#i have to say though i am super curious to know what your obscure interests must be that there

[anon-confesses]

I sometimes feel really alone. My interests are on the more obscure side (to the point that I don't think I've seen anyone online talk about a some of them in years...), and although a couple of my friends have adjacent interests, it's just not the same. It's akin to us liking movies in the same genre but not the same movies besides a couple, I'd say, except I've watched most of the movies they've watched but they haven't done the same with what I have, and that's why. They tend to focus on a couple at a time while I go for everything at once. And because of that, it's just...I feel like the most annoying person ever when I bring things from other "movies" up because I know they're not interested in them. Anything they share is from a movie that I've also watched and had interest in, but a lot of what I think about isn't something they have, so I know they won't feel any connection to it, hence feeling annoying. I know I probably should just talk about it and hope that they'll end up being interested, but at the same time, I also don't want to. Part of it is that the things they aren't interested in feel like a bit of a safe haven to me. It's not that they annoy me, nothing like that. I love them; they're my friends. But they tend to have a lot more to say than me, and even though I often know things about the content that they don't, almost every time I've told them of something I found interested turned out to be a mistake. They sometimes gain misconceptions, and when I say something that contradicts them, a lot of em take it harder than they should since they write fanfics and it means details were wrong. I feel awful every time. So even mutual interests leave me a bit unable to properly talk about them, although I guess it's better than nothing.

I miss when I was at least interested in things that had fanfiction written about them. At least that was some comfort that others cared just as me.

I do have this pal who is a genuine lifesaver though. They don't even have an interest in anything adjacent, but they've asked me questions and encouraged me to talk about them. I don't think anyone else ever has. (It just sucks that I'm hesitant to talk unless they prompt me with a question about what I've been thinking of. I don't want to overwhelm them and make them stop. We also don't talk as much as I do with some others, so...)

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[toujokaname]

Game master / Episode 1

Author: Akira

Characters: Aira, Hiiro, Tatsumi, Mayoi

"It is shameful to arbitrarily assume that a culture different from our own must be inferior."

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[ Read on my site for a better viewing experience using Ois~su ♪ ]

Season: Winter

Location: Inside Studio Bus

Several days after the start of Matrix.

Inside a Studio Bus moving on a highway near the prefectural border, commonly used by ES.

Aira: —By the way, what does Hiro-kun's hometown feel like?

I haven't heard much about it, so I'm curious ♪

Hiiro: It's hard to answer a vague question like what it "feels" like...

Even you'd be stumped if someone asked you how the place you live in feels like, right, Aira?

Aira: That's true, but... Hmm, we might also do something like a tourist guide on the program.

Let's practice a bit, Hiro-kun! Come on, hold the mic and report about your hometown ♪

Hiiro: Umu? Umu, I've seen those kinds of programs!

They showcase tourist spots and local products, right?

Aira: Exactly, and do food reviews ♪

Hiiro: It's tough without being there in person, but... Umu, I'll work hard, treating it as part of my idol training.

Ahem, ahem. We're here at the place everyone knows, it's the Amagi Village! ♪

Aira: Not everyone knows it, though...?

Tatsumi: Fufu. But in fact, it seems to be a topic of considerable discussion among the public.

Hiiro: Umu. Though I wasn't aware of it.

The fact that Nii-san and I debuted at the same time as "rookies" seems to have drawn interest to our hometown as well.

Tatsumi: It appears so. We didn't question it any further, but it seems that the public's curiosity has been piqued.

"So the Amagi Brothers come from a place we don't know about, but what kind of place is it?"

Well, conversations often revolve around this, mainly on the internet.

Mayoi: I've also taken a glance at social media. Various discussion groups are emerging, even involving geographers, and it seems to be getting lively.

Hiiro: I'd rather not have it getting lively, honestly?

Is it really that interesting? To me, it's just an ordinary place where I was born and raised.

Aira: Hiro-kun's ordinary isn't ordinary. Aah, I haven't said that in a while.

Since I only know what Hiro-kun's mentioned, I'm super curious too, you know?

If anything, because the information's given out in small doses, it just fuels our imagination more?

Hiiro: Hehe. Nii-san used to say the same thing about the city.

Ahh, how nostalgic.

Aira: In my mind, it's a land of buff barbarians wearing grass skirts and hunting with spears to survive.

Hiiro: We're not primitive people...?

Tatsumi: Indeed. It is shameful to arbitrarily assume that a culture different from our own must be inferior.

It's a despicable discriminatory attitude, a foolish ideology from a time when colonialism was the norm.

Mayoi: However, the overall tone online is somewhat like that... As in, "the last remaining backward village in modern times, the Amagi Village."

Due to its extreme geographical and digital isolation, the true situation remains obscured, rendering the "right" answer unattainable—

Hence, everyone seems to be boldly indulging in their own fantasies.

It hasn't been much like that for "us" nowadays, but apparently there was a time when we were subjected to such prejudices, so I can't simply dismiss it as someone else's concern.

Tatsumi: Yes... Coming from a family of Kakure Kirishitan myself, I harbor my own complex feelings about it.

Aira: Huh, am I the only one in ALKALOID who didn't grow up in a backward village...?

Hiiro: Seriously, it's not a backward village.

It's just an ordinary village. Ordinary like any other.

However, I've already realized that my "ordinary" is different from Aira's and the rest...

I'm learning "common sense" from everyone, and while I'm getting used to it over time, I'm still getting surprised by many aspects of city culture.

These days, it's pet shops.

I was shocked by how everyone could accept such a horrifying place as a matter of course, and even find enjoyment in it.

Aira: Eh, Hiro-kun, do you not like animals or something?

Pet shops are fun, right? Like a paradise filled with cute little critters.

Hiiro: Do you really think they're cute? Those genetically unnatural creatures...?

I can only feel pity for those beings, altered in unnatural ways just for human convenience.

It felt very grotesque to me.

Mayoi: Yes, it is true that pet animals are essentially species that have evolved to look cute by repeated crossbreeding...

To people who are only familiar with wildlife, they might look a bit strange.

Though there are naturally adorable creatures like penguins and pandas, they're in the minority, and it's only natural for them to exist as such.

Hiiro: Umu. From that perspective, insects seem cuter to me than pets from pet shops.

Or rather, they're natural, familiar.

I used to run around the fields and mountains with Nii-san, looking for rare insects. Those were happy times, so seeing insects now makes me even happier.

Aira: I hate bugs... I can't shake the feeling they exist just to freak humans out, like some kinda mistake of nature.

Mayoi: Fufu. There's a theory that insects are aliens from outer space.

Their design appears strange to humans, provoking our physiological aversion.

Hiiro: Considering the evolutionary gap between humans and insects, it's not surprising that they don't feel like the same kind of beings.

Aira's disgust is correct. So, I'm probably the strange one.

Aira: Ugh... I'm getting more and more anxious.

Is it really okay? Hiro-kun's hometown, isn't it filled with unpleasant things like in horror movies?

Hiiro: As I keep saying, it's fine?

Probably—Considering the consensus among folks back home, they likely won't allow cameras into those "deep parts."

But, hmm... Since Nii-san is considered the current head of the family, would it be okay with his permission? I wonder?

Aira: ...?

[ ☆ ]

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[five-rivers]

Goals

Hey!  @puns-are-great-and-so-is-danny!  Here is your gift fic!  It got a little out of hand, and it doesn’t have a super solid ending, but I hope you like it.  :)  

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Dear Albus,

I hope this letter finds you well.  I know these are trying and troubling times, both here and in Britain, and part of me hesitates to ask this of you for exactly that reason. But, as ever, circumstances leave us with few viable options.

News of what happened to Amity Park this Spring has spread far and wide at this point, so I won’t waste your time repeating what you already know.  What is not common knowledge, however, is that after the dust settled, the Aurors assigned to the case encountered several irregularities, not the least of which was a disturbingly high number of completely untrained young witches and wizards.  

Once news of them gets out, I have no doubt the official line will be that they simply fell through the cracks, that, unfortunately, our spells for finding young magically-gifted persons are imperfect, that the nature of Amity Park obscured them from view.  This, I fear, is a lie.  

I have no proof, but I believe they were deliberately removed from MACUSA files on account of their heritage.  Albus, they are descended from Scourers.  

Perhaps that should be obvious, perhaps you had already guessed, considering the so-called reasoning behind the attack on Amity Park, the ideals those murderers professed, but I want to make myself and my own reasoning clear.  Though it shames me deeply to say it, those children will not be safe at Ilvermorny, nor, I believe, will they be at any other school on this continent.  For all the time that has passed, the Barebones Incident and its repercussions are too fresh in the minds of the people.  

There are seven of them.  Well, seven that are of concern to me.  The others have found or are seeking alternate arrangements.  They have been staying at the school, for the time being.  My colleagues and I have been attempting to give them a good grounding in magical basics. They would not come to you without foundations.

Albus, I am begging you, accept these students into Hogwarts.  I know this is a poor time.  I have heard rumors, horrible, horrible rumors, about what is happening in Britain, about what happened at Hogwarts last year, but I fear for these children’s future, for their spirits, should they be forced into a place where they will be hated simply because of who their ancestors were.  

I know that even in Hogwarts they would be unable to escape that, but it would be less.  Britain does not have the same history with Scourers that we do.  More, for some of them, they would not be forced to walk in the same halls as the kin of their parents’ murderers.

I will understand if you refuse, but I am relying on your compassion.  

Eagerly awaiting your reply,

Agilbert Fontaine

Headmaster of the Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

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Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore looked down at the letter from his old friend and colleague and sighed, his heart heavy. Agilbert was not a member of the Order of the Phoenix.  Albus knew more about the situation in Amity Park than Agilbert assumed and likely was aware of things that Agilbert himself was not.  

For example, while the bulk of the group that had devastated and decimated Amity Park were indeed Magical Separatists and those looking for generations-late revenge on Scourers, their core leadership included American Death Eaters.  

He was also aware of the children Agilbert had mentioned.  Most of the truly astonishing number of magically inclined children and adults in Amity Park had chosen to find private tutors, go through correspondence or summer courses, or attend one of several small schools in North America that had quickly shuffled to make accommodations for them, on the condition that they hide their origins.  

The seven mentioned…  Well.  They didn’t really have those options.  Either their names were too infamous, or they had no one to stay with while they puzzled through correspondence courses.  Or both.

And the names.  Even here, some of them were well known.

Albus could understand why Agilbert had asked for his help.

But was it responsible to drag these children here while Voldemort was lurking in the shadows, building up his power base once again? To offer them safety he could not give?

For those students already attending Hogwarts, it was one thing, they were already involved, simply by virtue of where they were born and where they lived.  But those seven, in America, they would be—

Well.  Not safe, perhaps, not with their parents killed and their home ravaged by hostile magic. But… farther away from the direct line of fire.  

But would they be?  Beyond simply spreading fear and hate, was there another reason for the attack on Amity Park?

Albus heaved another sigh.  

At times he enjoyed making decisions like this.  Enjoyed power, knowledge, experience, those things people tended to mistake for wisdom, even though he had made more mistakes than anyone else he knew, and all the privileges and responsibilities that came with it, all the control over other peoples’ lives.  This was a failing, a flaw, he knew, and time and time again it had come back to bite him.  Karmic vengeance for being an old man who kept too many secrets.  

But times like these…  In times like these, he despised the choices he was forced to make.  

“What troubles you, Albus?  I can hear you sighing from the other room.”

Albus did not flinch or startle at the ghost’s approach and gently chiding tone.  He looked up and smiled thinly at his former and present colleague.  It seemed Cuthbert was having a good day.  It was a pity so few students saw him at his best, and regarded his lessons as utterly boring, but Albus could never find the heart to replace him.  Nor, sadly, the budget.  Damn the board of directors.

In answer, Albus turned the letter to face him.  Cuthbert Binns was not a member of the Order, either, but he, like every other member of the Hogwarts staff, had been informed of what had transpired at the end of the Tri-Wizard Tournament.  He would understand Albus’s dilemma.  

“Amity Park?” murmured Cuthbert, tapping the second paragraph.  “That sounds… familiar.  That—” Cuthbert broke off.  

If Albus had not spent significant portions of his life surrounded by ghosts, he would not have caught the subtle change in Cuthbert’s silvery complexion.  

“Perhaps you heard about the tragedy that happened there recently.”  Which would be a first, even alive, Cuthbert had never really cared about anything that happened more recently than a hundred years ago, but not impossible.

“Tragedy?  No.” Cuthbert shook his head.  “Amity Park it’s—It is…”  He trailed off, looking down at the letter, disturbed.  “Albus, I have known you for many years.  You have been here for many years, with all us ghosts, and…  You know there are things the dead do not speak of to the living.”

Albus did know.  “Are you saying Amity Park is related to one of those things?”  Could this be another attempt on Voldemort’s part to defeat death? His suspicion regarding horcruxes was bad enough, what that could mean for Harry…  But if that man had yet another way to stave off death…

Cuthbert dithered, and Albus wished fiercely that he could trust him enough to tell him about the Order, about Voldemort’s plans, to impress upon him how important this was, how vital that Albus know.  

But he couldn’t.  It would just take one bad day, and one misplaced question from a student related to someone unfortunate, and everything would come tumbling down.  

No.  Albus could not push him.  

“I—I must go,” said Cuthbert, halfway through the wall. “I have to look into something. I’ll be back before you know it.”

He was not.

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Albus had still not made a decision on Agilbert’s letter the next night.  He had consulted Minerva, Severus, and the other teachers who were also in the Order on the matter, and had distracted himself with other, arguably more important, matters.  

(The eyes on Number Four Privet Drive, the movements in and out of the Malfoy residence, the horribly dangerous games Severus was playing, the master schedule for the next school year, the still-empty Defense Against the Dark Arts post, extra protections on Hogwarts’ boundaries, how to keep the Order safe…)

But he shouldn’t put something like this off for much longer.

It would be much easier to deny Agilbert’s request.  As tragic as the seven students’ circumstances were, they weren’t his responsibility, and he had so many.  

Would you feel the same if the attackers had been Gellert’s people?

They’re children.  Like your students.  Like Adri—

Albus closed his eyes and forced the tiny and vicious voice away, out of his mind.

“Sir Nicholas wants to speak to you,” said one of the portraits.  

Surprised, Albus turned his head to face the image of his predecessor.  “Of course. Could you tell him he can come in?”

A few minutes later, the Gryffindor ghost floated through the wall.  “Hello, Albus,” he said, the outlines of his figure crisper than they usually were, and continued before Albus could greet him, “I am sorry to interrupt you like this, but is it true?  Seven students from Amity Park?”

“Cuthbert told you?”

“He told all of us,” said Sir Nicholas, shrugging in a way that made his head roll unsettlingly.  “You should accept them.”

Albus raised his eyebrows.  

“There is a certain element of risk involved,” the ghost’s voice was careful, “but if they come to Hogwarts, there is a possibility that you may gain a powerful ally, and that…”  Here, Sir Nicholas hesitated.  “Certain ancient wrongs might be righted.”

“I suppose it is that second the ghosts are interested in?” asked Albus, both curious and, despite himself, amused.  

Sir Nicholas gave him a gentle smile.  “Do not imagine that we are careless of your struggles, Albus, but many of us were long dead before you were born.  We care, but… sometimes the picture in front of our eyes is not the same as the one before yours.”

That was reasonable.  

However.

“Can you give me any more detail?” asked Albus, hopefully.

“I’m afraid not,” said the ghost, drifting backwards.

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The next letter from Agilbert was much thicker and contained the records of seven new Hogwarts students.  

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The wand turning in his fingers was made of pear wood.  Not that Danny could tell, just by looking, but the wandmaker, who had accompanied her wares to Ilvermorny, had been very talkative, even when Danny had… not.  

Pear wood, cut from a tree that had grown up through a chain-link fence on the wandmaker’s property.  She had meant to cut it out, she said, but by the time she had gotten around to doing so, there had been bowtruckles in it, and she wasn’t about to cut down a good wand wood tree.

Danny still wasn’t entirely sure what bowtruckles were to be honest.  

The wood of the wand was normal.  The core, apparently, was not.  It was hair from a magical creature, which most wand cores were, but the wandmaker had cheerfully admitted to having no idea what the hair was from. It had shown up in her workshop one day, in a little box, black and white, in neat little bundles.  

Danny had suspicions about where it had come from.  

Suspicions that had been exacerbated by the fact that both Sam and Tucker had been ‘chosen’ by wands with the same core.  

Anyway, Danny had liked the wandmaker, even if he thought she was a bit weird, for using components that just showed up out of nowhere in her work.  

(She reminded him a bit of Mom.)

Danny wasn’t sure why he was thinking of her.  It had been months since then.  But he was feeling lonely, even though his friends were just in the next room, and Jazz was here, and maybe she was the closest he would let his mind get to…

To…

“If you keep doing that,” said Jazz, “you’re going to put your eye out.”  

Danny glanced over at her.  There was an east-facing window behind her, and the sun was shining through her shoulder, lighting her up like stained glass.  

“If they catch you in color, they’re going to have questions.”

Jazz rolled her golden eyes, but the color drained out of her, leaving her ‘properly’ silver and gray.  “If they actually listened, instead of dismissing everything weird in Amity as untrained magic acting up, then they wouldn’t need to have questions.”

“Yeah, but they didn’t, and I don’t think they’re going to. So, considering what we have to do…”

“We need all our advantages.  You don’t have to tell me again,” said Jazz.  She pulled a face.  “Well, you did, actually, I guess.  I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” muttered Danny.  “You only died a couple months ago.  It takes time to recalibrate.”

“Mm,” said Jazz, sticking her head through the windowpanes and looking down.  She pulled back.  “Your escort’s coming up.”

“Oh?  Yeah?”

“Or at least someone.  It’s hard to tell who, what with the hats and all…”

It was time to go, then.  Danny gathered his things and joined the others in the common area.

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Hours later, as the sun was setting, nine Americans stepped out of a fireplace in the Ministry of Magic.  Seven were students.  One was a very haggard chaperon.  The last was a ghost whom aurors and representatives from the Department of Spectral Affairs hadn’t quite been able to dissuade from haunting her brother.  

Such was life.  Such was death.  

“Alright, kids,” said the chaperon, chivying them towards a central area.  “We just have to go through customs, and then we can find a place to relax until the representatives from Hogwarts get here.”

“I thought we already went through customs,” protested Dash.

“Yeah,” said Paulina.  “The American side.  To make sure we weren’t smuggling anything out.  Now we have to go through the British side, to make sure we aren’t smuggling anything in.”

“Smuggling isn’t really the main issue,” said the chaperon, “but, yes.  MACUSA knows you aren’t in the states anymore, and we have to make sure the Ministry over here knows you are, so you can comply with their laws and such.  Oh, and so you can get the Trace, but that isn’t important.”

“The Trace?” asked Sam, doubling her word count for the day. Ever since the attack, she had been rather taciturn.  

“It’s how they keep track of underage magic over here,” explained the chaperon.  “MACUSA phased it out a few years ago.  It isn’t very reliable, and besides, recent studies show that magical persons of any age can use magic accidentally, and there’s no good way to tell if there is a magical adult nearby, so…”  She gave herself a little shake.  “But it’s the law here, and it doesn’t matter.  You’ll be at Hogwarts the whole time, anyway.”

“You mean they’ll be tracking us?” asked Danny, trying to keep the alarm from his voice.  That could be… problematic.  Considering what he was really here for, and all.  

“Not you in particular,” said the chaperon, snagging Tucker by the back of his shirt before he could make a detour to investigate a guarded cart of ominously sparking electronics.  She pulled him back.  “It’s my understanding that every child with the trace on them shows up as a dot on a map, and the dot changes color if magic is performed near them.  Some of the more sophisticated versions can determine what kind of magic, but, well… it isn’t like they ever know which dot belongs to which person, so unless you’re living with all no-maj family members—They call them muggles, here, I think—in a particular house, it is very difficult for them to determine who did what.  I’d tell you more, but this isn’t my area of expertise.  Perhaps the customs agents will know more?  You should ask when we go through…”

Danny began to tune her out.  He caught Sam’s eye, then Tucker’s, and they all nodded at each other a little bit.  Not that they had a plan or anything, but sometimes it helped to know that other people also found a situation to be sucky.  

Where would the Minister of Magic be in all this mess, anyway? Danny let his eyes rove over the hall. There was no guarantee that he was even here today, and Danny wasn’t to the point where he wanted to reveal himself. He had been given lots of instructions, but one of them had been to keep himself safe.  Clockwork had even said it was a priority.  

Best to stick to letters, for now.  Even if none of them had been answered, yet.

They reached the long, winding line that was customs, had their luggage gone through yet again.  Tucker lost another PDA, and Danny had to wonder how many more he had hidden.  The American side of customs had done a pretty good job of finding them.  Sam got taken aside for questioning, because some of her goth paraphernalia had a passing resemblance to ‘Dark’ objects.  Star had to explain her medications.  Valerie set off some sort of magical metal detector, and the customs agents started arguing about what had caused it.  No one had found out about her suit yet.

Meanwhile, Danny was sent to another table, to fill out forms for Jazz.  Again. Because, for reasons Danny didn’t fully understand, even with everything Clockwork and the other Ancients told him, wizards thought they could control and regulate what ghosts did and where they went.  

Danny did not particularly care for wizards, as a group. The paperwork—The stupid, pointless paperwork, because Jazz was going to do what she wanted and no one would stop her, he’d make sure of it—made him angry.  A lot of things made him angry, lately, when they didn’t just make him depressed or sullen.  

“Breathe, Danny,” said Jazz, leaning down, next to his ear. “The language in this is stupid, but I don’t mind being called names.  We both know they’re wrong, and what they think isn’t important anyway, yeah?”

“Yeah,” said Danny, forcing his muscles to relax.  He finished the paperwork.  

They passed through the last customs barrier together, and soon found themselves in a large atrium with a large, extremely gaudy, gold fountain in the center.  

Now, Danny had to admit, he had only the briefest of encounters with house elves and goblins, and none at all with centaurs, but he couldn’t imagine that the look of adoration on their faces was at all accurate. At least not for the species as a whole.

He tried to imagine the statue with a ghost in it, with a half-ghost in it, and he just—

Yeah.  No.

Wizards.  

Or, at least, these wizards.  Whatever.  

They found a bench off to one side, to wait for the Hogwarts representatives.  Danny had to wonder how they’d find them.  Would they hold signs?  Seemed probable.  Everything in the ‘wizarding world’ seemed to be stuck fifty years back in time, if not more.

Or, maybe, the chaperon knew who they were meeting and would wave at them.  Like she was doing now.  

Okay, so, Danny had to check himself to make sure he wasn’t coming up with random prejudices.  Ancients.  If his first encounter with the supernatural had been those people in cloaks showing up out of thin air and starting to kill people, he’d probably never be able to pull himself out of that mindset.  

Not all wizards were terrible.  Like the wandmaker.  She was okay.

He took the time to assess the two witches who had come to pick them up.  They were opposites of each other, at least in appearance.  One was tall, thin, and severe, almost sharp.  The other was short and round and sort of soft around the edges.  The only areas in which they demonstrated similarity were their age and apparent gender.

“Alright, kids.  This is Professor McGonagall,” she gestured to the taller woman, “and this is Professor Sprout.  They’re the heads of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, respectively.  Minerva, Pomona, these are Dash Baxter, Daniel Fenton, Tucker Foley, Valerie Grey, Samantha Manson, Paulina Sanchez, and Star Thunder.”

“And Jazz,” said Danny, annoyed that his sister had, once again, been left out.

“Hey,” said Jazz.  “Nice to meet you.”

Professor McGonagall nodded.  “We will be taking you to Diagon Alley to pick up school supplies for the year before we go to Hogwarts.”

“Yeah,” said Star, eyes tracking a flock of apparently animate paper airplanes, “we know.”

McGonagall raised an eyebrow but otherwise didn’t comment. “Do you want to come with us, Cerise?”

“No, I have a few other things to do on this side of the Atlantic.  That’s why they sent me.  Have a good time in Diagon Alley, kids, it’s a historic place!”

