#i know it was written by the sender but i Have to convince myself that that’s his handwriting

[pillsopa]

stopped in my tracks and almost fell to my knees when i remembered that the Only time the font changed in the entirety of trc was when adam sent blue the flowers with the little note….can’t get up…….

[inscryptions]

On the desk in Alhaitham’s office laid a book wrapped in a turquoise silk ribbon. The bow that tied it held something long and slender. Beside them, there was a plain white envelope with a leaf tucked partially into it.

Hello, dear Alhaitham! I must say getting chosen to find a gift for the Acting-Grand-Sage-re-turned-Scribe is truly an honor – you must be someone reliable and respected indeed. Still, it did leave me in quite a pickle: whatever could I give you that you don’t already have? I’m not well-versed in the world of scientific literature, as I much prefer to engage in artistic styles. I have, however, found this old book written in long-obsolete Mondstadtian. As a Haravatat graduate, I’m sure you have no problems with its modern version – here’s to me hoping this will prove to be more of a challenge to decipher. The contents also seem to be focused on the topic of linguistics of that time… so, about a millennium and a half ago? Maybe closer to two? Perhaps this book should actually be put in a museum at this point. In any case, I’m sure that with you it’ll be in good hands. I imagine such an intellectual as yourself must have penned a few papers on his own account. Ah, but if writing doesn’t strike your fancy, I suppose you could also use it as a… sophisticated bookmark. This quill is that of a gorgeous, however quite rare, bird I have encountered on one of my recent travels. It was actually rather hard to convince her to give it to me, haha! I hope it serves you well. May the wind guide you, Venti

The parcel on my desk piques my interest; not many would go out of their way to give me anything other than applications and forms thanks to the nature of my job. Then again, it's the winter holiday season, and as gifts are part of the traditions inherent in this time of year, I suppose it's not so farfetched for someone to offer me such a thing. The question, however, remains: who could have delivered this to me? I raise an eyebrow as I study the package before slipping the envelope open and reading the letter.

... Whoever this "Venti" is is very well-informed and well-traveled, given by the nature of his letter and the foreign leaf that lays on my desk. Well-connected, too, to have acquired an original copy of a treatise on the ancient Mond language, or a Mondstadter (more likely, what with the familiarity used in conjunction with the Anemo nation). Undoing the ribbon and setting the quill aside for the moment, I pick up the book and open it, paging through it with a delicate touch. All things considered, it's in lovely condition, so likely a part of a personal collection, perhaps Venti's own. The thought and care made with this selection makes me smile a little, and this is only half the gift. I force myself to skim through the book, as much as I itch to dive right into translating it and then digging into its content, and find myself satisfied with the challenge it presents. If I didn't know any better, I'd say this Venti knows me very well even though I've never met such a person. Intriguing...

Eventually, I set the book down and pick up the quill. The colors go perfectly with my attire, clearly denoting it my possession; the feather outright gleams in the lamplight. AndーI examine the gears, brushing against them with my finger and widening my eyes when they turn. Bookmark nothing, this is going to get mileage what with all the meetings I attend. It's certainly a better method of keeping my fingers occupied when I have nothing to write, in any case. I test the quill out with the ink at my desk, jotting down my signature and reveling in how smooth the nib is against the parchment. High quality indeed, my benefactor certainly has a keen eye for presents.

Actually, that inspires an idea for the perfect first work for this quill...

(Logic dictates, of course, that the appropriate response to highly appreciated gifts is to thank the sender.)

[thefanficmonster]

Unlucky

Part 2: ‘Lucky Me’

Corpse Husband x Reader

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: Fluff

Summary: Corpse decides to email back a person who has sent him quite a few creepy stories. She never seems to run out of scary encounters of both sorts: paranormal and stranger-danger. He gets suspicious that the stories are all made up so she can grab his attention, but he’s in for a surprise.

U/N - username

Requested: No

Corpse’s POV

I’m looking through my most recent emails from fans. They are all of scary encounters they’ve allegedly experienced. By now, I’ve read so many, it’s easy to decipher which are real and which are just made up nonsense. Some, I must admit, give me chills. Big props to the people who write those, especially if they are made up. If you can make someone’s skin crawl with your twisted, frightening imagination, you have one, for lack of a better term and in the most positive way, fucked up mind.

My cursor lands on the familiar username I see almost every other week. U/N. They have been sending stories consistently for about three years now. They, and I’m saying they cause you can never be sure who’s hiding behind the username, are either the most unlucky person to walk the planet or the one with most twisted imagination and story telling skills. I’ll admit, sometimes I narrate a story just because it’s well written. Believability is not the only thing I go by, I also reward creativity. And this person, U/N, has had their spot in many of my videos in the last three years. I’m honestly hoping they are made up, or at least some of them, because not only are there too many of them, but none of them fail to give me that eerie paranoia after I read them or the chills while I read them.

Once again, they have submitted a downright terrifying story. It would be a shame if I didn’t narrate it.

It would be a shame if I....

If I never actually meet them.

This many run-ins with people with malicious intent, always getting away by some miracle, what if they one day don’t make it out alive to tell it.

My heart sinks a little at the thought. I feel like I know this person, like we’ve known each other for three years now. They know the things the whole internet knows about me, and I, along with my regular watchers, know their stories. That’s by no means enough, now that I think about it.

