#that got in the way of school & my parents just kept enforcing no sense of self in me to keep me under their control

[fairymosh]

❤️

[kiss-theggoat]

I’m back again! I’m a sucker for Thomas Hewitt okay, and there isn’t enough about him! I was wondering if you could do another fic about him, a childhood friend of Thomas’s who moved away comes back in town. She ends up staying with them while she is in town, unknowingly having interrupted their killing plans, leaving a victim down in the basement and unknown from reader. But when the family isn’t home (who knows why) victim escapes and attacks reader. Reader attacks back but ends up killing the victim on accident. In fear she hides the body but the guilt kills her and she ends up telling Thomas. (I know out of character stuff)

A/N: Thank you for the request, I really love writing for Thomas and hope you like! 🖤

Surprise!

Thomas Hewitt x F!Reader

Word Count: 3K

Summary: After years of being away from home, you finally decide to visit your hometown…only to see it’s been shut down. Only one family still lives there, and thankfully, you know them, and they offer to let you stay there! But…after a few days, you start to sense that something isn’t right.

TW: Canon-Typical Violence

The drive to Texas was long, but as you watched the dust and sagebrush go by, your chest swelled with excitement. You hadn’t been back in your hometown since your parents made you leave when you were younger, and now that you finally had your own car and your own money, the first thing on your list was to visit that sleepy little Texas town you’d missed since you left. The only issue was that as you kept driving…you noticed that all of the street signs leading to town were decrepit. You thought…well, you’d been gone a long time…just normal wear and tear under the Texas sun, right?

Wrong.

As you drove into town…you felt your chest tighten at the state of things. Almost every single building was boarded up, windows shattered and spray painted, signs on the ground and covered in dust. There was no way that anyone lived here, hell, the only stoplight in town didn’t even work…

Your car sputtered to a stop in front of what used to be your favorite little convenience store. Where you used to go inside and beg your mom to buy you all of the candy she said was off limits. The same store you got caught stealing a candy bar with your best friend and thought you both might get arrested by the sheriff. You slammed your car door shut, dust clouding around you in a plume of sadness in nostalgia. It was so quiet…not even a cricket…until you heard a siren.

How can an abandoned town have law enforcement? You raised a hand to block the relentless sunlight, turning to the source of the sound, where an old cop car rolled up beside you. The tint on the windows was definitely illegal, but thankfully, the sheriff slowly rolled it down, revealing his scowling face, eyes blocked by sunglasses.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doin’ in town?” He asked, lip stuffed with chew. His voice was gruff, but sounded so oddly familiar to you. You leaned in closer, eyes squinting in order to get a better look at him. You peered at the name badge…Hoyt. That didn’t sound familiar at all…but then he said your name. You continued to look at him in confusion as he pulled his sunglasses off, his eyes full of recognition. This man obviously knew you…but who was he?

He stepped out of the car and shut the door, leaning against it as he spit a puddle of black sludge onto the ground. “Well I’ll be damned. Thought I’d never see your pretty face again.”

“I’m sorry…it’s been a long time since I’ve been here and…the name Hoyt doesn’t ring any bells.” I told him, pointing at the nameplate on his chest.

“Oh this is a buddy’s uniform. Lost my own badge. The name Hewitt ring any bells? Charlie Hewitt.” He spit again, closer to your shoe this time, making you cringe and step away just a little. At first, you didn’t remember the name Hewitt either…until you remembered Thomas. The one boy in your class that never came to school, was always bullied or called names because of his face. Your eyes lit up as you made eye contact with him, a smile spreading onto your lips.

“Hewitt! Yes! I remember Thomas.” You said happily. If the Hewitt family was still here, then the town couldn’t be completely shut down, right?

This seemed to annoy Charlie in a way, his lip curling up into a sneer at the sound of Thomas’ name. “Course you remember that big oaf. Hard to miss ‘im.” He spat the rest of his chew onto the ground, wiping his lip with the back of his hand, “Where you plannin’ on stayin’?”

This made you sigh. You were hoping the little motel would still be open, but you’d just driven past it, and from the looks of it, its only residents were probably rats and roaches. “Well, actually…I probably have to drive back to Austin tonight. I didn’t know the town had…” you stopped talking, eyes landing on Charlie’s wrinkled face, not wanting to say anything rude about the hometown you shared.

“Gone under?” He broke out into a wheezy laugh, making it very clear to you that he’d probably been smoking like a chimney since you left. “Yeah. Not a lotta folks left. But Austin’s a long way and it’s gettin’ dark…not safe for a pretty little thing like you to be alone.” The way he spoke sent shivers down your spine. You knew him…but he seemed …different. His eyes had a sinister glow to them, the way he stared down at your chest made you want to hop in your car and never come back. “Why don’t you come stay at the house? M’sure Luda Mae would love havin’ another girl around.” He took a step closer to you, eyes still focused where they shouldn’t be.

You spoke quickly, definitely quick enough to make your uneasiness known. “No, that’s okay…I really don’t mind driving back into the city.”

This seemed to amuse Charlie. “Oh, we insist. Tommy will be there…don’t think he’s seen someone like you in his whole life.”

For some reason, the mention of Thomas made you actually want to go. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but your memories of Thomas, while very little, were only fond. He was a big kid for his age, and very misunderstood, but always very kind and quiet. And…he did say there would be another girl there, right? So you wouldn’t just be alone with this creep. Maybe going to visit the Hewitt’s would be a nice walk down memory lane.

“Okay…sure. It is getting pretty late, I guess.” You agreed, making him smile and show off his stained yellow teeth.

“Perfect. Just drive behind me.” He told you, opening the door to his cop car.

The drive to the Hewitt’s home was longer than you’d thought, and their house was huge. As you parked behind Charlie, you stared up at the house in awe, seeing every single window illuminated. You supposed that with the entire town pretty much out of commission, they owned whatever property they wanted. Your shoes crunched against the gravel as Charlie led you inside, and the moment he opened the door, a feeling of discomfort settled deep in your stomach.

The house was cozy, but eclectic. Too eclectic, like every item inside belonged to a different owner at some point in time. It smelled like a mixture of expired perfume and rotting meat, a sickeningly sweet film settling on your sweaty skin, making it hard to breath inside the home. You stuck a smile on your face anyways, not wanting to seem rude as you were led into the dining room. It seemed as though you were interrupting dinner, everyone already seated in front of their bowls, full of some sort of stew. Your presence immediately turned heads, all six eyes fixed on you and Charlie standing in the doorway.

“Well I don’t believe it…” The lady whispered, who you immediately recognized to be Luda Mae. God, she’d gotten old. You remember her being old when you were in elementary school, and part of you wondered how she was still alive. Across from her sat an elderly man, who somehow looked twenty years older than her. He was sitting there, eyes on you but unfocused, like he was staring at the air between you and the table. Last to meet your gaze was Thomas.

Your heart sank when you saw him, or what was exposed. The leather mask covering his face upset you beyond reason. You knew that Tommy had been bullied for his looks when you guys were little, but never thought he’d make a custom mask to wear, even around his family, and at dinner for god's sake. That’s when it occurred to you, he wasn’t even eating.

“Found ‘er down by the old gas station lookin’ for a place to stay. Ain't she pretty?” Charlie asked, his voice low and predatory as walked towards his seat at the head of the table. The way he spoke about you, like you were just a piece of meat, made your skin crawl.

You gave everyone a polite smile and a little wave before speaking. “Well, I expected the motel to still be open…really, I can find somewhere else to stay, I hate to impose if-“

“Oh don’t be silly!” Luda interrupted. “We’d love to have you. You’ve just gotten so pretty…hasn’t she Tommy?” Your eyes shot to a very flustered looking Thomas, his eyes fixed on his steaming bowl of stew, still untouched.

“Please dear, have a seat, you’re just in time for dinner.”

To be completely honest…you didn’t want to eat their dinner. Something about the house and their demeanor made you want to leave, but if there was one thing you learned about growing up in Texas, it was to accept the hospitality.

“Thank you, Luda Mae.” You said softly, accepting the seat beside Thomas. Charlie scooped a full ladle of soup into a bowl and set it in front of you. With clammy hands you grabbed the spoon, noticing that none of their silverware matched. The spoon you had was delicate, handle slim with swirled details adorning the shiny silver.

All of the Hewitt’s stared at you with prying eyes as you scooped yourself a bite. It contained a chunk of meat, a carrot, and an onion, along with the broth they soaked in.

The moment that stew touched your tongue, you knew something was wrong. The meat tasted off, way too gamey. You’d had your fair share of meats, different kinds of game and homemade foods made with hunting prizes but this…unlike anything you’d ever tasted. It was tender, and didn’t taste bad, but the unfamiliar taste tainted the whole soup, causing alarm bells to go off in your head.

You were soon distracted by the sounds of the family scarfing down their own dinner, spoons hitting porcelain and lips smacking. In no time, your bowl was empty, and so was everyone else’s…except for Thomas’. But, this seemed normal among dinner time as Luda Mae cleared the dishes without a word.

“Tommy. Show our guest to ‘er room for the night, would ya?”

The wooden chair screeched against the floor when Thomas stood. He just seemed to keep going…he towered over you. You craned your neck to stare at him, mouth open and eyes widening. You stood from your own chair, noticing how much larger he was than you. You stood at his chest, and he easily doubled you in width.

Without a word he started walking past you, and you figured he meant for you to follow, so you did. The more you explored the house, the less cozy it got, and by the time you made it to the guest room, it was plain and simple, just a bed with white sheets in the middle of an empty room. Thomas stood at the door, taking up the entire entrance.

“Thank you, Thomas.” You said quietly, giving him a small smile that made him turn away from you. “It’s really nice to see you.”

The longer you stared, the more you realized that he was still the same old Tommy. A gentle giant with pretty brown eyes that sucked you in until you didn’t want to look away.

Just as you were getting lost in your thoughts, Charlie shoved Thomas aside, holding your bag that you’d left in your car.

“‘Ere you go, gorgeous.”

“Thanks, Charlie…” you said softly, grabbing the bag. That was nice of him, but you don’t remember giving him your car keys…

“My rooms just downstairs if you need anythin’.” Charlie sent you an uncomfortable wink, reminding you to lock your door tonight, and walked away. Thomas stood with his head down, still in the doorway.

“Uhm…goodnight, Thomas.” You said softly, a smile gracing your face again. This time, he looked at you. And you could’ve sworn that before you closed the door, his eyes crinkled, like he might’ve smiled too. You closer the door, and grumbled at the lack of a lock, finally getting ready for bed.

A shriek yanked you from your peaceful slumber, making you sit up straight in bed. Your heart was pounding, and you reached over to turn on the small bedside lamp. You were hoping it was just a nightmare, something you could just ignore and go back to the weirdly comfy mattress but the longer you sat there, the more you heard. Footsteps, whispering…but they sounded so frantic. Not like someone getting up for a glass of water or a midnight snack.

Slowly and hesitantly, you walked towards the door and pulled it open, bare feet finding every single splinter in the floor until you were finally in the hallway, staring down the stairs in the dark with wide, fearful eyes. Everything seemed fine…until a woman stumbled into your field of vision. She was bloody, open wounds on her back in an odd spot…did she just break into the house? She was near the front door and none of the Hewitt’s were with her. You stared at her, panicking, especially when you made eye contact.

Your blood went cold and you quickly backed up, barely hanging onto the banister.

“You have to help me, please! You have no idea what is going on here, we have to get out, you have to help me!” The girl started to ramble, but her voice was a whisper-like scream. Her bloodied hands hit the stairs and she began to crawl towards you.

You stared blankly, overcome by the fear and shock of seeing her inside the home…before you knew it, she made it to you. She gripped your ankle with a sticky hand, pulling you closer to the stairs. “Please!” She hissed, her eyes wide and crazed.

Instinctively, you tried to kick her hand away from you, pulling away. You felt your breathing speed up, panic overwhelming you. “Get off me!”

Her eyes flashed with realization, and she immediately recoiled. “You…you’re one of them…oh my god!” She wailed, voice full of dread and tears flowing down her cheeks. One of them? What did that even mean? This sorrow and dread only lasted a few seconds…before she turned to rage. Her face scrunched and it was like she’d been struck by lightning, body invigorated and suddenly strong enough to function. She stood and lunged at you, hands on your shoulders.

Your breath left your lungs as she slammed you against the wall, the back of your head aching in a way it never had before. In an attempt to get her off of you, you pushed her as hard as you could, feeling the slick blood on her shoulder and her neck where your hands hit her. Your eyes were closed tightly as you shoved, but it didn’t take vision to know what happened to her. Her body stumbled down the stairs, thumping all the way down, groans and grunts escaping her as she trailed blood all the way down.

You covered your mouth with your trembling hands…you’d just killed someone…you felt nauseous, you could feel your stomach turning as you stared at her body at the bottom of the stairs, laying limp. You prayed and prayed that she’d move, but she never did. A door slammed open from somewhere downstairs and that’s when you realized…

You’d just killed someone inside of someone else’s home. Tears rolled down your face and you slid down the wall to the ground, knees shaking and unable to support your weight anymore. Heavy footsteps approached the dead body at the bottom of the stairs…and Thomas came into your field of view. He stared nonchalantly at the woman, but turned to face you when he heard your sob.

“Thomas I’m so sorry I don’t know what happened…” you whispered, face bright red from crying and entire body shaking. Thomas stood still for a moment, but when he started moving, nothing could’ve stopped him. He knelt on the stairs in front of you, huge hand taking yours.

The warmth radiated through your fingers and up into your arms, making them feel less shaky and cold and traumatized. You stared up at Thomas, bleary eyes filled with tears, realizing that he wasn’t mad…or scared…he wanted to help you. Relief overwhelmed you, and you couldn’t stop yourself from moving closer to him, arms wrapped around his broad waist, head buried against his chest. With your panicking, you barely noticed the fact he wore a button up and a leather apron, droplets of blood smearing against your cheek. You didn’t care. Thomas wrapped his tree trunk arms around you and held you against him…it was like nothing else mattered. Comfort washed over you and for a moment you felt like you hadn’t just killed a woman for no reason.

“S-she just attacked me, she jumped at me and grabbed me and she was yelling and-“

Thomas’ hand gently stroked your hair as if to shush you, his cheek resting against the top of your head as he held you as close as he could.

There was nothing that would stop him from being close to you. Not the three bodies in the basement, and definitely not the bitch that hopped off the hook.

[loserchildhotpants]

several times in my life - several, as in more than three times - i’ve had it happen that i’ll bend over backwards for a friend, or multiple friends at once, and i go above and beyond the call of duty as far as friendship goes and then when my utility runs out, or i need something in return (in the form of emotional support, i enforce a boundary or something), i am excommunicated. 

that i go above and beyond without being asked is something i pride myself on and that sits well w my spirit, but i also know that it’s a reflection of some seriously deep abandonment issues. im self aware enough to know that i often do this to myself, and that, to a degree, i teach others how to treat me.

one of these instances, i was in high school, and i’d been sent away from my lunch table and my group of friends bc i hadn’t performed socially the way one of them wanted me to (one of them had introduced a bf to the group and we all hung out w him and when asked my opinion of him i was like ‘he seems nice :)’ and that was really all i had to say abt him bc he was a typical teenaged boy and honestly wasn’t even that nice i was just Being Polite and this was apparently so devastating to my friend that all the other friends rallied around her and decided to punish me for being so unkind bc ‘don’t [i] know how much [my] opinion means to her’ ??? so. i am exiled).

during my exile, i went to the art wing for lunch bc i literally had no one to eat or sit w and i may as well. we had sketchbooks we used for the entire school year, it’s where all our art assignments went (i was in an advanced art class and yes we had homework), and it was nearing the end of the school year, so mine was mostly full. i had one homework assignment i was gonna work on over that lunch period - i remember bc it was pointillism and it was coming along really nicely. i went to grab my sketchbook from my designated shelf, and found it was duct-taped shut and had slurs written in sharpie across the cover.

i panicked, tried to get it open without fucking use of fire or something that might compromise the ~8 months of work i had in there, and when i got it open, i found more of the same. all my works had been ruined w insults and slurs, and some of the drawings were just scribbled over boldly w sharpie to make them unusable. 

i don’t have PROOF those girls did that to me, but the insults used and the handwriting was... telling. 

so for the last 15 years, i haven’t let anyone touch my fucking sketchbooks or look at my artwork without explicit permission and without my constant oversight, and i’ve kept in mind that even people i would be ride or die for may not necessarily consider that trait valuable, and more than willing to cast me aside, they may be willing to hurt me if it makes them feel better.

i feel like i smell it in the air. 

i had that sense of foreboding, the same kind i had before i pried my sketchbook open. and listen, maybe that’s the trauma and anxiety disorders talking! sure! but y’know, it’s not the only time that sort of shit has happened to me, 3 or more times, to me, speaks to a pattern. so maybe it’s anxiety, or maybe im seeing a pattern and i Know when something is abt to happen bc it’s happened multiple times before.

i do this thing where i’m like ‘i’ll work really, really hard, i’ll be available MOST of the time, i will extend my emotional bandwidth for you, i’ll help you when times are hard - when your marriage is falling apart, when you’re homeless, when your parent has died - i am ready and willing to do everything in my power to help you however much i can and surely this will make me a Good Friend, and if i am Good Friend, the person i am being a Good Friend to will be a Good Friend back to me.’ 

that’s not necessarily true, i guess. and nothing friendship-ending has happened (yet) but it’s like i feel it in the air. could it be trauma and anxiety informing that feeling? absolutely. ... but also, no one can discount that im batting 1000 as far as friendships failed, dead and gone now, especially the people i’ve broken my back for. 

idk what the point of this is i just had to write out my thoughts i guess

[bcitisthelight]

So.Where to begin.

What you should know is, this isn’t my fault. It’s @misskirby who is to blame for this. She has this AMAZING fic, it’s called Benediction. I like to read it weekly, for sustenance. Go read that first if you want...literally any of this to make sense.  So there’s this passage which stole every marble I had, wherein Anakin is explaining the etymology of the Huttese he uses to refer to his children (with a really thorough explanation on Luke’s name. 

Anakin scrubbed the back of his neck. “Huttese doesn’t have—words of love. It doesn’t have… benedictions. It’s kind of a cruel language. There’s a whole case for groveling and then—there’s really only the word for love.”

“And that’s abiya?” Obi-Wan said.

Anakin’s grin was crooked. “No. That’s luke. In the Tatooine dialect, at least, it’s luke. We used—things, mostly, to—you know.”

“Luke,” Obi-Wan said, tasting the word, looking down at the sleeping child he’d just been holding, one who carried his parents’ love for him in his name. For the first time in all his life, he wondered what his own name meant, and who it was who had given it to him.

“Abiya is the milk from a flowering cactus,” Anakin said. “It’s very sweet. And rare. I only ever had it once, with my—my mother.”

Obi-Wan turned to look at Anakin again. The expression on Anakin’s face was raw, intense, but Obi-Wan forced himself to look at it, out of respect for the memories of a woman he owed all of Anakin to; the one who had protected him, loved him, when Obi-Wan hadn’t known he had existed at all.

“It also means the morning rain,” Anakin said, waving a hand. “A lot of words in Huttese have many definitions. Abiya, though—it’s a relief. A respite. Pure joy.”

Obi-Wan swallowed around the burning in his throat. “I see,” he said, strangled.

Anakin looked away, his throat bobbing. “Luke only has the one definition, though. There’s only one word derived from it, too, lukkali. Noun and a verb. A krayt dragon whelp, or—krayt dragons, the mothers, their carry their whelps in their mouths, because there’s no place on Tatooine that’s safer, so it’s also the act of doing that.”

I LOVE this passage. I love all of the work it does emotionally, narratively, etc. It’s the best. And yesterday morning, I zeroed in on a specific line. “In the Tatooine dialect” Except hold on, I thought to myself. Anakin was born a slave. What if, when he says the Tatooine dialect, what he means is...the dialect of the slave class? 

So here’s the thing. The Hutt society is based on the idea that the Hutts are the prime race, there was the whole Hutt empire thing, I mean the holiday the Boonta Eve Classic is supposed to commemorate is literal holiday that commemorates a Hutt ascending to godhood, during the process of which all of his slaves renew their vows of fealty. It’s not just a class system, where you can you know, in theory move between classes. This is a strict caste system, which you are born into or are captured into. Which got me thinking - what if the language of Huttese has a dialect system...based on caste? We see examples of this sort of socio-linguistic pattern in actual real life!! Tamil and Arabic are some pretty famous examples where certain historical societies who use that language break down that language based on caste, with their different varieties having all sorts of different meanings and cultural connotations, but there’s a ton of them. And in fact, there’s tons of societies which base their dialects on social or other cultural factors.

There’s even a name for it: diglossia, where a society as a whole uses one language but different parts use radically different dialects and forms of that language in different circumstances. Now, strictly historically, how diglossia typically works is that one dialect is seen as a low (L) dialect and one is seen as a high (H) dialect. And get this - in diglossic societies which also contain really severe social inequality - in some cases the dialects can seem almost unintelligible to those who speak the opposite dialect And then based on that passage I posted above, I thought...what if the unintelligibility in this certain case, specifically the unintelligibility between “high” huttese and the dialect spoken by slaves wasn’t surrounding the actual words or structure...what if it was /context/.