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Danny had to wonder about goblins.  Did they just… really like banks, or were they forbidden from holding jobs elsewhere?  Or effectively forbidden by prejudice?  Because, thus far, he had only seen goblins when changing currency.  ‘No-maj’ money to the denominations used by American wizards, and now from that to the infinitely more confusing British ‘galleons.’

It would probably be rude to ask.  

Maybe he could find a book…

But were these people self-aware enough to write about stuff like that?  He shook his head.  Prejudice, prejudice…  He barely knew anything about any of these people, he shouldn’t jump to conclusions prematurely.  

Not that he didn’t already know several unsavory things about their system of governance, thanks to the Ancients.  And their not-so-little terrorist problem.  And the fact that they thought erasing people’s memories with a spell that could cause long-term brain damage was A-Okay.

Yeah.  But that didn’t mean all of them were bad.  Just that their government sucked.  Which was true for almost all governments, so it didn’t mean anything.

McGonagall and Sprout were very efficient as they went through the shops, giving the impression that they had done this, or something like this, many times before.  They did not allow detours, despite the many, many distracting things on display on the street and in the windows.  Professor Sprout, however, kept up a running commentary on what things were, so it wasn’t too frustrating.  

About halfway through the shopping trip, they stopped at the place that sold uniforms.  Sprout stayed with them, while McGonagall left to go get other supplies.  It was an experience.  Other than his jumpsuit, Danny had never had any clothing fitted specifically for him before.  

The fitting made him… nervous.  

The tape measures and needles flew close to his skin.  The seamstress who had been assigned to him also kept touching him, which was part of her job, and it wasn’t invasive or anything, but still.  Also, there were a lot of other teens, and even some preteen kids, in the store, getting their uniforms, and they were all staring.

What they were staring at wasn’t the same from person to person, Paulina and Jazz seemed to be the biggest targets for whatever reason, but it was still staring.  The parents waiting with their kids were staring as well, and Danny started to fidget. Which meant that he got stabbed by the needle a few times.  Which wasn’t fun.  

But eventually that was over, and they were on their way to Hogwarts.  

.

Considering that Agilbert had tried to compress years’ worth of magical education into the space of a few months for these students, the results were remarkable.  True, with one notable exception, none of them were on a fifth-year level in Transfiguration, but Minerva didn’t feel the need to put them all in first-year or remedial classes, either.  

She could only hope they did as well in their assessments in other subjects.  They would have a hard enough time figuring out schedules for these seven, without having to account for them bouncing across year levels.  

She picked up the written assessment from the one student she would be accepting into fifth-year Transfiguration.  His penmanship was shaky, none of them had quite mastered writing with quills, and his grasp of the theory behind the spells was incomplete, but it was better than some.  She tried not to roll her eyes as she thought of Crabbe and Goyle.  

As a teacher, she should be above that.  Alas.  

Mr. Fenton did have some insights in his essay questions that were truly extraordinary for a person who didn’t even know magic existed at the beginning of the year.  Perhaps they had another Hermione on their hands, although he didn’t give off the same air as she did.  Or he had spent the summer focusing only on Transfiguration.  Or Mr. Fenton had a singular talent in Transfiguration. Regardless, gifted and motivated students were always a pleasure to teach.  

Minerva gathered her papers and left to meet Filius, who had tested the students before her.  She was tempted to go look in on them now and see how the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was handling her first teaching experience but suppressed the urge.  She would see them, and, sadly, Delores Umbridge, at lunch in only an hour.

Which was why she was so surprised to find the children in a hall so far away from Delores’ room.  

Then she reminded herself that, appearances aside, these were not fifth-year students.  They had no experience navigating the castle.  

“Are you lost?” she asked.

The students exchanged glances.  “Uh, sort of?” said Miss Sanchez, twirling a curl of hair around her fingers.  “We weren’t sure if we should try to find Mr. Snape, or if we should go to the lunch hall.”

“Professor Snape,” corrected Minerva, mildly.  “Did you already finish Professor Umbridge’s assessment?”

“She didn’t give us an assessment,” said Miss Manson, angrily.  

Minerva’s eyebrows went up.  “Excuse me?”

“Yeah,” said Mr. Fenton.  “She basically said that she was doing the same curriculum for everyone, so she didn’t need to.  So, we were wondering if we should move on to, um, potions?  Potions.  Or if we should go to lunch, or just hang out, or what.”  

“Professor Snape is unlikely to be expecting you at this point,” said Minerva, feeling a headache growing behind her eyes.  What was Delores thinking?  The same curriculum for all years?  For eleven-year-olds and eighteen-year-olds?  There would be riots.  Or at least hexes.  “I can take you to the Great Hall.”

“Thanks, Ms. McGonagall,” said Mr. Foley.  And what was that he was hiding in his robes?  How many cursed muggle machines had he smuggled in?

Minerva sighed.  Honestly, it was probably harmless, though she possibly should speak to Charity about it.  “Professor McGonagall.”

“Sorry,” said Mr. Fenton.  “It’s just… hard to adjust.”  He rubbed the back of his neck.  

“I suppose it is,” she said.  “This way, children.”

.

Jazz floated through a wall, carefully avoiding the paintings.  Their inhabitants weren’t quite ghosts, from what she and Danny could tell, but they also weren’t not ghosts.  

It hadn’t taken her long last night to find the actual wizarding ghosts.  They’d been expecting her, in more ways than one.  But they had been weird.  Empty. They didn’t have any ectoplasm in them, and the intensity that was a part of every other ghost Jazz had ever met, Danny included, was absent.  

Clockwork and the Lady had warned them about that, before sending Danny, and by extension Jazz, Sam, and Tucker, off on his mission. Jazz just hadn’t quite believed it.  

Wizarding ghosts weren’t made of passion, need, want, duty, or even stubbornness.  They were made of fear.  Fear, by itself, didn’t hold ectoplasm well, especially not fear of death.  Wizarding ghosts might as well be mere imprints for all the power they had.

From the beginning, Jazz had been less than enthusiastic about pretending to be one of them.  Now, she was even less so.

It wasn’t their fault, though.  At least, it wasn’t entirely their fault.  None of the ghosts here were around back when the Ancients and the wizards of the day came together and put their names to the Tenebris Carta, and they were trying to make amends.  It sounded like they hoped the old treaty could be renegotiated, or that they hoped Danny and Jazz could get them an exception.  

Jazz didn’t hate them.  Didn’t dislike them or anything, and Danny would probably try to help them, so long as they didn’t turn evil or anything.  That was just the kind of person Danny was.  

She just needed more time to… adjust to them.  And the paintings.  Because wow.  

“Ah, Miss Fenton!”  

Jazz twisted herself over, mid-air.  “You can call me Jazz, if you want, Sir Nicholas.”

The silvery ghost smiled.  “If you insist.  We’re going down to the Great Hall, to introduce ourselves to your companions over lunch.  I was wondering if you would like to join us.”

“Sure,” said Jazz, descending to float by the other ghost. “But who do you mean by ‘we?’”

“All the castle ghosts,” said Sir Nicholas, “and possibly Peeves, though he won’t be invited.”

“Peeves?”

“The poltergeist.  He isn’t really a ghost.  At least…  he’s not a ghost like us.”

“Mhm,” said Jazz.  “Should I look forward to meeting him, or should I be very afraid?”

“Ah, neither, I suppose?  He tends to play pranks, but he never does anything terribly dangerous, and he couldn’t hurt you if he tried.”

“Well,” said Jazz, “as long as he doesn’t mess with my brother, we’ll probably get along just fine.”  She flexed her hands to disperse the pale green flames that had started to creep up her fingers.  “If he does, I’ll tear him apart.”

“Speaking of your brother, do you have any guesses as to which house he will be joining?”

“I wasn’t under the impression it was a choice,” said Jazz.

“It isn’t, exactly.  Students are sorted into the houses with, well, I don’t want to spoil the surprise, but houses are selected based on a student’s personality, aptitudes, and values.  Normally, if they came in as first-years, they would be sorted on the first, but given the circumstances, they’ll be sorted tonight.  I’m rather hoping to have a few new students for my house.”

Jazz grinned, detecting a note of competition.  “And what does your house look for?  Gryffindor, right?”

“Bravery,” said Sir Nicholas, proudly.  “Considering your brother’s accomplishments, I’m looking forward to seeing him join.”

“He is the bravest person I know,” said Jazz.  

.

Several dozen ghosts phasing through the walls didn’t just set off Danny’s fight-or-flight response.  Sam readied her wrist-lasers, while Tucker grabbed Danny’s wrist and started hunting for a place to hide Danny so his transformation wouldn’t be noticeable.  Dash and Star took cover under one of the tables.  Paulina pulled out her wand.  Valerie materialized a hand blaster.  

It wasn’t entirely clear what weapon went off first, but it didn’t really matter.  The end result was chaos.

“Oops,” said Jazz.  

.

“I am so, so, sorry,” said Jazz, hovering over Danny. Literally.  

“It’s fine,” said Danny.  “Really.”

“No, it isn’t.  I should have realized how everyone would react.  I should have told them to stop it, or something.”

“They were already on their way through the walls when you got there, weren’t you?” asked Tucker, swinging his legs back and forth as he sat on the end of the hospital bed.  

No one had been seriously injured, but a few tables had been exploded before the teachers had calmed everyone down and confiscated the ‘bizarre muggle weapons.’  On the other hand, everyone had a number of inconvenient scrapes and bruises that Madam Pomfrey insisted on taking a look at.

“Still,” said Jazz.  “I know all of you have PTSD from repeated ghost attacks and those people, I should have known what that would look like to you.”

“Er,” said Dash.  “It really is fine.”

“Yeah,” grunted Valerie, which was surprising.  

Outside of ‘Team Phantom,’ none of the others interacted with Jazz very much.  They didn’t seem to know how.  Valerie, however, outright avoided Jazz most of the time.  

Which, well.  Danny wasn’t about to call her behavior reasonable, but it was definitely in-character. This seemed like a good sign, though.

“Yes, dear,” agreed Madam Pomfrey.  “It isn’t your fault.  We adults should have said something before things got out of hand like that.”  She waved her wand back and forth over Star’s prominent black eye, and the bruise just… vanished.  Like Star had never been hurt.  

Danny inhaled slowly.  It wasn’t the first time he had seen magical healing—The aurors who had arrived a few hours after the attack on Amity Park had done a great deal—but if there was anything of magic that Danny wanted to learn, it was that.  And anything protective.  

“Is there a class for that?” he asked.  

“For what?”

“Healing.”

“Yes, it’s an elective,” said Madam Pomfrey.  “Though it does have a few required courses. Perhaps you will be able to take it next year?”

Danny swallowed down envy and nodded.  “Yeah, I guess we aren’t going to have time for electives, for the most part.”

“You may be surprised.  Now, I think you’re all set, unless you’re hiding something from me?”

The students shook their heads.  

“Good.  I believe Professor Snape is expecting you?”

.

“Did that seem… weirdly easy to you?” asked Sam.  

Danny thought about it for a second.  “Not the ‘what does this plant or animal part do’ questions,” he said, finally, “but the practical part of it?  Yeah.  It was just… cooking.  Really fiddly cooking, but still cooking.”

“Speaking of,” said Tucker, “how did you get by the parts where you had to use animal body parts.”

“Oh, I didn’t,” said Sam.  “I just skipped those.  I’m pretty sure I failed, judging by the look on Professor Snape’s face.  My end result was pretty nasty-looking.  It smelled bad, too.”

“You’re the reason we were stuck in an unventilated basement breathing in burnt hair fumes?” asked Paulina.

“Yeah.  I mean, it didn’t smell like burnt hair to me, but probably.”

Paulina sighed.  “I have to hand it to you, girl, you stand by your convictions.”

“I don’t think it’s unventilated,” said Star, contemplatively. “I wasn’t really paying attention, but there was definitely movement in all the, uh, vapors, or whatever. Professor Snape totally needs a better teacher face, though.  Like, does he just have the one expression, or what?”

“No, no,” said Sam.  “The look he gave me when I turned in my disaster was way more pronounced.”

“Still needs more than disdain and mega-disdain,” said Tucker. “Even Lancer had a wider range.”

“Come on, guys,” said Danny, “he can’t be much more than, what, thirty?  He has time to develop more emotions.”

“Yeah,” said Valerie, flatly.  “Give it a couple more years, and maybe he’ll nail down hyper-disdain.”

This surprised a snicker out of everyone.  Almost everyone.

“Uh, guys?” said Dash.  “I think I might have been the one who made it smell like burnt hair.  What was it supposed to smell like?”

“I’m so glad I don’t need to breathe,” said Jazz.  

“Oh my gosh, Jazz, that’s way too soon.”

.

“What do you think?” asked the hat.  

The hat.  

Danny could understand the paintings.  He could almost understand how the paintings worked, even.  They had the shapes of people who had once lived, their image, their likeness, and had by virtue of magic snagged a piece of their soul as they left this world.

But a hat.  Who would try to give a hat sentience?  And how?  Was the thing possessed by an extraordinarily unfortunate ghost?

“Um,” said Danny, shaking off the shock.  “I liked it!”

“Sorry,” said Star, “I’m just a little surprised.   Are you really a… a hat?”

“Yes, I am the Sorting Hat!  It is my job to divine which of our four houses each of you should belong to.  Weren’t you listening?”

“We were,” assured Star, “it’s just…”

“You’re a hat,” finished Tucker.  “Did you used to be a wizard or something?”

“Goodness, no, I was Godric Gryffindor’s hat!  He enchanted me.”

“So, are you like a computer program?” continued Tucker. “Are you an AI?”

“No Skynet,” muttered Sam.  

“Why do you guys keep thinking I’m going to make Skynet?”

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat.  The other teachers were all present, except for the headmaster and Professor Umbridge.  Their absences had not been explained.  

“When you hear your name,” said McGonagall, “please come up and put the Sorting Hat on.  It also usually helps if you sit down on the stool.  Once the hat has determined your house, take it off, and put it down for the next person to use.”

Alright.  That sounded easy enough.  Danny wasn’t quite sure why such a big production was being made of this.  A few comments from the teachers and the ghosts—not that Danny had talked to them very much, this was the first full day they’d been at the school—suggested there was some kind of rivalry between the houses, but it couldn’t be that bad.  It was school.  

Except Casper High had its nasty cliques, too, and he could just imagine how school-sanctioned cliques would work out. Especially if they were backed up by centuries of history and a magic personality test.  

Fun.  

Not.

He hoped he, Sam, and Tucker would all be in the same house. And that Dash wouldn’t revert to being a bully as soon as other students were added to the mix.  And that…  Oh, he hoped a lot of things, but he would be thankful if the ‘school’ part of this whole ordeal was as easy and drama-free as possible.

After all, he had other things to worry about.

“Baxter, Dash,” said McGonagall, evenly.  

“Good luck, man,” said Tucker, holding up his thumbs. Everyone mirrored him.  

Dash looked very strange, sitting on that small stool, but he wasn’t on it for more than a second before the hat shouted, “GRYFFINDOR!”

The hat was very loud.  Dash returned to the bench with a confused expression on his face.

“Fenton, Daniel.”

Danny stood up slowly.  He had expected something more like a conversation.  Was this a mind reading hat?  Was the ‘take a peek inside your head’ bit literal?  

Ugh, this was going to be a pain.  Good thing he had a lot of practice in compartmentalizing.  

“Ah, a burgeoning occlumens!” said the hat in its warm voice. “How unusual.”

“I have no idea what that means,” said Danny, mildly.  

“Oh, I’m sure your teachers will explain it to you.  I won’t take the pleasure from them.”  

The voice was, Danny decided, more than half in his head, which was…  Unsettling. Voices in his head usually either meant mind control, some jerk with telepathy, or someone trying to overshadow him. He didn’t like this.  He really didn’t like this.  

“No need to be so nervous,” said the hat.  “I keep everything strictly confidential.”

“Forgive me if I’m not reassured,” said Danny.  

“Hmf.  In any case, you have traits that would do you well in any of the houses.  Perhaps not Ravenclaw, though.  As clever as you are, you are behind academically.  You need a more nurturing environment, I imagine. As for the others… You are brave. You love your friends.  You’d do anything for them?”

“Yeah,” said Danny.  

“And there’s… something else you need to do?”

Danny was silent.  

“I can’t see it very clearly, but it is an important task?”

Danny shrugged.  

“A goal.”

“Sure.”

“I think, then, the choice is between the badger and the snake,” said the hat.  “But I believe the decisive phrase here is ‘do anything.’  Therefore, you will be SLYTHERIN!”

Wow.  Even bracing himself, that had been loud.

Danny stood up and carefully deposited the hat back on the stool.  He noticed on his way back to the bench that more than one teacher looked flabbergasted, and several spectating ghosts looked disappointed.  Almost crushed.  He resisted the urge to roll his eyes.  Yes, he was a celebrity among the undead, no he couldn’t be in two houses at once. They should have prepared themselves.

Not to mention that, as important as education was, it was somewhat secondary to his true goals here.  Which the ghosts partially knew about.  

“Foley, Tucker.”

.

“I can’t believe it,” said Filius later that evening when all the teachers (sans Umbridge) gathered for a drink.  

“I did say you would find the results surprising,” said Sybill, smugly.  

“Two muggle-born American transfer students in Slytherin,” said Filius, wonderingly.  “I didn’t expect to get any of them for Ravenclaw, but Slytherin?”

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t denigrate my house, Filius,” said Severus.  

The diminutive teacher waved his hand.  “Oh, that’s not my intention.  But you have to admit, it seems like a strange choice.”

“They aren’t really muggle-born, though, are they?” asked Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank, opting for tea instead of wine.  “I’m not sure about the Sanchezes, but the Fentons were quite prominent, back in the day, weren’t they?  At least, one of their ancestors wrote the first English book on new world magical creatures.”

“Muggle-borns and half-bloods are chosen for Slytherin all the time,” said Severus, annoyance clearly increasing.  “Not, perhaps, as often as for the other houses, but it does happen regularly.  You don’t have to be so shocked.”

“It’s nothing against Slytherin,” assured Pomona.  “We were just expecting them to get split between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor.  American stereotypes in play, I suppose.”

“Mm,” said Septima, who was doodling equations on the back of her wrist.  “On my end, my thought process was more that they wouldn’t do well trying to play catchup in Ravenclaw, and they wouldn’t have the ambition and drive to hold their own in Slytherin.  The Sorting Hat disagreed.”

“Evidently,” said Severus.  He didn’t look especially pleased, but then he never did.  

“Better you than me,” said Filius, after a few minutes.  “I can’t imagine it will be easy integrating them.”

Minerva, who had three of the students, laughed, “You aren’t getting out of it that easy, Filius.  They still have charms.  How did they do, by the way?  We never really got around to discussing it.”

“None of them were brilliant,” said Filius.  “But they have promise.  I was wondering what you all thought about doing an accelerated class for some of them, to get them to a higher year-level.”

.

Being on the Hogwarts Express without Ron at his side felt wrong.  Sure, he wasn’t entirely alone, Ginny was with him, and Hegwig, but it felt different. He felt exposed.  

Although, that might have had something to do with all the people staring and pointing at him.  

The Daily Prophet had spent most of the summer convincing everyone he was a lying show-off.  The only things that had really competed with the ‘Harry Potter is delusional’ articles were the ‘haha, America is going to hell in a handbasket, aren’t we glad we aren’t them?’ articles.  

(Harry wouldn’t have even cast a glance at the second, except that he and the others had overheard some of the Order members mention Death Eaters had been behind the attack on the muggle town.  Even so, reading them made him feel grimy.)

They had to go all the way to the end of the train to get away from the unfriendly eyes, and that’s where they found Neville.  

“Hi, Harry,” he said, out of breath.  “Hi, Ginny…  Everywhere’s full… I can’t find a seat…”

Ginny squeezed past him to look at the compartments behind him.  “What are you talking about?  There’s room in this one, there’s only Loony Lovegood in here—”

“I don’t want to disturb her—”

“Don’t be silly, she’s alright.”  She slid the door open and pulled her trunk in.  “Hi, Luna.  Is it okay if we take these seats?”

It took a couple minutes to get situated in the compartment, during which time Harry tried not to stare at Luna Lovegood very much.  The blonde girl was surrounded by an aura of almost impenetrable oddness.  

“Have a good summer, Luna?” asked Ginny.  

Luna opened her mouth to answer, then closed it, frowning. “No, actually.  My father had some friends in Amity Park.  The town in America, you know.”  She turned her head slightly.  “You’re Harry Potter.”

“I know I am,” said Harry.  

The four of them then proceeded to have a fairly enjoyable conversation, right up until Neville’s mimbulus mimbletonia sprayed them all with rancid sap and Cho Chang opened the compartment door.  

Cho Chang who he had a crush on.

Yeah.

Harry had a strong desire to curl up and die.  

Ron and Hermione did not turn up for over an hour, by which time the food trolley had come and gone, and most of the bounty acquired from it had been eaten.  

“Oh, you have food.  Brilliant,” said Ron, taking a Chocolate frog from Harry and throwing himself into the seat next to him.  “You won’t believe what happened.”

“Malfoy’s Slytherin prefect?” asked Harry.  The fear had been buzzing in the back of his head ever since Ron and Hermione had gotten their badges.  

“Well, yeah,” said Ron.  

“And that complete cow Pansy Parkinson,” said Hermione.  

“But that’s not the real surprise,” said Ron, oddly dismissive. “You remember all those articles in the Prophet?  Not the ones about you.  About that town, in America?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, some of kids who survived were wizards.”

“And witches,” added Hermione.  She pulled Crookshanks into her lap.  

“Well, apparently their ministry didn’t think they’d be safe over there, so they sent them here.  Seven of ‘em.”

“What?  They think it’s safe here?” In Hogwarts, maybe it was, except Harry had been snatched away even with all eyes on him, in the middle of a heavily attended competition.  “With Voldemort on the loose?”

Everyone flinched.  

“Well, that isn’t exactly being publicized,” said Hermione. “Not—Not in the right way.  Besides, none of them knew about magic before this summer.  They’re all our age, though.  It must have been a shock.  Especially after losing their families like that.”  She shuddered.  “We’ve been asked to help them acclimate.  That’s why the meeting ran so long.”  

“Are they in Gryffindor, then?” asked Luna.  

“They’re sort of spread out,” said Hermione.  “They’re in all the houses but Ravenclaw.”

“And I’m still not sure how they got put into Slytherin if they’re muggleborn,” said Ron, who had tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling.  “It doesn’t make sense,” he complained.

“Merlin was muggleborn,” said Luna.  “He was a Slytherin.  I’m sure there were others.”

Ron pulled a face.  

(Harry thought about Voldemort—About Tom Riddle and his muggle father.)

“Anyway,” said Hermione.  “We have three of them.  Hufflepuff and Slytherin each have two.”

First Death Eaters in America, and now Slytherins from there?  Harry shook himself internally.  No, it probably didn’t mean anything.  

“We probably won’t see much of them,” said Ron.  “They’re taking mostly remedial classes.  First and second year stuff.”

“Say,” said Luna, “do you know who the prefects are for the other houses?”

“Anthony Goldstein and Padma Patil for Ravenclaw,” said Hermione.  

“And Ernie Macmillian and Hannah Abbot for Hufflepuff,” added Ron.  “You know, other than helping keep track of the younger kids and patrolling corridors every so often, there’s not really much we’re supposed to do as prefects.  From how Percy talked about it, I always sort of thought there’d be more.”  Then he grinned.  “We can give punishments out if people are misbehaving.  I can’t wait to get Crabbe and Goyle for something…”

Predictably, this set off Hermione.

.

“There’s nothing else about the Americans?” asked Draco, frowning. “I’m not sure how we’re expected to ‘help them acclimate’ with so little information.”

The Head Girl rolled her eyes.  “You’re expected to talk to them,” she said.  “Considering that they’re real human beings and all. They’ve been through a lot, apparently, and I can appreciate them not wanting to have it spread around.”

Unspoken was the ‘do you?’ at the end of her sentence.  Draco let his lip curl.  People from other houses were always so eager to think the worst of Slytherin when all they were trying to be was logical.  

