#we just rely on our memory more than archives

[unhonestlymirror]

DUCK.

So I have a Ukrainian friend in the same uni but in the 1st year, and he said they have a project to do

"Genetical Tree" or something.

AND THEY HAVE TO KNOW ALL THE NAMES, DISEASES HISTORY, PLACE OF BIRTH AND DEATH ETC

IN ALL THE MEMBERS OF

FIVE

GENERATIONS

AT LEAST

???????PAKDJDJDKXJFJX??????

HOW TO TELL THE PROFESSORS ABOUT RUSSIAN OCCUPATION, NAZIS, HOLODOMOR, DESTRUCTION OF ARCHIVES, ETC???

"My grandpa had an inherited disease. A bullet in the heart. Inherited from nazis. Went right through his negative rezus factor".

"My grandma's disease environmental factors were Holodomor and GULAG. Maybe she had breast cancer. No one knows her real name and surname. No one knows where she was burried either."

At some point, everything you can tell about your ancestors is that they existed.

[snaggie-t00th]

hey what if i

that'd be so crazy right

ch 1 。・°°・

gender neutral pronouns, no use of y/n, clones know mando'a, crosshair doesn't turn, no beta we die like tech.

The sun had begun to slump lazily in the sky. Outcroppings of clouds blotted around it, allowing the rays to gleam down rather than the barrage of heat from early this morning. Hues of bronze and amber were slathered across the atmosphere, partly due to the dust in the air. Here past the city limits, one became acutely aware of the planet’s true climate. Roves of sand and limestone were all the eye would be met with for miles. Large, twisted succulents shot randomly out of the ground, their insides bitter and viscous with water from a long many cycles ago. The stubborn fauna was a mirror image of the people that inhabited this planet. Fierce and unyielding, hoarding what little resources are to be found, if only to assure survival for longer than tonight.

While the sun had dipped in severity, your emotions seemed to not get the memo. In fact, your heart was rattling your ribcage and wracking your nervous system. In a matter of hours you had your first customers in days, albeit shallow pocketed, and instead of doing the proper salesperson-like thing and talking Echo down to another product, you ran his pockets and asked him out.

And he said yes.

Well, not in those words. But it wasn’t a No. Or a Sure, why not. And that’s more than enough for you.

Unbeknownst to you, Echo was relying on the speeder handlebars in front of him to maintain his grip on reality.

Echo tried not to get his hopes up whenever he noticed wandering eyes on him in the past. He’d said it jokingly, but he wasn’t kidding when he’d said he was just happy you weren’t looking at him in disgust.

Or worse, someone to pity.

You hadn’t given him the sad eyes when you noticed his metal arm and scomp. You hadn’t given him the sad eyes when you noticed his gait on the way to the counter. Hell, you didn’t even make mention of the piece wrapping around his skull. He didn’t even have to ask.

And now you were wrapped around his back, pushing your weight into him as he ripped across the wastes. Your arms were slinked around his core, hands folded and your pinky ghosting across the tip of his navel. While Echo’s own hands on the speeder was his current tether to reality, the warmth of your hands was equally coaxing him back out. Coaxing him backwards to rest his shoulder blades on your chest, coaxing him to let go of the handlebars, coaxing him to close his eyes, savor the moment. But he doesn’t. The same steadfast, battle-tested resolve that made him an ARC Trooper, all of that resolve, is being called upon at this moment.

Echo flicked the gear shift forward and pressed his foot down evenly, eyes honing in on the gray dot of the Marauder coming into view on the horizon. You gripped tighter with the increase in speed, and Echo’s cheeks got warm. Omega tailed closely behind.

Earlier, before the three of you had broken the city limits, Echo gave you the rundown of his ragtag family.

Tech. Wrecker. Hunter. Crosshair.

You mentally listed the members of the Batch, trying your absolute best to commit them to memory. It’ll be a lot easier once you actually see them, trust me. Echo’s words rang through your head, a metaphysical balm to your mild-yet-steadfastly brewing social anxieties.

A loud, metallic groan roused you from your thoughts. The ramp of the Marauder began to descend, and an overwhelmingly large figure appeared at the lip of the ramp.

“9-1 odds, that's Wrecker?” You call out loudly, desperate to be heard over the speeder engine. Before Echo could respond, a surly, thickly accented voice cut through the air.

“What stray did you bring in from the rain this time, eh Echo?!”

“You would be correct.” Echo glances over his shoulder at you, before turning back and calling out to his brother. “Adoption is Hunter’s speciality. Is your chip acting up again?” Wrecker answered with a barking laugh, walking off the ramp that is now level with the planet’s surface.

Echo brought the bike to a rolling stop, the engine softly tut-tut-ing before being kicked off. Omega came up beside the two of you, parking respectively. Echo stepped off the bike and stuck his hand out for you, while Wrecker came over and swooped Omega off the bike and onto his shoulders. You coyly took his hand. “Still keeping up this smooth charade?” You chide, throwing your leg over the bike and pulling yourself up with his assistance.

“Charade? Now that’s just rude.” Echo stuck his nose up, fake indignantly.

You grin, leaning into the bit. “Oh my, how may I make up for this transgression Milord?”

Wrecker and Omega watched on with shit eating grins. Neither of them were going to be the ones to break the moment, nor were they going to be the ones to tell either of you about the matching blush the two of you were wearing.

“I’m sure I’ll find a remedy in time, fret not serf.” Echo smiled as he stuck his elbow out for you to take.

“Serf? I’ll have you know my father was a knight!” It was your turn to act fake indignant, huffing and whipping your head away from Echo. Both of you erupted into laughter at the shared moment, closing in on the ramp.

Unbeknownst to you, Hunter was in the hallway, up the ramp and around the corner, a soft smile stitching its way onto his face. He, like Wrecker and Omega, was deeply enthused about his brother’s stroke of luck with you. Hunter had heard the two of you before you’d arrived, his acute senses hearing the rumblings a few klicks away.

Hunter decided to make his presence known, slipping out of the shadows and into the main doorway.

“What’s this about me adopting someone else?” Hunter says, eyes casually shifting about the group, seeming to do a mental headcount.

“Well I’m terrible with a blaster, but I can sell exhaust pipes something fierce!” You reply sarcastically, and you offer your name and a handshake. Instead, the clone claps your forearm and shakes it once. You follow the motion, entirely through muscle memory, clapping his forearm with similar force. A soft smile sits on your face at the gesture, it was something you hadn’t done in a few cycles at this point.

“Hunter, though I’m sure Echo’s filled you in already.” He offers a pleasant smile, now more curious about the stranger aboard his ship.

“He’s only given me names.” You shrug. “But, I’ve run into two of you now, and it’s a 50/50 on whether or not your moniker’s obscenely obvious. So I think I’ll be okay.” You finish the statement with a soft, mildly forced laugh, hoping to make it as obvious as possible that you’re joking.

I just made sure Echo can kinda stand my presence, I can’t have his brother be the hard sell now.

Hunter nods and closes his eyes with a soft chuckle. “You got nothing to worry about, kid. None of us bite.”

“Except maybe Crosshair.” Three separate voices say at the same time.

Laughter erupts from the hallway and cockpit. From the gunner’s nest, a hissing grimace. Hunter beckoned Wrecker and Omega into the cockpit, nodding to you and Echo as he went. The aforementioned biter slunk his way down the ladder and towards the cockpit, casting nary a glance to the new person aboard the Marauder. A toothpick flew from in front of him, twirling in the air nonchalantly before sticking upright in a crack between the durasteel paneling of the floor. Your eyes honed in on it.

“He won’t actually bite you, but good luck getting more than three words that aren’t snarky outta the vod.” Echo spoke quietly and clasped a hand between your shoulder blades, noting your gaze. “I wouldn’t let him.” He said even quieter, barely above a hum.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Once again, Echo’s simple words are a balm for mental wounds he did not cause, and completely unintentionally. You relax your shoulders, and pull them in a circle.

“So, Tech’s left, right?”

Echo nodded, and gestured with his scomp for you to lead the way. You obliged, and went up the stairs. Through a small hallway filled with a myriad of colors and buttons, you led the two of you into the cockpit.

A somewhat larger space opened up, with similar durasteel walls peppered with buttons and lights. However bulletproof panes of glass took up a majority of the wall space, looking out at the expanse of the wastes. It made the desert look even more swallowing, seeing it from a slight elevation. Nothing else for miles and miles had the view you did right now. Something about Desert Fever slung its way through your brain, some whispers you had barely overheard from stallworkers about afflicted moisture farmers on the outskirts.

“Also colloquially known as desert mania, desert fever is usually characterized with bouts of irrational behaviors and depressive episodes, as a result of the absolute nothing around you. Some hypothesize it to be an amalgamation of chronic understimulation.” A tall clone materialized next to you from the pilot’s chair.

“That was supposed to be internal, my bad. I take it you’re Tech?” You say sheepishly, rubbing a hand on your neck as you extend the other, introducing yourself.

“You are correct. Pleasure.” He replies, holding his hand up softly as to say None for me, thanks in response to your hand out. You quickly pulled it back to your side, eyes flicking to Echo behind you for mild reassurance.

Getting the message, he cleared his throat. “Where’s everyone finding themselves tonight?”

“Hunter’s busying himself inventorying the supplies brought in, Crosshair is brooding on top of the ship, and Wrecker and Omega are outside testing her ability to detonate multiple delayed explosions.” Tech replied curtly, understanding Echo’s meaning instantly. “I will retire to the bunks if you need me. I have my holopad and charger. Kandosii, vod’ika.”

Echo’s fingers twitched at his thigh again as color shot up from his collar. “Thank you Tech!” He said, very abruptly. He politely spun you around and began to push you towards the copilot’s seat.

A part of Echo prayed you weren’t paying attention to Tech all that much.

A bigger part of him knew you understood every word thrown about.

[androgynousblackbox]

The Horror Of Our Love. 8 [Appleradio, Radioapple]

Vaggie

"Alright, let's get the usual out of the way. Investigated the guy Voxwell. No family, no friends that came out looking for him. Not hated, but with some reputation to be friends with wizards darker than the usual bunch. Honestly, I look on him just out of obligation, because I don't think there is a lot to talk about him in general. I don't feel particularly inclined to want to make justice for a guy who easily talks about leashing a toddler. Or one that apparently saw his crush killing someone in the woods only to do nothing about it but to keep exorting the killer. I don't even have that many good memmories of him as our professor. He was competent at his job and then he died. There, that is my eulogy, I guess. Good riddance.

In any case, going through that, minus the usual trauma of keep seeing the particular memories Magne feels like sharing, did unlock something I haven't thought about in a long while. You see, just like one of Magne's part said before, I did some card tricks in front of Charlie. One of my tasks as his assistant of the class was to babysit for the creature he told me was a wild animal. Charlie, who I didn't know was called Charlie, was usually pretty easy to look over. Give her some of the dead rats that Magne already had prepared for her in a tupperware that kept them fresh when she got hungry, a bottle of milk if she got thirsty, keep her entertained with something so she stays in one place and that is it. I usually did that just for a few hours while Magne worked in something else in his office.

He even paid me for it. Not a lot, but something. Right before telling me that if I wanted to keep recieving more, I had to keep quiet about this little side job. Like I said, Charlie was easy to take care of anyway. Easiest money I have ever made, actually, to this day. So I kept quiet. I assumed that there was some kind of rule somewhere about how you can't use your students to babysit dangerous animals under your care and if I spoke, Magne would be the one in trouble. Back then, that was just our professor, regardless of what I personally felt about the guy. He haven't give me any concrete reason to want to fuck him over like that. I would tell Angel that he had me sorting papers or the books in his library once I got back.

I imagine that incident with Travis was the catalyst for him to start requiring my services like that. Somehow I don't believe that he did it because he cared about the real possibility of another student dying because of her. He probably did not give a shit about that. But his kid dissapearing from his sight like that again, whether she could defend herself or not, was a different story altogether. He couldn't rely entirely on professor Barkin, so he got himself some help like any other parent would.

The thing is, it wasn't enough with me either. There was a couple of ocassions in which I went to his office for a consultation and there was already another student there, playing with Charlie. Magne wasn't even around those times, so he really trusted her to keep Charlie safe.

I haven't even thought about that student in so long, but I saw her again during the welcome feast where Voxwell was presented to the rest of us. She was in our same house and sitting nearby in that memory, as tiny and unassuming as all other first years were. I couldn't remember her name until I looked into the copy of the schools records that we have, but I recognized her face instantly.

Vagatha Firstborne, two years younger than us. On her second year she became our house Beater and kept playing on that position until her graduation. A year after that it was when the massacre happened. I never paid her much mind besides knowing that betting in her favor was a good idea and Magne must have liked her to trust her in his space, around what now I learned was his daughter. But now I was thinking about her again.

Not going to lie, part of it is because we are hitting a wall here. As it turns out, this bracelet around our sixth year. Before the night of the massacre happened, so there was only so much useful information it could give us before we were left with nothing else. We squeezed for as much we could and that kid is the only new possible lead that we have.

The fangs would show me more memories involving Charlie. More times that Lucifer or Magne brought some poor smuck for Charlie to eat. Times in which Charlie hunted rats at the closed classroom when all the students were out. Moments in which Charlie started to giggle and look up in awe when Vagatha was in front of her.

Through those particular memories we find out that Magne was teaching Charlie to do sign language. She never used it with me, I imagine because by the time she learned enough of it she understood it would be lost on me, but I saw moments in which she used it with Rosie and some clumsy gestures in front of Vagatha, who only recognized a few before she went to learn further. Apparently the particular one that set her off into doing that was "father" while refering to Magne. Magne had widened up his eyes and reached for his own wand, about to do an obliviate or something else, when Vagatha perked up.

"So you see professor Magne as your father? I guess that makes sense since he did raise you" commented the kid and Charlie clapped, not bothering to specify any further.

On the last memory of the fangs we went to see, Vagatha and Charlie could have entire conversations without either them making a sound. Magne looked over them while semi-pretending to be interested in the book open in front of him.

There were moments in which Magne took Charlie to look up from a window of the castle, after making sure that nobody else was present, so she could follow the Quidditch games in which Vagatha played and cheer her on.

"Did you see how fast she flew, dad?!" would say an amazed 7 or 8 year old Charlie from his arms, watching a Vagatha in her fourth year. "She has to be strongest girl of all teams! Isn't she amazing?"

Magne would just pet her head and smile indulgently, like he didn't care at all but was happy to see her happy. She would talk about Vagatha too in front of Lucifer and Lucifer encourage her further by feigning interest, but then ask Magne once their daughter was napping or playing in another room if Vagatha was actually a good kid, because if not he was not afraid to devour her. Magne would roll his eyes and say she was just an average student, not great, but not terrible, and besides one incident where she broke some kid's nose in her first year, she never caused any problems either. She was probably fine.

Lucifer would not be entirely convinced by that, insisting that she did not want his baby girl to learn bad habits from someone so violent. Apparently missing or not considering relevant at all that his husband was a violent murderer and he was a predator that had eaten people whole before, after and before they died. But no, the kid that had learned to channel her agression into sports and never harmed anyone again. That is the one they had to watch for. For the sake of protecting the innocence of the kid that had already killed students at the school.

My brain hurts just trying to understand that logic. The fact that Magne also didn't bring out how absurd the concern was and isntead assured Lucifer that if Vagatha hurt their Charlie, he was going to be the one to make her dissapear, only made it more tiresome to follow. As far the fangs could tell us, Magne never had any reason to do anything.

Like I said, I wasn't close to her. I haven't even thought about her in years. But if she did kept in contact with Magne, or Magne let it slip somewhere his plans, if Charlie did through her hands when she was nothing but a kid, if she could tell us anything… then I had to try. At this point, just a crumb of information would be nice.

Finding her was the easiest part. From what I could gather, she worked giving out self defense classes for muggles down the street where she lived. She had basically taken herself out of the magical community and just lived a normal non magical life. But she still needed supplies for her own potions and magical essentials, which was the reason I was able to find her. I sent the owl this morning and right now, fresh into the afternoon, I got a message back with a black crow. Her message was written with a blue pen, not quill, and said essentially said she had no issue talking.

We are setting out to her place tomorrow morning."

--

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. This is huge. There is a lot of things I have to talk about.

I will start from the beggining. Yes, we talked with Vagatha, who as soon heard me say the name said she went by Vaggie instead. She invited us inside her house. I saw non moving images in the shelves and cats sleeping on those felt castles designed for them to claw on. I counted at least four before she was back with cups full of freshly made tea. She moved a spoon inside her cup without touching as she sat in front of us.

Of course, as soon we were all in our place, Angel just had to ask what the fuck happened to her eye. Last time we ever saw her she had two. Now there was a dark grey patch on top of one and a long scar that went through her eyebrow and down to her cheek.

Oh, an attacker caught me off guard, she said with a dismissive handwave. I got the sense that she didn't really felt like talking about it and was kinda impatient about us just finishing what we came to do. I couldn't blame her. She obviously had her life set up already and we didn't have the excuse of being old friends wanting to catch up. We were essetially two strangers coming to her home to talk about an old professor she might not have liked that much in the first place. Angel got the hint too and because he does actually give a fuck about not being a dick for no good reason, just nodded his head.