So basically in the last thirty six hours I’ve....I’ve made an entire headcanon on Huttese as a trifold diglossic dialect system. I’m putting it under the cut because God its, its a lot guys. Its a lot. Also? It’s written as though its an entry in sociolinguistic glossary of sort, because of course it is. Who wrote that glossary? Space nerds. Nerds in space. Nerds in space from Coruscant University who need research credits for their space masters degrees. 

For the purposes of this glossary, the modern caste system of the Hutt Clan has been recorded below. 1. Masters 2. Servants* 3. Slaves The reader should be aware that there is technically a high caste called “Grand Masters”, which historically was comprised of members of the Grand Hutt Council and their families. This caste used a dialect usually referred to as “Archaic Huttese”, and is the source dialect of Huttese, originally developed on the Hutt home planet of Nal Hutta. However, this language has long fallen out of common use.  The reader should also note that belonging to the Servant caste does not imply any quality of servitude per se. Rather, this is the caste of all ordinary free people who live under Hutt Rule. This designation is believed to have originated in the understanding within the ancient Hutt empire that any being who lived under Hutt dominion was by rights a servant to any Hutt who should need them.  The dialects of the castes are as follows.  1. The dialect of the master class is also known as “High Huttese”. The common dialect of all high-born Hutts, and widely adopted by non-Hutts who own slaves or hold positions of authority within Hutt society. This dialect is used in all interactions involving a master, whether between a group of masters or a master and a lower-caste member. With Hutt families whose bloodlines have been regarded as a part of the master class for several centuries, there is a curious strain of monolinguism in an otherwise highly polylinguistic society, with many high born Hutt families refusing to learn even the fundamentals of standard Basic. The reasoning for this seems to be a cultural belief held by the masters that any person of a lower caste bends to the needs of the masters, rather than the other way around. The historical risk of a master’s displeasure upon improper address has led to this dialect becoming the default in conversation unless you are absolutely sure of another person’s caste, since historically the risk of offense should you choose wrong was often very high. There are at least three different cases of blood feuds between members of Hutt Master families which involved the use of a lower caste dialect as a cause of offense. 

This default status of this dialect means that when a person in the Republic references “Huttese”, they are almost always referencing the master dialect. The master dialect is what is taught in the schools of the Republic. This has led to a sort of self-perpetuating cycle. As interactions with the rest of the galaxy have shifted to singular dialect, the use of the master dialect has become more solidified within common Hutt Society, even when the speaker is aware that Low Huttese would be acceptable. 

It should be noted that this exception applies only to free people. Slaves are required by Hutt law to use this dialect when speaking Huttese to any non-slave they interact with, even if that person does not belong to the Hutt caste system. The Hutt law imposing this requirement famously reads, “Because all beings are above a slave, a slave should speak to every being in the tongue of their masters.” The penalty for a slave addressing a master in anything but the high dialect is often some sort of physical punishment. A rather gruesome tradition which is kept in force to this day.  2. The servant dialect is also called “Low Huttese”. While originally it was relatively distinct from both the dialect spoken by the masters and the dialect spoken by the slaves of Hutt Society, it has since suffered a bit of stagnation. There are many factors which could cause this to occur. As the Republic opened up more and more channels of commerce to Hutt Space, and the Master dialect has become the norm outside of Hutt Society, true enforcement of the linguistic standard for non-enslaved beings has fallen much to the wayside in the last two standard centuries or so. Modern Low Huttese dialect is thus mostly similar to the Master dialect in grammar and generally accepted vocabulary. However, a remaining diversion exists which is based on pronunciation, and a significant reliance on rather course slang on the part of those who speak Low Huttese. It has been said by Huttese linguistic scholars that while High Huttese is a an excellent dialect for threats, Low Huttese is an excellent dialect for swearing.  3.  The slave dialect has no name in any official Hutt or Republic record. It is not recognized by any authority in either written or spoken form. In fact, generally the only beings who know or speak the slave dialect are those who are or who once were enslaved, and their loved ones. The dialect differs rather severely from high huttese - though primarily through meaning and cultural context, rather than actual structure. 

It seems that this “hidden” diversion was born of necessity, rather than choice. The masters didn’t like the idea of their slaves having a way of communication the masters were not privy to, and so would punish any slave caught speaking a dialect which was immediately recognizable as being outside of the master dialect. The slave class in the ancient Hutt empire adapted to this by taking the dialect forced upon them, and manipulating a large portion of it for their use. Rather ingeniously, they seem to have developed an entire dialect specifically ordered so that they could express themselves freely without being automatically targeted by a passing master or authority figure. This is the vital distinction: words in the master dialect often have vastly different or even opposite meanings when used in the slave dialect. Added to this complexity are the wide range of connotations and contexts for each word. An interesting note to the slave dialect is that generally, the more abstract a word is, the fewer meanings or connotations it has, whereas often the most culturally impactful words and concepts are taken from simple or every day words. There is only one word for love in the slave dialect - “Luke” - because it is seen as pure, and when given, unconditional. When this word is used, there is no linguistic distinction between platonic or romantic love - the slave class instead relies on idioms or proverbs to express the difference in feeling. In direct contrast, there are nine different ways a person can use the verb which means “to attach”, ranging from the mundane (“Attach these two machine parts together”) to the taboo (“to cause another person to be enslaved”) There are some words which are unique to this dialect, however. One example is the word for “freedom”, which in the slave dialect is “telena”. 

The master dialect’s word for freedom is the same as their word for authoritarian power. Freedom within the master caste, then, was specifically associated with the ability to exercise dominion over the world around them. Members of the slave class, as individuals who constantly suffered under that same authoritarian power, showed a collective repugnance for the association between freedom and the very dehumanization they themselves suffered. Drawing from the use of the anakin plant as one of the most culturally and spiritually significant symbols in the caste (See entry on Anakin, a flowering plant which originated in the deserts of Tatooine but which has since been domesticated throughout the Outer Rim) they instead chose to develop a word based off the Hutt verb “to bloom” One common expression amongst the slave class is “Telena telen ali anakin” - “Freedom blooms with the anakin” Those interested in the study of this dialect, then, are well warned that they should take great care in attempting to communicate in this dialect (if they can find a teacher, that is - many slaves or even those who were formally enslaved are understandably reluctant to give up what is likely one of the only means of expression of not only agency, but of caste solidarity. I have seen two former slaves go from total strangers to kindred spirits in the space of five minutes, upon discovering by means of dialect each others mutual experience.)

[wowsoboring]

Deconstructing baseless Harry Potter arguments #1: Harmony Edition

There’s a very helpful account on instagram (this instagram page merely gathers toxic harmony shippers, they don’t ship Harmione or hate all Harmione shippers, please don’t send them hate, show them love and support) where you can essentially find stupid fucking bashers who make baseless arguments. I’m all for Harmione shippers, as long as they don’t denounce Romione, bash Ron and just peacefully co-exist. To my pleasure, such people are out there: they just dont seem to be seen as often as the ones that are not nice. Maybe all I see is the mean people and the majority is nice, but in this post, I am attacking those who make baseless claims and bash Ron/Romione/Hinny/Ginny. I don’t myself hate all Harmione shippers. On top of that, as a Romione/Ron fan, i do acknowledge Ron’s character flaws along with Hermione’s and I hold them on the same pedestal.

This is copied directly from my own instagram page, granger.weasley_ on ig.

Anyways let's get deconstructing

1)

rebuttal:

Yeah okay mf; maybe don’t compare real-life relationships with fucking fictional ones. Your relationship going wrong has nothing to do with Ron/Hermione. It has everything to do with you and your ex: the *real life* people involved in it.

2)

rebuttal:

The weird subreddits and discord servers also seem to have a lot of die-hard Harmione “non-canon” shippers. They bash Ron and Romione (along with Ginny and Hinny) with a burning passion without any objective sense of remorse. They ignore all the merits of Ron’s character and bash him to push their agenda. They can’t even do so much as fucking acknowledge any of Hermione’s character flaws but still somehow manage to fixate on that one time when 11 year old Ron just shit-talked one line while Hermione had just publicly humiliated him in front of the Charms class and practically shouted at him for doing the spell wrong just before. I personally don’t because Hermione was 11 too and wasn’t that good at social cues that early on, which is more than okay. Neither am I.

Only a few people in the Romione fandom bash Hermione. And it’s not like Harmione shippers (most, not all!) don’t bash Ron and Ginny remorselessly, right? The fucking hypocrisy.

If someone considers Ron as the best member of the trio, it is their own opinion and not a fact. I do that. If you consider Harry and Hermione as the best member of the trio or in the whole wizarding world, most people don’t give a flying fuck and probably won’t argue with you because it is simply an opinion. That will only happen when you pass that off as a fact.

Statistically speaking, most (not FUCKING all) Harmione moments are in the movies. The weird dance scene especially. The passionate kiss that happens in Ron’s vision, shit like that. Ron is pushed to the sidelines in the last set of movies while Harry and Hermione show each other endless love and support. “I’ll go with you”. The books on the other hand, describe Harry and Hermione as siblings multiple times, with very little Harmione references.

3)

rebuttal:

So you don't want us to fixate on the large majority of Harmione shippers who do the exact same thing, just kissing Hermione's and Harry's ass and hating on Ron. However you will fixate on people who are most likely not EVEN bashing or hating but pointing out a few character flaws in Hermione in a fair and unbiased way. I would know, I'm a huge fan of Hermione as an individual character (in the books). The only criticism I've seen of Hermione to this day has not been bashing. In the comment section of my own fics (shameless plug) I've seen some Hermione bashing. On an ao3 comment section. And I've seen so damn fucking many people bashing Ron, Ginny, the Weasleys etc. and garner tens and thousands of upvotes on quora.

What does Ron even need excusing for? The running away incident and Krum. What does Hermione need excusing for? Canaries, contributing to Ron's insecurities by making him jealous through Cormac and Krum even though she didn't even like them (especially not Cormac, she fucking hated him). Ron wore a locket that literally highlighted his fatal flaw (insecurity) in an echo chamber. Harry kept getting annoyed when Ron wanted to check in on his family. Harry asked Ron to leave; Ron didn't say that shit in the books about Harry's parents being dead: that was plain shock value.

And sorry for repeating myself but I have seen quite a few Harmione shippers bash Ron and Ginny and excuse every single thing Harry and Hermione have done.

4)

37 upvotes on this weird comment that makes no sense? Echo chamber alert! You know what us Romione/Ron fans all have in common? We have never experienced such an echo chamber. I made a pro Ron/Romione post on reddit and got a considerable amount of people who bashed Ron and Romione in the comments.

The amount of Hermione haters is very few compared to Ron bashers. Nobody hates Hermione for being independent, determined, etc. We dislike perfect movie Hermione who’s an unrealistic image of females and seems like some sort of agenda than a real woman. Most Romione shippers/Ron fans and book fans in general (except for you apparently) dislike movie Hermione and still are fans of realistic book Hermione. Most, not all. In general, we do not claim anyone who does the exact same thing to Harry and Hermione that these sorts of Harmione shippers do to Ron, Romione, Hinny and Ginny. I say this on the behalf of all Romione shippers and Ron fans.

Ron's not a bitchy lay-about drama causing loser. That's Steve Kloves's movie Ron. In the books Ron is realistic and simplistic and apologizes whenever he causes problems. He acts up substantially twice in a span of 7 years where he is also a hormone-fuelled teenager.

This is so contradictory and juxtaposed to the point of near delusion. First you talk about how Romione shippers bash Hermione and then you bash Ron as a Harmione shipper. Mate, fighting fire with fire will get you called a hypocrite. Fix yourself.

5)

So the movies are fine when they work according to your agenda? And yes how dare he add such a (fake) chemistry fuelled moment between Harry and Hermione while defeating the entire purpose and groundwork for Romione, the sadness caused by Ron leaving and so many more things? Those Harmione moments you mention seem friendship -esque more than anything else.

Steve Kloves's moments ruined many things while just paying fan service to the Harmione fans he'd birthed through years in the course of 6 movies where he showed Ron as a, how you so eloquently describe it, lay - about drama causing bitchy loser, Harry as one dimensional and Hermione as a zero - dimensional Mary Sue who might as well be the main titular character. Obviously Harmione fans such as yourself don't see the problem with it as it fits your narrative

6)

We do care about Harry and Hermione at large. Most Romione shippers rightfully bash Draco, Pansy, etc. not particularly Harry and Hermione, that's quite rare. Harry and Hermione can get along without Ron as friends. Ron and Harry can also get along without. Hermione as friend. So can Hermione and Ron without Harry as friends or more. I don't understand your point and how what you said is any different than Romione or Ronarry’s friendship.

7)

Constant arguing is not what they do. They bicker, they apologize, and sometimes they just do it for the heck of it. They are argumentative teenager. Opposites attract doesn't work in the sense of fire and ice, it works in the case of Brownie and ice-cream. Ron is passionate, laid back and insecure. Hermione's passionate, a workaholic and not as insecure. Ron can help her get calm and composed and get her to give herself a break. Hermione can motivate Ron and re - enforce his confidence.

It wouldn't be step incest. Harry and Ginny do not regard each other as siblings. They do not look similar whatsoever. And a Harmione shipper also bashes Hinny and Ginny along with Ron and Romione? Checks out

" that fucked up Harmony" hahaha. What?

8)

Are you literally going to date someone on the basis of what Harry Potter ships they prefer? That is so shallow end depraved. Your Harry Potter ship preferences should not be the groundwork for your dating life. Please understand that. Harry Potter is a fictional world which is not real. Hogwarts doesn't exist. Magic doesn't exist. I sound like a Dursley but that's what it is: a fictional realm with fictional character. I would personally not give a fuck if my best friend or significant other was a Harmione shipper. In the case of them being a Ron basher, I would ignore it as if it was just a minor inconvenience and something we wouldn't be discussing and that's how it should be with you. Fuck BuzzFeed, your opinion on what Harry Potter ship / character is your favorite says squat about your personality and relationship with others in a romantic or platonic context. But who cares? Live your life however you want. I'll be stoic.

9)

It's not opposites attract rubbish or high school opposites attract. Ron and Hermione aren't polar opposites like I said, they are a bit different but similar too in many ways. They have a lot more in common than Harry and Hermione. Ron and Harry have the most in common. Both Ron and Hermione are passionate, loving, argumentative, caring, etc. Your argument lacks substance. It's biased trash. And what does “obhwf " mean?

---------------------------------

at the end of the day, i’m just an annoyed teenager. I try my best to be open-minded to people but only as long as they are too. I tried to use my brain more than my feelings for this post. 

[samwrights]

Team Karasuno as dads [hc]

For a married woman that doesn’t want kids, I sure do fantasize about my boys being dads a lot.

Asahi;

He definitely cried when he found out you were pregnant.

When your daughter was born, he couldn’t even be in the room because he was so overwhelmed with you being in pain and the fact he was about to bE A DAD

He doesn’t even remember how you started dating because he was so blown away by your beauty or so he claims but the fact that y’all were married?? And having a kid?? When did he get so bold??

Eventually he got over it cause he felt bad that he wasn’t in the room holding your hand while you literally pushed a whole ass human out ya cooch.

He fainted

The first time he held his daughter was the first time he had felt complete, more complete than when he rejoined the volleyball team in his third year. It felt amazingly right. He tries to deny the fact and say your wedding was just as wholesome but you can tell. Fatherhood is something entirely different for him

“She takes after momma’s beauty.” A simp through and through.

Asahi is a parental HOG. Which is kinda nice cause he loves doting on your child but also HI I AM MOM AND WOULD LIKE TO HOLD MY BABY???

He tells YOU how to hold her and feed her and little ticks about her personality like you aren’t on maternity leave and are with the baby ALL DAY (although he is REALLY pushing for you to just be a stay-at-home mom)

Because he is soooo doting, it’s very rare that you wake in the middle of the night to feed or change her—Asahi is ALL over it. But he is human and there are days he’s too tired to wake up from dead sleep. It’s ok, he’s your human. Daddy deserves rest too.

Asahi would totally be a co-sleeper, or at least nap with the baby as much as he possibly could.

Definitely bought her multiple onesies that say “daddy’s little princess”.

She gonna be a spoiled brat when she’s older 🤷🏻‍♀️🤷🏻‍♀️

Daichi Dadchi;

I mean he’s a literal running joke in the fandom

After being elected as the unofficial dad of the VBC in his high school days, it was no wonder that he was such a natural with your three munchkins.

Having three slightly older boys of varying ages, you relied heavily on Daichi to get through to them when you couldn’t.

He’s definitely the strict parent; your sons all try to take advantage of you 💀 demons

Your boys saw you as a pushover most of the time because you were just so tired.

“Just keep trying for a girl, they said. There’s a 50/50 chance, they said.” Was something Daichi would find you chanting to yourself often while you cooked dinner and the boys were playing soccer in the house and breaking something.

Even though Daichi is strict, he really tries to emphasize to the boys to treat you with kindness to make it a bit easier on you.

“Guys, please don’t make your mother rip her hair out.”

“We’re just playin’!” They would sing in flawed harmony

“One day, you guys are going to be all grown up with your own special person with your own kids, and you’re gonna love them so much that you’ll understand why I’m telling you to calm down and listen to your mom.” Asjdfkhlek.

“Ewwww, daddy loves mommy.”

“I sure do.”

Sugawara;

On god, Suga would be the most patient parent. He treats your toddlers like mini adults and not your insane nine year old girl or six year old boy.

He listens thoroughly when they are upset about something, cautiously listening to the deeper truths about why they’re upset and takes great care in making sure his children feel validated.

Super dad 🥰

But it’s not a random event; after being married to you for the last decade, he had so much practice with conflict resolution and genuinely listening to you that it was a natural tendency at this point.

For the most part, your children are incredibly well behaved. Sure, there’s an occasional incident because, well they’re kids. Your daughter, being the older of the two and nearly finished with primary school, was entering her phase of discovering boys and constantly writing in her diary.

Suga may be super dad, but he is not perfect, and for some reason I totally see him reading her diary.

“Koushi, put it back. Now.” He was just going to pretend that you using your mom voice on him didn’t turn him on and prepare him to fill you with another baby.

While he may be an expert on conflict resolution, you enforced respecting their privacy; quite a dynamic between the two of you in terms of validating your children as individuals.

“But honey, our daughter is starting to like boys.”

“At least one of the females in this house does.” 💀💀💀 with angels for children, someone had to be the clown of the Sugawara family and it was certainly you.

Tanaka;

You and Tanaka had your first baby in your guys’ third year of high school, which you would be lying if you said it wasn’t hell.

Tanaka fought tooth and nail to try to do everything from makin dinner, working, making sure you were getting rest, and of course still playing volleyball. Everything except actually trying to graduate.

“I don’t have time to study babe, I have practice and then we gotta put this squirt to bed.”

There was a constant argument about Tanaka continuing with volleyball that nearly forced you two to split. While you knew how important it was to him, there was no way he was going to graduate from Karasuno while he was trying to care for you, a child, work, and play volleyball.

“Ryuu, please. I know you don’t wanna quit but if you can’t pass your classes, you won’t be able to participate anyway.” He did not take well to that.

It took him time to come to his senses and in that time, you had kept you and your son away from him to allow him his space.

Apparently that was also a wrong move on your part.

He was so angry and frustrated being away from his mini me that he had easily conceded to retiring from volleyball if it meant being able to watch his little nugget learn how to sit up and crawl.

Yes, he goes HAM on the nicknames. Squirt, nugget, mini me, beanie baby, tyke, and all of the above. He pretty much calls your son everything but his actual name.

“I’m sorry for being stubborn.” He says one night while you help him study for his finals, your sleeping son swaddled in your arms.

“I’m sorry for making you give up something you love.”

“Nah, I got you and the munchkin. That’s all I need.”

Noya;

I love Noya 🥺 but at first, he is a chaotic parent. Granted y’all had your first child when you were still in college and he hadn’t the faintest clue on how to be a dad.

To be perfectly honest, you weren’t quite sure how to parent either.

Neither of you knew how to change diapers

Noya definitely got peed on more times than he wishes to admit

When your son was still a newborn, just around finals time, neither of you could figure out for the life of you why your baby was crying in the middle of the night. Which inherently made you cry because you had an 8am final and you had finished studying 5 hours prior 🙃

“Try to get some sleep, babe. I’ll take care of him.” Nishinoya’s voice was thick with exhaustion, but he knew how little you’d been sleeping since giving birth.

When you went to leave for your final, Noya was asleep in your living room rocking chair, baby safely in his arms with the both of them just snoozing away.

It was a struggle but the two of you faced the challenge together, one step at a time with your energetic four-year-old son as you graduated university. By the time you had all settled into a larger apartment together as a family, Noya had yet to pop the question. He was too busy having fun with his little man.

Sometimes it scared you how in sync he was with his child probably because he was still a child himself but it was sweet and endearing.

“Hey babe?” He asks softly after the two of you tucked away your boy for the evening. You raised in eyebrow at him, silently goading for him to continue. “Do you want to have another?” Needless to say, he sure as shit impregnated you that night asjckglpwm

Hinata;

With Hinata being an older brother, I actually see him being a wonderful dad. However, homie’s got a one-track mind and with him playing professionally, you’re usually left to do the parenting.

