#definitely lifts my spirit somewhat! - poster

[talesfromthedragoneyeperch]

(not an ask)

Read some of yall posts, there's no such things as ask blog etiquette, it just depends on who runs the blog, besides, how are people going to find you if you don't tag main

For Longan though, I personally encourage tagging it with the character tag because we are simply so desperate for content

Keep it up!

Poster here!

Yeah that's what I thought admittedly- not once in my time making ask blogs and watching friends run ask blogs have I ever heard of ask blog etiquette- and that was my thought as well- If I don't main tag the general media or more specifically the characters how the fuck are people gonna find us?

But nonetheless thank you for the encouragement! You seem like a really nice person and we greatly appreciate you! /gen :D

[status-condition]

I’m only thinking about this because I’m working on the starters, but Gold was an absolute menace to society (honestly still is, like 0/10 worst Champion sorry Johto). He was never really into the act of catching Pokemon. He’s definitely that trainer who only caught the Pokemon that interested him, and that was the extent of it. Most of his Pokemon are ones he felt a connection to, or ones he admired for their strength or attitude. While he’s battled the Legendary Pokemon, he never actually bothered catching any of them because, at the end of the day, he just wanted to prove he was the best--he couldn’t care less about myths or tales of old (nor does he have any desire to capture them just to show them off as trophies, all that matters to him is that he has the ability to say he’s defeated them). What was important to him was simply the fact that Legendary Pokemon are typically praised as powerful beasts--they’re even Gods to some. He can read all of the legends in the world, and listen to people worship them, but, at the end of the day, he just doesn’t care. To him, they’re just another stepping stone--a powerful foe for him to defeat in order to prove his own strength. All he ever cared about was getting stronger and being the best, so defeating them was just another aspect of his journey. He has no interest in adding them to his arsenal. 

This applies to his position as Champion and Pokemon Master as well. He wanted the title, yes, because it meant he is the best. But wanted none of the responsibility that came with it (honestly Lance deserves higher pay for having two Champions take the title from him and then throw it back in his face). He doesn’t lift his finger for Johto (or Kanto, or any other region if there’s a gathering). If something happens, they’re on their own, for the most part, unless he feels like getting involved. Everything he does is largely selfish, and depends on what he wants at that moment in time. Generally speaking, most people who reside in Johto and Kanto have grown accustom to the fact that their Champion won’t bother stepping in to save them if they need him (he will protect the kids of the orphanage, but that’s the extent of it, and that’s because he feels somewhat responsible for their well-being). They’ve given up on him. They’ve stopped asking him for favors or begging him for help. Even the television stations have stopped trying to interview him. He’s definitely not well-liked by the general public. Of course, you still have the occasional optimistic person who has complete faith in him, and will still speak highly of him, but they’re rare. He absolutely has a decent-sized fan club, but he has a fan club because he’s one of the most powerful trainers in the world, not because people actually like him as a person. He has a horrible public image (and, honestly, I imagine his reputation among Pokemon is just as bad. I like to think they all get together and point at a poster of him like this little shit just ruined my life and left like it was nothing fdhsjkds). He definitely takes a ‘learn how to take care of yourself’ type of approach to people. 

(He is well-liked by the staff at the orphanage as well as by the children there. He’s not exactly nice, and tends to tease them, but he is reliable and he’s not as mean-spirited towards them as he tends to be with the general public).   

[flickityfics]

Ch.10 A Day Without Zuko

a/n:Warning: smut

Hi, Gaang! The construction is going to take another six months but it's coming along nicely. I've met a lot of people and they're all use to me being around, they've helped me as well so it's been great knowing everyone and being a regular here. I learned things down here doing laundry, cooking and I'm always doing my training of course, gotta stay sharp you know! Katara, I'll never underestimate women ever again. I've seen first hand how hard it is for girls to be taken seriously or respected, its brutal and outrageous. Let me know how you  guys are doing by the way, its taking a long time to see you guys again and I wish I could be over there helping you but as long as I know you guys are okay, I don't mind staying longer to help out over here so just take care of yourselves .

-Sokka

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Suki its so hard being a girl. So many creepy guys hit on you or don't think you can do a job on your own, its annoying. Then they're the girls who starts fight with each other or looking at you with disgust and pure hate, you just can't win with anyone when I'm just trying to mind my own business here. Anyways I'm working different jobs here, still searching on how to turn back when I can, mostly stuck at the library with no answers and just crossing things off that don't make sense with my situation. I'll probably have to look into some spirits like you mentioned before. Oh and what could really help me is if you can tell me different parts of my body and what it does? Maybe even draw me a diagram as a reference please and thank you, so sorry for this uncomfortable favor. I'll keep my head up and keep trying to work this out. Hope you're doing fine on your side, write me whenever you have the time, take care.

-Sokka

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Sokka mailed off the letters deciding to use his free time before work to put up the posters he made earlier of Appa around Ba Sing Se. He just wanted to do his part in helping out the gaang however he could. It took about twenty-five minutes to get all the posters everywhere before taking a snack break. After a small meal he headed to his new job.

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Sokka came into the Jasmine Dragon exhausted and ready to vent at Zuko but caught Iroh instead by himself in the kitchens.

"Hey uncle, where's Lee?" he asked curiously looking for the scarred teen.

"Ah, my nephew went on an errand getting new tea sets and tea." Iroh expertly lied.

Sokka couldn't help being suspicious since it was late to be getting stuff at this hour but he also didn't know how businesses do there whole delivery system so he'd just question Zuko later and see if their story matches up.

"Guess I'll just have to settle with talking your ear off old man." He grinned to the elder.

Iroh grinned back, "Well you know this old man is a big talker so go right ahead." He waited curiously knowing the young girls story will be interesting from the conversations he's overheard from her and his nephew.

"I just can't seem to find a job that I enjoy or liked to stick with. This is already my seventh job and I want a new one already but I'm limited to jobs because of stupid men not thinking I'm capable or not deeming the workplace fit for women. On the other hand I can't be too picky either because I have living expenses and don't want to come off as unreliable from switching jobs so much, I'd like to find my calling and enjoy a job I'm passionate about. I have skills but they can't be utilized because dumb men don't want to hear opinions from women. I know how to fish, somewhat fight, I'm good at planning, being a strategist, fast learner, strong, learning how to take charge and great with organizing and planning. I've just got all these good ideas and things to invent but no one wants to hear me out or to take me seriously." Sokka was frustrated with these types of problems, he realizes what a complete jerk he's been himself towards his sister and other girls but he's definitely gonna try being a better person seeing all the efforts they put in but don't get the same efforts back.

"What do you think uncle? Am I asking for too much?" He asked.

Iroh stroked his beard, "Let me get us some tea." He then left the young girls side to prepare the tea he had in mind.

Sokka could only lift his brow at the old man, watching impatiently as he took his sweet old time with the tea.

"Now it's not bad trying out different things to find what you're good or passionate about but I do see where it'll be difficult since most people are set in their ways and not wanting change. You are young and strong-willed, I believe you have the courage and strength within to make these changes possible no matter how slow the progress may be so long as you do not give up." Iroh really believed in his words about Miyuki, she was quite stubborn and willing to tell people off for any injustice she felt towards herself or others. It's why he's liked her so much near his nephew.

Sokka really thought about the uncle's wise words, it seemed so simple hearing it out like that. All it takes is small steps and he knew he wasn't one to give up....well, maybe only when things are really looking bad. In all honesty Sokka was sure he could keep up and handle being a girl a bit longer even though he'd really like his body back but he's gotta do what he can to live comfortably as is for now. It may not to be as freely as when he was a boy but he could handle putting some rude men and or women in there places if need be.

"Thanks for the pep talk geezer, that actually helps clear my mind, guess I just needed someone's perspective on stuff." He was happy talking with Zuko's uncle, it really helped him get things off his chest and feel heard. Normally these would be talks with Zuko but the jerk bender just had to be off on an errand.

"I'm gonna take off now, can you let Lee know I stopped by?" He asked.

"I'll let him know. I'm glad you drag him along places, thank you." Iroh was really grateful towards Miyuki always taking his nephew out, she brings more life into him he noticed.

Sokka waved off the old man as he left the tea shop. The sun was down and already the streets were lit. It was a nice, calming walk with the light buzz of late night activities. He really did enjoy the weather here in Ba Sing Se instead of being in layers, he had loose pants with a dark green tunic. As he kept walking he noticed off to the side a wanted poster that caught his eye, he walked over seeing a vaguely familiar mask but not really remembering, scanning the words he mumbled to himself, "Blue Spirit wanted blah blah may be a ghost? uh..Kidnapped Avatar, hmmm... feels like something I should know." The poster piqued his interest for a short while before he shrugged it off as no importance to him and went his merry way towards the inn.

Back at the inn Sokka felt like a nice hot bath would be perfect to relax at the end of the day. He went straight for the bathroom as he got back in his room, did some cleaning around the room as he waited for the tub to fill. He still felt awkward with his body but today he felt sure to do some more exploring.

The warmth of the water relaxed him to the bones, it felt like such bliss to feel the nice heat incase his whole body. He splashed around a bit making ripples in the water. This was the first time he took a bath with his eyes opened, he tried to avoid washing for two to three days and when he did it was only a quick rub down and rinse with eyes closed the entire time. But now? Now he watched himself as he slowly moved his hands on his new girlish thighs, he could feel hairs along the way, they were actually quite long, he knew Katara and Suki kept they're legs smooth but not how and now there's another embarrassing question to ask Suki later.

He tried again groping his chest just going for it, squeezing and moving them in all directions, it didn't really feel much to him still. He just kinda bounced them but couldn't feel anything sexual, he was sure if he had a girl in front of him and not his own body that it would be more exciting. Going a bit more down, he played with his soft little plump of a stomach, he definitely missed his flat stomach that he was working so hard on for nice abs. Eyes scanning further, he thought his feet were kinda cute not to say he checked out feet but he totally lucked out in cute feet as a girl.

                  --Warning: smut--

Now for the part he was anxious to explore more thoroughly. With a deep breath he ran his hand down feeling the dark course hairs covering his newly made vagina. He split the wet hairs just twirling them and rubbing between his fingers just curious at how they felt and looked. They felt much the same as his so no difference there...well besides the obvious missing usual protrusion. It was kind of fun playing with it and sorta felt good to. Closing his eyes he slipped a finger in his folds noticing it wasn't as wet as the other times he felt awkwardly aroused as Suki embarrassingly explained through letters. Sokka rubbed at the nub he felt and added pressure realizing the pleasure it caused, he pressed down harder rubbing slow circles. As he rubbed himself he could feel his wetness making the pleasure easier. After feeling the fun sensation for a bit he then lowered his fingers again feeling a dip into a small hole, it felt tight but once he tried to dip his finger in he flinched from the dry pain he felt. "Okay, that definitely didn't feel nice." It was actually quite scary he thought, he waited til his body relaxed once again before foregoing that area and sticking with the pleasure he got from the small bud up top. He didn't think of much besides building the pressure towards this nice pleasure he felt, it was like a nice slow yet intense build up to an amazing uncontained burst. He couldn't stop himself from speeding up his fingers and thrusting his hips slightly to catch that release, his fingers were aching with the pleasure that was sure to come. It felt completely different from his own body but totally awesome still. His hand was cramping, he could hear the splashes in the water but all he cared about was that sweet peak and nothing else, he was so close, so close.

"Ah, ah right there. " Sokka let out his moans as he felt his hips shake and hand move faster finally falling into an amazing orgasm. He had to catch his breath and remove his hand gently now feeling the unpleasant cramping. "Oh that was different but so so amazing." He tilted his head back enjoying how relaxed he felt and finishing up in the bath. He emptied the tub and rinsed once more getting out on slightly shaky legs.

                       --End smut--

He was back in his room relaxed and feeling good. He did feel kinda weird about the whole self pleasure with the new body of his but it was great once trying it. Before heading to bed, he did some light combinations of kicks and arm movements along with some breathing techniques he's learned form Zuko. He started doing them every night and morning as Zuko suggested, 'dang, that violent jerk is actually giving him good habits to learn from.' he realized. Everytime he tried to repeat how dangerous and horrible Zuko is it just gets overruled  by the Zuko he's been getting to know now. And that's how the tanned teen slept, with thoughts overflowing with prince Zuko.

[bbbarneswrites]

Future’s Now

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: For every time Bucky thought of his past, you made him think of his future. Genre: Romance/fluff Rating: T Warnings: Swearings, mental health issues 4,314 words

Notes: Hello! It’s been a very long time since I posted something...and for that I’m sorry. My writing skills seem to be drying out each day and even when I want to write, I just can’t put anything together. This piece started last year and I finally got myself to finish it! It’s not my best but it’s something. I’m hoping to be posting another piece soon until next week. Meanwhile I hope you enjoy this one. Feedback’s always welcome! Happy reading! <3

As soon Bucky steps into the bar, he’s welcomed with the warm temperature of the crowd and its noise, the faint smell of alcohol lingering in the air. Choosing that place most definitely isn’t his smartest choice, he admits, but the Winter Soldier knows how to blend in anywhere like no one else.

(Plus, this is as near as he can get to his apartment so he can’t exactly complain).

The small dancefloor is packed with people, mostly young and drunk and way too happy when compared to his shit mood but that doesn’t stop him from taking the farthest seat at the bar’s counter, his brown locks falling against his face as soon as he places his order for the strongest drink in the menu. That’s all he needs for now–a drink (that won’t make him drunk, much to his dismay) and a few hours away from the Tower and its residents, including his long lost best-friend.

After completing his fourth mission in about a week and a half, Bucky can’t help but feel annoyed and useless as his teammates keep pestering him about his well-being. Always hearing something among the lines of coping and therapy and health, he pushes all those concerns away because those are things that doesn’t matter now.

Not to his redemption, anyway. Because neither of those things will ever erase whatever shit he’s done over and over for decades in a row.

But this is his easy way out.

It should be easy enough. To spend a night somewhere around people who don’t give a fuck about him or his health. People who might hate him for what he’s done. People who’d rather have their drinks than to pay attention to what’s surrounding them. He just needs a night where he can be a nobody instead of a super soldier in a team of super human beings. And so, that’s the last thing on his mind as he takes sip after sip from his bitter drink–getting recognized.

That doesn’t happen until he takes a note on you standing right beside him, having taken the duty of ordering another round of drinks for your friends. Even though Bucky isn’t in the party looking for something or someone, he has eyes and he can’t deny you’re beautiful. And it’s funny how you’re the first girl to really catch his eye during his first hour spent at the bar.

Your hair frames your face just perfectly and the little make-up you’re wearing it’s enough to do its job and highlight your features. Your outfit isn’t the boldest one he’s seen around but it still makes him squirm a little on his seat, his eyes incapable of not flickering over the expense of your legs exposed by a black skirt, t-shirt tucked under the waistband.

You are beautiful and he can’t deny that.

But his mistake is to think you’re just another face in the crowd.

“You know, if your mugshot hadn’t been plastered in the news for months in a row, you’d give a nice NYU senior.” You say smartly, lips holding back a grin and eyes brimming with amusement while all Bucky can seem to do is stare dumbly, like a fish out of water. “A hipster-like senior, maybe? Really into arts and acting if you squint.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything but his mere raise of eyebrows is enough of an answer for you, given that you huff out a little laugh and turn your attention back to the bartender, now lining up six little cups of tequila in front of you.

Putting two and two together and now everything makes sense–the young crowd, the pop music and the insistent drinking. It’s a fucking student party and he’s right in the middle of it. Choosing that place most definitely isn’t his smartest choice, Bucky admits, but he’s surprised to acknowledge that he doesn’t want to leave. Not now, anyway.