I started with the actual topic, asking her all I could think of about our dear professor. She shrugged her shoulder, turned away, cleared her throat. All essentially to tell us that she was never crazy about Magne. She didn't say it, but I could easily imagine that she had a similar impression that I did: that something was not right with that man, that it was best to keep her distance, even if she couldn't pinpoint why exactly like I could't either. But he payed her to babysit his Naga and sometimes helped her out with her homework. The night of the massacre all the carriages that were meant to take them to the castle were not moving.

All those kids stayed there without knowing what to do. Some prefects on their last year took our their brooms to go up ahead and find out, while the rest stayed to try to keep everyone calm. They came back some time later, paler than the whitest sheet of paper ever invented, with a few centaurs right behind them to explain that they all had to message their families immediately, that they were coming back home. The youngest kids among them, the ones that weren't even sorted into any house, all came together in a tight group and tried to comfort each other. Nobody had the guts to tell them what happened. They thought it was the best idea to let their parents or guardians give them the news the next day, in a place where they would be safe and don't get scared.

Vaggie was told, only because she was also in her last year and therefore able to handle it. She heard about the violent scene that spread across multiples area of the castle and the fire that started in the kitchen. It was the black smoke coming out the castle for way too long that alerted the centaurs that something was wrong. They came through the entrance, saw what had happened, that there were no survivors as far they could tell. They were coming out just in time to see the prefects coming to them.

Centaurs normally could not give less of a fuck about wizards. Considering how they were treated as merely magical creatures despite being clearly intelligent, it was more than understandable. But inside that castle they knew children were supposed to come in that night and they could not simply ignore the possibility of children being harmed. A bunch of them stayed around the younger students, bowls and axes at the ready with them, in case whatever had killed their professor could appear again, until they had managed to convince the train station to send another train for them to return. Nothing seemed to happen for hours. The night was just getting darker, colder, and all they could do was sit inside the carriages or stay over the ground, contemplating the sky, painted with a black line of smoke that eventually turned itself off.

By the time they finally got an answer and started making their way to the train station, it was past the early morning. When they reached their destination, the sky was already orange. Everyone was so tired they couldn't even muster the energy to be scared any more. They just wanted to reach a bed, a comfortable seat, whatever would come first, and forget about that whole fiasco for a few hours. The centaurs followed them all the way there and saw them go with a nod. To the oldest students, those who were supposed to graduate that year, they said they did their part, but to not count with them if any of them decided to come back and anything like this happened again. They were not going to protect them if that were the case.

In the next few days, as far Vaggie knew, every single student from the fifth year and up was contacted by someone to try to give testimony into what happened. Multiple newspapers, magazines and radio personalities wanted more details, more opinions, more conspiracy theories while the authorities handled the issue. Vaggie didn't talk to anyone. What was she going to say? That her neck got stiff trying to sleep in the uneven ground on top of her luggage? That many kids cried calling their parents that night? That every little sound made someone jump? What would be the point?

Eventually, she got to go to another magic school to finish her education. As soon she got on her hands her diploma, the proof that she haven't wasted years of her life studying, she just bounced off the magical world for a calmer life. Away from any unwanted attention. Ever since then, she had kept contact with just a few of her classmates, mostly for the holidays to send each other cards and greetings, but that was as far her connections went. Otherwise, she had move on from as much anyone could.

What about Charlie?, I asked her suddenly.

Who?, she said, brushing a strand of her hair back.

You don't remember her?

I don't know who that is. Was she in my year?

The naga of professor Magne. You took care of her a few times.

Oh. I didn't know that she had a name.

As I was starting to get resigned to the idea that maybe this travel was a waste of time, Vaggie stand up. She said that there was a thing that she did want to show us. While she left us alone, I couldn't help but to look the photos in her shelf. All of them were static display from place, beautiful display, but no faces or smiling faces to the camera. I couldn't recognize the places either.

Is something the matter?, asked Vaggie. She caught me staring at a picture of a open field full of colorful flower. It looked more like a painting than a real place that could exist.

You took those?

A friend did, Vaggie smiled, almost despite herself. It was a vacation in Rumania a few years back.

I nodded as I went back to the couch. She had a framme on her hands and was holding it against her chest.

Okay, so I need to explain a few things. You probably heard about how that night a bunch of portraits from the castle were taken to try to find out what happened, but they never got a lot of information from them.

Yes, they only confirmed the deaths before the smoke from the fire made it impossible to see.

Right. Well, before all that, before the year finished, I didn't realize I had left a framme picture of my dog behind. One of my classmates did and they gave it to a professor, who was supposed to send it back to me but I guess they forgot or something. My picture was still on their office that night and in the middle of the confusion of everything, someone jumped there.

Vaggie then showed us the picture. It was indeed about a dog jumping and running around the figure of a wizard who couldn't have enough of petting him and playing with him. I recognize his face before he turned towards us and greeted us to present himself.

Octavious Fifthsin The Third had been one of the youngest Headmasters in the History of Hogwarts. An expert in numerology so exceptional that he was able to predict his own death with the numbers of his own name. He was only off for a few minutes, making a total of five years at his job. The only reason I remembered him at all was because of that mistake, because I thought how useless of an ability it was to know when things were going to end but being powerless to do anything about it. At that point just let things be a surprise anyway.

He says that everything started in the office of Headmistress Sera, said Vaggie.

Wait, wait, said Anthony. You had a witness this entire time and didn't went to tell anyone?

That is the thing, I didn't know that before, said Vaggie, frowning like she had already explained the same thing a bunch of times and was done. I recieved the framme just a few months back. When I saw what it was, I told some Aurors and they returned it a week later saying they got everything they want out of it. I don't know how useful it was, they wouldn't tell me anything else.

They were extremely rude and impatient, added the man in the picture, lifting from playing with the dog. Some young man even tried to sell me to a magazine, but was stopped by someone asking even more money to shut up. One of the most unpleasant experiences I ever had.

Vaggie shrugged.

I thought that was it, she said. When you wrote me, it was the first time in weeks I even remembered he was there. No offense, professor.

None taken, dear.

I don't know if he could really tell you something you didn't know before, added Vaggie, crossing her arms and rubbing her biceps with a hand. But it's all I have. He was the one who insisted in having you come over rather than sending you over by crow.

You would be surprised how many unescrupulous people out there would intersect bird messangers!, said the man in the picture. I almost got sold by one of those before, I didn't want to risk it again! I had this young lady investigate both of you further, my dear men, and you sounded like a pair that took their job serious enough to not try to do something like that.

I didn't thought of it at the time, but now I know what it meant: we had a pretty modest presence in the press. The last time the name of our agency was in the papers was two years ago when we could help with some stolen books from a library. Anthony was in charge of giving a quick interview and since then, it was more modest work. Until it came out the anniversary of the disaster that closed Hogwarts forever and started doing some research. It wasn't supposed to be this huge thing that would consume so much of our time. It all just derailed from there.

And the man is right: it's not about the attention. Nobody hired us for this. I don't really have an imagined end for all of this. If we could get Magne sent to Azkaban that would the absolute best outcome, so that monster can't harm anyone else, but I am not doing all of this with only that in mind. At his point, I need to know what the hell I am missing. I guess you could say this my own personal obssesion.

After Vaggie set up the picture to stay firm in front of us, this is what the man said, according to my own memory:

Sera had been stressed the whole day. Every start of the year is stressful one way or another, so he didn't thought there was anything especial about that one time. Moving things around, checking again on the registry of the students, watering her plants even after already doing it. Jittery, she received the knock on her door with a welcoming sigh of relief.

Two professors came inside, which wasn't uncommon, but it was the beast that they were barely controlling between the two of them. It was big and powerful, but worse than that, it seemed to have some immunity to their spells. The moment one had stopped working, the other had to come to make a new one. In that constant flow is that they managed to traslate the beast to the office of Sera. It was a horrendeus view, not because of what that monster looked like by his own, although that wasn't a comforting view either, but the drip of fresh blood coming from their mouth and claws.

The two men explained that they had found the beast near to the Forest, devouring some merfolk that must have caught close to the surface of the water. The creature looked vaguely humanoid. It had arms like a man would, but a head deformed by a giant mouth that constantly tried to bite the wizards that were restraining him. Horns and spikes came out from where its foreheead and shoulders should be. Big claws scrapped against the floor as it was subdued.

Near to the creature, the professors explained, was the bag of some student that had dissapeared a few years back. That was what prompted Sera to also contribute in trying to control the beast, but it wasn't listening to her or answering any of her questions. Sera called upon another of her predecesors to bring all the professor currently in the castle to come help.

As soon the men and women came up the stairs, the beast struggled even more to get free. Its growls and grunts were like a horrible screeching of the ears that ringed perpetually. Between all of them, they managed to keep it against the floor while Sera wrote a quick message for the Ministery to send someone immediately and handle this. A sudden hoof from the creature kicked her before she could finish it. With the kick, the attention of everyone was concentrated on the Headmistress long enough for the beast to take one of them and run down the stairs of the office.

The last thing Fiftsin saw was the rest of the group going after them. Sera too as soon she managed to stand up. Scream and sound of breakage filled the castle. All the portraits were moving everywhere, either trying to see what was happening, or run out of the way. He was part of the second group. In all his confusion he ended up in a new environment he didn't recognize, a safe one, with a cute playful dog, and decided to stay there until all went to normal.

It wasn't until days later that he realized what had happened, when other paintings explained the situation to each other in the hallways. He got send to the same amount with other objects in the castle and saw only dark for a very long time, without a clear of the time, until he ended up in the hands of Vaggie. Only then is that he find out that night was the last one that Hogwarts ever stood as a educational institution, that wasn't no more.

My mouth was dry hearing him. But I still made the questions that I should have. Was professor Magne there? Yes, he tried to fight off the beast just like everyone else. Was he sure that the creature had hooves and horns? That it wasn't longer and scaly? Of course he was sure. How could he ever think that he could just forget something like that?

I felt like the whole room was stumbling over itself. Anthony took charge of asking some more questions to make sure the little man in the frame told us to the last detail he could remember. The beast was red, not white. Its eyes were black, not yellow. It's mouth had multiple rows of teeth, not two long fangs from which inject venom. That was exactly what he had told the Aurors when they came to take him away.

We thanked Vaggie for her time and the information she had given us. I don't know what Anthony said after that as I stumbled my way to the door. The whole world wasn't safe on its hinges anymore. He had to take me out of there and back to our hotel room.

Was that it? Did we spend the last months investigating a monster, watching all of his most intimate moments, getting all we could from every piece of every piece of his soul, for absolutely no reason? Those people died, we know how, but we weren't able to bring any comfort to any grieving families or friends.

Magne didn't die that day. But was he really innocent in what happened at the school? Just some stupid random creature that just decided to attack everyone? It doesn't make any sense. Why the fuck are you going to fake your death? Only for people to not question you about it? A clean slat and fuck off to some other place? Was that so simple all along?

That is when I got a thought. Living portaits are not real people, they are merely a reflection of a person in a space that is entirely hypothetical but real for them. Here is the thing, though: you can change a painting however you want. You can make it wear a silly hat or change it's colors however you want. If it was possible to change their looks, who is to say that you can't change other things about them too? Their personalities, their perception of reality, their memories?

The first book I took out of the library seemed to think as much. That is how you have sad fucks who make paintings of their wives that never nag or bother them in any way they don't want to, because they aren't created with that purpose in mind. I even caught a few ways to see if a painting got messed up and how to return it to its original state. I know a guy who works with that kind of thing, he was willing to do it for a few bucks.

But in order to do that, we needed the painting. We send a message to Vaggie and after three days without answer, what the hell, we said, let's pay her a visit. She should know already to expect us.

And apparently she did, because the whole fucking place was empty! Not the stupid scratch castle for the cats, not the pictures, not the couch, fucking nothing! As if someone had died from some contagious disease and they had to burn everything! But you know what was there?

A single photograph in the middle of a living room completely empty. The man inside of that image was sitting with his legs crossed on a chair, humming to himself, but stopped the second I grabbed it. His smirk under the dark glasses made me want to rip it in half instantly.

[iamaboredpotatonugget]

Best Severitis Fics Part 3

There always was something not quite right about the broom cupboard in the Entrance Hall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Severus and Harry find themselves stuck.

Severus was just trying to examine Harry's wound from the blood quill. There was not supposed to be anything else hidden underneath his sleeves.

Harry questions his view of Snape after finding out he hadn't been trying to kill him but protect him. He goes down to the dungeons to confront Snape about it.

Desperate to escape his guilt and nightmares after the third task, Harry transforms into a hawk by accident and ends up breaking both wings and suffering partial memory loss. He is found by Snape,who helps him and discovers the truth about his professor.

When Harry accidentally drinks a brutal potion with roots in dark magic, he has to reluctantly rely on Hogwarts’ prickly Potions Master to fix the outcome.

“We can be a family again when it no longer hurts to look at you, to remember her. Maybe next year,” His father says, staring down at him with cold eyes.

After what is surely a more-than-preventable potions accident, Harry Potter winds up stuck in the hospital wing, unable to wake up. Severus just wishes he knew why Poppy won’t stop bothering him about it.

It takes three detentions for Severus Snape to realize why Harry Potter cleans cauldrons so well—and even more for him to decide what to do about it.

Blood had dripped down his hand then too. Into the white porcelain sink. Like red paint ruining the purity of white sheets. It's this endless cycle of pain and torture. Here, he feels weak, aches enough to want comfort, love. Aunt Petunia won't give it to him. Not then, not now. And he understands. Everyone who comes into contact will someday die. If it's not later, it is soon.

Harry runs into Snape while trying to find the definition of home, and finds himself drawn into Snape's summer Order task by the headmaster, looking for a location outside of London. Along the way, he and Snape learn a few new definitions themselves.

[shera-dnd]

Late to day 2, but I still delivered.

Ochako and her party venture beneath the city of Baldur's Gate in search of Toga's former master

Yes. This means exactly what you think it means. BALDUR'S GATE 3 AU!!!

Originally this was gonna be Durge!Toga, but that would take way too many words to do it justice. Instead she's taking Astarion's place and Ochako is vaguely taking Shadowheart's, but I don't go too deep into that

anyways enjoy the read!

@togachakoweekoffical

The underground chamber before them stretched beyond what Ochako ever deemed possible.

Seven thousand and six souls, all trapped together in one colossal structure, hidden just beneath the streets of Baldur’s Gate.

And now the seven thousandth and seventh soul approached it.

Every step they took through Cazador’s manor only seemed to dredge up more and more unpleasant memories for Toga. But she couldn’t turn back, she would be free, no matter what it might cost her. And Ochako would be with her to the very end.

Their steps echoed as the party descended into the ritual chamber. Ochako and Bakugo took the lead as they advanced into the ritual chamber, their respective paramours trailing behind.

“It’s gonna be fine,” Midoriya reassured her in a whisper, “just remember the plan.”

Reflexively she adjusted her pack, causing their spare weapons to rattle and clang.

“Right,” Ochako nodded, then repeated to herself, “stick to the plan…”

Next to her Bakugo let out one of his annoyed ‘chk’ s, obviously not happy to have to rely so much on an ‘istik’ .

Behind them Toga was eerily quiet. For once she had no jokes, no quippy lines, not even a little casual flirt to throw Ochako’s way. All she had now was silence .

She was afraid.

Ochako’s hand itched to latch onto Toga’s own, to pull her close, and whisper to her that everything would be okay.

But she was never given the chance as Cazador spoke, “could it be? Has our prodigal daughter returned?”

His voice alone was enough for Ochako to want to put her mace through his face.

“Say girl , has the real world proven too much for you yet again? Have you come here to beg to join our family once again?”

“Family? You call this a family? You abused us! Controlled us!” Toga hissed and stepped forward, breaking formation, “How dare you call any of that a family!?”

“Oh come now, girl,” Cazador dismissed with a wave of his hand, “you of all people should know that that’s what families do. Did I not rescue you from a far more pathetic fate at the hands of your parents? At least this way your life will serve some higher purpose.”

“Shut up!” Ochako shouted without even thinking, “Himiko’s life is worth more than your stupid ritual! She’s our friend, our family, and we won’t just stand here and let you throw her life away like it’s your property!”

Cazador looked at her with a mixture of surprise and disgust, like he was looking down at the mud that got stuck to the sole of his shoot.

“I don’t remember asking for the opinion of cattle ,” he spat.

She heard Toga shout, “don’t you dare talk to her like that!” as she lunged forward to drive her knife through his eye.

A single tap of his staff was all it took to stop her, suspended in mid air before being thrown flying through the chamber.

One moment Toga was next to them, and the next she was trapped by the ritual circle. The final soul needed for Cazador’s ascension.

Cazador cackled as his servants began to gather around the group of adventurers.

“Okay! New plan,” Deku announced, raising his hand and readying a triple shot of Eldritch Blasts, “Uraraka, you need to free Toga before the ritual is finished. Kacchan and I will keep them off you as best as we can.”

“Tsk’va!” Bakugo cursed, though he still drew his battleaxe, “don’t you dare call me that in public!”

Were this any less urgent of a situation, Ochako would have pointed out that everyone at camp had heard him call Izuku ‘ source of my bruises ’ as if that was the sappiest nickname githyanki culture could conjure.