Your kids definitely like you more than Shoyo, not that anyone blamed anyone; they just never see daddy :(

BUT when he is in dad mode and home, you suddenly remember why you were eager as shit to have more kids with him 🥴 which explains ya you’ve got your third on the way

When he does come home, he automatically greets his older, 8 year old son with noogies and a brief wrestling session. For some reason, Hinata felt the need to compete with his own child 💀

Headass.

But when he sees his daughter, his world stops because he has favorites and EVERYONE in the Hinata house knows it

Always asking your 6 year old girl how her day was, asking how she was doing ruling over her imaginary kingdom and if she found her Prince Charming yet.

“Pffft I don’t need Prince Charming, daddy, he’s icky!!! Mommy says I don’t need a man!”

Where is the lie

“Your mom is absolutely right and you should totally listen to her, she’s the best queen in the whole world.”

Because of his one-track mind, he is engaged fully with your kids when he is actually home. Your son had naturally gotten into volleyball which, even after a long day’s practice, Shoyo spends hours training him.

“Do you think this one’s finally gonna like me more than you?” He asks one night while he’s doing the dishes after dinner, while you’re right beside him drying them off.

“Sho, our kids love you. But mom is home with them allllll day and has been since birth.”

“Can we keep trying until one of them finally likes me more?” 💀💀💀 “or until we have enough to make our own volleyball team?”

Kageyama;

How this socially inept clown got ANYONE pregnant was unthinkable. Of course, to anyone but you. After being with him all throughout high school, it was more of a wonder how you didn’t get pregnant sooner

This dude dirty. His one track mind, if not on volleyball, was entirely on you. Nearly every night was date night which ALWAYS ended with bow chicka wow wow 😏 you horny mfers yalll moved in together as soon as you graduated from Karasuno.

Clothing at home was nonexistent.

With the two of you in your second year of college, living in your apartment, and being 8 months pregnant, the air had dramatically shifted.

Kageyama’s once still high sex drive had been channeled into school work, working, and of course, volleyball. You were planning on at least completing your semester before taking time off to care for the baby. It seemed one of you would have to really step up, and from what it seems, it wasn’t going to be Tobio.

When he was home, which was very few and far between with how much he had going on, he had tried to dote on you as much as he could physically muster. Kisses here and there, bathing together, and lots of snuggles.

Kageyama is in charge of the nursery and there’s no room for argument on this. With him not being as present at home, he sets up the nursery as a way to communicate with his child that he’s never going to see because of volleyball

I love Kags, but he is nowhere near ready to even think about parenting 💀 which you tried to be patient with, but with the due date approaching very rapidly, you kinda needed him to step it up.

“I’ve helped.” He tries using the nursery as an argument and he had gone to every doctors appointment but homeboy still doesn’t know how to make a bottle or change a diaper

Was he prepared to have to clean up baby shit and vomit? Absolutely not. Was he going to anyway? Lmao, absolutely not. This boy only wants to be daddy, not dad.

Tsukishima;

It shook everyone and their mother when people found out that Kei not only had a girlfriend that he met in college, but that his girlfriend was a milf according to Kuroo and Bokuto

When you and Kei had first started dating, your daughter was already five. And while you obviously didn’t bring her to classes with you, she was always with the two of you for date nights. Oddly enough, he really didn’t mind.

His patience for kids, now that’s he’s older and kids are actually kids and NOT his peers, rivals that of Sugawara’s.

“Hey Tsukki,” your spawn asks at dinner one day. “When are you and mommy gonna get married? People keep making fun of me cause I call my parents mommy and Tsukki.”

“Making fun of people isn’t cool, it’s so lame. They’re just jealous cause they don’t get to call their parents mommy and Tsukki.”

👁—

That same night, Kei offers to read your daughter to sleep as if to reinforce the notion that mommy and Tsukki was cooler than mommy and daddy. Of course, he was pushing for this to hide that he was upset that children were making fun of her.

After that Tsukishima really gets into his dad role—walking your daughter to school with you or without you everyday, picking her up and giving her grandiose hugs. He made sure to lock eyes with every spectator, his height towering over many at the kindergarten. Silently telling them all “do not fuck with her, or you answer to me.”

He’s sosososo protective, I can’t. He ain’t scared to fight a toddler.

Even well after you and Tsukishima introduce a child of your own, your daughter still insists on calling him Tsukki and adamantly tries to teach her sister to say Tsukki instead of dada.

“You’re okay with the kids not calling you ‘Daddy’, Kei?”

“The only one I want calling me daddy is you.”

Yamaguchi;

This poor bean 💀 not only was he not prepared for fatherhood in the slightest, but twins?!

You both swore up and down they were evil. If one was hungry, the other one would refuse to eat until the other finished their meal. This applied to using their diapers as well.

Imagine the energy of Hinata and Nishinoya as baby twin boys, and lo and behold, yours and Tadashi’s kids.

While you had slightly more patience with them, knowing they were going to grow up eventually and become their own independent humans. Tadashi was not handling this well at all.

Low key, he felt like he was doing a horrible job as a parent and, after the boys had finally gone to sleep for the night, you’d spent a lot of time consoling Tadashi.

“Why can’t I be like—“

“Baby, you’ve got to stop comparing yourself to all of your friends. None of them have twin boys that are less than a year old.”

“Yeah but Hinata has three of them, so does Daichi—“

“Honey, you aren’t them. You’re you, so please, just be you.”

He’s ambitious when it comes to parenting—he wants to be the best dad ever, and he only gets better with practice.

That doesn’t make him wanna tear out his hair any less, but as the boys get older, it does get easier. We pretend their toddler years didn’t exist, it was a nightmare that Tadashi does NOT want to relive

[richincolor]

*As is usual with our discussions, there may be a few spoilers ahead, so beware.*

We all were incredibly excited to read Angeline Boulley's FIREKEEPER'S DAUGHTER when we first heard about it, so we decided to make it our second group discussion book for the year. Come join us!

As a biracial, unenrolled tribal member and the product of a scandal, eighteen-year-old Daunis Fontaine has never quite fit in, both in her hometown and on the nearby Ojibwe reservation. Daunis dreams of studying medicine, but when her family is struck by tragedy, she puts her future on hold to care for her fragile mother.

The only bright spot is meeting Jamie, the charming new recruit on her brother Levi’s hockey team. Yet even as Daunis falls for Jamie, certain details don’t add up and she senses the dashing hockey star is hiding something. Everything comes to light when Daunis witnesses a shocking murder, thrusting her into the heart of a criminal investigation.

Reluctantly, Daunis agrees to go undercover, but secretly pursues her own investigation, tracking down the criminals with her knowledge of chemistry and traditional medicine. But the deceptions—and deaths—keep piling up and soon the threat strikes too close to home.

Now, Daunis must learn what it means to be a strong Anishinaabe kwe (Ojibwe woman) and how far she'll go to protect her community, even if it tears apart the only world she’s ever known.

[Note: While we will not go into any great detail in this discussion, Firekeeper’s Daughter contains murder, suicide, kidnapping, sexual assault, addiction and drug use, racism, colorism, and death of parents/family members.

You can read an excerpt of the book here!]

Audrey: To get us started--let’s talk about this gorgeous cover! The cover art was created by Moses Lunham and designed by Rich Deas. The first thing I noticed when I got my copy of the book was that the two faces at the top had different skin tones. According to this interview, author Angeline Boulley says that “the different shades of the faces symbolizes Daunis claiming her biracial identity,” which is a major part of the book.

Jessica: The cover is so beautiful. It’s next to me on my desk right now and I can’t stop looking at it. Love how the cover ties into the themes of the book.

K. Imani: This cover is absolutely beautiful! I love the design of the faces looking like a butterfly as well as the bird and bear (I think) and the fire. There are so many subtle images in this cover that you can almost find something new each time. And the colors are so stunning. Like you Audrey, I noticed the faces had different skin tones which I found interesting and made me wonder what was going to happen in the book. Knowing the faces symbolize Daunis’s biracial identity now is powerful and really brings home the meaning of the book.

Crystal: I agree that the cover is gorgeous. In addition to the aspects of her physical appearance and physical identity, Daunis’ cultural identity is also displayed within the illustrations with bears representing her clan. In addition there are the birds like the one that guides her and the sun is in the background too which is from the story of the original Fire Keeper’s Daughter. The faces forming a butterfly is also just brilliant for a coming-of-age story. There’s so much to see. Each time I notice more.

Audrey: Daunis, our heroine, is on the older end of the YA protagonist spectrum at 18. She’s dealing with a lot of upheaval in her life, and things only get more complicated in short order. Something I really liked about Daunis was how often she thought about and evaluated what her responsibilities were--to her family, to her friends, to her community, and to herself. These sometimes complementary, sometimes competing, responsibilities strongly influenced her decisions.

Jessica: You mention the complementary and sometimes competing responsibilities -- that’s exactly it. I loved how her thought process was explored throughout the book in such a thorough and complex way. The way Daunis balances and reconciles the interests of her community with what the FBI wants from her and her quest for justice is laid out really clearly. Sometimes, narratives can tend toward simplistic, binary summations of the issues people, especially from marginalized communities, face -- but that’s just not the case, and Daunis really highlights that. To be honest, I was a little nervous at the introduction of law enforcement and the FBI, given the racism and oppression baked into these institutions, but the way Daunis navigates her interactions with them, plus the way other members of the community tell the truth about these institutions, really played out in such a nuanced way. (I really, really hope that the Netflix adaptation keeps these nuances and hard truths in the show, but I suspect that won’t be the case, unfortunately.)

K. Imani: I enjoyed that Daunis was 18 and on the cusp of adulthood. So many YA novels focus on the character’s high school life but a lot does happen and teens do grow and change a lot in that year after high school. Many have left home for college (that was me) or working full time and they are learning how to navigate a life that was not completely so structured. In addition to having to deal with changing friendships as people move away or just become busy. It’s a unique time and I loved that we got to spend time with Daunis as she was going through this change. She was learning how to become an adult in one of the most stressful ways possible, and sometimes I felt she was a little too idealistic, but I’m glad that she kept her truth throughout and was focused on helping her community in addition to helping the FBI. Her perspective helped keep the investigation grounded in what mattered which wouldn’t have happened if she wasn’t involved.

Crystal: Daunis balances a lot of responsibilities and really tries to follow what she’s learned from elders. She considers how her actions may affect all of her relatives within her family, clan, community, and beyond. Boulley embedded a lot of elder wisdom within Daunis’ inner dialogue such as thinking about the seventh generation when making decisions.

Audrey: One of the things that I really appreciated about Firekeeper’s Daughter was the depth of the setting and the characters in it. While Boulley says that Daunis’s tribe is fictionalized in the author note, it’s clear how much care and thought Boulley put into creating Daunis’s community. It’s filled with people who have complex histories (both within and between Native and non-Native groups), with differing opinions and prejudices and goals.

Jessica: This really highlights how important it is to have stories where cultures and communities aren’t portrayed as a monolith. It’s not just the right thing to do, it makes for a better and more accurate story. I read Firekeeper’s Daughter and watched the TV show Rutherford Falls back to back, which really drove home the power of depicting a community with nuance. (Also, sidebar: Highly recommend checking out Rutherford Falls, which does this really well.)

K. Imani: One of my favorite aspects of Firekeeper’s Daughter were the elders in Daunis’s tribe and how we got to hear many of their individual stories which showed the complexity of real life. I loved that Daunis listened to her elders, really took in their stories and learned from them. Her interactions with the elders greatly contributed to her growing sense of self and her desire to help her community. And this is where this novel being truly #ownvoices shines because of Boulley’s connection to her community that she took great care in making sure Daunis’s tribe felt real and authentic as well as culturally accurate. It was not full of stereotypes but filled with real people who had real lives and real stories. I was drawn into Daunis’s community and really cared about the people that made Daunis who she is and becomes.

Crystal: Like Jessica says, there is a lot of nuance here. When you have a wide variety of characters who are not simply good or bad, the story has more power and is definitely more believable. The people in our everyday lives are also complex and have a story if only we take the time to listen. This is what Daunis excels at with elders and others around her. She is paying attention and trying to connect with people. There is a lot of love throughout the book of many different types. The love is beautiful and yet also has some ugliness too in the betrayals. It’s not picture perfect and that makes it so much more real.

Audrey: Boulley tackles a lot of difficult topics in Firekeeper’s Daughter, especially ones that can hit hard on a community level. Much of the plot focuses on drug use and addiction, of course, but violence against Native women also has a significant impact on what happens in the book and affects multiple characters, including Daunis.

Crystal: Daunis and the other women are examples of the many, many, women who have been harmed in the past and the present. That’s not the whole story though. As Daunis is learning, there are many ways of being brave. Throughout the story, we see many women being strong and brave though at initial glance their actions may not seem to be either of those things. There is bravery in speaking out, but sometimes bravery requires something else. These women have done what they needed to do to survive or help their loved ones survive.

Audrey: Firekeeper’s Daughter has a complicated ending, and it left me thinking about two things. The first was how proud I was of Daunis and her character growth. There were a couple of times where she came across as very Not Like Other Girls (particularly with the hockey players’ girlfriends), but that changed over the course of the book. The second was grief at how many people and institutions failed Daunis and her community, both within and without. Just as one example, even though Daunis is a confidential informant for the FBI, the FBI doesn’t come out of this story as a Good Guy.

K. Imani: I was torn by the ending too. I so wanted justice for Daunis and Lily and for others who were murdered, but on the other hand life doesn’t always have a happy ending and I recognize that Boulley gave us that horribly realistic ending because the fight for missing and murdered Indigenous women continues and the fight for justice for Indigenous peoples. It was a heartbreaking reminder of a very real issue. On the other hand, I was so proud of Daunis as well. She was able to achieve her goals of helping out the FBI while staying true to herself and her community. She grew so much as a character and really found her place in her world.

Crystal: The ending gave me much to think about too. Daunis grew a lot as she worked through this complicated puzzle in her community. She learned much about herself and some of the assumptions folks have about others. I also really, really wanted justice, but unfortunately, would be unlikely in real life with our current justice system. I also found Jamie’s growth to be interesting. He is truly struggling with his own identity as an adopted child with Cherokee roots, but no Cherokee teachings or culture to turn to. I don’t know if a sequel or companion book is planned, but I would be interested in seeing more of their journeys whether their paths cross again or not.

Jessica: Audrey, thanks so much for leading this discussion! Now I have a question for you all -- what YA books by/about BIPOC are you reading right now?

For AAPI month, I’m rereading Turtle Under Ice by Juleah del Rosario. After that, I’m planning on reading The Ones We're Meant to Find by Joan He, Apple: Skin to the Core by Eric Gansworth, and Witches Steeped in Gold by Ciannon Smart! Yes, my TBR pile is excellent. :P

Audrey: Next up on my list are The Theft of Sunlight by Intisar Khanani, Forest of Stolen Girls by June Hur, and Simone Breaks All the Rules by Debbie Rigaud. I feel like that’s a pretty good mix of genres and authors right there!

K. Imani: Since I’m needing some inspiration for my vampire manuscript, I’m re-reading and new reading some vampire novels. Currently I am reading Fledgling by Octavia Butler then up next is Renee Ahdieh’s series The Beautiful and the sequel The Damned.

Crystal: I just re-read Saints & Misfits and then dove into the sequel Misfit in Love. S.K. Ali is an author that I really enjoy and I am loving it so far. Next up is American Betiya by Anuradha D. Rajurkar along with Love & Other Natural Disasters by Misa Sugiura. I also think my TBR is pretty stellar.

If you've had the chance to read FIREKEEPER'S DAUGHTER, please join in the discussion below! We'd love to hear what you think.

[vegalocity]

I figured it was about time to crack the name research books back open and name Aunt Sis, and so now here we are

(yes i know Shanghai Disney didn't exist in the 90's shut up this is already an alternate earth just imagine Michael Eisner didn't make Euro Disney/Disneyland Paris first)

--

At first she hadn't thought anything of it

She was so happy to have her little brother back it hadn't even occurred to her that he'd just called her 'his sister' when introducing her to his... coworkers? Friends? brethren? people he was forced to work with but grew real fondness for after being stuck in the spirit realm together?

She was just happy her little brother was still around TO call her his older sister at first.

But then it started getting noticeable.

"Well my Sister would know more about woodworking-"

"Maybe you should ask your auntie first-"

"Hey Sis, can you pass me that-"

And if she hadn't seen her brother's lack of memory in action already it would be considered ridiculous to her, but- yeah... yeah her baby brother whom she loved dearly and practically raised herself, had forgotten her name. And was yet to retrieve it from the far reaches of his hole filled memory.

In retrospect, it made sense, not everything was going to be recalled at once, and he'd even yet to recover a few things about Minyi (she'd had to intercept a plate or two of cut up strawberries before her niece, head full of mysteries and puzzles stuffed one in her mouth without thinking and the next thing anyone knew she'd be digging through her purse for Minyi's epi pen) and she was approximately 90% sure he'd asked to continue to go by Syntax not as a reflection of how he'd fundamentally changed after... well... everything... and more because he simply hadn't recalled his own name yet.

So it made sense her own name was a little lower on the priority list.

All the same she knew he wanted to uncover what he'd lost on his own. The only person he'd accepted correcting from so far was Minyi but she could still see how frustrated he was with the idea that his six year old daughter had a more cohesive memory than him at the moment. When she'd told him something about that selfish bitch he called an Ex-Wife once in response to him puzzling over Minyi's baby pictures and the likely unfamiliar woman he'd seen within- he'd kind of lost his shit on her.

"I KNOW who the mother of my child is Sis! I MARRIED her didn't I?!" and she'd seen him tense up as he realized he didn't actually know if he'd married Minyi's mother or not. She'd made sure to call her a selfish bitch again to ensure he knew she didn't die or anything that would give him the wrong impression of the woman that abandoned him and his daughter.

He apologized later, citing that the whole 'Spider Demon' thing had really heightened his aggression and insisted again he was fine, he remembered enough about... that woman, (narrowly dodging calling her by name as well she noted) and didn't need a refresher. In fact he wished he could forget her entirely! he laughed awkwardly at the attempt at humor, and she patted his shoulder.

and then when Minyi got home she pulled her aside and asked her not to call her by name unless he asked her specifically. That her daddy was just feeling like if they up and told him some things that it would be taking the easy way out. And everyone knows how much this family is incapable of taking the easy way out.

So she kept her mouth shut. Told the other Spider Demons to not give any hints unless asked either, and they obliged calling her 'lady' and 'Ma'am' (with varying degrees of respect)

But she knew it was only a matter of time before it would really begin to wear him down. The question was would it end with a whimper or bang. And would it happen when it was just the two of them around or would they have an audience.

But eventually that day came, and luck was for once on this family's side, as Minyi had already started going back to school and the other Spider Demons were off... doing whatever they do in the mornings.

The photo album was old, cracked in the spine with the cover slightly torn in a corner, and she watched her little brother page through the pictures with a careful, critical eye. She sat on the arm of the sofa and leaned to the side just enough to peer over his shoulder and look back on the era when their parents still thought to take pictures of them.

"It feels like it's not even me." he muttered, and when she glanced down she could see the snarl starting to form on his face. "It's like, I look at that child and I KNOW it's me, There's no way that that's NOT me but-..." he growled and flipped the page. "Nothing. Not a single. fucking. Memory. This might as well be a different person entirely for all the connection I'm getting!"

They'd reached their last family trip before their father lost his job (Shanghai Disney, She was twelve he was five, the first picture was such a 'first theme park' picture of the two of them pointing dramatically at the castle; Their parents had wanted to do a nice picture but she'd wanted to mess around and once she'd made the idea of it fun he'd jumped right on the concept)

"Syntax-" it felt weird to call her brother by the name he'd been assigned before he remembered who he was, but no matter how weird it was, he'd asked her to. Her little brother was a bit sensitive right now. Well- more sensitive than usual.

But he flinched all the same when she did. "If you're still struggling with remembering things you know you can-"

"I remember enough about our parents to know I do NOT want to get them involved, Sis."

"That wasn't what I was gonna offer ya dingus." She gently thwapped him on the back of the head. "Learn to let people finish their sentences, who raised you?"

"You did." He snorted, but the uncertainty in his expression didn't fade.

"Damn right. And as your big sister who basically raised you, what I was GONNA say was: You know you can still ASK, right? I'm not gonna be mad. You KNOW Minyi loves telling stories, and I'm not opposed to spending the mornings reminiscing. I work nights anyway."

"Since when?"

"Since I started enforcing Bed Time so Minyi's asleep by the time I'm clocking in. I would go to bed right after I walk her to school I'll have you know." His daughter was such an easier topic. He remembered the most about Minyi, but at least that meant she wasn't totally forcing him away as her offer grated against that pride that he had in him long before he turned purple.

The next silence between them was comfortable. Her brother flipped the page to snort a laugh at the photo he found within. And she suppressed a giggle. The little snapshot within depicted the little boy his face in his balled up fists, crying, with his big sister sitting beside him and gently petting his hair while a Goofy character hovered over them worriedly. It was most certainly because of the dog that the little boy was crying.