“Guess you’d be surprised to know I was an art student back in the day.” Bucky finally breaks his silence, unable to hold back a little grin as he watches you raise your eyebrows in surprise. “Not all history books put that up, huh?”

You chuckle incredulously, eyes firmly set on his imposing frame as he just shakes his head with a deep breath and turns his attention back to the glass hanging from his fingers, holding back back a grin of his own. Bittersweet is the right word for the feeling beaming in his chest, as he misses the days where he could just talk to a girl like a normal guy but dreads the problematic person he’s become after all these years.

Bucky wonders if you’d still give him the time of your day if you knew only half of what he’s done as the soldier.

“Yeah, not all books do that. It’s a shame, really, if you ask me.” You sigh dramatically, placing a hand on your chest until Bucky is snickering in reply and you’re laughing at his sassy reaction. “Okay, so if you really were an art student, what’s your deal when it comes to it? Paintings? Performances?”

Bucky takes a sip of his drink, his lips curving in a small grin as he watches your antecipation over his answer–raised eyebrows, elbows resting on the counter, the tequila shots momentarily forgotten as you stare at him.

For someone who just wanted to get lost in a crowd less than ten minutes ago, he’s very well enjoying being the center of your interest and attention so far, much to his surprise. Oh, life, and the way it always come back to bite him in the ass and make him swallow his own words.

“Just sketching, mostly.” He answers with a small shrug, his eyes falling to the dirty wooden counter. Once you hum encouragingly, curious eyes still upon his bulky frame, Bucky continues. “Just got in art school for Steve. Wouldn’t let his sorry ass miss a chance just ‘cause he’d get beat up by bullies.”

When Bucky dares to glance up to you again, your eyes are somewhat sorrowful but there’s still a little hint of playfulness that you take up with an amused smile, making you look suddenly mischievous just like that.

He decides right then that he likes the sight, and it makes him think that if this was any other kind of life or universe (where he isn’t as fucked up as he is now), he’d do something about it.

“College kids are a bit more level-headed, you know. Or are supposed to be.” You tease, throwing him a cheeky wink as your fingers reach for one of the little tequila cups lined up in front of you. “Not all of us drink our problems to oblivion like I’m doing now. Or beat up other kids. Just sometimes.”

As you shrug and down the shot in one go with a grimace, Bucky can’t help but smirk.

Maybe he was hoping to be recognized, deep down in his consciousness. Maybe he was hoping to have someone to spit drunk but bitter truths to his face about his past. Maybe he was hoping for someone who wouldn’t coddle him, just take things as messy as they are. Maybe he was fooling himself into thinking that he didn’t want to meet someone in that night. But he’s pleasantly surprised to know all of that really is happening–just not in the way he’d been expecting.

Turns out, you don’t need to spit bitter truths to make him feel like a random guy in bar. Not an Avenger, not a recovering soldier, not a ruthless assassin. You only need to be you, talking to him as if he’s a nice NYU senior, really into art and acting, if one squint. Funny.

“Drinkin’ to oblivion sounds like a smart choice.” Bucky tips his glass between his gloved vibranium fingers but lets out a short laugh in the way. Your eyes follow the movement of his lips and he can’t help but grin, chest flaring in mild smugness with your reaction. “Can’t exactly do that with the super soldier thing and all.”

Just as Bucky takes the last sip of his drink, you raise a hand for the bartender and his cup gets filled up to the brim again. Words muffled by the rock song blasting through the room, the order is placed on your tab, just like you request it. And then, your fingers are expertly lifting up the little tequila cups together, a grin on your face as you turn to the side and rest your hip against the counter.

You are beautiful and he can’t deny that.

“Bucky Barnes.” You start, a smile on your face as you lean closer to him and lock your eyes with his. When Bucky nods in a silent urge, you swipe your tongue over your lips, feeling nothing but gleeful as he follows the movement. “Find me. And then I can maybe pose for one of those sketches of yours.”

And he does find you.

(Or FRIDAY does for him, that is).

He remembers the time where things like these were usual to him–the suits, dancing, parties and all that.

Bucky used to be that guy who liked going out, seeing and knowing people. He liked to dance, to get his best suit out of the wardrobe for a night out. He liked to have a good time with someone by his side, to feel comfortable and confident in his own skin. He liked to be a free spirit, not caring about people’s judgement over his actions and his life choices. But fast foward to this day and age, from the second the invitation is sent to his name to the actual gala party day, Bucky completely dreads the entire situation altogether.

The one thing he’s completely sure of is that he hates Tony Stark and his pompous events.

Bucky Barnes is now a former assassin with a troubled past and issues that can go down to his bones. Not exactly a perfect poster boy or a favorite between the Avengers. His day-to-day consists of occasional anxiety attacks, isolation and guilt trips. Sleepless nights, bad dreams and whatever else a man like him is supposed to have.

And still, the so dreaded night is nothing but pleasant.  

He drinks and laughs and dances and it’s a nice change from the times where he used to stick to the corners of the ballroom with people tiptoeing around him.

It’s a nice change to have someone who treats him as a whole, like he’s not made of glass or a ticking bomb that may explode at any second. Bucky might hate the parties and dislike the attention but he won’t snap because of it. Strange enough, the damn night grants him a pleasing sense of nostalgia as it makes him think of the Sergeant in a less bitter way than he’s accustomed to.

Twirling you around on the dancefloor, drinking just for the fun of it, enjoying the company of his teammates. Doing so suddenly doesn’t feel so foreign as he thought it would be.

Despite it all, Bucky can’t deny he likes this much better–both of you sitting in the corner of an old diner, waiting on your orders as the stereo plays catchy 80s songs and you pretend to sing along. Every person who passes by your booth gives a double take because you look anything but ordinary in that moment.

Between his jet black suit and your flowy mint green gown (a Dior, courtesy of Tony Stark himself, as a thank you for convincing Bucky to attend the gala), it’s clear that neither of you really belong to that place, at least not while sporting the very much expensive looking attires that will be returned in a few hours.

The burgers and fries and milkshares combo arrive in no time and after a suspicious glance from the waitress and a change of genre on the stereo (now playing a Ariana Grande song (that he’s surprised to know), you’re falling into mindless conversation between one salty fry or two.

“I need to know something really important about you.” You start, pointing one of your fries towards him in a rather threatening way, though he can clearly see you’re playing just by the mischief in your eyes. “Do you believe in astrology? Horoscopes and all that? Think wisely about this.”

With the milkshake straw between his lips, Bucky mulls over your question.

Back in the day, his life was simpler but way too busy for him to be thinking about something as seemingly silly as astrology. His sisters had magazines about it though and sometimes read bits and pieces to him, only to be always shrugged by the older brother. The traits they veemently claimed he had as a Pisces man, now don’t make much sense so maybe Bucky isn’t that sure about his astros anymore.

“I know I’m a Pisces but that’s all about it.” He finally answers, huffing out a laugh and offering a playful apologetic shrug when you glance at him in pretend hurt. “Just never put much thought into it. Can’t blame me, I was born in 1917. Why?”

In a ploy that is clearly meant to rile him up, because there’s definitely a hint of curiosity laced to his voice despite the nonchalant answer, you mirror his shrug and take your time on sipping your vanilla milkshake.

And Bucky knows he’s supposed to feel something but not this–at least, not yet.

Under the pink-ish lights of the diner, his mind is all over the place with just how pretty and just unapologetic you look in the moment. The straps of your dress are very thin, but just enough to expose your collarbones and skin, a simple necklace that hangs a little star closing around your the base of your neck. Despite the long night, your make-up is pretty much intact though a few strands of your hair are out of place. It’s right then, Bucky realizes he never wants to miss this sight–or rather you, again.

(Getting out of his comfort zone scares him a whole lot, yes, but feeling this infatuated with someone this damn quickly feels even scarier, if he’s being honest).

“Pisces are very compassionate people, you know.” You break his momentary misery, smiling cheekily despite the straw still hanging between your lips. “Very intuitive, loyal and kind. They can be a little unpredictable with their feelings, though. I can definitely see the pisces in you.”

An unfamiliar warmth spreads through Bucky’s neck and despite the unexpected blush, a rather grim laugh escapes from his lips, anyway.

He doesn’t mean to be this bitter but supposes it’s probably in his nature now, especially after the shitshow that has been his life since HYDRA. The one thing that Bucky can’t deny is the fact that even with his deep layers of grief, your sweet words are easily breaking all the way through his heavy heart.

So much that he feels soft, light as ever. He’s not made of glass or a ticking bomb that may explode at any second–he’s just Bucky.

“I think you see way too much in me, baby doll.” Bucky huffs, looking adorably sheepish as you offer him an unimpressed glance. “Just sayin’, I’ve been called a lot of things but compassionate and kind aren’t one of them.”

Stopping midway through a bite of a french fry, your face quickly shifts from tenderness to indignation.

By being who he is, Bucky doesn’t need somebody to pick up his fights. He’s stubborn as all hell, and Steve is one to testify to that. It’s hard to accept help from someone when you’ve got an historic as dirty and shady as his, he doesn’t think anybody in their right mind should be meddling in his business. It’s not a smart thing to do–being somehow associated with a former rogue assassin.  

And it’s true, Bucky Barnes definitely is a protective fucker, so he goes out of his way to protect his people from his own actions. Still, he can’t help but feel his chest flare over your own protective reaction towards him.

“That’s because people are stupid, Bucky Barnes.” You huff, voice sounding nothing but firm though there’s still a hint of empathy laced to it, one that makes Bucky smile softly. “They see what they want to see. Most of us close our eyes to the truth because it’s convenient, easier to judge.”

Silence falls between you as Bucky mulls over your words.

Over the years, there’s been a fair share of excuses for all the crimes he committed as HYDRA’s puppet–he was just a small piece of a bigger game, not in control of his mind, a victim just like other prisoners and experiments. When it comes down to it, Bucky knows it’s different, too personal when it comes to him. So he doesn’t fail to remember that it was his hand that pulled the trigger every time, his face that people last saw before their death.

He lives with the memories, sleeps upon them, and he doesn’t blame people for hating him.

That doesn’t mean the fact sits well in his heart, that he doesn’t seek redemption through his actions, that he doesn’t care about what his family thinks about him. About what you think about him. And despite knowing who you are and what you stand for, Bucky would be liar by denying the hint of fear creeping up the corners of his mind.

“Did you?” He mumbles, watching you frown in mild confusion for a second before a sigh escapes from his lips. “Did you ever judge me for what I did? Before you knew me?”

With your expression changing once again, this time from confusion to pure and unashamed affection, Bucky doesn’t expect your next move.

It takes a second for you to get up from your seat, the skirt of your dress swaying as you squeeze the way into his side of the booth. Bucky almost thinks that’s the end of it until you’ve got the lapels of his Valentino suit in a fist, pulling him to you so quickly that he barely processes your lips crashing into his.

When Bucky feels you smile against his lips, arms sliding up to close around his neck, he breaks out of his stupor to pull your body closer to him–hands on your hips, just slightly lifting you so it’s enough to bring you to his lap between the tight fit of the corner table. And while both of you know it’s highly inappropriate to be doing this in the middle of a diner so late into the night, discretion is thrown into the wind as soon you melt into the kiss.

A change of song makes you break apart from his lips with a laugh and Bucky bets it’s from a girlband he can’t quite remember the name.

Tightening your arms around his neck, he can’t help but smile by feeling your face buried against his skin, soon enough with your lips lightly pressing little kisses over the collar of his button-up. It’s right there that Bucky realizes–even though you haven’t said a word, he’s got the answer in the best way possible.

Your eyes were always open for his truth.

Sitting half asleep in the kitchen island of your little apartment in Queens, a lukewarm mug of tea between his fingers, Bucky can’t help but replay the twisted images of his nightmare over and over again.

It’s been over a year since the last time he’s even had one but the familiar heavy feeling settles back inside his chest like it never really left.

Irony seems like a right take on his situation–years and years spent with HYDRA having his body and mind harmed to no end, added to the many more he’s spend on the run until he was put back under and deprogrammed, to then become dust in Wakanda. He’s gone through hell and back but yet, he’s surprised to be visited by the ghosts of his past.

Over a year ago, he couldn’t care less about his nightmares.

They were his own–a sick, twisted way of coping and redeeming himself for his time with HYDRA. Sometimes if felt like a reassurance, a reminder that it was never him, never his own volition, only HYDRA. But even then, they were never like this one. It was always his victims, glimpses of bloodied places, hints of pain, blurried memories and faces that belong solely to the puppet he once was. It was never about Steve, his family, the Avengers, never about someone too close to his heart.

(Funny to see how his mind has betrayed him. Life is right there making him swallow his words once again).

Bucky can’t shake the image of your body strapped to the chair.

At first, there’s no comfort to seeing you safe and sound once he finally wakes up. It only makes him anxious, the possibility that his nightmare could eventually become a reality crushing his chest. It makes him angry, because out of all people in his life and all bullshit he’s been through, his subconscious chooses you to haunt him. It makes him painfully aware that anything can go south in his life, no matter how comfortable he feels.

But right now, Bucky’s heart can’t help but feel lighter as he watches you step into the kitchen in your baby blue pajamas and fuzzy socks, looking cozy and sleepy and just very you.

Knowing him inside and out, you silently walk over, arms reaching out around his waist and just lightly squeezing closer to  your chest. Your cheek pressed between his shoulder blades and his own hands covering your own over his stomach, Bucky easily feels like he’s safe again.

“Whatever’s going through your head right now, you know it’s not true. Right?” You mumble, voice muffled with the fabric of his t-shirt, though he can still feel the warmth of your breath and your hair tickling the nape of his neck. “Unless you’re thinking about us adopting a pet. I’m all up for that, just so you know.”

Though it’s small, an unexpected smile makes its way to Bucky’s lips. To match, his cheeks burn to a rosy tone over the mere thought of an earlier discussion–a dog or a cat, Bucky, so we can finally be a family. And now, he doesn’t voice his sudden agreement, but he’s most definitely taking you to the shelter soon in the morning.

Gently prying your hands from him, a little noise of distaste coming from you that makes him really laugh, Bucky turns around on his seat and then there’s you standing between his legs.

“So no breakfast in bed tomorrow morning then? Goddamn, doll.” He huffs, eyebrows drawn together in pretend annoyance until you’re playfully slapping his thigh. “Breakfast in bed. Got it.”

The sound of your laugh echoing through the apartment and the sweet sight you make after such a hellish hour is enough to send him reeling back to a simpler time.

Where he could enjoy a night with his best-friend, win a fight or two as a welterweight boxer, provide what he could for his family, meet a nice dame that he’d eventually give out his mother’s ring, passing on the Barnes legacy with a kid or two, or whatever else a man from his time is supposed to do. And though Bucky hadn’t let himself think of that for a long time, he can’t help but to do so with you.

His life is anything but simple but his life with you can be just that and more.

“I’m not opposed to breakfast in bed, I’ll say. Nutella pancakes.” You wink, a tender smile curling your lips as your hand reaches out to cup his jaw. Beard harsh against your palm, you brush a thumb over his lower lip. “Are you okay enough for breakfast in bed tomorrow morning?”

Lips pressing a tiny kiss to your finger, arms reaching out to your hips and forehead meeting yours as he leans closer, Bucky nods.

“Just if you’ll have me for breakfast in bed tomorrow morning.” He chuckles quietly, sighing as your hand falls to his neck, fingertips into his hair. “I’m good, baby girl. Promise.”

Life and the way it always come back to bite him in the ass and make him swallow his own words. All it takes is a tug down from your hands until your lips are meeting his and Bucky is just melting away. It’s sweet, soft, and it makes all of his worries fade just as quickly as they fogged up his mind. You feel warm, welcoming and familiar–just like home is supposed to feel like, whether if it’s now or seventy years back in the past.