As it stood, mocking the emotionally constipated gith could wait, right now she had a girl to save.

In a single Misty Step Ochako crossed the entirety of the ritual circle, stopping right at the step of the platform that held Toga.

The woman squirmed as the magical force held her suspended in mid air, her very soul being drained into the red beam of light. 

Ochako’s heart tightened at the pain she saw in Himiko’s face, and she didn’t need the parasite to tell just how terrified the girl was.

Before she could take another step a werewolf slumped dead in front of her, a javelin firmly impaled through its throat.

“Pay attention, istik!” Bakugo barked, bringing her back to reality.

Right. 

Can’t get distracted at a time like this.

Ochako shoved the werewolf’s corpse aside, and stepped up next to Toga. 

Underneath an intricate array of magical runes held her in place. If Momo was here, she would have cleverly unraveled the spell at the seams before giving a detailed explanation of its function.

Ochako’s solution was nowhere near as elegant, but it got the job done.

She slammed her mace down, cracking the stone under it and splitting the rune in half. This seemed enough to break whatever spell was keeping Toga in place, gently dropping the woman into Ochako’s arms.

“I got you,” Ochako assured her, “I got you, Himiko.”

The only response she got was a loud hiccuping sob as Himiko clung to Ochako as tightly as she could.

“I will never let anyone hurt you, not anymore,” Ochako soothed, before reaching for her backpack and shouting, “Midoriya, now!”

Without a second of hesitation the warlock turned his entire focus on Cazador, trapping him inside a spell of Hold Person. 

Bakugo, for his part, needed no order to jump to Izuku’s defense, making sure his companion would be able to keep focus on the spell.

Ochako pulled a different mace from her bag, with a bright golden head that shined like the sun.

“Remember what you said when we first got this?” Ochako spoke softly to Himiko. Their entire time at the Temple of Lathander had been a massive fiasco, but Toga’s words after they had all been revived had stuck with her somehow. “Something between a nice summer’s day -”

Himiko’s hand rose to meet Ochako’s, their fingers wrapping together over the handle of the Blood of Lathander, as she spoke.

“- and the full concentrated power of the sun.”

The mace ignited, a bright beam of sunlight burning through the darkness of the cavern. It was nothing compared to the lance that destroyed the temple, but it was more than enough to reduce a vampire to dust.

Himiko’s hand dropped, the legendary mace falling down to the ground and rolling off harmlessly.

She stumbled towards the ashes of her former master and looked down, almost in a trance.

“He’s dead,” she spoke, and whatever spell had dulled her emotions finally shattered .

With a shivering gasp, Toga kicked away his ashes with all her might.

“You’re dead!” she cried, stomping the ground where the bastard once stood again and again, “Dead! Dead! Dead!”

Her cries broke down into sobs as she fell to her knees, tears falling over what was left of the scattered ashes.

Toga hadn’t even noticed Ochako approaching her until she was pulled into her gentle arms.

“You’re safe now,” she soothed. “ I promise. ”

[toonqueen]

Day 28: Macabre Duck

My headcanon for Nega Magica and Nega Gladstone’s relationship is complicated. Ha. I have written about it before. My Nega Magica is a paladin/healie magic type. Though that seems like a good thing, her magic spells can also dip into memory manipulation and a little mind control when needed. I like the concept that Negaverse versions are not like just completely opposite of their prime versions. At first glance she seems like a goodie goodie compared to Prime Magica. Believing in balance and helping innocent parties. However she has some shady dealing and secrets. Those that don’t know the couple well would see the situation as a Beauty and the Beast type thing. Grimstone is moody and edgy seeming personality while Magica seems like an innocent soul just hopelessly in love with a monster and willing to stay with him. But oh boy she’s doing the manipulating let me tell you.

My Nega Gladstone goes by Grimstone. My prime-verse headcanon has the luck being something coming down from Grandma Duck’s side of the family, magnified by the Distelfink. So in the Negaverse the  bloodline from Grandma Duck has one family member each generation that is consumption cursed. Like how Paddywack feeds on fear, Grimstone feeds on luck. So you can see how that would pit him against his primeverse version at some point. Oh ho ho. While Gladstone is lazy and relies on his luck, Grimstone is a well studied warlock on top of his consumption cursed abilities. 

Grim and Magica stay at Grandma’s farm, which unfortunately Grandma duck isn’t alive anymore. She was a bit of a paranoid survivalist so the farm is pretty self sustaining and had power off the grid. They do work as a pair to fight super natural things and collect dangerous artifacts they keep safely locked up in the farmhouse basement. That part of their lives is a parody on the RL based couple in The Conjuring. Once again I like the idea of Negaversers not being black and white good and evil based on their prime counterparts. Though Grimstone has tried to each Gladstone’s luck a few time in the primeverse, in the negaverse he and Magica are doing things to help save the world sometimes. Yah know. (I do the same with Negaduck but that's a different story HA)

I’m giving a lot of links to old stories cuz I haven’t had time to do Duckvember this year but here is a great story touching on their relationship haaaa. 

What little short story I wanted to write for this prompt was actually Magica getting badly injured on one of their missions and Grimstone bringing her body back to the barn with the Distelfink. He can’t do any healing magic at all because of his whole consumption cursed thing. He does his best he can with no luck (ha.) 

The actually have three kids and there youngest an adopted canadian goose named Orin, witnesses this going on. Grimstone tells him momma is alright and to go in the house and get some things needed. I see him being around 7ish in this story. With Orin’s help he is able to get Magica’s major wound closed up and maybe she might have needed a little rezz to. She might have been a little bit more dead than alive. But luckily now stable her own healing tomes kick in and she though unconscious, gets healed enough that she is going to be okay. 

Grimstone reassures Orin that momma was okay all along she just need a little help. And also don’t tell momma what just happened she’ll be worried and we don’t wanna stress out momma. 

Of course the next day when Magica is feeling better but resting in bed, Grimstone brings her breakfast. She states she knows everything that happened. Because Orin is a little snitch and loves his momma more than his daddy so he told Magica EVERYTHING. Magica isn’t mad, is glad Grimstone was able to save her. But like, his healing job is horrible she’s gonna have a scar on her torso thats never gonna go away but GRIM DID HIS BEST OKAY. ;-;

[gendervapor14]

two fights for freedom ~ chapter nine: catching up

“I’m counting more children than we have present according to the records we were given from the sheriff.”

“Oh…?” Arlong’s eyes lit up, “Is that so? How many?”

“One, I’m guessing.” Chuu stated, “Although it could be more. You know how children are. Not the easiest to track down, chuu.”

“Well…that’s an awfully interesting assessment.” Arlong clapped him on the back. “I’ll praise your sharp eye when we get more solid evidence. No use sending the people into a panicked frenzy for a false alarm. It’s only been a few weeks. I’d like my park finalized before we take any more drastic measures towards punishing the villagers.”

“Right.” Chuu glanced back at the interior of Arlong’s tower. “It is coming together very nicely.”

“Yes, it’s glorious.” Arlong agreed with an ambitious grin, “We’ll shape this whole archipelago in our image soon enough!”

this snippet is inspired by me watching some fishman park in the background while uploading. i realized maybe i should actually look at some of arlong's past a little instead of relying on memory and i forgot just how complex his respect for fisher tiger was. very interesting guy.

title: two fights for freedom rating: M category: F/M, gen content warnings: graphic depictions of violence status: incomplete, nine chapters, 27,900 words relationship: rosinante/bell-mere, cora & law, rosinante & hatchan, bell-mere & rosinante & law & nami & nojiko, rosinante & genzo, bell-mere & genzo characters: rosinante, bell-mere, law, nami, nojiko, genzo, nako, hatchan, arlong, arlong pirates additional tags: canon divergent, fix-it, everybody lives, pre-arlong park, angst with a happy ending, angst and feels, fluff and humor, hurt/comfort, suggestive themes, sexual tension, limes (yes i'm bringing limes back), eventual smut, romance, slow burn, arguing, financial issues, broken bones, references to depression, alcoholism, mental health issues, canon backstory, mentioned doflamingo, non-canon backstory (giving bell-mere a backstory), found family, medical inaccuracies, blood and injury, trafalgar d. water law is a little shit, developing friendships, past child abuse, nightmares, more tags to be added later (?) summary: freedom for one means adventure. exploring all the world has to offer, while avoiding the occasional haunting. freedom for another almost costs an arm and two daughters. a home, a village. perhaps freedom is best sought back-to-back. {a cora and bell-mère lives au}

♥

[gayestgayao3]

Hey my nonexistent tumblr veiwers! Heres chapter 2 of my fanfic! Also posted on Ao3

Little Xiuying in Caiyi Town

Summary:

One day after he'd finished his month-long punishment in the Cloud Recesses, Wei Wuxian finds himself looking for something interesting in Caiyi Town to rid himself of his boredom. He stumbles across an odd sight. A little girl hidden in the bushes of some obscure path in the woods fiddling with a defective spiritual device.

Or in which Wei Wuxian finds the meimei he'd never known he'd always wished for in Gusu Lan.

Chapter 2

Cai Xiuying wasn't like other girls -or even like other children- in the sense that she had been reincarnated. Her older sister -Cai Daiyu- told her she was her sibling in her past life too. She doesn't remember much from that time. At most she remembers stuff from when she was four to ten. Going to school mostly and the blurry faces of the surrounding children. She's eleven now and recalls all of her new life starting from when she was a one year old baby. So for all intents and purposes she was effectively eleven years old. 

Her a-niang - Cai Bo-furen - said that when she was little she suffered from an attack of some sort. She said a monster ate a piece of her and that piece contained a large chunk of her spiritual cognition. Luckily, due to the memories of her past life she wasn't left as an empty meat shell. That last bit was more implied than anything. Her niang was too elegant to ever say anything so crass as that, especially to her children. Perhaps if she asked again she would get a more detailed response, instead of the child appropriate explanation she had gotten.

That was a thought for another day. Two days later when they had heard of her run in with Wei-gongzi they were fondly exasperated at first. It was just like her to immediately trust a boy she'd just met on the side of the road, they had said. When she'd told them of the fact that she had loaned away Baba's spiritual device to said boy they had been more chastising.

"Why? What will you do if he runs off with it?" Her sister had asked, befuddled by her choice.

"Now, now, A-Yu I'm sure your sister has her reasons. Let's not jump to judgment straight away." A-niang had gently scolded her older sister. "But, yes, I am also going to need you to clarify why you would do such a thing? I know that you know we are quite wealthy but even money has its limitations when it comes to normal folks getting cultivation devices and your father worked very hard to get that thing with what little money he had before he married your mother and I." 

Her a-niang was not actually her birth mother. Her birth mother was baba's er-furen and her a-niang's lover. Her a-niang and mother were in love and though they were from rich families they had no power to marry two women together. Her mothers' made a plan to pick a man with ambition and smarts to marry so they could be together. In exchange they would give him money, an heir and the power to accomplish his goals. That was her baba.

"I'm sure he'll come back. He looked like a good boy."

"A-Ying, you can't just rely on your intuition forever. One day you'll overestimate yourself or underestimate someone else." Her sister bluntly stated her worries.

"Who says I was relying just on my intuition? I know exactly who he is, Wei Wuxian and he's a cultivator who's studying in the Cloud Recesses. I'm gonna send him an invitation to tea just so he can't just run away with my stuff."

"You could've just said that in the first place. Now you've embarrassed me in front of a-niang." She blushed, a half joking mou on her lips.

"Ah, girls you both know there's nothing you can't say or do in front of me. I changed your diapers, you know!" She crowed with a grin.

"Ugh, a-niang!" They echoed.

"Though, that name does sound familiar…" Daiyu made a face of concentration, the pout falling from her face as she tried to remember.

"He's the fourth young master on the list of eligibility." A-niang mentioned Idly, sipping a bit of her tea.

"What?! Yunmeng Jiang's head disciple! Wei Ying, that one?!"

"Daiyu, you're being weird… I know you haven't been able to go out in some time but I'm pretty sure you know it's rude to call someone by their birth name without permission." Daiyu had been sickly since birth and in recent years she'd been devoting herself to some light cultivation training in order to combat it. Perhaps she'd been pushing herself a bit too much.

"No! I mean yes but not that! I remember him! From… from…oh my-" She cut herself off, groaning into her hands, her face beet red from the roots of her hair to where her robes exposed her neck. Suddenly, she lifted her red face from her hands and declared, "Niang, I have a serious request. Please, please know that although I was a bit of a degenerate in my past life, I have retired from that… so you can't punish me for it now."

With that her sister explained that in her past life she had consumed various forms of media surrounding a main character, murder, mysteries, and a cutsleeve romance! With a hefty serving of longing and the angst of a lost lover. Xiuying being only eleven of course got the heavily censored version of that tale through her a-niangs mouth after Daiyu had whispered the entire thing to her. She assumed it was quite romantic as her a-niang's face had gone quite red. She supposed Daiyu got to know the uncensored version before she'd died at eighteen in her past life. Xiuying thought it was a lovely tale even if she had no clue as to what it had to do with Wuxian-ge.

"At times I envy you girls, those stories in your past lives are so… as you say 'cool'." She sighed with longing. "These days only the cultivation sects have the good cutsleeve romance stories. Other than that it's all spring books."

"That's nice, but what does this have to do with Wei-gongzi?"

"Oh, yes I almost forgot. The main character of those stories is Wei Wuxian." Her older sister added as an afterthought.

"Oh, that's… so sad!" She almost wanted to cry. How could that nice boy already have suffered so much!? Not to mention what he will go through in the future! She had a feeling he was a good boy when she had met him so she felt no unease in handing over baba's spiritual device but this was too much! If there were such a thing as being too good Wuxian-ge would be the epitome. "Do you think we should try to change his fate?" She asked, uncertain. She knew what it was like to die and wake in an entirely different world. She could only imagine what it would be like to die so horrifically and then be resurrected against one's wishes only to suffer emotionally to what amounts to the whole time until the resolution.

"If you'd like to try I'd support you." Her sister said.

"Don't forget about me. I will always support my girls in whatever endeavors you choose to pursue."

With that all three of them began to scheme. Obviously Xiuying would use the gathering of evidence for the breaking of her betrothal to grow closer with Wuxian-ge that in and of itself would hopefully change something. Her sister and a-niang were meticulously noting all details that could be reasonably compiled from memory and would later give her an edited version. One that would be age appropriate while still giving important details.

The hours they had set aside for spending their time together had flown by and soon their didi -a-niang's biological son- interrupted for his time with her. Cai Chyou inclined his head in greeting to both Xiuying and Daiyu. They greeted their didi back just as informally with a wave and off a-niang went.

After her mothers' marriage to her baba as promised they attempted to give him an heir. As her mother was more comfortable with men in general she decided it was her turn first despite being er-furen. After her sister was born her mother fell ill for months but recovered slowly. Since her older sister was also sickly and a girl she was quickly cast aside as the heir. A-niang was reluctant to have baba but as she felt it was her duty she would have persisted if not for the fact that mother was pregnant again just a short year after giving birth. Angry that her lover had gone behind her back in what she thought was an effort to destabilize her position, -despite already having agreed to share power equally no matter what- she got pregnant eight months into her own mother's pregnancy.

Of course what she didn't know was that her lover was simply attempting to save her from the terrible labor that was childbirth. By the time it was mother's time to give birth it was all for naught. She endured an extremely difficult labor and was deathly ill; she only lived long enough to ask a-niang for her forgiveness for the misunderstandings and heart ache she had caused. She was especially saddened by leaving her lover early, when they had promised to live a long prosperous life together.

That was what she had gleaned from mothers journal. 

Then A-niang had their long awaited heir.

That was also why the title of baba was simply an artifice on her behalf to keep his favor in place of her sister and a-niang, as their resentment of him kept them cordial at best. Without him as the key player in perpetuating the political strife between lovers, her mother never would have died. 

With her spirit cognition eaten and most of her memories of her mother gone with it, doing this wasn't exactly difficult. Though there were times when her distaste nearly won out, she didn't much mind it. With his affection thoroughly wound on her little finger she could ask him for almost anything and he would try a reasonable amount to do it. With this matter of her betrothal it was less of a lack of wanting to break it but more of a wariness of losing face. 

It was like this, he was the first generation of his company though he was well liked and known to be trustworthy but that could change at any moment. The word of a much older family name would certainly be enough to ruin him regardless of any evidence to the contrary. If word got around that he was essentially spoiling his daughter and canceled an engagement on no grounds other than her dislike of the suitor, he would be mocked. If he were a man that actually loved his daughter to such a degree he surely wouldn't have minded. Alas, the male ego was a fragile one. Also there was the issue of her reputation as well, if his business partner got it in his head to slander her as a persnickety and fickle little girl there would be nothing to stop others from believing it. Then she'd be left without a marriage prospect in sight, save for the very desperate. She truly didn't mind if she ever gained a reputation for being a difficult betrothed, she would simply spend more time with her family. Her baba cared though.

And so she was stuck trying to collect irrefutable evidence. Just the insults Bai Bingwen throws around should be enough but she would try and get evidence of him hanging around with his girl friends. That was the only thing about him she didn't find annoying. She didn't understand why having friends of the opposite gender was such a big deal but if it helped her who was she to question it? Usually a-niang didn't care who she was friends with but then again maybe it was a weird double standard?