"Yeah you were terrified of the mascot face characters."

"I can see that."

"Hit ya right in the ol' uncanny valley. We had to dodge the parades the whole trip. I was practically scouting ahead for all the character meets to make sure we had a way around the mascots. The people in costumes were fine though. You really enjoyed meeting Peter Pan."

"Really? I would have pegged my younger self as-"

"More of an Alice kid? yeah our parents did too. but you were like, suuuppeeerrr overwhelmed already at the point we'd found Alice, and you went totally shy." She reached over to flip to the next page and sure enough there the pair of siblings was again, the little boy now hiding his face in the young girl's backpack as an Alice character actor fluttered about infront of them.

"That must have been aggravating to put up with."

"Honestly? Even before all the crap with our parents went down I was used to it. It was always my job to take care of you."

"You might want to knock that off before I get used to it again."

"Nah." She threw an arm around Syntax's shoulders and curled it against his neck until the two were struggling on the couch, the photo album tossed aside and forgotten as her brother shouted in confusion and frustration.

But Spider Demon or not, he was no match for her superior prowess, and she had him in a headlock.

"And my name is Xiuying you dumbass." Her stupid brother stopped thrashing in her grasp, and grabbed her arms a little tighter.

[prinxlyart]

I will say, I am hungry again and I have a few ask for your Willumity/Vinira headcannons. HOWEVER to be fair to you. This time I will restrain myself and simply ask for you to share any headcanons you want to share as of now!

You can ALWAYS ask for more Willumity.

A L W A Y S

But!! Since you’ve given me free reign to just play in this sandbox, that’s exactly what I’m gonna do

We all agree that Luz is hella ADHD. This girl will talk for HOURS about the shit she likes. If something grabs her attention, she wants to know everything about it. She doesn’t like being told to do things, but she loves being asked to do things. For example: if someone tells her she needs to do a thing her brain will immediately click into the “No” position and will refuse to budge. If someone asks her to do something, her brain clicks to “help? I can help? I can help with a thing for this person? Yes! I’ll help this person with this task because it will make them happy! Yes! I can help!” This is why acts of service resonate so strongly with her.

I don’t know what mental diversity looks like on the Boiling Isles considering how just. Horror-based everything is? But I’m 100% on that autistic Amity train. She has to do things a Certain Way or she’ll teeter on the edge of a meltdown. She refuses to touch/eat certain textures. She usually doesn’t know what the appropriate response/reaction is to a given conversation, especially with her socialite friends, which is why she just remains a cool mask of indifference. She’ll inspect every detail of anything that’s handed to her. She’s incredibly smart, but doesn’t always know how to convey what she knows and understands into words other people can understand. The only people allowed in her personal space are her siblings. Eventually that also stems to Luz and Willow, maybe more as she grows more comfortable with herself? But usually anyone getting in her space is overwhelming and alarming. Defo has a hard time regulating/processing her emotions.

I need to make an entire post dedicated to Augustus Porter because my boy deserves it, but I’ll toss some random things here. He has a signed poster from the head of the Illusionist Coven framed on his bedroom wall. He and his dad have bi-weekly after-dinner standup comedy sessions with each other (Perry has kept a secret journal of all of Gus’s best jokes he’s done over the years that he reads whenever he needs a pick-me-up).

Perry and Eda knew each other in school in passing. Their social circles overlapped but they were never hanging out in the same groups. When Gus is very little (like, maybe 3 or 4?), Perry takes him to the market to just wander around and they find Eda’s Human Collectibles Stand. She and Perry catch up, he introduces her to his son, and Eda (ever the saleswoman) pulls out some shiny human thing that Gus is immediately taken with. In between her and Perry catching up, Gus asks her a million questions about the thing he’s been given and then even more questions about other stuff at her stand. She actually finds it really fun to show off her human shit to someone so enthralled by it. She makes some stuff up here and there just to mess with him, but he’s too young to realize it’s a joke or not true, and takes everything at face value. We all know Eda likes to get a little theatrical with her sales pitches; she does the Salesperson act with everything Gus asks her about. She lets Gus take a couple items home just because he was such a riot and Perry insists he pay for something, but Eda just waves them off and tells him that this is just an investment in a lifelong customer. She had no idea how right she was because Gus defo became obsessed with human culture from that point on. He also picked up on Eda’s super theatrical sales pitches (because he thought it was funny and because he thought that’s just how you’re supposed to show human stuff to people) and began showing off his own “human collectibles museum” to his dad with the same theatrical voice. Perry plays along with this too (as a news anchor he’s got a great announcer voice) and ta-da! That’s how we get the boy we all know and love today. It’s 100% Eda’s fault, but Perry definitely encouraged it because it made his son so happy. That’s also why Gus doesn’t seem especially perturbed at meeting Eda for the first time in ep 3. Or for interjecting his new Human Knowledge in the moment she was patting Luz’s head. He’s used to having conversations with her about human junk whenever she has her stand up. Eda’s secretly relieved that one of Luz’s new friends is actually someone she kinda knows. It’s Perry’s kid, and Perry’s a good guy. His little squirt seems to be growing up to be pretty good too.

Eda scoffs at “nerdy” shit as if she hasn’t owned the Clawthorne Braincell her entire life. “She worked twice as hard” “-that just made me work harder than you!”. Eda’s extremely smart and extremely talented. She likely created the secret room of shortcuts entirely on her own. She probably studied in the school library constantly, but under the guise of causing mischief. And like. She probably did both. She was a potions track kid so she probably knew all the best ways to make stink bombs that she could leave hidden in the shelves. She hated school because she was so limited and stifled; she only wanted to learn magic and was told no at every turn. So when she learned magic on her own, yknow, without the guidance of a teacher, there’s bound to be some major fuck ups. Once she’s fine-tuned her mistakes though, she absolutely turns them into pranks. You say I’m not allowed to study multiple tracks, bumpikins?? Well how’s THIS!!! How’s THAT for focus??? (Half of her pranks were also just her showing off and desperately hoping to prove that she could learn any type of magic and couldn’t be constrained to just the one. Bump recognized this of course, but he had strict guidelines to follow and no Luz Noceda to call him out for it.)

Camila treasures her daughter more than life itself. I personally refuse to headcanon anything to do with her extended family or why she’s a single parent (too many variables and options that could be addressed in the show), but I do know that she loves Luz more than anything. It’s exhausting being a single mom, working as a nurse, and trying to be there for her ADHD daughter when the rest of the world doesn’t seem to want her. It hurts her so much to see her baby, the light of her life, her Luz, be brushed aside and written off as “the weirdo”, or bullied, or even outright hated by some people just because she’s a little different. She’s had to have some words with the school staff for how they treat her on occasion. Did you see that Principal’s death glare in the first ep?? He hates her. Camila’s there not just because she’s Luz’s parent, but also to act as a barrier between the principal and Luz. She would move Heaven and Earth for Luz, but it can be a lot when you’re the only adult around. I truly believe she wanted Luz to go to that camp to learn how to be friends with kids that didn’t already know her or her quirks. Even she sounded unsure of what they would do at that camp, but she had full faith that this would be Luz’s opportunity to make friends with other kids that could teach her to like....more mainstream stuff. So she could learn how to mimic their (hopefully, toned down) behaviors. She just wants her baby to be accepted by others.

This next one’s a doozy so hold on to your butts

Lilith is technically smart. And I mean that in a literal sense - she can read and understand the fundamentals of magic, the concepts and execution of complex spells, recite entire chapters of Boiling Isles history, you name it. Many adults in her youth called her gifted because of it. All she actually did was absorb the information and regurgitate it when asked. She thrived on the praise she received. What made her different from her sister is that she never wanted anything more than to do as she was told. Her biggest goal? Her dream job? Was to just be given orders by the Emperor. I’m sure there’s all sorts of flowery propaganda surrounding that, advertising how incredible it is to be in the Emperor’s Coven, what an honor it is to work alongside the witch that can speak to the Titan. But it’s literally just. Taking orders. And knowing you’re somehow better than everyone else because you’ve been selected to be among the elite. She never strived for anything more; she never wanted to do anything else but enforce the Emperor’s will because that was “the highest honor” a witch could have. As a result (or in conjunction rather) she lacks literally any amount of foresight. There’s only one braincell in the Clawthorne Family and her sister has it because this dumbass doesn’t think about anyone but herself. Instead of talking with Eda about what they should do when they were told there was only one spot left in the Emperor’s Coven, she walked away. Only thinking of how she could secure her victory. She didn’t ask Eda how she felt about the situation, she didn’t let Eda speak her mind about what her own desires were; Eda made it clear enough that she just wanted to be by Lilith’s side, she didn’t care what that meant. She just wanted to be with her big sister. Eda tried to reach out to her to discuss their cirumstances, but Lilith just walked away like the broody, self-centered teenager that she was and resolved to cheat her way to victory. When Eda knew this was her dream. Why would she think Eda would take away her dream???? She could’ve asked Eda to throw the duel? She could’ve asked her to fake the match? Or even fake sick? Or just not even shown up! If she didn’t show up it could’ve counted as a forfeit and Lilith would’ve earned the spot by default! But no, she had to ruin her sister’s entire life in an act of cowardice and dishonor because she’s so full of herself and didn’t read the fine print. She loves her sister, of course she does, but she’s so self-absorbed that she’s never seen Eda for who she actually is and wasted both of their lives as a result. And this is all just analysis of her character and that flashback, this isn’t even headcanons. I think if she has any amount of respect for her sister (she doesn’t), her redemption will have to go far far beyond an apology and taking on half the curse. When I say Lilith is a dumbass, this is specifically what I mean. She doesn’t think about how her actions will affect those around her. She was the Head of the Emperor’s Coven, literally one of the most powerful positions she could possibly be in on the Boiling Isles and still sacrificed Amity’s dignity and years of hard work just so she could be ensured that she could one-up her sister. She did this in front of everyone in attendance of that Witches Duel. She risked Amity’s credibility as a witch, as a Blight, and as a person just to fuel her own ego. It’s no wonder Amity was so upset; the witch she’s been idolizing her whole life didn’t think she had what it took to best a human that couldn’t do magic in a witches duel. That can fuck up your self esteem something fierce. And Lilith hardly seemed to give a shit!!!! She didn’t care that she just trashed Amity’s reputation in front of dozens of spectators!!!! I’m v bitter about Lilith as a character in case you couldn’t tell.

If I had to throw a headcanon in, I’ll toss one in that sterling and I have discussed: Lilith literally doesn’t know how to live her life as an independent adult. Sure, she knows how to like. Make herself some easy dinners? But that’s literally only because she used to make herself and Eda dinners when they were kids. Beyond that, she has no fucking idea. She can do the basic household chores any teenager knows how to do, but she’s lived in the Emperor’s Castle with the rest of the Coven since she joined. It’s kind of like living in a college dorm; food and a room is provided, there’s maybe a laundry service, she’s never had to pay taxes in her life (not that Eda does, but yknow). The only things she buys for herself (if she doesn’t make it herself) is her hair dye and books. When she first moves in to the Owl House, she has no idea how the household chores are done. She’s on House Cleaning Duty Eternally and the first......I’ll say year. Eda will wake her up by banging pots and pans over her head once every month and scream-singing about how it’s House Cleaning Day, pull out her lawn chairs and some lemonade, and she and Luz (and sometimes King) will just sit back and relax and watch the show that is Lilith trying to clean Hooty. Hooty does not like to cooperate with her (partially because Lilith is a special friend and partially because he knows how much joy it brings Eda and Luz to watch her struggle).

Oof I could go on but this is already one hell of a post huh? Sorry (not really) for dragging Lilith so hard; not a joke, tumblr made me split hers up into two bullet points because it couldn’t comprehend my ranting for so long in one bullet point. I do love sharing these with y’all though, they’re so much fun and I’m so glad you guys like my rambling. <3333

[oofchris]

⌠ MADISON BAILEY, 19, CISFEMALE, SHE/HER ⌡ welcome back to gallagher academy, CHRISTINA ' CHRIS ' ANDERSON! according to their records, they’re a FIRST year, specializing in MACGYVER SURVIVAL SKILLS & NAVIGATION + PROTECTION & ENFORCEMENT; and they DID NOT go to a spy prep high school. when i see them walking around in the halls, i usually see a flash of ( speckles of dried paint on fingers, cruising round on a longboard, joints tucked behind ears wrapped in colourful papers ). when it’s the ( sagittarius )’s birthday on 12/27/2001, they always request their PHO from the school’s chefs. looks like they’re well on their way to graduation. ⌿ mochi, 24, she/her, gmt ⍀

@gallagherintro​

hi uwu, here is a new baby who is not very baby but still a lil baby

 . . . it got quite long so tldr; she’s a stubborn art hoe from california who’s dad died so she’s come to gallagher bc her mom is a professor in the p+e major <3 

parallels

wyldstyle  — the lego movie: 85%

mulan — mulan: 84%

nymphadora tonks — harry potter: 83%

princess fiona — shrek: 83%

robin buckley — stranger things: 82%

here is a full list

HISTORY

potential triggers — car accident, parental death, divorce

so she’s grown up on on the west coast p much ??? her whole life. her mom worked as a bodyguard for sum famous peeps, dad was doctor but occasionally also a medic in the field — they didn’t always see eye to eye and divorced when chris was around nine. it was mostly to do with chris’ future like whether she’d go to spy prep school and follow in their footsteps and her dad didn’t want that for her so they disagreed, and she lived with him instead, living a more or less normal life. her mom then moved away when the opportunity to become a professor at gallagher presented itself, so they’ve really not been close at all since then

lived fairly comfortably, either way her dad had money and her mom sent support too. her father definitely earns less from no longer being in the spy world but he vowed to leave that behind when he divorced his wife and other than a few people from his past popping up unannounced, he kept that vow. they moved around a couple times in order to keep chris safe, and especially when someone did find them ( even if it was friendly ) but mostly grew up in california, and a lot of it is to do with the fact chris loves it there so much

but chris knows about the spy world, what her mom does and the type of school she works at, but it never interested her enough to try and reach out or fight her dad on it as she enjoyed her life 

she remembers her mom as someone stubborn, argumentative, volatile which is the opposite of her dad who was patient, loving and endearing — so it’s a no brainer for her, she loves her dad a lot and he gave up a lot for her while her mom gave chris up for that world, her job, etc aka nada

BUT her dad died in a car accident recently that she was also in but was only a bit beaten up at most ( has some cuts / new scars, learn more below ) leaving her mother to swiftly pick her up and enrol her into gallagher, more to keep an eye on her than anything. 

her mom chose her majors and some of her classes for her, which chris is mad about, but mainly bc looking at what ones were offered she’d def pick macgyver anyway, and her mom argued p+e was a step into the physical and combat side of thing without being too heavy on it ( tho it’s the major she teaches so she’s biased and chris just thinks she wants to be closer ) but tbh ? chris just doesn’t want her mom to be right whatsoever or have the satisfaction of thinking she knows her daughter in anyway at all but she knows if she went undecided she’d probably pick those up again in her second year so she’s just ‘ going with it ‘ begrudgingly as if she has no choice

PERSONALITY

extremely stubborn, which she gets from her mom, would rather ruin her life than go back on something or admit she was wrong, if she apologises for something she'll find a way to do it where she's not actually ever saying the words ' im sorry ' or ' i was wrong ' and would rather start another argument than do that — but obviously she loves other people apologising to her

she is generally nice ??? i just think she can be irritated easy ?????? like a bit of a hot head tho she'd argue she's chill, she is mostly chill but likes to debate, be right, and can be very my way or the high way at times — i’ll figure her out more as i play her bc i can’t tell if she’s mean or not but i don’t think so, just a bit tougher than she needs to be 

in my head she’s like a seb/luc hybrid so . . . take that as you will 

doesn’t dislike gallagher ( mostly ) but thinks all the legacies — even tho she technically is one, she doesn’t identify as one — are entitled spoiled brats and should get their heads out of their ass, doesn't like that being a legacy is even a thing though a lot of it definitely comes from her bitter resentment towards her mom and how she'd have rather leave her and her dad than leave the spy life hbsjhbsjhb also i think bc of her mom she has level 5 clearance which . . . she’s not complaining about but definitely complaining that clearance levels are even a thing, she’s gonna contradict herself a lot, i feel it

MISC

i THINK she’s only arrived, like, at the start of spring semester tbh, she wasn’t here for fall so she is new new

halfway through her first year at stanford studying art alongside film and media as a minor before her mom brought her to gallagher — which she's kind of not happy about like she understands her dad didn't want it for her, she also wanted to just stay in california but the only family she has now is on her mom's side.

she's still enrolled at stanford, though dropped her minor, and is studying online for her major as she's made it clear to her mom she doesn't want to be a spy so she pulled a few strings with the stanford admission board to allow her studying to continue ( idek if this is allowed i'm just pretending her mom is powerful enough to do it ) — it was a big reason chris agreed to come to gallagher, not that she had much of a choice, bc she wants her ‘ normal ‘ life and her ‘ normal ‘ degree regardless of being at a spy school

only her mom calls her christina and she actually hates it so pls dont unless you are trying to get on her bad side — also she probs avoids her mom like the plague so don’t bring that up either

often covered in little cuts and bruises from her skating but she’s got two fresh / soon to be scars on the left side of her face on the top of her cheek bone and on her jaw from a shards of glass when she was in the car accident — she is the type to pick her scabs until they bleed again, too, so i picture her with loads of little scars especially on her hands, elbows and knees

she did learn self defense from her dad growing up and she has studied jiujitsu and akido since she was around thirteen, she also boxes but it's more casual like for stress and stuff rather than something she takes overly seriously

she likes surfing, diving, enjoys the kind of world that exists underwater where it's just peaceful and calm so she will be around the lake a lot / at the pool if you need to find her

she’s 5’3 and never wears heels

pansexual and while it might change i wanna say she's not overly sexual, like wouldn't have hookups for no reason ?? but potentially some one night stands or drunken mistakes or whatever. doesn't look down on sluts but i think she doesn't have the most confidence in that area, or in self esteem in general, so she'll ??? only really have a frequent thing if she feels Hella comfortable

the type to have crushes tho, but not act on them at all bc again self esteem issues 

bit of a tomboy, skater, stoner — though she wouldn't identify as one — really loves movies and can be a proper filmophile, probably has more film soundtracks on her spotify unwrapped than she does actual artists and don't get her started on Women— in film bc she won't stop 

very active, sporty, probs trying to parkour around campus

enjoys painting, sketching, simply creating things — often is filming, riding a longboard, working on some kind of little project she'll take too seriously but won't show people until it's perfect

is a little pretentious at times ??? doesn't necessarily mean to be but if it's a debate on a topic she's passionate about ( such as art, film, etc ) then she will try to ensure you know just how knowledgeable she is on it, she's not afraid to flex but she wouldn't outwardly flex for no reason if that makes sense 

she also . . . feels p dumb at gallagher tbh, a lot of her strengths lie in her creativity and art and now she’s very ??? wtf am i doing ?? but she will continue to act like she knows !

can speak english, french, german and spanish all pretty fluently, italian well enough to get by, knows a bit of japanese bc she’s . . . a weeb sometimes but also bc of her martial arts

CONNECTIONS

FAMILY / CHILDHOOD FRIENDS ( SPY ) — so this would more than likely be before her parents divorce, but she’s not against keeping in contact a little if she liked you, it could have also been a family who reached out to her dad afterwards because while he’d move away / hide his location promptly after, he would still help them if they needed it ( 1 / ? )

FAMILY / CHILDHOOD FRIENDS ( NON SPY ) — same thing, but would have probably been after the divorce, just normal families that her and her dad knew, neighbours, work colleagues, school friends, would more than likely have also needed to be west coast sorta area but if your muse was there briefly, they could have kept in contact once they’d left ( 0 / ? )

LEGACIES — she potentially . . . won’t like you if you’re a legacy and you are egotistical / assholey even a tiny bit, bc that basically proves her argument that they’re ALL like that jshbjsbjs but i wud like her to have legacies that she . . . hates that she likes as well, i think she’ll realise p quickly most are fine lmao

ART HOES — whether they’re into painting as well and they do it together or they let her paint them !

SMOKE / SKATE BUDS — one or the other, both, whatever !! 

A HOOK UP THAT’S EITHER ALREADY HAPPENED OR GOING TO — in my head she’s a bit ??? w sex tbh so maybe plot this out a bit more but can be a ?? positive relationship or a negative one idm

CRUSHES !!!!!!!!! — she’s not even been at the school long but im certain she probs has some already

i’m not good w wanted connections so pls just hmu if u have ideas and as usual like dis for plots / jus message me, i’ll be on discord !! if you don’t have/use discord just message me first on tumblr bc otherwise i wont realise jhbsjhbjhbsj

[vicecityhq]

██████████████]99% LOADING...SUSPECT INTO THE APD DATABASE...

WITNESS(ES) SAY HE REMINDS THEM OF: autumn, forestpunk, cottagegore, darkest academia . With a slight resemblance to PAKORN THANASRIVANITCHAI of/the ACTOR.

CLICK BELOW TO VIEW ENTIRE FILE.