“Okay then, Mr. James Barnes.” You mumble, lips still brushing over his after the broken kiss. Eyes still closed, his lips curl up in a small smile when you squeeze his neck. “Tomorrow, we’ll have breakfast in bed with nutella pancakes. And then, we’ll make it a day out to visit a few thrift stores I’ve been meaning to go. Got it?”

Thrift stores like his baby sister would drag him to and that he’d usually hate with all his might.

Though the idea doesn’t sound so bad now–it’s a hint from his past with a twist of his future that makes Bucky realize that despite of all the ghosts glooming over him, he’s still standing tall, still hopeful for the life twenty-one year old Bucky Barnes planned out.

And so, with another kiss pressed to your lips, he promises to fullfil his own wish.

“I got it.”

[awkwardanime]

Awkward Anime Episode 14.1: When Marnie was There - Anna’s Step Forward

In 2014, Studio Ghibli released another visual adaptation of a classic novel after the well received Secret World of Arrietty in 2010, this time with Joan G. Robinson’s When Marnie Was There, originally published in 1967. Anna Sasaki, a 12 year old orphan who lives with her foster mother (and father, who’s never around), is socially alienated and resentful after the death of her mother and grandmother. Always on the outside looking in, she’s sent to the seaside to live with a kind couple (relatives of the foster Mother), in hope of not only helping her asthma with the fresh sea air, but to have the quiet breeze and the coastal lifestyle bring Anna’s spirits up.

After the success of his directorial debut with The Secret World of Arrietty in 2010, Hiromasa Yonebayashi decided to take up the chance to bring Marnie to the big screen, this time without having to be conscious of the thoughts of Hayao Miyazaki, who co-wrote the screenplay for Arrietty. With full creative control promised this time around, the Director’s main intention was to create a visualisation of Joan G. Robinson’s detailed descriptive words that expressed the familiar feeling of anxiety for young people, hoping it would help those in a similar situation to take that step forward.

“I thought many people who live in this constricted present-day society could also share this empathy”

Hiromasa Yonebayashi knew in what way to visualise and tell this story, doing so in a similar way to that of Arrietty, with focus solely towards character development. By surrounding the protagonist with emphasis on atmosphere,the audience is able to connect with Anna from the very start. The opening scene epitomises what the long term Ghibli employee’s principles comprises of, along with the knowledge he has gained from working under the famous Hayao Miyazaki and Isao Takahata.

“I think the environments and relationships that surround people who are afflicted have a great impact on their psychological healing”

The Studio always sets its tone for the film from the word go, telling us who is the main piece to the puzzle and what the feature length picture will be about. When Marnie is There’s opening 2 minutes is no different, as we see toddlers playing in a small playground as a young student sits in a somewhat reclusive way. Knees touching, arms close together as she continues sketching the scenery around her. As her classmates sit in their own groups chatting away, the thoughts of this girl are told to the viewers, setting the tone:

“In this world, there’s an invisible magic circle…the circle has an inside and outside… these people are on the inside… and I’m on the outside…but I don’t really care.”

Hesitant to hand over her sketch book to the teacher, she is saved by the fall of a child. Mere seconds later, clutching the book close to her chest as beads of sweat appear, we are told as to what the main theme will be. I love this scene. Perfectly visualising what an anxiety attack can feel like, just the small task of having to show her art to a teacher leaves her worrying. It is important to point out that the attack she had is described as an asthma attack, but it is clear to see that Yonebayashi focused on the mind of this character to be seen as the cause of her attacks, and not a symptom. What I found to be interesting is that with all the people around her enjoying themselves on this sunny day, her pencil sketch was only that of the playground, showing the view in its simplest form. I loved that Yonebayashi added this touch to enhance the insecurities of Anna. No people to burden herself with, alone… that’s what she’s comfortable with. We get the descriptive definition of who Anna is at the start, both through her thoughts and the wonderfully drawn facial expressions on a simple school day. The last line we hear as the scene ends sums up who Anna is at this moment, giving the audience that compassion and hope for a pleasant ending:

“I hate myself”

Yonebayashi's idea with Anna was to portray a 12 year old girl. The pre-teen is filled with much negativity within herself that leads her to become this silent, angry girl. Arriving at the seaside, I as a viewer immediately was shown the setting that would be the focal point to lifting Anna’s spirits. Her relatives are a laid back and down to earth couple, the Oiwas, completely the opposite of Anna thus we see her fake smiles quite a lot here. As much as I love the Oiwas in this story, I would have liked to see some type of confrontation between them and Anna as they are a little too relaxed about Anna disappearing at night and insulting one of the local daughters - to bring a little more depth to both characters I feel an argument or talk would have really brought even more insight into Anna’s thoughts and feelings. That being said, I understand the roles Yonebayashi chose for the couple here, as it could be said this is just what Anna wanted and needed at this time in her life. Letting her enjoy the time however she wants, to not be overbearing which definitely is something we all craved as an adolescent.

“Anna builds a wall around her, she refuses help from the outside, but at the same time she’s screaming out for it as well, and eventually she realises she’s loved by the people around her and she’s gradually adapting to the realities of life”

Anna’s uneasiness emanates from her belief that she belongs nowhere and that she has no true family. What becomes apparent quickly is that this is a film about belonging and family. Those are the two main themes I feel are present throughout, all for the end goal to be Anna being able to actively explore her surroundings, chasing for answers about her family herself - which leads her to Marnie. Connecting with Marnie, Anna suddenly feels part of something, part of a friendship. Instantly connecting with this secret girl who lives in the distant Marsh House, the two’s relationship is definitely an almost interdependent type of friendship, however different they may be. As important as Marnie is in this narrative, the main point of this animated feature was to express the feelings of adolescence and anxieties within young people.

Anna Sasaki’s journey from a lonely depressed girl, to someone who’s full of life and happy is a very honest representation of what losing connection to those around you can lead to. There is an emotional complexity in this film that I have never seen in the very best Disney films. Forget mature children, adults need to  sit down and battle with these themes.  A film about a young girl standing on the outside looking in, battling her insecurities day by day, to later become someone who is so in touch with everyone and everything around her. Visually presenting the importance of how to overcome low self esteem and depression; treating the audience with respect and maturity, When Marnie Was There is a must see.

“There are so many children who feel lonely and separate from others, cut off from others, even though they’re always connected by SMS. They still feel left out, or feel lonely. But when they see Marnie, maybe they could take a little step forward. If they could do that, then maybe it’ll have been a worthwhile work to do”

Please share if you enjoyed this analysis and remember to eat those tiny trees!

Check out previous Eps:

Ep 13 - Hotarubi no Mori E

Ep 12 - The Wind Rises

Ep 11 - The Secret World of Arrietty

Ep 10 - Tokyo Godfathers

Ep 9 - Garden of Words

Ep 8 - Kimi No Na Wa

Ep 7 - The Boy and the Beast

Ep 6.2 - Fading innocence of Ame

Ep 6.1 - Wolf Children Poster

Ep 5 - My Neighbor Totoro

Ep 4 - Summer Wars

Ep 3 - Spirited Away

Ep 2 - Koe no Katachi

[streamacademe]

Week 35, Day 238.

Gosh, where do I begin?.. Well, we successfully climbed up The Old Man of Coniston, and made it in time to see the sunset. I have put up a few photos below. The entire week was magical. I never expected the Lake District to feel like a proper holiday, having only ever holidayed abroad. But, by Jove, I don’t remember the last time I felt so well rested, been out in the sun so long, or eaten so much butter (a bizarre requirement for a holiday, I know). We mostly spent our time sleeping, hill-walking, exploring, and sitting by the fire. We were blessed with glorious weather, and I was blessed with such wonderful company. We even had a little terrier/spaniel cross in our care for the week, which was an extremely welcome addition. The one thing that did disappoint and sadden me, was the amount of rubbish we came across on our walks. On one occasion, we came across what should have been a pristine pond, but in it a school of tadpoles were clinging onto an empty hula hoop packet. It broke my heart. I did fish the packet out, and made a vow to myself to overcome my disgust and frustration at other people’s waste, and clean up where I can. I have also recently ordered a guide from RSPCA on what we can do to be kinder to animals. I highly recommend it. You can order it for free here:  rspca.org.uk/kindness. We can all do something to make this world a better place. 

I think what this time away made me realise, is how much I needed a proper break. Yes, I have been taking a day or two off here and there, but I haven’t felt so peacefully disconnected from responsibility for a while; I think it served me well. It is very hard for me to admit, but I have been struggling lately, mostly subconsciously, with the weight of doing a PhD. I have been somewhat running away from it, and haven’t been putting as much effort as I really should into my project. I felt a little all over the place recently, felt a bit lost. With all of the travelling that I have had to do it has been impossible to establish a routine, and that totally threw me off course. It upsets me, feeling like I have let myself down a little, especially as I love my project, and enjoy doing all of the work for it. I guess we all struggle with ourselves at times. PhD’s are funny things, you have a lot more time than you think, but also less time than you thought. It takes a long while to adjust to that concept, but I think I’m getting there. Admitting to my weaknesses on here serves as a promise, and a reality check to myself. Now that I have had a proper break, I am determined to do better, to brush up my act, and focus.  I am still working on my literature review, and I am making good progress. I have learned that reading aloud what I have written, helps me write better. I guess if it doesn’t make sense when you speak it, it most definitely won’t make sense when you write it. I have also learned, that having a cup of tea, or a glass of wine, such as my current circumstance, really helps to lift ones spirits, and assists with work. Next week, I am fixating on a conference poster that I have to draft by the end of the month, and my literature review of course. I am also off to a music festival next weekend, so that should be fun. Work hard, play hard, right? Anyway, here are some photos from my beautiful holiday. The first two are from the top of The Old Man of Coniston, the second is from a hill at Elterwater, the third is from a beach near there, and the last is of ‘moos’ in Broughton in Furness. 

[phantomrose96]

A Breach of Trust: Chapter 21

(Act 1: Chapter 1-9 )

(Act 2: Chapter 10-18 )

(Act 3: Chapter 19,  Chapter 20, Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24)

Reigen was soaked to the bone.

He squinted through the rain and spit water from his mouth as he hauled bag after bag of trash to the dumpster around the side of the apartment. He’d had a flimsy red umbrella for the first garbage run. On autopilot, Reigen had accidentally thrown it out along with the garbage bag. Reigen had told Mob the wind carried it off.

When Reigen returned from the final dumpster trip, he shed his shoes and his socks and his suit jacket, which he hung wet and dripping on a coat rack nail by the door. Reigen collapsed into a kitchen chair he pulled out, huffing out a laugh and running his fingers through his soaking wet hair. Water ran down his face and dripped into the corners of his mouth, salty.

“Are you okay, Reigen?” Mob asked.

Reigen looked up. Mob sat on the other side of the table, fingers gripped visibly tight to the wood. Ash still stained his shirt, and his eyes were visibly shaken. Reigen knew it was due to the “barrier”—whatever that meant in Mob’s mind—reappearing in the stretches of time it took Reigen to toss the garbage bags. Reigen told himself, and Mob, that this counted toward Mob’s training.

“I’m fine, Mob.” Reigen grabbed his right pantleg and wrung it, twisting it tight at his ankle. Streams of water ran down his foot to the tile below. “This is a lot like swimming actually, except fully clothed and it’s terrible.”

Mob met his eyes, concentration furrowing his brow. “You’re being funny, right Reigen?”

“I’m funny all the time.”

“Oh… Yeah, I agree.” After a moment of thought, Mob settled on a small smile. Reigen smiled back on impulse.

“You know what would probably be smart right about now? Laundry. Both our clothes are kind of a mess.”

Mob’s eyes seemed to brighten a bit in recollection. “Oh, I remember laundry.”

“Mob how much do you mind loud noises?”

Mob blinked. “I don’t mind loud noises.”

“Good, because my washing machine is kind of broken and the basket inside—the barrel inside—the thing that spins, it’s unbalanced or something and like, it spins fast, so the whole thing vibrates and hops around kinda….loud.”

“…Sounds like it’s haunted.”

“Yeah! I got it for super cheap from a client who thought his angry dead grandma’s spirit was inside.”

“Did you exorcise the spirit, Reigen?”

“……Yes,” Reigen answered. He stood, and shook his hands through his hair once more to shake loose the last of the water dripping into his eyes and down his neck. “Go ahead and get changed Mob. I’ll get the laundry basket from my room and then I’ll come by to get whatever clothes you need washed.”

“You’re going to wash mine too?”

“Yep. I’m going to go out on a limb and say you don’t know how to use a washing machine?”

Mob shook his head.

“Then this is part of your training too, Mob.”

Reigen moved to his own room, stripping off his wet clothes in favor of a pajama shirt and sweatpants. He tossed the white undershirt into the laundry basket he kept in his closet. His suit pants he kept separate, since those required dry cleaning. Reigen scoured the floor, grabbing the random crumpled clothes he’d tossed about, most of them thoroughly sweat-soaked, and added them to the basket.

He went to Mob’s room next, and knocked.

“Come in.”

Mob sat on his bed, wearing a clean shirt and new sweats as well. His ashy clothes were hung across an outstretched dresser drawer. A handful of his other shirts and pants were folded poorly on the floor.

Reigen’s eyes trailed past them, settling on the three enormous cardboard boxes pressed against the back wall, taking up a sizable amount of floor space.

“Oh, Mob, did I never move these?”

Mob glanced too. “No.”

“Well of course not. They’re there.” Reigen set the basket down, and he dropped to his knees in front of the boxes. He tugged on one experimentally to see if it would budge with ease. It stayed put. “I forgot I was using this room as storage.”

“What’s in the boxes?”

Reigen startled at the noise so close. He glanced over his shoulder, finding Mob standing beside him, hands to his knees, leaning forward. Mob’s braid dangled over his shoulder.

“Um good question,” Reigen answered. He set his thumbnail against the corner of the clear cellophane tape holding down the top flaps, and he peeled it up. “Let’s see.”

The flaps parted easily once the tape was torn away. It released a smell old and musty, but not unpleasant. It was sharp and dense with incense, spices, aroma candles… That smell hit Reigen like a wave, and his body flushed with a nostalgic shiver.

“It’s my old stuff from when I ran Spirits and Such. Like, my office stuff,” Reigen answered, somewhat wistful. Mob leaned in further.

Reigen pulled the artifacts out one at a time. A grim smiling statue, carved of jade, which Reigen treated as a medium during séances. A bottle of shredded tea leaves, whose label was toxically yellow, whose instructions were hand-written and smudged beyond legibility. Candles of every size, width, color—some half-burned—filled with aromatic oils, which Reigen used during his “exorcisms”. A set of newton balls with no special significance, but Reigen used to clack them together when he got bored.

The thing he pulled out next was a framed poster of his own face, stern, with a speech bubble advertising his agency, and Reigen almost burst out laughing.

Mob picked up the jade statue. He ran his hands along its smooth and cold face, seemingly fascinated. “Did you use this for your exorcism work?”

Reigen sat up a little taller. “Yep. For séances. That statue there has a very powerful energy for channeling spirits.”

Mob nodded. “A very powerful energy, it’s really dark and unsettling. It’s a curse probably.” He put it back down, and his eyes rose to Reigen with fascination. “But you’re powerful enough to use it without getting cursed. That’s amazing, Reigen.”

Reigen coughed. He pushed the jade statue a little further away with his foot. “Yes.”

“Did you use these to exorcise the spirit out of that washing machine?”

“You got it.” Reigen gestured to the haphazardly grouped candles. “In fact, I invented my own class of exorcism. If you burn the right soothingly-scented candles, and hit all the correct pressure points on the human body, you can exorcise any spirit. I exorcised hundreds—no thousands, yes thousands, of evil spirits back in my heyday, using this method alone.”

