two of you to share and get the real experience. Sure it wasn’t the best in the city so that the money wasn’t wasted, but at least it was really nice. There was a small balcony for you to enjoy drinks together at night, and the shower was big enough for the both of you to have some fun if you so wanted to. And the view was not too shabby as you could see the illuminated city when it got dark out.

One of the first places that he’d bring you to is Hollywood Boulevard since it’s one of the most go to places in the area. Maybe it was a little bit expected but he was excited about a lot of it. Why not get one of the most authentic Hollywood experiences while you’re there with no other worries than your next activity? He’d bring you to places like the Egyptian Theatre and the wax museums, but of course you went down the walk of fame. There may be a few that he wanted to take a picture with but he would be more than happy to stop and take a few for you too.

While you’re there, you’d just have to go and see a show or two. It doesn’t matter what if to Charlie as long as he could experience some Hollywood theater with you. He’d want to plan ahead and get the tickets in advance. So before the show, he’d sit down with you and look into various shows that you could go to. He turned it into a date night with you, where he’d take you out to a nice restaurant afterwards and enjoy a night on the town. Of course, you could enjoy some time in bed later. ;)

Tag List: @scheherazades-horcrux @alladeline @attorneyl @babybluelukex@glitzescape @dancewaterdance02 @celiholland @crkylo@celestiaelisia @xsister-serpent @fizzywoohoo @topsykretts92 @ayatimascd@delicatelyherdreams @ddriveringg @littlegirlsdontplaynice @yymmaarr@darlinguris @bellaren18 @queenofheartsmegs @themauvemage@starlingmehdarling @anti-climactic @mollmoll01 @reylokisses @smallt1ddygothgf @mira-winterlight @glassythoughts @moon-390 @fralackles @zaneholtzwrites @pinkmoontribe-blog

#Kylo Ren Headcanons #Adam Sackler Headcanons #Clyde Logan Headcanons #Charlie Barber Headcanons #Kylo Ren X Reader #Adam Sackler X Reader #Charlie Barber X REader #Clyde Logan X Reader #Adam Driver

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nightingaletrash · 3 years

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Weathering the Storm

Hello yes I still believe in Sparrow x Walter Supremacy :)

AO3

Winter had arrived in Albion and the snow had swiftly settled in a dense blanket across Bowerstone. Most were of the opinion that it lent the city a certain beauty. Aya despised it. It made her want to escape this city, escape the entire damn country and steal away to Knothole Island until the snow melted away and the winter dissipated into spring and pretend that it had never arrived in the first place. But that was hardly an option.

The halls of Bowerstone Castle, as it was now named, were rife with activity. Guards made their rounds, servants worked to keep candles lit and fires roaring, and soldiers moved to and fro as they collected their orders and barked orders.

The civil war had reached a stalemate now that winter had well and truly set in. Supplies were already tight and the pickings would grow slimmer still as the season wore on. Trading routes became hazardous, the nights longer and colder, and the wandering merchants had grounded themselves for the months to come. In a few short weeks, the conflict had become one of attrition, to see who could better weather the storm: the Hero known as Sparrow and her allies, or the Lords and Ladies who still refused to swear fealty to the would-be-Queen.

The war was all that had kept her from fleeing for warmer climates. It would be perceived as weakness by her enemies and her subjects, and that would be enough for her efforts to crumble into nothing. She’d quickly find herself at the same mercy the Heroes Guild had once faced, the kind that permitted a quick death over a slow one. Enough remembered that so many lived because of her, but the national delight had faded enough that her people would still turn on her if given the proper incentive.

So she remained in this place that she hated, meeting with her generals and allies, securing resources to keep the city fed and warm while watching for any signs of enemy movement. It was rare that she got a moment to herself…

And for some reason, her feet had carried her here.

She hated this tower. The first time she had come here, she had been so blissfully ignorant to the scope of the world's cruelty. Then Lucien had ripped the veil from her eyes with a single bullet, and nothing had been the same ever again. In this place, her sister had died in terror, a bullet in her gut, her blood spilling over the ground, and her little Sparrow flung from the tower.