My next action is really out of character for me. I decide to reach out to them. My fingers fly over the buttons on my keyboard too fast for my rational side to try and stop them. Deep down, I know I’m doing the rightest wrong thing I’ve ever done. My previously sunk heart is now in its assigned spot again, beating quickly.

You don’t know what you’re doing

I maybe don’t, but knowing isn’t what’s important right now. I just wanna do it.

~ Hey, this is probably, what, your twentieth story so far. I’m just curious, how many of these are made up? By the way, your stories are amazing and I’ll probably keep narrating them even if they aren’t real. They’re just that good.

I send the email before I can talk myself out of it. I get up from my chair immediately afterwards, putting as much distance between me and the computer as possible, silently promising myself I won’t be checking my mail every five minutes.

Y/N’s POV

I anxiously refresh and refresh my email inbox, waiting for the dreaded email back from my professor. Being halfway through the college experience, I know how tough this professor’s class is and how much I suck at it. I sent him my completed assignment last night, barely making the deadline mind you, so now I’m sweating hardcore, staring my computer screen down.

After refreshing for the millionth time, I’m met with a new email which makes my heart stop for a second or two, my stomach dropping. Then I take the time to read the sender’s name, the subject and the first sentence of the email, and all the previous changes in me reverse. My heartbeat picks up speed, going faster than a galloping horse and my stomach turns, making me feel the sensation everyone calls ‘butterflies’.

Nah, man. This shit ain’t real. It can’t be.

But then again, what if it is. What if I’m about to full-on ignore my favorite youtuber because of my paranoia. Well, it’s not exactly unsupported. My life has been a shit show of unfortunate event and situations I’ve literally had to claw my way out of in order to stay alive. Now, when something of the sort happens, it’s just another weekday. However, I still wanna share these encounters. Not only because they are proof of the dangers girls have to deal with on a daily basis, but they also get narrated by one of my favorite people ever. What more can a girl ask for?

~ Listen, I’m really not looking forward to getting catfished. Please leave me alone

It’s short, not sweet, and to the point. It’s easy to understand, and it clearly states that I’m not falling for it if it’s a scam, but if it’s real....someone call 911 cause I think I’ll faint.

~ I get it, you have trust issues. But that’s understandable. From the creepy guy messaging you on all your social media. To the stalker you had from you high school, or even that teacher that turned out to not be a teacher at all and just a pedo, I see where the lack of trust is coming from. But I assure you, they only thing I wanna do is chat.

The shock and happiness overwhelm me when the reply arrives not even ten minutes later. 

Holy shit, this is him.

I start typing and then erase the typed half-sentence at least three times before receiving another email from him. From Corpse Husband. Corpse freaking Husband. How the fuck am I supposed to compose myself enough to reply to him, let alone sound cool and leave a good impression.

My hand shakes as I click the newly received email.

~ You probably don’t know what to say. Either that or you just don’t wanna talk to me. If you’re just baffled and surprised, reply with your name. If you want me to fuck off, ignore this email completely.

The smile I didn’t realize was there grows into a grin as small bursts of laughter escape me. Laughter caused by disbelief and shock. The type of laugh you let out when you score a good mark on the test you thought you completely fucked up.

~ Y/N. My name’s Y/N. 

PS: The stories are all 100% real. All happened. In the order I sent them too. And before you ask, I guess I’m just unlucky, but you are proving me wrong right now.

I don’t know where that confidence at the end came from, but I don’t care really. All that matters is that this might just actually be happening and it might be the best thing to ever happen to me.

~ Man, you’ve had it rough. Tell me, is there an easier way to access you than email. Like Insta DMs? I feel we have a lot to talk about and email is not the most convenient.

At this point, it feel so much like a fever dream that I decide to treat it as though it is. I just go with the flow.

~ Yeah, but first.....am I really not being catfished right now?

The email I receive as a reply to this message is empty of text but there’s a file attached. Not gonna lie, I am a bit hesitant to open it, but I decide that if this turns bad, I’ll just have to deal with it. In the meantime, I’ll believe it’s not a scam.

It’s an audio file: “No, Y/N, you are not being catfished.”

That voice. That god damn voice. It could convince me of anything. 

And now it’s convinced me into believing him. And finally letting out that squeal I was holding back before sending him my Instagram username.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

So I did the random word generator, and I got paper. And that made me think of paper airplanes. So, how about reader making a paper airplane and throwing it through the SDR2 Boys window, and inside the paper airplane is a love letter confessing reader’s feelings toward them.

T h a n k you for this bc I gotta practice writing the bois. I absolutely love writing these types of scenarios owo

..........

Teruteru

“Oh? What could this be~?” The chef noticed the paper airplane that appeared on the floor of his cottage, picking it up. 

It was only then he noticed his partially opened window and chuckled. For him, it was easy to put two-and-two together.

“Ah, how cliche. Do I have a secret admirer on this island? Perhaps they wanna share all their secrets with me~?” The thoughts running through his mind almost made his nose bleed, though he managed to control himself as he unfolded the plane to read its contents.

And it turned out to be a simple love letter from you--short, sweet, and innocent. You even marked it with a heart at the bottom of the page.

Teruteru’s face became tomato-red as he clutched the letter to his chest, before hurrying out of his cottage and to the hotel restaurant, unable to contain his excitement any longer.

“I’m on my way, my new beloved~!!” He trilled, knowing you’d be waiting for him there.