Reigen struck a corny smile. It was utter bullshit. He’d learned massage therapy in his free time. Most of his success stories were just simple-minded clients who thought the crick in their neck was an evil spirit’s doing.

Mob grabbed a few of the candles, turning them over in his hands. He sniffed them. “I don’t feel any aura on them.”

“Of course. My power—which is incredibly powerful—is what I’d infuse into the candles. The spirits never stood a chance.”

Mob clutched the candles close to his chest. “…Incredible.” He hunched in a little. “And you…you could do all this and keep your barrier under control…?”

“Mob, I could perform exorcisms, control my barrier, and juggle three of these candles without breaking a sweat. Once you learn how, it’s that easy.”

“Do you think I can learn how?”

“With me teaching you, I bet you could do all that and juggle four candles. I tried learning four before I shut down Spirits and Such but I never really got it.”

“Can I ask…”

“Wanna see me do the three candle juggling thing?”

“…why did you shut down Spirits and Such…?”

“It’s been a long time but I once went 35 minutes before I dropped them—oh, um.”

“I know you said it’s because you made bad spirit enemies, and they wanted to hurt your friends, but…how, exactly?

Reigen went a bit tense. His jaw tightened, and he slumped just a little, remembering that was the lie he’d peddled to Mob the very first night. Some big grandiose thing…some big hero who’d sacrificed his life’s work for the safety of his loved ones…as if he even had any.

“That…wasn’t the whole truth Mob, actually.” Reigen rubbed his shoulders a bit, still achy from hauling out the garbage. “I told you I was super powerful and I quit because the spirits targeted my family but uh… Well the spirits didn’t target anyone. Just me.” Reigen tilted his chin, brandishing his right cheek to Mob. He pointed to the lengthy scar across his cheek bone. “I met a spirit who was a little too powerful, and it was a close call. So I shut down the agency to do something safer.”

“…What are you now?”

“A private investigator.”

“Do you like it?”

“…No.”

Reigen ran his thumb along the candle nearest him. Rain still pelted outside, a shivering chorus, as a last bit of water dripped from his hairline and curved along his scarred cheek. He lifted the candle and sniffed it, and the smell dragged him to a time when he’d been just a bit happier than he was now.

“I uh…I definitely liked being an exorcist more, ya know? More rewarding to um…free people of their spiritual burdens, than to like, catch their husband cheating in the back of some minivan with the PTA president.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Never mind. I mean um…” Reigen set the candle down, pushing them into a neat circle, a garden of varying shapes and colors and smells. “My last case actually involved some evil spirit, did you know? The knife fight thing. I was maybe…a little out of shape for it but…in some ways it was better than the others. I forgot what it was like to actually help people.”

Reigen glanced to Mob, who was cleaner, calmer, healthier than the thing which had collided with him on the street not even a week ago. He’d forgotten.

“Say, Mob, you’re psychic. You know, um…” Reigen formed an L-shape with his right hand and positioned the crook of it beneath his chin, framing his face, “the world’s best psychic could use the world’s best side-kick. I mean you’re already my student, apprentice, um charge? I don’t know what you are exactly but it’s one of those. …If I ever did go back, maybe you could work alongside me?”

Reigen looked up. Mob’s face was paler.

“My psychic powers are dangerous, Reigen. I can’t use them to help you.”

Reigen held his breath a moment, and then let it out. He gathered up his candles in his arms and stood. He could scatter them in the living room and kitchen, keep them lit, overcome the smell of ash and rot with that of flowers and spices.

“They won’t be dangerous forever, Mob. One day you’ll know this for a fact. And I mean um…when you’re back home with your family, safe and sound, you could come work for me, right? If you want.”

Reigen’s voice died out just a bit. Something unsettling sat in his chest at the offer, and he was reminded of the main reason he’d grown so despondent in his old job. He’d founded it all on a lie. And if nothing else, Reigen was good at lying.

“I could help people with my powers…?”

“Yes.”

But he’d based all of who he was on that lie. Every interaction felt plastic. Every conversation a sham. And it made his chest tighten just a bit to realize he’d done the same to Mob. Arataka Reigen hadn’t taken Mob in. The “21st Century’s Greatest Psychic” had.

“I uh…I’d like that,” Mob answered.

Reigen set the candles down on the table. He turned and smiled. For now, the lie was all he could offer. So he pushed the feeling down, way far down until he was almost standing on it. The lie was important for now. That lie was all that was helping Mob right now.

Mob paused at the door of his room. “You left the laundry basket in here.”

“Right. Right right right right, laundry first.”

Right.

Laundry first.

…

These streets were still part of Ritsu’s home town, and yet they felt alien. They sat away from home, in the wrong direction, and so Ritsu never crossed through them. As he walked, the wet grass grew thinner, replaced with concrete curbs along tall, blunt office buildings. Shadows fell across in diagonal slants, cut sharp along the edges of buildings structured like blocks, arranged rank and file into pristine rows, columns. Ritsu kept forward, consumed in and out of alleyways that sat like canyons between the monoliths. These alleys held water. Rain poured down from the sky. Stagnant, humid air swelled, kicked up by the churning water. Dumpsters stewed and dripped.

Ritsu’s barrier churned along with the air. Swirls of fluid violet rippled outward with each raindrop plick, like the surface of a lake, viewed from beneath. It was an umbrella that stained the whole world purple, and the taint made Ritsu feel almost as though he weren’t truly a part of it all, as if he’d become just an observer.

“Quick question—do you actually know where you’re going Kageyama, or are we just hitting up every dumpster in the financial district until you find one where you belong?”

Ritsu stopped mid step. Anger flashed hot through his ribcage, so he resisted answering immediately. He took a deep breath, and forced his face to be something almost pleasant as he turned around. Teru stood behind him, his own swirling shimmering yellow barrier enveloping him. The color was murky, mudlike, through Ritsu’s own violet filter. Teru had been the one to drag up his own barrier first to keep out the rain, and Ritsu, partially damp already, had followed suit.

Teru had been quietly following Ritsu’s lead the whole way, perhaps subjected to the same eerie feeling of separate-ness that Ritsu felt with his own barrier. Ritsu was impressed, almost, that Teru had waited this long to say something snide.

“I’m following Gimcrack’s lead, Hanazawa. He’s the one who found the place. Ask him.” Ritsu motioned over his shoulder, and he watched Teru’s eyes settling ahead of him. Ritsu turned as well. Gimcrack floated just ahead of them, three red eyes blinking, black tail flickering in agitation around his amorphous body. The rain drops passed cleanly through him.

“We’re five minutes away, which I know, because I know where I’m leading us. What reason would I have to give you two the run-around?” Gimcrack’s three eyes thinned, his aura beating down with just a bit more severity.

“In case I’ve been too subtle about this, I don’t trust you,” Teru answered. His demeanor had changed entirely from this morning. It had become something stern, authoritative, dour… The mess of blond hair framing his face cast it in shadows, his half-shaded icy eyes piercing. Teru crossed his arms, and the striped green tie crinkled against his chest.

“We’d’ve all been there a lot faster if we weren’t held up by your stumpy little human legs you know, you brat. Us spirits can zip around wherever, and through walls to boot so, you two are the reason we gotta thread through these dumpy alleys. And hey I don’t like your attitude either kid.”

Teru’s icy eyes shot left, then right, staring directly through Ritsu. “Speaking of garbage, what are these two doing following us?”

Teru had motioned to the two smaller, wispier spirits flanking Gimcrack on either side.

“I brought them, Hanazawa,” Ritsu answered. “They’re back up, Gimcrack too.”

“I don’t like this kid calling us garbage,” Gimcrack rebutted.

“You don’t bring mercenaries to your own fight, Kageyama. They’ll leave you for dead if it means saving their own hides.”

“I’m paying them extra,” Ritsu said.

“I’m paying them extra,” Teru mocked.

“Stop.” Ritsu sent Teru a look that he hoped was withering, and then he turned to Gimcrack and the two other spirits. “I mean I’m paying them extra. They’re part of my horde. I’ll use them how I like.”

Gimcrack gave an enthusiastic nod. His slit red eyes grew wide and friendly once more. “See this is why I like you Kageyama! Not a constant stick-in-the-mud like that good ol’ asshole pal of yours over there.” Gimcrack spread his arms wide, as if to motion around him. “Besides these two spirits are good friends of mine—best friends, absolute best friends I daresay—the best and most trustworthy of the bunch. We go way back I’d trust ‘em with my life, Slipshod and Muckruck.”

“Makeshift,” said the one on the left.

“Yeah that’s what I said,” Gimcrack answered.

The one on the right, Slipshod, drifted forward. Its body was a sickly orange, its eyes flattened and wide with thin cat-like pupils. Its aura was something dense, citrusy, overwhelming, like fruit left to rot under the sun.

Teru held his hand up before the spirit could speak. “No, don’t bother, I already know you Slipshod. You were part of my horde before you ran off to take advantage of Kageyama’s idiocy. You’re a thick-skulled simpleton and not worth scraping off the bottom of my shoe. I don’t care what you’re doing here.” Teru motioned sharply to Makeshift. “I want an explanation out of this one.”

“Explanation?” Makeshift asked, monotone and drab. This one was dull in color, desaturated navy, and textured in wrinkles that obscured its old eyes.

“Slipshod’s a moronic bruiser. Gimcrack’s a slimy opportunist. You, I don’t know. What’s your deal? Why did you offer to come?”

Makeshift floated. It raised one arm slowly, shakily, and it reminded Ritsu overwhelmingly of an old man too frail and brittle to move. Makeshift waved off Teru’s concern.

“I want payment,” Makeshift answered.

Teru held eye contact with it for several seconds, silence beating down on them. Teru broke it off with a tch noise through his teeth. He stalked forward, passing Ritsu and the three spirits.

“Whatever. Kageyama, you and I are the only reliable things going into this fight. These three are baggage.”

“Yeah? Wanna say that to my face, kiddo?” Slipshod snarled back.

“Slipshod, speak to me again and I will exorcise you so hard that your corpse will crumble into ash in whatever shallow sewage-filled ditch they buried you in.”

A beat followed. Slipshod stared back, and its eyes narrowed, and it pouted.

“…Yeah um well, fuck you too.”

The next few minutes passed in silence, though Ritsu’s heart rate didn’t settle. He despised Teru’s flippant smug attitude with every fiber of his being, but this was different all together. He was left unnerved witnessing Teru’s severity directed elsewhere, past him, as though Ritsu didn’t exist. It made him appraise his own spirits with an extra jolt and anxiety, uncertain and fearful of what made Teru so despise them.

“Okay, stop. Stop stop we’re here. This, here, this one right here. This building. Yeah, blue sign in front.”

Ritsu stopped short, losing his balance for a moment as he was pulled from his thoughts. A tall tapering building stood before them, wider at the base then thinning and beveling in blockish cuts as it rose, so that the area of each floor varied. The design was modern, appealing, definitely expensive. Ritsu shivered.

“There’s something with a psychic aura stewing in back of the twelfth floor,” Gimcrack said. “Could be some spirit camping out, …could be your brother. And man I tell ya, I’m praying for you that it is your brother. Breaks my heart knowing you’ve been without him so long. And I’m doing my best to help you out. We’re pals after all.” Gimcrack paused. “But, of course there’s still a fee for this. Can’t be going hungry over here now can we?”

Ritsu wasn’t listening. His heart was in his throat. The world remained hazy and distant through the lens of his barrier, and so his thoughts went elsewhere. They focused on what thing might be awaiting them in the office building. He knew it could just be a spirit, but it could also be Mob, there, just a few hundred feet away. Just a few miles away all this time. …And Shishou with him. Ritsu stepped forward, toward the building, and—

“Hey,”

A shattering noise assaulted his left ear. Something powerful gripped Ritsu’s arm and yanked him back. Ritsu startled. Rain hit his face. He stumbled, drawn back into reality.

“Idiot.”

A car whizzed past, horn blaring, wind gushing past Ritsu’s face.

Ritsu turned, dumbly staring at his gripped arm on instinct. His barrier had been forcefully shattered. Ritsu looked up. Teru had dropped his own barrier as well, rain slipping down his face in rivulets, blond hair growing slick.

Teru released him, and drew his barrier back up. Ritsu’s arm stung.

“You can’t walk into traffic, okay? God. Really? Are you this—is this just how you function, Kageyama? I’m going to be carrying this whole mission huh. Wonderful. Incredible. A real power duo we’ll be, you fucking up and me fixing it.”

“Sorry,” Ritsu muttered… He breathed deep. A trickle of fear ran down his spine. He needed to stay aware. It scared him how quickly his guard dropped.

Teru pointed to the crosswalk twenty feet to their left. “Come on.”

They crossed, and it was Teru who made it to the front door first, testing the handle which opened effortlessly under his grasp. He dropped his barrier. Ritsu didn’t bother—he’d never resummoned his. He simply followed Teru inside, feet padding along slick marble tile, which was royal blue and speckled with white. Tall glossy walls rose on either side of them. A lobby of elevators sat deep in the building, ahead of them, a security desk blocking the way.

Sweat trickled down Ritsu’s neck along with the rain water. He glanced behind him to the three spirits, and had to remind himself that they remained invisible to everyone except him and Teru.

“There’s a security desk,” Ritsu said.

“Yes, there is,” Teru answered.

Ritsu watched a little longer. A man in a deep gray business suit shouldered past them, shaking out an umbrella as he closed it, offering a gruff apology. He carried a briefcase in the other hand, and lanyard coiled around the wrist. A badge of sorts dangled off the end of it. He paused by the security desk, scanned his badge, and after a nod from the guard he carried through.

“We don’t have a badge like that,” Ritsu said. He turned to Teru. “How do we get through?”

Teru glanced at him side-long, and flashed an enthusiastic smile that turned Ritsu’s blood to ice.

“Oh, I’ve got an idea.” He motioned quickly to Ritsu. “Is this the shoulder I dislocated last time?”

“Yes,” Ritsu answered, immediately on edge.

“Well, hold yourself together a little better this time.”

“What are—“

Ritsu’s question was cut off in a gasping exhale. His whole body was torn forward by the arm, wind knocked thoroughly out of his lungs, balance and direction scrambled as he was overwhelmed by the sensation of force like an iron fist ripping through his body.

And then he slammed to a halt.

He braced his hands against his knees and wheezed. The world spun aggressively around him, nauseatingly, and Ritsu forced his eyes to focus on the elevator in front of him to regain his sense of orientation.

Elevator?

Ritsu glanced over his shoulder. The security desk now sat, inexplicably, 30 feet behind them.

“You still haven’t figured out super-speed, Kageyama?”

Ritsu stood straighter, legs still quivering. He set a hand to his hair in investigation, blown back and frazzled. He stared daggers at Teru.

Teru had zipped him straight through.

“Don’t….do that!!”

“Oh? Why, would you rather we chatted up security?”

“I could have made Gimcrack possess the guard.” Ritsu gestured loosely and aggressively to the desk behind them. “If you’d given me two more seconds I would have thought of that.”

“That definitely wouldn’t have been as fun.”

Ritsu opened his mouth and then thought better of it. He braced his hand against the wall, huffing still, staring Teru down and drawing out the seconds until the room stopped spinning.

“I’d beat the hell out of you right now if you weren’t helping me find my brother, you know.”

Teru flicked Ritsu’s nose and pressed the elevator button. “Like you even could.”

Ritsu didn’t respond. He waited for the elevator to ping, and its doors to open, before stiffly getting in it. He pressed the 12 button before Teru had the chance.

The inside of the elevator was marble as well, its tiles streaked with glossy veins of blue and black. The doors were reflective, metallic. A neon red counter near the top right ticked up as the floors rose. The elevator ceiling was a polished mirror. Ritsu could see the budding of dark roots at the very top of Teru’s head in the reflection. Gimcrack, Slipshod, and Makeshift were not reflected.