Now she leant against the dusty old desk and stared aimlessly at the vaulted ceiling, vaguely debating between sealing the tower off or having it torn down altogether.

Then there was a knock at the door.

"I had a feeling I'd find you here, your Ladyship."

Aya rolled her eyes even as a smile tugged at her lips.

"'Your ladyship?' Really, Walter?"

"Well begging your pardon if I need a moment to drop the formalities," he replied, his tone hinting at a laugh as he stepped into the room. "Swift and I only just escaped our meeting with Lord and Lady Dulvey. They were complaining about the rationing again. Apparently the nobility are offended that they're having to make sacrifices to keep the commoners from starving."

He made no effort to keep the contempt from his tone as he moved over to the windows and stared out over the city with his arms folded over his chest.

"Balls to the lot of them. They should just be grateful that you've not told them to open their homes to the poor," he scoffed. "Or worse, volunteered them to start handing out food and blankets themselves instead of leaving it to the soldiers."

"Carefult Walter, you might give me ideas," she replied, only half joking.��

Truth be told she'd already considered the first option, but she also knew that she was working a very delicate balancing act. Push too hard and the nobility she'd won over would quickly abandon her cause in favour of their own freedom which would inevitably create another Lucien; a noble possessed by twisted ambition with no one to keep them in check. Let them do as they pleased and she created another place like the Old Quarter of her childhood, rife with crime and poverty were children who were forced to scrape by just to survive with the ever present threat of having to choose between starving and exploitation at the hands of scum like Arfur.

The second, while an entertaining notion, would be petty. So long as there were no battles to be fought and there were volunteers aplenty, there was no need to alienate anyone.

But she knew that Walter wasn't really here to complain about nobles or discuss plans for the coming months. Those discussions could happen without her for the moment. Her directive was clear: feed and house as many people as possible. So he was here for another reason. A more personal one. And even as the guilt soaked through her chest, she was in no hurry to be the one to start that conversation.

So they fell into a companionable silence for a time with only the howling of the wind and the flurry of snow to occupy them.

“I wanted to apologise,” Walter said finally, “if I overstepped any bounds last night, Aya.”

Guilt jabbed her hard in the stomach and she bit the inside of her lip as her gaze cast down to the floor.

“There’s nothing to apologise for, Walter,” she replied softly “I can’t expect you to read my mind. It was… unfair of me.”

“Perhaps. But it felt wrong to say nothing.”

He turned and his gaze lingered on her, sadness touching his dark eyes. Not for whatever trespass he believed he had committed, but for whatever struggle he knew to harbour in her heart.

“Whatever your reasons, I have the utmost respect for you. Nothing will change that,” he said with a softness few knew he possessed. “Give the word, and it will never happen again-”

“No!”

The word was blurted, and a hot burst of embarrassment stabbed past the guilt. Her face was suddenly warm in spite of the cold air of the tower study and she quickly returned her gaze to the floor as if that would somehow hide the desperation with which she’d said it.

“It’s not- I don’t-”

She stumbled, unsure of what she was even trying to say. She still didn’t even know what to think about last night. For a brief moment she had convinced herself it had been a moment of passing fancy, the next just she was sure that she had just been lonely and in need of company, and then… she didn’t know.

Alex had always been soft, reverent, following her lead, her pace. He was safety and gentleness, a place where she could hide from the horror and violence that were ever-present in her life. Where she felt like she had some control.

Walter was different. He’d follow, then lead. She could relinquish her control. She wasn’t hiding or indulging in some fantasy of peace. It felt like honesty. Walter had not been a shelter from the storm. He helped her to withstand it.

It wasn’t necessarily better per say. But she had changed from the young woman who still gripped to the illusion of peace. She was a Hero, and for Heroes, peace was a lie. It was for the innocent, and soldiers and Heroes were not innocents.