“I’ll do that, then,” said Draco, stepping out of the prefects’ carriage.  He needed to find Crabbe and Goyle.  Annoying. As much as he was their leader, and he watched them, they were also there to watch him and—

(Draco chose not to think of the people who had arrived at Malfoy Manor over the Summer, of the things he’d seen.)

(When he was quite young, he’d read a book about muggle Germany during the time of Grindelwald, and how Grindelwald had subtly influenced things in that country.  He’d always been struck by the use of informants, of how everyone had been convinced to watch one another and report those who stepped out of line.  He found he could appreciate it even more now that he was inside a similar trap.)

But the Americans.  It was so odd.  They couldn’t have any lineage to speak of.  Not if they were living like muggles in some backwater town.  

… some backwater town the Dark Lord had seen fit to destroy.

… ‘Fenton’ sounded vaguely familiar.  

… Perhaps ‘Sanchez’ was from a Spanish pureblood line.

Draco would have to do research.  He was good at that.  But whatever he found, he’d have to keep an eye on the Americans.  

If nothing else, it would be good to have friends overseas.

.

“We’ll be in different dorms after this,” said Danny, vaguely depressed.  “Different classes, too, most of the time.”

“We can still see each other during the day,” said Sam.  “I think the only meal that’s segregated by house is dinner, anyway.  We should be able to hang out at all the other times.”

Danny sighed.  He had yet to have much success in his missions.  

He’d felt something wrong on the seventh floor, but he hadn’t been able to pinpoint it.  He’d found a giant inaccessible dungeon full of snake statues, a snake skeleton, and a number of other somewhat questionable things underneath the school. There had been an echo of something there, but whatever it was had been long gone by the time Danny got there. He also had the faint sense of a ghost—a real ghost—beginning to form there, and he hoped he hadn’t messed it up by spreading his ectoplasm around.  

On the second front, he hadn’t heard anything from any of the leaders of the wizarding world.  Unless he counted a reply from a secretary who thought he was disturbed.  

But there was one bright spot.  They’d met the Headmaster yesterday, and Danny was certain the man’s wand was one of the two subjects of his third quest.  Which was hilarious.  Out of everything, he’d thought the Hallows would be the hardest to find.  

Not that he could just take it.  Not now.  Not yet. Not with everything else still so uncertain and Clockwork’s quiet assurance that he would find most of what he needed to at Hogwarts.  

(Clockwork and the Lady had made a deal with him, bound in old magic and ghost law.  Three tasks. Three nearly impossible quests, but at the end of them, the one who had destroyed half of his world, who had harmed his people, would be gone, and in the meantime Amity Park would be protected. Danny knew he had gotten the better half of the deal, with Clockwork practically on his side.  Even with the… other requirements.  Still, he couldn’t help but feel discouraged.)

So, he’d stay, and wait, and keep a careful eye on the Headmaster, and try to find the thing on the seventh floor, and figure out what spells worked on ghosts and if he could circumvent them, and figure out how to intercept at least one magical head of state, and, and, and…

Ugh.  

“If we aren’t too busy,” said Danny.  

“You know we’re here to help,” said Tucker, prodding Danny’s side.  “And even if the rest of them don’t know about, you know, I think they’d be willing to help, too.”

“Within reason,” said Sam.  

It was true.  Surviving near-death experiences together tended to make people—well.  Not necessarily friends, but something more than mere acquaintances.  Allies, at the very least.

(Especially if a lot of other people had died at the same time, and the survivors were holding on to the relationships they still had with all their strength.)

“I know,” said Danny.  He bit his lip.  “There’s something on the seventh floor, I think.  Need more time to figure out what, though.”

“We’ll keep an eye out,” promised Sam.  

“And an ear, too,” said Tucker, tapping his.  “I’m sure there’ll be lots of rumors and legends in a place like this.”

“Me too.  Jazz has been interrogating the paintings, you know.”  He frowned.  “They’re so weird.”

“Everything about this is weird,” said Sam.  “Can’t believe we thought ghosts were the whole extent of the supernatural.  It seems so dumb, now.”

“Not really,” said Danny.  “I mean, ghosts were all that we saw, and they didn’t really mention anything else.”  He sighed. “Guess we should get ready for the feast or whatever?”

“Yeah,” said Sam, standing.  “Good luck meeting your classmates.  Housemates?  How are we even supposed to say that?”

“I don’t know,” said Danny.  He sighed.  “At least we each have at least one person from Casper with us.”

“That’s true,” said Tucker.  “Can’t say I feel like I have much in common with Star, though. Other than,” he gestured, vaguely, “all the Amity Park stuff.”

Sam raised an eyebrow.  “And you think I have a lot in common with Dash?”

“You have a lot in common with Valerie,” offered Tucker.

Sam shrugged.  “We do both fight ghosts.”

Tucker’s grin turned slightly wicked.  “And have a crush on the same guy.”

“Take a walk off a

Danny let himself smile.  It had been a while since the three of them had gotten some good banter in. It was hard to verbally spar when you were depressed.  

.

Sitting next to Paulina at an otherwise empty table felt strange.  But it would feel even stranger to sit not next to Paulina at the very large empty table.  Danny let his eyes drift over to the other three house tables.  It seemed that the others were of the same opinion, sitting together in little, painfully awkward clusters.  

All the close friend groups had been pulled apart, after all.

“Danny,” said Paulina.  Her voice wavered at the end.

“Yeah?”

“The wizard kids will have cliques.”

“I mean, yeah, they’re still human, right?”  And even ghosts formed groups.  

Paulina nodded and clenched her jaw.  “We’re going to get into one,” she said, firmly.  “We’ll have to find the best one, and fast, otherwise we’ll wind up at the bottom of the pecking order.  You know how much that sucks.”

“Yeah,” said Danny, his eyebrows raised.  He was a little surprised to be included.  

“The wizards we’ve met so far are pretty weird.  You know how to deal with weird.”

“Uh,” said Danny.  “Is this a strategy thing?  Isn’t it a bit too late for that?”

“It’s never too late to salvage social standing, and we haven’t even started,” said Paulina.  “Anyway, you’re the backup plan, in case they’re aliens who don’t fall for my charm.”  She put a hand to her heart and fluttered her eyelashes.

“Should we even use charm like that here?  I mean, since it’s a class, now.”

“Hmf.  I’m good at that, too.”  She examined her fingernails.  “We’ll probably attract a bunch of people, just because we’re here and visible and new.  We just need to make sure that people stay interested in us.”

“I’m not sure I want attention, Paulina.”

“Then pay attention and follow my lead.  If you’re in the right clique, you can fade into the background.  Like Star. No one notices the stuff she gets up to. They’re all too focused on yours truly. As they should be.”

This was true, actually.  People didn’t really pay any attention to Star, except in her person as Paulina’s satellite.  Even Danny, before becoming Phantom and gaining a new perspective on life and the people in it, hadn’t.  

“Besides,” continued Paulina, “now that we, well.” She didn’t quite blush.  “You guys don’t suck as much as I thought you did.”

“Uh, thanks.  You, too?”

Wow.  That was quite possibly the worst response he could have had.  

Paulina sighed heavily.  

However, she was distracted from whatever she might have said to him by the first of the Hogwarts students coming in.  Paulina turned her attention away, her eyes flicking from one set of green and silver highlights to the next.  Whenever a student looked their way she smiled and waved, pouring on the charm.  

Danny didn’t know how she did it.  Social engineering was never going to be his strong point.

(Perhaps he could set Paulina and Star on the Minister of Magic’s trail.  They might have more luck.)

Before he could follow the train of thought, they were surrounded.  In a simply physical sense.  There was no malice and very little aggression from the students that sat near them, more than one of whom had prefects badges.  Still, Danny did have to fight down a knee-jerk reaction.  He saw Paulina shift uncomfortably as well, and he gave her robe what he hoped was a steadying tug.  

She returned it with a tight smile.  

There wasn’t much time to talk before Professor McGonagall stood up with the hat and started calling names.  Everyone went very quiet during the sorting, except for the cheer that rose with the hat’s every shout.  

Then there was food.  A lot of food.  Most of it was recognizable, but some of it was sort of weird.  Many things were pumpkin flavored.  There was even something Danny was fairly certain was pumpkin juice.

He didn’t know how to feel about that.

Paulina took the time to engage in social engineering. Danny took the time to watch.  They were both watched back, of course, but Paulina naturally drew more attention.  

However, there was one boy who kept staring at Danny. He was about their age and had pale blonde hair.  Really pale blonde hair.  

(Danny had thought Star and Dash were blonde.)

“You’re Daniel Fenton, correct?” asked the boy.  

“Um.  Yes. And you are?”

“Draco Malfoy.  I’m the fifth-year prefect.”

“Oh, Draco like the constellation?”

Draco blinked.  “Yes.”

“Did your parents like astronomy a lot, then?”

“Astrology,” corrected Draco.  “Astronomy is what muggles do.”

Danny carefully forced down the white-hot rage he felt at that statement.  Yeah, he had more than a normal admiration for astronomy, and, therefore, a more intense than normal reaction to astronomy and astrology being confused, but magic was real, apparently, so maybe astrology wasn’t useless.  Right.  Yeah.  And they were both about stars, planets, and space. Nothing to get mad at.

“It’s been a tradition in my mother’s family for generations,” Draco was saying, “although we occasionally make some allowances for other traditions.  My mother’s name is Narcissa, for example.  Is there anything similar in your family?”

“Dad’s side does ‘J’ names for the first born.  Jazz got stuck with that.”

The boy’s eyebrows went up.  “You have a sister?  She isn’t magical?”

“Magical enough to haunt me,” said Danny.  

“Pardon?”

“She died.  She’s around here somewhere, though.”  He gestured vaguely.  “Didn’t want to be around big crowds.  I think she said she was going to hang out with Myrtle?”

“Myrtle?  Do you mean Moaning Myrtle?  Who haunts the bathrooms?”

This time, the reaction Danny suppressed was a cringe, the emotion embarrassment on behalf of the young witch ghost.  “She just introduced herself as Myrtle.  Well, Myrtle Warren, but…  Yeah.  It’s kind of rude to describe someone as moaning, isn’t it?”

The boy puffed up, slightly, clearly offended.  

Oh, dear.  

.

The Americans were… interesting, Harry thought.  

Ron and Hermione had sat near them as part of their ‘prefect duties,’ with Harry and therefore Ginny and Neville following after.  

Well.  That may have had more to do with curiosity than anything else.  

They introduced themselves by their first names only. Dash, Valerie, and Sam.  Dash was… well.  Harry had encountered people like him both before and after coming to Hogwarts.  For example, McClaggen.  Harry hadn’t ever interacted much with McClaggen, even if they were in the same house, but Dash definitely gave off the same feeling.  Meanwhile, Valerie just sort of glared at everyone, resisting all attempts at conversation while tearing at her food with extreme aggression.  Sam had managed to engage Hermione and Katie Bell in a conversation about dark magic that was getting Hermione progressively more flustered.  

Harry couldn’t tell if it was because of the misconceptions Sam had about magic in general, or because Sam seemed to think some kinds of dark magic should be legal.  

He was starting to get a very bad feeling about these Americans.

.

“Hey,” whispered Tucker, while the students around them were distracted by something a rather round ghost was saying.  

“What?” whispered Star.

“Is it just me, or is everyone here sort of depressed? Like, I can understand us being depressed, but…”

“No, no it’s not just you.  Wasn’t there something about a student death?  Some kind of freak accident.”

“Oh,” said the student sitting across from them.  “You heard about Cedric.”

.

Danny wondered if he could get to the Minister of Magic through Dolores Umbridge.  He hadn’t gotten a good read on her during their very brief encounters the previous week, but now...  She gave off the impression of having some kind of political power.  His understanding was that the headmaster had a lot of influence among the wizards and witches of this country, so for her to be interrupting him like that…

Or maybe he was like Danny and weak against social awkwardness.

Also, her speech seemed to have a deeper meaning he couldn’t decode.  He didn’t understand wizarding culture or their political climate enough, despite his research.

Eh.  He’d have to get a better grasp of her personality and position.  Hopefully, that wouldn’t be too hard.  He did have a class with her.  

.

“The events of last spring have left a mark on the whole school,” said Severus Snape into the muffled quiet of the Slytherin common room, his voice just barely more emotive than during the placement test he had given the Casper High students, “and no doubt on many of your home lives as well. I want you to know that if you have any… concerns… regarding the behaviors of fellow students or… more sensitive topics, you can come to me.”

The man blinked slowly at them.  

“That is all,” he said, finally, and with an overly dramatic swish of his cloak he departed.  

The room quickly filled with light chatter, students breaking off into little cliques, some of them slipping away down shadowy corridors.

Paulina tugged him towards one of those groups.  

“Hi, Pansy,” she said, giving the girl a little wave, “hi, Draco.  We were wondering if you guys could show us around?  We were told our stuff would be moved here, but…”  She trailed off, shrugging elegantly.  

Danny tried to echo the movement.  

He most likely did not succeed.

(It wasn’t like he could tell.  His superpowers did not include seeing himself from the outside—Or maybe they did.  There could be a spell for that, he supposed.)

He had to admit, as the prefects made a (just slightly supercilious) show of presenting the Slytherin dormitories to them, that he rather liked the space.  It was surprisingly well-ventilated and warm, but there was still a general air of closeness, of security of bone-deep chill that spoke so well to his ghost half.  

Of course, a lot of that would probably evaporate once Danny tried to sleep in a room with half a dozen strangers, but, well, he’d deal with that when he got there.

.

Magic was great and all, but Tucker would trade it all away in a second if only to get his PDA to work properly.  

In the tent formed by his bedsheet and his body, Tucker hissed and rapped on the staticky screen, hoping an impact adjustment would do… something.  He didn’t know what.  The last three hadn’t done anything.  

The way the metal casing was heating up under his hand was disturbing.  Quickly, he thumbed the power button.  He didn’t have a lot of these left, and he wanted to be able to use them to communicate with Danny and Sam.  He missed their late-night Doom sessions.  

(Along with everything else about his life in Amity Park. He at least had the power to make talking to his friends possible.  The rest? Not so much.)

He groaned into his pillow.  He’d been working on this off and on all week.  Another night wouldn’t matter in the long run.  

Maybe one of his classes would help him understand what he was doing wrong.

.

Sam had sort of enjoyed needling Hermione (the girl reminded her a lot of Jazz), even if she knew she shouldn’t, but the nasty fight between some of the fifth year boys in the common room had really ruined the mood. Hermione’s friend, Harry, was apparently some sort of celebrity.  Like, in the same way Phantom had been a celebrity following Walker’s invasion.  

So.  Not really a great thing for him.  

Ugh.  Sympathy. Feelings.  She sighed and stared up at the red and gold ceiling.  If the color scheme didn’t do her in…

.

Danny met Jazz in the air over the school.  

“I didn’t see you much today,” he said, twisting hands that he is keeping carefully transparent.

“Yeah,” said Jazz.  “I’m just…  I’m still adjusting.  I think you’ll like Myrtle, by the way.  She’s lonely, but fun.  I think there might actually be a bit of ectoplasm in her, believe it or not.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.  She can flood the toilets, apparently.  Although… I’m not sure if she meant the toilets themselves, or just the room in general.”  She frowned. “Because she said something about sinks…”  She shook her head.  “Not important.  Want to hear what she told me about the secret underground room and the giant snake skeleton?  Not to mention all the other ridiculous stuff that’s happened here.  If this is ‘safer,’ I don’t want to know what the rest of the wizarding world is like.”

“Like what happened in Amity, I guess,” said Danny. “But!  Yes.  Please tell me what you found out.”

.

Breakfast was nice.  Especially when Sam, Danny, and Tucker compared schedules and realized that they had more classes together than they expected.  Not with all three of them at once, but even just two of them together was better than nothing.  

Yes, they got a lot of strange looks, especially when Jazz joined them.  Evidently, eating breakfast with people from other houses just wasn’t done.  Which was stupid, in Sam’s opinion.  Actually, the whole house system felt increasingly stupid to Sam.  She just didn’t understand the point.  Was it for sports?

It was probably for sports.  Sports were the root of all evil.  Just look at Dash.  He hadn’t had any sports for a whole Summer, and now he was acting like an actual decent human being.  

Okay.  That reasoning was suspect.  Sam would have to come back to this when she was more awake.  Early mornings were the worst.  

Anyway.  She had an acceptable breakfast with her friends and the people she’d grown to tolerate, then she set out to find History.  

Which is how she overheard the conversation between Hermione and her friends.  

“What’s S.P.E.W.?” she asked.

Hermione’s two friends glared at Sam.  Probably for the sin of eating with people from another house. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“Well,” said Hermione, just slightly hesitant.  “It’s the Society for the Promotion of Elvish Welfare…”

(Sam found a new cause to get incandescently angry about. Wizard society sucked.)

.

Harry was surprised to see five of the Americans, the three Gryffindors and the two Slytherins, standing by the door to Defense Against the Dark Arts, quietly talking to each other.  

“What’re they doing, then?” asked Ron, scowling. “Consorting with the enemy?”

“Honestly, Ron,” said Hermione, rolling her eyes.  “They aren’t the enemy.  And they’re from the same place.  It must be difficult, being so far away from home.”

Ron grunted and shrugged.  “What d’you think Umbridge’ll be like, anyway?” he asked, changing the subject.  

They filed into the classroom, the remainder of the class, including the Slytherins, their green looking horribly out of place amongst all the red trim, following shortly after.  No one knew what Umbridge would be like, regarding punishment, so they didn’t want to immediately get on her bad side.  

“Well,” she said, in a sickly-sweet tone, “good afternoon!”

There was a mumbled response.  

Umbridge said “Tut, tut.”  She actually said tut tut.  Out loud.  “That won’t do, now, will it?  I should like you, please, to reply ‘Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge.’  One more time, please.  Good afternoon, class!”

“Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge,” said the class, in something approaching unison and the least enthusiastic tone Harry had heard since Ron had tried to convince Hermione to help him with his Divination homework last year.

“There, now,” said Professor Umbridge.  “That wasn’t too difficult, was it?  Wands away and quills out, please.”

Many of the students exchanged gloomy or exasperated looks. Lessons without wands tended to be uninteresting, with very few exceptions.  

(Instead of quills, the Americans produced pencils and pens from their bookbags.)

Umbridge opened her handbag and pulled out her own wand, which was as stubby as she was, and tapped the blackboard.  Words appeared on the board at once:  Defense Against the Dark Arts, A Return to Basic Principles.

Harry couldn’t quite repress a groan.  Luckily, he wasn’t the only one.  

“Well now, your teaching in this subject had been rather disrupted, hasn’t it?” stated Professor Umbridge.  She turned to face the class, her eyes briefly lingering on Harry, and then the Americans.  “Or completely nonexistent.  The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your O.W.L. year.

“You will be pleased to know, however,” she continued, still acting like she was talking to kindergarteners, “that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory-centered, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year.”

Each word Umbridge spoke made Harry’s heart drop farther. How could Dumbledore let this woman teach them?  This year?  When knowing how to fight dark magic was more important than ever?

Umbridge rapped the board again, and new words appeared. Course aims:  1. Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic. 2. Learning to recognize situations in which defensive magic can legally be used.  3. Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use.  

Oh.  This year was going to be bad.  As for the day, it got worse when Umbridge assigned a reading from what had to be the dullest book Harry had ever read.  Including that one time—No.  Focus.

He massaged his temples and wondered if he needed to get a new prescription for his glasses.  The words on the page refused to stay sharp.  

Harry looked up when the Americans started to whisper among themselves and caught sight of one of the most shocking things he had ever witnessed: Hermione not reading.  

Soon, everyone was staring either at Hermione or the Americans, who had left off whispering after some pointed glaring from Umbridge but had replaced the whispers with passionate gesturing at something in the back of the book.  Those, too, died down after a while, in favor of looking at Hermione.  

Eventually, Umbridge could no longer ignore the situation.  

“Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?”

“Not about the chapter, no.”

“Well, we’re reading just now.”  Umbridge smiled.  It wasn’t pleasant.  “If you have other queries, we can deal with them at the end of class.”

“I’ve got a query about your course aims,” said Hermione, undeterred.  

“And your name is—?”

“Hermione Granger.”

“Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully.”  

“Well, I don’t.  There’s nothing written up there about using defensive spells.”

“There’s nothing in the book about using spells, either!” said the Slytherin boy, waving his copy angrily.  “There aren’t even any of the, um.”  He paused and looked at Sam for a second.  

“Incantations,” said Sam.  “I mean, that’s what I’d call them?  I don’t know the official term.”

Umbridge inhaled through her teeth.  

“Using defensive spells?” she asked, voice pitched unnaturally high.  “Why, I can’t imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss—”

“And what about outside of the classroom?” interrupted the Slytherin boy.  

“Like, this is supposed to teach us how to not die, right?” asked the girl next to him, examining her fingernails.  

“You have to practice self-defense to actually get good at it,” agreed Valerie, crossing her arms.  “What’s the point of this class if we’re not going to actually learn how to do stuff?”

“Yes,” agreed Hermione, “surely the whole point of Defense Against the Dark Arts is to practice defensive spells?”

“Students,” gritted Umbridge, “will raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class.”

At once, a dozen hands went up.

“Miss Granger?” Umbridge asked, voice dangerous.  

“Isn’t the whole point of Defense Against the Dark Arts to practice defensive spells?”

“Miss Granger,” said Umbridge.  “As you are not a Ministry-trained educational expert, you are not qualified to decide what the ‘whole point’ of this, or any, class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have—”

“I really doubt that,” interjected Ron.  

Umbridge took another deep breath.  “You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way—”

“What’s the use of that?” demanded Harry, loudly.  “If we’re going to be attacked, it won’t be in a—”

“Hand, Mr. Potter!”

Predictably, Umbridge turned her back on him as soon as he thrust his fist into the air.  Instead, she called on Dean Thomas.  

(The part of Harry’s brain that wasn’t vibrating in frustration noted that the Americans were passing notes between each other.)

“Well, it’s like Harry said, isn’t it?” he asked, once she had gotten done with interrogating him about his name.  “If we’re going to be attacked, it won’t be risk-free—”

“Do you expect to be attacked in class?”

Harry was very tempted to say yes, considering that three of his four previous DADA teachers had wound up attacking him.  

… Did Professor Lupin’s werewolf form having a go at him bring the count up to four?

Umbridge talked over Dean.  “I do not wish to criticize the way things have been run in this school,” she said, with the air of someone who was about to do just that, “but you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class, very irresponsible indeed—not to mention,” she gave a nasty little laugh, “extremely dangerous half-breeds.”

The Slytherin boy stood up, chair scraping across the floor. Sam, next to him, had gone pale. Her fingers were wrapped tightly around her wand.  

“Sit down, Mr.-?”

“I’m leaving,” said the boy, not deigning to give Umbridge his name.  He picked up his bag.  “Maybe I can sit in on an actually useful lesson.  I mean, if I can figure out how to make a pineapple tap dance, I can get it to fly into someone’s face.  At least that’s something.”

“Sit down,” repeated Umbridge.  “I do not know what your classmates have told you, but you, all of you,” she said to the class, “have been frightened into believe that you are likely to meet Dark attacks every other day—”

“We haven’t been frightened into believing anything!” exclaimed Dash, also rising from his seat.  “Our entire city was attacked!  We need—"

“Which was a tragedy.  One that is unlikely to be repeated!  Now, sit down.”

The other Americans stood up.  

“We heard about Cedric Diggory, you know,” said the Slytherin girl, coldly.  “And a lot of the people who attacked us were never caught.”

“We also know about the giant murder snake that apparently lived here,” said the boy.  

“I, for one, can’t believe that wizards are less likely to be murders than any other human,” said Valerie.  “If normal people need to take self-defense classes, I don’t see why we shouldn’t be able to.”

“The government preventing people from learning how to defend themselves is historically a bad sign,” said Sam.  “Of course, slavery is also a bad sign, and you all have been ignoring that for God only knows how long.  There are actual slaves in this school.”

“Wait,” said the Slytherin boy, horrified.  “Are you serious?  Is that what you were talking about before?  Oh my God—"

“Children!” exclaimed Umbridge.  “Your hands are not up.”  