The elevator pinged again. The doors opened. Teru stepped out.

“Wait!” Ritsu watched Teru advance with a flash of anxiety. Ritsu looked around and stepped out of the elevator too before the doors shut on him. “Wait, we don’t have a strategy yet.”

Teru shrugged his shoulders, a light smile back on his face. “I prefer doing things free-form. More room for creativity.” He motioned for Ritsu to follow. Ritsu’s heart rate quickened.

The elevator lobby led to a short hallway, and the hallway led to a wide open office space filled with cubicles. They were arranged in rows, and separate offices for more important people beaded along the walls, each separated with transparent glass. The spot that Ritsu and Teru stood was visible to near-everyone. A few sets of eyes looked up, men and women well-dressed in fitted suits, who locked eyes with Ritsu.

Ritsu backed up one step.

“They know we don’t belong here,” Ritsu said.

Teru cuffed him on the shoulder. “Come on. So long as we act like we belong here, no one will confront us. And by ‘we’ I mean ‘you’ because I, personally, am already doing a flawless job of that.” Teru kept moving, so Ritsu jogged after him. “They’ll just think we’re someone’s kids. Breathe, Kageyama.”

Ritsu breathed. Gimcrack floated ahead of them, and he motioned to the far right corner of the room. Ritsu understood it silently. He and Teru threaded through the rows, and Ritsu kept his eyes trained on the back-right. He felt eyes following him with every step, workers watching him pass silently. His hand trembled just slightly without his notice.

Teru made it to the back corner first. He looked around, and glanced over his shoulder to Gimcrack. Gimcrack shrugged. “It’s back here somewhere.”

“I could’ve told you that, numbskull,” Teru answered. Ritsu shushed him on impulse. The man in the closest desk turned in his chair, pudgy cheeks half-obscuring his watery eyes, which settled on Teru in confusion.

Teru flashed a smile to Ritsu. “What? Did you think this whole thing was going to be carried out in secret? What’s that saying about omelets and cracking eggs?”

Teru sauntered forward, bright eyes set to the man who’d noticed his presence. His smile curled mischievously. “Hey, Mister,” Teru raised his leg, the sole of his foot slamming against the back of the man’s chair, right next to the man’s left shoulder. The man let out a startled noise. Teru leaned in. “Do you know anything about an evil spirit that might be living in your office? Or perhaps, a kidnapped little esper boy stashed beneath your desk?”

“Uh…I um, uh, what? Kid you, um, your foot, please uh--?” The man’s head twisted left and right. He reeled back in his chair. Heads had turned. Coworkers were watching. “W-who are you? What spirits? Please, your foot—“

Teru nodded. He pulled his foot back, and kept it hovering in the air. The man eased a bit, and exhaled.

“Let’s try it this way,” Teru said, and he shoved his foot full-force into the man’s chest. The man wheezed. Teru pressed his hand against the man’s forehead, and it gleamed suddenly with a yellow light.

“Stop!” Ritsu yelled, a shaking hand reaching out uselessly. Teru turned, and Ritsu’s eyes shot back and forth between Teru’s pupils.

“What, Kageyama? This man could very well be ‘Shishou’, and failing that, he might be possessed. We know there’s something here, and it’s something that could probably kill us if it feels like it. So we’re making our move first.”

Teru applied more pressure to his foot. The man wheezed, and the gleam around his head brightened. Then it died off all together.

“Not possessed,” Teru concluded.

Ritsu backed up fully into the corner. His heart pounded, his stomach flipped. Four—no five of the workers had gotten up from their chairs. They were approaching him, saying things, faces twisted in anger or confusion. Ritsu couldn’t hear their words—his heart beat too loudly in his ears.

Teru surveyed the group with seeming disinterest. He turned then to Ritsu, dull eyes going bright, “Oh, speak of the devil. Kageyama, duck.”

Ritsu jolted. Then he ducked. And he heard a noise like a guillotine slicing through the air above him. Ritsu stumbled forward and spun, gasping, wide panicked eyes set to the form of a ghost only a fraction of an inch above where Ritsu had been standing. It was scarcely human. Its eyes were reduced to cold dark slits, its gaping maw enormous, filled with jagged teeth. Its white hair had grown out ragged, framing its marred face. Its body was dressed in wispy tatters.

Ritsu couldn’t breathe. He threw his eyes back to the adults, still closing in, still looking at him. Why weren’t they reacting to the ghost? Could they not see it?

“Oh this is fun!” Teru announced with a hoot. He summoned pools of yellow energy to his palms, his fingers flexed and tensed. His hair rose around him as his aura bloomed, hot and violent, like smoke filling the air.

Teru fired off a slice of energy. The spirit crouched, letting off a shriek inhumanly loud as it dove forward. Ritsu curled and covered his head. When he opened his eyes, looking through the slats in his fingers, the spirit had settled atop a cubicle partition halfway across the room.

“Kageyama, watch my back a moment will you? I’m gonna obliterate that thing.”

Teru crouched, then sprung. He landed on top of the pudgy man’s desk, who let out a startled shout as Teru then hurdled over the cubicle partition, onto a coworker’s desk, and leapt off of that. Ritsu scrambled to his feet. Three adults blocked his path now. Two had stopped to comfort the startled man.

“Kid you can’t be here. If you don’t leave we’re gonna have to call security on you.”

Ritsu blinked. His eyes settled on Teru in the distance, firing off a lasso to catch the spirit.

“Akagi, I already called security.”

“Oh.”

Ritsu bolted. He shoved past the adults in his path and wove around the desks. Ritsu grabbed Teru by the shoulder, now in the center of the office with dozens more workers watching them. Teru lost his focus on the spirit and glanced to Ritsu, agitated.

“Hanazawa we have to leave. It is just a spirit it’s not my brother! They called security! We have to leave we have to leave!”

“And not clean up these poor hard-working people’s little spirit problem? That’s pretty selfish.”

“You just wanna play target practice.”

“Yeah that’s true. I’ve been dreadfully bored.”

“We’re going.”

A pressure settled on Ritsu’s shoulder. He twisted, eyes wild and frazzled, and found himself face-to-face with a woman in her twenties, hair pulled back in a braid, dressed in a sleek dull suit. She pulled back just a bit at the look on Ritsu’s face, but her eyes and expression remained gentle.

“What are you boys doing here?” she asked, and it wasn’t an accusation. “You seem scared. Can I help you?”

Ritsu glanced to the side. Her other arm rested on Teru’s shoulder. Teru wasn’t paying attention. His eyes trailed along the ceiling, where the spirit swooped, gnashing its teeth, taking bites at the other workers’ heads and just barely missing each time.

Teru’s eyes, still tracking the spirit, came back down, until—almost politely—he was looking at the woman.

“I don’t think you can help us, but,” Teru’s eyes ticked up. “Watch out.”

The spirit dove now, like a missile, and passed through the woman as though she were water. Her grip on Ritsu’s shoulder tightened, suddenly sharp and inescapable. She buckled forward, and her eyes squeezed shut. When she opened them again, they’d swamped to black.

Ritsu’s mouth had gone dry. Teru let out a disappointed sound. “Hmm, it’s not really target practice once it takes over a body. Now it’s just…easy.” Teru slipped out of the monster’s grip, brushing his shoulder. “You know, Kageyama, this is probably good practice for you. And I don’t feel like wasting my energy on an exorcism that presents no challenge.” He motioned over his shoulder. “Security’s gonna be here soon, so I’ve heard. I’ll guard the door. You exorcise the spirit.”

“Hanazawa,” Ritsu shouted, but Teru acted as though he hadn’t heard. Teru stepped a bit closer to the door, angling his body sideways so that he could watch the entrance or Ritsu depending on which direction he looked. He turned to Ritsu, offered a wide smile, and gave Ritsu a thumbs up.

Ritsu didn’t linger on Teru. His head snapped around, and he found the woman’s black eyes less than an inch from his.

She breathed out, swamping his face with an odor foul, like something dead.

Ritsu jerked back. He pulled and twisted, desperate and violent, until he got his shoulder free. Something acid-like had burned through his uniform, down to the skin, nail marks dragged through broken flesh.

He stumbled a few feet back, breath heaving through his lungs. The other workers had formed a circle, but they kept their distance, sensing something was truly amiss now. The possessed woman tilted her head, a full 90 degrees cocked, black eyes forcing a contact that Ritsu was unable to break, and she reached forward.

“No!” Ritsu shouted. He could feel the aura leaking off the spirit, tainted in bloodlust. He could feel its intention of tearing into him, harvesting him like the food he was.

“Any day now, Kageyama,” Teru chided.

“Help me!”

“With what? Just exorcise it.”

“Help me!”

“Listen, this is above my pay grade.”

“Hel—fuck, fuck fuck fuck fuck,” Ritsu peddled back once more. The hand of the woman swatted out, bony, claw-like. Ritsu breathed. He swallowed. His eyes were still trapped in the black pits that swamped her own eyes, but Ritsu collected a ball of energy—hot and violent—in his palms.

It swirled harder, faster, glowing brighter as Ritsu poured his energy into it like a flood. He raised his shaking arm, braced his left hand against his right elbow, and aimed the mass of energy at the puppet-strung woman approaching.

His whole body trembled. His thoughts had drowned under panic. He pumped an extra dose of energy into the swirling mass of his palm, white hot, powerful enough to almost burn him. And he prepared to unleash it.

“No!”

Ritsu released his attack, but not before he was slammed from behind. Something grabbed him by the waist and smashed him into the floor, where his head collided and stars exploded in his vision and the wind knocked clean out of Ritsu’s lungs. His attack fired through the window, a melodious explosion of glass shivering through the air. Ritsu gasped, eyes flying open wide, staring up into the ceiling.

The ceiling light was obscured, blocked by the looming shadow-drenched face of Teruki Hanazawa, twisted into a livid, violent snarl. Teru straddled Ritsu, holding Ritsu down by the wrists with a force tight enough to strangle the circulation from his hands.

Ritsu’s eyes trembled. His whole body suffocated under an all-consuming terror.

Teru’s tie dangled forward, and trailed along Ritsu’s face.

“Idiot! Idiot! Fucking idiot! You’d kill her! You’d kill her! You’d kill her you idiot, fucking idiot! You’d fucking kill her!” Teru spat, and it was with a rage Ritsu hadn’t experienced before.

Ritsu’s body trembled beyond his control. Tears welled in the corner of his eyes. His mouth twisted weakly to form the words I’m sorry

Teru’s head snapped to the side, and in that instant he yanked up his gossamer yellow barrier around them. Some force, violent and dense, smashed through it. The woman pushed forward, arms hanging loose and shoulders wobbling as she ran.

Teru rolled off Ritsu and fired off a quick, weak shot that the woman ducked effortlessly.

“Shit. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck,” Teru muttered. He sprung to his feet and launched forward, grabbing the woman by the wrists and shoving back against her. Her teeth snapped at his throat, grazing it enough to draw forth beads of blood. Teru flinched back and sent out a psychic pulse that knocked her back. “Fuck, fuck fuck fuck. Gimcrack! Slipshod! Makeshift!” he shouted.

The spirit surfaced from the woman’s mouth, and burst forward. Teru shot at it, but if dodged above him, spinning as it went over Teru’s head. It used its nails to slice Teru’s back. Ritsu saw a tear open up along the back of Teru’s uniform, quickly shining red.

Teru spun and fired off another shot. He missed.

“God dammit. God dammit. This is why you don’t trust spirits, Kageyama! Leave you for dead!”

The coworkers streamed now for the door, kicked into action by the brawl happening dead center. Shrieks and cries broke through Ritsu’s terror, and he glanced sidelong to the door, where the twenty-something people flooded against it.

The spirit quirked its head to them, interest shifting, and dove headlong for them.

Teru shot one arm forward, left eye shutting as he aimed, mess of disheveled hair half obscuring his face as he swallowed, and fired.

A spear of yellow energy, like an arrow, whizzed through the air. It struck the spirit in the chest, who howled, then writhed, then bubbled.

Its skin burst, boils rupturing a spiritual goo that disintegrated on contact with the air. The writhing dragged to a halt as the spirit’s body broke down, dissolving, falling like ash, its keening shriek dying to nothing as its pieces vanished before they even reached the floor.

Ritsu remained on the ground, helpless, useless. He turned to Teru, who rubbed away the blood along his neck and stepped to the unpossessed woman’s side. She was slumped, and shivering.

Teru took her by the shoulders and lifted her just slightly. He eased her until her back leaned against the back of the divider of the nearest cubicle.

“…Can you stand?” he asked.

The woman answered with something Ritsu could not hear. Ritsu watched, and Teru turned to face him. Ritsu braced himself. He expected a snide comment, something condescending and infantilizing, something cruel.

Teru said nothing. He only stared on with an intensity in his eyes that Ritsu could not understand. And then he turned away.

(Chapter 22)

[arriyire]

Learn to Fly - A Fairy Tail fic, Ch. 15

Summary:  The world is split into two realms - the mortal and the spirit. In this world demons attack humans and the winged protect them. When Levy gets shoved headfirst into the spirit realm, she will have to adjust her whole way of living and learn to deal with a moody dragon winged Gajeel. AU vaguely based on the manga plot.

Rating T

I own nothing, feedback is appreciated, enjoy!

Thank you for reading/reviewing/favourite/following!

Chapter 15

Levy awoke the next morning feeling like a breeze on a warm spring morning, never had she slept so soundly with wondrous dreams to entertain her throughout the night. As the warm sun peaked through her curtains Levy happily sat up and stretched her arms, her wings following suit stretching backwards. Almost immediately afterwards, she was up out of bed dancing around her empty room. Prancing past a small stack of books (kindly donated by Lucy) ignoring them completely. Today was a rare day where reading held no interest to Levy (least not yet!) instead she was eager to get to the guild and show off (just a little) her new skill.

In minutes she was dressed and breaking out into the open air; she couldn’t resist doing a little twirl as she skipped down the path. The day was perfect; birds were singing and not a cloud in the sky. The gentle wind caused the trees and grass to dance while flowers bloomed, exploding in multitudes of colour. It was the definition of a fairy tale happy ending.

The bluenette breathed the fresh air and braced her feet against the ground, pushing off, her wings immediately kicked in carrying her upwards into the air. Higher and higher she climbed grinning from head to toe, the doubt from yesterday was a distant memory. Today she could do anything she put her mind to.

When she was high above the tree’s she angled her body towards the guild and allowed herself to gradually glide down towards the building. The pages of her wings fluttered as the winds rushed past them, never once did they threaten to blow away, to be scattered into the horizon. Every one of them was a part of her very being; to lose one would be losing part of her soul. As the ground began to closer Levy managed to get her body angled so her feet hit the ground first. After a brief moment of victory, Levy quickly realised she had been going way too fast. She tripped over her own two feet and flipped, landing square on her backside in the dust right in front of the guild.

Coughing hard in a daze Levy blinked confused at the doors in front of her. For several minutes Levy just sat there completely pulled out of the daydream of a morning she had been in. Finally she began to stand up dusting herself off and trying to ignore the pain in her back.

“LEVYYYYYY!!!!” The screeching of her name drew her attention to two winged running full speed (one significantly faster than the other) towards her. Soon enough three of them lay in a heap on the floor as Jet and Droy tackled her back down to the ground. Levy couldn’t help but laugh at the two men who were clearly traumatised at her rapid disappearance yesterday; it felt nice to be cared about.