She lacked the words to convey it with any elegance. The words didn’t fit her mouth, too clumsy to lend the weight they ought to carry. So she crossed the room and pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth, her hand brushing over his. When she pulled back, he was staring at her, nonplussed.

“I was married once,” she confessed in a hushed whisper. “He waited ten years for me, waiting for me to come back from the Spire. People told him that I wasn’t coming back, that no one comes back from the Spire, but he waited. Every day our children asked when I was coming home. And he would tell them that he didn’t know, but he knew that I would come back because I had promised, and I always kept my promises.”

An old shard of guilt twisted deep in her chest; a shard that had buried itself deep in her heart before Lucien’s bullet could pierce it. And like any wound, it bled freely.

“Lucien murdered them so that they could never become a threat to his plans. So that there would be no Fourth Hero ever again.”

“Oh Aya,” Walter murmured, cupping her face and thumbing away the tears that dripped form her eyes.

“I know he’s dead. He’s dead because I killed him, and he can’t hurt me anymore,” she pressed on past the lump in her throat. “But I’m just always thinking there’ll be another like him. Someone that will hurt the people I love to get to me. And just thinking about it scares the shit out of me, Walter.”

His hand slipped around the nape of her neck and he tugged her into him, his free arm wrapping around her waist as he cradled her head against his shoulder. Without pausing to think, Aya folded into him and breathed deep.

The scent of gunpowder always clung to Walter, sometimes with a touch of sweat and alcohol if they’d been drinking after a fight, but there was comfort in that. He was solid, built with muscle trained to swing a sword without pausing for thought and to point a gun without hesitation, but there was warmth and comfort too. He was a soldier who cared for every last one of his men, who took every bullet they took as a failure on his part, and always striving to do better. To be worthy of the responsibility placed on him.

And that was enough to melt away the cold of the tower study and the raging blizzard outside. He chased away the phantom of Lucien that lurked in the back of her mind, if only for a while.

Then, slowly, their eyes met and he brushed a tentative kiss to her lips. She would have followed, pulling him in deeper, but he withdrew all too quickly as if he had once again overstepped some unspoken boundary.

“I’m sorry. I should have asked- Is it all right if I-”

She didn’t let him finish his question. She kissed him with everything she had like she was drowning and he was all the air left to breathe. He responded to her enthusiasm in kind, all hesitation falling away in an instant as she perched herself on the lip of the desk and let him take the lead.

The storm would pass in time, she knew that. It could be years before her fear left her, if it ever did, but Walter would be at her side always. That she knew.

That would be enough.

#nightingale writes #fable 2 #fable 3 #hero of bowerstone #sparrow #walter beck #sparrow x walter #aya/walter #they communicate clearly and i think that's very sexy of them

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

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I've been thinking on this for ages, but I can't decide on a character, maybe Leonard Snart, Lan Wangji or Wei Wuxian. He saves, on purpose or by accident, a baby dragon. The dragon takes a shine to him and decides to hoard him. It's tiny, so the hoarding is really ineffective. It consists mainly on riding on shoulders and hissing at everyone. It's really cute.

Lan Wangji

“I like you! I’m going to keep you!” the tiny little dragon said, grinning widely. It was only large enough to fill two hands, black scales with red whiskers, and it had a mouth made for smiling.

“Get lost,” Lan Wangji said, walking faster; his uncle had explained regarding Wei Wuxian’s unusual cursed state so that he would be aware of it, but somehow his uncle had failed to mention how horribly cute Wei Wuxian’s little dragon form was.

“Lan Zhaaaaaan, you don’t meant that…!”

Wei Wuxian

“Her name is Chenqing,” Wei Wuxian said proudly, holding out his hands to show her off. “I found her wrapped around an old flute and I’m keeping her.”

The little serpentine dragon rolled around happily in his hands, lolling around and holding her little arms out in a big stretch. “Uh-uh,” she said, her voice a little kitten whisper, wrapping her tail around his wrist. “Mine!”