The looks Umbridge got after that outburst were filled with incredulity, not

Parvati Patil raised her hand.  

“Yes?” asked Umbridge.

Harry was beginning to wonder if she was looking for punishment.  

“Isn’t there supposed to be a practical bit in our Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.?”

“As long as you have studied the theory hard enough, there’s no reason you shouldn’t be able to—”

The room exploded into a flurry of objections, spurred on by the Americans.  

“Who exactly do you think is going to attack you?” shouted Umbridge over the ruckus.  

“I don’t know!” shouted Harry back, even though part of him knew this was a bad idea.  “How about Lord Voldemort?”

Silence.  

“Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter?”

“Points?” whispered Dash.  No one else spoke.  

The Slytherin boy was looking at Harry with something like hunger in his eyes.  

“Now, let me make a few quite plain.  You have been told that a certain Dark wizard had returned from the dead—”

“He wasn’t dead,” said Harry, “but yeah, he’s returned!”

“Do not make matters worse for yourself, Mr. Potter!” exclaimed Umbridge shrilly.  “As I was saying, you have been informed that a certain Dark wizard is at large once again. This is a lie.”

“It is NOT a lie!  I saw him! I fought him!”

Glee spread across Umbridge’s toad-like face. “Detention, Mr. Potter.  Tomorrow evening.  Five—  What do you think you’re doing?”

“Um,” said the Slytherin boy, who like the rest of the Americans was halfway to the door.  “Leaving. Like we said?”  He hadn’t stopped walking.

“You will do no such thing!  All five of you will be joining Mr. Potter for detention.”

“Pass.”  His eyes flicked towards Harry again.

“Excuse me?”

“We have better things to do than humor someone who’s refusing to do their job,” said Sam.  

The classroom doors slammed shut right in front of the Slytherin boy’s nose, and he took half a step back.  

“Tomorrow evening, at five o’clock, all six of you will join me for detention in my office.  Now.  The rumors of that Dark wizard’s return are lies.  The Ministry guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard.  If you are still worried, if someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn Dark wizards, come see me outside of class hours, I would like to hear about it.  I am here to help.  I am your friend.  Now, kindly, continue your reading.  Page five, ‘Basics for Beginners.’”

The Americans slunk back to their seats but pulled a variety of colorful transfiguration textbooks from their bags instead of Defensive Magical Theory.

With an air of triumph, Umbridge sat down behind her desk.

Harry stood up.  

“Harry, no!” whispered Hermione, tugging at his sleeve.

Harry ignored her.  (Which was, in all honesty, a stupid move.  Ignoring Hermione rarely had positive consequences.)

(In his defense, the preceding several minutes had been… stressful.)

“So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?”

“Cedric Diggory’s death was a tragic accid—”

“Just like Amity Park, huh?”

“A tragic accident,” continued Umbridge, voice full of ice.  

“It was murder.”  Harry was shaking.  He felt like he was under a spotlight, and he wanted to be anywhere but here, talking about this.  “Voldemort killed him, and you know it.”

For a second, Harry thought Umbridge would start screaming, but instead her lips curled up into a parody of a smile.  “Come here, Mr. Potter, dear.”

As Harry walked forward, Umbridge started scribbling on a small, pink, piece of paper, angled so that Harry couldn’t see what she was writing.  Something moved out of the corner of his eye, and Harry flinched.  

The…  What were they even doing?  Why were they sitting like that?

“Take this to Professor McGonagall, dear,” said Umbridge, holding out a roll of pink paper.  

Harry took it from her without a word, turned on his heel, threw open the door, and—

Was almost trampled by the Americans all escaping the room at once.  

Dash grabbed him by the upper arm, and soon all six of them were running down the hallway.  It took several seconds for Umbridge to start shrieking, and, by that point, the Slytherin boy had pulled them all into a secret passage that someone who hadn’t been at Hogwarts for even a month shouldn’t know about.  

“Wow,” said Sam.  “You work fast, Danny.”

“Thanks,” said Danny, giving her a thumbs up.  “Got to thank the Bloody Baron, though.”  He paused.  “Still can’t believe that’s his actual name…”

“Sorry about dragging you with us, by the way,” said the Slytherin girl.  “I’m Paulina. This is Danny.  You already know these three, I think?”

“Er,” said Harry, not at all sure how to deal with this situation.  Part of him just wanted to shout.  He was still vibrating with suppressed rage.  

“I didn’t really catch your name in all that, though,” she continued, gesturing behind them.  

“It’s Harry.  Potter.”

It was… interesting, how his name didn’t spark any recognition in them.  At least not at first.  Then Danny stiffened and—

“The poltergeist is coming this way,” he said, mildly.  

“You can tell?” asked Paulina.

“I could always tell.  Why do you think I was always in the bathroom when ghosts were around?”

Valerie scowled, and shot a truly venomous glare at her watch.

“Do you think we can convince him to bug Umbridge?” asked Sam.

Danny shot a look of surprise at her.  Then he smiled.  “Maybe,” he said.  He turned back to Harry.  “It was nice meeting you.  I hope we can talk again sometime.  It sounds like you’ve been through a lot, and, well…”  He shrugged.

Harry suddenly remembered that the Americans were here, for the most part, because their families were dead.

“But you should probably track down Professor McGonagall sooner than later.  I’d bet that Umbridge put a timer on that.  If that’s possible.  Is that possible?”

“I don’t know,” said Harry, suddenly a hundred times more anxious about the paper clenched in his hand.  

“Gosh, imagine if Lancer could do that,” said Dash.

“I’d take Lancer any day,” said Danny.  “He actually tried to teach stuff.  Anyway, I’m going to go head off Peeves.  You might want to go around.  I hear he can be kind of a jerk?”

“Right,” said Harry, walking further down the secret passage, because he had been here for a proper length of time and had learned about it properly.  

… Although he supposed that asking the ghosts was a proper way to go about learning the secret passages.  

No, he had to focus on how to explain getting kicked out of class to Professor McGonagall, not on the weirdest interaction with Slytherins he’d had to date.

[foxymoxynoona]

Hiiiii! Random Monday questions. Just because!

1) How are you doing? Hope you’re doing fine at least!

2) Have you ever gone to a BTS concert? I wish I’d had! Sadly, they have never come to my country. I still can dream about it! And btw, do you have a favorite BTS song?

3) Could you tell us more about your creative process? Like what you find inspiration in to map the plot of the story or curious thing like that. I enjoy reading about it! You have such a peculiar mind (in a positive and amazing way, can’t believe you have written so much different things in such a short time, amidst all the things you’ve written and not shared!)

So random, sorry. Feel free to answer all, some or any at all! I just had to take my mind out of the end of Amended chapter and ended up here🥺

-🥰💋

🍿

Hello popcorn anon! How lovely to hear from you, so sorry about the chapter end. :)

1. I'm doing ok. My surgery consult is Thursday! I am busy busy with work and my side hustles. And today was a cool and rainy day, so that's nice. I am struggling with saying goodbye to summer but I do love autumn.

2. I have not! I only got into them like late fall right before COVID. Even if/when they come near me, I don't think I can afford it anyway so I'll have to just dream :)

3. I do have a peculiar mind, LOL. My creative process kind of changes though by the idea... More beneath the cut!

Sometimes I just have an idea for a particular scene or feeling or moment, so I write that just to get it out and then maybe a story grows out of that. I might even write multiple scenes that just feel urgency to write in a single world/story without necessarily knowing all the connective tissue, and then later go back and fill in a proper estimated chapter-by-chapter plan (which could start SUPER high level; I have some examples of this in previous posts, check out #mywriting tag). Most of my stories I've posted so far were written this way, because back before I posted any of my writing, I'd just bounce around writing whatever I felt like. I have dozens of abandoned scenes/stories ideas I wrote. Maybe I'll wind up posting more as drabbles on here, or maybe some will get resurrected as proper stories, or maybe most of them will be banished to obscurity.

Other times, I'll have an idea for either a plot or emotional arc and really sit down and daydream through as much of the vision as I can and write stream of conscious thoughts down about it that later I go untangle and organize --this was Meadow and is how most of my future stories are getting planned right now.

So I may start with this stream of conscious page-long note-taking about my idea with any quotes, moments, or even questions or themes jotted down --a lot of time this starts with me daydreaming about an idea while I'm at the gym or walking or cooking dinner or something. I'll even write in my questions ("do they kiss here? or later?" "either he doesn't care or he cares a LOT. which is it?" "where's Namjoon at this point?") Then I go through and edit that to try and get it in an actual story order, think of answers to any of the questions I left for myself, make note of any areas I could diverge based on what feels right when I get there. It results in still a sort of hazy, word outline. And then I actually take that and break it out into rough chapter ideas. These always change as I actually write and decide oh, it's better to end the chapter here, or damn, that took longer than I expected, ok, or this new plot needs to get woven in. But it gives me some structure.

Sometimes I'll run scenes or ideas by my husband and he usually has very bad ideas that actually help me a lot because it gives me permission to brainstorm my own bad ideas too. And now I've got some friends on here who I can enjoy bouncing ideas back and forth with, some of which may be turning into actual stories coming to an ao3 account near you this winter 😉

Oh! actually one more useful thing that I only started doing when I started writing BTS fanfiction is that when I write, I don't write chapters, I write blocks. Like I write the headers in the word doc, and then a little note or whatever beneath the header for whatever needs to happen in that block. Like:

LANDON DINNER - Bella and JK go to dinner, Landon's apartment, Brianne gets pissy about something, Ezra is excited to show room but it's not ready yet, B and L are trying, L's been teaching Ezra guitar and he wants to perform, things get awkwrd sometimes but JK and Bella are a united team and find comfort in each other so nothing spirals, JK asks L about being sober, it's actually an ok time, B admits she liked both guys in high school?, Landon taught E "their song"

And I'll do that for the whole chapter. So then when I go back and am actually writing, it's eliminated that overwhelmed feeling because I don't need to worry about a whole chapter! Just a scene! And then the next one. And then the next one.

At least with most of my stories, I'm still writing so much that I can just insert the blocks already written into my chapter plan. But a lot of posting Flux is actually going through and figuring out where to insert the chapter breaks when that story wasn't actually written to have chapters; it's why that and Little Bean are sometimes really awkward with the range of chapter lengths, because I didn't plan them that way, it was just written as long stream of conscious story.

ANYWAY, this was a lot, hope this was interesting at all!

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #328

okay i’m going the fuck to bed now. @_@

Have you ever worn fake eyelashes? No; the only time I ever will will possibly be my wedding, if even then. Could you possibly write a successful novel? I think I'm capable, but I don't believe it will happen. Who’s the last person you video-chatted with? My therapy group via Zoom. Do ski lifts make you nervous or do you like them? Never been in one, but they seem cool. Have you ever had dandruff? I have dandruff AND a dry scalp. Nice combo. Do you think sleeve tattoos look trashy? Please explain to me how ANY tattoo inherently equates to being "trashy." I actually love sleeve tats. Have you ever gone through a phase of crushing on EVERYONE? No. I experienced a few crushes my freshman year of high school, but they weren't just anybody. If you had to get a portrait tattoo, who would it be of? I may or may not get a tattoo of Darkiplier doing his i c o n i c debut smile somewhere, but idk. I already have one tattoo related to Mark and would kill for another with his handwriting, so having three would be a bit... wild, haha. Do you have any stickers on any of your electronic devices? No. Do you like the smell of men’s colognes better than woman’s perfumes? Usually. Can you remember what you last clapped for? Yes; everyone in group clapped for one of the women taking a big step against her agoraphobia. Is your hair damaged? No, it's actually super healthy. Are you in charge of cleaning anything in your household? The litterbox and my room in general. Ever carved/written anything on a park bench? No. Most interesting place you’ve ever visited? Chicago was a big shock to me. I am FAR from used to cities that incredible and stocked. Do you keep your eyebrows more thick or thin? I don't groom them, so they're on the thicker end. Do you always wear a bra? Not at home and if there's no company. Do your shoulder blades protrude? No. Have you ever won on one of those grabber machine things? Yeah, a few times. Are you gonna French kiss your hubby at your wedding? Who says I'm marrying a man? But whatever, no. Keep that behind closed doors. How many bananas have you ever eaten in a row? No more than two. I usually don't even have two. Have you ever had sex outside? No. Have you ever been outside naked? No. Have you ever been in a shrubbery maze? No. You ever like someone who liked you back, but didn’t want a relationship?: That's pretty much where I'm at now. Have you ever fallen for someone who didn’t feel the same? No. Are you financially stable? No. Mom can barely afford rent right now; I had to pay it last month with gifted money. Are you emotionally stable? hunny Do you think kids these days are growing up too quickly? I kinda think so, yeah. It's funny how different kids are now compared to when I was whatever age they are. I try to be open-minded about it, though; times change, and I don't expect my generation to be the only "right" way to have grown up. I just think kids are chasing the power of "maturity" with much more vigor. Are you a rebel? Not really. Do you like when people use proper grammar on the Internet? Yeah. I like conversing with people who type just how they talk, like me. Have you ever driven or been a passenger on a motorcycle? Neither. I don't want to ride one. Do you use standard time, or 24 hour time? Standard time. Do you enjoy NASCAR? "HE'S MAKIN ANOTHER LEFT TURRRRRRN!" Lol no, I really don't. Who is the most fascinating person you’ve met? Probably Sara, honestly. What amazing adventures have you been on? What's this "adventure" you speak of? What would you do if had enough money to not need a job? Lots of traveling with my camera, still selling art anyway. What TV series do you keep coming back to and re-watching? None. What would your perfect vacation look like? Y'know, one of those glass dome ceiling cabin... things in the mountains with Sara would be so, SO cool. So much nature for us to explore. What are some obscure things that you are or were really into? Most of my interests honestly, haha. The strangest is probably "vulture culture," in which the remains (typically the bones) of a naturally deceased wild animal are basically recycled for some sort of artistic purpose. You could consider my roadkill photography an example. What are some things everyone should try at least once? I dunno, man. Depends on what you're into. What would your perfect morning be like? Cuddles with an s/o watching some funny videos or something like that to get in some morning laughter. What are you always game for? Video games, haha. What do you do to unwind? Watch YouTube. What’s your favorite piece of furniture you’ve ever owned? I don't have a fave. What would be the best city to live in? I don't want to live in a city. What would you like to know more about, but haven’t had the time to look into it? Time isn't an issue; I just haven't. There's lots of stuff. I'm a very curious person. How have you changed from when you were in high school? I'm less depressed, but more confused, scared, and much less motivated. Imagine a chicken wandering around with its head chopped off. Where is the most fun place around where you live? Nothing, really... Where would your friends or family be most surprised to find you? Like, a strip club or something. What’s expensive but totally worth it? This depends on what's important to you. For me, a quality DSLR camera. When do you feel most out of place? Whenever I'm some place fancy. What’s the most recent thing you’ve done for the first time? No idea. What small seemingly insignificant decision had a massive impact on your life? Accepting Jason's friend request on Facebook because I thought it was a different Jason I actually knew. What did you do last summer? Nothing, just stayed indoors trying not to melt into a sizzling puddle. What are you most grateful for? My mom. What’s the most essential part of a friendship? Trust, maybe. When was the last time you walked for more than an hour? Many, many years ago when I used to walk outside for hours with my iPod. All modesty aside, what are you better at than 90% of people? It doesn’t have to be useful or serious, it can be something ridiculous. 90% is a lot, man. Maybe bonding with animals? What’s the strangest phone conversation you’ve ever had? I don’t know. What do you like but are kind of embarrassed to admit? If I'm embarrassed by it, I have no interest in sharing it. What skill or ability have you always wanted to learn? Even just a smidge of social skills. What’s the best meal you’ve ever had? Probably the spicy shrimp fritas at Olive Garden. I adore those sooooooooo so much. Where was your favorite place to go when you were a kid? The zoo. We didn't go often at all, but I would frequently nag Mom about going. What’s something that most people haven’t done, but you have? Fed a freshly severed rat to a vulture. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I wanna go back to that bird rescue... What says the most about a person? How they treat others. What machine or appliance in your house aggravates you the most? The dryer. It can take a few rounds to fully dry something. What places have you visited that exceeded your expectations? Chicago, that I actually remember. Disney World probably did, but I was just a little kid and only have faint memories of the trip. What’s the worst advice someone has given you? I don't know. Besides your home and your work, where do you spend most of your time? People leave their houses? What are your top 3 favorite things to talk about? Mark, meerkats, and video games. When you were a kid, what seemed like the best thing about being a grown up? No one could tell me no for "stupid" reasons. What’s the strangest way you’ve become friends with someone? Strange way? I haven't got a clue. What’s your favorite band NAME (not necessarily your favorite band)? Maybe Cradle of Filth. Badass metal name. There are a lot of good ones, though. What’s your favorite thing to do outdoors? Take pictures of flowers or animals. How often do you dance? Silly/ironic dancing counts. Essentially never. Who besides your parents taught you the most about life? Jason, I guess. What’s been the most significant plot twist in your own life? The breakup that I thought was physically impossible, entirely unfathomable. Where did you take family vacations to when you were younger? We didn't really go on vacations. If you could instantly receive a Ph.D. in any discipline including all the knowledge and experience that goes along with it, what would your Ph.D. be in? Biology. What are the top three social situations you try to avoid most? Anywhere where I have to speak publicly; parties/get-togethers involving people I don't know; anywhere that is extremely crowded. Just social situations in general, really... What friendship you’ve had has impacted you the most? My friendship with Sara. What’s something you’re interested in that most people wouldn’t expect? Uhhh I don't know, really. What’s the hardest you’ve worked for something? My recovery from the breakup. What took you way too long to figure out? The only person who had any right to control my happiness and will to live was myself. What nicknames have you had throughout your life? If you include online ones as well, there's Britt, Britt-Britt, Twinkie, Bee, Flower, Ruby, Mozart2, Ozz(y), Alessa, and uhhh... I wanna say that's it? What do you do differently than most people? I deconstruct my breakfast biscuits to eat one part at a time... haha. Where’s the last place you’d ever go? Prison. What fact floored you when you heard it? That my dad did some hard drugs before us kids were born. I was entirely speechless. Have you ever watched a needle go into your own skin? Yeah, it doesn't bother me. Have you ever spent more than two weeks in a wheelchair? No. Does weed smell good? Or no? Ugh, no. It smells awful. Do you blow dry your hair or do you let it air out? Air dry. Do you catch lizards? No; I don't like the idea of catching wild animals just to pick up and check out. That poor critter is terrified. I'd rather just take pictures of it and let it go about its day. Would you rather get a big tattoo or small tattoo? I want my next tattoo to be a big'n. How many pills do you take every morning? I absolutely do not want to count. A whole lot. What was the last parade you went to? /shrug What theme would you choose for a baby’s nursery? If I was hypothetically having kids, let's see. A son, absolutely dinosaurs. A daughter, maybe meadowy with baby animals. My baby blanket was full of baby animals, so it'd be kinda cute, that connection. What color would you paint a baby girl’s nursery? Not because of gender norms, but by personal choice, pastel pink. Does your first crush know that he/she was your first crush? No. What is the last thing you missed out on that you wanted to go to? Hm. Who do you wish were your best friend? I am perfectly happy with who already is my best friend. Who do you wish you could go on another date with? She knows. Who was the last friend of yours to have a baby, and what’s the baby’s name? I'm not sure, but my high school friend Megan is due to have her daughter Persephone soon! She won the naming game. Like damn, how badass would it feel for your name to be Persephone. Do you have a favorite M&M? Just the classic ones. Is it easy to make you cry? OHHHHH YES IT IS. Have you ever snuck out? Nah. Who was the last person to comment you? On Facebook? My friend Lyndsey commented on a photo I shared. What song reminds you of being in middle school? "All Signs Point to Lauderdale" by A Day To Remember is the anthem for going through puberty in school and trying to figure yourself out. What was the first thing you learned how to cook? Scrambled eggs. What’s something really basic that you’re terrible at? Cooking. Are you pale or tan? I'm very pale. When’s the last time you were kissed? On the lips, like two or so years ago. Do you like the movie Grease? Never seen it, actually. What’s your favorite Jim Carrey movie? The Mask, probably. What was the last baby animal you saw in the wild? I think a fawn. Have you been binge-watching any shows lately? If so, what? No. What’s the best physical feeling in the entire universe? I meeeaaan... Do you have bad anxiety? If so, do you take any kind of medication for it? Yes and yes. If you could, would you work from home? Do you think that would make you more or less productive? Well, it's complicated. I don't, but I also want to be a freelance photographer, so I kinda would. I like the idea of having an office in my house purely for productive activities to prevent becoming lazy because I'd be at home. Would you ever be an organ donor? I am one.

[rwmhunt]

Leviticus, Chapter 23

1. Substitute day, and a return unto A sender of something, as to another place, That hasn't the wherewithal to get there either; I will open it again and learn That which is already known to be such As isn't so much.

2. And it's not mine, but a, And is the right way round. For as I set the seasons, I reprise, reply, replay; It's substitution day.

3. And Sabbath is the seventh, Whence the lord, in all thy dwellings, Is up for doing nothing; Or Sabbath is the sixth; I don't care.

4. And welcome to my channel, It's great to have each of you still with me- A man who speaks of people By their purpose, Himself as his own singer, With- such are the seasons, Even, holy convocations, For want to be sure of a constant, It's Senhal, An obscure term For an old friend.

5. Love, love, lo, this is not Of a cloven love, Leviticus, I will speak of it Unto sundry strangers and neighbours, As just one more month's dusk Then it'll be passover, Not once. Not twice, Not once. Love. So we can still imagine a time When all of this will go again;

6. But a day will approach When, if there is something That can look back, Could think that 'here' and 'then' Are really very close;- And I wonder if they saw The strings of direct attachment, Lining their behaviours; Just flour and water, But I don't think so; Still, anytime was closer to history than this one, So what do I know?

7. If I were to put the onus On to the impossible, Then what was light-hearted and playful, Would be wont to become ridden and surly; Lord, being an influencer is a serious endeavour, For how many unsuccessful oblations are there That are out there? Lo, state your appreciation; Don’t just wing it. Plan it out in kalends, Of which are reckon'd to be backwards; so, To start, do nothing.

8. After a week, Let's go- Gift your influencers' grift, For, when you so do this, It strokes the ego of the flames, Who then add unto the savour of sacrifice, Thus, get me it up; Make it smolder, Then, use its fatal nature To activate the future.

9. And simple: These are nacks, To muster control Over gods; Are junk and have been; That we all have interest vested- Let ignorance of it control Hereafter, same, so anon and amen.

10. Crowdsplain- First fruit the priest Hard and long, Find the tunnels, Writing what's impossible For the brain to conceive, That it may then be read back of, To supplant and supersede; So become possible.

11. And thither, the Wheatchief Will wave the sheaf Tomorrow- See how it goes? Ol' Cathode Ray, and Non-mathmatical aesthetic identities, The spirit of the radio take her.

12. That once the sheaf And all the while Be specific unto thy niche- Nativize unto thy platform, For, the experience shall follow The rhyzome's swerve and function, So that the user-expectation be wrought From whence the contents be placed- In this case, Add in a lamb shank ponzi scheme to my platform; Smells wonderful.

13. So unto the titular character, Exerting such low level leverage as Begetteth me of an ephah cake, And a quarter hin of wine; I don't need the free stuff, I am a successful influencer, But shouldst you want me to advertise for suckers On my platform that I have built myself for free; Well, we're all getting along so good.

14. Then it's me first, And simple: see- That our boldest endeavours, And most exciting adventures- They have not yet even begun; That, in spite of all the detritus, In the teeth of all that we've done, my boys, I tell you: The best Is yet To come.

15. Then, 49 days later, Seek whence Thought might come in sequence, And I'm really so blessed and thankful to you all for being here; So, as thought comes  in sequence And thus, it wasn't known where We are going here as we begun. O tensions, retensions- I use to used to run.

16.  Know, influencers, I am the hype; So on-brand that I can give unto you, And through you, the trick- Pyramid that still stands For the thousands- Round it up; So nice.

17. And, super relevant- Optimize continuously, also, Compensate me handsomely; while Sacrifice may seem like a quick-success marketing strategy, It isn’t so. Such are the things that keep not happening; More food please.