...............

Gundham

“Huh..so this is what the mighty winds have carried into my domain.” Gundham mused as he looked at the paper airplane that somehow landed on his bed. He looked outside for a moment, wondering who could have sent it--but there was no one.

“A mysterious messenger, hm..what do you think, Cham-P?” He glanced at the large golden hamster on his shoulder, seeing his nod of approval. “Fuhaha! Then it’s decided! Now..let us see what this message entails.”

With a hum, he unfolded the note and read it thoroughly, gawking about halfway through it. 

“...wh-what...this...is this...a-a proclamation of love?!” He tugged his scarf over his blushing face. “But..who could love such a....ah..” Then he reached the bottom of the note and saw it was none other than-

“[Y/n], but of course. There’s...a certain aura to them that..I can’t help but feel enchanted by,” he muttered to himself. “But I shall harden my heart until I know this proclamation is true, lest I turn out to be a blind fool..”

With that declaration, he got up and summoned the Dark Devas to his side, before venturing out of his cottage, clutching the note tightly.

............

Kazuichi

“AH!! I’VE BEEN AMBUSHED!!”

The scream made you stop in your tracks as you looked back, seeing the door fly open and a certain mechanic come rushing out. 

“[Y/n]! Thank god you’re here!” His hands flew onto your shoulders. “I got hit by an object!! I-I think someone was tryna kill me!!”

‘Oh boy..’ You thought, realizing that your plan didn’t go accordingly. “Well, did you see what the object was?”

“N-No...but...what does it matter?!!”

“.....wouldn’t it help to find out what it was if you’re convinced it was attempted murder?”

“..that’s true. C’mon. I don’t wanna go back alone.” Kazuichi dragged you into his cottage, making sure he locked the door once inside. “It came through that window, hitting me in the back of the head....damn it. I just wanted fresh air and I can’t even get that!” Then he shut the window with a huff.

“Was it this?”

Looking back, he saw the paper airplane in your hand. “Yeah-!! Wait...a paper airplane? Seriously? That’s what attacked me?”

“I sent this.”

“...so YOU attacked me?!”

“I didn’t mean to!” You snapped, causing him to fall silent, before you unfolded it and handed it to him. “It’s a letter...for you. It’s got nothing to do with murder, I promise.”

He cautiously took the paper and read it, mumbling to himself. By the time he was done, his face became red. “[Y/n]...is this true?” He looked up at you with a toothy grin and stars in his eyes. “You like me??!!”

“Yeah..” You smiled back. “Though I was hesitant to send it since, y’know....you had eyes on Sonia-”

“Oh! Don’t worry, I only admire Miss Sonia from afar!” He explained. “As the princess she is, I only wanna respect and defend her. Nothing more! I-I’ve honestly...liked you for a while too. My bad for not reading this sooner.”

“It’s okay,” you chuckled. “At least I have my answer.” 

...............

Fuyuhiko

“Sheesh, try not to poke my other eye out next time, okay?”

“Wh-Wha..” You spun around to see the Ultimate Yakuza, realizing he was clutching the note--that was once a paper airplane--in his hand. “Sorry, Fuyu..I had no idea where it would land so I uh...booked it. Kinda. How did you know-?”

“Saw you taking off before this even got into my room,” he explained. “I still got one good eye to keep a lookout for things.”

“..ah, I see..” You rubbed your neck awkwardly. “So um...you must’ve read it.”

“It’s laughably cliche, but...I...uh...d-do feel the same way as you..” Fuyuhiko mumbled the last part, but you could hear his confession clear as day, and your eyes lit up.

“R-Really? I mean...I...I wasn’t sure, since I know you’re still trying to move on from-”

“It’s okay.” He sighed, looking back at you. “It..hasn’t been easy, but..you were the first to forgive me after that trial. Even though...I acted like a total shithead to you when we first got here. Still feel kinda bad about it..”

Your racing heart eventually calmed itself, as you smiled gently and approached him. “It’s okay. If..you wanna make up for it, maybe we can..uh..hang out at the movie theater sometime today?”

“Tch, like a first date?” He chuckled. “Alright. I’m in.”

............

Nekomaru

“[Y/N]!!”

The booming voice made you nearly slam the mailbox door on your hand. You had a habit of checking it mornings and nights.

You whirled around to see Nekomaru rush over to you, a wide grin on his face as he clutched a certain note in his large hand. “I have received your confession letter and accept it wholeheartedly!!”

“R-Really?” You gawked. “Just like that..?”

“Of course!” He laughed. “Your method of delivery is unique! Very old-school. And clearly you’ve put all of your heart and soul into this letter. If I were to ever reject that hard work, my name wouldn’t be-!!”

“Nekomaru Nidai?” You chuckled, feeling calmer now that he was serious.

“See? You already know me better than I know myself!” The Ultimate Team Manager grinned as he hugged you to his chest. “Can you hear that? My heart is beating with great spirit and love!!”

“Yeah, I definitely hear it loud and clear.” Smiling, you hugged him back, happier than ever.

...............

Twogami

When Byakuya found a paper airplane on his desk, he didn’t know what to think at first.

This was childish at best--sneakily throwing it through the window and then taking off? If one of the others wanted to talk to him about something, then they should’ve just rang the doorbell. 

Surely he wasn’t that intimidating of a leader...even if some didn’t like it.