Once the giggles had subsided, Levy answered the myriad of ‘are you ok?’ and ‘what happened yesterday?’ with sweet smiles and ‘I’m fine’. By the sceptical looks on their faces Levy knew she needed to provide a better story to ease their worries. Dusting herself off Levy stood and flapped her wings lifting her just slightly off the ground and hovered there for a minute before dropping back down, landing much more gracefully than her crash landing from before.

Jet and Droy instantly began praising the woman at her display of flight, “Levy that’s amazing” Droy exclaimed.

“We knew you could do it!” Jet followed, both of them cheering with slightly rivalry, trying to be louder than the other and to be acknowledged by Levy first.

Levy on the other hand felt slightly uncomfortable at the praise she was receiving and tried to redirect the attention “Yeah, Gajeel really helped me find my wings” Levy smiled fondly at the memory of the previous night, casually forgetting the part where he had pushed her off a building (Levy made the wise decision not to tell Jet and Droy that). Despite not knowing the darker details, the pair still frowned at the sound of the iron dragon slayers name, it left a sour taste in both of their mouths that he had succeeded where they had failed and had gained some favour from Levy.

Together the trio entered the guild hall to find few members had turned up so early in the day, the few that were here were scattered about the great hall. Levy spied a hung over Cana snoozing on top of a large barrel and Mira twirling round the bar getting ready to serve the many members that were no doubt on their way. Moving to grab a nearby booth the three winged made themselves comfy and began idly chatting about this and that as more and more members joined the room. By mid-afternoon the more rowdy members had made themselves known and at least three fights had been started and promptly resolved (namely by Erza).

Jet felt twitchy his feet constantly moving on the spot and his wings shuffling opening and closing in impatience. Droy picked up on his friend’s behaviour as he spoke to Levy about a new book on botony he had found in a bookstore nearby. He was just about to offer to take her there this afternoon when Jet’s fidgeting became too much for him to handle.

“We should go on a job!” It sounded more like a demand than a suggestion with the force Jet put behind it.

Droy sighed, trying to not seem disappointed he wouldn’t be going with Levy this afternoon after all. Jet was his best friend and he knew the falcon winged wouldn’t sit still for long. In fact he hadn’t even waited for Droy’s reply and had run over to the job board, swiping the first poster that looked appealing and re-joined the table in a few blinks on the eye. Scanning the job description it seemed easy enough, a leprechaun had lost his pot of gold (again.) and needed someone to go out and find the thieves (likely the local pixies, again.). The job would take them less than a few hours if they left soon they’d be back before nightfall.

“Sure, let’s go tell Mira and get going!” The plant winged announced before Jet was off once again, eager to get going.

Droy turned to Levy who had quickly delved into a book the moment the two men had mentioned going on a job. “Maybe you could come with us?”  A pair of spectacled eyes peered over the rim of the pages, a clear question of ‘really?’ was painted all over them. He replied with a winning smile, the pair joined Jet at the bar with Mira just as she signed off the job.

“Hey Mira, Levy’s coming with us too!”  

Mira gave a sad smile, “I’m afraid she can’t, she’s not a member of our guild yet…” The barmaid’s gaze moves upwards towards the master’s office. “The master left for a council meeting as well so he can’t initiate her until he’s back. I’m sorry Levy,” Mira turned back to the trio as she apologised. Fortunately Levy was a very understanding person happily reassuring them all that it was ok and she wanted to finish her book anyway. She wished her two friends the best of luck and returned to the table she had occupied since coming to the hall.

In truth Levy was somewhat relieved to not be going, she had only just learnt to fly and hadn’t really tested her magical abilities past the two words she had managed to conjure. What if she couldn’t help? Or someone got hurt because of her? Better not to try taking on jobs until she could at least defend herself properly – she had seen what demons could do and this world was filled with other mythical creatures which could be equally dangerous!

Speaking of magic, Levy turned back to her book ‘The Fundamentals of Script Magic’, turns out the guild hall library had a huge array of books explaining the basics of nearly all types of magic. It had taken no time to find one related to script magic and during the day Levy had already read about a third of the thick tome.

Settling back into her seat, the book positioned perfectly against the table edge Levy began to read again. She had quickly developed the skill of blocking out any and all distractions once an open book was presented to her; a skill that was most definitely needed in this guild. However that did not mean she was ignorant to her surroundings (at least not all the time). Tiny ears soon picked up on a conversation which delighted the bookworm.

“Aw, c’mon Luce! I want to know what you’ve written!”

“Natsu, no! It’s not finished yet!”

“I saw my name though, you’re writing about me!”

“It’s not about you-“

The conversation was promptly cut short by Natsu diving at Lucy in an attempt to get the pile of paper out her grip. The two winged tumbled across the floor with Natsu finally sitting on top of Lucy’s back effectively pinning her down while he skimmed the pages as fast as he could before the blond broke free.

“Hey Grey’s in here too! And happy, and Erza!” The announcement of their names drew a small crowd round Natsu as he struggled to keep his balance and read out people’s names. Finally Lucy managed to roll over, knocking Natsu backwards causing him to drop the paper he was reading. Lucy dove for her precious novel draft and flew across the hall landing next to Levy’s table. Hiding under the table top Lucy scanned the pages for any damage Natsu may have caused a breathed a sigh of relief when she saw no scorch marks or rips in the paper. Peeking out from her hiding place Lucy saw that the group had quickly lost interest in her, deciding instead to bet on the on-going brawl between Grey and Natsu instead (Grey had made a sarcastic comment after Lucy knocked Natsu down – chaos quickly ensued). Breathing another sigh of relieve Lucy noted Levy looking at her with a gleam in her eyes that sparkled with excitement.

“Oh, hi Levy,” Lucy cheerfully said trying to ignore the fact Levy’s focus was solely on what she was holding behind her back.

“Writing something Lu-Chan?” The bluenette innocently asked trying to not-so-subtly peer round the blond to what she was hiding.

“What me? No, no, this is- err- I mean, I was just-“ Lucy looked for anyway out of this conversation but if she went back toward her team they would try and read it again and she couldn’t go home, Natsu would just break in and steal it again. Deciding that Levy was the lesser of the evils Lucy sighed heavily and sat across from the fledging script winged. “It’s my novel; I started it when I was in the mortal realm.”

Levy visibly softened, “What’s it about?”

“It was about a young girl going on a fantasy adventure, but compared to this,” Lucy gestured to the room and to the dozens of winged flying and practising magic. “It seemed pretty bland. So I changed it to be about my adventures in Fairy Tail! The main character was already kind of based on me, it wasn’t hard…” Lucy let her voice drift off, what if Levy though it was a stupid plot?

“Can I read it?” Levy asked in the most polite and innocent tone she could muster. Clearly this was a very personal project for Lucy. It tied her back to her human life and was the history of everything she had done since becoming winged; from what Natsu had said earlier it clearly had the guild members as characters too. No wonder she didn’t want them to read it yet.

Lucy took a moment, she wanted to say no but Levy was pulling quiet possibly the best puppy dog eyes she had ever seen. Levy didn’t seem the type to make fun of her; in fact she could probably give her some good advice. Still… “I don’t know…”

Levy clapped her hands together folding her fingers over in prayer before begging “Please Lu-Chan!” The puppy dog eyes were now even bigger than before and Lucy had no choice but to accept.

“Ok, ok but not here! You can come round and read it,” Lucy bartered

“Can we fly over now?“ Levy immediately asked, her previous book lay forgotten, she was too eager to learn about Lucy’s adventures.

“Yea sure we can-“ Lucy paused considering her friends words, “wait you learnt to fly?”

“Yes, Gajeel taught me yesterday.” The bluenette answered immediately neglecting to see the mischievous glint in Lucy’s eyes.

Lucy quickly took advantage of the situation, “New deal. You can read my novel; if you tell me all about yesterday!” Lucy restrained the squeal in her voice. It was common gossip in the guild now that Cana had divined some kind of relationship between the two, only Mira seemed one hundred percent on board with the idea, the rest of the female guild members just couldn’t see it. This was the perfect opportunity to see what was going on!

“Deal!” Levy agreed with no hesitation, after all what was there to tell? Gajeel had taught her to fly and they had had a fun time doing so. And now she got to read Lucy’s novel!

The pair wasted no time packing up Levy’s things and flying out of the guild hall, they had so much to talk about.  

Full fic here - I own nothing except a vague plot, feel free to review/ask/be inspired and share with me anything you find :)

[semiramis-audron]

Introduction to those who run the show

Time flew by quickly, people coming and going, drinking coffee, drinking tea and smoothies, the shop was usually busy, today Gabrielle didn't pay as much attention to it as usual though. She might not work full shifts there anymore... or might have to sign up for overtime. Which it would be, was still not clear, even by the time she joined several other girls in the entrance hall of the opera, waiting for their official introduction. A stern middle aged woman welcomed them with a short nod, and voicelessly beckoned them to follow her, leading them into the ballet training hall.

Young women nervously standing underneath high arching pillars from the 19th century, their eyes reflecting curiosity, some worry, some fear in the cold mirrors on the wall. A few leaned on the ballet bars, relaxing, waiting, the woman had left again and closed, hopefully not locked, the door behind herself.

A bright blond schock of hair pushed its way towards Gabrielle, pulling at the hem of her t-shirt. "Gabe!... Gabe! Oh gosh welcome! I haven't seen you since bandcamp!" It took her a moment to recognize the freckled bundle of energy. "Mi-Michelle? Is that you? What are you doing here?" They held hands and hugged each other, Gabrielle blushed, glad to see a familiar face. "I'm a ballet girl, duh? My mom looks after the girls here so I get to hang out with the fresh meat, are you fresh meat Gabe?" a thin finger stabbed her side with a little more force than necessary. "Yes, I made it in... I think." she sighed and hugged Michelle once more.

"You think? You're here! You'll love working here, it's really fun and exciting." They were two years apart, had met each other in summer music camp. Michelle was the kind of girl you could steal horses with, or kidnap, torture and kill cheating ex boyfriends. Loyal and lively, to say the least.

"I don't know," Gabrielle groaned "... Carlotta sent me home in the casting, but the Email said I'm in, and I haven't met anyone in charge yet to confirm it.“ Michelle's mother... that means the woman who had lead them in. „ - could your mom tell me?" She hadn't expected the smaller one to stare at her like she had exclaimed to have biked to the moon.

"Ohhhh. Ohhhh!!! She don’t need to! ... oh you're in, you're in alright!" she whispered ominously, awe in her voice. "Like, they sent you home and you still got an invite, that's no mistake girl. That doesn't happen. Unless he wants it. You're definitely in." the younger one grabbed her hands again and pulled her further to the front, leaving Gabrielle just utterly confused.

"Who he? The manager?" Two women, different as day and night, and two men walked in, the crowd grew quiet, girls standing straight.

"Yeah, he's the manager alright..." Michelle whispered back, then put her forefinger on her mouth. "Now shhh, Mama is quite strict, we'll talk more later..." and she scuttled off through the sea of girls.

"Welcome to the Opera, you may address me as Madam Giry, you will spend the next years under my supervision. These gentlemen, are Monsieur André and Monseur Firmin, the managers of this illustrious business. They -" she looked at the men, at the girls, then at the corners of the room, her eyes lingered at the mirrors. "- are the ones who pay you, without them, this house, your future would be nothing." Her voice was clear and filled with conviction, the silver strands in her dark blond hair told of age and wisdom, tight lips but hints of crow's feet and indeed a resemblance to Michelle. "They deserve nothing less, than your utter respect. Make them proud. It is for your own good, after all."

The men took a bow, then with much gusto, introduced the lady between them. Even though she did not exactly need introducing, her face was in leaflets and posters distributed all around the building. And stand up displays strategically placed in the entrance hall. There was even one with a mustache painted on, some stickers decorated her more or less flatteringly. Currently it was shoved aside by a broad shoulder, nothing mean, just a tired bump on a man's way to his workstation. He slumped into his chair, taking a sip of his coffee, trying not to choke on a yawn. He had overslept. Introductions were already beginning and he was still feeling barely conscious. Fingers brushing through his hair, guiding the headphones in place, covering the ears and shutting out any unwelcome noise entirely.

So many young aspiring talents, handpicked in auditions over the last weeks, finally ready to start their small yet exciting careers. He groaned quietly as he caught a glimpse of the woman he'd met a few hours ago. Still unable to grasp the magnitude of his stupidity and inattentiveness.

Then again maybe he had just been overwhelmed by the range and potential he had heard, the urgent need it caused in him and it's not like anyone would expect a girl from a coffee shop to audition for the Opera Populaire... So no need for him to pay attention to any coffee shop girls to avoid accidentally employing them... He placed his forehead on his keyboard, groaning again, then lifted his head again and smashed it down, as much as anyone working with computers was willing to do to their equipment. Not for long though, the sticky key notification screamed in his ears and called his attention back to the matters at hand. It would be a crime to not form her voice into the fire that its spark promised. Akin to physical pain, was just thinking about it going to waste... and here he was, having to drop her, for his own safety.

No matter how often he would recall it. No matter how much he would regret it. No matter how much it would occupy his mind. No matter how much he would cringe about it, whenever he heard Carlotta. No matter how much he'd lay awake at night, loosing sleep, gears grinding about whether he did the right thing. No matter how heavy his heart would be every time he'd see the girl working in that coffee shop instead of the opera and it would be his fault and it would be even worse, because he should just not have sent the e-mail after Carlotta had rejected her, but now she was here and he'd have to get rid of her again and then it would always sit at the back of his head and UGH.

Such a shame, considering, with the right vocal training, she could easily rival the somewhat overrated lead.

Clearly a lot of the other girls were big fans, their eyes shining with idolation, others with respect and fear at the sight of such an experienced woman.

"Madame Carlotta, Prima Donna extraordinaire!"

The womand who had sent her home.

An obligatory round of shaking hands followed, Carlotta merely nodding at the young élèves.

Gabrielle was not surprised. After all... one of them might one day surpass and replace the first lady of the stage. When their eyes met, Carlotta frowned, Gabrielle bit her lower lip. It was no secret, that André and Firmin were quick to please their star to avoid any kind of drama.

If she remembered, and sent her home again today, in front of the managers... Besides of a probably fucked up E-Mail, she still had nothing official. The older woman looked her up and down, clearly straining her memory, the moment seemed to last forever. Gabrielle was not sure if it was better to keep or break the eye-contact. A feeling of dizziness began to rise in her head, fingers tingling, hissing in her ears.

Then a tiny yet excited BWUWAFF! resounded from Carlottas big handbag. Gabrielle almost suffered a heart attack. The Prima Donna fished a treat out of another pocket, feeding it into the tiniest white snout peaking out of the container and cooing about her precious Petit Souris.

The goblet passed, the Prima Donna moved on to the next girl and Gabrielle thanked the gods for this distraction.

They did not stay long, naturally, all three had important matters and vocal training to attend to. The atmosphere in the room noticeably relaxed, with some deep sighs and slouched postures following.

A hand squeezed hers, Michelle had returned and smiled, as usual.