18. Lots more, This is why the burden of proof for rhetorical claim Shall falleth shortly As among the Open Wounde who should maketh of such a claim; It is not upon the world to provide him a fallacy, But he, who's to prove the world its truth; which, Across all channels, He, rerewise, hath been completely unable to do.

19. So suffer him his own precarity; And then some; Think back to when, Twirrup twipip,-pwiwip, Suwee, psu, swoo swsoo, So sweepeth they in song, As we, quiet, Through our blossom comedown, That hideth our tiny singers, And the bulgence behind the wiltage, In the verges, Be of burgeoning seed.

20. And everyone wave; All this- so good as is it to be; And though under a hail Of black tormentors, Our torment, And through its over-drone, With no one remembering it happening, But, who'll remember the photograph?

21. Sit back; You've lost everything, So lo, olah, you remember how mother died- Bringing cow parsley into the tent of meaning; For she went by the umbels as we'd walked on the plain, And they had reminded her of those lace cushions That her ladies-in-waiting had carried, And so gave them the name.

22. Embassadors, Leave thy corners to disillusion; A true influencer ideally keeps doing What they genuinely gain of a passion for. They know their value and their need is not to shew it, So spend a lot of time reading news and sharing opinions with others online. By buying-up dozens of potential plots, They help to plot the exodus to less, And stake an astronaut over the shape of a woman. But politics isn’t about the weird worship of one dude, So his words became their actions.

23.  Is it worth your time To try and ignore that, if, What you are listening to Is  the most effective form of advertising- A babbling of a technique That hath impostulated language, Then, should things go well, We may even be able to rend a cross-paracleation With phantom trust-collaborators, Interested in guest-posting for backlinks and exposure, Thus, marrying into micro-influencers, And so tap into our y.

24. But be consistent: For my favourite casts come out the same- Here, crowdplain how a seventh month is a Sound the trumpet month; See how it goes? Lo, but half of me struggles with the whimsy Of the other side that's yet so entranced; No, I'm not sure why, it's just the way I feel.

25. Down tools, more please. Gnaw your own head off. All things positivity- and It is always negotiation; Not: You bring it to the tabernacle, I sing- There is no shortness of spirit In opinion To be cut down. Equal positives, so unto Those things that keep not happening.

26. There are voices you hear of, As quoted as begetters of insightful opinion, Who art themselves never made extant, Being only reported hereto as sources, And lo, that they are the influencers. And I'm super curious as to know what you guys think; Please be sure to leave your comments amid the margins.

27. Thence, afflict thy souls, For, tis atonement day- We're ten into the seventh, And the snap's back when I was An offensive lineman, And the pass sent over- The big lie, long, long to the long deceiver, Ah, burnt offerings- How original, Best look unto the analytics, And if they give you not access there unto , Verily, you are going to have to fight, Fight as peaceful as Sheol, Down, deep down and dirty- I'm not going to call it off.

28. Down tools; Atone to the dial tone, No one calls; Let Ladder Capital Createth of the sponsored post- Like many on the medium, To use an ode- I used to play the role; To laugh and laugh; Laugh til I despised all there was to laugh at, And then I stopped, And in the silence, saw what I had done.

29. But laughing is not so bad.

We've been a good wee band. Yes we have. No one is coming after us. And if you're alright, mack, You'll get cut off.

30. So workers got destroyed That day, And Aaron was frustrated, And livid. Reach round; Feel thy spine. The way people stop you From being helpful When you are helpful, So that you cannot be helpful, So that they can cut you From your people.

31. Tardiness in perpetuity, Aye, today, it is Yplangenday- Well, I'll have to put myself Through some more adamantine Paces than god allows, else I'll never get enough done.

32. And be bold, For, you'll need to deracinate; Chancers are toxic vocations Within the tent of meaning; It's content; it's all content- Divide and game, so- Focus and grow. I mean to make sure That you are a consistent- Start of the ninth evening , End of the next.

33. God doesn't eat though, That I can see- For all that we give him, God doesn't eat.

34. Crowd, 15/7, and tabernacle feast week; Still his words became their actions, Shrill, until the doctrine of laches, When the searched-after Faithless elector went libertarian, Like many on the medium, Clade unto such bolled and novel obstacles What stretched where chance was slim, And slim was still in quarantine.

35. To start again, down tools, For, lo, if you want to be in a prison camp, You needst allow yourself the luxury Of being stupid enough to get captured.

36. Sacrifice? Spluttereth the LORD: But I'm fed up with so much burnt rubbish, I wish for forced fresh rhubarb, So shunt and jive; I've Optimized, and optimize continuously.

37. Drinks break; take life indicting, Gratify all at a local craven hire scheme, Go abroad singing, so merrylike, To slough off the whole As one enormous rhyzome. Deus Hic! God is drunk! I heard that, Brian Leg-Coverall.

38. O well done Jehus, And good to be with you, Yes you, Who are good in a crisis; A reminder- I'm working with mischief.

39. Wait, rest again, To live is to live through An embarrassment of times, Damarkated as meaningful riches, That will not be well remembered. Really, I am so blessed.

40. But try to ask of a question; So that thy congregation Might make communion in answer, See how it goes? Say, But why, isn't it A bit like palm sunday? The stream changeth its name As it passeth through each neighbourhood. I knew it as; Well it doesn't matter- You're not reposting, nor liking my banal repartee, So, unfollow.

41. And it goes; for I have giv'n unto them a scapegoat, But they cast it not out; So shall there be a reaving that will follow, and Themselves, they shall be cut off from.

42. Then all ye home-born booth dwellers In dwelling booths, Shall dwell in booths seven days and know That you are living in the rhyzome..

43. And everyone will know that I made you do this- The old booth dwellers, needing my rescue out of Egypt, So weakened,  the Open Wounde stayeth open; And remember to tell us what you think, Way down, deep down, down in the margins.

44. And Mose went about with the crowdsplaining Old loud-haler; A simple fellow out of storybook glen, From the tent of meaning, From the twilight men, He ran and told- And the thing is, They were too clever To not know what they were doing- So the target becomes bios; Is the common psychle, The answer- How would you like it? Is - 'I didn't'. And that therein has a hold and salience, As before tends to be the best time to regret- It is a kind of nonsense. I'm so merry

I'm so merry and sad.

[cinder-wulf]

Character Questionnaire: Cinder

Player Task 001: Character Development. 

BASICS

1. Height?

I'm 5'7".

2. Eye colour?

...green, though Haruhime called it forest green.

3. Do they need glasses?

I don't. I have a hunter's eyesight.

4. Scars and birthmark?

None.

5. Tattoos and piercings?

None. I was thinking of getting the same tattoos as Haruhime, though. Hers were amazing.

6. Right or left handed?

Both. (He is ambidextrous.)

7. Any disabilities? Physical or mental.

None.

8. Do they have any allergies?

I'm not sure. I got sick after eating crabs once but I did eat a lot of them that one time and I haven't gotten sick from eating crabs since.

9. Favourite colour?

Green. Sometimes red.

10. Typical outfits?

My kannushi clothes. My mentor Ryuki gifted them to me, so they're...nice.

11. Do they wear any makeup?

Nope.

12. What weapon do they use, if any?

I use my ceremonial scimitar, which is basically just a normal scimitar but with the Sai family's special emblem. They're very traditional, you know.

PERSONALITY

13. Are they more optimistic or pessimistic?

I'd say I'm both. (Nope, he's very pessimistic. He only gets optimistic for money.)

14. Are they introverted or extroverted?

Extroverted. (Nope. They were extroverted before but the Sai family tragedy has since turned them introverted. They do get extroverted for money or when drunk but by default they've since been introverted.)

15. What are their pet peeves?

...questions. Lots and lots of them. (Also, anything that smells bad. His senses are heightened somewhat.)

16. What bad habits do they have?

None...of your business. (They can be very moody and antisocial. Their habit of keeping secrets can be terrible as well, especially if it ends up to the detriment of their allies.)

17. Do they have any phobias?

I fear nothing. (He's afraid of spiders, well, getting surprised by them at least, and flying roaches.)

18. How do they display affection?

I don't. (He used to be very touchy and even wrote poetry for Haruhime before. These days, he rarely does, unless it's for money or when he's drunk.)

19. How competitive are they?

Eh, not very. (He is secretly super competitive but only with things like hunting, tracking, basically things that he associates he worth with.)

20. If they could change one thing about themselves, what would it be?

Nothing. I'm perfect the way I am. (He secretly wants to change his heritage. He sometimes believes that if he wasn't who he was born as, the Sais wouldn't have suffered their tragedy.)

21. Do they have any obscure hobbies or routines?

Nope. (He observes what can only be described as the equivalent of real-world Shinto worship to Melora. He also has a soft spot for incense, tea ceremonies, and for some strange reason, flower decoration.)

BACKSTORY

22. What are the names and ages of their close family members? Parents, siblings, etc.

The Sais, master Ryuki and Haruhime, were my family. Master was old enough to be my father and Haruhime was around my age when we first met. (Cinder never met his real parents, as he was abandoned as a child. He does not know where his parents are if they are even still alive today or if he had any siblings.)

23. Is their family alive and are they still in contact with them?

...no. (The Sais passed away after suffering a tragedy, and his last contact with Ichi, Haruhime's cousin, was three years ago. He has no idea if his biological family is alive, having never met them.)

24. Where are they from? City, nation?

I'm from the far east, where cherry blossoms bloom and snow falls.

25. Did they have a childhood best friend?

Yes. Her name was Haruhime.

26. Have they had any pets?

No. I am usually the pet.

27. Did they grow up rich or poor? What were their living conditions like?

I had to fend for myself growing up when my family abandoned me as a child. That was, until I met the Sais who accepted me as their own. We lived simply, neither rich nor poor, in the service of the Sai family shrine.

28. What is their educational background?

I was mostly taught by the Sais. (He was tutored, basically home-schooled, by the Sais. He is surprisingly very literate and well-versed in magic, which he refers to as his "okurimono," and religion, specifically everything involving Melora.)

29. As a child, what did they want to be when they grew up?

I wanted for nothing but to live with the Sais until my last.

30. What advice would they give to their younger self?

...to never leave the Sais' side and protect them at all cost, even if it means your own life. There is nothing else past them, only sorrow and despair.

31. Growing up, were they ever bullied or were they the bully?

Neither. (He was most definitely bullied for being a homeless runt...until the beast within scared his bullies off. Then he was chased away by concerned parents.)

32. Who do they look up to/who is their role model?

Haruhime...and Ryuki. (Cinder didn't just love Haruhime. He actually looked up to her as a role model and saw her as his hero, being everything he wished he could have. Ryuki was more of a father figure to him, having taught him most of what he knows, than a role model, but he does admire his patience and commitment.)

PRESENT

33. Do they currently have a place of residence?

...yes? (Technically, no. He does have a room at Lunacrest, sort of, but he's always scrambling to pay his rent. The only reason he still have it is because the owner takes pity on him after accidentally hearing his story from a drunk Cinder, extending his due date whenever he can. Cinder also often wakes up in random stables, sometimes right outside the gates, after nights of heavy drinking.)

34. What is their most treasured possession?

My kannushi clothes. My ceremonial scimitar. The things that remind me of home and the Sais.

35. What is their drink of choice?

...the Redheaded Harlot. (Deep amber red and thick like blood, this shot is supposed named after a tavern's best lady of the evening. Made from fermented berries, Tree Ent Root, and Deer's blood, the rim of its flagon or glass is usually also coated in honey and dipped in a red sweet powder that is to be licked before pounding down the drink. It is said that all who drink this become very charismatic towards the opposite sex for the entire time the drink is in their system.)

36. Which king/queen are they loyal to, if any?

Whoever will pay me the most, of course. My loyalty is for sale to the highest bidder.

37. Have they ever killed anyone?

... (He has, though he never speaks of such tragedies.)

38. What was their last promise and did they keep it?

... (He promised the dying Haruhime that he would live his life like she did hers, without bitterness and anger. Clearly, he has failed to keep it. He had tried before but he just couldn't keep to it.)

LOVE

39. What was their first kiss like, if they’ve had one?

It was...the best feeling I've ever had. (It was actually pretty brief, as it was an accidental kiss between him and Haruhime. She was trying to surprise him with a peck on the cheek but he turned to look at her, curious at what she was doing.)

40. Are they in a relationship/have a love interest?

... (Haruhime was the love of his life, and he believes he will never love another.)

41. Have they ever been in love?

...yes.

42. Have they ever had their heart broken?

... (Haruhime's untimely passing broke not only his heart but also his spirit. He hasn't been the same since.)

SPIRITUALITY

43. Do they follow a god, if so who?

I follow Melora, though the Sais know her by a different name. I used to know her by a different name as well, but names are less important than what they do.

44. What do they think happens to them after death?

I'll be reunited with the Sais again.

45. What is their spirit animal?

A wolf...or maybe a fox. Both?

[reaperthegenius]

Neighbors AU

    I moved into my new apartment almost a month ago and have yet to meet my new neighbor. I heard from the landlord that he’s not around much but in over three weeks it seems unlikely that I still have yet to catch even a glimpse of him. Sometimes I’ll hear him come in on the weekends super late at night but other than those nights, he’s quiet as can be all hours of the day and night. It’s odd but I guess I’ll meet him when I’m meant to. Until then, I have a life to live and right now that involves going out after work tonight with my friend Yuzuri for drinks.

    Yuzuri is always dragging me out to new places she finds and tonight we’re going to a new bar she found. I never know how she finds all these obscure places, but they tend to be really fascinating no matter what they are. Yuzuri, I’ve learned, just has an eye for a good time. The new bar she takes me to is called the Contender and inside there’s already quite a crowd despite the night still being young. We manage to find a table to sit at near the back and before I even get settled, Yuzuri is off to the bar to get us drinks. I watch as she fights her way through the crowd near the bar and as she finally gets close enough to the bar to order, I catch a glimpse of the cute bartender taking her order. He takes her order and starts mixing up our drinks. In a few minutes, Yuzuri is back at the table bearing two identical drinks that look pretty but are going to make me regret drinking tonight.

    “These are going to get me trashed, aren’t they?” I ask as Yuzuri sits down across from me at the table.

    “Is that not the point of going to the bar?” She remarks.

    “Maybe to you, but some people like to actually remember their nights out.”  I retort and I start to work on my first drink of what I assume will be many. “So, how did you even find this place anyway?”

    “You know me, I just explore and happen upon things like this. How’s the new place? Finally settled?” She asks.

    “Yeah, I’m finally fully settled in and the place is pretty nice so far. There is one suspicious thing though, my neighbor is basically MIA all the time. I haven’t even seen what he looks like yet.” I explain to her while I continue to sip on my drink.

    “Hmm, that is weird but it’s only a neighbor and it’s still better than a neighbor who’s always making a ruckus.”

    “I guess.” I shrug and the conversation leans towards all the work we have right now at the pharmacy. It’s nice to talk about work with someone who understands what I’m talking about. As we continue talking, we both eventually finish our drinks. “It’s my turn to get us drinks, I’ll be right back,” I say and grab our glasses to take back to the bar. I manage to get to the bar pretty easily since the crowds have dispersed quite a bit while Yuzuri and I were talking. Once I get there, I’m stopped in my tracks by golden catlike eyes and a handsome face.

    “Hello, miss, what can I get for you?” He asks and I realize I’ve been just staring at him for a couple of seconds. I finally stop staring only to realize I need to answer his question.

    “Uh, can I have two of whatever this is,” I say as I gesture to the glasses I brought back with me. “My friend ordered them, so I don’t know what they’re called.” I tell him.

    “Good thing I have a good memory then. I remember what your friend got before so I’ll have that right up for you, miss” He says and takes the glasses back from off the bar. I stand and watch as he puts the dirty glasses in a bin of dishes and grabs two new similarly shaped glasses. He makes fast but fluid work of making our new drinks and I can’t help but watch his hands as he works. “Here’s your drinks and by the way, you’re not a subtle watcher.” He teases and winks as me as he walks away to tend to another customer.

    I take the drinks back to Yuzuri and we simply fall into a rhythm of drinking, chatting, and taking turns getting new drinks. After a few hours and probably too many drinks, we decide it’s probably time to head home. Yuzuri lives in the opposite direction of me so once we leave the bar, we go our separate ways. She gets an uber home, but I decide to walk home since it’s nice outside tonight. It’s not a long walk and within 20 minutes I’m climbing the stairs to my second-floor apartment. Not surprisingly, my neighbor’s lights are still off, and he doesn’t seem to be home. Maybe because I’m drunk or maybe because I’m just too curious, I decide to leave a note on his door asking him to come over tomorrow for lunch.

    I’ll probably regret that in the morning but that’s future Shirayuki’s problem I decide. Once I finish writing and taping the note to his door, I go inside my own apartment and crash. I don’t sleep well, but I still wake up at 9 am and eat a small breakfast. After eating and showering for the day, I don’t feel as hungover as I did when I woke up. Just when I start to feel better though, I remember what I did last night, and I don’t feel that great again. I quickly try to think of a way to solve this, but I am still extremely curious about who my neighbor is, so I decide to just make lunch anyway and see if he shows up. Around noon there’s a knock at my door so I brace myself for who’s on the other side and swing open my door.

    Standing across from is the cute bartender from last night and he has the note I wrote last night in his hand. “So, you wanted to have lunch, miss?” He asks looking just as shocked as I am.

    “About that, I was drunk and thought if I tried to make plans with you, I could finally see who you are. I guess I should probably introduce myself then. I’m Shirayuki, may I ask what your name is?”

    “Obi.” He says and puts out his hand to shake. We shake hands and he asks, “Are we still having lunch?”

    “Uh, yeah. If you still want to.” I say as I move to let him. This should be an interesting lunch.

[yeenybeanies]

g/t prompt list

5. boop

matt murdock / daredevil & borrower!reader ( 3rd person pov ).

2,407 words

mild language warning

please keep comments to the tags!! thank you!! 

Matt started hearing the strange sounds a couple of days ago. He heard little rustling, pitter-pattering noises in the walls and ceilings of his apartment. At first, he’d thought it was just a mouse. That was the logical explanation. What else could it possibly be? But he quickly realized the error in that assumption when he listened a bit closer: the scurrying doesn’t sound quite right to be a mouse, nor does the quiet muttering of words. Last time Matt checked, mice do not speak. It wouldn’t be the strangest thing to find, admittedly, but it still seems unlikely. 

Whatever it is, though, it clearly can speak, which is troubling. It could compromise his security, his identity. Matt needs to catch it before it can expose him as Daredevil––assuming ( or perhaps hoping ) that it hasn’t already. 

Given its ability to speak, Matt assumes it has intelligence. It won’t fall for any sort of lure trap. Or maybe it would; maybe he’s giving it more credit than it deserves. Still, his gut tells him that it’s a bit smarter than that, especially given the things he’s heard it muttering. What kind of a rodent says something like  “ By the Gods, I’ll be sent to a top-secret facility where they’ll dissect me and take my DNA and they’ll euthanize me long before I can hope for any sort of liberation ”? It has a vocabulary and problem-solving skills that he wouldn’t expect from a simple creature. 

He’s also heard it whisper a name multiple times. Could that be its name? ( should he still consider it an it? ) 

“ [ Y/N ]? ”  he speaks plainly, lying face-up across his couch. The faint rustling, loud && clear in his ears, stops somewhere above him. Through the ceiling material, Matt can’t get a clear shape of what the creature is; he hasn’t been able to discern anything yet beyond the fact that they are small. And now they’ve stopped moving.  “ Is that . . . your name? ”  It feels foolish, speaking to a critter in the ceiling, but here he is. 

“ Where did you hear that? ”  The little thing is shouting, voice muffled through the ceiling. 

“ From you. ”  

“ How have you been––how long have you been listening? ”  

“ I first heard you about a week ago. What are you? Why are you here? ”  The creature falls silent––in that they stop talking, but Matt can still hear their movements quite clearly––and starts moving quickly along the ceiling. If he focuses hard enough, he can hear their heartbeat, small and rapid, as they scurry along. They move to the wall, and start to make their way down, looking like they’re heading for the floor. Matt sits up, a little puzzled, head angled in the creature’s direction. They stop once they reach the floor level, but the drywall still obscures their shape. 

“ How could he have heard me? What kind of super hearing does this human have? ”  Clearly they’re talking to themselves. They must not know that Matt can, in fact, still hear them. He shifts towards the edge of the couch, a little closer.  “ Shit shit shit––what am I gonna do? I just moved; there are cats upstairs, bugs downstairs––dammit. ”  

“ You, uh . . . uhm . . . ”  Matt clears his throat. It doesn’t sound like they have any nefarious, secret-identity-exposing intentions. It sounds more like they’re just trying to live.  “ You can come out. I’m . . . not going to hurt you. ”  Their little voice stops. They go silent again, save for minute shuffling. He thinks they’re going to run away at any moment, but then they do finally speak up again. 

“ That’s what every bean says. ”  Bean?  “ ‘ Oh, i’m not gonna hurt you. ’  and then you come out like an idiot and suddenly you’re trapped in a–a–a box-thing! And being carried off to Gods-know-where! ” 

“ Do you . . . speak from personal experience? ”  If so, this is actually quite concerning. Despite the being’s comic attempts to deepen their voice and sound like a human, their story resembles something from a nightmare. Matt frowns. He lowers himself quietly to the floor, onto his knees. 

“ Uh . . . no. It’s––it’s none of your business! ”  

Interestingly enough, Matt catches a flutter in the creature’s heartbeat, not unlike what he’d hear in a lying human. His brows pinch together. 

“ Look, I . . . don’t know how to, uh, reassure you. I can––I could probably help you, if you’d come out . . .. ”  

More movement. Matt tilts his head and focuses, trying to hear it better, gauge what the little being is doing. Little footsteps reach his ears. It sounds like the being is retreating, much to his disappointment and slight annoyance. They’re moving further away from him. He has half a mind to chase, but it wouldn’t do him any good––not with them in the wall like that. Not to mention, he would probably scare the hell out of them, which isn’t really something he cares to do. They seem to be under enough stress as is.

Matt is ready to let the being be, already standing up, when he hears the squeak of a screw being turned in drywall. He freezes, senses mapping the room, finding the screw in question in a power outlet cover––a loose cover, apparently. The cover is pushed aside, and a tiny––impossibly tiny–– . . . person slips out into the open. Radar senses are all over the little figure, picking up every detail they can get. The being is approximately three inches tall; they have four limbs, each ending in five digits; they’re wearing clothes; they–––they really are a very small human . . .. 

He isn’t sure what he was expecting, exactly, but this isn’t it. A talking rat actually seems a bit more likely . . .. 

“ You’re . . .–––woah. Hey. ”  The little person’s heart rate shoots right up as he takes a step, prompting Matt to freeze again. He holds up his hands in a sort of surrender.  “ It’s okay. Like I said: I’m not going to hurt you. ”  

“ You aren’t . . . looking at me. ”  

“ I’m––yeah, I–––that wouldn’t do me much good. ” 

They don’t press further, seeming to understand. A soft patter of little feet tells Matt that they’ve moved a bit closer, though they remain well outside of his reach. That’s fine. He doesn’t intend to grab them. 

“ You have really good hearing, ”  they comment. Their heart rate is going down, slowly but surely.  “ What is your name? ”  

“ Uh . . . Matt. It’s––I’m Matt. Is [ Y/N ] your name? ”  

They nod––an action he does notice––but they quickly follow up, sounding a little embarrassed, as if unused to speaking to a blind man. “ Y–yeah. That’s me. You heard right. ”  

Matt smiles a little, more to himself than to his company.  “ Well, [ Y/N ], do you mind if I sit down? ”  

“ Go for it . . .. ”  It sounds more like a question, indicative of [ Y/N ]’s confusion. It is a weird question to ask. Who asks for permission to sit in his own house? But Matt is more thinking that he doesn’t want to give the little one reason to bolt. And they don’t. They stay right where they are ( heart rate rising ) as he lowers himself back onto the couch. 