At least Wuxian-ge was willing to help her out.

Maybe she'd also be able to help him in exchange.

-

Lan Wangji was not unreasonable.

It was Wei Ying that was as such. 

Wei Ying's grace was unreasonable. Swallowing down liquor in a manner so undignified that the majority of it was wasted was not supposed to be graceful. And yet Wei Ying made it so. From the angle of his tipped head to the way the liquid gleamed in moonlight as it traveled down the line of his throat. How he was reminiscent of a flower petal dancing in the wind while jumping and leaping from roof to roof. 

He was unreasonable in his beauty with eyes as luminous as the silver moon, framed by lashes that were far too long, his full lips and teasing smile with his adorable bunny teeth. The beauty mark just beneath his lip was just as teasing. 

His way of being was most unreasonable of all. He was charming, mischievous, free spirited, and shameless and… and somehow he could not hate him.

He was unreasonable, not Lan Wangji.

Wangji was short with him, berated him and disciplined him. So why was it that after a month of punishment -teasing and pestering Lan Wangji everyday- he would not behave? Every other guest disciple was terrified of him but not him? Why?

Wei Ying said he was boring and yet did not leave him alone.

What had changed?

What had happened so that Wei Ying no longer pestered him? Why had he stopped being so mischievous? 

He should be glad. Glad that he was now left alone as he had always preferred, glad that he was now behaving as he should have from the beginning, glad that Wei Ying had ceased being unreasonable. 

But it seemed like his sudden good behavior caused more distraction than his previous. Especially to Lan Wangji.

He couldn't understand why it felt like Lan Wangji was now the unreasonable one. It felt like he wanted Wei Ying to misbehave, break the rules and to continue to tease and pester. He was certain that it could not be that he missed him as xiongzhang had suggested when he had seen him observing this new phenomenon.

He had attempted to ask Jiang Wanyin if Wei Ying was well but he had assumed Lan Wangji was there to assign punishment where none was due. 

His words were, "Look, Lan er-gongzi i know Wei Wuxian has not been particularly well behaved in his time here but he has actually been behaving himself for the past few days. So any mischief that has occurred has nothing to do with him as of now. I would thank you to keep your distance from him as he has done nothing wrong at this time. Thank you." Then as he was walking away he muttered. "Your presence might set him off again. I don't know what it is about you but it makes him twice as annoying. " 

He was stunned momentarily at the words. If not for that he may have assigned some sort of punishment for being unkind and speaking behind his shixiong's back.

Then he thought, what if he was the unreasonable one? Jiang Wanyin had said Wei Ying was twice as annoying when around Lan Wangji, was that because Wei Ying was restless in his home or was that because of Wangji? If he had let him go that first night would he have not felt compelled to create mischief wherever he went? 

He assumed he was just as wild in Lotus Pier as he was in Cloud Recesses but that couldn't be right. He had heard Yu-furen was a very strict teacher and while Jiang-zhongzu was known to be soft he was also known to be just, so if Wei Ying were just as misbehaved at home he definitely would have heard of it. And while most rumors about him did mention that he was rather spirited, most were about his competence or friendliness, at least the rumors he had heard on by chance were.

As he was doing his first round of patrol, half an hour before curfew, he had the sensation of eyes on him. He turned sharply and then had the unpleasant experience of Nie Huaisang shrieking in his face.

"Aah, Lan er-gongzi." He sighed in relief, as if he had not known it was Lan Wangji when he'd been staring at him just moments before. 

He stared back at him skeptically.

"Ahem, uh. I couldn't help but notice that you're concerned about Wei-xiong!"

He blinked at him and confirmed, "Mn."

He only did as such because Nie Huaisang was Wei Ying's friend. Had anyone else said something like that -preceded by suspicious behavior- he would have suspected malicious intent. However, Wei Ying knew people better than Lan Wangji and if he chose Huaisang as his friend then he would trust his judgment in character.

"Good! I mean it's not good that you're worried but… I mean-I'll just tell you what's going on." His shoulders slumped in disappointment and he began again. "On our last day off Wei-xiong went to Caiyi Town and was approached by an unfortunate meimei! She was looking for evidence to break her engagement and Wei-xiong had come across her. He was concerned and stopped and was given a device to fix to help her. He's probably behaving himself these days so that he doesn't disappoint her! So don't be con-" he cut himself off, wide eyed and pale. "A-anyway that's… that's it! So I'm just… I'll just go now! Ahaha, I wouldn't want to be out after curfew!" He backed away and then walked very quickly out of his sight.

His face must have been as thunderous as he felt. Somehow, he couldn't bring himself to care. 

Wei Ying was behaving because of a girl. 

He was helping her break her engagement.

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

[At least when I was a child] the Sacramento River out in CA used to turn up artifacts and fragments of human life all the time. In places like CA where the environment itself was often hostile and created pressures to move and shift by season, waterways were a big part of marking migration paths (understandable, with the southern deserts), and so the waterways themselves often carry many of the remnants of memory of those many many journeys. A few protected conservancies exist along the rivers and waterways that collect and recreate the pieces of human life that used to pass through the region, and often serve as host locations for important ceremonies for local indigenous communities who had historically relied on those migratory (or in some cases permanent!) communities.

When I was growing up, I spent a LOT of time in the historical records section of the Sacramento Library [an archival TREASURE if you've never been, and frankly I'm still amazed the staff let me view the records given my age, but I was Well Known By The Librarians at that point, so I suspect one had a word] and as @headspace-hotel says, it can be amazing to watch the story evolve.

Records of the vast and critical infrastructures indigenous communities had cultivated were easy to come by in the farther back documents, where it was a matter of bragging right to have identified and coopted a piece of it as an enterprising white man in the area. Many in The Wild West made their fortunes this way. And suddenly the story was about THEIR genius, THEIR industrious imfrastructural development, THEIR civilized superiority. And today, it is easy to talk about the states as a place without history while at the same time people as young as my own generation (at least) grew up with the artefacts of that history being so prevalent that childhood scavenger hunts for them were a reliable way to entertain children for hours on a summer afternoon.

There is also, I suspect, an unrecognized degree of ownership.

Indigenous history isn't "ours" to many in the States, at least not in the way they perceive European residents "owning" their material history in the region. More than once in the past, pointing out the prevalence of US historical artifacts from the many many nations who were here before the settlers just earned me the reply "that doesn't count." This isn't usually a "progressivism" thing, although it can be filtered through that lens. It's an Establishment of Othering thing. The Indians Are Dead And Gone And The Remnants Of Their Civilization Aren't Real History Because We Won And They Were Annihilated is one of the foundational concepts of manifest destiny and the role it played in the indiscriminate slaughter on The Frontier.

This isn't the only place the USA does this. We are, in many many ways, A Nation That Refuses To Have A History and that is a deeply destructive aspect of cultural prescriptivism in all of our lives.

Okay but like whenever europe and USA are compared in terms of ruins and artifacts it makes me think "oh but what about Native American artifacts and ruins" and it reminded me of another post I meant to make ages ago but forgot

A while back I went thru the library looking at all the books I could find on the history of Kentucky.

My textbooks and most "reliable" sources when I was a kid said that Kentucky was never actually home to Native Americans, it was just a "hunting ground." This is total bullshit, the living Shawnee whose ancestors lived here know it was bullshit, but how did we get there

A lot of the more recent books I found (from like the 1990's) repeated the "it was only just hunting grounds" thing

But heres the weird thing

When you go back further

The narrative is completely different

so here's the first page of a book published 1872, it's "History of Lexington Kentucky: Its Early Annals and Recent Progress" by George W. Ranck

Let the shock of this first paragraph settle in. Like, damn, this is a whole different picture being painted

now, this Rafinesque fellow he refers to, has been widely referred to as the originator of many claims about Kentucky, and an exaggerator and liar, outright dismissed and scorned by many historians.

Rafinesque is considered to be the source of many claims found in this chapter, and the pompous, flowery language used to state them makes them seem a bit unbelievable. But the claims themselves are not highly unrealistic. These are several of the claims found on pages 2-12 of the book

An artificially built stone well was found by settlers

Earliest settlers plowed up pottery fragments

Settlers dug into an old abandoned lead mine

"Stone sepulchers" were found containing human bones

A large earthen mound 6 feet high was found with pottery and burned wood

A stone mound was found containing human bones

An extensive cave used as a cemetery was found under Lexington, containing embalmed bodies

Flint arrowheads were found

Polished and worked fragments of iron ore were found

Sandstone and limestone tools perforated with holes were found

Rough ingots of copper were found

Stone walls were built defended by entrenchments

It is very important to note that this chapter is insistent that the inhabitants that built these ruins and left these artifacts were NOT Native Americans. Why? Because Native Americans didn't build stuff so advanced! Very circular reasoning.

It was a very common myth that there was some kind of "pre-native-american" race of people that existed in Kentucky. Sometimes this was a way of justifying colonization by saying that well, the Native Americans were just taking over land that wasn't theirs too, so it's okay for us to do it.

It seems to me that when it became clear that Native Americans were the first and only pre-European inhabitants, the stuff about an ancient city under Lexington and all that became dismissed as lies. But are they lies?

I tried to find out, and we know for certain that central Kentucky had many, many burial mounds (some of which I had seen the site of without knowing what I was seeing) and quite a few stone ruins. The builders of the stone ruins are referred to as the "Fort Ancient" people because the earliest settlers incorrectly assumed the stone structures they saw were forts for some defensive or military purpose.

The tools and artifacts being referenced are all known to exist, except I think there aren't any confirmed extant examples of pottery.

The most widely criticized claim in the chapter is the underground cave used as a tomb, but I don't see why—central Kentucky is a limestone karst region and EVERYWHERE has a cave under it. The embalming or mummifying of bodies could have been a flourish or rumor, but the essence of the claim is totally reasonable. Then again, it might not have been, since the area had access to sources of salt. The supposed "lead mine" probably wasn't that specifically, but it's known that Native Americans went inside, explored and used caves.

It was really interesting to me how so many later sources dismissed these claims despite most of them being plausible or just true, and how many of those sources repeated the idea of Native Americans using the land for hunting but not "inhabiting" it. It is two different ways of denying Native Americans were here.

[rockislandadultreads]

Nonfiction Thursday: New Memoirs

By All Means Available by Michael G. Vickers

In 1984, Michael Vickers took charge of the CIA’s secret campaign against the Soviets in Afghanistan. Inheriting a strategy aimed at imposing costs on Russia, Vickers transformed the campaign into an all-out effort to help the Afghans win their war. More than any other American, he was responsible for the outcome in Afghanistan that led to the end of the Cold War.

In By All Means Available, Vickers recounts his remarkable career, from his days as a Green Beret to his vision for victory in Afghanistan to his role in waging America’s war on terror at the highest levels in government. In captivating detail, he depicts his years in Special Forces, revealing how those experiences directly influenced his approach to shaping policy, and offers a deeply informed analysis of the greatest challenges facing America today.

This is a riveting and illuminating insider’s account of the military and intelligence worlds at every level.

Lesbian Love Story by Amelia Possanza

When Amelia Possanza moved to Brooklyn to build a life of her own, she found herself surrounded by queer stories: she read them on landmark placards, overheard them on the pool deck when she joined the world’s largest LGBTQ swim team, and even watched them on TV in her cockroach-infested apartment. But these stories rarely featured lesbians who could become her role models, in romance as in life.

This is the story of Possanza’s journey into the archives to recover the stories of lesbians in the 20th Century: who they were, how they loved, why their stories were destroyed, and where their memories echo and live on. Centered around seven love stories for the ages, Possanza’s hunt takes readers from a Drag King show in Bushwick to the home of activists in Harlem and then across the ocean to Hadrian’s Library, where she searches for traces of Sappho in the ruins. Along the way, she discovers her own love—for swimming, for community, for New York City—and adds her own record to the archive.

At the heart of this riveting, inventive history, Possanza asks: How could lesbian love help us reimagine care and community? What would our world look like if we replaced its foundation of misogyny with something new, with something distinctly lesbian?

What the Dead Know by Barbara Butcher

Barbara Butcher was early in her recovery from alcoholism when she found an unexpected a job at the Medical Examiner’s Office in New York City. The second woman ever hired for the role of Death Investigator in Manhattan, she was the first to last more than three months. The work was gritty, demanding, morbid, and sometimes dangerous – she loved it.

Butcher (yes, that is her real name, and she has heard all the jokes) spent day in and day out investigating double homicides, gruesome suicides, and most heartbreaking of all, underage rape victims who had also been murdered. In What the Dead Know, she writes with the kind of New York attitude and bravado you might expect from decades in the field, investigating more than 5,500 death scenes, 680 of which were homicides. In the opening chapter, she describes how just from sheer luck of having her arm in cast, she avoided a boobytrapped suicide. Later in her career, she describes working the nation’s largest mass murder, the attack on 9/11, where she and her colleagues initially relied on family members’ descriptions to help distinguish among the 21,900 body parts of the victims.

This is the fascinating and stunning real-life story of a woman who, in dealing with death every day, learned surprising lessons about life—and how some of those lessons saved her from becoming a statistic herself. Fans of Kathy Reichs, Patricia Cornwell, and true crime won’t be able to put it down.

When the World Didn't End by Guinevere Turner

On January 5, 1975, the world was supposed to end. Under strict instructions from her Family Leader, seven-year-old Guinevere Turner put on her best dress, grabbed her favorite toy, and waited for her salvation--a spaceship that would take her and her peers to live on Venus. But the spaceship never came.

Guinevere did not understand her family was a cult. She spent most of her days on a compound in Kansas, living with dozens of other children who worked in the sorghum fields and roved freely through the surrounding pastures, eating mulberries and tending to farm animals. But there was a dark side to this bucolic existence: When selected girls in her community turned twelve or thirteen, they were "given" to older men on the compound as wives in training.

Then, at age eleven, Guinevere's world as she had known it ended. Her mother, from whom she had been separated since age three, left the Family with a disgraced member, and Guinevere and her four-year-old sister were forced to go with her. Traveling outside the bounds of her cloistered existence, Guinevere was thrust into public school for the first time, a stranger in a strange world with homemade clothes, clueless to social codes. Now, in the World she'd been raised to believe was evil, she faced challenges and horrors she couldn't have imagined.

Drawing from the diaries that she kept throughout her youth, Guinevere Turner's memoir is an intimate and heart-wrenching chronicle of a childhood touched with extraordinary beauty and unfathomable ugliness, the ache of yearning to return to a lost home--and the slow realization of how harmful that place really was.

[rafaelblackbird15]

Teen Wolf Fic Recs Part 2: Steter

It took me quite awhile to gather all these together, so please enjoy discovering more parts to the incredible world of Teen Wolf, provided to you by the wonderful writers of our fandom.

Leave comments and kudos for these writers if you can, they really deserve it, they're wonderful. And it's my honour to try and share their creations with tumblr.

These are Steter, Stiles Stilinski/Peter Hale fanfictions. Read them at your will. Check the tags on the actual fics for warnings and such.

I have included links to authors that write a lot of Steter as well, and some of their fics for examples. I'm sorry this post got so long, haha, but enjoy the stories, they're worth it.

If any of the links don't work, just comment and I'll fix it.

Check out my other Sterek fic recs [Part 3] and [Part 4] and Steter fic recs [Part 1]

*********

Broken Bones and Broken Bonds by twothumbsandnostakeincanon(somanyofthekids) on Archive of Our Own

Words: 20148

Chapters: 4/?

Summary:

Stiles kind of wished that he’d at least tried weed before this. 

Or something, you know? Maybe taken up a graffiti hobby, or even just skateboarded in front of City Hall often enough to get a citation. 

He wished he’d done something to be deserving of the looks people gave him now, rather than just being the recipient of his dead father’s unused power. 

**********

Stigmata by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids) on Archive of Our Own

Words: 1661

Chapters: 1/1

Summary:

He feels so hollow that he almost wonders if he's been turned inside out. This emptiness he feels; is it the vastness of the entire world?

How do you fill a world? With people, he supposes. But his people no longer want him.

He needs people.

*********

Beefcake Mountain by twothumbsandnostakeincanon(somanyofthekids) on Archive of Our Own

Words: 14565

Chapters: 7/7

Summary:

Shortly after moving back to Beacon Hills, the left hand of the Hale Pack opened a text from a mysterious number.

"Is there a mirror in your pants? Because I can see myself in them."

What the f—

**********

Steter Week 2019 by twothumbsandnostakeincanon(somanyofthekids)

Works: 4

Complete: No

Summary:

There isn't a summary listed so I've included the first fic underneath:

Marvelous Miss and Magnificent Mischief by twothumbsandnostakeincanon(somanyofthekids)

Words: 3346

Chapters: 1/1

also Part 1 of the Magnificent Mischief series

Summary:

“Marvelous Miss and the Magnificent Mischief!” the carnival barker shouted just outside the corridor with all the food tents. “Come see Miss Paige do amazing tricks with her talking raven! He not only speaks, but he jokes! He teases! He philosophizes!”