"So, ladies, enough introductory niceties. You are here because you posses the most basic abilities to dance and sing. You want to become stars of this stage? You have years of hard training ahead of you. Sweat, blood and tears. Hard work, dedication, discipline and obedience." Michelle did not exaggerate. Her mother really seemed quite strict, the black high cut business dress accentuated her body and aloofness well. "Once you have reached the level of a professional, you might perform in the Opéra Bastille, until then, for your training and all ballets, the Palais Garnier will be your home.“ She seized up the girls giggling in the background. „Let this be your first and hopefully only warning, these walls are old. They have seen many tragedies both on and behind the stage. The ghost of history roams this building. When you dance, when you sing, when you walk these halls, show respect. Don't linger in the corridors and loiter in the shadows. Shadows are for spirits and ghosts, and they don't like nosy girls sneaking around in their domain.“ Well that was certainly an interesting way to give them the houserules. „So be warned, behave, be on time and take you training here serious, and the ghost will smile upon you.“ Gabrielle leaned over to her friend a bit, very quietly whispering. „She isn't serious, right? There are no ghosts here, right?“ Michelle only shook her head, again shushing with her finger on her lips. No talking over mama. „I will now give you a tour of the rest of the building, stay close or you might get lost and never be seen again.“ confused and amused they followed their new warden. Gabrielle had heard a story or two before applying, about people disappearing, just not showing up anymore to the next rehearsal. But that was usually that, wasn't it. People dropped out of all kinds of jobs. She wouldn't do that though, she was dedicated. „There aren't really ghosts here, are there?“ she whispered at Michelle again, her father had always taught her to accept that there were things between heaven and earth that you simply can't explain. And whatever causes them, were forces not to be trifled with. They chose people with pure hearts to bestow their favors upon, and paid those seeking harm their due... „Nah, no ghosts-“ Michelle skipped a step, waiting for Gabrielle to catch up and sigh with relief. „No ghostS, just one...“ a big grin and an ominous eyebrow wriggle. „What? Michy, don't be like that!“ It wasn't like she was afraid of ghosts, but when you worked in the theater business, these things needed to be taken serious. She felt a cold shiver down her spine as they fell behind a bit. „Oh don't worry, Gabe, it's like mom said: If you follow the rules, you have nothing to be afraid of. Just listen to mama, be on time, be diligent, be respectful and stay away from the shadows, lest you bump into a dark mysterious figure-“ she might not mind that „-and the walls start oozing blood-“ she would mind that certainly, though which respectable ghost would want such a mess in their house anyway. „Mama said he was mad this morning, all moany, terrifying. Which is weird, because usually you only hear his ghostly howls at night or after bad performances... Oh come on Gabe, you know how old buildings are... I mean, I work here... and I'm still alive, right?“ at least now it was clear her friend exaggerated. Gabrielle raised her head, turning in a circle once, speaking loud and clear, to whatever god or ghost or angel might hear her. „Alright, I hereby promise to behave and in return, expect my life to be spared.“ she followed with a curtsy. „Thank you.“ Gabrielle twitched as they caught up to Madame Giry and the other girls, the old, thick wooden doors did sound like an ethereal being complaining. He groaned. Not only had he squandered his chance to get rid of her, she also was kind of adorable... not that that mattered... and dedicated... which did. He would just have to make sure, he never listened in on any rehearsals and performances with her. As if that was going to be possible. He dipped a finger in the fig marmalade and licked it clean, thoughtfully watching the screens, following the girls through the rooms. She had a thing for the Giry girl. That one was nosy and curious, but also her mother's daughter. So their... friendship?... could be both of advantage or disadvantage for him. Certainly would be easier to keep her supervised like this. As the tour was ending, both girls left the building together, he sighed, switching to a different camera and opening his accounting software. Her name was already in the system. There was so much to do today... Making sure the new girls all actually got what they were legally entitled to. Changing the order of dog treats Carlotta had placed with the managers, she just kept ordering the brand her dog didn’t even like... He could, naturally, switch casting and understudy orders to favor Gabrielle. But he still didn’t want to fully admit, that he was going to keep her in his house. He just... didn’t have the right opportunity to send her home yet. She was young and friends with Michelle, she’d fuck up sooner or later and get thrown out by the two fools ‘running’ the place. And even if he wanted to keep her, her voice had potential... that didn’t mean she was making much use of it yet.  No no, she was leaving soon, until then, she could join all the other girls... He downed his coffee and got up to bring the can over to his desk. Time to get to work like every other responsible taxpayer.

[obsidianarchives]

To All The Wizards: The Dinner

The horror of the morning’s conversation had lasted until the evening, when a fresh horror presented itself. Hermione was gathering her laundry for the wash when she heard the phone ring. Her bedroom telephone sat on her desk across the room. Her hands were full of laundry, so she left her parents pick it up. It had been years since any of the old neighborhood kids had tried to call.

“Hermione! Dean is on the phone for you!”

She froze. In the hysteria from the morning, she had forgotten that she had given Dean her number. This really wasn’t going to help her “We’re just friends” angle. She dropped the clothes in the middle of the floor and lunged for the phone.

“Hello?”

“Your mum sounds nice.”

“Uh, she is.” His voice surprised her. It sounded somehow deeper over the phone, more mature. It was almost unbelievable. Here she was, talking to a boy on the phone like a proper Muggle teenager. She began pacing around her room, the cord dragging behind her. “So, why did you need my number?”

“My mum wants to invite you to dinner sometime next week.”

Hermione balked. “What? Why?”

“Well I couldn’t hide that I had a girlfriend from her, could I? And I definitely couldn’t hide it from my sisters.”

“You don’t have a girlfriend!”

Panic crawled up Hermione’s throat. She couldn’t lie to her parents, and admit she had suddenly got a boyfriend overnight, not after the scene she had made this morning. But she couldn’t sneak out of her house for dinner either.

She could hear his eye roll through the phone.

“I don’t even know where you live. I can’t Apparate yet and my parent’s fireplace isn’t connected to the Floo Network,” she said.

“Neither is mine.” Right. He’s Muggle-born, like you.

It turned out he lived in London. That was only a 30 minute train journey from Reading Station. She could tell her parents she was spending the day at Diagon Alley and then meeting some friends for dinner. That wouldn’t be a total lie.

“To be honest with you Granger, I don’t think my mother means to be refused.”

She gulped. They weren’t really dating, she tried to remind herself. If his mum didn’t like her it wouldn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things. Yet, she still felt the same drive she always did to have adults approve of her.

They set the date as Friday, the 27th. She really would have much preferred keeping their families out of it altogether but she couldn’t stress over it, so she did her best to put it out of her mind.

The next few days passed innocuously. The Daily Prophet had been fairly quiet for the first time in months. Hermione suspected they might be suppressing news in order to maintain the morale in the country for Christmas. Based on the hints in Harry’s letter, beyond what he intimated about his new musings on Malfoy after the Slughorn Party mishap, the news on the ground was unchanged from what they had been hearing for months.

On Christmas Eve, Hermione and her mother were decorating Christmas cookies when the evening news reported on a missing dignitary who had disappeared Monday evening. Hermione knew the signs. She felt certain it wasn’t an accident and the perpetrators weren’t Muggle. Of course, she considered opening a dialogue about it with her parents, but she didn’t want to dampen the Christmas spirit that filled the Granger household.

Christmas came shining through her window early Wednesday. She stretched and yawned, looking out the window. There were a couple of children already outside in their coats, enjoying their new gifts, riding around on bikes and swinging play swords at each other.

Oddly perceptive to human activity as usual, Crookshanks sauntered over to her, rubbing himself against her legs, meowing as he walked.

“Happy Christmas to you, too Crookshanks.” She walked over to her rather full bookcase and stood on her tiptoes to grab a small loosely wrapped parcel of his favorite treats from the Magical Menagerie, setting it on the floor for him to unwrap.

Before pouncing on the package, he nuzzled his head against her. She laughed as she petted him, appreciating the exceptional show of affection.

When she headed downstairs, she found her parents were already up. “Happy Christmas, Hermione!” her father called from the kitchen.

As she walked past the kitchen, she looked in to see him decked out in his striped pajamas and a Santa cap, rummaging through the cupboards.

She grinned to herself, heading to the sitting room where she found her mother nursing a cup of tea. The house already smelled of the Christmas Day waffles that her family always ate. She gave her mum a hug and began sorting out the presents for her parents.

It was late morning by the time they finished unwrapping gifts. Empty, syrup laden plates sat discarded next to them. It was a treat to be able to eat in the sitting room, which was something her mother was quite particular about any other day of the year.

Hermione thought this might have been one of the best Christmas’ all around. Her dad had received a new set of golf clubs as a joint gift between “his two favorite ladies.” She bought her mum new perfume that both her parents immediately declared as “smelling divine.” Harry had bought her a new set of eagle feather quills. They were lovely and came in a leather case. To her surprise, Ron had also gotten her a gift. It was a tin full of her favorite wizard sweets, mainly Treacle Fudge. A classic Weasley emerald jumper with an orange cat knitted into the front came from Mrs. Weasley, with a container of nut brittle. She had bought the boys a gift each — a new Potion-making kit complete with a new set of vials for Harry, and simply some chocolate for Ron, though she still wasn’t convinced he deserved that much.

“Hermione, there’s one more parcel for you. It came this morning.”

Her mother passed her a delicately wrapped brown parcel and an envelope that had been set among the branches of the tree. Taking mental inventory of all the gifts she received, the only person she hadn’t gotten anything from was Viktor. They hadn’t discussed exchanging gifts, though. Hermione set aside the card and carefully opened the parcel. Inside the wrapping was a black velvet jewelry box. A flutter filled her stomach.

“Someone is trying to make a last minute bid for ‘Best Gift,’ aren’t they?” Mr. Granger said chuckling to himself.

She didn’t respond. Her mother’s eyes bored into her, her eyebrows raised knowingly. Slowly, she opened the box, avoiding her mother’s gaze. Laying in the satin lined box was a thin gold bolo bracelet with a small heart for the clasp. Her jaw dropped a little as she lifted it from the box. The bracelet glinted in the sunlight streaming through the sitting room window.

Astonished, Hermione’s eyes met Mrs. Granger’s shrewd ones. “I-I wasn’t expecting a gift like this.” It was the truth.

Her mind was racing. Who would have sent this to her? Surely not Viktor. He knew they were just friends, and to be frank, he had bought her a bracelet once last year that was nowhere near as tasteful.

Her thoughts drifted hopefully to Ron even though he couldn’t possibly have afforded such a gift. Logic reminded her that he had a girlfriend and that he was too proud to ever ask to borrow money from Harry or the twins. Her heart wasn’t listening to her head. Excitement fluttered in her stomach in spite of herself.

She ripped open the envelope that came with the gift.

“I know this could never possibly equal one of my amazing sketches, but I hope the gift will suffice for today.

Happy Christmas.

Dean x”

The excitement drained out of her and embarrassment took its place. Of course Ron hadn’t and wouldn’t have bought her a gift like this, she knew that. It hadn’t even occurred to her that she and Dean would exchange gifts. Why did he insist on actively keeping up the charade when they didn’t have to? Besides, it wasn’t really a gift if she was going to return it once the contract was fulfilled.

Silently, she placed the bracelet back in the velvet box and snapped it shut. She finally looked at her parents, who seemed somewhat amused, but they didn’t dare bring up any of their suspicions.

Suppressing an eyeroll she said, “Who’s ready to watch It’s a Wonderful Life?”

—

Friday came much quicker than Hermione imagined it could have. That morning Hermione tried to casually inform her parents of the day’s plans as she cleared the table from breakfast.

“I’m headed into town today. I have a few things to pick up at Diagon Alley before break is over,” she said as she flicked her wand, guiding the dirty dishes to the sink where they began to wash themselves.

Her parents were still not quite used to her doing magic freely around the house. They looked equal parts mystified and concerned.

“Just as well. Your mother and I have plans this afternoon and will be out. Shall we expect you for dinner?” Mr. Granger had heroically managed to converse without breaking eye contact as a washcloth flew by him and began to wipe down the table.

“Actually, no. I’ll be meeting friends for dinner. I’ll be back before late.”

While they hadn’t questioned Hermione any further since Sunday, her father in particular having mostly moved on, her mother was constantly giving Hermione looks. Even now she raised her eyebrows and made a “hmm” sound. Hermione was grateful there was no further prying as she managed to make it to the station with a container of brownies left over from their Christmas bake-a-thon, and with the bolo bracelet glinting from her wrist.

—

Diagon Alley was surprisingly empty, but she should have expected this. Signs and flyers were plastered throughout with sayings and notices like “A wise wizard is a wary wizard” and “By decree of the Ministry of Magic, Diagon Alley curfew is henceforth set at 9:00 p.m. No wizard shall be seen out of doors, after which a fine of 10 galleons shall be assessed.” A few menacing wanted posters of those wizards recently escaped from Azkaban dotted the shop windows as well.

Everything was rather quiet. The groups who did wander the street spoke in quiet whispers, huddled as they walked. Hermione pulled her coat closer to her.

She stopped at Gringotts to exchange the Muggle money her parents had given her for the rest of the school year. When she went to the apothecary to stock up on some potions ingredients, she had a thought to buy Harry some dried nettles, knowing he was running low, but thought better of it. The Prince surely had a section in his book about ingredient stock management, or maybe even ingredient substitution.

After finishing her shopping at Scribbulus Writing Instruments, she looked around the street deciding where to go next. Down the street, she could see Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes’ colorful storefront. That she could tell, it was busier than the rest of Diagon Alley. She wondered if she should visit. It might be nice to see Fred and George again. But it might be strange for her to go without Ron and Harry. Thinking of Ron reminded her of Lavender and she resolutely turned the other way.

Instead, she decided to finish her afternoon in Flourish and Blotts. The atmosphere of the store was much warmer and welcoming than outside on the street. She loved coming when she could in the off season. The shop was calmer, with more space to browse the shelves and linger if a book caught your eye. Losing herself in the shelves, she looked around for a couple of hours until she found a couple of new releases she hadn’t yet seen in the school library.

After she finalized her purchases, she left Diagon Alley. She hailed a cab, giving the cabbie the address she had written down on a scrap of paper.

“Not too far off. Be about 10 minutes, love.”

She thanked him and sat back, watching the grey of London pass them by.

They eventually pulled to a stop in front of a red brick attached house. It had a beautiful yard, much more so than the Grangers’ simple neat yard. There were colorful pots of plants that when in bloom, she assumed were just as full of color. It was clearly a home full of life.

Hermione paid the driver and got out with her bags. Once the driver pulled away she looked around for any passers-by. Seeing no one, she pulled out her wand and shrunk her shopping bag of purchases to fit nicely in her tote. She tucked her wand away in a pocket on the inside of her coat and walked through the gate and up the walkway.

The white door, as bright and inviting as it was intended to be, loomed ominously before her. She stood there nervously, shuffling from side to side on Dean’s front porch. Her hands were shaking as she tried to smooth her hair, which she was sure had turned frizzy in the cold rain. Why did they have to do this? Every time she thought she was getting used to their arrangement, they upped the ante.

“You can do this, Hermione. Adults like you.”

And besides, that was the whole thing – even if Dean’s mother didn’t like her, they weren’t really dating. Slightly steadier, she rang the bell. She could hear a lot of commotion on the other side. To her relief, it was Dean who opened the door.

He was wearing a maroon turtleneck, a grin on his face. The grin quickly vanished when he caught her nervous expression. He stepped out onto the porch and shut the door behind him.

“What’s wrong? You look like you think you’re about to fail your N.E.W.T.s.” His brows were furrowed in concern as he looked at her.

“I’m just a little nervous. I’ve, erm, never done anything like this before.”

“You’ll be fine, my family is going to love you. Just be yourself.” He paused and then added, “Well, except the part where we aren’t really dating. Don’t be yourself in that.”

She laughed nervously and moved her hand to smooth her hair again.

“Stop that,” he said as he placed his fingers in her hair, lightly tousling it.

Startled, she moved to stop him. If it hadn’t frizzed up to twice it’s normal size yet, it had now.

“Stop flattening your hair. It looks nice when it’s curly and full. More you. I like it,” he said with an earnest smile.

Her stomach did a flip. He was complimenting her hair, not as Dean her pretend boyfriend, but as just Dean. Most people didn’t understand why she kept it so curly and “wild.” People often lamented that she didn’t slick it down with Sleakeazy’s every night, because it was “so pretty straightened.” Sheepishly, she tucked a curl behind her ear.