But curiosity eventually won over everything else, and so he took the paper, realizing there was a message on it. “Hmm, very strange..” He hummed, opening it to read what it said.

And he swore his heart stopped, realizing this was a confession and the sender was....you?

Did you really think of him that way? Even though..he hasn’t fully told you the truth about his Ultimate?

And if he did, would you still send him something like this?

.............

Hajime

Hajime didn’t know why he woke up earlier before the morning announcement--until he noticed something right next to his face. “Huh..? What’s this?”

Sitting upright, he picked up the object. “Oh, a paper airplane. Haven’t seen one of these in forever.”

With a small chuckle, he unfolded it, having noticed letters on the inside of it--and also a red heart, oddly enough. He read the message written and...his heart began racing as he realized this was a love letter.

Even though he had his suspicions, he couldn’t believe someone on this island would love a talent-less person like himself.

Why?

As he read the sender’s name, Hajime jumped as he heard a knock on his door. He quickly stuffed the note under his pillow before going to answer it--seeing you on the other side.

“A-Ah..[y/n]..hi. Thank you for knocking..” He tried to play it cool, tugging on his shirt collar awkwardly, though you just smiled.

“I take it you read it already?”

“What? Oh! Uh..yeah..” The poor boy’s face grew redder by the second.

“I thought the paper airplane idea was too childish, so...I figured I’d come here and confess myself. But...seems I’m a little too late for that.” You chuckled nervously. “So....?”

“I-I don’t know what to say..” He admitted. “Why me? I’m the most ordinary out of everyone here.”

“Oh. Hajime.” With a small laugh, you took his hand into yours. “Because it’s you that I feel happiest around..all those times we’ve spent together..meant a lot. I had fun and I’d like to do more of them with you.”

“A-As..your boyfriend you mean?” Hajime gulped, smiling as he tried retaining his composure. “Sure. I’d..love to do that.”

............

Nagito

“Heh..I never would’ve guessed a nobody like me was at the center of someone’s heart..”

“Uh, I’m right here, Nagito.”

“Oh I know.” The white-haired male chuckled as he spun around on his heel, facing you. He looked down at the love letter you had cleverly disguised as a paper airplane. “But..come to think of it..Mikan’s words had me a bit...crushed..”

You tilted your head, remembering the third trial. “You mean, when she said-?”

“That I had nobody who loved me? Well, it seems she was wrong about that.” His smile seemed to stretch wider as he put the letter in his pocket. “I guess I can’t call myself a stepping stone anymore..now that I have a new purpose--one that fills me with a much greater hope!” He wheezed out a small laugh.

While his laughter usually unnerved the other students, you could only smile and feel your heart grow warmer whenever you heard it.

“Yes, yes..perhaps this was the love she was talking about.” Nagito put a hand to his chest. “But this love wasn’t born from despair.”

“Nah, that’s just a twisted sense of love.” You reached out to take his other hand into yours, bringing him slightly closer to you. “This is real, genuine love.” 

His face became a bit flushed, though it wasn’t from the despair disease, but from the simple realization that..

He was lucky enough to be loved.

..........

Izuru

“So, instead of talking to me, you sent this.”

“Oh!” You turned around to see the “Ultimate Hope” standing before. There was an open note in his hand that you tried to deliver to his room in the form of a paper airplane.

The keyword is “tried”, as he was quick to call out to you before you had the chance to run away. So you felt embarrassed, especially as he skimmed over your letter.

After a long and awkward silence, Izuru finally looked up at you. His face remained blank, though you could tell he was curious about your message.

“Yep, that’s my uh..confession.” With a sigh, you approached him calmly. “I know..love is something foreign to you, but...I figured I’d take my chances. Even if the world’s gone to shit, I had to at least get this off my chest. And before you ask...no, it’s not because of your talents.”

“....I see.” He muttered, his gaze returning to the letter. “You understand what I am and what I’ve done, and yet...huh...?” Then he put a hand to his chest, stunned for a moment as he felt his heartbeat slightly quicken.

Wait..

His heart?

What was happening to him? 

What is this?

“Huh, they might’ve suppressed your old feelings. But..not all of them, it seems.”

He wasn’t sure what to say to that exactly.

This was something he definitely couldn’t have predicted.

[faejilly]

Let’s Go Steal Some... Magic?

This is entirely the fault of a prompt from the Hunter's Moon Discord: “A Leverage Shadowhunter crossover where Alec gets desperate enough to hire a band of good thieves who’re known for being able to steal back ANYTHING to steal back Magnus’ magic.” 

I take no responsibility whatsoever for any of this, but man, I had a great time writing it, so I hope you enjoyed reading it, too 😅 (With an extra thanks to @greentealycheejelly for double-checking it at least sort of made sense.) 

Alec knows more about the mundane world than most people realize. He may, in fact, have helped encourage the impression that he's ignorant; it's not like he's been impressed by most of what he knows, so it's easier to just... not deal with it when he doesn't have to.

But there's nothing anyone in the Shadow World can do about this, so maybe... maybe it's time to try something else.

Only he's not sure where to start. He's going to have to ask for help.

Not his favorite thing, but. This is for Magnus. He'd do worse for Magnus.

Lindsay's probably his best bet, she's the one who tracks the bots and AIs that the Clave has keeping as much of an eye on the internet as anyone can manage, hoping to catch those mundanes who might cross the line from figuring out that what they're seeing is because of the Sight, into trying to do something like summoning demons or playing with dark magic.