********

Author: twothumbsandnostakeincanon(somanyofthekids)

This author has a lot of wonderful Steter fics, and their writing of the pairing is really worth having a good look through.

*******

Blood Runs Cold by Smalls2233 on Archive of Our Own

Words: 111408

Chapters: 22/22

Summary:

“So then why are we letting Scott and Derek search for it if you know it's useless?”

Peter looked down at Stiles and cocked his head with a grin. “Because I think seeing my nephew and your best friend run around like headless chickens while I think up a plan is hysterical.”

“And the plan is…?”

----

Trusting Peter Hale is something that Stiles had repeatedly told himself to never do. He had seen first hand the results of Peter's plans and schemes, but when a shadow began tormenting Beacon Hills, he found that sometimes he'd have to to play along with Peter's games.

This story does include a dose of Chris&Stiles interaction about midway and carries on throughout, and then Chris/Peter towards the midend, which also carries on. And it kind of dissolves into Chris/Peter/Stiles. If that's not your taste, that's fine, because the majority of the story is Stiles/Peter, and that majority is really really good Steter.

**********

No One Listening Tonight by Smalls2233

Words: 6985

Chapters: 1/1

Summary:

That left… well it left Peter and only Peter. Relying on Peter for help was only slightly better than stabbing himself through the eye with a hot poker. But desperate times called for desperate measures.

Of course, there was always the option of packing up and letting whatever was trying to destroy the town succeed this time. Stiles snorted under his breath as he thought about how that would probably leave him with fewer injuries than dealing with Peter would. But unfortunately, that wasn’t an option. Stiles knew he needed to head downtown to Peter’s apartment and pray the man was willing to work with him.

----

Stiles stumbles into a magical trap forged by a wannabe warlock.

*********

Author: Smalls2233

*********

Blue by Wynnebat on Archive of Our Own

Words: 3179

Chapters: 2/2

Summary:

Derek brings both Scott and Stiles to the hospital to prove a point about hunters, but Stiles isn’t sure the point he’s getting is the point Derek’s trying to make. Especially when his black and white world explodes into color the moment he looks into Peter Hale’s eyes.

*********

The Long Way Around by Wynnebat on Archive of Our Own

Words: 15569

Chapters: 3/3

Summary:

When Peter leaves Beacon Hills for good, he expects that to be it for the broken bonds of the last remaining members of the Hale pack. Fate and Stiles Stilinski aren’t of the same opinion.

**********

Prowl by Wynnebat on Archive of Our Own

Words: 3454

Chapters: 1/1

Summary:

Laura's body is never found, but instead of continuing with his murder spree, Peter gets distracted by the scent of his mate. Stiles gets very distracted by the huge wolf that starts showing up at his house all the time.

**********

Author: Wynnebat

This author writes some really interesting, deep stories about Steter that are really beautiful.

**********

your last white lie (everything is not alright) by snowdarkred on Archive of Our Own

Words: 4023

Chapters: 1/1

Summary:

Stiles says yes, and things go downhill from there.

**********

reflect by snowdarkred on Archive of Our Own

Words: 569

Chapters: 1/1

Part 1 of the dig your teeth in and tear until you taste (peter/stiles oneshots) series

Summary:

(previously posted to tumblr)

When he dreams, he can sometimes still hear his mother’s voice, explaining it to him: Reflections are the price we pay for what we are.

*********

sentire by snowdarkred on Archive of Our Own

Words: 1027

Chapters: 1/1

Part 2 of the dig your teeth in and tear until you taste (peter/stiles oneshots) series

Summary:

[to feel]

Stiles hears the whisper of death before it strikes.

**********

Author:

snowdarkred

This author writes some really intense, interesting stories about Peter and Stiles. Not as long as some fics are, but they're really good adaptions of Steter with a lot of feeling.

**********

The Striking Complication by aurevell on Archive of Our Own

Words: 27235

Chapters: 4/15

Summary:

The smile slips off Stiles’s face. “Hey, um. Why am I here?” he asks, voice unsteady. “I’m—I have this weird feeling like I shouldn’t leave you. I’ve felt all day like...” He can’t finish the thought.

Peter looks as surprised as Stiles feels. A strange expression passes over his face, there and gone before Stiles can decipher it.

Stiles snaps awake each morning with the sense that he’s missing something. Weirder still, he can’t wrap his head around his sudden, inexplicable trust in Peter Hale, who seems to know way more than he’s letting on. Nor can he guess why a half-remembered nightmare seems to haunt his every move.

Rinse and repeat. Because time loops suck, apparently.

*******

Author: aurevell

This author has 11 Teen Wolf fics under their belt. 5 Sterek and 6 Steter. Happy rummaging!

**********

the teeth right down to the blood by sazzafraz on Archive of Our Own

Words: 2133

Chapters: 1/1

Summary:

‘We’re pretty fucked right now.’ Scott says. Stiles doesn’t speak but there’s something singing in his bones that says Scott got the message anyway. (In which both are bit and things are gruesome.)

This has a sprinkling of Scott/Stiles, Scott/Stiles/Peter, and Scott/Allison as well as Steter, but it's worth the read, a good story with an interesting concept.

*********

Author: sazzafraz

This author doesn't have that many Steter stories, although they do have a few. Although they do have some pretty lengthy Teen Wolf fics about other characters of the show.

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Everything goes (wow) by midmorning_bomb on Archive of Our Own

Words: 8215

Chapters: 5/5

Part 1 of the Aranea & Babewolf series

Summary:

It was supposed to go like this:

1. Peter summons demon to the circle.

2. Demon remains in said circle until Peter outlines their contract.

3. Demon agrees to elegantly crafted contract, becoming loyally bound to Peter and Peter alone.

Instead, the creature steps casually out of the circle, tosses its things onto the leather sofa, and starts immediately meddling in Peter’s immaculate space, touching all of Peter’s very expensive things.

*********

It's only by midmorning_bomb on Archive of Our Own

Words: 2905

Chapters: 3/5

Part 2 of the Aranea & Babewolf series

Summary:

“Darling, please don’t pout.”

“You’re pouting.” Stiles pouts, from the upper corner of the library, everything from his hip bones down an angry mass of hissing fangs and venomous chelicerae. “Why would we ever go back to that garbage town? Everyone there is the worst, the only good thing is the very rad and awesome curse I laid.”

*********

You are a memory by midmorning_bomb on Archive of Our Own

Words: 900

Chapters: 1/1

Part 2 of the Little glimpse series

Summary:

If he has to bleed to breathe warmth back into Peter’s icy body, he will.

Because Peter’s done the same for him.

********

Author: midmorning_bomb

This author has 16 Steter fics. A little unfriendly to some of the other characters, but it's only kind of obvious because it's not subtle about it, and not exactly underserved. Has some really interesting ideas as well as some kind, well developed Steter. Definitely have a read through.

***********

[morganayenneferburnham]

Have I Known You 20 Seconds or 20 Years? – Nikolai Lantsov Series

Chapter 1: Devils Roll the Dice, Angel Roll their Eyes

Chapter 2: You Did a Number on Me

Chapter 3: You Could Call Me Babe for the Weekend

Chapter 4: The Best of Times, The Worst of Crimes

Chapter 5: All I Know Since Yesterday Is Everything Has Changed

Chapter 6: That Night We Couldn't Quite Forget

A very short summary: Y/N has been working with the crows for a few years. Her life feels complete until she meets the insufferable Nikolai Lantsov. She finds herself forced to work with the King of Ravka on one of Kaz Brekker’s crazy schemes.

Word count: 2k

A/N: Coming back at you with an update!

I introduced Kaz's POV to make it a bit more interesting. Keep in mind that this is taking place a few years after the events of SOC and CK so Kaz has gotten a bit of time to heal. This chapter explores how the events of the night of the party affect Nikolai, Y/N, and Kaz.

Enjoy! :)

Chapter 6: That Night We Couldn't Quite Forget

It had been decided they would stay at the Hendriks’ mansion to prepare for the next part of the job. It would be easier to keep their plans secret that way and the mansion was much more accommodating for their group than the slat.

A few days had passed since Y/N’s troubling confession. It was true that Brekker seemed to be in a particularly sour mood every time Nikolai had tried to talk to him, but the king still couldn’t believe he’d send the Grisha back to the pleasure house.

Even if Dirtyhands truly was as ruthless as rumored, she was simply too valuable... and Nikolai didn’t believe Kaz was everything the rumors made him out to be. He hadn’t missed the hint of pride in Kaz’s voice when he talked about the many talents of his Grisha. Kaz even seemed quite possessive of the girl. Nikolai knew something else had to be going on. Y/N had to be mistaken. Kaz wouldn’t send her back to the pleasure house, Nikolai was sure of it. So why was she convinced he would? What had given her that impression?

Y/N had avoided him since that fateful conversation, but her distance had done little to clear Nikolai’s mind. Had he really imagined the hurt in her eyes when he had told her he shouldn’t have kissed her? Of course. He had to have imagined it. Surely, she couldn’t believe he didn’t want her. She was intriguing, brilliant, and absolutely gorgeous. How could he not want her? How could anyone not want her?

Nikolai couldn’t stop thinking about her. When his mind wasn’t trying to understand what had happened between her and Brekker, it wandered back to that night. The look on her face when he had pulled back from the kiss had been breathtaking. He had wanted to ignore the guard, ignore the job they had to do. He had wanted to stay in the moment, but that had been impossible.

Maybe he should go see her. He should apologize to her. For what? For kissing her? Or for saying he shouldn’t have? Maybe for asking Brekker about her? It baffled him to find himself so helpless when it came to her. He was usually so charming. Why was it so hard with Y/N? He wanted to talk to her. He wanted to know why she thought Kaz wanted to send her back to the Blue Iris. He wanted to be the one to comfort her. That was his problem. He had always wanted things he couldn’t have. He had always wanted too much. Nikolai Nothing. Nikolai, who has no right to his name. Bastard. Nikolai, who has no right to his crown. Pretender. Nikolai, who has no right to her heart.

“Nikolai! Are you even listening?” He flinched. Zoya sounded particularly annoyed.

“Of course, dear. You were going on about the report we’ve received from Tamar.”

“And what exactly does the report say, moi Tsar?” her raised eyebrow and amused smirk made it clear she knew he wouldn’t be able to answer her. Damn it, why does she have to know me so well?

A knock on the door saved him the embarrassment of having to come up with a poorly concocted excuse.

Wylan’s head popped in from the doorway. “Kaz wants to see everyone. He’s made progress with the plan.”

---

Nikolai and Zoya had made their way to the music room, following Wylan through the corridors. Nikolai took place on the back of the small couch facing the table Kaz was using as a makeshift desk. He was right behind the Grisha who occupied most of his thoughts. The chairs had already been occupied by the other members of their little group of misfits, and he figured he was better off leaving the last available one to Zoya. Though he would never admit it; his choice had been influenced as much by his desire to appease Zoya as his desire to be close to Y/N.

Maybe he should’ve thought about the consequences this particular sitting arrangement would have before taking place. He knew Kaz had started explaining something about the security of the base, but he just couldn’t focus on the criminal’s words. Y/N’s head was practically resting on the outside of his thigh and some of her hair was splayed across the fabric of his trousers. The flowery scent of her hair was hypnotizing. Nikolai couldn’t think straight. He wondered if it was as soft as it looked. Saints he wanted to feel it between his scarred fingers. He wanted to touch her. He wanted her.

He had wanted her since the moment they’d kiss. Since the moment he had felt her relax in his arms. If he was truly honest with himself, he had wanted her since the moment they’d met. He knew fairytales were just that, but he could’ve sworn the beautiful Grisha had cast a spell on him, just like in the stories his mother had read to him all those years ago.

---

Kaz had realized Nikolai wasn’t paying attention to anything he was saying. The King’s entire focus was on the corporalnik sitting in front of him. Kaz felt his anger bubbling inside of him. It was becoming a very familiar feeling when it came to the Ravkan King. Losing Jordie wasn’t enough? Losing Matthias and Nina wasn’t enough? Do I really have to watch her leave me too?

Inej had taken over, explaining what she and Zoya had discovered about the guards.

For a long time after Jordie’s death, Kaz had thought he didn’t really need anyone. He thought he hadn’t needed any human connection, but his crows had shown him otherwise. They had made him realize he wasn’t alone. He could rely on people. He could trust them. Losing Matthias had been hard on everyone and much harder on Nina than on any of them. Kaz had understood why Nina had left Ketterdam to go back to Ravka, but understanding hadn’t softened the blow of her departure. Kaz struggled every time he had to watch Inej leave on the ship he had given her even though he knew she always came back to him. He didn’t think he could bear watching Y/N leave their family to follow Nikolai back to Ravka.

It was funny, really. A former Drüskelle, wrongfully convicted of slavery. A Ravkan heartrender with a ridiculous appetite. A Zemeni sharpshooter with a gambling problem. A merchling runaway with a terrible father. A Suli indenture turned spy. A Kaelish corporalnik with a gift for getting on his nerves. This unlikely bunch of people had become his family. They had found their way into his cold heart. He rarely showed it, but he truly loved them.

He had already lost so much. He couldn’t bear losing anyone else. If that meant crossing a king, he wouldn’t hesitate to do it. He’d get Nikolai the plans and the prototypes he wanted, but that would be the last time he’d work with him.

Inej had stopped speaking. She was looking at him expectantly.

“Thank you Darling Inej.” The corners of his mouth quirked up, barely noticeable to anyone but her. “According to the blueprints, the antechamber to the vault functions as a scale. If any weight is added it triggers a defense mechanism. We’ll have to temper with the mechanics of it. I haven’t quite figured that part out yet. I’m hoping Wylan will come up with something.”

“On it, boss! I’ll take a look at the plans after this.” Wylan had really grown into his role with the dregs. Kaz still remembered the insecure boy he had first met for the Ice Court job.

Kaz nodded. “If triggered, the doors to the antechamber close and it becomes sealed before it fills up with water, drowning anyone inside it.”

“No pressure then.” Jesper piped up, his tone was way too jovial for the grim reality they were facing.

---

Y/N knew this meeting was important, but she couldn’t get her mind under wraps. She could feel Nikolai’s every movement behind her, and it was driving her crazy. She felt her hair move with his thigh as he shifted his position repeatedly. She had avoided him as much as she possibly could. She was trying and failing, to appease Kaz. Avoiding Nikolai had seemed to help keep her mind off him a bit during the day but at night her mind kept bringing up that Saints forsaken night.

The previous night she’d dreamt of him, again. However, it hadn’t only been the memories of their kiss. In her dream, they had been back in her room at the Hendriks’ mansion and, this time, the kiss hadn’t been part of an act. It hadn’t been Ainsley and Eoin Ó Ceallaigh. It had been Y/N Y/L/N and Nikolai Lantsov. That was ridiculous. Nikolai couldn’t possibly think of her that way. He obviously didn’t want her. Why would he? He was King of Ravka. He could have anyone he wanted. She was a Grisha indenture working for a barrel boss. She was no one.

That knowledge didn’t help her right now. Nikolai kept shifting his weight behind her. He was distracting her from the meeting, from her job. She couldn’t keep thinking of him. She needed to pay attention to Kaz. She needed to prove to him she could do the job. She needed to show Kaz she deserved her place with the crows. She had to stop thinking about Nikolai.

Kaz kept explaining the information they had already collected and what else needed to be done before the heist. She willed her mind back to the matter at hand. She managed to ignore Nikolai for the rest of the meeting. Keeping a strong hand on her mind’s reins. Kaz ended the meeting sending everyone on their way. There was still a lot to do before they would be ready to break into the military base.

-----

Kaz knew Y/N was lurking behind him. She had waited for everyone to file out before approaching him. He waited for her to speak, knowing she had something on her mind.

“You are going to send me back, aren’t you?” He heard the tremble in her voice. She sounded resigned.

He was surprised by her question. He had been expecting her to lose it on him for being in such a sour mood. He had been expecting a lecture not… whatever this was. “Send you back? Send you back where, Y/N?”

“The house of the Blue Iris, Kaz. I know you think I screwed up on the job. I know how much you hate people screwing up.” That surprised him. Of course, he’d rather have every job go perfectly according to the plan but that was improbable in their line of work. Why would he blame her for something out of her control?

A bitter laugh left his throat. “Is that really what you think of me?” Wasn’t he helping Inej go after slavers? Why would he send anyone to a pleasure house? Let alone a member of his family?

“I would never send you back there! You’re not people, Y/N. You are important to the crew… You’re important to me.” He knew he should leave it at that. “You’re a valuable investment.”

“But… You’ve been so… angry with me?” He could tell she was unsure, scared to make his anger flare up again.

“I’m not mad that a guard came back earlier than you thought, and that you had to improvise. It was the right move.”

“Then why are you mad, Kaz? What did I do?” He could hear the plea in her voice.

“You did nothing wrong.” That was true. He wasn’t mad at her. He was scared to lose her. Not that he’d ever tell her that. “I’m not angry with you, Y/N. My problem is with the king.” She looked at him, her eyes full of questions. He didn’t want to get into it right now. “You should help Wylan with the plan,” he said, dismissing her.

Kaz listened to her footsteps as she left. He still couldn’t believe she doubted him. He hoped he had succeeded in convincing her he never wanted to see her go. If he wasn’t more careful, he was going to push her right into Nikolai’s awaiting arms.