FULL FILE:

Last Name, First Name: Suwannarat, Briar Alias: Pan (codename for his job), Ari (more of a nickname than an alias) Realm of birth (if earth, nationality): Earth realm, Thailand Age: 29 Date of Birth: November 23rd Gender: Male Preferred Pronouns: He/Him Species: Children of the Twelve - Sagittarius Occupation: Police Detective Sexual Orientation: Homosexual

VISUAL FILE: 

Skin Color: Tanned, burnt orange hue with a smattering of chocolate freckles along his face. He has the same freckles throughout his body, but has bigger white spots along his shoulders, the backs of his ears, and his outer hips. Eye color: Honey Brown Scars: None that have a significant story Piercings: None Tattoos: None Hair color: Dark chocolate brown Abnormalities: Fawn-like ears Horns/ wings/ etc: Small, stumpy antlers that stick just above his hair Transformed form: He does not have a transformation.

PERSONAL FILE:

RELIGIOUS BELIEF: Agnostic, but was raised Buddhist SINS:  greed  /  gluttony  /  sloth  /  lust  /  pride  /  envy  /  wrath VIRTUES: chastity  /  charity  /  diligence  /  humility /  kindness /  patience /  justice KNOWN LANGUAGES: English, Thai, Latin SECRETS: Teen romance can be rough, right? It’s like two colliding whirlwinds of emotions, hormones, and desires. One minute you’re together, the next you’re broken up for no reason. Now when that volatility is coupled with doubts about sexuality, it’s just a disaster waiting to happen. Most people didn’t accidentally melt half of their boyfriend’s face off and cause him to have to undergo grueling, expensive reconstructive surgery that would never quite make things right, though. Briar had told him the gloves had to stay on, but kids were reckless and foolishly believed in their own infallibility so it didn’t take much convincing to risk it all for some skin on skin. Then next thing they knew, Briar was babbling some half brained excuse about a science experiment gone wrong while his boyfriend’s blood curdling screams echoed in his ears. It was believably enough… until a month after - when the swelling from some of his injuries went down - his former lover was able to unintelligibly mutter “Briar did it.” Then suddenly an ‘accident’ turned into a full scale investigation of malicious intent. All Briar could do was tell the truth. He didn’t know which was more difficult - coming clean about his powers or coming out of the closet. But the officer sitting across from him and his distraught mother in the cramped interrogation room didn’t seem particularly disturbed by the confession. His bushy brows only furrowed in disappointment over the entire situation. In the end, Briar was only charged with obstruction of justice for initially lying to police, but the damage to his reputation was irreparable. His mother decided it would be best to relocate, which is how Briar came to finish his last years of high school in Agdoeg.

SAVVIES: hiking, gardening, camping, sightseeing, investigative work, problem solving, riddles and puzzles.

Powers & Abilities: Zodiac Empowerment (Sagittarius: enhanced accuracy, vision, tracking), Zodiac Physiology (see above appearance), Animal (deer) Spirit Summoning, Fthinóporokinesis (Autumn manipulation), Rot Inducement/Decaying Touch, Body Part Erosion, Luck, Evolution Manipulation, Supernatural Bowmanship.

Traits: (positive) Determined, intelligent, neat freak, health conscious, animal lover, usually down to earth, assertive, responsible, (negative) Sarcastic, impatient, untrusting, can have a temper when someone pushes him too far, distant, prioritizes work over everything else.

BACKGROUND CHECK:

Date of Birth: November 23rd

Date of Death: N/A

Crime Record: Most would assume someone has to have a clean slate to enter law enforcement, but that would leave slim pickings in a city like Agdoeg. Briar doesn’t have any outstanding criminal record, but he did have a couple of dings on his juvenile one that were expunged once he became a legal adult and, therefore, they can no longer be found in most databases.

Background/Biography

(tw miscarriage, tw immaculate conception by some strange god XD, tw domestic disputes, tw divorce) 

 Briar’s parents had been struggling to conceive a child for many years, since their prompt marriage right out of secondary school. These sweet hearts had longed to have a cookie cutter life and family, but fate seemed to inhibit that every step of the way. His mother have seven miscarriages due to the condition of an incompetent cervix and was told many times that she may never be able to carry a child to full term. This had been devastating news to the couple, who had no means of affording everything that went into surrogacy and were now facing the reality that they may never be able to have their own children. In spite of these odds, though, they kept trying and praying that whatever Gods that were out there might grant them a miracle.

Their prayers never seemed to be answered, though, and this put an understandable strain on their marriage. It was when his mother was thirty three and beginning to lose hope that she was plagued by a strange dream. She was floating in a vast emptiness, unable to move or even scream. This might have terrified someone else, but she somehow felt safe blanketed in the darkness. It was as if the entire universe lay bare before her, starlight dancing between her outstretched fingertips. Except she didn’t have fingers. She didn’t even have a physical body. There was a sense that she had become a part of something greater or perhaps been broken down into a form akin to what they had all been before the universe collided together in some cosmic firework show to create all that they knew. After what seemed like an eternity if time even passed in that world, the stars began to slowly take shape before her, pulled together by gravity or some other force she would never quite understand. As they converged, the light became so bright that it was nearly blinding, but she was space dust so how could she look away? She remembers trying to rationalize it with that absurd thought as the light shifted around her and the sound of harps and a heavenly chorus interrupted the sacred stillness that she’d been immersed in until then. Heralding the coming of something… or someone. The light came together at the peak of the crescendo, shapeless but she somehow got the sense of a shapely figure wrapped in a gown the longer she stared into it. This motherly figure bent over her and she recalled the warmth as its tendrils of light stroked over her cheek before urging her mouth open. In that moment, she didn’t feel any sense of unease as the being urged her to partake of its light. It traveled past her lips and through every corner of her being, rushing into her fingertips and even the ends of her hair. It was the first time since being in that plane that she had any sense of where she ended and the rest of the world began. The last thing she remembered was that light condensing, forming into its own little star in the lower part of her abdomen and radiating such soothing warmth…

Then she woke up and that was the first time she really had any sense of unease about the strange dream. As someone who had experienced how odd dreams could get during pregnancy, though, she took it as a good sign. Sure enough, when she took a test three weeks later, she was pregnant! Unlike prior, when she’d lost her children around the three month mark, this child was growing strong and without the complications she always worried about. Everything seemed to finally be falling into place. Their marriage and hope in the future was revitalized! And after nine months of perhaps the most physical and emotional pain she had ever been in in her entire life, she was welcoming a beautiful, healthy baby boy into the world and never once thought about the unsettling dream at the start of it all.

Admittedly, Briar was certainly a unique baby. His ears had always been a little odd since birth - bigger than usual - but his parents figured he would just grow into them and found it one of his most endearing traits. However, when he was three years old, that’s when his antlers started coming in. His mother found them one night when she was reading him a bedtime story and running her fingers through his unruly mop of wavy hair. Understandably, she freaked out and brought him to the doctor the next day, who took a biopsy and found the strange growths to primarily be made of calcium. It was unusual, but they decided to simply keep an eye on it since it seemed harmless enough. They only became more noticeable as the years went by, poking through his hair, and Briar recalls the Chinese Buddhists of his neighborhood always telling his mother it was a sign of good fortune. At the time, Briar had always thought it was annoying how they’d always want to lay their hands on him, but he realized as he’d gotten older that they believed the cow was Guanyin’s reincarnated father and the stubby little nubs atop his head made them think he was blessed. But horns and antlers are two different things - one being keratinous and, the other, bone - but he supposed it was easy to confuse them at first glance. Going into adolescence, those things grew like crazy. As if puberty and having velvety twigs growing on your head wasn’t stressful enough, that was when Briar first noticed his parents beginning to drift apart. One night, when coming home late from a friend’s house, he overheard a heated argument between them in the kitchen and his father’s accusations would forever be etched into his mind... “You thought you could trick me forever? I don’t know who knocked you up, but I can’t pretend that thing is my son!” The words drove through him like a knife. Yet after the initial shock subsided, Briar felt for the first time that all the little confusing pieces he’d chosen to overlook his entire life began to make sense. At first his parents had simply assumed he’d taken on more features of his mother, but his father had begun to grow distant as his otherworldly features and powers emerged. The reality was that two humans couldn’t possibly have made a half-deer-whatever-he-was and the only logical explanation was that he wasn’t his father’s at all. He only wished he’d come to that conclusion sooner instead of deluding himself and becoming foolishly attached to the man… The divorce was relatively swift. The judge didn’t even demand a paternity test when his father rebuked having to pay child support. All he had to do was look across the courtroom and he could tell that the speckled, big eared, horned child standing there wasn’t his. It was a dirty, unjust move that besmirched his mother as a disloyal wife and watching her go through that emotional rollercoaster was perhaps the toughest thing of the whole ordeal. Thirteen year old Briar comforted her through the fits of tears and had a strong upper lip when she insisted that she’d never betrayed his father… What bothered him the most was that he couldn’t believe her, but he also couldn’t be angry or blame her either. He had always been closer with his mother and he promised her in those moments of weakness that he would always take care of her. Of course, a single mother with a bad reputation was not an easy gig when trying to support a family. They were forced to move from their smaller town into the teeming metropolis of Bangkok for her to find work and Briar was honestly quite happy with leaving the past behind him. He thrived in the city with its far more diverse population. No one looked at him like he was a freak when he rode the bus or went to buy groceries. It was the first time he felt like he could truly be himself. He had his fair share of rough patches, just like any hormonal teenager, but having otherworldly powers and no one to teach you how to use them certainly caused a few catastrophic, social life obliterating faux pas. His mother thankfully was able to transfer within her company to the Agdoeg branch. It meant not only relocating in the middle of high school for Briar, but moving to an entirely new country. The level of diversity and integration of the supernatural community within Agdoeg was even better than what he’d experienced before. They were in government, owned small businesses… But not all of them were reputable or honest. Briar quickly learned that there were parts of the city that he shouldn’t venture to if he knew what was good for him. However, in spite of the seedier things going on in the underbelly, he was able to find a youth center which helped him to get a better handle on his powers and met his role model who would eventually lead him into his career as a police officer.

INTERVIEW QUESTION (para sample): “Just run us through what happened that night”. - Officer

Briar squeezed his eyes shut tight in an attempt to chase away the spots dancing across his vision from the overbearing fluorescent bulbs that bore down on the table in the center of the interrogation room. It was so intense that he could hear the hum of the electricity going to it and, somehow, he mentally processed that before the weight of the officer’s words. Words he’d uttered himself many times when the roles were flipped. Normally, this was the point a smart suspect would clam up and demand to talk to a lawyer, but clearly this was some kind of joke and he’d just missed the punchline. “Ha. Ha! Very funny.” He gruffed, devoid of amusement as he reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose to ward off the pounding headache settling in like someone was playing the bass drum behind his eyeballs.

The precinct had all been out drinking the night before, celebrating closing a case that had been busting their proverbial balls for the last six months, and there was a point after countless shots of tequila that Briar didn’t even know what was up and what was down, let alone why they were even there anymore. Now, he didn’t doubt that many profoundly stupid things had fallen from his lips and been done, but he hardly would have thought it would be anything illegal. Officers protected their own and someone less inebriated surely would have stopped him before he did anything he’d regret. Trying to wrack his brain, Briar bent to press his forehead to the cool metal of the table with a pitious groan. He remembered waking up in one of the cells to the sound of the door noisily being opened and before he could even get his bearings, two uniformed men were hauling him up and dragging him down the hallway toward the room he sat in now. None of it made a lick of sense.

“I’m afraid this isn’t a joke, Officer Suwannarat. Something very serious happened tonight and we need you to tell us why.”

The brutally stern voice sobered Briar up really quick and he lifted his head up from the table to narrow his eyes on the man that sat across from him, his fawn-like ears flicking in annoyance. He’d worked on the force for many years now and he wasn’t about to be hassled by some nameless rookie who was probably forced in here by his supervising officer, like a lamb being pushed into a cage with a bear. “Listen- no. What is going on?” He demanded with surprising eloquence for someone who’s tongue felt like a dried up sponge in his mouth. Drunk drought be damned. “Am I under arrest? ‘Cause if I am, you better tell me the charges or else I’m walking right out that door and finding your commanding off-”

What was likely going to be a memorable tirade was cut short as the door to the interrogation room swung open and a handful of officers poured into the small space like salmon all fighting to spawn upstream. All Briar could do was stare wide eyed where he was glued to his seat and watch with no small amount of mortification while a cake was set in front of him with messy lettering iced on top that read ‘Congrats on your Promotion! Now you’re their problem.’ Feeling the mixture of rage and bewilderment quickly begin to ebb away, the corners of Briar’s lips twitched into a crooked smile and he shook his head in exasperation. “You’re fucking kidding me. Who’s terrible idea was this?” He demanded with a mirthless laugh as he deflated back into the hard metal chair and glanced around at the familiar faces of the men and women he’d worked with for the past ten years. God, how had he survived their crazy antics and made it this far?

“What do you mean? We had to give you a memorable send-off.” His partner mounted his defense and slunk out from the crowd to give Briar an encouraging clap on the shoulder. “Besides, do you know how hard it was to carry your heavy ass into the cell to pull this off? The least you could do was say thank you. Geez. Too good for us already, Detective?”

Briar should thank him. That much he’d already mentally concluded. But shoving his partner’s smug face into the cake was also a tempting option. Instead, he reached up to gently pat the other’s hand with his gloved one. “Never.” He assured him gently before a chorus of obnoxious coos from the peanut gallery made sure to not only kill the moment but beat it once it was down. Pushing himself up from the chair, Briar swayed unsteadily and shamelessly grappled a couple of his friends for balance on his route to the door. “Ugh. Alright, get me out of this room before I literally end someone and get stuck here forever. That cake better be chocolate, I swear-”

[carewyncromwell]

Ficlet: Educational Decree #23

@drinkyoursoupbitch mentioned enjoying Lawyer!Carewyn, so...I decided to write this not-so-quick not-so-little fic drabble, featuring my MC, Carewyn Cromwell, and her Surrogate BBBFF, Bill Weasley. This is set in May 1996, circa the end of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix and right after Voldemort’s return has been fully revealed to the Wizarding World.