An interesting conversation ensues. Matt has plenty of questions, and, as it turns out, the little one––borrower, as they call themselves––has some of their own. Matt learns that, while [ Y/N ] has seen him return at night in his uniform, they don’t really know who he’s supposed to be or what it’s for. It’s probably best they remain in the dark. As they talk, too, Matt notices that the borrower comes a little closer every few minutes. They seem to be just as curious about him as he is about them. He guesses he’s the first blind  " bean ”  they’ve encountered. He also seems to be the first one that hasn’t actively tried to catch and/or kill them. It’s a little upsetting to think about. 

“ Can I . . . feel you? ”  It’s another odd question. Even for him, it’s a strange one, but he’s still questioning himself on whether or not this encounter is real. The borrower stiffens, immediately nervous once more. Matt feels the awkward tension rise up. 

“ Uh . . . what do you, uh––why? ” 

Right. That’s answer enough. Matt leans back a little, as if to give [ Y/N ] some more space. Some guilt creeps into his conscience for even asking, considering how the borrower’s reacted to him thus far. While they’ve been amicable, he’s not oblivious to their constant, underlying fear. 

“ Never mind. Sorry––forget I asked. ”  Stupid. He mentally berates himself, but another sound reaches his ears, cutting him off. He frowns, head jerking sharply towards the door ( which startles the borrower; he’ll have to remember to keep his movements slower and smoother in the future ). 

“ Someone’s coming. You should probably––– ” 

But they’re already gone. Matt hears the rapid pitter-patter of little feet on the floors, and the following scrape against the wall as the outlet cover is moved aside. For a brief moment, his focus remains on [ Y/N ] as they move through the walls, but the knock at the door pulls him back to the situation at hand. It seems that Foggy is here. 

“ Matt. ”  The voice reaches him, but Matt doesn’t wake just yet. 

Foggy came over, and the two of them had conversation over a couple of beers. Some of it was business, and some of it wasn’t––a good mix of the two, really. Matt lost focus on [ Y/N ] shortly after they vanished into the wall, and hadn’t found them again after Foggy eventually left. Figuring they’d gone to sleep, as the hour was pretty late, he opted to do the same, and retired to his room for the night. 

Then he started to experience things. His nightmares are always so intimate, an assault on the senses. So many voices ( screams ), sensations, so much chaos–––

“ Matt! ”  There’s a tap to his nose that finally wakes the man. He breathes out sharply, wrenched from his bad dream. Sightless eyes blink in the darkness, staring up at the ceiling as he works to ground himself and get his breathing under control. It takes a couple of seconds for him to realize he isn’t alone. There’s a buzzing heartbeat within a small, warm little body just to the left of his head. 

“ [ Y/N ]? ”  While he isn’t super familiar with their specific heartbeat yet, Matt does recognize the little squeaks and yelps they make when startled. Those are unmistakable. He pushes against his mattress and moves himself a few inches to the right, giving himself and the borrower some room so he can safely sit himself up, elbow propped under his body for support. The way the mattress deforms under him jostles [ Y/N ], but they maintain their footing.

“ Are you okay? ” 

“ I–I think I, uh––I should be asking you that! You were yelling in your sleep! ”  There’s a quiver in their voice. They’re nervous––terrified, even. They’re much closer to Matt now than they were willing to get before. Hell––they touched��him, flicked him hard enough on the nose to wake him up. 

“ I . . . was I? Sorry . . . ”  He must have woken them up, then. Matt sighs and drags a hand down his face, still exhausted, but awake for the time being. He can feel the borrower staring at him.  “ I’m okay. Just a bad dream. ”  

They don’t seem too convinced, but they take a step back regardless, likely ready to make their runaway. That doesn’t happen, though; when Matt pushes himself up further, their surprised yelp hits the air, and he feels a little weight fall onto the back of his hand. Immediately he freezes, not daring to move, lest he frighten [ Y/N ] further. It seems they have a similar idea, though perhaps their freeze is more fear-induced than anything else. 

“ . . . You can get up. I won’t move. ”  And they do get up after another moment, scurrying off of his hand ( with a little assistance ). He offers a soft apology. Much to his surprise, though, they don’t go very far. Already that hummingbird heartbeat is starting to slow. Once more, they’re silent, staring at him. Things are a bit awkward. Matt clears his throat. 

“ I’m, uh––I’m gonna go get some water from the kitchen. Do you . . . want anything? Or would you like to join me . . .? ”  

They don’t answer. Matt takes it as a no. He resumes getting up, off the bed, much slower this time. 

“ I could . . . use a snack, ”  comes the tiny voice, making Matt pause again. He glances back over his shoulder, senses picking up on [ Y/N ]’s minuscule form. Being their size, he imagines they must need to eat fairly often. 

“ Want me to carry you? ”  It’s just a suggestion. It’d be faster, more efficient, but Matt won’t push. 

“ I can manage. ”  Fair enough. The borrower approaches the bed’s edge and climbs down the sheets and covers, down to the floor, where Matt can hear their footsteps. He starts walking towards the kitchen, pace slowed a little, but still quick enough to keep well ahead of [ Y/N ]. Though the chances of him stepping on them are slim to none, it’s still a precaution he takes. 

Now, he’s sure he’s got some cereal in one of the cabinets that he thinks his new companion would like . . . 

[overanalyzingelswordiswhatido]

Dynamo

Part 5 of A Little Less Lonely

-

Eve was drawn out of her thoughts by the feeling of being watched. It was a familiar feeling, though she hadn't felt recently. Her eyes narrowed slightly but she continued walking. She was on her way out of Velder. Though the kingdom was currently struggling to take care of it's people, so she often paused to help where she could.

Just as Eve was drifting back into her thoughts a loud meow filled her ears. It was quickly followed by a boy's quiet hiss, "Shh!! Stupid cat! You're going to get us caught!"

Eve blinked. She acted like she hadn't heard anything but listened carefully. She turned on her heel to a nearby fruit stand. Quick scans told her which fruits were ripest. She left those ones for someone else to buy.

A few moments later she heard a softer meow that sounded questioning.

"No, dumbass. It would be better for me to just cut off my own hand," was the response.

Eve frowned. Moby told her the boy was watching her from an alleyway across the street with a great amount of interest. She sighed. The last person to pay that much attention to her was Add. While he turned out alright in the end, it was incredibly questionable at first and she didn't really feel like doing all of that again. She bought some fruit and continued on her way.

The boy continued to follow her even after she left the city. Once Eve was a day out from the city, she turned to look directly at him. He was obscured by the tree he was hiding in, making his appearance difficult to discern. She could clearly see the reflective eyes of the cat that was with him.

"Damn." The curse was muttered but the boy didn't move.

"Despite knowing you've been caught you aren't going to come out?" Eve asked. She was met with stony silence. After a moment, she nodded, "Very well." She turned and continued walking. If the boy continued to follow her that was his choice.

Eve remembered a few months before, seeing those two siblings at the statue in Ruben. And rumors were spreading like crazy that a student at Aisha's school was able to use her staff. Now there was a boy following Eve and he refused to reveal himself even when she knew he was there. She frowned. Was it possible for humans to be...recreated like that? Or was she overthinking similarities?

Eve didn't try to talk to the boy again until she reached the border of the Nasod Kingdom. "Nasod sensors will be able to detect you even with you hiding. It will be better for you to enter with me in the open than to try sneaking in behind me."

For many moments there was silence. Finally a cold voice demanded, "Then why'd you let me follow you this far?"

"You have not caused me any harm," Eve answered calmly.

"And if I wanted to?"

"I have no doubt that plenty of opportunities to do so have presented themself to you. Yet I remain completely unharmed."

Silence. Finally the boy climbed up onto a rock and sat cross-legged on top of it. His hair was dark black and the eye that wasn't hidden by his hair was brown. He wore a black hat with a flat brim. A pure white cat followed him up, seeming to complain, and curled up in his lap.

Eve did a surface scan and was surprised to find that the color of both his eye and his hair was fake. She couldn't identify what coloration he had originally, or how he managed to change his eye color with just a surface scan, however. "Are you going to follow me into the Nasod Kingdom?"

The boy shrugged, "Haven't decided yet." He petted his cat while it climbed up onto his shoulders.

"You followed me this far," Eve reminded him.

"I'm a little more curious as to why you'd let me into your kingdom after I followed you this whole time," the boy's visible eye narrowed in suspicion. "Most people aren't so calm about being followed for weeks on end."

"Do you make a habit of following people for extended periods of time?" Eve asked.

"No! I'm just saying most people get mad when you follow them at all. Let alone for weeks."

"You continued to follow me even after I caught you."

"Duh. You're weird. Usually if someone as important as the 'almighty' Queen of Nasods catches some dirty street kid following them, they get pissed."

"Ah," Eve nodded. "Nasods are not as easily dictated by emotion." 

"So you are mad at me for following you."

Eve shook her head, "No." She was more annoyed than anything, not angry. Certainly not angry enough to act on it in any way.

"That doesn't make any sense," he insisted.

Eve sighed, "I am quite used to being followed. It's not a hinderance to me."

The boy still didn't seem to believe her but he didn't say anything more.

Eve glanced at his cat, "Does the cat have a name?"

"Yes."

"What is it?"

"Why do you care?"

"Names are important," Eve shrugged.

The boy laughed harshly, "Suuure. Of course! Names are super important!"

"Maybe not the names that we're given, but we all choose to have other people call us something." Eve knew well that humans often went by names that meant something to them, not necessarily the one they were given at birth. She found it rather odd but didn't question it.

The boy stared at her blankly for a moment, "Oh. Well..." He looked away and mumbled, "The cat's called Dynamo."

Eve's eyes widened momentarily. She frowned, "If you don't mind my asking, where is the name from?"

"I dont know," the boy snapped defensively. "It was just in my head, alright. Jeez. You make a big deal out of names and how you wanna know what my cat is called and then you don't like it?"

"That's not what I meant." Eve explained, "I've only ever heard that name in one other instance." Perhaps she wasn't overthinking similarities after all but, while she was happy at the possibility of her friends returning, questions kept nagging her. Why were they returning now? And why seemingly all at once?

[coeurdastronaute]

Kiwi 6

Previously on Kiwi

The penthouse was almost quiet, and the bed was almost warm. The sheets were tangled and different layers covered different parts of the body that was left in it while outside, the clouds hung low and thick, obscuring much of the rest of the city. Just the night before, the weather channel said it’d be clear and a bisk, just below freezing for the millions of people set to descend upon the city for a new year and festivities.

Clarke growled and grunted against the light that filtered through the curtains. She shoved her head into the pillow and rolled around, looking for another body, but came up starfished and empty.

It should have been weird to her that she was asleep in a bed that was bigger than her entire apartment in a sparsely, yet ridiculously expensive and well-decorated penthouse. But Lexa’s place was becoming comfortable at an alarming rate, and Clarke didn’t even hesitate to roll her own eyes at herself at the quickness with which she’d semi-coupled.

She chided herself and then sat up in bed, wondering where the girl with wild hair might have gone. There’d been a promise of the best french toast she’d ever had, and Clarke was eager to collect.

With a stretch, Clarke pulled her hair into a ponytail and padded out toward the living room, making her way down the hall, cold toes meeting cold floor. She emerged into the bright, open living room and smiled at the coffee brewing.

More importantly though, she managed to find the girl that was supposed to be in the bed, but now she understood why she was left alone.

Laid out on the floor, a sweaty musician twisted with a medicine ball, moving it from side to side, muscles flexing with each movement. Thankfully, Lexa was wearing headphones, and thankfully, she didn’t hear the sigh of appreciation the new voyeur uttered as she watched for a few moments. Instead, she kept going, doing different movements with her body, sweaty and lean and perfect and hot and sexy and gorgeous and distracting.

It was a dream-- surely Clarke dreamt up someone who would look like that, so early in the morning, or any time of day, really. Against the windows, the silhouette stretched up after finishing a particularly high-impact circuit of push ups and curls and lunches or such. Short shorts clung like a second skin. A sports bra showed off ink that often remained hidden.

Clarke was exceptionally attracted to the Tinder date, and she couldn’t quite place why, but she was sure it had something to do with her being a morning person.

“Oh, hey, sorry,” Lexa smiled as she finally turned around and found someone watching her. Sheepishly, she stopped working out and straightened up. “Did I wake you up?”

“No. You’re fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“I woke up to an empty bed, but this isn’t so bad to wake up to see.”

“What? Huh?” Lexa furrowed and looked down at herself. “Oh, I see… you’re a perv.”

“You bet that sweet ass I am.”

Far away from the brooding, from the melancholy of her normal, tortured artist state, Lexa laughed and rolled her eyes, toweling off the sweat of her neck and chest. She walked towards the girl leaning against the wall and smirked.

“You’re all sweaty,” Clarke made a face, even though she wrapped her arms around Lexa’s neck as she complained.

“You’re going to be super grossed out when you see me after a concert.”

Hands slid to hips and Lexa pressed closer anyway, finding no actual resistance despite the face made.

“I don’t think you’ll be sweaty tonight. It’s supposed to be below freezing.”

“Oh I’ll be sweaty somehow.”

“So there’s that to look forward to,” Clarke sighed and waited to be kissed.

She wasn’t disappointed, earning a smile pressed against her own just an instant later. Lexa was warm and vibrating, and it was contagious.

“Are you hungry?”

“Starving, but more curious as to why you’re awake and training to avenge someone’s death.”

Again, Lexa smiled warmly and shook her head, making her way toward the kitchen. Clarke trailed behind, admiring the view and the way the muscles of Lexa’s back moved with each step. There might have been words said, but she certainly didn’t hear them.

“I was waiting until you got up to make a smoothie. Do you want one? It’ll look like grass, but it tastes so good, and it’s packed with antioxidants.”

“There was supposed to be french toast,” Clarke furrowed as she sat down on a stool. “That’s the only reason I stayed.”

“The only reason?”

“One of,” she shrugged.

Lexa started pulling things out of her fridge, including, to Clarke’s excitement, ingredients to make breakfast that was much less healthier than a smoothie.

“Do you normally work out all morning when a half-naked girl is in your bed?”

“I normally work out when I want a drink,” Lexa said flippantly. “And I’m going to perform in front of the entire world tonight. That make me a little nervous. So whenever I want a drink, I work out until I can’t think about drinking anything other than water.”

“You must want to drink a lot.”

“Constantly, to be honest,” Lexa grinned. “I’m sorry. No one wants to get unloaded on first thing in the morning. I’m just trying to be open about things.”

“I just meant that… I mean… look at… all of…” Clarke blushed slightly as she gestured toward the near naked girl. “That. You’re just very fit, and must work out often. The math is that you want to drink a lot. But not in a bad way.”

“Kind of a bad way,” she chuckled. “But thank you. Are you done perving?”

“Not even close.”

“You could work out with me next time if you want.”

“Can I just watch?”

“Looking’s free, but touchings going to cost you,” Lexa wiggled her eyebrows and waggled the knife that was peeling fruit.

“Put it on my tab.”

“Racking up quite a bill there, babe,” she murmured, pouring a mug of coffee.

The morning started, somehow, right there. Lexa sipped her smoothie and shared it for a sip before earning a face. Of course that meant she was immediately rushed to start making breakfast properly. And Clarke sat at the stool and watched as breakfast was prepared for her while making enough jokes and small talk to keep the musician distracted.

She’d be okay with more of the working out, but breakfast making was a treasure to enjoy. It didn’t hurt that the french toast was spectacular and Lexa beamed when she got the compliments that poured out of Clarke’s mouth.

“So are you less nervous now that you’ve worked out and made me breakfast?” Clarke ventured as she pushed away her empty plate.

“I’m still plenty nervous.”

“It’s just a concert where you only play two songs or so,” she shrugged.

“Yeah, but you’ll be there,” Lexa murmured into her smoothie. The tips of her ears burned a little warm with the admission.

“I make you want to drink?”

“No… no… it’s just… all of it,” she tried to explain, rubbing her eye and trying to explain but failing. “I’m excited and nervous, but more importantly it’s a new year, and I think it might be a good one.”

“It will be.”

“You still want to come right? I mean, I’m nervous, but you’re the one that has to deal with all of it, and how different--”

“I want to come,” Clarke promised quickly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Is it the shorts?” Lexa grinned, teasing and all.

“Something like that.”

The phone calls came almost immediately after breakfast. Before the dishes were even stacked and scraped and shoved in the dishwasher after a quick rinse, Lexa’s phone vibrated almost steadily on the counter.

Clarke should have known things weren’t going to be quiet. It was the last day of the year and they had plans. The plans that involved kissing around midnight and confirming all of the other grainy pictures. And it was fine. Clarke was fine with it.

Except that she really wasn’t as comfortable as she liked to pretend, but she had this weird knack for faking her confidence that always led her into deep waters, and so far, it hadn’t been anything she’d drowned in. It was around this level of metaphor that she realized it was inevitable. She’d drown sooner or later.

“I’m sorry. That’s it for now, I think I headed them all off,” Lexa sighed as she moved around the living room and flopped on the couch.

“You’re a popular girl. I get it.”

“I’m not that popular.”

“Everyone else is anxious about the performance?” Clarke ventured.

A body slid slightly and buried a face in Clarke’s hip. Hot breath exhaled against shorts and a growl murmured against the couch.

“So many details. But we’ve practiced,” Lexa explained, coming up for air to push her hair away from their face. “Everyone is just antsy.”

“Could it be because you’re unpredictable?”

“Nah. That doesn’t sound like me.”

Clarke shook her head and let her phone drop to her chest, no longer interested in whatever someone was saying on the other end of the three dots. A hand moved along her side to her thigh to her knee.

“You have to get ready, huh?”

“Yeah, lots of press and stuff beforehand. But I’m not late until my sister starts to yell at m--”

The door opened before she could finish, but the noise made Lexa was somewhere between a growl and surrender.

“Indra said you weren’t answering her.”

Tall. Anya was taller than Clarke imagined. Taller and prettier and decidedly more annoyed than she would have hoped. Quietly, Clarke gulped as the person on top of her on the couch sat up a little taller.

“I didn’t give you a key to come and yell at me.”

“You’re late,” Anya argued, hands on  her hips as she spoke.

“I am not.”

“You are,” she insisted. “And I have to go see the baby, so it’s your turn to do press.”

“That kid ruins everything.”

“I know.”

The two shared a smile and Clarke looked back and forth between the two, unsure of what a look like that meant. Siblings were a weird species. But a second later, she’d wish that she was simply watching, whereas suddenly hazel eyes were searching her completely, finally noticing the distraction, or at least acknowledging it.

“Introduce me to your friend.” the older sister bossed.

“No.”

“Lexa.”

“Clarke, this is my sister Anya,” Lexa sighed, defeated once again. “An, this is Clarke. We met on Tinder and have been hanging out for a few days while I’m in town.”

“The infamous Clarke,” she smiled.

Her lips curled somewhere between friendly and knowing, having already figured everything out years ahead of anyone else. But it was nice enough, and part of her wanted to believe that Anya was welcoming, despite her greater fears that it was a very complicated situation, and the oldest sibling knew as much and worried because of it.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Clarke offered with a weak smile.

“You as well.”

“Great, you’ve met,” Lexa stood nudging her sister with her body language. “I’ll shower and head down in less than an hour.”

“I’ll let Indra know. Please don’t be late.”

“I won’t be,” she promised. “Go see the baby. Go relax. I’ve got this.”

“You sure?”

“Promise.”

With  a nod, Anya agreed. She moved toward the door, satisfied with having done he best she could with her sister. Clarke watched the entire thing, even as they whispered near the door and Anya cast one final look in her direction. After a few more seconds of sibling conversation, Lexa shut the door and sighed, leaning her back against it and regrouping.

“So that was your sister?”

“In the embarrassing flesh,” Lexa nodded. “I’m sorry about that.”

“No, no, it’s fine. She was nice.”

“She’s a pain.”

“You should go get ready.”

“Why does it always feel like we’re saying goodbye for good?”

Despite herself, Clarke chuckled and acquiesced, fighting the feeling as if she’d never see Lexa again. It felt like she was clinging, and she chalked it up to the time of year and the change that was happening to herself. It was the internship and figuring out her life, and struggling but remaining happy. And now there was this entire situation in which she was actively sleeping with someone who had Grammys on her bookshelf.

It was natural that it felt like it was always about to end, and she hated feeling that way, though she was grateful to not be alone in it.

“I’ll have the driver at your place around nine, if that’s okay? We can hang out backstage in between all of the hunk I have to do.”

Lexa ran her hand up and around her neck, sheepish about the suggestions.

“I’ll be ready. I’m going to wear a cute dress, but you won’t be able to see it under my big coat.”

“I could take your word for it,” she grinned, all wolf and predator and amused. “Or you could show me at the after party.”

“If you play well enough, I think I can be persuaded to be your date.”

“It’s locked up then.”

The two just smiled at each other from across the penthouse, unsure of how to actually leave, and knowing that they had to. It turned into a game of chicken, with neither wanting to break it, adn the odds getting more and more dire with every second.

“I’m going to go put on pants so I can do the walk of shame home,” Clarke finally muttered.

“Is it really shame?”

“Shut up.”

There were lesser addictions in her life, though perhaps addiction was the wrong term for these things. There were these things that she could almost not live without, but that she could not think about until they were happening.

Being on stage was one of them though.

The feeling of both control and lack of it. The rush of adrenaline that made her bones feel like they were being squeezed and her muscles like they were so strong they could do anything. That was the feeling-- the invincibility of having thousands of people yell her own words and feelings back at her. She wasn’t addicted because she didn’t crave it. But she did miss it when she didn’t have it for a while.

The world faded away to nothing, and Lexa pushed the hair from her face in a mess and smiled wide as she grabbed the microphone.

From the edge of the stage, in the section for friend and celebrities and hosts, Clarke watched as Lexa put on her show, sang her song, became a very different person than the one that kissed her hips and sent her pictures from the art museum.

But it wasn’t that they were different people, or that Lexa was split between two sides, but rather that different parts were just magnified when she wa on stage. Gone were the worries of the world, and instead, there was a freedom. In the short time they knew each other, Lexa seemed especially burdened by her life, by being alive, by existing. It was something to see her completely unencumbered.

“How was that?” Lexa asked as she hopped off the stage and into the holding area. Bundled up as best she could, there was still sweat on her brow, but her smile was distracting.

“That was… spectacular is the only word that comes to mind.”

“I’m really glad you got to be here.”

“Me too,” Clarke smiled as she earned a hug.

“All I could really think about is this dress you promised to let me see.”

“That’s all?”

“I’m a simple girl.”

There were crowds everywhere, all around them people moved and celebrated, music played and everyone smiled. Even hidden backstage, there was an energy in the air of a new year and the fresh start.

“We still have about ten minutes before the ball drops,” Lexa smiled. “What should we do to end the year?”

“Can we find something to eat?”

“God,” Lexa tossed her head back and shook it before offering a prayer. “You are the perfect girl, did you know that?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“Have you ever watched the ball drop in person?” Lexa asked as they huddled near the edge of a platform.

“I’m usually working,” Clarke shrugged. “You?”

“I’ve been kind of dazed the past few holidays, to be honest,” Lexa explained. “But I’ve never been here for it. We usually like to be back home.”

“Here’s to the first of many holidays you remember.”

Clarke lifted he water bottle and tapped it against the singers before taking a sip. The voices started to raise as the seconds ticked closer. Lexa leaned her shoulder against Clarke’s and hid in the worn leather of her jacket slightly, burrowing into her scarf while a girl with a pretty pink tint to her cheeks stared out onto the throngs of peoples.

“So, I don’t want to make this complicated. Can we not rush? Just… date?”

“That’s what you’re thinking about now?” Clarke furrowed.

“Yeah, kind of,” she shrugged. “I don’t want to rush into anything. I’ve known you for like three weeks, and I want to take it slow.”

“I thought we were going slow.”

“We are, and it’s great,” Lexa assured her. “I just want to be on the same page, and I’m not ready to commit to anything serious.”

“I’m not either.”

“But we don’t have to say goodbye.”

“I’d hope not.”

“No, I just mean,” Lexa tripped over her own tongue and it made Clarke smile as she shifted and turned toward her. “I want to keep dong whatever we’re doing. I just didn’t want to make things harder.”

“I’m still wary of the pictures and you and whatever is happening. I think slow is good.”