Her reports on some of the conclusions their machine learning algorithms come up with are sometimes the highlight of his week. He liked the one that tried to figure out which folk songs were based on real adventures with the Seelie and Unseelie Courts versus the ones written by people who'd drank too much or gotten stuck in a cabin in the middle of nowhere for a longer than usual winter.

So he asks her to come see him. She looks, unsurprisingly, deeply nervous when he closes his office door behind her, and he sighs as he sits down in one of the armchairs rather than behind his desk. "I need your help, please."

She doesn't look any comforted by that comment, but she sits across from him, and refrains from either glaring or babbling, so that's something.

"I need." He stops. He's not sure what he needs. "I need to think outside the box, and as the current box is Edom and the entire Shadow World is pretty convinced that that's an impossible box to open—" Alec stops, realizing his metaphors got slightly more tangled than he'd intended. "I think I need someone who is in the know but still mostly mundane, so they're not stuck on the same preconceptions the rest of us are?"

Linday blinks at him. She clearly didn't follow that.

He frowns, but she doesn't get more tense, so at least she figured out he's frowning at himself rather than her.

Clary might have given him multiple migraines and almost as many heart attacks, but she'd barrelled through things he'd thought inviolable just because she didn't know any better, and he could use some of that, right about now.

"Magnus traded his magic to a Greater Demon in order to banish Lilith's demon, and..." He trails off again. And I have to do something about it, but the only thing I can think of is trying to negotiate with said Greater Demon myself and that's a clusterfuck of epic proportions just waiting to happen.

He'll do it, if he has to, he knows this, but that should probably be a last resort, not the first attempt.

"You want to steal it back?" Lindsay's voice cracks half way through the words, and he doesn't blame her, that sounds more insane than anything even Clary would attempt, but...

He hadn't actually framed it that way himself, and he should have. She's probably right, and that is exactly the sort of thinking he needs.

"Do you think that's possible?" He tilts his head, spreads his hands in something that's almost a shrug. "I know there are Sighted thieves, and there's a thriving grey area of mundane and Downworlder interactions with magic that don't usually end up with dead bodies or demons so we don't do anything about them."

Lindsay frowns back at him, but she looks like she's thinking, so he waits.

"Well." She starts, stops again. "There is this hacker..."

Alec blinks. "I don't think the Prince of Edom keeps his stolen magic in a server."

Lindsay snorts, and rolls her eyes at him. "Ha, ha. Sir."

Alec shrugs, and waits.

"There's a warlock, Edda White. She fosters mundane children, usually ones that lost their parents to the Shadow World, or who have the Sight."

"And she's a hacker?" That's an odd combination of jobs, but he supposes it's something one could do from home while keeping an eye on a bunch of presumably traumatized children.

He wonders if there's anything they could do to help her out. Unofficially. Or officially? The Clave really should stop pretending the Shadow World's completely separate from the mundane world, no one believes that.

"No." Lindsay shakes her head. Pauses. "Well, yes, but she's not the hacker I was thinking of, I meant one of her kids."

"If said kid's already in the Shadow World, that's defeating my outside of the box request." He's not really trying to argue with her, he's just not sure where she's going.

"Sir." Lindsay levels a stare at him. It's not as good as the ones his mother or sister can pull off, but it's not half bad.

"Sorry."

Lindsay nods, and adjusts her glasses. "He's Sighted, and he's active on some of the forums the Clave tracks, helps people find resources or contacts, which is how I know about him, but he works in the mundane world. With a team of thieves who have pulled off some really impossible jobs."

"Edom impossible?"

"No, but you said you needed some creative thieves, and they're arguably the best in this world." That is something the Clave would know, just because the few truly occult artifacts the mundane world knows about tend to be expensive, so they attract the attention of the worst sorts of people and the best sorts of thieves... who then attract the attention of the Clave, to make sure no one actually tries to use the things they've stolen. "It's a place to start."

Alec nods. It is, and that's all he asked for; he hopes it's enough. "What's his name?"

Lindsay shrugs. "No idea, but I do know how to get a message to his team. They've an open call out for people who need help and don't have anywhere else to turn."

Alec feels his lips twitch with reluctant amusement. "That certainly fits this situation, doesn't it."

Lindsay concedes with a small nod. "I'll reach out, and let you know what they say."

"Thank you."

She nods again, slightly less smoothly, as if she's not sure what to do with gratitude, though he's not sure if it's because it's him personally or the Head of her Institute in general, and slips away to get to work.

Alec closes his eyes, and lets out a sigh, and tries to hold onto the flicker of hope in his chest.

Maybe. Maybe. Maybe this is what he needs; maybe this is what Magnus needs.

Please.

***

Hardison blinks at the email he just opened.

He double checks the sender's address, and IP, and everything else he can think of to confirm it's not somehow a joke or a scam or something, but as far as he can tell by every test he can think up, it's genuine.

Leverage just got a fucking email from a Nephilim. On behalf of the goddamned Head of the New York Institute.

He pokes his computer screen, as if that'll make it disappear or something.

It doesn't.

Which is probably good, he's Sighted, not a warlock, if he started making the world change outside of a computer, he'd be in deep shit.