One note about Carey’s involvement with the Order -- due to her baggage with Dumbledore and her own inherent pacifism, Carewyn is not an active member of the Order of the Phoenix, at least not in the traditional sense. She does help them in her own way and on her own terms, but Carewyn hasn’t served as any kind of representative for or agent of the organization, fought in any conflicts with Death Eaters, or even attended any Order meetings in person. Most of the aid she’s provided the Order is through leaking intelligence to them through her old friends Tonks and Jae and in going out of her way to serve as legal council to Fudge so she can write and work on cases that she would know well enough to subsequently dismantle at the proper moment. Carewyn has also kept known associates of Dumbledore like the Weasleys and the Hogwarts staff at arm’s length and not spoken to them much at all, so as to not give Fudge reason to question her loyalties or look too deeply at her activities. Therefore Carewyn and Bill -- keeping an eye on the greater good -- have not shared direct correspondence for nearly a year, which has definitely been hard on both of them, as after Rowan’s death, the two have come to see each other as their respective best friend.

~~~~~

The Ministry of Magic may have been in a state of confusion thanks to the revelation of Voldemort’s return -- but no matter how chaotic things were, or how many enchanted memos flew through the air, Bill Weasley was never not going to stick out like a sore thumb.

The ponytailed Cursebreaker towered over many of the employees scrambling around him as he climbed into the lift that led to the other levels. He could feel several side-long glances his way -- no doubt interested in his violet-black leather jacket with silver spiked shoulders and the Peruvian Vipertooth fang earring in his right ear.

‘Maybe I should’ve drank some Polyjuice,’ he thought sheepishly. ‘Come disguised as someone else.’

But he brushed the thought off. As good as it would’ve been to not attract as much attention, he knew he didn’t want to waste time. The Ministry having finally come around to the idea of Voldemort’s return meant that Carewyn presumably no longer had to walk on eggshells and pretend not to know everybody -- and, well, there was a lot to plan. Bill knew Carewyn would want to know everything that had happened, and now that the truth had come out, he wanted to be the one to tell her. If nothing else, Carewyn would definitely prefer a private meeting with him than one with Dumbledore.

“Level Two,” said the cool, serene female voice of the lift as it came to a stop. “Department of Magical Law Enforcement and Auror Offices.”

The cage-like door clattered open, and the employees in the lift came streaming out, fighting with a flood of equal size trying to take their place. Before Bill could climb out himself, however, he noticed a familiar mane of bright pink hair in the crowd of people pushing their way into the lift.

“Tonks!” said Bill.

The Metamorphagus looked up, and her face broke into a huge smile at the sight of him.

“Bill!”

The two exchanged a short hug.

“What in the world are you doing here, mate?” Tonks asked incredulously. “Gonna stick out just a touch in that get-up, aren’t you?”

“I already am sticking out,” Bill laughed. “Is Carewyn in her office?”

Tonks’s face grew a bit more serious.

“No, she’s on Level Nine -- Courtroom Ten. The Wizengamot’s discussing a challenge made to Educational Decree Number 23 -- you know, the one creating the High Inquisitor post? Apparently they summoned Carey as an expert witness.”

“Because she helped Fudge with a draft of that decree,” surmised Bill.

Tonks nodded.

“Well, I’ll go on ahead and find her down there, then,” said Bill.

He sidled back into the lift, and Tonks came up to stand beside him as the cage doors closed and the lift began to move again.

“Wish I could come with you,” said Tonks softly, “but I’ve got a meeting with Remus right after work, I can’t be late.”

Bill cocked his eyebrows amusedly. “A meeting? Do you call all of your romantic rendez-vous’s that, Tonks?”

Tonks’s face darkened in a blush even as her face broke into a huge white grin.

“Oh, don’t tease! It’s for the Order,” she mumbled a bit more shyly.

Bill laughed.

The lift came to a stop.

“Level Eight,” said the cool, serene female voice. “Atrium.”

The doors clanged open, and the mob of employees flooded out. Tonks strode out of the lift too, waving to Bill over her shoulder.

“Say hi to the ‘General’ for me!” she said with a laugh.

Bill waved back, grinning at the reminder of Diego’s old nickname for Carewyn. The Dueling Champion had started calling her that after she and the others started the Circle of Khanna back in the day -- though Diego often punctuated it with modifiers like “brave General” or “kind General.”

The doors closed, and the lift began to descend again. Bill was the only one left inside now, so he could actually stretch a bit without hitting any of the dozen people fencing him in on either side.

‘Carey stayed in Fudge’s good graces this last year so she could sabotage him wherever she could -- keep him from grabbing absolute power, and help us fight You-Know-Who,’ Bill recalled. ‘So she no doubt wrote that draft of the decree with the intention of having it challenged.’

Something rubbed Bill the wrong way, though.

‘The Wizengamot summoned her as a witness, no doubt to defend it...but why would they even bother defending it? Fudge has been proven wrong about You-Know-Who. And why is Carey just an expert witness, when she could have made the challenge herself?’

“Level Nine,” said the cool, serene female voice of the lift as it came to its last stop. “Department of Mysteries.”

The cage door clattered open again, and Bill climbed out.

Level Nine was unique among the floors of the Ministry for its reflective black-tiled walls and ceilings. Bill’s leather boots clapped against the floor with every step, the sound echoing off of every surface down the hall behind him as he walked.

He turned a corner and found Courtroom Ten. Trying to be as quiet as he could, he turned the silver doorknob in the center of the door and inched it open.

“...position was created for the welfare of the students, was it not? To better regulate and enforce the standards for their educators -- the professors put in charge of their care?”

Bill identified Fudge’s blustering voice at once, though it sounded much shakier and more feeble than usual.

“...That was supposed to be its intent, yes.”

‘Carey!’

Bill sidled into the room, settling down into the half-full stands of the courtroom so he could see.

Fudge sat up near the head of the Courtroom’s box seats, spinning his lime green bowler hat in both hands in his lap. The top seat, however, which belonged to the Chief Warlock, was once again occupied by Albus Dumbledore, dressed in embroidered lavender robes and a matching pointed hat. Bill also noticed his younger brother Percy -- as Junior Undersecretary -- sitting in the Head Scribe’s Chair, in the far right corner. Percy, true to form, seemed to be purposefully avoiding Bill’s gaze.

On the floor, a young man with dark hair and a set of white-collared brown pinstripe robes who Bill recognized as ex-Ravenclaw Prefect Chester Davies sat at the prosecution’s table. And sitting in the witness chair at the center of the room, dressed in high-necked, flowing forest green robes and gold star-like earrings, was Carewyn. Her ginger red hair was shorter than Bill remembered it, only reaching her chin, but her lipstick was as ruby red as ever. She had her arms crossed over her chest and her shoulders were low, making her appear incredibly uncomfortable.

Bill frowned. He’d never seen Carewyn slouch like that before...

“And -- and there have been...concerns over the years,” Fudge pressed, though he kept glancing anxiously out the side of his eye up at Dumbledore beside him, “letters sent by parents of the students, expressing concerns about...previous staff appointments at Hogwarts, yes?”

“Objection,” said Chester Davies rather coolly. “The witness is here to testify about the legality of the measure, not to give justification for why it was written.”

“Sustained,” said Dumbledore airily.

His light blue eyes drifted down to Fudge, and although they weren’t at all sharp or reproachful, the Minister flinched all the same. Dumbledore then looked down at Carewyn, inclining his head slightly.

“Miss Cromwell...your legal counsel was that there was nothing on the books forbidding the creation of the High Inquisitor position -- is that correct?”

Despite the slight discomfort in her posture, Carewyn kept her eyes solidly on Dumbledore as she spoke.

“Yes, Professor.”

“So in your view, it would not be illegal for the Ministry to influence the way Hogwarts is run -- to circumvent the authority of the school’s own Headmaster?”

“I could find nothing on the books outlawing it,” said Carewyn solemnly. “There is no law forbidding the Ministry from regulating Hogwarts’s educational practices, staff appointments, or lesson plans. However one personally feels about Educational Decree Number 23...”

She inclined her head respectfully to Dumbledore.

“...I would conclude that it was legal.”

Fudge’s face was twitching as if he wanted to smile, but seemed too afraid to when he glanced around at Dumbledore and the rest of the Wizengamot on either side of him, whose faces were all decidedly stony.

Dumbledore’s eyes flickered from Carewyn to Chester Davies at the prosecution table and back. Then he gave Carewyn a short, respectful nod in return.

“Thank you, Miss Cromwell. Mr. Davies -- you may now cross-examine the witness.”

Chester rose to his feet, his shoulders straight back and tall. He strode around the table slowly, but with purpose, his robes billowing slightly behind him as he came up beside Carewyn, his arms folded behind his back. His eyes never rested on anyone in particular -- instead they hovered somewhere in the area of the abandoned far corner of the stands.

“Miss Cromwell,” he said, his voice very cool, “when Fudge first approached you for legal counsel, why did he want the High Inquisitor position created?”

“O-objection!” Fudge stammered. “That’s a prejudicial question!”

“Overruled,” said Dumbledore calmly. “It’s a factual question -- one I’d quite like to know the answer to. Proceed with your answer, Miss Cromwell.”

Carewyn had shifted her gaze over to Chester. Although Chester wasn’t looking at her, she kept her eyes locked on his face.

“...He said...that he wished to keep Dumbledore in check,” she said very quietly.

Both the Wizengamot members and the gallery startled to mumble amongst themselves. Bill noticed a reporter with an uneven light blond haircut and a snake tattoo on his arm in the stands scribbling notes furiously. Even Percy paused in his writing, glancing up at Fudge uneasily. Fudge’s face had flushed the shade of a fine red wine.

Chester’s eyebrows rose. Though he kept his gaze on the abandoned far corner of the stands, quiet confidence rippled off of him as he strolled leisurely to the other side of Carewyn.

“Had Albus Dumbledore been charged with any crime by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?” he asked.

“Objection!” said Fudge again. “Completely irrelevant! We’re discussing the decree, not Dumbledore!”

“Overruled,” said Dumbledore. “Miss Cromwell’s previous answer has linked both you and me to the decree, Cornelius. Proceed, Miss Cromwell.”

“No,” said Carewyn.

“Had Albus Dumbledore been under investigation for a specific crime by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?” asked Chester.

“Objection!” Fudge burst out, sounding both more frustrated and desperate. “This line of questioning is highly inflammatory -- ”

“Overruled,” Dumbledore cut him off very smoothly. “The truth can often be inflammatory. Proceed, Miss Cromwell.”

“No -- though he was placed under Ministry surveillance.”

“Objection!” whimpered Fudge. “We’ll need to cross-examine that claim -- ”

“Overruled. Our examination of the witness is through, and she’s merely stating facts of the case. Proceed, Mr. Davies.”

“And,” said Chester, his voice a bit sharper now, “was the High Inquisitor position filled again, once Dolores Umbridge -- with the passing of Educational Decree Number 28 -- replaced Dumbledore and became Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?”

“Objection!”

“Overruled.”

Carewyn inclined her head slightly, her blue eyes narrowing slightly upon Chester’s face seriously.

“No.”

Chester’s mouth had spread into a small smirk by this point. He’d stopped in front of Carewyn and faced her at last, his dark eyes gleaming with triumph.

“Interesting. So the High Inquisitor position -- which, the Minister has stated for the press was there to ‘keep order’ and ‘address the falling standards at Hogwarts school’ -- was no longer needed as soon as Albus Dumbledore left his position as Headmaster. Even though Headmistress Umbridge would go on to try to forcibly remove Professor Rubeus Hagrid from the Hogwarts grounds -- an attempt that resulted in severe injury for Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall...and even though the Inquisitorial Squad created to assist the High Inquisitor had not been disbanded and was actually given more authority after the fact...the position of High Inquisitor no longer needed to be filled. No further effort was needed to regulate Hogwarts’s educational practices. Once Dumbledore was gone, so too was the need for the position...and therefore the decree.”

Fudge’s flushed face had turned a dark purple.

“Objection!” he squeaked.

“Overruled,” Dumbledore said very quietly, but very firmly.

“Regulation is legal,” Chester plowed on, pacing slowly across the room without looking anyone in the eye, “as long as it’s consistent. There can be no singling out of individual citizens, particularly when it’s not in the pursuit of legal action. Regardless of the Minister’s distrust of him, Dumbledore had not been charged with and was not under investigation for a specific crime...so there would’ve been no probable cause for his personal activities to be regulated. Regulating educational policy, therefore, would only be legal as long as the regulation was consistent across the board -- if the High Inquisitor position both regulated Albus Dumbledore and Dolores Umbridge’s decisions as Head of Hogwarts school.”

“Object -- ”

“Overruled.”

“And so,” said Chester more fiercely, his gaze flashing up at Fudge with visible reproach, “the High Inquisitor position, and the decree that spawned it, was created for the express purpose of silencing political dissidents...namely one in particular -- Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.”

Chester then turned to Carewyn, his expression becoming much less harsh but no less severe.

“Would that be legal, in your opinion, Miss Cromwell?”

Carewyn stared Chester straight in the eye. Neither one of them blinked.

“No,” said Carewyn at last, very firmly. “The targeting of a private citizen with no legal justification would violate multiple laws, including the Third Clause of the Wizard’s Code of Civil Rights.”

Fudge’s face had lost most of its color, blanching to an ill grayish-white. The corners of Dumbledore’s mouth turned up in a very tiny, dewy smile.

Chester’s eyes narrowed slightly upon Carewyn’s face, almost softening.

“Thank you, Miss Cromwell. No further questions.”

Carewyn got to her feet. She looked like she wanted to say something to Chester, but decided against it and simply nodded, heading back up into the stands. She noticed Bill sitting in the rows, but did not move to greet him, instead taking a seat in the row behind the prosecutor’s table, away from the rest of the spectators.

Chester turned fully around to face the Wizengamot, unfolding his arms from behind his back at last.

“Members of the Wizengamot,” he said lowly, “I do not make this case with any desire to achieve political points. If nothing else...the danger we now find ourselves in makes it imperative that we set aside political squabbling. Whatever one’s opinion is of the Minister of Magic or his legislation...”

He shot a side-long glance at Fudge, as did many other members of the Court.

“...this is not the time for retaliation, but for justice. Educational Decree Number 23 was illegal both in its creation and especially in its execution -- and so it must be expunged forever from the law, and we must act to ensure that nothing like it ever is created again. This decision must be so universal that it sets a precedent -- one that, unlike the one this decree set, is one that evokes positive change. Hogwarts doesn’t need ‘regulation’ now -- it needs protection. We all need protection. So vote with your conscience. End this chapter of Ministry ineptitude and in-fighting...and start a new one, having made up for the mistakes we’ve made.”

Chester glanced at Fudge one more time, this time meeting his eyes. The Minister looked away uncomfortably. The young attorney then inclined his head respectfully to the rest of the court.

“Thank you.”

He took his seat at the prosecution table. The room was silent for a moment, before Dumbledore addressed the court.

“All those in favor of the decree being upheld?”

No one moved. Not a single member of the Wizengamot raised their hand -- not even Fudge, who kept his eyes locked on the bowler hat clutched in his trembling hands.

The reaction was so stunning that the spectators in the gallery began to whisper among themselves. The tattooed reporter in the stands scribbled some more notes furiously.

“All those in favor of overturning the decree and -- by extension -- declaring it illegal under Wizarding Law?” said Dumbledore.

A sea of hands rose into the air. Fudge did not raise his hand -- he’d clearly decided to withhold his vote -- but he for once remained completely silent, his entire posture shrinking visibly in his seat.

“Then we are decided,” declared Dumbledore, a pleased twinkle in his light blue eyes. “Educational Decree Number 23 is abolished. Court is adjourned.”

He lightly tapped the gavel twice on the table in front of him. Everyone started bustling around to leave the Courtroom, including Carewyn and Chester, who left together. Bill hurried to catch up with them, even as the crowd of spectators devolved around him.

He finally caught up with them as they climbed into the lift.

“Carewyn!”

Carewyn and Chester turned around. Their eyes both lit up in recognition.

“...Bill,” said Carewyn, visibly taken aback. She glanced at Chester out the side of her eye very quickly before asking, “What are you doing here?”

Bill came to stop next to them in the lift, a smile prickling at his features. “I heard the Wizengamot had summoned you, so I thought I’d pop down and watch the court proceedings...going up, I suppose?” he added lightly, “Allow me.”

He punched the button for Level Two.

“Glad I did too,” Bill continued casually as the gate-like doors closed. “That was quite a case!”

Carewyn leaned back against the side of the lift, crossing her arms.

“...Yes, it was. A foregone conclusion, some would say, given Fudge’s current level of popularity -- but the law isn’t supposed to be a popularity contest.”

“True,” said Chester. “Just because Fudge was cruel in how he targeted his political rivals doesn’t mean we have to be.”

Bill’s gaze slid over to Chester.

“...I didn’t know you were an attorney now, Chester. I haven’t seen you since...”

“...I left school -- I know,” finished Chester with a polite smile. “I’m rather new to it, actually. I only started practicing last month.”

“I was the one who suggested Chester take the case,” Carewyn added, also smiling slightly.

“I hope you were pleased with the result,” Chester shot back with a wry smile.

“It did turn out the way we hoped, anyway. Though I would’ve preferred if our roles had been switched.”

“We can’t all be on the winning side of things.”

The lift came to a stop.

“Level Two,” said the cool female voice again. “Department of Magical Law Enforcement and Auror Offices.”

The three climbed out.

“Oh, Carewyn, before I forget,” said Chester, “I left some paperwork for you in my office -- I thought it might be useful, for your next case.”

“Thank you,” said Carewyn, “I’ll go and fetch it.”

“I have to be heading out myself...could I steal a bottle of pop from your office, before I go?”

“Of course. I left the file I borrowed in my right desk drawer too.”

“Much obliged.”

The exchange was very quick and clipped, and yet there was something almost pointed in the glances they shared -- as if they were saying something else entirely that only they knew.

Carewyn headed off down the hall, presumably toward Chester’s office. Chester strolled down to the first door on the right, which led to Carewyn’s office, and opened it, glancing over his shoulder at Bill.

“Do you want to wait here until Carewyn comes back?” he asked politely. “It should only take a few minutes.”

“Yes, I would,” said Bill.

Bill followed Chester into the office, and the attorney closed the door behind both of them.

Carewyn’s office was unusual among the Ministry of Magic’s offices in how charming and remarkably pretty it was. It was very tiny, incredibly organized, and impeccably decorated, with mint-green painted walls and a charmed skylight that showed the image of the London street above them, including the passing feet of the Muggles presumably walking overhead. It also included several Muggle appliances, such as a waffle-maker and a tiny fridge -- Carewyn had said in her letters that she and her coworkers often worked late nights, so sometimes Talbott, Tonks, or Ben (who were Aurors and a Hitwizard respectively) would pop in for a before-dawn breakfast after one of their assignments.

Chester sat down in the wheeled office chair (another unique Muggle item) and rolled it over to the fridge behind the black desk. He opened it, pushing aside the items inside to reach the very back.

“Can I get you some orangeade, perhaps?” asked Chester casually. “Carewyn always keeps a bottle or two in stock.”

Bill smiled broadly. “Of course. You know it’s my favorite, Carey.”

Chester -- or rather, Carewyn, in disguise as Chester -- took out a bottle of orangeade, her face breaking into a broad smile and her dark eyes sparkling, as she opened the bottle and handed it to Bill.

“When did you figure it out?” she asked.

“Back in the courtroom,” said Bill. “You’ve never slouched like that when you were uncomfortable. You used to shrink a bit, when you were younger...but you always look away when you’re the least bit uncomfortable. You don’t keep eye contact like that. Then you started talking, and...”

Bill grinned.

“...even though it was Chester’s voice, I could still hear you in there.”

Carewyn grinned broadly. She rolled the chair around so she could fetch a can of Vimto Cola for herself. She opened it with a click and took a sip.

“It’ll only take a few minutes before I turn back into myself again,” she said. “The case went on a bit longer than I expected -- I had to cut my closing arguments short, if I didn’t want to quickly rush back to the prosecution bench and drink some ‘water.’”

“Yet you still won everyone over,” said Bill as he lowered the soda bottle from his lips. “Well, except for Fudge, but...none of us expected to win him over.”

Carewyn sighed. “True. I’m glad he had the decency to step aside at least. He clearly saw there was no point in wasting his vote -- it would only make him look worse politically, to be the only one standing up for his decree.”

“Do you reckon he’ll resign?”

“I’m positive. This trial broke him a bit, I think. It really gave him a good look at how much he’s destroyed his reputation forever.”

Carewyn took another sip. Bill considered her for a moment, his eyes lingering on Chester’s dark hair.

“I have to ask, though, Carey...why did you do it? Why didn’t you just challenge the decree yourself? Why replace Chester?”

Carewyn bit the inside of her cheek, her eyes drifting away as she placed her soda can down on her desk.

“The Prophet’ll be going on about Chester taking down the decree,” said Bill, sounding almost disappointed. “He’ll be getting praise for what you did.”

“And that’ll help him get more cases in the future,” Carewyn said simply. “I need more allies in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement -- good lawyers who won’t cow to people like Fudge. And if I was in the witness chair instead, I could appear as a neutral observer -- so when I invariably sided with the prosecution, I could bring the case for the Decree crashing down.”

“But you weren’t in the witness chair. Chester was.”

“Yes. I actually gave Chester a file that he could use in the case, while I sat back...but he refused. He said that I deserved to present my case in front of a jury, after how much work I did. So after a lot of coaxing, we decided I would present my case -- disguised as Chester.”

“So you did all this just to help Chester with his career?”

Carewyn’s eyes lingered on the bookshelf in the corner.

“Not entirely,” she admitted.

She clearly seemed to regret that her decision wasn’t solely based on that kind of selfless rationale. She rested her hands on her desk, interlacing the larger fingers belonging to Chester.

“Even if Fudge is no longer in power, the Ministry’s still packed to the gills with his supporters, as well as people who were willing to just scrape and grovel at his feet. It’s safer for me to interact with you all now, but I can’t afford to lose my stable position just yet -- the truth’s come out, but the Ministry isn’t any less treacherous. Dolores Umbridge hasn’t even lost her job here, even after everything she’s done as High Inquisitor. On the contrary...there are rumors circulating she might even return to being Senior Under-Secretary in the future.”

Bill was aghast. “What?”

Carewyn looked just as displeased. “I’m angry too...but there’s nothing I can do. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement can’t charge her with a crime even if the decree making her High Inquisitor has been declared illegal, since she was merely appointed to the position. She had no hand in creating it...at least none that I can prove in a court of law. She’s been put on temporary administrative leave...but that can be overturned by the Minister for Magic. Fudge probably won’t stick around long, and he probably wouldn’t bring Umbridge back for fear of damaging himself further...but I wouldn’t put it past his successor to quietly put Umbridge back in her old post, given her experience as a ‘loyal subordinate.’”

Carewyn could not disguise her clear disgust with the situation, even despite the coolness of her voice and expression.

“I hate that woman,” she said very lowly and coldly. “I hate her with every fiber of my being.”

Bill’s eyes narrowed as he nodded. “I know how you feel. After everything Harry’s told us about her, it’s clear she’s an absolutely horrid person.”

Carewyn looked up, her eyebrows knitting together. “Yes...how is Harry? I heard he was here at the Ministry, when...”

She trailed off, but Bill knew what she meant.

“He’s doing as well as to be expected, from what Ron’s said in his letters. Though I suspect the loss of Sirius is probably hitting him very hard.”

Carewyn bowed her head. “...Yes, of course. He...was his only family left, wasn’t he?”

Bill nodded. Carewyn closed her eyes sadly -- even if she had yet to meet Harry, it was clear she felt very deeply for him, in that moment.

Bill reached a hand out over the desk and took Carewyn’s hand (which of course at the moment was Chester’s), offering her a smile.

“He’s still got all of us, though,” he said reassuringly. “And well...I reckon the two of us know better than anyone how friends can become family.”

Carewyn’s expression softened noticeably. She gave Bill’s hand a tight squeeze.

“We do.”