“Okay, great. Because we were kind of just…”

“Getting caught up in it a bit?”

“Yeah! Like really mashing all the minutes together real quickly because there’s a time limit,” Lexa nodded eagerly. “But there isn’t a time limit.”

“I like you. We can keep talking and getting to know each other.”

“Good. I just like to have my year started out with a clean slate. You were the last thing that I’d think of carrying ove, but I want to.”

“At midnight you won’t turn into a pumpkin?”

“Nope.”

Clarke’s hands toyed with Lexa’s scarf, adjusting it for her and laughing at the look on her face. There was something so simple about her that when she dug it out from the boulders of life, she felt a twinge of affection.

The countdown started for the final few seconds.

Lexa stood a little straighter, no longer leaning or watching the chanting or the crowd or the ball atop the building as it began a slow slip into next year. She pressed a little close to Clarke, and for just ten seconds, it felt like another year passed. Hands held onto her jacket, toying with the zipper and buttons.

“I’m really glad we figured this all out,” Lexa breathed.

Hands moved to Clarke’s chin, to her neck and held her there.

“Figured out that we’re just going to play it by ear?”

“Yeah.”

“Me too.”

It wasn’t even the new year yet, but Lexa didn’t care. She felt hands on her hips and she leaned forward with a smile and kissed Clarke until the fireworks started and a new year dawned without even noticing. She was trapped.

When it finally ended, she pressed her forehead against Clarke fo a moment with a smile and her eyes closed until Clarke swallowed her neck into another hug where she clung and mumbled into her neck.

“Happy New Year to you, too,” Lexa mumbled into Clarke’s shoulder, squeezing back even tighter to hide her smile.

NEXT

[sparkledeerfr]

Nope

Leading a city mostly made of your friends sounds easy, until you remember that friends sometimes like to be jerks for the fun of it. 

Warnings: None. 

“West, I really don’t think that he should be in here,” Adeline said indicating Chirok, the iron creeper’s heavy footsteps giving off a worrying ‘chink’ against the stone as they walked.

“He’ll be fine,” West said, Chirok’s blue glass eye moving around and taking in the space in a way one could call curious, or maybe analytical. “If he breaks anything you know who’ll be fixing it.”

“Yeah, true,” Adeline shrugged. There was very little point in arguing with him when he was on alert status. He didn’t trust this place and until he settled he’d be about as fun as arguing with Walt, which was to say you might as well try and convince a brick wall to move out of your way. “So what’d you find?”

“It’s more…” West paused, trying to think of exactly how to phrase it without giving her a hint. “Visually interesting than anything.”

“As long as it's not more nightma-” she started when Sparks came around a corner, saw the two of them and started making an excited keening noise, waving both her hands. “What?”

“Look, look what we found out!” Sparks said, walking over to where a brick had been taken carefully out of the wall. “West, take off your glasses.”

“Must we?” he asked.

“Yes nerdlord, do it,” Sparks said, reaching into the hole in the wall as West sighed and removed his heavily tinted sunglasses. “Now look at him. Watch.” Adeline looked to West as the lights above them shut off.

She could still see his glowing yellow eyes like two small lamplights, Chirok’s a dull blue behind him. The hallway was dark enough to obscure anything else.

“Pfftttt,” Sparks said, bursting into a laugh and flicking the lights on and off above them. “It’s so good! Like where’s West?” The lights turned off. “There he is!”

“At least I can see in the dark,” West said, the eyes narrowing and Adeline covered her mouth trying not to laugh at him. He looked like an irritated cat. “For example can you tell what finger I’m currently holding up? Because I can.”

“If you weren’t such a baby about the tunnels we would have found this out years ago,” Sparks said

“Oh no,” West said as the lights turned back on, his voice unmoved from placid evenness while he replaced his sunglasses. “How have we survived?”

“You show her the boss room yet?” Sparks asked him, tilting her head to indicate Adeline.

“We're headed there right now.”

---

It was a huge room, almost like a hallway the size of a whole building floor entirely made of either polished obsidian or black marble, flanked on either side by windows encased in decorative black wrought iron. Looking up there were giant chandeliers, again black wrought iron and dangling with crystals that reflected light onto the ceiling. It mimicked the night sky, and she could make out vague shapes of the few things in the room, rather like a foggy mirror. At the center near the back there was a large obsidian seat.

Adeline tossed a rock along the floor, sending it skidding and bouncing over the tiles. “Who wants to bet one of those tiles has a trap if you step on it?” she asked as the rock slid to a halt.

“Oh yeah, one definitely does,” Sparks nodded. “You can totally picture Gren sitting in that chair, waiting for someone like a creeper.” She paused and spread her arms wide, flicking her hands outward and mimicking him. “‘ Hello and welcome to my castle. You made it this far good for you.’’’

“He would.”

“He super would. That's why I'm callin’ it the boss fight room.”

Adeline noticed West pinching the bridge of his nose. He occasionally got headaches from bright light, but the castle seemed perfectly suited for him to be comfortable in that respect. “You two adorable hicks that I love very much,” he said, taking his hand away from his face. “That's not a chair, it's a throne. It's a huge and empty throne room.”

“Oh,” Sparks said, looking back into the space. “Well, I mean still works that-” she started, then stopped and inhaled a breath, reaching over to slap Adeline gently on the shoulder with both hands repeatedly. “We have a castle and a throne! Let's make you queen!”

“No,” Adeline replied, glancing from Sparks to West, who had a barely noticeable smile on his face and his eyes slightly narrowed. “You are not plotting right now. No. I will leave you all to fend for yourselves. I will screw right back off into the wastes.”

“My,” West said, the smile spreading just slightly. “Not listening to the will of the populace? That sounds very queenly of you.”

“Nope nope nope,” Adeline said, turning around and moving quickly past Chirok, who scooted politely aside, or as much as his massive frame could manage in the hall.  

“I'm going to put together a vote!” he called after her as she walked in a direct line away from them.

“Yeah, fine!” she called back. “Go for it! Look forward to reading the write ins!”

Sparks waited until she was far enough away, which was quite a distance considering how sound bounced around the cold stone hallways of this place and how good Adeline’s hearing was. “We doin’ this, right?” she asked West.

“That we are.”

“We gotta talk your boyyyfraaand into it,” she said, leaning on his shoulder and grinning up at him.

“He's not my boyfriend,” West said, walking away and down the hall, her trotting after, Chirok taking a moment to examine the throne room before following.

“But you like him.”

“I do. That's why he's not my boyfriend.”

“Yeah, you are garbage at that stuff. Getting better, though! Proud of you!”

---

“So,” Viltri started as West walked up to him, Viltri sitting on a couch in the office with his usual companion, Iosefka. “What exactly are you planning?” He’d gotten to know West about as well as Adeline over the course of their...well friendship right now. It was tough to tell with the black skydancer exactly where you lay with him at any given moment, even with Viltri’s empathy gifts. That mostly just gave him more of a hint, but he knew that West and Sparks had been gathering signatures to start a vote. They could be rather organized for such a disorganized bunch, though perhaps that’s why they had so many clear and detailed little laws. It left very little room for ambiguity, and if it did they would surely argue it to death.

“I’d like your help with this,” West replied, pulling a small sheet of paper from his coat and handing it to Viltri. “You are much better at precision in language than I am.”

Before Viltri could look over the words Iosefka snorted and put a hand to her face, giggling into it. “Oh man, we have to do that.” That her other hand was around Viltri’s shoulders he didn’t even notice anymore, but he glanced to her before reading. So it was likely some sort of prank, as she enjoyed those. “She’s gonna be so mad,” Iosefka said in a small voice, still giggling though trying not to.

Viltri looked over the proposal and glanced back up to West, eyes narrowed. “A bit of revision could help, but do you really want to…?” he trailed off.

“Adeline thinks we’re too chaotic as a group to get anything done, but she forgets something,” West said, the small twitch of a smile on his face. “We’re good at organizing for three things: Parties, helping other people, and very especially for embarrassing her.”

“And that’s the entire reason?”

“Is there any better reason?”

“No,” Iosefka squeaked.

[christinaroseandrews]

Part 3

You might want to go back and read Parts One and Two before you read this.  Or not. I’m not judging.

We have now reached the point in You Don’t Know Me where I literally gave up and just started screaming into the void. I’m going to warn you right now that this book needs a trigger warning for the following: Dubious Consent, Drug Use, Suicide, Suicide Ideation, and Unsafe Sex Practices. Needless to say this is NSFW. All of which happen in this 25% portion of the book. If you think that’s a lot... well you’re not wrong.

Last time we had an almost sex scene. Then the next day Jenna and Rue pack up their things to head back to LA when Jack suggests that if Jenna and Rue want to party, they should go to Ibiza. That’s right. Ibiza. In Spain.

Jenna and Rue think that’s a smashing idea because they haven’t learned yet that Jack is the enemy. Even though he’s done everything short of growing a mustache and cackling evilly while he twirls it. 

But that brings into focus one of Faleena Hopkins’ big problems: overstretching suspension of disbelief.

So here comes a rant. I suppose it is POSSIBLE that both Rue and Jenna flew from LA to NYC with their passports, assuming they even have them. But it’s not probable. Let’s look at the facts.

Both of them are poor and working minimum wage jobs while trying to get gigs as dancers (something that doesn’t pay much and has a high injury rate).

They had to have both traveled to NYC with their passports.

Most people, even those who have passports, use their State ID (driver’s license or ID card) to travel within the U.S. The exceptions are those whose states don’t have “rigorous” enough of ID standards.  But California is not one of them.

Passports are expensive and difficult to get. Most people, especially if they are pinching pennies to make ends meet like Rue was, won’t bother with the expense.

They BOTH had to decide “Hey, I’m bringing my passport with me!” Which considering the speed and lack of planning with the NYC trip is something that is really unlikely.

I fully admit I did search the book for Customs or Passport and didn’t get any hits. And don’t say, well they’re flying in a private plane they can bypass customs. I’m going to say, “Um, no.” After 9/11 you had better believe that loophole got plugged, assuming it was even leaking to begin with. It’s made doubly worse considering that they fly home on a commercial airliner.

Technically she didn’t do anything wrong, per se. She just expects the reader to go with it. It wouldn’t have taken much, just a quick mention - “Jenna and I grabbed our passports and headed out” - but there wasn’t even that. It’s lazy writing.

Speaking of.... Remember that foreshadowing problem in Part One?

Yep, Sean’s gay. (A later part makes that clear)

Then we get this gem:

So this book came out in 2015. Being gay isn’t the taboo it used to be. Especially not if your family is liberal (they’re known to have supported the Obama campaign). So there’s nothing really keeping Sean in the closet. There’s no indication that his family wouldn’t accept him or love him. And considering he works in the entertainment industry, he’d have a lot of support behind him.

Additionally and it needs to be fucking said...

There is nothing wrong with being a virgin.

There is nothing wrong with never having been in love.

What is wrong is the attitude toward these two things. What is wrong is the denial of who you are. What is wrong is the implication that there are only two ways a person who is gay can be, massively sexually active or completely celibate. There is just a lot wrong here.

There will be more rant later in my wrap up.

Yep... I don’t have words. Jack is an asshole. Rue is an idiot. Sean is too pure for this world, but the homophobia in this book is now becoming problematic.

She hasn’t said anything yet!  How do you know she’s Australian???!!!  Sophia is not an inherently Australian Name and like America, Australia has a pretty decent mix of nationalities. There is no blonde “Australian” look. Did you know that Rose Byrne and Rebel Wilson are Australian? That Geoffrey Rush and Errol Flynn are Australian?

They are.

It’s not like she has a map of Australia tattooed on her breasts. I’m pretty sure people would have noticed that.

Sigh...

Jack brought Sophia over in his continuing quest to fuck with Rue. And it does. Just not in the way you think. Jenna is definitely interested.

Unfortunately I was to be let down yet again.

Jenna and Sophia swap spit for a while. Then Sophia turns to Rue and asks her if she wants some Australian action. Rue accepts because she can’t say no to peer pressure.

This becomes relevant later.

The fact that Rue trusts Jack at all is frankly unbelievable at this point. There’s the whole fool me once mentality. She’s like Charlie Brown with magenta hair...

Yes Lucy is the one who is in the wrong. But if you keep giving chances to people and they keep being assholes, you need to stop giving them chances.

As for Jenna, sexiling your BFF in a strange country is a really crappy thing to do. You broke Woman-Code, girl.

On one hand, it’s pretty clear that Rue has no self-control and no common sense. On the other, it removes her agency, which is something I have issues with. Bartenders absolutely can stop serving (I have as a bartender) - in fact in some states they’re required by law to do so. But Sean isn’t the bartender. Sean’s her brother and practically a stranger (remember it’s only been 3-4 days since they first met) - he doesn’t have the right yet. Sean should have said something first before cutting her off. Talked to her. Treated her like the adult she is.

Then if she continues, it’s on her and he can step in to keep her from alcohol poisoning. Anyway, after she finishes her partying, she stumbles back upstairs to go to bed and runs into Alec who’s there with another woman, Maya. Thankfully Maya is kind of awesome and wants nothing to do with Alec, she was only there to keep Sean from flipping out. Because apparently after literally two days, Alec is obsessed with Rue and will do anything to possess her.

Think I’m wrong?

He flips out at her having a bi-curious kiss with Sophia.

On the list of things I wish I could get through romance authors’ heads, this is one of them.

The story heads into an honest to gods sex scene and I have to force my way through it. Because as I mentioned before, Rue has no alcohol tolerance and she’s been drinking. So this is literally non-consensual.  Yeah... rape is not my thing. And this, no matter how you try to package it, is rape.

From an objective level, the sex is meh. I’ve read hotter het sex written by lesbian virgins. I am not joking. The problem is that Hopkins repeats herself like crazy and skimps on the description and thoughts and feelings.

I also found this phrase;

super duper jarring. Like WTF-I’m-giggling-now jarring.

Note the percentage mark. Now while I don’t have a problem with this if there’s flirting and build up. The only build up we’ve gotten is some coitus interruptus and a whole lot of possessiveness. Technically you don’t even need to have sex in a romance. But with all of the lead up I’m starting to get annoyed. This isn’t erotica. This isn’t romance. It’s just a mess.

So I guess it depends on your definition of sex.

I know some people have issues with condom use in romance. But I happen to be of the mindset that you need to hang a lampshade on this. At least acknowledge that they’re choosing to take the chance. Or they don’t care. Something.

And considering who they are, it’s likely the latter. But this is a post-AIDS world. Condoms and birth-control should be a discussion point. Or at least acknowledged in some way. Like this: “As a dancer, Rue was on birth control. More for the lack of periods than out of any desire to prevent pregnancy, although that was a very welcome side-effect. Kids were not in the cards yet.” Just something.

The following morning -- at least I think it is... the book isn’t totally clear and I didn’t feel like rereading to make sure -- the group meets for breakfast/lunch down in the restaurant by the pool.

Jack saunters in and tosses a stack of tabloids and celebrity gossip magazines onto the table and then sits back and gloats. The headlines are cruel. Calling Rue a bastard (which she is). Her mother a whore (Which she is not!). Rue a spendthrift partying idiot (accurate). And a whole slew of names. Rue, understandably, gets upset and runs off. What is less understandable is that she jumps in the pool to escape the headlines.

While underwater she decides that it’s peaceful there and she’d just like to stay there.

So this is where I need to talk about one of my Jack of all Trades things.  I was a Red Cross Certified lifeguard. I kept my certification all through High School and College and used it to get jobs I otherwise couldn’t. We learned more than you ever wanted to know about drowning.  One of the biggies is that the human body does not want to breathe in water. It will convulse and shake to try to cough it out, which will often cause the person to breathe more in. It is not a peaceful way to die. It is violent. Painful. And I wouldn’t wish it on my enemies.

Eventually Rue drowns (the author says she changed her mind about it, but I did reread that part and if she did it must be really obscured because I sure didn’t get that impression at all).

Cut to Jack...

Sorry about the repeated usage of the word ass, I just didn’t feel like typing a 200 page rant on how Jack is everything wrong with this country into my iPad.   But yes, Jack is an ass. This time for essentially bullying his sister so badly that she felt that death was a good alternative.

I don’t care if he feels regret. There is no redemption arc long enough to make him a decent human being let alone a good one worth of admiration. He’s a user, an abuser, selfish, and conniving. He doesn’t even have a good backstory or consistent characterization. And he’s not played by Tom Felton, Tom Hiddleston, or Tom Hardy.

Eventually both he and Jenna realize Rue has disappeared. They notice a crowd of people by the pool and in the pool.

So most pool injuries are neck/head injuries caused by people diving in the shallow end. Lifeguards never grab around the waist. Now I’ll give you that Jack isn’t a lifeguard, but in a pool when you’re trying to save someone time does not disappear. It speeds up. Everything becomes hyper intense. And the water doesn’t fight you. Not in a pool.  In a river, yes. An ocean, hell yes.  Even lakes are problematic. Pools are easy.

The biggest problem with pools is that if someone is drowning you often get more unwanted help from people who because they’ve seen an episode of Baywatch think they know what they’re doing... but that’s another story.

Where’s the checking for a pulse? Also again... head injury.

I know Jack probably hasn’t had CPR training since High School but FFS the first thing you do is call for help and get professionals involved. The second is you check for a pulse. Oh and in 2010, CPR changed. Chest compressions were deemed more important than rescue breathing. And in a drowning victim, the chest compressions will often force the water out of the lungs.

We continue with CPR...

Rue will just end up bruised and maybe with a broken rib. And not the kind real CPR gives.

Through divine intervention and not Jack’s shoddy CPR techniques, Rue awakens and starts expelling pool water.

Is it sad that I have no faith that even the few things done right will get screwed up in the end?

Sadly, I’d rather watch The Room again... at least then I could count the spoons.

We switch heads to Alec and get some fun stereotyping.

Nitpick, I know. But at this point arguing with the book was my only joy.

So fun fact, drowning seriously fucks you up. And chlorinated water is even worse. You’ve still got creepy-crawlies, but you’ve also got chlorine. Which if you know your World War I history doesn’t mix well with human lungs. Pretty much everyone who actually drowns and is then resuscitated suffers from some form of pneumonia. It’s just a thing. Oh and people who have CPR performed on them have broken ribs. That is also just a thing. This doesn’t take into account potential brain damage from lack of oxygen, kidney damage, or other organ failure. Let me say it again. Drowning is not a fun way to go.

Also, why are they doing an MRI?  It should be a CAT Scan.  Also, chest x-rays for broken ribs.  Maybe an ultrasound.  I’m not a medical expert, this is actually something I don’t know much about, but I was in a car accident and one of the things they did was check my lungs to see if they were messed up.

If you can’t tell my suspension of disbelief has snapped completely and I’m just done.

Rue checks herself out of the hospital and then the shit hits the fan. Alec finds out about Jack’s plans and is pissed.

As much as I hate Jack, save the punching for Nazis. Also Alec, you are not lily-white in this whole thing.

A fact that finally comes to light.

Rue gets pissed and storms off. (Thankfully not into a pool)

Alec gets pissed and storms off.

And basically everyone is pissed at Jack. Including Sean who has disappeared for a time.

The next morning Alec, Jenna, and Rue check out of the hotel. But not before there is a cursory acknowledgement that Rue almost died.

I wasn’t lying when I said in my first post that I was reduced to screaming “This is not how this works!”

I really was.

Anyway, Alec pays for Rue’s room and she’s now all like “He really cares about me!” or maybe he feels guilty. Or who the fuck knows. All I know is that we’re not even at the 75% mark and I am dreading what happens next.

This post is starting to get out of hand so I’ll cut it off here.

Let’s just say that while the shit has hit the fan, the bullshit is still coming.

Thank the gods cockygate is over. Although apparently she’s not convinced she did anything wrong. And she sees herself as the victim...

Yeah...

If you feel sorry for us and want to contribute to our alcohol fund, you can buy us a kofi.

[thenickelportrust]

Sorry, it's Finley anon from earlier here. I know I requested a Finley kiss short earlier but like, I'm curious about V now? Sorry to be a nuisance! I'm just so.. I love every love interest in this game so much.

And, anon, this one has also been sitting in my inbox since the beginning of time and I apologize for that as well but, y’know, today may just be your lucky day because I am answering both of these right now!!! (Now that I can get back to actually writing shorts! :D)

And please know- you are not a nuisance at all!! I love all of the asks and request I get because it’s honestly so astounding and amazing to know that someone else also loves these characters like I do and wants to know more about them!! Even beyond that I simply never mind stuff like this- at all! So please know- you are not a nuisance at all and it makes me super super super happy to know that you love these characters, too!! 

Other rambling aside- here’s some V! (Since you didn’t request a specific V I just went ahead and went with Vega- since the last V short was Vincent so I flipped a coin between Vera and Vega- so I hope that’s alright!)

(Also, same deal, an example of a first kiss, but not the first kiss because of spoilery reasons.)

“I just want it on the record that I do not, nor will I ever, condone this idea at all.” The wind brushes over your skin- it’s cool, near freezing, in fact, but you don’t feel the chill wrapped in your jacket. Still, you pull it tighter around yourself, almost habitually, and glance to the side at your wolfishly grinning companion.

“And yet here you are.” They seem to have no apparent problem with your reluctant whining, simply slinging an arm around your shoulder heavily, leaning into your side as they twirl a pair of bright silvery keys around their index finger with lazy accuracy.

“Not entirely by choice.”

“Oh, come now, darling.” You can feel Vega’s bouncing laugh against you. “Let’s not play ourselves. If that were true then you simply would have refused to come along. And yet, I repeat, here you are.” They catch the keys in their gloved palm, letting their wrist drop as they present them to you freely. “So tell me, if you aren’t here for this- then why else would you have followed me so readily?”

“Morbid curiosity.” You deadpan, and for a moment your mind brushes away the ridiculousness of this situation, and focuses instead on something so mundane that it almost seems odd in and of itself. The wind picks up again- and you wonder if Vega is cold- after all, while you brought a warm coat they seem perfectly content to freeze in a green t-shirt and not-very-warm-looking leather jacket- and then you wonder why it is that’s the thing your brain decides to focus on when you’re about to carjack one of Nickelport’s more infamous villains. “But I’m starting to remember what happens to cats when they’re curious.”

“Then it’s a good thing you’re not a cat, dear.”

“I sure as hell am starting to feel like one, though.”

“More of a fox, if you ask me.”

“Not the time.”

Vega rolls their eyes dramatically, snatching the keys back up in their hand- how the hell did they even get those, anyway? Vega’s hand slips from your shoulders, and they saunter confidently towards the door of the bright red luxury car- a color about as obnoxious as its owner, and the person about to steal it from said owner. “You’re far too cautious, sweetheart, would I really let anything bad happen?”

“No, you’d instigate it.”

Vega laughs again, far too loudly, in fact. Wincing, your eyes skitter about the empty streets with hurried, fearful glances. “Vega, please, can’t we just-…” But they’ve already got the door open, waving one hand forward to the seat with a flourish and that same sly grin. “I’m not driving that thing.”

“Perhaps not,” Vega chuckles again, “But then would you rather I take the wheel?”

“I’d rather we get out of here before anything bad shows up- or anyone.” You turn around, suddenly feeling as if that cold wind were a warm breath on the back of your neck. 

“Then we have quite the suitable getaway car right here, darling.”

“Not funny.”

“I did not mean it to be.” Vega sighs and lets the door fall closed with a thud that feels like a punch to the gut, you take a step back habitually. 

The jacket is already about as tight around you as it possibly could be, yet you still try to pull it even tighter. You eye the shadows that creep along the corners of tall buildings, trailing their sharp edges to the roofs where unseeable things seem to flit in and out of your sight, hiding behind quickly folded curtains, obscuring piercing eyes that send shudders down your spine. “Can we please just leave?”

You nearly jump when you feel warm hands on the side of your face- your head is tilted down from the rooftops to stare at Vega- and you can read the disappointment on their face, but it seems buried under a careful consideration with which they scrutinize you. Finally, Vega releases a breathy laugh, they pat the side of your cheek, “You really needn’t be so dreadfully fearful, dear. I can promise that nothing is to happen to you. Not while I’m around.”