-----

tagged: @power-of-words23

[softrozene]

Sacrifice

@luna-hatake-uchiha​ requested: Hi. First of all, I want to wish you a happy new year. I read on Archiv of your Own that your request box is open... Soo could you please write a scenario where Law and his s/o are having a daughter and after a few years their daughter shows symptoms of the Amber Lead poisoning? And Law doing everything he can to heal her? (This is my first time doing this and I'm sorry if I sound rude somewhere.)

You were perfect in requesting Hon! Apologies for how late this is (I hope you had a good start to the new year!) but omg- That would be so heartbreaking ahhhhh. This came out pretty angsty but I tried to give it a neutral ending! I hope you enjoy it!

This turned into a one-shot oops.

Trafalgar Law x Female Reader

Warnings: Fluff/Angst- Spoilers of Law’s past. Can be considered a good or sad ending! Uhh Post-Pirating au? Law is retired from the pirate life lol, grammar

*Instead of 2nd pov I wrote this in 3rd pov for a change. : )

Also, yeah- I am pretty sure that Law would be able to cure his daughter of this because of his Devil Fruit and it’s “Miraculous” abilities but I went for the more angsty side, so I made it more complicated than that lol. I just love the idea of protective dad Law.

Words: 1983

-

The smell of coffee is usually a scent that brings the pregnant woman, (Name), a comfort since that means she can sneak a sip from her husband’s cup but right now… It is too early for coffee. He should be in bed with her, but the sun is not even up. With exhaustion evident on her face and the goal of finding Law and bringing him back to bed- She regretfully leaves the warm bed.

The house they have is a decent-sized home. Two bedrooms- The one they share together, and the guest room, a nursery that Law and (Name) have been working on and of course, Law’s office to store his medical books and journals, a kitchen, a bathroom, and a small cozy living room.

It felt like bliss living here.

Even more so with the bun in the oven. Law was in shock when he realized his wife was indeed pregnant, but it made the joy of retiring from piracy to enjoy a domestic life with her all the better. It most certainly eases his thoughts that most of his crew also retired here on this peaceful island.

Things could not have turned out more perfect for them.

Though… That was about to change as (Name) walks into his office- The light from it leaking out into the hallway. The smell of coffee gets stronger, and she smiles upon seeing how serious her husband is looking through some of his books.

No matter what he is doing, he looks so handsome.

Something he got used to arguing with her saying how she is crazy for thinking his eyebags are attractive. It was all jokes sure but (Name) was serious and proud to say he was handsome. His personality definitely that too. She can rely on him and him on her and that is something hard to do for the both of them.

Law is too in the zone in the book so (Name) uses that to her advantage. She sneaks up behind him and is quick to wrap her arms around his neck, planting a kiss on his cheek. His tense body immediately relaxes within her hold and he turns to offer her a tired smile.

“Did I wake you?” He asks softly as a hand comes up to meet her swollen belly.

(Name) laughs and holds his hand to her stomach. “Yes, but it is fine. I just got cold without your warmth. That and the beautiful smell of coffee. I think our daughter wants a sip.”

Law’s face turns into a scolding one immediately making his wife laugh as she continues, “Hey! You said I could have some in moderation! I think a tiny sip is less than that and yes, I know we do not know if our child will be a girl, but I just have this feeling…”

Law sighs but… Then smiles as he just shakes his head. He gives in knowing full well that his wife’s point was mainly about getting her daily sip of coffee in. He pulls away from his wife’s loving hand to reach for his mug of coffee. Being careful of the still-hot contents in it. He hands it to her and watches as she smiles and takes her desired sip. Handing it back to him he puts it on the desk and immediately pulls the pregnant woman onto his lap earning himself a giggle from her.

“Anyway, what are you doing up, my love?” She asks as she nuzzles her face into his neck the best she can.

At this question, Law turns tense. His sigh comes out stressed as he hesitates to speak. He thinks it would be better now to share his concern, especially when it is such a valid one.

“I… Fear that our child may get Amber Lead Poising. It is a hereditary disease,” Law mumbles.

This makes his wife freeze up. She knows his pain with that. The fear of it. He must have been bottling it up until he just could not ignore the possibility. With a gentle sigh, (Name) places a tender kiss on his lips, momentarily distracting him from his painful thoughts.

“My love, please come back to bed. After a few more hours of sleep, you can come back in here… And no matter what happens with our child- I have faith that you will find a cure. Until then, try not to worry. Otherwise, you are going to send yourself into an early grave by putting all that stress on your heart,” (Name) says as a yawn escapes her.

Law can only smile now. She truly is his best friend. His other half. She knows how to ease his worries even if it is temporarily, but what she said… It also rings true. He vows to find a cure in the case that their child will get that stupid disease.

~*~

The rest of the pregnancy goes by quickly and as soon as the baby, a girl, is in their arms it feels like total bliss for them. It is everything they never imagined having but makes their lives totally complete. Her middle name is in memory of Law’s younger sister. The full name being Trafalgar Lami Lin.

“She looks like you already- Look at those wide (eye color) eyes,” Law says with a gentle smile on his face.

He never imagined he could allow himself to be this soft and vulnerable. To share it with (Name). His wife laughs as she leans against his arm as he holds their little girl in his arms. Both (Name) and the baby are exhausted.

“Thank the gods she does not look like a mini sleep-deprived version of you. Well, if she takes my looks, I only hope she gains your intelligence,” (Name) jokes.

Law smirks at the playful tone and as if he remembers sighs- “I forgot to tell you. What is left of the crew will be coming here tomorrow. They were even more excited than us combined.”

“Looks like we got a couple of free babysitters… I trust Bepo with her. Sachi and Penguin might drop her.”

Law sweatdrops at this and wishes he could argue back but… His wife is right. He makes a mental note to have Bepo be their go-to babysitter.

~*~

Days pass by fast when you feel joy and they pass even faster when you feel like the world suddenly has a time limit on it. Law promised his wife to enjoy the days with them and he did, but he spent countless nights trying to find a cure- Getting so close to finding something that can help in the case his daughter gets the disease.

The baby grows quickly into a child, but it was the age of five when Law realizes that she has those stupid white spots on her skin- Meaning she has Amber Lead Poisoning. He felt like he was suffocating. She was not supposed to get it. He paid his dues during his piracy. His loss of Rosinante. His loss of family. He paid whatever the hell life thought he owed it, so she was supposed to be in the clear.

She was not.

He knows that is just wishful thinking. His whole family got it and Amber Lead is a hereditary disease. He was supposed to die at age thirteen. He did not all because he ate a fruit thanks to Rosinante. Just because he ate a fruit and cured himself does not mean he could actually cure Amber Lead with his fruit.

He could try and cure Lin as he did himself. Using the fruit’s "miraculous" properties which is having the ability to cure any kind of illness. However, this requires some extent of medical knowledge in order to be utilized effectively. He has that knowledge, but he does not have the full knowledge to cure others of this disease. He cured himself because he ate the fruit.

He needs a real cure. One to ensure that this disease does not follow into the genes anymore. He wants to ensure that if his daughter wants a family of her own- If she makes it to that age, he wants her to be able to not have to think about her own children having the disease.

He estimated she would only have a few years left. Until those white spots grow big enough to almost devour her. His blissful life turned into a nightmare for him. He always could not stand the thought of losing (Name) and the feeling was deeper with their daughter Lin since she was only a child.

She deserved a long and happy life.

He was going to sacrifice his time to ensure that.

It was during one of these nights when he cursed out life for being cruel that Law had an epiphany. Something in his research began to make sense for a cure- It was uncertain, but it was something and it was this night that his wife was woken up when he got up out of excitement to begin writing on a large board he put together. He accidentally dropped a book nothing too alarming, so he was surprised to see his wife checking on him.

Her large eyes watching the board- Trying to decipher his valid obsession of finding a cure. He could not contain his excitement as he pauses briefly to place a kiss on his wife’s lips.

“Whoa. You are super cheery for once,” She notes.

Law can only smile. “I think I am close to finding something. A cure. It would still be a while before I have something solid but… This is it. It has to be it.”

Hearing this fills (Name) up with excitement too. Only to see Law experience a crash. He is at his limit for tonight since he spent all day shopping with his daughter and wife to go to Penguin’s birthday (definitely an alcohol) party. He should be totally spent after today.

(Name) only hugs him feeling his body immediately relax into hers and he freezes upon remembering something. Pulling back slightly he looks at his darling wife and places a kiss on her forehead.

“Hey… I do need to tell you something. If this lead goes nowhere. I am going to use the Ope Ope no Mi fruit on her,” Law states.

(Name) freezes in his grip. Understanding these words. That means he is going to sacrifice his life for their daughter if he can’t make a cure. He is willing to use the fruit’s powers for what others have wanted it for. Immortality.

He is willing to grant their daughter “eternal youth” if it means she can experience life without the disease affecting her.

His mind is dead set on that backup plan so all (Name) Can do is nod. He smiles at her though as to reassure her.

“That is just a backup plan. We still have a few years left but as of now, I do believe it is time to get in contact with that crazy pirate- Luffy. I need him to bring Chopper here. With Chopper’s help this should work,” Law murmurs more to himself.

He is exhausted.

“Alright Love- I will go get in contact with them. I will send a letter. Though… I think you should head to bed. You did well. You are such a good father,” (Name) murmurs.

Hearing this… Law really feels like he might break. All of these restless nights are going to be worth something. He is going to do what his dad almost did for his younger sister. He will cure his daughter and be able to watch her grow.

“Law… You are getting my hair wet with your snot and tears.”

“Shut up,” He mumbles as he holds his partner.

She laughs and the two stay like that- Content that there is hope for their daughter.

[zenonaa]

'Like the rest of the group, he also wondered what could have driven out such a grin from him, out in the open like that. Worse, it could have not been a ‘what’, but a ‘who’. He had prided himself on never letting anyone slip under his skin, never letting anyone become close to him. Learning to rely on others, and let others rely on him, was one thing. This felt more personal, like a kick to the stomach.'

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Fukawa Touko/Togami Byakuya Characters: Fukawa Touko, Togami Byakuya, Naegi Makoto, Naegi Komaru, Kirigiri Kyouko, Asahina Aoi, Hagakure Yasuhiro Additional Tags: TogaFuka Week 2021 Summary: Togami and the others stumble across a photograph of him smiling, but he can't remember the context so the others try to figure out what happened for him to do that.

Comments: owo what's this? togafuka week day 1: happiness! i haven't actually written something for all the days but this is one of the things that i did manage to squeeze out.

💗 Please like, share and comment if you enjoyed it! 💗

***

Cleaning up Hope’s Peak wasn’t an afternoon affair. Beyond the old school building that Byakuya knew too intimately, debris clogged hallways, trash lay scattered throughout the campus like weeds and the air smelled of rust and blood. The group of seven started with the art building on the east side of campus. For the first few hours, Yasuhiro hummed as he hauled cardboard boxes, Komaru still had the patience to prepare and bring lemonade, and Aoi’s sunshine voice beamed between walls as she shared a story about the time her family held a second-hand sale in their backyard.

By the end of the day, however, their lively chatter had dimmed with the sky. Inside remained as bright thanks to Byakuya and Yasuhiro reconnecting the electricity, but darkening windows reminded them of the aches in their limbs, the ebbing flames behind their eyes. Byakuya swept his gaze across what used to be a theatre but was currently a sorting room filled with boxes instead of chairs. Makoto, Touko, Komaru and Yasuhiro were sitting together on boxes, while Kyouko and Aoi had just walked in with a dirty wheelbarrow.

“We should adjourn until the morning,” Byakuya announced. He reached a hand toward his glasses, intending to push them up, but stopped himself when he remembered the grime clinging to his palms. Not wanting to dirty his glasses, he lowered his hand.

The Byakuya of the past would have deemed this sort of manual labour beneath him, yet he had willingly spent most of that day working alongside his companions. His friends. How things changed.

“There is so much stuff,” said Aoi, who by now had parked the wheelbarrow and was slouched against it. She wiped her vest against her forehead.

“And not a lot of it is useful,” added Kyouko, next to Aoi. Yasuhiro straightened up.

“Nonsense. All we need to do is spruce them up, and they’ll be ready to go on sale.” He walked over to a broken lamp, its shade bitten and discoloured, as dirty as the floor it lay on. “Like this lamp. Fix this up, and it’ll be as good as new. Then all we need is a good pitch and b’am,” he punched his palm, “sold.”

“You can’t do that with everything here,” said Komaru. He put his hands onto his hips.

“Not with that attitude! But with the right mindset, you could sell anything here, guaranteed.”

Yasuhiro rubbed his finger against his nose, grinning like a fool. Some things changed, but others stayed remarkably the same. Byakuya’s gaze drifted over to Touko, who was scowling at Yasuhiro. Touko was both different and the same. Different, because she stood firm where she used to cower, and she let others into her world where she used to cloak herself in darkness.

And same because while like Byakuya, she had learned to allow herself to rely on friends and for friends to rely on her, she was still head over heels in love with him.

She pointed at a black bag containing hunks of metal. “What sales pitch do you have for this?”

“Easy! All you have to do is make the contents into sculptures,” replied Yasuhiro. “Their only purpose is to be admired, ‘right? Add a backstory to go with them and boom, sold. You can do that to practically anything even if it’s trash.”

“No way,” said Aoi.

“Want to bet?”

The group roused to accept his challenge. Makoto found a used wipe container, and Yasuhiro clicked his fingers and said to fill it with plastic bags, turning it into a dispenser that was portable and could fit easily into a car drawer. Aoi presented him with pizza boxes, at which Yasuhiro laughed and demanded more so they could be decked in wrapping paper and transformed into a drawer unit. When Komaru found a metal pipe, Yasuhiro claimed it needed a clean and spray paint and it could sit contentedly on a shelf.

Yasuhiro even sucked Byakuya and Touko into the game. The cork in Byakuya’s hand changed into a keychain, and Yasuhiro’s voice fashioned an old juice carton into a recyclable purse ideal for coins and trips to the arcade. Each item that the others found, Yasuhiro repurposed it into something else.

“There has to be something you can’t reuse,” Komaru insisted. She peeled the lid open on a cardboard box and lifted out a hardback red book from inside it. “What about these photos? Who’d want to have pictures of strangers?”

“Photos?” said Kyouko, intrigued.

“Yeah, there are a whole load of albums in here. I went through a few earlier but didn’t recognise anyone, so I forgot about them.”

Touko rolled her eyes. “Typical...”

Kyouko and Aoi each took out an album. The box seemed to contain several of them, their covers glazed in dust and cobwebs.

“Gekkogahara-san is in this one,” said Kyouko within a few seconds of skimming.

By now, the rest of the group had gravitated over. Inside the album that Kyouko was holding, the photographs were contained in plastic flaps that overlapped so only the one on top could be seen unless it was flicked up, revealing the photograph beneath. In the photograph currently on display, Miaya Gekkogahara was sitting next to a pale guy with dark hair and dark shadows under his eyes, who Byakuya recognised as Yasuke Matsuda. They appeared to be seated at a computer desk, their heads turned toward the photographer.

“It’s really her,” murmured Makoto. “And not a robot masquerading as her.”

“Do you think these are all photos of her class?” asked Yasuhiro as he and the others picked up their own photo albums to browse.

“If that’s true, then everyone in these are deceased,” said Touko.

Aoi winced. “When you phrase it like that, this feels kind of morbid.”

Makoto flipped through a few flaps in the album in his hands. Then his creased forehead exploded as his eyebrows shot up. “This album contains our class!”

Everyone crowded around him. The photograph showed a pink room with a television screen hanging on the wall. Blurred writing glowed on it that Byakuya struggled to decipher. In front of it, Couch seats were positioned around three sides of a table, and on the seats sat members of their class. The only classmate not in the photograph was Sakura.

“Sakura-chan must have been taking the photograph,” said Aoi. “No way would our class exclude her.”

Holding the album in one hand, Makoto scratched his head with his other.

“I vaguely recall this,” he said. “Kuwata-kun... yes, I think it was him... booked a karaoke room, and the whole class packed in. All of us sang at least once.”

While Future Foundation had aided them in recovering from the memory loss inflicted by Junko, some memories were stronger than others. For Byakuya, he could recall plenty of events, but none came with any emotion attached. It was as though he was reading about them in a newspaper afterwards.

“Byakuya-sama graced us with his voice,” Touko piped up. The ends of her lips curled upward as she squeezed her hands together. “I r-remember... he made the air taste like chocolate syrup... his words spread a chill across my skin... ah...”

Byakuya remembered performing a single song, but he hated singing, and he couldn’t remember what compelled him to accept a microphone.

“Enoshima tried to steal such a precious memory from us.” Aoi rubbed the heel of her hand against her eye. “Sakura-chan sang a beautiful song about friendship. Her voice washed over the room like the ocean.”

Kyouko placed a hand onto Aoi’s shoulder. Komaru flicked through the other photographs in the album. Byakuya didn’t pay Komaru any more mind, frowning at Touko as she seemed to relive the experience of him singing. Her recollection appeared much more intimate than his own. Part of him wanted to ask her for more details. Another part was repulsed.