Her eyes welled up with emotion despite the calm of her face.

“Bill...it’s so good to see you,” she said very quietly.

Her voice betrayed emotions that she never would’ve felt brave enough to show in school. Despite the levelness of her tone, it was so warm and soft -- full of sincere caring.

Bill’s eyes filled up with some tears as he squeezed her hand back.

And as Bill held her gaze, he noticed her eyes changing color -- lightening from a dark brown to a pretty blue.

“Guess it’s time,” he prompted her. “Do you need to change?”

“I suppose so,” Carewyn said dryly. “Chester doesn’t have hips like mine...I reckon I might tear his pants, if I don’t. Mind turning around a minute?”

“No problem.”

Bill turned in the chair so that his long legs were propped up on the arm, resting an arm on his knee so that he could then proceed to lean his chin on his hand and glance away. He heard Carewyn murmur, “Auravelum,” under her breath, presumably to obscure her desk from sight.

There was a lot of shuffling. After a couple of minutes, Carewyn murmured, “Evanesco,” and Bill looked up as the silvery blue curtain she’d conjured vanished.

And there she was -- dressed in flowing forest green robes just like the ones Chester had been wearing while disguised as her, and grinning broadly up at him through a ruby red smile.

Bill’s face broke into a larger grin, his brown eyes sparkling at the sight of his best friend. He got up, swept around the desk, and snatched her up in a huge hug.

The two of them were a funny sight -- a gangling, leather-dressed Cursebreaker with a fang earring and a ponytail hugging a tiny, lady-like witch with makeup and conservative dress robes -- but they clung to each other with an almost fierce kind of affection, laughing happily.

“I have so much to tell you,” murmured Bill. “I hardly know where to start...”

Carewyn’s lips spread into a smile even as her own eyes welled up with tears. “I don’t have as much to tell, I’m sure, but...I’ve missed you so much.”

“Me too,” said Bill. “Not being able to write, or visit -- having to just stay in touch through Tonks and Jae -- ”

“ -- and for a whole year,” Carewyn agreed. “I know.”

She reached up as high as she could, even going on her tiptoes, so she could hold the back of Bill’s head. Bill held the back of her head too, squeezing her tight.

“Are you really engaged now?” asked Carewyn curiously.

Bill was a bit startled. He smiled a bit sheepishly over Carewyn’s shoulder.

“Oh, ah...yeah. You heard about that?”

“No,” said Carewyn uncomfortably. “I...sort of sensed it. In your thoughts.”

Bill pulled away to look at her better, a bit affronted. “Carey!”

Carewyn looked very apologetic as her gaze drifted down to rest on Bill’s shoulder rather than his face.

“I’m sorry! I wasn’t actively using my Legilimency, it’s just...gotten so sensitive now, in this line of work. And I suppose it was one of those things you really wanted to tell me, because I kept seeing you holding a ring, and...well, you asked me to be more open with you, about things.”

Bill’s face was flushed slightly, but he couldn’t stop himself from smiling wryly.

“...So I did. Kind of took some of the wind out of my sails, though.”

Carewyn shot him a cool look through her own light blush. “I’m sure you’ll get back at me for it at some point.”

“Rest assured I will,” said Bill with a grin. “Maybe at the wedding.”

Carewyn blinked in surprise. Then her eyes widened, softening visibly.

“...Are you inviting me?”

“Of course I am!” Bill laughed. “There’s no way in Hell I’m going to let you get away with not being part of it. Actually...”

Bill’s face flushed a bit and he brought a hand up to rub his neck self-consciously.

“...I was...wondering if you’d maybe...if you wanted to...if you’d sing something, for it.”

Carewyn’s eyes widened. “Sing at your wedding?”

“Something for our first dance,” mumbled Bill, smiling shyly through his darkening flush. “Would you?”

Carewyn covered her mouth with both hands, trying to hold in her emotions.

“Of course!” she breathed, her voice oddly high in her throat. Clearly she was very touched.

She quickly grabbed both of Bill’s hands in hers, her blue eyes shining.

“Of course I’ll sing for you...both of you.”

Bill’s flushed face was as bright as a sunrise as he beamed.

“You can pick the song,” he said, his smile becoming a bit more cheeky. “Even something stupid, if you want.”

Carewyn laughed behind her hand. “No way! I am not going to sing something stupid for my best friend’s wedding!”

“Aw...but ‘Agadoo’ is a real jam, isn’t it?”

“It’s complete and utter rubbish and you know it, William Weasley.”

[vfenrirsv]

When I die, let the wolves enjoy my bones; When I die, let me go…

I couldn’t even begin to tell you when I last felt like I was myself; when I last felt proud of who I am, or where I came from, or of all the obstacles that I’ve had to overcome in order to get to where I am today.

I was born “Vanessa.” A Gemini, an Air sign, a Horse under Chinese astrology. Coyote is my Totem. Wolf is my Sacred Guide. In Greek the meaning of my name is “Butterfly,” also from Phanessa, the mystic goddess of an ancient Greek brotherhood bent on finding Truth. Various accounts offer the ideas that someone named “Vanessa” bears the qualities of beautiful and strong, and most importantly ‘always tough on the inside.’ To the latter, at least, I can attest.

My Mother, in my infancy, called me “‘Nessa” in affection and “Vanessa-Anne” in ire. If my Father ever called me by any name other than “Baby-girl;” I can’t remember. I don’t remember much about my Father before my early tweens, when I was forced by the courts to spend time with him in an attempt to foster some type of relationship with the man that my Mother had divorced.

In elementary school I was simply “Vanessa.” Straight-A student in all but mathematics, budding lover of arts and crafts, and defender of both my own and my Mother’s honor on the playground when kids teased me about acting like a tomboy, or not having a father.

Throughout secondary school I was largely invisible – called a number of racial slurs, though I never considered any of them my name, even when someone took the time to recognize me; to bully me. Being white in a community predominated by African American and Hispanic families didn’t grant me the illusionary honor of being called anything other than “Cracker” or, “Piglet” since my parents worked in law enforcement.

By then, I didn’t want to be “Vanessa.” I didn’t want to have a name at all. Silence and being invisible was better than being called out for all of the things that I had no control of. It wasn’t my fault that I was born white, or born into a broken home, or the product of two law enforcement officers who sought happiness outside of their careers. In a quickly emerging socio-economic climate where all three of those variables were prescribed as being abhorrent or fundamentally wrong, I was cast adrift to navigate those faults as if I had brought them upon myself by my own hand. “Dealt a bad hand,” as they say; but it didn’t matter. “She’s a tough little thing.”

When I die, you can push me out to sea; When I die, set me free…

I was in fifth grade when I thought about suicide for the first time. Those dark thoughts were the result of climbing onto an overly-full bus to go to school; only to find that the only available seat was being used to hold the book-bags for a trio of African American girls who took one look at me and sneered. I sat on the edge of the seat, careful not to disturb their property; but when the bus turned a corner, and one of their bags fell the floor; they immediately grabbed my hair, punched me in the stomach, and began to degrade me with every slur they could think of. I hated myself and my name for no other reason that it wasn’t socially acceptable to be who I was.

When my mother later confronted the counselor of the school, a robust African American woman herself; she was told something to the effect of “to take her whining child and leave.” The "counselor" never said my name, because to them, I was a nobody. I was invisible.

In high-school I was both “Van” and “’Ness,” depending on how close I was with the person calling my name. I fell into Art and Science, and always kept my nose in a book. I avoided most people like the plague. When I joined the marching band I wore long jackets even in the summer and did my best to ignore the jokes about me being shy, but for the first time in a long time I wasn’t invisible and I wasn’t nameless.

I wasn’t “Vanessa” anymore, I wasn’t the bullied and disgusting child of a single-parent officer. I clung to being “Van.” “Van” was the introverted Artist who hand-made t-shirts for several of her fellow marching band members, and who thrived in studying Marine Biology and Criminal Sciences. I cut my hair and dyed it bright colors. I played soccer in short shorts. I free dived the local haunts in brightly colored bathing suits, and learned to connect to my peers. I got piercings up both of my ears and a tattoo on my back. I stopped wearing clothing to hide within. I grew to trust and love a very small group of people that, to this day – even though I’ve hardly spoken to any of them in years – I still consider my family. “Van” was the antithesis to “Vanessa.” Where “Vanessa” was reclusive, anti-social, and forced to grow up fast, “Van” was vivacious, carefree, and youthful.

Just before my 19th Birthday I met M. Tall, dark, handsome, though 10 years my senior; everything a budding idiot of a young woman would look for in a man – minus the obvious red-flags of him being not-so-separated from his soon-to-be-ex-significant-other and going thru a messy divorce. I saw a man, deliciously off limits, and he saw a young woman unclaimed by any other. When we eventually came together he panted into the naked dip between my shoulders, and between his ragged breaths on the precipice of a climax, the name “Vanessa” – for the first time in years – didn’t make me flinch or shy away.

When I joined the military midway through my first year in college, I was only identified by my last name, as it was barked at me for eight weeks in Boot, and then used as the only true thing that I owned without cost, once I was sent to my duty stations. It was tacked onto my MOS and Rank each time I was reassigned or given a new task. It was efficient, neutral, and impersonal. I grew to be the same. My shipmates called me by rank in the office, and “Van” on shore leave.

Years after; after M’s successful divorce, a couple more of my birthdays, and a few new duty stations, I began to better understand who I was as “Van.” I cultivated myself and thought for sure that this is who I was meant to be, and that I was with the person that I was supposed to be with. I soon learned otherwise. M was man with the world at his feet, divorced, with a young virile military girlfriend, he could do anything his heart desired. He ended up desiring all options that were the opposite of my own. So, true to my name, I tempered the steel within me; handed him back the $10,000 engagement ring he had placed on my finger; and told him “I love you, but now I know that love – sometimes – isn’t enough;” and we separated.

When I die, let the sharks come 'round to feed; When I die, set me free…

When I was honorably discharged from the military I was left adrift to deal with my PTSD and clinical depression. No one called me by my last name anymore. I was a civilian now. I did my best to stay “Van” in all the ways that mattered. I clung to my confidence, my intelligence, my MOS skillset; but I was also now blunt, with a dark sense of humor, and didn’t associate well with people my own age. I was standoffish and curt, expecting the same manner of respect and accountability from my new civilian peers as I had grown accustomed to while in the service. I started asking people to simply call me “V.”

“It’s just easier,” I’d tell people with a smile, but the truth was that I didn’t know who I was anymore.

When I met S, I was still “V.” I was mysterious and adventurous. I was a vixen, a one night stand, a pirate queen who left a trail of broken hearts behind her, a woman out to see the world and maybe watch it burn. I was fun and brutal in equal measures. The military made me sharp, and S was more than rough around the edges. We fell for each other faster that might have been wise, took to one another like melodramatic lovers always do. There was carnal passion and dangerous motorcycle rides down highways at 3AM. There were nights when we wouldn’t speak at all, and it didn’t matter that I didn’t want to have a name, or that his name was all that I would whisper or scream for hours. There were risks of getting caught, of getting pregnant, of getting too attached. There were days when all we would do was talk, and yet for all of our words we would talk about nothing at all. There were days when I knew that I had fallen in love, and nights when I had convinced myself that I didn’t deserve a single bit of it.

When you don’t have a name and don’t care who you’re becoming; it doesn’t matter what happens next. So one day, I left. I made the excuse that I had been offered a job somewhere across the country, that I was going on a vacation, that I was interning with a university out in the desert. It didn’t matter what I said. I was already gone. Lying to myself about why I was cutting the strings became easier the further away I got. Years later, S and I ran into one another; and he fervently admitted that he had been in love with me and had been too stupid to say it. I admitted that I had felt much the same, but had been too broken to allow myself to believe it.

When I die, let the flames devour me; When I die, set me free…

I rounded out many of the sharp edges that the military had left me with by moving back home. I had found employment in the civilian sector that matched closely with my MOS in the military, and I had begun to try and make friends on my off days. Mostly, I spent my free-time outside. I’d kayak or free dive the freshwater rivers in my home region, hike the beach trails or brush-land. I’d camp on the beach some nights or lay in a hammock in the dark of the pinewood on others. My time in the isolation of wilderness taught me how to sit still with my own darkness, and I believed that I would be mentally equipped to handle it.

Then, I stopped looking for myself in nature and started dating. I felt that I was ready. Tough girls move forward, right? That’s how I met J: completely by accident. A friend of my brother’s from the same high school – we had crossed paths more than a few times; with him a football star and me Second Chair in marching band. He called me “Van” and it didn’t strike me as odd, knowing that he knew me from before; when being “Van” meant more than being “V.” We connected, and did well for a time. He got a job as a Deputy and I as a Dispatcher. Things seemed like they were beginning to align. I thought my future was in sight. He said my name with pride and affection when he introduced me to his parents. He breathed life back into the part of me that was both “Van” and “’Ness” and “Vanessa” in equal measures, fixing me with slivers of adoration, challenge, pride, hope, adventure, and affection. We had many of the same interests, he never once stopped showering me in affection, and J could make me feel like the most treasured woman in the room with nothing more than a wink.

Moving in together with his brother and brother’s girlfriend is what killed all of the fragile progress that had been made. I came home from a twelve hour shift one afternoon to his brother’s girlfriend screaming obscenities. I didn’t clean enough. I didn’t follow her rules enough. I wasn’t present enough, or friendly enough. I was too young at the time to understand that she was unhappy with more than just herself, that there were things going on in her life that had nothing to do with me; but all I heard was: “Vanessa” wasn’t good enough to be part of “this family” anymore. They didn’t want anything to do with “Van.” I fell apart, and I was too broken to accurately convey to J what her statements had done to me mentally, what his brother’s silence in the face of those blatantly vindictive statement had done to me. I wasn’t able to convey all of the damage that I believed was irrevocably done.

I closed in on myself and became “V” again. If they didn’t want “Van,” or “’Ness,” or “Vanessa” in their picture-perfect ideations of the familial future, then I’d do them all a favor and leave. So I ended it. Moved into my own place. Started over. “V” didn’t care if she left another broken heart to the surf; didn’t care if starting over caused more harm than good. “Van” began to have the same connotations as “Vanessa.” I was running out of nicknames and letters to remove from my name; as if parceling out portions of my appellation would allow me the illusion that I was – somehow – keeping it all together. I gathered what I had left of myself and pushed forward. If nothing else, I was ‘always tough on the inside,’ right?

When I die, throw my ashes to the breeze; When I die, scatter me…

Later, I met my ex-husband D, an Air Force veteran, and each step in our post-military journey together unknowingly brought us closer to our unavoidable divorce. We both had scars that weren’t truly healing over, and we both had been losing ourselves to our own different demons for years before we met. We both wanted a distraction, someone to fall into on the weekends. He didn’t mind that I wasn’t looking for more than a dalliance, and I was secure in the knowledge that I could use him to chase away the solitude while maintaining my independence. By the time we realized that we were mired in one another it was almost a surprise for both of us to find that our demons played well together. Everything seemed fine, until it wasn’t.

We were always on the move. Influenced by work or family or our own personal goals; we would set out to each new place with hope in our hearts and dreams of bright futures in our minds. We’d drag each other along with us; happy to be in the orbit of the other even if it meant more change. Florida, Georgia, Tennessee. Kentucky, Michigan, Colorado…Each move was a fresh start, right? Each move was a learning opportunity, an adventure, a chance to explore instead of putting down deep roots…

I cannot speak on his behalf, but in my reality, each move brought a new job that I needed to train for, understand, and master; with new titles that I needed to be worthy of, and new responsibilities that I needed to fulfill. Each new apartment complex would be a new contract and a new name that someone would call me by; “206B,” “Mrs. Vanessa,” “Miss Van,” or some hybrid combination of both my and his last name.

By Colorado we no longer wanted the same thing. I hated being “Mrs. Vanessa,” or some last name sphinx-crossbreed. “Mrs. Vanessa” had suddenly become a weekend step-mother to two young boys who neither wanted me or needed me in their lives; and was now the wife of a man who didn’t know what he wanted out of a career or a marriage. “Mrs. Vanessa” found herself far from any semblance of a home, in a relationship that was coming undone at the very seams.

D moved back to his childhood home in Michigan, and I stayed in Colorado. Alone. We were separated for several weeks; trying to figure out how to salvage what we had attempted to build together. Demons play well together until, unsurprisingly, they don’t. The time that we spent separated outnumbered the time that we had been factually married. The distance allowed us to say all of the things that we otherwise wouldn’t have said to each other’s faces. Full disclosure and transparency came at the cost of long distance calls and aggravated re-dials. We yelled. We cried. We drew the venom out of the wounds we’d inflicted upon each other and finally relented. We didn’t attempt marriage counseling.

When the years have torn me apart; Just Let me be…

In an attempt to patch the internal damage, I made friends outside of my job. We started game nights, hosted pot-lucks, explored Colorado, and I was able to truly find kinship in one of my new friends. A fellow Gemini, Air sign, military veteran, person who had lost their path but had managed to find their way. I connected with them, trusted them, and turned to them when I knew that the floundering of my marriage was inevitability going to result in failure. I was branching out, I told myself. It was healthy to make friends and not let myself wallow in the fact that I had failed at being a wife. I buckled down and filed for divorce. “Tough on the inside,” I reminded myself. Always. Tough. On. The. Inside.

Failure makes us vulnerable, and vulnerability leads to poor decisions. On New Year’s Eve in Colorado, leaning on the trust of friendship and the influence of alcohol, I was sexually assaulted by the very friend that I had turned to for support during my divorce. He called me “Vanessa.”

God, I hate that name.

I adopted a cat to quell the gathering dejection, violation, betrayal; the over-abundance of feeling everything and nothing at all, and requested an inter-agency job transfer out of state. I landed in Kansas. The divorce was finalized less than four months from the day I married my ex-husband. I was a newly-wed in August and a Divorcee in December. I forced myself forward and turned over a new page in January of that following year. ToughOnTheInsideGodDammit.

All the world is dark, and I've looked as far as I can see…

This time, I did not seek out friends outside of my job. I kept my relationships professional. I was more willing to hang out with someone from the office in a neutral setting, but would stay home elsewise. I stopped responding to the name “Vanessa” entirely.

Loneliness also makes us vulnerable, but in a different way; and that same vulnerability leads us to do one of two things: Cloister ourselves away and never interact with people again, or Muster up enough courage to try new things. I chose Option #2: I joined some dating websites. I met men and women alike, and I began to grow more confident in my skin. I was “Van” again and I liked who I was becoming. I was independent and I wasn’t allowing myself to crumble beneath the weight of everything that I had been through. As my namesake, I was determined to be tough on the inside.

Being strong and independent and courageous led me to J. He didn’t mind that I was imperfect, didn’t balk at my scars or my demons, and didn’t shy away from my past. J had a past of his own, had made mistakes of his own, had a life of lessons learned and adventures had of his own; so it didn’t seem so scary to open myself up again. To be someone more than “V.” He promised the world; a future with deep seated roots, the dream of a home, a family. I believed him. Like an idiot, I believed him. We married. We vowed to cleave to one another alone, to put each other before ourselves, to love each other unconditionally; to battle the world together. We swore to cherish and adore one another, to build a life together and never take each other for granted.

I try. I try so fucking hard. When I feel ignored, I buckle down and swallow it. When I feel stressed I keep it in to prevent stressing him out more than he claims he already is.

He calls me “Beautiful” and “The Best Thing to Ever Happen to Him,” but follows these hollow words with casual indifference and gentle disregard. He doesn’t abuse me, but he doesn’t cherish me either. He speaks of me with pride when he talks to his family; but does not stand up for or defend me when his Step-Mother disparages me and belittles my actions. “Babe,” he calls me “This is just how she is with everyone. You’re Amazing.” I am supposed to be content with that. I am supposed to be content with sitting in silence, hailed as “amazing,” or “beautiful,” or “the best.” Hollow words echo in silence. Distort. Sound false. Do not bear weight in their worthlessness.

I realize that I don’t even know the last time he has called me by name and meant it…Maybe it was the day we got married. Maybe it was the day he proposed. Maybe it was our second date...

I try harder. When I feel neglected I go out of my way to do things for him that would please him; I cook his favorite meals, I wear alluring lingerie, I clean the entire house and make sure that he doesn’t have to lift a finger after work. When all else fails I reach out to his best friend to ask for advice on what I can do to make things easier, better, for my husband. I set aside my own embarrassment at having to ask for insight from someone else, instead of getting the answers from my own husband’s mouth, as to why he doesn’t seem to want me anymore. “It’s not you, Babe,” he says. It’s difficult to stay tough on the inside when “It’s not you,” echoes hollow and sounds more like “I don’t have a reason.”

When we disagree, he calls me by my full name, tacking on his last name at the end, as if in joking-jest; as if calling me anything other than some form of dead endearment will lend seriousness to his statements. “I promise,” he says. “I love you,” he says. I am not angry that his words hold no meaning or value anymore. I am just angry that I can no longer trust anything he says. I am angry that more often than not there are no words at all, just furious silence.

When I die, just let me be…

I am angry that I have allowed myself to become this nameless, hopeless, loveless thing. I am not even “V,” at this point. I don’t even know who I am anymore.

The wife I have become is a meaningless thing. What communication can be had between a wife who tries best to express her feelings and desires to a husband who reacts with anger and frustration when faced with the truth? What future can be had when a husband will not be intimate with his wife? What value do a husband’s words have when each promise is broken, when there is no follow-through on simple tasks of keeping a home, fostering a relationship, or growing a friendship?

“Nessa” and “Vanessa-Anne” in equal measures, had been emotionally bruised by the divorce of her parents; learning early in life that sometimes letting go is the best option. “Vanessa” was poisoned by the realization that your name means nothing to those who take one look at you and refuse to learn who you truly are on the inside. Both “Van” and “’Ness” learned the fragile existence of friendship, and the aching stab of loneliness that comes after you open your heart to a select few only to grow apart from them for no other reason than life gets in the way. “Van” was sullied by the painful growth out of adolescence and the realization that love just isn’t enough. “V” was grown in cynicism, the desperate child of PTSD and depression, and knew the devastation and loss that comes with refusing to make bonds with other human beings.

When I die, let the wolves enjoy my bones; When I die, just let me go…

So who am I now? I’m not even sure the wolves would know.

Daylight is waiting for you…

_________________________

“Who Am I?” by Vann Fenrirs Volchitsa, Author

“Wolves” by Down Like Silver, Lyrics

[the-woundupbird]

moonrene a/b/o drabble

Byulyi nearly went cross-eyed trying to balance a pencil on the edge of her nose, leaning back to ensure that no wobbles would lead to the object clattering to the floor.

“Byulyi, would you stop being a dumbass and let me copy your notes?” whined Junghwan from his seat next to her.

“You should have finished it last night instead of playing video games.  I asked you to go to the library after cram school but you said no.”

“I didn’t want to have to get caught up in an enforcer patrol.  They always walk around our school because it’s integrated.”

Byulyi harrumphed as her pencil finally tipped off her nose and she caught it in mid-air.

“The enforcers aren’t that scary.”

“They’re the only branch of the police force that can freely carry guns in Korea.  How is that not terrifying?”