The email's surprisingly straightforward, in contrast to their usual potential clients, the Shadow World in general, and everything he's ever heard about Shadowhunters in particular. Shadow Hunters? Shadowhunters? He's not sure he's ever had to write that word out, he wonders which is considered proper grammar.

Holy shit, he's distracting himself with grammar.

He calls his Nana.

"I got an email about Alec Lightwood and Magnus Bane."

"Fuck."

Hardison pulls his phone away from his head and stares at it for a moment before he can handle that. "Did you just swear at me?"

"Not at you, baby." He can practically hear her roll her eyes at him. "I was old enough to swear before your grandma was a gleam in her daddy's eyes, and you know it."

Yes, but you don't, Hardison almost says out loud, not around your babies, you don't, but he swallows it down. "Some Nephilim is asking for help from us, from my team. Do you think it's legit?"

She hums, some melody he's never been able to track down or place, never heard from anywhere or anyone else, and he's glad that that's normal at least. Nana's thinking noise is exactly what he hears in his head whenever he's trying to crack a particularly tough system.

"I do. New York's gone through some shit, and I've heard some rumours about Magnus..." She trails off. "Lightwood's reputation is pretty solid, I think he'd stretch those Nephilim Laws as far as he could, if he thought it was worth it."

"Should I take the meeting then?"

Nana pauses, but she doesn't hum this time. She's not thinking, she wants to make sure he is. "You'd have to tell your team what sort of meeting it really is."

Hardison's whole body tenses up along with his face as he scrunches his eyes as closed as he can get them. He wonders if Parker and Eliot really are part-fae, like he's always thought. They've both got more than a touch of the other when he looks at them out of the corner of his eyes, and it would certainly explain how hard they are to injure, how easily they lean into each other's space, as if they've never before found someone that makes some weird sixth sense relax.

Then again, he loves them enough it might just be his own aura sparking in the way.

He wonders, if they are just a little magic, if either of them know, and just don't think they can tell him.

He wonders if they'll be mad to realize he's kept a secret from them all these years, or if they'll be hurt.

"Yeah," he sighs, and opens his eyes back up. "Don't suppose I could get a family dinner to help uh... illustrate my point?"

Nana laughs, but it's sharper sounding than usual. "If New York's as messed up as I've heard you don't have much time. Tonight good?"

Damn.

This is clearly more serious than he'd thought, and he wonders what he's missed, busy focusing on his mundane life rather than the Shadow World.

"I guess it has to be. Thanks."

Nana doesn't bother to say anything else before she hangs up on him.

He turns around, and no he does not scream, that was just a gasp, and Parker and Eliot are in the doorway, both of them staring at him.

Check mark in the supernatural column.

He smiles at them.

They don't smile back.

Hey guys, want to meet my Nana, the centuries old warlock who taught me how to see demons so they wouldn't eat me?

Yeah. That's gonna go over well.

"Don't suppose either of you believe in magic?"

Eliot does that thing where he's not frowning but is really obvious about how he's refraining from frowning so it actually feels worse than if he'd just scowled at you. "You mean science we can't explain yet, or actual magic?"

Hardison tilts his head and hands with an eh maneuver. "Vampires and werewolves and fairies, oh my?"

Parker shrugs. "Archie always said he thought I was a changeling, does that count?"

Hardison shakes his head, and sees Eliot frown for real, and knows they both wish they'd been harder on Archie when they had him in their sights. "Yes, but that's a terrible thing for him to have said."

"Why?" Parker comes into the room proper to perch on the edge of the table extending out from his desk. "If it's the truth?"

"Because he didn't think it was true," Eliot answers, his voice low and rough. "He was using it to pretend it was okay for him not to take care of you."

Parker rolls her eyes; they've had this argument before. "But if he'd tried, I wouldn't have realized how much better at it you are."

Eliot jerks, like his whole body just tried to shut-down. Hardison can't even appreciate how remarkable that is, because he's too busy feeling his brain stutter right in sync.

"What?" Parker did that are you being stupid or did I make less sense than usual? face of hers, eyes a little squinty and shoulders just starting to hunch.

"Thank you, baby girl." Hardison manages, before she thinks it's the second. "I'm still gonna be mad at him for not trying though."

She frowns, as if she thinks that's dumb, but shrugs, clearly having decided that that's just the way it is. "So does that mean you think he was right, even though he didn't know it?"

"Uh." Hardison does a whole body shrug, because he's not sure why he ever thinks his conversations with these two are gonna go the way he intends. "I have no idea, but it wouldn't surprise me? You're uh. Better at things than most humans. You both are."

"Huh." Eliot says, but not like he disagrees. "But neither of us have a problem with steel or cold iron or whatever it is."

Hardison stares at him.

"What." Eliot stares back, and Hardison can't tell if he's fucking with him on purpose or not. Damn Eliot and his poker face.

"Did you say that because you know things, or because you read fairy tales when you can't sleep?"

Eliot's face looks like he wants to say damnit Hardison but doesn't want to give Hardison the satisfaction.

"Second one, got it."

"Kindaalwaysthoughtitwasaliensanyways." Eliot mutters.*

Hardison is pleased to note that Parker joins him in giving Eliot the look.

Eliot crosses his arms in front of his chest, and looks back, and Hardison sighs. He's right, they don't have time for that right now. "We are revisiting this," Hardison says, pointing at Eliot. "But first we're going to Nana's for dinner."

Parker actually literally squeaks, and he can't tell if she's excited or nervous. "Is she a fairy too?"