Komaru gasped.

“What is it?” asked Makoto as they all focused on the album again. The photograph that had captured her attention depicted Byakuya. Nothing extraordinary appeared to be in the photograph - he was sitting on a bench at an angle, not facing the camera.

Yet the others stared with their mouths agape.

“I have never seen Togami-chi smile like that,” said Yasuhiro.

Byakuya inspected the photograph closer. Though it had been taken at a distance - probably so he wouldn’t realise someone was taking a photograph of him - there was a definite smile gracing his lips. It wasn’t a smirk, or a cruel grin, or the faint curve he sometimes showed around his friends, but a smile showing teeth, one that didn’t just meet his eyes, but made his gaze, no, his face glow.

What he was looking at, however, was unclear. It was now that Byakuya realised the photograph had been torn, and the section that held the object of his attention wasn’t in the album.

“It must have been something amazing to have made him smile back then,” said Yasuhiro.

They all turned to Byakuya, who pursed his lips.

“Putting aside whether I would tell you if I knew, I don’t actually recall when this took place,” he said.

“Maybe we could help jog your memory?” Aoi suggested. “When I want to remember something, I write it on my palm three times.”

“That won’t help,” said Touko. “You can only do that while you still remember the thing.” Her teeth gritted. “Argh... if only I knew what could have elicited such a pure smile from Byakuya-sama...!”

She dragged her fingers down her face.

“It’s not a big deal,” said Byakuya. While the others burned with curiosity, discomfort stewed in his gut like when he had watched Touko reminisce about the karaoke session.

Like the rest of the group, he also wondered what could have driven out such a grin from him, out in the open like that. Worse, it could have not been a ‘what’, but a ‘who’. He had prided himself on never letting anyone slip under his skin, never letting anyone become close to him. Learning to rely on others, and let others rely on him, was one thing. This felt more personal, like a kick to the stomach.

“There has to be some way to reawaken the memory,” said Komaru, her tone light without the burden of his thoughts. She turned to Kyouko. “You must know a way.”

“Must I?” Kyouko’s eyebrows rose.

“Because you’re from a detective family,” said Aoi, nodding.

“Actually...” Komaru’s smile cringed on her face. “I um... just assume Kyouko-chan knows everything.”

“There are a few techniques we can try,” said Kyouko, faintly amused. “Perhaps if we pinpoint when and where exactly the photograph took place, that may stir something in Togami-kun’s brain.”

Other than Byakuya, no one else was in the frame. A briefcase leaned against a bench leg and a pile of papers rested on his lap. Annoyingly, he couldn’t see any writing that may have been on the papers. In the photograph, he wasn’t looking at them. He was focused on the nothingness where the other half of the photograph should have been.

“That has to be the main plaza,” said Aoi. “I recognise the benches. Sakura-chan and I finished our morning runs there. Then we would sit down and drink some water. We never saw Togami there though.”

“Yeah. That looks like the fountain at the back,” added Makoto.

Kyouko stroked her chin. “The sliver of sky in the background appears rather pale, and judging by the colour of the leaves, it’s approximately autumn.”

“Togami-chi never missed a lesson, so it had to be late-afternoon at the latest, ‘right?” said Yasuhiro.

“Unless it was the weekend,” Makoto pointed out, prompting Yasuhiro to exhale frustratedly through his teeth. The thoughtful expression on Kyouko’s face, however, didn’t waver.

“We can deduce whether he had lessons on that day,” said Kyouko.

“How?” asked Aoi.

Byakuya already knew. “I’m not in uniform.”

“Indeed,” said Kyouko with a bob of her head. “So unless you changed into another outfit after your lessons, this scene transpired at the weekend.”

“Does that ring any bells for you?” Komaru asked Byakuya, clasping her hands together, eyes wide with optimism. “Visiting the plaza on the weekend, and catching sight of something that brings joy to your face...?”

His jaw clenched. All of them were staring at him. They had a campus as large as four high schools to clear and they had only made a dent so far, but the arduous task appeared to have been pushed aside in favour of probing his brain for some memory. Oh, how they tried his patience at times.

“I can’t say it brings anything to mind, though it is unusual for me to be there,” he said in a level tone. “Usually, during the weekend, I would be indoors, either in my room or in the library.”

Certainly not at the plaza. Certainly not with a brazen smile chipped into his face.

“I think we’ve followed the photograph’s lead as far as it can go,” said Yasuhiro. “Now we must turn to guesswork. If we bounce ideas off each other, that might help Togami-chi remember. Perhaps you had come from a meeting, where you struck a billion dollar deal?”

“Or you emerged from the cafeteria after they served some tasty donuts?” Aoi chimed in.

Byakuya’s frown sank in deeper.

“Or you finished a really good manga?” said Komaru.

“Or listened to a good song?” added Makoto.

Yasuhiro clicked his fingers. “I once read that listening to music is a good way to stir up memories. If we find a piece with the right mood, Togami-chi ought to remember the scene!”

“What sort of mood do you guys reckon we should play?” asked Komaru as she shoved her hand into her coat.

“Something cheerful,” said Aoi.

Komaru retrieved her phone from her pocket and tapped on her screen. A few seconds later, a series of beeps sang out of her phone, playing over the sound of clapping and a fast drumbeat. She side-stepped back and forth to the rhythm, and Byakuya lasted until the first few lines of Swedish auto tuned singing.

“Turn that off,” snapped Byakuya. “It’s not helping me think. It’s giving me a headache instead.”

With a pout, Komaru switched it off.

“Perhaps we should visit the location,” said Kyouko.

Touko’s brow creased. “Won’t it be dark?”

“Don’t worry, Touko-chan, our phones can provide you with light,” Komaru assured her, patting Touko on the shoulder.

They set off, departing from the old theatre and winding through corridors toward the plaza. Byakuya stayed silent, lagging behind most of the others slightly. Only Touko seemed to take note of this, and though she didn’t speak to him, she hovered further back than him, and he could feel her eyes on the back of his neck like flies crawling against his skin.

As they drew closer, he concluded that they wished so desperately to discover the source of his smile because they planned to use it against him. Perhaps they intended to humiliate him, or blackmail or manipulate him. But they were his friends, weren’t they? Surely they didn’t plan on using what they learned against him?

Yet... if that wasn’t the case, then why?

The plaza was no longer the picturesque location it once was. It couldn’t have been in a brochure promoting the academy, like the photograph in the album. Weeds grew between upturned slabs, gnarled fingers reaching toward the sky. Nearby, the rubble corpse of the fountain didn’t spout water, dry as sun bleached bone. They all stood silently for a while, observing their surroundings. There were no benches to sit on.

“It sure has changed a lot,” said Yasuhiro.

“It’ll do. Hagakure, bend over on all fours.” Aoi pointed at her feet. “You will play the part of the bench.”

Yasuhiro balked. “Why me? You’re stronger.”

Her stare didn’t relent. He managed a few more seconds before he dropped to his knees and planted his hands in front of himself. Once he was in position, Aoi turned to Byakuya expectantly.

“I am not sitting on him,” said Byakuya flatly.

“Please, Togami-san!” Komaru pleaded, shaking her phone in both hands. Light from the screen danced across her face and when her hands stilled, so did the glow. It seeped into her skin, accentuating the crinkle between her eyebrows and the stare from her eyes that pulled, pulled, pulled at Byakuya until he snapped.

“Why are you all making a big deal of this?” Byakuya asked not only Komaru, but all of them. He flung up a hand. “There is a photograph of me smiling. That’s it. It concerns me that you’re so obsessed with finding out what caused me to smile.”

His question clenched them in its jaws, burning the air with acid. He waited for one of them to answer. For Touko to do more than fidget, and Komaru to stop chewing her lip. Finally, the pressure squeezed out a response from Makoto.

“You’re our friend,” said Makoto. “You’re usually so serious, and you rarely ever seem happy. We thought if we could find out what made you that happy back then...”

“... we could bring that happiness back to you now,” finished Touko, curling her fingers into her palms. Byakuya tensed.

That explanation had never occurred to him. For most of his life, he had been forced to be on the defensive, to anticipate betrayals and attacks from anyone. Then again, for most of his life, he hadn’t been acquainted with people like this. Friends. He grimaced, staring at Touko for several long seconds before averting his gaze and pushing up his glasses.

“Nuisances...” But he seated himself on Yasuhiro’s back, setting his feet firmly on the ground.

Byakuya tried to imagine the sky was a pool of water, not ink, and that he was on a bench, and that water streamed from a fountain behind him. However, the air remained as dry and dark as his mouth, and no matter how often his mind mended the slabs of the plaza, they would crack and decay within moments.

“Anything?” said Touko, wringing her hands.

He folded his arms over his chest.

“No,” said Byakuya. A collective sigh spread, though Makoto was soon grinning again.

“I guess we’ll have to keep trying to make you happy.”

Byakuya clicked his tongue, but his lips twitched outward and he quickly hid it behind his hand. Nuisances.

“Does this mean you can stand up now?” Yasuhiro asked from beneath Byakuya.

Aoi stretched her arms upward, arching her back, and yawned. “We ought to call it a day. It’s getting late.”

While the others headed toward the dormitory building that they were currently living in. Byakuya stayed where he was. Their footsteps faded, the glow of their phones shrinking into five pinpricks of light before disappearing completely. Despite his friends’ efforts, they had failed to uncover the story of the photograph. Now that he knew their motives hadn’t been nefarious, he could appreciate their attempts and found himself wondering what had happened all those years ago.

“It’s a shame we don’t know what made you so happy back then,” said Touko next to him, echoing his thoughts. She hadn’t retired for the night with the others. He glanced at her, meeting her gaze. Her phone shone a light against her wistful expression.

“I suppose so,” he said in a casual tone.

“With many of my memories, I don’t recall exact details, but they evoke certain feelings.”

His eyebrows rose a fraction in interest. “Oh?”

“Yes. For example, standing here... is stirring some emotion in me. I think I have a memory associated with this place too.”

Byakuya turned his whole body to face her.

“What emotion?” he asked.

She didn’t answer right away, as if letting the thought sit on her tongue, tasting it.

“Warmth,” she said. “Like the warmth I feel when I’m with you. Perhaps I will never remember what happened to give me that feeling. B-But... I have many other precious memories... and I can work on creating more with you, Byakuya-sama.”

Her lips twisted into a smile. Meanwhile, his insides twisted, much like they did whenever she referred to him in a romantic manner. He had been experiencing the sensation more frequently around her lately. Sometimes, all she had to do was meet his gaze or brush against him, and his stomach would coil like she had pressed her lips against his.

“Byakuya-sama?” Touko’s voice broke into his thoughts. “A-Are you feeling all right?”

He did not want to think what about his face had made her ask that all of a sudden.

“I’m fine,” he said, and he adjusted his glasses. “We’ve dawdled here for long enough. Let’s return to the dormitories.”

“Together?” blurted Touko. Without a word, Byakuya strode away, and she darted after him, keeping abreast. “Are you going straight to sleep when you arrive back?”

His eyes stayed forward.

“No. I will have some tea and read first,” he replied.

“What do you plan on reading?”

“Out by Natsuo Kirino,” he said. Her head jerked back.

“I r-recently finished that!”

“I know. After seeing you reading it, I thought I would give it a try. I was more interested when I learned that it’s not a romance, but a crime novel.”

“I specialise in romance, but I read for a variety of genres,” she said. “I can recommend some more books i-if you want. Have you read The Inugami Clan? You may find the start slow, but I think you will enjoy the cast and the premise...”

He listened as they walked back together. The more she spoke, the more passionate she became, and he couldn’t help looking at her as she lit up, waving her arms around.

A smile poked at the corners of his lips, and he finally felt a sense of déjà vu.

[shimmersing]

Constellation

Part One | Part Two | Interlude | Part Three

Rating: General Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/M, Gen Relationships: Female Jedi Consular | Barsen'thor/Male Republic Trooper, Jedi Consular | Barsen'thor/Republic Trooper Characters: Female Jedi Consular | Barsen'thor, Jedi Consular | Barsen'thor, Qyzen Fess, Yuon Par, Parkanas Tark-Lord Vivicar Additional Tags: Angst, Tython, Emotional, Mentioned Mutual Pining, Fluffy, Sad, Melancholy

Returning to Tython after shielding the last master suffering from Vivicar's Force plague, Aitahea is faced with more struggle in her efforts to heal the Order and keep the Force in balance. Tired, injured, and longing for someone she can't have, perhaps ever, the lines of her responsibility as a Jedi and her own convictions begin to blur. As Aitahea nears the end of her quest to save Yuon Par and the other Jedi Masters, she’s confronted with painful revelations and answers that only give rise to more questions. Shouldering the lives and minds of Jedi across the galaxy – alone – may prove to be more than Aitahea can bear. AN: Welcome back! This story follows shortly after the events in Best Intentions and closes out Chapter One of the Consular storyline for Aitahea (and Erithon, peripherally). The one-shot, first-person piece Impending occurs in the interim between Parts 2 and 3. Thank you and enjoy! *Now with paragraphs in proper order!*

Part One

Aitahea trembled next to Satele Shan on the bridge of the transport, fingers pressed to her lips while starlines streaked past.

“What troubles you, little one?”

The girl dropped her hands to her sides without looking at Master Satele, keeping her gaze focused on the soothing radiance of hyperspace. “Nothing, Master. How long until we reach Alderaan?”

“Soon now, Aitahea.” Satele dropped to one knee and placed a hand on the child’s shoulder. “You’ll be safe there. Your training will continue. We need you to be strong for the Order. For our future.”

She drew in a deep breath. “I know, Master Satele. I am strong.” But beneath her robes, her stomach flipped and flopped.

Aitahea trembled next to pilot Prelsiava Tern on the bridge of the Luminous, fingers pressed to her lips while they slipped from the grasp of Alderaan’s gravity.

“What’s got your head turned around, Jedi?”

The Jedi dropped her hands to her sides without looking at her friend, watching as the once-familiar constellations blurred out of sight. “Nothing, Sia. How long until we’re underway?”

As usual, her pilot’s concern was genuine, attending in a gently cavalier way that often left Aitahea feeling uplifted. “As soon as we clear the gravity well; just a few more minutes.”

Qyzen had no such compunction, his words blunt as a training saber. “Soldier remains forefront in your thoughts, but past also. Put these away so we may focus on Yuon. Both mate and memories will wait until dark thing is vanquished.”

“I have every int-” Aitahea choked at the sudden comprehension of Qyzen’s words, face flushing a bright rose. Sia craned her head around the pilot’s seat to grin at Aitahea with unabashed glee. Aitahea shrugged at the Mirialan woman and turned to Qyzen. “Excuse me… mate?”

“Herald’s Republic lieutenant, met on Taris. Thought perhaps you’d accepted as mate on Alderaan,” Qyzen mused. Sia whistled low and turned back to the pilot’s console, doing an impromptu and quite thorough safety check of the seat’s crash webbing.

The Jedi took a deep, calming breath, the carefully measured motion keeping her from bursting into terribly unsuitable laughter.

If Qyzen noticed her discomfiture, he gave no sign. “Human emotions strange; sad one moment, amused next.”

Aitahea primly lifted her chin, focusing seriously on her friend. “Forgive me; I apologize for the, ah, unexpected level of emotion. But no, Erithon-” She paused to frown and clear her throat. “The lieutenant and I don’t have… we aren’t what you’re presuming.”

Qyzen squinted in what she had learned to recognize as wry skepticism, usually reserved for someone they were facing in conflict.

Aitahea swallowed, nodded. “We have work to do.”

Sia waved over a shoulder. “Hey, call from Tython on the holo.”

Grateful for the diversion, Aitahea swiftly moved to escape the bridge. “Thank you, Sia. I’ll take it in the common room, please.”

After a few moments, Master Syo flickered into view, looking pleased when Aitahea entered the shared space.

“Master Sidonie just checked in. She seems well but very frustrated with herself.” Aitahea briefly wondered if her own demeanor was similar, though for distinctly different reasons. “She reports that you were able to prevent war from breaking out on Alderaan, however. You’ve once again done exceptional work in a tense situation, Aitahea.”

Despite the obvious praise, Aitahea winced. She had been painfully unsettled by Master Sidonie’s baseless accusations, despite their depraved falsity. They’d sounded conspicuously familiar, another voice confirming all the cynical criticisms Aitahea most dreaded. Unspeakable consequences lurked behind every failure, and Aitahea was certain she would fracture under the burden of responsibility, despite everyone’s blithe confidence. All so certain of her, save Aitahea herself.

And she would never breathe a syllable of it to the people depending on her. She couldn’t. Instead, she slid into a default stillness and bowed her head. “I relied on the teachings of the Jedi,” she insisted, voice trembling through the half-truth.

Master Syo beamed. “A mark of a true Jedi – being able to trust in the Force in all circumstances.”

Aitahea shuddered and hoped the motion wouldn’t be seen in the grainy holo.

Oblivious to her struggle, Master Syo continued. “Tell me, did you learn anything about the plaguemaster, Lord Vivicar?”

“I’m sorry. No new intel came from Master Sidonie.”

“She was the last of the lost Masters, and yet Vivicar still eludes us,” he mused, then waved a hand and refocused on Aitahea. “Return to us here on Tython immediately, and we will discuss what you have learned. Lord Vivicar cannot remain hidden forever.”