“They only are supposed to use them on alphas that go berserk.  You saw the news the other day right?”

She tipped her head back and met Junghwan’s sullen gaze.  Of course he had.  The whole country had watched breathlessly as the blurry images circulated all across South Korea.  Even though the schools had just started being integrated two years ago in an effort to lessen the bias amongst alphas, betas, and omegas, last week’s news made it a very hard sell.  Byulyi remembered seeing how even the grainy pixels of a handheld video had to be blurred as the alpha, clearly not on his scent blocker medication, had torn out the throat of an omega high school girl in broad daylight.  It’d gone viral in hours and trended globally by the end of the day.

So much for South Korea being the leader in cutting edge scent-blocking pharmaceutical research.

“I heard that alphas might have to start filing their teeth down now,” Junghwan murmured as he pillowed his head on his arms.

“Don’t they already?  I heard naturally they’re even sharper than betas’ teeth.”  Byulyi gave Junghwan a one-handed finger gun and he automatically curled his upper lip to show off the undeniable pointed edge.  But that was just his canines.

“Are they really all sharp? Like actual wolves?”

“Apparently,” Byulyi muttered as she wiggled her pencil in her hand, watching as the rest of her classmates filtered in for the first period of school.  She wiggled her eyebrows at her friend Heeyeon with a smile as the other girl took her seat near the front of the classroom.

“Heeyeon-ah, will you check math answers with me?” she half-shouted across the room.

“After! We’re getting a transfer student and I have to help Ms. Park settle her in.”

“Wait, really?”  Byulyi tilted her head curiously, startling a little when their teacher walked in.  She adjusted something at her desk before the class stood to bow and greet her for the morning.  Byulyi zoned out as she half listened to her teacher do a few cursory announcements.  Outside the classroom she caught sight of dark black hair in the periphery of the window.  If she wasn’t on scent-blockers she probably could smell her but it was mandatory for everyone to be on the medication to suppress as much of their differences as possible.

But, Byulyi could catch the faintest hint of something musky, like pine in the woods on a cold winter night.  It made her heart race a little in her ears.  The scent was untamed in a way that was clearly forbidden as the reintegration tapes had stated.  Wild and free—not for me!

“-Bae Joohyun.”

Byulyi blinked owlishly, tuning back in just in time for the prettiest girl she’d ever seen to slide the classroom door open and enter quietly.  She knew that every one of her classmates was straining a little forward, curious to try to tell what exactly was she.  Was she an omega? A beta? An alpha?

But of course the scent-blockers kept that a secret.  A gift for reintegration.

“Why don’t you introduce yourself, Joohyun-ah,” Ms. Park said with a smile, a hand gesturing to the eager students.

“… My name is Bae Joohyun.  I’m a transfer student from Daegu.  I’m… please take care of me.”  She bowed quickly and the rest of the class began a frenzy of curious questions despite the clear shyness tightening her face.

“What high school did you come from in Daegu? Angel High?”

“Are you an omega?  You’re so cute!”

“What’s your favorite food?”

Byulyi rolled her eyes a little and by chance her and the transfer student made eye contact.  She blinked slowly, nose twitching as she tried to put a finger on the faint scent.  It was almost like Joohyun knew she was trying to smell her because she flushed and silently sat in the empty seat behind Heeyeon, silencing the questions.

Ms. Park seemed a little flustered as she stared at Joohyun for a long moment before awkwardly shifting on her feet.

“W-well everyone, please be nice to Joohyun, okay? It’s hard transferring in the middle of the second year of high school so answer all her questions.”

Byulyi almost snorted because it’d be the other way around.  Joohyun would be lucky if she got through today with her identity not immediately revealed.

----------------------------------------------------

Byulyi usually left her classroom during break to bother Yongsun but she stuck around to watch everyone flock around the new girl.  She almost felt a little bad at the way they swarmed her, bombarding her with questions like they couldn’t tell she was getting extremely uncomfortable under the weight of them all.  Even Heeyeon looked a little terse despite her usual big smile.

She sighed as she stood and ambled over to the fray.

“-my cousin says that’s the best chicken place in Daegu!  That’s so cool your parents own that restaurant chain.”

Joohyun weakly smiled at the comment, ducking her head a little and letting her dark hair fall more in front of her face.  It was a curtain, Byulyi thought with a sad smile.

“Hey, everyone, class representative Moon Byulyi needs to talk to the transfer student.  So I’m going to steal her for a second.”

“Aw come on, Byul, can’t we have a little fun?”

“After I help her out.  Hey, Vice President Ahn, you probably need to go to the bathroom before class starts right? I’ll take care of the transfer kid.”

“Oh could you, Byul-ah? Thanks I’ll be right back!”

Joohyun raised her head, exchanging a smile with Heeyeon as the taller girl practically leaped from her seat and sprinted for the bathroom.

“Want to get out of here?” Byulyi stepped in front of the crowd of curious students.  She blocked them from Joohyun’s line of sight with her back, bracing her hands on the corner of the girl’s desk and chair.  Byulyi almost flushed at how close they were with Joohyun’s thigh almost brushing her knee.

“Where?”

Byulyi just smirked and grabbed Joohyun’s wrist, running off with a barking laugh to the dismay of her classmates.  She didn’t realize the transfer student was laughing too until they’d climbed a few flights of stairs to the empty music classroom.  Byulyi dropped Joohyun’s wrist as she stumbled into a chair, flipping her long bangs out of her eyes.

“Thanks.”

Byulyi looked up at Joohyun who was still uncertainly standing near the door, one hand clenching onto her wrist.  She looked uneasy as she glanced around the empty classroom.  It was like she was worried a chair was going to jump up and bite her or something.

“They’re all really nice.  We all basically went to the same middle school together so getting a transfer student is really fun for us.  But I can get how all those strangers up close might be scary.”

Joohyun tucked some of her hair behind her ear with a nod.  Noticing how stiff the other girl’s shoulders were made Byulyi feel a little guilty.  She seemed just as nervous as when they were down stairs.  With a determined glance around the classroom she ambled toward the only piano in the corner and gestured for Joohyun to join her.

“Can you play?”

“A little.”

“How about this one?”

Byulyi tinkered around a little, pulling a playful rendition of chopsticks from the old keys.  Joohyun bit back a smile as she tapped along, the two of them making a sloppy stream of music.

When they stopped, Joohyun turned to look at her and Byulyi swore her eyes were almost golden in the lighting.  But it must have just been her imagination.  After all, it was a lot having such a pretty girl staring at her like that.

“What perfume do you use?” she asked quickly, making a show of randomly pressing a series of lazy chords against the keys.

“Perfume?”

“Yeah.  Everyone wears it since the scent blockers sort of make you smell… sterile.  Like a hospital room.”

“I don’t wear perfume,” Joohyun mumbled as her eyes fell back to the keyboard, her profile solemn as she produced a sad string of notes from the piano.

“Oh sorry, you just smell-” Byulyi’s eyes widened at the way Joohyun’s jaw clenched so hard she could see the muscle twitch “-nice.”

“Nice?”

“Yeah.  Like have you ever gone hiking when there’s snow on the ground? It makes the trees smell so clean and fresh.  Especially the hour or two before it gets dark.  I think… I think you smell like that.”

Joohyun looked at Byulyi oddly before staring back down at her hands on the piano, small fingers almost engulfed by the sleeve of her uniform blazer.  Even though Byulyi was an omega, there was something about the other girl that made her want to protect the gentleness that seemed to ooze out of the careful way she touched everything.  If she touched me, would she act like I was made of glass, too? Byulyi wondered.

“You shouldn’t be able to smell me with the scent-blockers,” Joohyun muttered tersely, fingers tracing the piano keys but no longer playing.  “Are you an alpha? Your sense of smell is really strong.”

“No.  I’m not actually.  I was born with a good nose.”  Byulyi gave Joohyun a half-smile which the girl almost returned.

“You smell nice, too.”

“You can smell me?”

“Well, you’re standing right here,” Joohyun flushed, her cheeks undeniably pinkish at the way Byulyi leaned forward curiously.

“What do I smell like?”

Joohyun stopped trying to pull away, letting Byulyi be nearly a breath away as she let her gaze slide from her bangs to the slope of her jaw.

“Sweet.  Like candy.”

“Well don’t eat me.  I’ve read Little Red Riding Hood and I know how that story goes.”

“Do I look like the Big Bad Wolf?”

Byulyi lifted her head to laugh at the absurd question Joohyun was posing. This tiny person that looked more like a doll than a girl was asking if she was some monster from a story?

But then when Joohyun just stared back at Byulyi with not a hint of bluster, she found she couldn’t quite say no.  

[dawnwave16]

Not what I Expected.

Heya, so this is my very first fanfic and it was ment to be a one shot but it has run away and is taking me along for the ride.  Before anyone asks, I do have HC’s for it but no idea how far this will go!

1(Here); 2 ; 3

Anyway here’s Chapter 1:

Takes place during CM: BB episode 5 “ The Lonely Heart”

The case just didn't make any sense what so ever. First, the eyes were mutilated, then the head was removed.  What was the connection and what were they missing? Matt Simmons was sitting in the park near a school trying to clear his head as he asked himself those questions. In the distance, he could see a man feeding the pigeons and a policeman arguing with someone over a parking ticket. He closed his eyes trying to keep himself focused, forehead resting in his hands and his elbows on his knees.

“Sir?” He looked up again at the sound of a soft feminine voice. “Are you alright?” the voice continued. 

Matt sighed. “I'm alright, just trying to figure out the answers to something,” he replied then looked at the person talking to him. She was fair-skinned with ravens wing black hair that shone blue in the sunlight. Her eyes were a vivid blue, yet somehow, strikingly familiar, and she had freckles on her nose. If he had to guess her age he'd have said she was possibly 15 at most. 

“ If you stuck on a question and don't have all the answers, why don't you think of something different for a while? I find that always helps me when I'm trying to design and can't quite get it to look right.”

“What do you suggest I think about then?” Matt asked with a smile.

 “Well, I heard your stomach grumble so maybe you should think about some food? Or you could think about something you know will make you happy.” It was at this moment a scream was heard. Matt was instantly searching for the source of the scream. “Oh, not again!” The girl seemed almost exasperated and he was struck by how familiar it seemed. She looked at him calmly and said: “Head to the bakery that's behind you, tell the woman at the counter that Marinette sent you and she should help you.”

 “Wait I could-” 

She cut him off before he could continue, “No offence but you'll only be in Ladybug and Chat Noir's way if you try help out. I'm going to try to keep Alya from getting killed, not that she'll listen to me anyway!” The last part was said in a disgusted mutter and Matt made a mental note to ask her about it. It would have to be later though as she had already disappeared from sight.

Matt shrugged, he might as well do as the girl said. Marinette, she said her name was Marinette. Even as he walked to the bakery his mind lingered on how familiar she seemed, yet he knew he had never met her before. As he entered the bakery he was hit was the mouth-watering scent of fresh bread and pastries. 

“Welcome to Tom & Sabine Boulangerie Patisserie, I'm Sabine Cheng, please feel free to look around and if you have any questions or would like to place an order I'll be with you as soon as I can!” The voice was cheerful yet edged with exhaustion and came from a small woman who looked very similar to Marinette.

 Must be her mother, he thought. He was quiet for a second then said “I was sent here by Marinette when the screaming started. She said you could explain it to me as she was going to try to stop a friend of hers from getting hurt.” 

“Oh! It's just an Akuma attack, we have them quite regularly these days, unfortunately.” She then told him everything that she could about the attacks and how they were handled. At one stage Jack Garret called to get an update and Matt explained where he was and that he would give a full debrief when he got back to the station. Suddenly, a swarm of red ladybugs seemed to fly through the air and Matt watched as everyone instantly relaxed again. Sabine smiled, “Looks like Ladybug and Chat Noir won again, I hope they didn't have too much trouble!”

Before Matt could ask what she meant Marinette walked through the door. Her hair was messy and she seemed to be trying to hide her face, her eyes downcast. 

“Marinette?” Sabine asked softly. Marinette looked up, a bright red handprint was visible on the face and it was slightly swollen. “What happened?” Sabine hurried over to her daughter and looked at her closely. “Who hit you?” Marinette sighed 

“Ayla did, Maman, Lila told her that I was trying to make Nino cheat on her and Ayla just took off. She refused to listen to me when I said it wasn't true!” 

Matt frowned, “Does Lila often do this type of thing? You seem resigned about how this has happened.” 

Sabine looked at Marinette and seemed to come to a decision. “Let me close up the shop and we can head upstairs to talk about this.” Marinette seemed about to protest so Matt spoke up. 

“I'm with law enforcement so maybe I can help come up with solutions with you. You have helped me today so please, let me help you.” Marinette pouted, then winced as it pulled her skin. 

“Ok, I guess I need to put ice on this too.”

Sabine walked to the door and flipped the sign then led the way upstairs.

“Where do you want me to start?” Marinette said warily, her eyes closed. She held an icepack wrapped in a thin towel lightly against the throbbing handprint on her face.

Sabine looked at Matt and seemed to come to a decision.

“While your papa and I know most of this it might be best for you to start at the beginning so that SSA Simmions can get a clear idea of everything that has happened. He might be able to see something that could help.”

Marinette kept her eyes closed but nodded in understanding.

“It all started with a new girl joining our class...” Marinette then told Matt everything that had happened since Lila had joined her class. She spoke about Mr Agreste's book and how Lila had stolen it, she spoke about the fact that she had been threatened in the bathroom and her near Akumatisation. She spoke about how her teacher kept saying she had to set an example for the rest of her class. As she spoke she seemed to almost fold into herself as she fought to keep herself from falling apart.

Matt was stunned as he listened. Here was a girl whole had gone out of her way to help him, a stranger, who did all she could to help everyone she could and yet this was the nightmare that she was living with. He wondered how she hadn't snapped yet, after all, he'd delt with unsubs who had snapped after far less. He also couldn't help but see his sons in her place and had to fight to stop himself from getting angry on her behalf. All the while he kept thinking that she reminded him of someone, he just wished he knew who it was. Then she said something that had him snapping to attention.

“Wait did you just say she claimed to be related to David Rossi, the author?”

“Yes, it's one of the few names I didn't recognise to I don't know if she is lying about that one or not. They have the same surname but that doesn't mean anything and to be honest, she could be lying about her name and none of us would know.”

“I can make some calls to check but I'm pretty sure Dave only has a grandson and no granddaughters, certainly none that would be your age.” He was about to say more but at that moment his phone went off. It was Clara saying that Jack was getting annoyed with how long he had been away and that they had a lead.

“You have to go don't you?” Marinette's voice was slightly hoarse from talking so much.

“Unfortunately yes but I would like to keep in contact and see what I can do to help.”

“Well then,” Sabine spoke up from the kitchen “You and your team are welcome to come round for a meal or even coffee to help relax before you fly home. I won't take no for an answer, either.”

“I'll tell the team. In the meantime here is my card and if I can get your number I'll call as soon as I can, either with ideas to help Marinette or when we are done.” Matt smiled slightly then he looked at Marinette. “As for you little lady, I will get hold of David to double-check about his family and do a bit of research to see what I can find.”

“You don't have to-” Marinette started.

“How could I not? I have children of my own and if they were in your situation I would do all I could to help them, just as your parents have done. I just happen to have more resources at my disposal,” he said with a wink.

Marinette smiled her first true smile of the afternoon as far as Matt could see, then nodded.

“Ok, then Agent Simmons.”

“Call me Matt.” He smiled, “I'll see you soon.”

As he left he thought over what he had heard. He also thought about why some of the things she did as well as her eyes seemed familiar. It was only as he scrolled through his list of contacts to find Garcia's name and saw one in particular that he realised why that was. Her eyes had the same tired quality as most BAU agents he knew but even without that, he should have recognised them. After all one of his contacts had the same eyes, identical in colour, shape and depth. Aaron Hotchner. 

[hphm-etched-engraved-everlasting]

27. Clara

Author’s Note/Table of Contents

Owl or artefacts? Obedience or rebellion?

Mundungus Fletcher’s discovery had my search turn a full 180 after I told Jacob and little Em of my plan to gain a lead on the owl that the white quill came from. But did Dark Artefacts have anything to do with what laid in the next Vault? Either way, Fletcher said that if she got her hands on them, R would be one step closer to the Vault, and I was not about to take chances.

But the search didn’t go as planned--Bill couldn’t find them in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, and then old Filch blabbed to Dumbledore after he caught me and Merula hanging around in his office. Professor Snape wasn’t much help with the cause either--rather, he was too busy brewing Veritaserum in his office, and then he said Rakepick’s Dark Artefacts were cursed themselves. Apparently they were cursed with unfamiliar Dark magic that even I personally couldn’t handle--not that I would try if I had the option to.

And now I found myself back in the Headmaster’s office, summoned by Professor Dumbledore who had heard the whole story from Filch. The pain from my tongue where my teeth pierced through every taste bud was nothing compared to that insatiable itch to put Rakepick to justice as soon as I potentially could.

He still doesn’t understand. He probably never would.

“Professor, please.” I’ve tried to exercise enough patience to the Headmaster now, but I could feel my temper rising within me. “Rakepick cannot get her hands on those Dark Artefacts! If she does, she’ll be one step closer to finding the last Cursed Vault! We have to stop her!”

“And we will,” Professor Dumbledore tried to reassure me. “You should be focusing on your studies--or did you already forget our earlier conversation about getting your priorities in order?”

“I haven’t forgotten. I just wanted to put Rakepick in her place--or at least do something to ensure that!”

“So you decided to ignore my request to leave these matters to us?”

It wasn’t like they weren’t trying--yet even if they did, I haven’t seen any visible proof. 

“Ha! Serves you right, Lin,” Merula taunted me with a laugh.

“Miss Snyde, your obsession with finding Rakepick hasn’t gone unnoticed either,” Professor Dumbledore warned Merula now. “I do plan to save your lecture for another day, but you must do well to remember: revenge is an awful waste of talent.”

He then proceeded to tell me that the artefacts were housed at the Ministry, kept safe from the hands of those with “well intentions”. Basically a way to throw us off the search while we still could. The information did little to ease my conscience, though--if anything, it made me want to infiltrate the Ministry more than I wanted to slap Merula for her homicidal mindset. Yet the tone Dumbledore adopted as he spoke to me made me feel uneasy. There was a reason he put me in detention for most of my fifth year, after all.

Still, I couldn't just sit around and let the artefacts wait for its devious owner.

A long, loud sigh of defeat whooshed past my lips as I dropped onto a chair in the library, throwing my bag onto the table where it landed with a clink. I could hear Pince hiss a quick "SHH!" behind me, the sound passing through my brain like the rattling wind through the branches of the Whomping Willow, and I scowled under my breath as I took out my Transfiguration textbook and propped it open. I remembered Rowan bringing me to the library back in my third year to help me study so I could earn the privilege to go to Hogsmeade. Speaking of Rowan, I haven't seen her in a long while--where was she?

"Clara? You okay?"

I glanced up now to see Tulip walk over to me, pulling up a chair and sitting by me with a worried expression on her face. Aside from Rowan, Penny and Tonks, Tulip Karasu was also one of my closest friends at Hogwarts. Since the time we both worked together to conquer the Vault of Fear, as well as the time she helped me earn a spot in the Frog Choir, I felt like she was a really cool person to be friends with. Even if she was Merula's friend at first, we quickly grew to trust each other.

"Just bummed," I admitted, dropping my voice so Madam Pince couldn't hear. "Just when I get a lead on the search, someone had to call it off."

"Oh?" Tulip's face scrunched into one of confusion before her eyes widened in realization, and she nodded thoughtfully. "Ohhhhh."

"Yeah," I said. "The Vault. I've been looking for an eagle owl that's had an allegiance with 'R', but a source told me to look for Rakepick's Dark Artefacts instead. Dumbledore told me they'd be safe at the Ministry, but I'm not convinced of it."

"You mean the artefacts Rakepick always made us study last year? Would they still be in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, then?"

"Bill and I already searched there. No luck."

"So that should be enough to tell you to stay away from the Ministry, Clara," a new voice laced with a slight sneer piped up.

I turned around to see Percy Weasley hovering over me and Tulip with a disgusted look on his face.

"Look, I can't just sit around and do nothing while Rakepick could have some idea to disable the Ministry's security and infiltrate the building undetected," I countered firmly. "Yes, it would mean my parents would be mad at me, but I have to do this for the ultimate greater good."

"And if you're caught?" Percy inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"All the more reason to take a risk!" Tulip said with a nod, slowly catching on with the plan. "No risk, no reward!"

"Wait, wait. Tulip, don't your parents work in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?" Percy asked Tulip then. "You break the rules despite your parents working for that Department?"

Tulip gave Percy an incredulous look and began laughing so loud, I thought Madam Pince would dash over on hot heels to shush us indefinitely.

"Oh, you naive child," Tulip said with a shake of her head. "I break the rules because my parents work for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"Percy, I'm not asking you to actually come with me to the Ministry if I do decide to break in one day just to get the artefacts," I told Percy then. "But I know you want to work there in the future, so I could really use the knowledge of it. I've never been inside the Ministry despite my parents working there starting last year, anyway."

Percy glanced at both me and Tulip rather incredulously for a few seconds before heaving his own sigh of defeat. "Fine. For the record, I still think this plan is wrong and a total violation of the rules, but you helped find Fred and George when they went missing without asking any questions, so..." He clenched his fist and nodded. "Let's just do this before I come to my senses."

And so they gave me the low-down of the Ministry's interior. I knew of the hidden entrances to hide prying eyes from Muggles, as my parents told me, but I was not prepared to hear that it was located underground in London. Not to mention the fact that there was a department on every floor, accessible by a lift except for the tenth floor--well, I could only imagine the environment my parents worked in every day. I was surprised Tulip had been to the Ministry a few times with her parents back in the day, knowing how much she doesn't like the prospect of being with her parents who were so firm on keeping everything in line. Still, they both gave me enough information for me to figure out the general layout.

"Oh wow," I eventually remarked. "The Ministry seems much more complex and intimidating than I thought. Seems like this infiltration plan of mine provides more problems than I thought--getting in would be hard, and even if I do get in, it'll be hard to find the artefacts, let alone access them." I sighed and closed my Transfiguration book. "I could ask my parents, but I have to keep Jacob's word. I can't let them know why I'm doing this."

"I'd ask my parents, but they don't want me to have anything to do with you," Tulip added dejectedly. "They think you're a troublemaker. I think that's your best quality."

Talk about strict parents, I thought. Perhaps they'd need a lesson or two from my mother about what makes proper parenthood for both themselves and their children.

"And my dad gets in enough trouble at his job as it is," Percy said. "I don't want to give them a reason to sack him."

No connections on the inside to help? This plan was in much worse shape than I thought.

"I think I know of one other person who works at the Ministry who might be able to help," Tulip finally said, pulling out her quill and a piece of parchment from her own bag. "Remember Chester Davies? He helped you with the frog choir auditions."

"You mean the old Ravenclaw prefect? Yeah, I remember," I recalled. "You sure he could help? I don't think he knows me or remembers me much."

"I'm sure. He'll have to see it's for our good," Tulip assured me firmly. "For those who have a future in the wizarding workforce...they have to overcome these problems at school before anything else."

Percy could only throw an exasperated look as he left us, and the scratching of Tulip's quill on parchment did little to ease my conscience fully. Even with this possibility, the plan could still fail.

Yet I knew it was far too late to obey my brother's words.