And despite it being Vega, of all people, there’s an assured honesty to their voice that almost makes you believe them. A solemn promise that seems to shave off the sharp edge of fear. But then again, it is Vega.

Another wistful sigh, and after a moment’s hesitation, their hands slip from your face. “But so be it, this was not meant to cause you distress, rather- to alleviate that which you were already feeling, and so I suppose I’ll simply have to come up with some other scheme, now won’t I?” And while you may not have fully believed their previous promise, something about that sly, roguish grin, the cunning shine to their eyes, and the fact that it is, once again, Vega that’s telling you this- you wholeheartedly believe this one.

“Thank you.” But that’s a thing to worry about later, as of right now- you just want to leave. You feel Vega slip their arm through yours, grinning just as proudly as they did while leading you here when they guide you away from the death-trap-waiting-to-happen. “Wait- what about the car?”

“I suppose that’s no longer our problem, is it?” Vega shrugs loosely. “At the very least I must give them some trouble finding it, mustn’t I?”

As long as the chances of you dying are minimal, you suppose you’ll let it be. “Say, Vega… Why did you do all this, anyway? I didn’t exactly ask you to…”

“Hm?” They seem surprised by the very question, “Well, they hurt you- didn’t they? I simply aided where I could- and since you did say you wanted to get back at them, I thought perhaps you might want to partake in a little well-meaning revenge, too!” Well-meaning revenge…? Does such a thing… exist…?

“Yeah, sure, but… I dunno, I thought it was gonna be with my article- not, y’know, hijacking their car.”

“Oh? Is that so? Well, I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

Uh oh. You don’t like that new smile of theirs.

“Uh,” You try to change the subject, or at least think of something to interrupt whatever it is they’re now scheming, “Ok, but… why do you want to help, anyway?”

This is, apparently, such a shocking question that it requires Vega to stop so suddenly that they nearly yank you back in the process- despite their hands still slipping from where they were linked around your arm and instead placing both hands over their heart as if you’d wounded them there. “Oh dear! You truly can’t tell?”

“I- uh- I mean-” You scratch the back of your neck, did you say something wrong? “No…?”

Vega, just as quickly, turns from an expression of pure shock to barking laughter, at that point your face is cupped once more between their hands- the black felt of their fingerless gloves is soft against your cheeks, while their fingers are warm. “You’re a reporter, darling, you read people for a living- surely you know what it is I feel for you?”

“You’re… you’re really not the easiest to read, Vega.”

Another breathy laugh, this one lower, rumbling and amused- like a cat’s purr. “Well, then, perhaps I should give you a direct quote for the papers.” Vega tilts your head down until, temple-to-temple, they can whisper in your ear, “You see, dear, I am entirely infatuated with you.” 

“You’re-” You’re cut off when Vega slips away from your ear, and in a moment you feel Vega’s lips-

Pressed against the bridge of your nose.

They pull back with that same wolfish grin, while you’re left feeling enough heat pooling in your cheeks to make you forget just about entirely about that cold wind. “Uh… You… Um…”

There’s that purring laughter again, “Yes, darling?”

And just like before, you mind decides to detach itself from reality. Though unlike before- instead of thinking some crazy, or noticing something irrelevant, you find yourself doing something so insane that you’re fairly sure you’ve been spending far too much time around Vega.

You grab the sides of their jacket- and you kiss them.

[strangcrdoctor]

∞Guardians commentary time, because I was honestly too wiped out to get to it last night but I’m still very up for it now. 

1. So here’s my question about the opening sequence on Morag. If Ronan had hired the people that faced off with Quill in the opening sequence on Morag, was it just the case that Ronan’s men arrived 2.5 minutes too late, like Peter arrived just early enough to beat out Yondu? Because initially my impression was that they were indigenous and guarding it, but I know now that not to be the case because Korath is very much a devotee of Ronan, etc. But even if it is the case that Peter beat Ronan’s people, holy timing Batman. Seriously kudos to Quill for being even if incidentally two steps ahead of even Ronan’s game. 2. Okay one, Nova Prime Irani Rael is a hot piece and two she definitely deserves to be the girlfriend of General Leia Organa you can disagree with me but that makes you a suspect human being. Anyway, Rael making the diplomatic call to the Kree to denounce Ronan was not out of bounds for normal statecraft. Especially with a new and tenuous alliance, she’s not only right in calling bullshit that the Kree empire has said nothing to denounce Ronan, but she’s also right in advising they make a statement to stabilize their early peace because early peace is amazingly fragile. But like way to not maintain an alliance at all Kree Empire. You suck. 3. The actual diversity of felons on the Kyln is pretty neat, I’m not going to lie. Not just interspecies representation but also body type representation. There’s big very obviously non-straight criminals. There’s cool as shit looking alien species. There’s chubby feminine looking criminals! Tell me who they are Marvel! Tell me. 4. Now that Thanos’ real character has been revealed in the course of IW it is no damn wonder why Thanos thought of Ronan as a petulant child. Granted, Thanos’ logic is worse in that it is slightly better, but by comparison Thanos is an overly dire pragmatist were Ronan is very much just a racist bigot with a power complex. Thanos predictably find’s Ronan’s racial shortsightedness pithy, and I really have zero doubt that if Ronan had actually gone to piss on Thanos’ front lawn he would not have lasted long. 5. On the other hand, really Thanos. #1 piece of advice in the universe is don’t torture and dismantle women and then trust them to be complicit. You will die. 6. If anyone doesn’t feel pelvic sorcery during a close listening to Fooled Around & Fell In Love they are definitely soulless. 7. I also really really want to know what the hell they were drinking on Knowhere that got Rocket and Drax drunk (I mean who knows they might both be lightweights but I doubt it.), because Stephen wants some. 8. I’ll come right out and say it it’s a fucking shame that Tivan’s collection gets blown to hell. Not because Tivan isn’t twisted as hell keeping live specimens and slaves to himself, but more on the “holy crap what cool stuff just got destroyed that the universe will never see again” kind of way. It’s like the burning of the Library of Alexandria, only somehow worse. 9. The nods given to Thor: The Dark World and The Avengers are of course interesting given there’s a Dark Elf and a Chitauri, but I’m super curious about what made those particular specimens of each special enough for Tivan to keep them. Tivan deals with the depths and breadths of the universe coming in and out of Knowhere, and he doesn’t just snag one item from every species or race he comes across. So was there something interesting in particular about that Dark Elf and that Chitauri? Was the Chitauri one of the only remaining survivors after the nuclear explosion? Was the Dark Elf one of Malekith’s higher ups? I’m just curious about them, and curious about Tivan’s reasoning for keeping them. 10. Okay but adding to this whole Tivan’s collection tangent, Cosmo the Space dog cracks me up and not just because it’s funny for Tivan to have a doggie cosmonaut in his collection. Cosmo is a legit character in the Guardians comics, and he’s head of security on Knowhere and telepathic. So even if Tivan is keeping him in his collection or is just trying to keep him out of the way for something, just imagine what it’s like having an angry Russian dog thinking at you all the time because you’re getting in the way of him doing his job. 11. Slightly different bend on the Tivan train, but Carina legitimately just heard Tivan talk about how the stone was capable of destroying even a whole group of people who tried to wield it, and she was still willing to take the risk of being incinerated rather than living with her current conditions. Carina wasn’t resolutely making the hero play - she was making a suicide play knowing full well it would end that way if the hero play didn’t work. 12. When Yondu states that Peter doesn’t give a rip about Terra like. Dude. How many fucking references in this movie has he made to Terran culture? Music and movies and art and holy shit would you look at that, he sure as hell talks like a more culturally integrated human than anything else you twat waffle. Great way to piss him off though and get him to play it your way, which granted is what I think Yondu was probably doing the whole time but still. You don’t look at this boy who idolizes Footloose and knows who Jackson Pollock is and tell him he doesn’t care about Earth. Caring about Footloose and Jackson Pollock at all is a labor of love. 13. Speaking of Yondu, how the fuck is that the jewel frog bauble considered by anyone to be worth of the “high end” community? On top of it just hurting me, it does really raise the question of how is trite crap like that so valuable? Does it have some vector of worth and rarity because its origins are weird, obscure, or finite? Are the gems magical artifacts of some kind? Are the wealthy in space that mother-fucking self-ironic? Because if they are I want to know them. 14. Peter Quill, everyone, who makes a dick message to garner trust 15. Not for the first for for the last time will I say this, but Ravager tech is impressive. And I am amazingly intrigued at how Ravagers got such good technology and resources on their hands. True, they steal things and make money off of trades and pilfering. But that isn’t the only way to acquire goods and it’s not the only thing a viable pirating economic model can survive off of. Half the reason the Ravagers succeed is because they run like a business, have clientele, and are clientele for certain sects, right? So what kind of powerful connections do they have that allow them their advanced fleets? That’s the kind of shit I want to know about. 16. Also what the hell are Ronan’s pilots with the weird glowy psychic spheres on the Dark Aster? Is the Dark Aster itself Kree technology, or something Ronan got from Thanos who appropriated it from some other world he’s conquered? Because we know so little about the Kree in the MCU it’s hard to say, but I suppose we’ll have to wait and see if the Kree ever do become a part of canon so we can have more data with which to make a comparison. 17. Guardians does a pretty good job of taking at least some time to portray how terrible aerial dogfighting is on a mass scale because honestly it’s a bloody nightmare. It’s pictured so often and so carelessly in film that it’s not something we often think about, and the only movie I’ve ever seen that addresses how it feels in human terms is Dunkirk, but the intensity and messiness of it in Guardians is still pretty realistic and I give it props for that. 18. It occurs to me that maybe the younger, post-GOTG Groot is so bitter and antisocial for a while because of how giving the elder Groot was, and the seedling felt the sacrifice and his existence was under-appreciated? It was just a thought that crossed my mind. 19. Also Ronan you twat. “Engage Immolation Initiative” is just Big Mean & Fancy for “light ‘em up fuckers,” don’t pretend you’re any cooler than anyone else. 20. I really really appreciate the design that went into the Xandarian cityscape as a fully intergalactic multicultural society that shows it even in the way the city and buildings are assembled. The city isn’t uniform like a lot of science-fiction cities are - it’s got texture. Different sectors have different styles of buildings and different architecture. Like a real metropolitan area, it’s a patchwork of influences and it’s very well done. 21. Kudos to Rocket for identifying that ground-to-air is a super viable defense strategy. One thing that people tend to forget about ground-to-air is that aside from clouds, there’s no obstacles behind which to hide in the sky, so while ground defense might seem clumsy at times, air offense is hugely precarious because there is absolutely no defense mechanism against any attack except maneuvering, and when a defense is fully able to target that weakness it’s pretty damn effective. 22. It’s interesting to me how well superhero movies integrate climaxes within battle sequences? Some people might call it lazy but I call it interesting when when defense lines break, plans fail, and when teams encounter interference to push the plot forward. Plot movement in Marvel movies curry a lot of momentum from these events, but actually they’re pretty interesting replications of how modern society has been built on the results of such events within our own history. History has been moved by these exact same sorts of events, which is why they make sense to us in storytelling. 23. Peter protecting Groot from Rocket’s crash into the into the Dark Aster? Golden. And then Peter immediately going to Rocket from the wreckage? Stellar. Peter Quill you are a gem. 24. I will never forgive Marvel for hurting me as bad with “We are Groot” as Warner Brothers did with “Suuuuuperman” in Iron Giant. Stop giving Vin Diesel more opportunities to rip my heart out of my chest, please. 25. My mom and my uncle, her brother, both adored the entire GOTG soundtrack so much and it brought them so much joy watching it together that it got me into Motown. Even though it was oblique and dorky, Marvel did something amazing with this movie and gave my parents a piece of their own youth back, while giving me a chance to share in their knowledge and experience. It’s stuck with me ever since, especially because fundamentally that experience is the reason I got into Motown music, which I now adore with all my heart.

Alright, done with that. These are... just getting longer and longer I’m sorry guys no one should have ever allowed me to do this. Oh well. Too late to stop me now. Captain America: The Winter Solider is up next, and oh the pain.∞

[missanthropicrn]

Imperfect Garden

Hey look at me running right up to the due date on an assignment. Takes me back to college!! I was the Secret Santa for @inkwelldried, and apparently one of the few that did a fic!

The menu of options given to me was dizzying and I honestly went with what gave me an opportunity to 1.write my favorite character, and 2. dance around a subject I know super well: death and dying. So... I guess this isn't the perkiest of fics but... It's Akio and Ruka, and I enjoyed writing it! I hope you like it, or at least find it interesting!

Warnings: There's nothing graphic at all and I actually meant for it to be not clear whether there was history there or not but Akio is gonna Akio so there's the underage thing implied.

Imperfect Garden

Death was here, clinging to the tables, the bed, the floor, oppressive and inescapable. It was a fog brought indoors, creating a haze about the room that Akio didn't necessarily dislike, but knew to be deceptive. The dying always think more clearly than everyone else.

“Chairman.”

Much more clearly. Exhaustion weighed down Ruka's eyelids, so that his lashes partly obscured his view. Jaundice left his skin otherworldly, yellow, and dehydration loosened it against a bony frame. He touched his face self-consciously, but if the sight of him alarmed Akio at all, he hid it well.

“You’re an old man, Ruka.”

“Just when I'd started getting good at being a teenager.”

“Unfortunately, those two conditions are not mutually exclusive.” His voice was startlingly loud for the room it filled. Or so it felt at first; it was only unhushed, and Ruka had forgotten what people sounded like when they weren't dancing around his condition. The bed creaked as Akio leaned against it, unaccustomed to the weight of flesh. Ruka watched him shift from one foot to the other, making himself comfortable. A chair was nearby, obscured by a mess of blankets, but Ruka knew it wouldn’t have mattered. Akio was exactly where he preferred to be. “Your nurse doesn’t think you're long for this world.”

“She saw me fold over my own legs this afternoon. It didn't inspire confidence.”

“Perhaps not in her. But if you ask me, I would say you don’t appear interested in death just yet.”

“Who would be?”

“Everyone, in the end. Of course, it’s the ‘in the end,’ part that people struggle with.” His gaze traced the thin tubing that began at an unfriendly looking machine and ended in Ruka's arm.

“Mm. It's strange to think at some point I'll be finished dying. The wait feels like an eternity, now that eternity isn't worth anything. Or...is there something Ends of the World can do about it that the Chairman cannot?” Ruka smiled, and Akio tipped his head, as if ceding a victory.

“That’s a question you should have asked me a long time ago.”

“I was afraid to. You might have said yes,” he murmured, attempting a wry tone. The hoarseness of his voice, gone dry with lack of use, didn’t quite manage it.

“And now, I might say no. The journey to acceptance is farther along than you think, though you're not so far gone that you would refuse a detour. I suspect you understand by now that taking the longer way will bring you to the same destination, whether I interfere or not. But… that's not why you're asking, is it?”

The head of the bed groaned, pulling Ruka upright. The movement brought on a wave of raspy, dry coughing. As he fought to catch his breath he heard a brief exchange between Akio and a nurse, and a tray being set down and swung around the bedside in front of him. What he glanced at warily, he reached for with a delight that surprised him.

“Real tea. Pu-erh? How did you get them to steep it right?”

“Explicit instruction.”

That was a smile Ruka didn't expect to see, all teeth and promises, and thrown by it, he turned his attention to what Akio had brought instead. His fingers were thin, but so was the teacup, a frail and delicate thing ready to droop with the weight of its contents. They drank in silence, while Ruka’s senses sluggishly tried to do the exquisite tea justice. He had mostly made his way through his cup before he bothered to notice the not-pattern of shimmering gold that decorated it. And Akio’s. And the teapot. He turned it in his hands, examining more closely. Veins glittered along the fault lines of what had clearly been shattered before.

“Kintsugi. Taking a broken thing and making it whole; a teacup mended with gold, to celebrate the flaws it has overcome, rather than pointlessly trying to conceal the obvious. People are no different, I find. A broken creature pulled back together may try to hide their flaws…”

“...but they should gild them instead.”

Akio’s laugh started somewhere in his diaphragm and ended in the pit of Ruka's stomach. It had not always been welcome there, but here and now, it made him more human than he'd been in weeks. His visitor seemed oblivious to his condition, speaking with the same purry, careless sensuality he'd had back at the school. That was centuries ago; back then, Ruka had been whole, bright-eyed, and confident, a beautiful youth brimming with potential. That was over. Ruka was sure whatever Akio had come for, it wouldn't be any good. Still, it felt wonderful to be on edge again. His thoughts stretched, waking from a drug-addled sleep. He'd forgotten what it felt like to think in anything but past tense, and warily, he let his mind wander to long-abandoned places: the present, and even worse… the future.

Akio, appearing satisfied with something, drew from his pocket a gold chain taut with the heavy weight of the locket it bore. Ruka's hand stretched out automatically, and the corners of his mouth turned down. It felt damp around the edges, waterlogged, but he didn't bother opening it.

Ruka's back straightened, scraps of stored up strength coalescing into defensiveness. It was definitely going to be necessary now, even if his clipped speech was not. “There really was no hope for her escaping Ends of the World. How were you going to resist a talent like that?”

“Do you think I tried to?”

Wrinkles around Ruka's eyes deepened as he squinted; the room was uncomfortably bright now that he was looking at it. Their appearance intrigued Akio. Seemingly unaware of the impropriety of his touch, he traced the thin line of a blue eyebrow down to where the wrinkles gathered, soft fingertips smoothing them out briefly before letting them form again. The contact was curious at first, only melting into sensuality as his fingers fell away, nails skirting down the side of Ruka’s face. Ruka shook his head, the beginning of a smirk on his cracked lips. Any other reaction, he thought, would be a waste of effort.

“She's a brilliant duelist. One of the most powerful I've ever seen." He nodded toward Ruka's hand. "But her full potential lies trapped there, close to her, and utterly out of her reach. She knows, as we know, that she cannot grasp it without breaking the locket. And she will break with it. I'd have the shards break into shapes I can use.”

The effort of sussing out Akio's motives lifted a heavy fog Ruka hadn't noticed was there until it wasn't. Every little beep and blip of the machines around him pressed into his attention, and the air felt crisp, electric. Perhaps it was the tea. He poured himself another glass, surprised by the weight of the teapot, and more so by his carelessly, successfully, lifting it. The astringent smokiness of it captured his senses for a brief, wonderful moment before he returned to reality. Akio had been watching him, evidently pleased with something. If it was because his eyes had cleared, whitened, and regained some of the spark of life, Ruka didn't know it.

“You would take this away from her? But she won't duel without it. It's what drives her.”

“Indeed it is. Arisugawa is set to duel once more, after which it would be best for all involved if miracles became less of a priority in her life.”

“So she will lose. She's just… a whetstone for the Sword of Dios.”

Ruka couldn't remember when Akio had moved from resting against the bed to sitting on it, but now he leaned back, his arm draped on the bedside table. “Does that anger you to know?”

“Not at all. Miracles are not what Juri needs.”

Akio laughed. “She doesn’t know that. Or...she doesn’t believe she knows it. You are at the mercy of the ticking clock, far outside the reach of Dios’ power. And for it, you have something she lacks. The perspective of hindsight.”

“Call it what it is,” Ruka murmured, flexing his fingers around the locket. “It's the perspective of the dying.”

“Yes...that’s another way to put it.” A curious expression passed over Akio's face, as if he'd momentarily forgotten Ruka was yellow, emaciated, and bedridden in front of him. To tell the truth, Ruka had briefly forgotten this himself. Akio pressed on, “Your insight is precious. A beautiful consequence of bitter mortality. It’s something that can’t be grown in a perfect garden. So I must, at times, have it brought in.”

That smile again. The one that promised so much more than the obvious, as much as the obvious appealed. How could Akio smile at him like that? Like nothing had changed, like he was still a beautiful young man with a bright, tempting smile of his own. Didn't he see how Ruka looked? This was somehow worse than the reserved care others took with him. It made him miss, and regret, and want, and served no purpose...

“The correct answer to whatever I offer, of course, is no...”

“I'm well aware of that, Akio. Wisdom is no protection from you.”

“Yet, here I am, at your end, knowing you won't refuse me.”

Akio’s voice had turned all velvet and smoke, and it brought back memories Ruka thought he had no use for anymore. Good and bad, pleasure and pain, hope and failure. The Dueling Game came rushing back to him, bringing it with it a thirst no tea could ever quench. Akio knew it, too: he recognized that flirtatious satisfaction. It was in the way he leaned back, encroaching on Ruka’s space. Recollection flooded the hollowed out spaces in his mind. He knew this look. His agreement was a foregone conclusion.

Ruka broke the gaze Akio had captured to stare down at the locket. There was no point asking why it was in his hands now, he thought, trying to temper a gnawing eagerness with cynicism. The fingers framing its shimmering gold were twig-like, all visible veins and paper-thin fingernails. They curled around the imagined hilt of a sword, aching with a sudden, overwhelming eagerness to test its weight.

“Sharpen the blade she wields. Bring her to the arena. And let it break her.”

“What do I get out of this?” Ruka cringed at his own voice. It was louder than it had been, and it was hungry, and hopeful, and he knew that was not going to help him.

“Saving her from herself is not enough?” Akio lifted his hand before Ruka could answer, falling just short of silencing him with a touch to his lips. “You will be given a gift only someone who has received it themselves can give. Something only we would understand. An escape, whatever the cost, from the overwhelming dread of dying.”

Ruka’s expression soured, his gut grasping what reasoning hadn’t caught up to yet. “....and death?”

“Death has already claimed you, and that I can’t change. But come to the school, accept its illusions, and you will, until that moment, live as you lived before. Whole, and human, and not bound to a bed melting before your very eyes.”

A slow inhale. A dry mouth. Fingers twitched again, swearing this time they could feel the soft grip of worn leather. Of his sword. Ruka’s chest hitched, and pain blossomed with the motion, bouncing around against his aching ribs. For a split second, he feared the worst, but he was mistaken. It was, much to his surprise, laughter.

“But it won't be real. I'll still be dying.”

"No. It won't be real. Will it matter, if you believe it?"

"How can I believe I'm not dying? I can't even walk. I can't.." Ruka gestured to the tubing hanging from his arm.

“Had I asked you when I walked in what color the walls were, you wouldn’t have been able to tell me. And had you not been busy trying to guess my angle, you would have choked on the tea.” Akio’s fingers returned again to the yellowing skin at the corner of an eyelid, this time spreading into Ruka’s hair, nails lightly scratching his scalp. “Dying is an active process. So is forgetting. You can pick between them, and it is in my power to make either convincing.��

“Yes.” The word escaped Ruka’s lips in an explosive breath, before he let himself think better of it. When he uttered the word again, it was heavy with doubt, and Akio grinned at the sound of it.

"Guilt is for the living, Ruka. You know that better than anyone." A thumb stroked Ruka's temple, and he shivered. He found, somewhere, the energy to shiver, as well as the energy to respond to the inviting purr of Akio's voice. "I admit, I find you quite captivating the way you are. But there's no shame in wanting to escape the heavy burden of mortality."

Though neither budged, Ruka felt the space between them close. It had always felt that way, like Akio controlled the air's willingness to divide them. Ruka parted his lips, licking them, unsurprised by now to find them smooth and supple, though they'd felt like sandpaper an hour ago. Fingers tightened behind his head, and he found himself grinning, a lazily inviting expression testing itself on his face. This he remembered: that the prize was always in resisting the temptation. There was no fun in it if you didn’t let yourself be lured in, a little.

Akio laughed, indulgent and almost chiding. His fingers drew back, running through smooth, short locks of dark blue. "What happened to your hair?"

Ruka blinked as he withdrew, a familiar combination of tension and relief in it, before shrugging a little awkwardly, watching Akio's fingers. "I was...doing especially poorly last month, and the hair had matted. The nurses were forced to cut off what they couldn't untangle." He smoothed over the back of his head self-consciously, half-aware that he couldn't see the veins in his hands as they approached. "Will it grow back when I forget that?"

Akio pursed his lips, considering this, and Ruka imagined he could see either state as readily as the other. He laughed, exasperated as the answer became obvious.

"No, I don't think so. It suits you."