"No, and they prefer Seelie or Unseelie, depending on which Court they were born into, but you know, that's a whole separate thing we also don't have time for right now. Nana is a warlock which means she can do magic and she's immortal which I know sounds like more fairy things because they are practically immortal and also do magic, but I swear it's not."

It's his turn to be getting the look from both of them, and he stops. Starts again. "So. Uh. Demons? Totally a thing?"

Eliot sighs, and finally stops lurking as his shoulders relax into something more like at-home-Eliot rather than working-Eliot. "You made a multi-media presentation, didn't you?"

Hardison opens his mouth, and shuts it again. He did, like three different times, and he keeps deleting it and starting over, but he supposes that might be one way to go in order without thinking about Nana swearing and the email and trying to jump to angels are real and angel-blooded people kill demons and the Head of the New York Institute wants our help! before that means anything to anyone.

"Ooh." Parker sits up straighter. "Should I go get some popcorn?"

"Why not." Hardison can't help the smile, doesn't even try. "We'll have a proper briefing in five."

***

Magnus is not entirely sure why Alec invited him to his office, it's not like I can help with missions anymore, and seeing Alec sitting on the edge of his desk wringing his hands when he walks in the door doesn't calm his nerves any.

"Magnus!" Alec looks up, and his smile's not any more comforting than the wringing hands were.

"You're here."

"You asked me to be here." Magnus offers, and makes himself walk further into the office. He's not sure what else to say, and just lifts an eyebrow in Alec's general direction.

Alec shrugs, and bites his lip as he shifts his weight, and then suddenly his tension melts away and he's standing at parade rest and oh, whatever this is, it's clearly important. "I did."

Magnus holds up one finger, turns around to close and lock the door behind him, and faces Alec again.

Alec offers him a crooked almost smile, much more sincere than the last one, and the tension between Magnus' shoulder-blades eases a little, though it definitely doesn't go away. "I have a potentially terrible idea, but it's for you, so it's your choice to make, not mine."

Oh.

Magnus considers that, nods to himself, and goes to sit on the couch. He lifts his head, and makes himself meet Alec's eyes. "All right."

"I want to hire some... consultants, to see if there's a way to get your magic back without having to try and make another deal with Asmodeus."

Magnus doesn't move. He doesn't even blink. If he had his magic he'd probably blow up the chair next to him. "No."

Alec's shoulders slump. "Magnus."

"No." Magnus stands up, his hands clenched and his jaw too tight and he wants to scream, but he doesn't. "Asmodeus is too dangerous."

"And he's going to be less dangerous later if with your magic he can overthrow Lilith while she's still weak from the Mark of Cain?" Alec's voice is quiet, but even so Magnus can barely hold in the wince. "Do you really think he'll be more inclined to stay quietly in his own Realm without interfering with the rest of us if she's no longer there to keep him in check?"

Magnus swallows, refuses to think about the things he did at his father's side the last time Asmodeus freely wandered around Earth. "You said this was for me."

"It is!" Alec's voice and hands lift, and then he stops, his arms drop. He's holding himself so tightly it looks like he's a breath away from shattering. "I would sacrifice anything to help you Magnus, just like you did to stop Lilith, to save Jace, but that doesn't mean helping you isn't also doing my job."

Magnus can't move, can barely breathe.

He exhales, long and slow, and closes his eyes.

He can't argue that, because if he did, it would make everything he'd done to save Jace, to stop Lilith, all of it, for nothing. They can't let either Lilith or Asmodeus take over Edom without the other, can't afford the risk of that much power being concentrated in one person. Demon.

Monster.

Magnus opens his eyes again, and somehow Alec can tell, Alec can always tell, and he's right there, reaching out to cup Magnus' jaw in his warm hands before kissing him, soft and sweet. "Thank you."

Magnus huffs out a breath, and leans in to rest against the warmth of Alec's chest. "Thank you. So who are these... consultants then?"

"Um." Magnus tilts his head enough to look at Alec, who's looking at the ceiling as if too embarrassed to meet Magnus' gaze. He rolls his lips in tight, then pops his mouth open and sighs. "Thieves?"

"What." Magnus steps back, so he can glare properly. And also enjoy the way Alec's squirming, because it's not often Alexander gets tongue-tied around him anymore, and if he's going to go through with this insanity, he might as well try and get some enjoyment out of it. "You. Want to steal my magic back?"

"I mean, that seems slightly more likely than negotiating it out of a Greater Demon?" Alec shrugs, and rubs the back of his neck, and his mouth twists before his whole body sags with a sigh. "I don't know, but I certainly don't know how to get it back without risking Asmodeus pulling one over on us, do you?"

"But you think your thieves might?" Magnus can't help it, his voice cracks.

"Not my thieves." Alec shrugs again. "Lindsay found them, and Edda White said she could portal them to us whenever we come to an agreement on a meeting time and place."

"Edda?" He stops again. Edda, who fosters mundane children and likes to play with computers and has the weirdest running bet with Catarina about the stupid excuses they've used to convince mundanes that the magic they just saw wasn't really magic... "Mundane thieves?"

"Well, anyone in the Shadow World would start already convinced that it was impossible, wouldn't they?"

Magnus can't argue with that, either, and this is the weirdest conversation he's possibly ever had, and that's saying something, considering the number of times he's been high or drunk and determined to not let it stop him from doing... well. Anything. "Huh," is all he manages. "That. Almost makes sense."