“Well, that’s new,” Jiang Cheng said faintly; a glance at Lan Wangji’s face revealed he also didn’t know exactly what to say. “But I suppose…congratulations are in order?”

Jiang Cheng

Zidian is his mother’s, long lithe and silver except when she’s sparking purple; she’s fiercely independent and hates anyone touching her but her master. Jiang Cheng loved to look at her as a child, the way she twisted around her mother’s hand like a bracelet, around her neck like a necklace, even around her ear, hissing a joke that only she can understand.

He’s wanted to have her in his hands since forever.

Not like this, though.

Nie Huaisang

“I found a little bird,” Nie Huaisang explained happily. “A little goldfinch! We only have eagles and vultures in Qinghe.”

“I can’t believe you brought it into the lecture,” Jiang Cheng said.

“Well, I couldn’t leave her behind! I found her right before I arrived.”

“Uh, Nie-gongzi?” Wei Wuxian, who was peeking under the cloth of the cage, said. “I don’t think this is a goldfinch.”

Wei Wuxian pulled off the cloth. The little gold-scaled dragon beamed at them from the perch, long whiskers waiving in the air.

“…yes?” Nie Huaisang says. “Is it a sparrow, then? I’m really not good with birds.”

Lan Xichen

Alone in seclusion, Lan Xichen wondered if he’d spent his entire life in service to others. To his uncle, who feared him becoming his father; to his brother, who he sought to protect; to his sworn brother, who betrayed him; to his sect, to their principles. They still meant everything to him, all of them – dead or alive – but…he was tired.

He lifted a finger to trace the head of the little dragon that had blown in through the window a few nights before – he should report it, a supernatural event like this, but…it’s not in the rules.

So he won’t.

He hasn’t yet named her, but he was going to. And then he would let her keep her the way she wanted to, nice and safe in her little hoard, for as long as she wanted him.

Nie Mingjue

Most of the time, Baxia was a saber, like all others in his sect. Like those in his ancestor’s shrine. Sometimes, though, she was something else.

“You’re mine,” she hissed in Nie Mingjue’s ear late at night, nestled deep in his soul. They’re bound together, sword and cultivator. “I won’t let you go, not in this lifetime.”

He rubbed his eyes and smiled despite himself. He didn’t smile often, his duties and dark future weighing him down, but his Baxia could do it; he sometimes thought that this was what it must be like to have a jealous wife. “Of course not. You’re my spiritual weapon; you’ll be by my side until I die, and then you’ll take your place in my tomb, with my ashes at your feet. Stop worrying so much.”

“I won’t let him take you this time,” she snarls. “Your head, your arms, your legs, your soul – they’re all mine. How dare he profane them!”

“Am I not supposed to be touching people anymore?” he chuckled, reaching back to run his fingers down her hilt; it turned into a tail and wrapped around his wrist, pinning him in place as if held down by a stronger man. “Baxia – if you just tell me who this ‘he’ is, I’ll avoid him, I promise.”

“No, he’s still necessary for now,” she said. “But when I tell you – strike true, no matter what the consequences. Do not allow your human compassion or etiquette overwhelm you. Promise me!”

“I promise,” he said, not for the first time, still as puzzled by it as he ever was. “I’ll listen to you. When the time comes, I’ll let you drink his blood to your heart’s content.”

Jin Guangyao

He’d always known there was a dragon inside Nie Mingjue, full of heat and fire and rage; he’d liked it, once upon a time, when it roared in his defense. It had been such a pity when it turned against him; he really hadn’t wanted to give him up, but he didn’t have a choice. He was backed into a corner – just like always.

He just hadn’t expected the man to turn into a literal dragon upon death.

Is this the real secret of the Nie? He wondered, backing up and reaching for his sword. Is this why they only bury their sabers, and never themselves?

The dragon curls around his neck, tight enough to choke.

“Are you going to kill me?” Jin Guangyao asked.

The dragon laughed with the sound like Nie Mingjue’s laugh, deep and sonorous and usually a little sarcastic.