Catching sight of her wrist, he exclaimed, “You wore it!” He sounded genuinely pleased as he reached out to examine the bracelet dangling from her wrist.

“Actually yes, I wanted to speak with you about that,” she said as she pulled her arm out of his grasp, tugging her sleeve down. “You really didn’t have to get something this nice. We’ve only been fake dating for a few weeks.”

He shrugged shoving his hands in his pockets. “It suits you.” She had figured he would brush her off, which is why she had come prepared.

“Well, on that note, before we go inside, I got you something, too,” she said as she pulled out the wrapped package from her bag.

She was satisfied to see that he looked surprised; he hadn’t expected her to reciprocate the gesture. He took the package, carefully unwrapping it. His eyes lit up as he held the gift up in the porch light. It was a soft leather-bound sketchbook. It had a slightly weathered look to it and was tied with a leather strap. With it, she had bought a magical set of sketch pencils.

“The pencils are charmed. What you draw should move on the page, sort of like a Muggle flip book.” Her voice trailed off. The confidence she had in the gift when she had purchased it was dissipating. Maybe it was a weird gift from a fake-girlfriend. Quickly, she added, “I figured you had used so much of your sketch paper giving me sketches each day, it was only fair.”

He didn’t say anything, instead pulling her into his arms, wrapping her in a tight hug.

“It’s great, Hermione.”

Relieved, she laughed a little into his chest and hugged him back. They stayed that way for a moment, until a car rolled by, reminding them they were still outside on the porch. They pulled away.

“Come on, let’s get inside before they come looking for us.”

The entryway to Dean’s house was an explosion of color and activity. Photos of a younger Dean and all of his sisters lined the wall, interspersed with large paintings with vivid depictions of African people. Some paintings depicted children playing, others were of dozens of people, dancing in celebration. They were beautiful.

“Are those—“ she began to ask, breathlessly.

“Mine? No, I’m not that experimental with paint as a medium. Those are my mum’s.”

As he said this, she noticed the initials “DW” in the lower right corners of the canvases. She knew his mother had a different last name than him, but hadn’t known she was an artist, too. In fact, Hermione had never considered what had inspired him to pursue art when there was no real outlet for that kind of creativity at Hogwarts.

He led her through the hall slowly, giving her time to look from painting to photo. He seemed to be in no rush to join everyone else, their muffled voices coming from behind the closed doors ahead. It felt almost nostalgic, passing by the photos. Dean and his sisters smiled, frozen in time with various missing teeth, unlike wizarding photos that would have moved within their frame. There was a particular photo of a woman with a large, tangerine colored head wrap and a stout light-skinned man in a Royal Navy uniform.

“That’s my step-dad,” Dean explained without prompting. “I don’t see him much. He’s stationed overseas, and doesn’t come home much. Last time he came home, I was at Hogwarts.”

She tore her eyes from the photos to look at his face. There was a slight frown in his face but nothing to betray any great upset.

Before she could give any sort of response, a door to the right swung open. The smell of garlic and sizzling meats wafted into the hallway. A woman followed by a younger girl emerged from the doorway. The woman was tall and darker complected than Dean, but had his same dimples. Her hair was tightly coiled and long, growing out in all directions. She wore a yellow and orange kaftan that appeared to make her glow. Dean’s mother looked much different than Hermione’s, who preferred a muted palette of trousers and jumpers.

“Hermione, this is my mum, Dana Williams. Mum, this is my girlfriend Hermione.”

Despite knowing it was coming, Hermione’s cheeks colored at being called his “girlfriend.” She had never heard him or any boy introduce her as such.

“Hello, Ms. Williams. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said, shaking her hand.

“And this is my youngest sister, Emilia.”

Emilia’s face lit up with a smile full of wires. She had rainbow colored bands on her braces, giving the smile even more character. Hermione smiled back.

“It’s nice to meet you Emilia,” she said shaking her small hand. “You know, I used to have braces, too. But I always picked boring plain bands. Your rainbow pattern is much cooler!”

Emilia giggled and said a quiet thank you.

“I brought brownies,” Hermione said, suddenly remembering, shuffling the container out from her bag. As she handed them to Ms. Williams, she noted and felt proud that the heating charm had held.

“What a dear! It’s a pleasure to meet you, Hermione. We’ve heard so much about you.” At this, she gave her son a knowing glance. “I’ll set these in the kitchen. Dinner should be ready in about 15 minutes.”

There was no time to celebrate her passing her first test. Dean took her hand and led her around the house, to introduce her to the rest of his sisters – Cecily, 10, Sofia and Julia, 12, and Alice, 14.

They approached the first open doorway on the staircase landing, to find two girls deeply engrossed in their respective books, reclined in a couple of blue and purple bean bag chairs. Sofia and Julia were twins who were very unlike Fred and George. In fact, they reminded Hermione of herself at their age. Their hair was tight and coily, like their mother’s, but not nearly as long, with differing headbands to keep their hair out of their face. When Dean introduced her, they merely nodded to them in greeting before turning their wire rimmed glasses back to their books.

The second room was much different. It was bright pink, with various pictures of horses hung throughout. They found Alice helping Cecily paint her toenails. Cecily excitedly introduced herself, exclaiming that she was happy that her brother had found a new friend, but Alice merely looked at her. Hermione thought it was a good sign, when Alice’s eyes glanced down at her bracelet, looking satisfied.

Soon after introductions were made, they were called to dinner. The dining room, was just as vibrant as the rest of the house. The walls were lemon yellow, and more artwork hung on them. She thought that Luna would very much enjoy visiting this house.

In the center of the table was a big blue dish of bowtie pasta with a white-wine sauce, capers, and Italian sausage. There was a basket of buttery warm rolls and a large bowl of salad. Everything tasted just as good as it looked. Even the Italian dressing for the salad tasted homemade.

They discussed their respective Christmases. They told her about the call they had from Dean’s step-dad, Jarold, on Christmas. It was a happy piece of conversation, Hermione was surprised to find. She couldn’t imagine being forced apart from her dad, at such a young age, for such an extended period of time.

The conversation eventually turned from Christmas to Hogwarts. There were a lot of questions about daily life there, which she figured was natural. She must have been only the second or third Hogwarts student they had met, if they had never met Seamus. Discussing school made her shift in her seat uncomfortably. They were skirting so close to the root of their lie.  No details regarding how they started dating came up, thankfully.

Instead, the questions took a turn, inquiring about wizarding culture at school specifically.  

“How do your parents handle sending you off to such a unique school year after year?” Dean gave his mother a reproachful look, as if he understood some secret meaning to this question that Hermione did not. “They are non-magical like us?”

“Erm, non-magical, yes,” she glanced around the table, unsure if they knew of the word ‘Muggle.’ “I imagine it was hard for them at first, I am an only child. But for the most part my parents are just happy that I’m happy and have managed to make friends, I suppose.”

She brought her glass to her lips, hiding the awkwardness the last point made her feel. Not many people knew, although they could have probably guessed, that Ron and Harry were the first proper friends she ever had. Her childhood had been quite lonely, with only her adult parents and books for friends.

“I’m proud to have a wizard for a son, but I do think it’s quite presumptuous that these people show up on our doorsteps and expect us to hand over our kids to a school we have never heard about!” She lowered her voice, as if she were now divulging a secret, “Mind you, I was still reeling from the revelation that he was a wizard.”

Looking around, she saw the younger of the siblings were picking at their food, uninterested in the conversation, but judging by Dean and Alice’s reaction, this was not a new conversation for their family. She wished she had more to offer. While she was sure her parents had had their concerns and doubts when Professor McGonagall had shown up at their doorstep, she felt they were mainly relieved.

“Professor McGonagall was who came to my house.” She looked at Dean who nodded, confirming the same was true for him. “When I was a kid, a lot of very strange, unexplainable things kept happening to me. I think my parents were just happy to finally have an explanation.”

Ms. Williams conceded, “That is true. While I was surprised to find out he was a wizard, it also made sense. He always had such a strong creative energy as a kid.” She smiled fondly at Dean, who seemed to be groaning internally. “But they left so much unanswered. What about the children born into wizarding families? I’ve done my best to prepare him for the prejudices of this world, but what do they look like in a culture I’ve never seen?”

Hermione didn’t respond immediately, worried about saying the wrong thing. Dean broke in instead.

“Mum, I’ve told you it’s different, you don’t have to worry. In wizarding culture, race doesn’t come up like that.”

His mother shook her head, waving her hand dismissively at Dean. “I just can’t see how that’s possible. And I can’t be the only one who questions it.”

“You’re not wrong, Ms. Williams,” Hermione said. Dean’s eyes snapped to her, surprised. “I don’t think anyone could argue the wizarding world is a utopia. Adversity exists everywhere for certain communities...it just might look different in different places.”

Becoming fixated with the remaining leaves of salad on her plate, Hermione averted her eyes. She didn’t dare say more. Harry had told her last year that Dean hadn’t told his family about Voldemort’s return. She imagined there was a lot he omitted for their mental well-being. She knew what that was like and didn’t want to bring discord where there needn’t be any.

Ms. William’s sigh drew Hermione’s attention. She was eyeing her appreciatively. “I suppose you’re right. You seem to have a good head on your shoulders.”

Suddenly, Sofia spoke. “Is it true that you’re the smartest witch of your age?”

“Yeah! Can you show us some cool magic, unlike Brother?” Julia added quickly.

Dean cried in protest and Hermione laughed, happy to have the heaviness of the previous conversation lifted.

Dinner continued on much more lighthearted subjects and stayed far away from the society of the wizarding world. They retired to the sitting room (with walls of deep plum) for dessert. The girls quizzed Hermione on the different types of spells and magic over brownies and ice-cream.

“Could you turn me into a pig?” Emilia asked, jumping up and down in circles with Cecily, face sticky with chocolate.

Hermione laughed. “Technically, yes.”

Julia and Sofia, who were rolling their eyes at their little sisters’ antics, snapped their attention to her, surprised by her affirmative response. “Really?” they said in unison.

“It would be illegal, since you all are non-magical. But as far as ability goes, sure.”

The younger two were cackling. “If we write to you over the summer when Brother is being mean, can we get you to turn him into a pig?” Cecily asked.

They were all now laughing. “I dunno,” Hermione said through laughter, looking at Dean who sat in a corner with Alice, “Don’t you think he’s too handsome to be turned into a pig?”

“Blech! No!” Sofia exclaimed.

“You can turn him into a pig, it’s fine.” Julia said very resolutely.

The girls began excitedly discussing the possibilities. “If not a pig, what about a cat like the brother from that Halloween Disney movie?” Hermione found herself watching Dean and Alice out of the corner of her eye. They glanced at her a few times. She hoped that Alice’s smile meant that she had gotten the final seal of approval.

The evening drew to an end quicker than Hermione had expected. Surprisingly, she found that she had honestly enjoyed herself. Sofia and Julia were excited to discuss literature with her. She had to admit that they were better readers than even she was at their age. Alice didn’t speak to her much for the rest of the evening after she and Dean had rejoined the group, but she did smile warmly when they made eye contact. The two youngest insisted she come back and play dolls with them. It was already 9 p.m. when Hermione lamented that she should probably call a cab.

“Oh nonsense, at this hour?” Ms. Williams said as she entered the sitting room. “Dean can drive you to the station.”

Hermione looked at Dean in surprise. Learning to drive took a lot of practice and dedication. Not to mention, the whole thing was incredibly nerve-wracking. Hermione had never found time to take the test, much less practice, since she spent so much of her summers away at the Weasleys’. She was impressed.

“I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Don’t be silly. I won’t let my son get away with not making sure his date gets home safely.” Her smirk told Hermione she was just saying it to rile Dean up.

With that, Hermione found herself being let into the passenger side of a new Toyota Camry by Dean, with a Tupperware container of pasta to-go for good measure. Dean got in and rolled down the window, waving to his mother. Hermione shouted one last “Thank you!” across him as they pulled out and took off down the street.

At first they drove in mostly silence. A warm glow had descended over Hermione, and she didn’t think it was the after effects of dessert. That she could tell, Dean’s family had really truly liked her. And she had liked them. With a pang, she realized that she likely wouldn’t see them again after they fulfilled the contract.

“They really liked you,” Dean said, breaking the relaxed silence. He looked pleased. “Congrats, Granger.”

“Really? You think so?” She said in a rush, excited to have her feelings confirmed. Heaving a heavy sigh of relief, she felt the remaining stress leave her shoulders.

“Definitely. I’ve never properly brought a girlfriend over before. Alice would have been the hardest to crack. Wearing the bracelet we picked out for you really sealed the deal.”

“Your sister helped pick it out?”

“Yeah,” he said. “She kind of insisted. She was worried I’d blow it.”

They both laughed.

“Well she can rest assured, the bracelet is lovely,” she said, holding her wrist up so that the passing street lights illuminated it in shifts. “I’ll be sorry to give it back.”

Dean smiled at her. Seeing him smile was contagious, Hermione always found herself grinning back. The dimples in his cheeks and the light in his eyes ensured it was catching.

His expression shifted as a thought seemed to come to him, his smile faltering as he turned his attention back to the road.

“Sorry about my mum,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

He took a moment before speaking. His right hand was slung over the steering wheel, and the other rested on the gear shift. But for his clenched jaw, he looked relaxed, like driving was a force of habit. He seemed so mature in that moment, and here she was, the kid who couldn’t drive.

“About all the race and culture stuff,” he finally said. “My grandparents are American so they raised her to always think of things in those terms.”

Was he really embarrassed? He was defensive, posturing maybe, but she didn’t see any sincerity in it. It was true that these things weren’t really discussed in such stark terms at Hogwarts, or in the wizarding world at all for that matter. But she certainly didn’t disagree with his mother.

“The wizarding world isn’t free of those prejudices any more than the Muggle world. I think we just don’t notice the small instances that occur because we’re so focused on everything we face as Muggle-borns.”

Dean didn’t respond, lost in thought. Hermione turned her attention to the passing buildings. It was misty again. She shivered, wishing she had brought her gloves. Without a word, Dean turned up the heat.

The car came to a stop at a light. He reached over and gave her hand a quick squeeze. The red glow from the light reflected on their faces, which thankfully hid the blush that once again threatened to overtake hers. He gave her a small smile, shyer this time.

“Thanks for coming. Really. I know you weren’t looking forward to it. My family is just really close.” He brought his hand off the steering wheel and rubbed the back of his head. “It would have been too much to keep from them on top of everything else.”

The light turned green and he trailed off. She nodded in understanding because she did understand.

“Well, jokes on you,” she said, attempting to lighten the conversation. “They gave me express permission to turn you into a pig should you get out of line.”

He busted out in laughter and she joined him.

To Hermione’s surprise, once they reached the station, Dean got out with her.

“Give me a ring when you get home safely.” Before she could interrupt he added, “I don’t care how late it is. It’s the duty of a good boyfriend to make sure his lady gets home safe and sound.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose at being called his lady. This only made him laugh. He pulled her into another hug, rubbing her back in an attempt to warm her up. Even in the cold night air, his scent still enveloped her – warm like bergamot.

Once seated on the train, she leaned her head back on the seat, exhausted from the mental exertion. She thought of pulling out one of her new books, but they were still shrunken and may look too odd to the few Muggle passengers on the train. Her hands were still cold from the crisp night air. She shoved them into her coat pockets, pausing when she felt a folded piece of paper in one of them.

The train began moving as she pulled it out. It was one of Dean’s notes. She laughed incredulously to herself, drawing a few stares from the few late-night riders. The memory of their hug came back to her. He had snuck it into her pocket! A huge grin spread across her face as she unfolded it. It was an adorable sketch of Crookshanks, curled up in front of what she presumed was the common room fire. In the corner, there was a note, “Thanks for everything, Dean x.”

To Be Continued…