Aitahea’s heart leapt. She’d longed for the comfort of Tython for months; now, the call seemed almost too good to be true. Unable to trust her voice, she bowed, lifting her eyes again in time to see Master Syo’s benevolent smile. “Come home, Jedi.”

When her boots touched Tython’s sacred ground – even the metallic plates of the Temple’s shuttle pad – Aitahea felt suffused with new hope. The home of the Jedi never failed to welcome her, making her role in the galaxy apparent and her relationship to the Force simple and effortless. Even breathing felt easier.

Master Syo Bakarn, Master Jaric Kaedan, and Grand Master Satele Shan were waiting when Aitahea arrived at the Council chamber with Qyzen. The rest of the crew had opted to stay in orbit while the Jedi and Trandoshan shuttled to the surface.

“Welcome home,” said Master Syo, leaning forward to offer the greeting. Aitahea bowed low to her mentor, wondering silently if Yuon would be join the meeting as well.

Master Jaric was quicker to the point. “I wish we could greet you with better news.”

Master Satele nodded her own welcome. “Despite using every resource available to us, we’re no closer to finding Lord Vivicar.”

Aitahea, buoyant on the glory of Tython, took a bold step forward and offered her final, horrible theory. “Actually, I believe we are. A common thread binds all the plague victims: the loss of Parkanas Tark at Malachor Three. Vivicar’s influence forced the infected Masters to relive their failures on Malachor.”

The Council’s Force signatures and facial expressions were meticulously shielded with more years of experience than Aitahea could rightly grasp, but even so, emotion in the room spiked, rattling her earnest calm. She continued, her voice hushed. “This is revenge, personal revenge. Only one man would have that much anger and pain. The man who was left behind.”

She hesitated; her next words could unravel everything else she’d accomplished, but unless she spoke the truth, the plague would never end. “I believe Lord Vivicar is Parkanas Tark.”

Master Jaric shook his head in disbelief. “Jedi.” He pinned Aitahea with a steely gaze, and she was certain that her suggestion had indeed gone too far. “Parkanas Tark is dead.” Aitahea took a breath -

“Far from it, Jaric.” Yuon strode into the council chamber, feisty as ever. On the edge of panic, Aitahea broke into an enormous smile that her Master returned with a gracious nod. Even Qyzen, silent until now, uttered a brief growl of approval and welcome.

“Yuon?” Satele demanded, half-rising to address the other Master, exasperation coloring her words. “I told those Padawans to keep an eye on you. You must rest!”

“No. My pupil -” Yuon paused at Aitahea’s side, placing a hand on her last Padawan’s shoulder, “My fellow Jedi deserves to hear the truth about Malachor.”

Aitahea winced, noting the dark shadows under Yuon’s eyes; only one of the victims could explain the twisted path that lay both behind and before them. They all needed the truth. “Don’t speak more than you must.”

Yuon gave Aitahea a wan smile, then continued, turning to address the Council. “Malachor Three isn’t just strong in the dark side; the planet is the resting place of Terrak Morrhage. Our work on Malachor woke Morrhage’s spirit. One by one, we fell under his power. The things we did… still haunt me.”

Yuon shuddered; Aitahea reached for her in concern. Realization clicked into place, and she paused before laying a comforting hand on Yuon’s shoulder. “Somehow, you broke free of Morrhage’s power.”

The Master composed herself and nodded to her Padawan. “Yes. Together, we managed to break his control, but at a terrible cost.” Yuon’s voice grew soft, then broke over the last few syllables. She kept her gaze to the side, as if afraid to look into Aitahea’s eyes. “Parkanas was the youngest and weakest. We had to abandon him to Malachor’s darkness. His sacrifice allowed the rest of us to escape. But it seems he survived and took Morrhage’s dark path.”

“You couldn’t have predicted this,” Aitahea insisted in a pained whisper.

With fierce determination, Yuon shook her head. “I must make amends.” She seemed more vulnerable than ever, perhaps even more so than in the worst throes of her affliction. “I have a plan to help you find Vivicar.”

The Council looked worriedly at each other, and even Aitahea shook her head, uncertain how to respond. “How?”

“If the plague created a link between my mind and his, your shielding ability may allow me to use that link to find him.”

Master Syo stood, his disapproval and worry dimming the Force in the room. “No. You’re already weak from the plague, Yuon. This could kill you.”

But Yuon’s eyes, finally meeting Aitahea’s, were pleading. Aitahea wondered, had her Master’s suffering truly begun with the plague, or had it been long before that? She wasn’t certain she was ready for dealing with either answer, but her path, her role, was to serve. Releasing her Master, her teacher, her friend from this plague surely was of equal importance with stopping Morrhage.

If the work served both purposes, it would be worth it, more than worth it. “Vivicar won’t get the chance,” she said to both Yuon and the stunned Council. “I will stand between him and my Master.”

Yuon’s gratitude was palpable. She turned to the Council, earnest and energized. “It’s our best chance to find Vivicar.”

Qyzen spoke up. “Yuon is fearless and wise – a true hunter, like Herald.”

Aitahea wasn’t certain she agreed, but the Trandoshan’s support could only bolster their position.

Syo eased back into his seat. “Very well,” he said, sighing. “But we will monitor the ritual, and your former Padawan must stay at your side.”

“Of course, Master,” Aitahea said, and offered Yuon an encouraging smile.

“Thank you, Syo,” Yuon said, punctuating with a bow to the entire Council before turning back to Aitahea. “I will go to the meditation chamber to prepare. Please meet me there when you are ready.”

“I’ll be fine, Qyzen; it’s just a short way from the Temple. There’s no safer place in the galaxy.”

“Even from own thoughts, Herald?”

“Let her go, just as you always did for me,” said Yuon, smiling impishly at Aitahea as she approached. “This Jedi knows her own mind.”

“Master, I know you have much to prepare. I don’t intend to go far to meditate, just a little away from the temple, so I might not be disturbed.” Aitahea couldn’t quite raise her eyes to meet Yuon’s, glancing instead toward the tree-lined paths of the outer grounds. Since Aitahea had first arrived on Tython, the issues of refugees, Flesh Raiders, and rogue Force users had been mostly resolved. The forests surrounding the temple were secure, if not precisely safe. Aitahea had played no small part in several of those events and recalled them as experiences of tremendous growth as a Padawan. Yuon seemed to agree.

“Off with you now! I’ve enough for this old friend to help me with; you must make your own preparations,” she stated, ushering Qyzen ahead in a way only Yuon Par was capable of, while waving Aitahea away from the temple grounds. “Go!”

Yuon seemed uncharacteristically upbeat, perhaps even giddy. It’s just that we’re so close to the end of this journey. I’d feel the same, if I weren’t so… her thoughts trailed off as Qyzen and Yuon turned back toward the temple, good-naturedly chiding each other on the perception of stuffy behavior.

Aitahea chanced a smile and wave in reply, inhaling sharply to keep tears from spilling from her stinging eyes. She turned to one of the well-worn paths, tread smooth by the growing residents of the Jedi Temple, their minders and masters, and visitors such as herself.

No, this is home, she thought urgently. Master Syo welcomed me home. I am home. She raised her hood and quickened her pace, rushing by several curious initiates.

Aitahea dashed across the bridge and toward the stream just beyond the grounds. There was a spur of rock suspended over one of the smaller falls. She hadn’t been there in years, her training with Yuon so often off-world or in remote areas. There were usually a few uxibeast grazing in the shade, unbothered so long as they could eat in peace.

She was obligated to ford the shallows to the opposite bank of the stream in order to reach the outcropping. Aitahea considered a simple leap over the stream; a nudge of the Force would keep her robes and boots dry.

Instead, she left her boots with her outer robe folded carefully beside them and now stood at the water’s edge considering the communicator in her hand. She shouldn’t be needed for the brief hour she had to prepare for Yuon’s desperate ritual; who in the galaxy would need to contact her who wasn’t planetside? Was there anyone she needed to talk to privately? Tember? Her parents?

Aitahea fiercely dismissed the memory of Erithon’s smiling face that clamored for her attention, fingers trembling as she thumbed through her contacts to his entry. The hard lump lodged in her throat was the only thing that kept her from pressing the call button.

Cold water splashed over her toes; the nearest uxibeast lowed. Shaking her head, Aitahea unceremoniously shoved the commlink into one of her boots and waded into the water, gasping at the freezing temperature.  She splashed across, only slightly questioning her sanity, and padded gingerly up the rock spur on icy toes.

The perch afforded a stunning view of the Temple and grounds, but distance allowed a certain privacy. Aitahea sat at the edge of the outcropping, watching the practiced motions of lightsaber training, but the clashing sounds of those sparring were lost beneath the roar of water. Some in groups, others in isolation, all went about their various practices: meditating, channeling, seeking to understand more of the Force in myriad ways.

Everything will be fine, Aitahea assured herself, bringing her knees up to her chest and closing her eyes. We’re so close to finishing this. Maybe even saving Parkanas Tark if he can just be released from Morrhage’s dark control. Victory is close. Just a little longer.

Aitahea dropped her head into her arms and sobbed, the cries lost in the rush of the waterfall below.

Constellation: Part One | Part Two | Interlude | Part Three

[blackwoolncrown]

The defining feature of conversation is the expectation of a response. It would just be a monologue without one. In person, or on the phone, those responses come astoundingly quickly: After one person has spoken, the other replies in an average of just 200 milliseconds.

In recent decades, written communication has caught up—or at least come as close as it’s likely to get to mimicking the speed of regular conversation (until they implant thought-to-text microchips in our brains). It takes more than 200 milliseconds to compose a text, but it’s not called “instant” messaging for nothing: There is an understanding that any message you send can be replied to more or less immediately.

But there is also an understanding that you don’t have to reply to any message you receive immediately. As much as these communication tools are designed to be instant, they are also easily ignored. And ignore them we do. Texts go unanswered for hours or days, emails sit in inboxes for so long that “Sorry for the delayed response” has gone from earnest apology to punchline.

People don’t need fancy technology to ignore each other, of course: It takes just as little effort to avoid responding to a letter, or a voicemail, or not to answer the door when the Girl Scouts come knocking. As Naomi Baron, a linguist at American University who studies language and technology, puts it, “We’ve dissed people in lots of formats before.” But what’s different now, she says, is that “media that are in principle asynchronous increasingly function as if they are synchronous.”

The result is the sense that everyone could get back to you immediately, if they wanted to—and the anxiety that follows when they don’t. But the paradox of this age of communication is that this anxiety is the price of convenience. People are happy to make the trade to gain the ability to respond whenever they feel like it.

While you may know, rationally, that there are plenty of good reasons for someone not to respond to a text or an email—they’re busy, they haven’t seen the message yet, they’re thinking about what they want to say—it doesn’t always feel that way in a society where everyone seems to be on their smartphone all the time. A Pew survey found that 90 percent of cellphone owners “frequently” carry their phone with them, and 76 percent say they turn their phone off “rarely” or “never.” In one small 2015 study, young adults checked their phones an average of 85 times a day. Combine that with the increasing social acceptability of using your smartphone when you’re with other people, and it’s reasonable to expect that it probably doesn’t take that long for a recipient to see any given message.

“You create for people an environment where they feel as though they could be responded to instantaneously, and then people don’t do that. And that just has anxiety all over it,” says Sherry Turkle, the director of the Initiative on Technology and Self at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology.

It’s anxiety-inducing because written communication is now designed to mimic conversation—but only when it comes to timing. It allows for a fast back-and-forth dialogue, but without any of the additional context of body language, facial expression, and intonation. It’s harder, for example, to tell that someone found your word choice off-putting, and thus to correct it in real-time, or try to explain yourself better. When someone’s in front of you, “you do get to see the shadow of your words across someone else’s face,” Turkle says.

In last month’s viral New Yorker short story “Cat Person,” a young woman embarks on a failed romantic relationship with a man she meets at the movie theater where she works. They only go on one date in the story; they get to know each other primarily over text. When the affair ends messily, it reveals not only how the bubble of romantic expectations can be popped by reality’s needle, but also how weak digital communication is as a scaffolding on which to build an understanding of another person.

In an interview, the story’s author, Kristen Roupenian, said the piece was inspired by “the strange and flimsy evidence we use to judge the contextless people we meet outside our existing social networks, whether online or off.” Indeed, even for the people we already know, we increasingly rely on contextless forms of communication. This puts an unusually large burden on the words themselves (and maybe some emojis) to convey what is meant. And each message, and each pause in between messages, takes on outsize importance.

“Text messages become marks on rocks to be analyzed and sweated over,” Turkle says.

It’s not always easy to figure out what someone meant to convey by using a certain emoji, or by waiting three days to text you back. Different people have different ideas about how long it’s appropriate to wait to respond. As Deborah Tannen, a linguist at Georgetown University, wrote in The Atlantic, the signals that are sent by how people communicate online—the “metamessages” that accompany the literal messages—can easily be misinterpreted:

Human beings are always in the business of making meaning and interpreting meaning. Because there are options to choose from when sending a message, like which platform to use and how to use it, we see meaning in the choice that was made. But because the technologies, and the conventions for using them, are so new and are changing so fast, even close friends and relatives have differing ideas about how they should be used. And because metamessages are implied rather than stated, they can be misinterpreted or missed entirely.

This metamessage opacity spawns thousands of other text messages a year, as people enlist their friends to help interpret exactly what their romantic interest meant by a certain turn of phrase, or whether a week-long radio silence means they’re being ghosted. (The New Yorker parodied this collaborative textual analysis in a video in which a group of women gather, war-room style, to answer the question “Was It a Date?”)

Features intended to add clarity—like read receipts or the little bubble with the ellipses in iMessage that tells you when someone is typing (which is apparently called the “typing awareness indicator”)—often just cause more anxiety, by offering definitive evidence for when someone is ignoring you or started to reply only to put it off longer.

* * *

But just because people know how stressful it can be to wait for a reply to what they thought would be an instant message doesn’t mean they won’t ignore others’ messages in turn.

Sometimes people don’t respond as a way of deliberately signaling they’re annoyed, or that they don’t want to continue a relationship. Turkle says sometimes taking a long time to write back is a way of establishing dominance in a relationship, by making yourself look simply too busy and important to reply.

But oftentimes, people are just trying to manage the quantity of messages and notifications they receive. In 2015, the average American was receiving 88 business emails per day, according to the market research firm Radicati, but only sending 34 business emails per day. Because—who has the time to respond to 88 emails a day? Maybe someone isn’t responding because they’ve realized the interruption of a notification negatively affects their productivity, so they’re ignoring their phone to get some work done.

I find myself ignoring or procrastinating even important messages, and ones I want and intend to respond to. I had to create a bright red “Needs Response” email label to battle my own “delayed response” problem. I regularly read texts, think “I’ll respond to that later,” and then completely forget about it.  Working memory—the brain’s mental to-do list—can only hold so much at once, and when notifications get crammed in with shopping lists and work tasks, sometimes it springs a leak.

“A lot of the time what’s happening is people have five conversations going on, and they just can’t really be intimate and present with five different people,” Turkle says. “So they kind of do a triage, they prioritize, they forget. Your brain is not a perfect instrument for processing texts. But it will be interpreted as though it really was a conversation, and so you can hurt people.”

* * *

Still, even though instant written communication can be overwhelming and anxiety-inducing, people prefer it. Americans spend more time texting than talking on the phone, and texting is the most frequent form of communication for Americans under 50.

While texting is popular worldwide, Baron, of American University, thinks that a strong preference for communication that can be easily ignored is a particularly American attitude. “Americans have far fewer manners in general in their communication than a lot of other societies,” she says. “The second issue is a real feeling of empowerment. I think we have become a version of power freaks, not just control freaks.”

In a survey Baron conducted in 2007 and 2008 of students in several countries including the United States, the things that people said they liked most about their phones were often related to control. One American woman said her favorite thing was “Constant communication when I want it (can also shut it off when I don’t).”

“What I have seen in this country, and I don’t know if it’s a national trait, is people wait until they think they have the perfect thing to say, as though relationships can be managed by writing the perfect thing,” Turkle says. “And I think that is something we pay a very high cost for.”

In Baron’s survey, people also mentioned feeling controlled by their phones—bemoaning how dependent they were on the devices, and how the constant connectivity made them feel obligated to respond.

But texts and emails don’t create as big of an obligation as phone calls, or a face-to-face conversation. When young adults are interviewed about why they don’t like making phone calls, they cite a distaste for how “invasive” they are, and a reluctance to place that burden on someone else. Written instant messages create a smokescreen of plausible deniability if someone doesn’t feel like responding, which can be relieving for the hider, and frustrating for the seeker.

More than anything, what the age of instant communication has enabled is the ability to deal with conversation on our own terms. We can respond right away, we can put it off for two days, or never get around to it at all. We can manage several different conversations at once. “Sorry, I was out with friends,” we might say, as an excuse for not texting someone back. Or, “Sorry, I just need to text this person back real quick,” we might say while out with friends.

As these things become normal, it creates an environment where we are only comfortable asking for slivers of people’s distracted time, lest they ever obligate us to give them our full and undivided attention.