“Only,” it murmured in his ear, “if you continue to misbehave, Meng Yao.”

Jin Ling

“Little Uncle got me a dog,” Jin Ling said, clutching Xiao Fairy to his chest. “So, Jiujiu, you’re getting me…a snake?”

“I’m getting you the opportunity to get a sna – to get a dragon. It’s not a snake. Stop calling it a snake.”

Jin Ling wasn’t really convinced. He squinted into the pool. “They look like snakes.”

“Of course they do, they’re flood dragons,” Jiang Cheng said irritably. “Those all look like water serpents when they’re swimming. Just…listen to me. Put the dog down – no, give it to me, yes, there’s a good puppy –”

Jin Ling coughed pointedly. “If this is all a scheme to steal pets from my dog…”

“It isn’t,” Jiang Cheng said, though his ears were suspiciously red. “Put your hand into the pool. If one of them likes you, they’ll claim you for their hoard and keep you for the rest of their lives. Give it a try. What can it hurt?”

Xiao Xingchen

Song Lan was the very first person he met when he came down off the mountain and, well, he was a bit over-excited about it – but luckily they hit it off very well, and it all worked out quite well for a few years. Song Lan was full of interesting ideas, like making their own sect based on friendship rather than blood; Xiao Xingchen liked it, but he liked Song Lan best of all.

Things went downhill, later, but as his shizun always said, it was cruel to keep a human that didn’t want to be kept any longer, so he gave him his eyes and left him alone, just as he’d asked, and hoped that one day Song Lan would come back to him. He had time, he could wait.

In the meantime, he met someone new – or rather, someone old, anew.

Xiao Xingchen decided to keep him, too.

Xue Yang

“I think I did something wrong,” Xue Yang announced to the air, though luckily nobody was around to hear him – his current employers at the Jin sect would be most unhappy if they heard, especially if they also heard that he has no idea what went wrong or how to fix it.

He looked down at what should be a repaired half piece of the Stygian Tiger Seal, but which is definitely a small black-and-grey dragon, staring right back at him.

After being locked in a staring match for a while (he loses, but he doesn’t think the dragon has eyelids so it doesn’t count), he tentatively reached out and rubbed it behind the ears.

It purred, then belched out a puff of pure yin resentful energy.

“…well, at least you still work, I guess?”

Wen Ning

“You’re mine,” the little dragon says, happily nuzzling up to him as it flops around in the dirt. “Mine, mine, mine!”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Wen Ning said, looking around all over to make sure nobody’s around. “All yours. Now, A-Yuan, please turn back before anyone sees you!”

“But…”

“A-Yuan! Please!”

Grumbling, the little dragon curled up into a ball and uncurled as a lovely bouncing little boy, and Wen Ning gave a sigh of relief. His sister hadn’t noticed the addition of an extra child to their group of refugees, assuming the way everyone else did that he’d been another Wen, someone’s child that got left behind or orphaned, and old granny had adopted him without so much as a word. He hadn’t known how to explain the truth.

But it was fine. He’d take care of A-Yuan, with the help of his sister and now Wei-gongzi, and no one would ever need to know.

Wen Qing

Wen Qing didn’t waste a lot of time worrying about things, and a dragon deciding to claim her wasn’t going to be the thing that messed up her day.

“Fine,” she said. “You can stay, but you have to earn your keep. How’s your memory? Can you take notes for me?”

The dragon nodded.

“I’ll be testing you,” she warned.

It nodded again, so she accepted it, put it in her sleeves, and went back to work.

Jiang Yanli

“I don’t need a dragon, though,” she said, quite appropriately in her mind. “I’m not much of a cultivator.”

The little dragon nuzzled her neck and picked up one of the melon seeds she’d been peeling with its jaws. “That’s okay,” it said. “I’m not much of a dragon. I mostly just like to eat and sleep.”

“Well, then,” she laughed. “In that case, I think we’ll get along.”

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