Alec grins. "I know, weird, huh."

Magnus' chest aches, because oh, he hasn't seen that sort of look on Alec's face since they found out about Jace, before Magnus went to Edom, before he lost...

Before they lost so much.

Magnus laughs, and Alec's grin widens, a glint in his eyes as if he's as delighted and surprised as Magnus is to realize they're both actually looking forward to this. "Let's go meet some thieves."

[adenei]

Always A Bridesmaid, Never a Bride - Ch. 2

so much for only posting one chapter a week...oh well. You’re welcome for those of you who are into this!

AO3 || FFN

---RON---

“Ron, hey! Have a good weekend?” Neville Longbottom approached me as I walked into my office at The Telegraph.

“Hey, Nev. Yeah, I guess. You?”

“It was great! You missed out on Saturday night. The film festival was spectacular!”

“Yeah, well, in case you’ve forgotten, I work Saturday nights. I call it the curse of the commitments.”

I knew Neville meant well and he was a good friend, but he seemed to forget that I’m stuck in this hell hole having to attend weddings and then portray them as these beautiful, fairy tale level events. This was not what I anticipated my writing career to look like, yet here I was.

“Right. Sorry. It must be a truly despicable life. Dining on free food and red velvet cake. Was it a good wedding, at least? Find anyone to shack up with?” Neville asked.

I almost snorted out the sip of coffee I’d just taken. Nevile knew that I wasn’t on the pull, right? Let alone looking for someone to move in with. “Hardly. How many times do I have to tell you, one night stands and weddings are not a good mix, no matter how many people say otherwise.”

“But there has to be single bridesmaids looking for a fun night with no commitments,” Neville pressed.

“Maybe there are, but I’m not going for it. It’s not worth it.” I waved Neville off as I set my stuff at my desk and made my way over to my boss’s office. 

I’d been waiting the rest of the weekend to unveil my brilliant story idea. I was convinced this would finally promote me out of the commitments section. Not bothering to knock, I strode in and dropped the overflowing Filofax on my editor’s desk.

“This better be important, Weasley,” Rita Skeeter said.

“Er, yeah. I’ve got a story idea I wanted to run by you,” I said. All the confidence I was feeling before somehow disappeared as soon as I stepped into her office.

Rita kept on working as she said, “We’ve been through this before. I hired you to write wedding announcements, not investigative pieces.” I could tell she was not in the mood, but I’d given this far too much thought to give up.

“All I'm asking for is a chance to prove to you that I can offer my writing skills to other sections of the paper—”

“If this is another story proposition about exposing some minute detail of how the wedding industry is ripping people off, you can walk right out of this office. I don’t have any interest in hearing it.”

“But those were meaningful stories! People deserve to know that bakeries are overcharging for cakes. You could ask for an elaborate birthday cake design and the price would be significantly less because it’s not for a wedding! They’re conning innocent people just because they’re in love!”

“Readers don’t want stories on the price gouging, Ron! They want happy, feel good stories that give them hope, and you do that quite well. Your articles make most of our money, and I’d be insane to switch you to a different section!” Rita said with a tone of finality.

“Just hear me out. Please? I promise this is a good one.” I opened the Filofax. “This girl’s been in seven weddings—”

“So?” Rita responded. She sounded unimpressed.

“—This year. She was in two this past weekend alone. On the same night! There’s a story here, and I can sense it. She’s like a perpetual bridesmaid. There has to be a reason for it. She doesn’t strike me as the type that has that many friends.”

Rita finally looked up at me. I couldn’t read what she was thinking, but I was mentally preparing to be shot down again. Not this time, though. I needed to fight back for this one. It might be the only way I can get close to Hermione again.

“Fine.”

“Seriously, Rita I can make this—wait, what?”

“I said, ‘fine.’ I’m giving you a chance. Two weeks to find something out of this, and we’ll see what happens.”

“Four,” I said. Two was nowhere near enough time.

“Three, and that’s it.”

“Okay. And if you like it, I move out of commitments for good,” I said firmly.

“Ron—”

“I’m serious. I’ll quit. I can’t spend the rest of my career finding creative ways to highlight baby’s breath and sugar roses.”

“Fine. But you won’t quit. I know you better than that.” Rita picked up the Filofax and handed it to me before ushering me out of her office. “Now, get that adorably cute face out of here before I change my mind.”

I flashed a grin at her. “You won’t be disappointed.”

If the indication from our conversation in the taxi told me anything, it was that I had my work cut out for me. I opened her Filofax and set to work. A plan was already formulating, and I was eager to set it in motion.

This was my chance. My ticket out. Now, I just had to get close to the woman who drove me insane two nights ago. The woman I was unable to get out of my mind. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. It was just because of the bridesmaid thing, I kept telling myself. That was it. 

---- HERMIONE ----

Monday rolled around far too quickly, but I was okay with it. Harry was coming back from a conference after being out of the office last week. I made sure things ran smoothly while he was gone since that was my job. You could call me his assistant, but I was also second in command of the company he’d started from scratch: Second Chance Publishers. 

Harry Potter was the ultimate entrepreneur, and I was lucky to work for him. He was everything you could wish for in a boss. Kind and understanding, yet firm and determined in his vision. He was always one who wanted to help the underdog, hence the company’s name. We read author’s manuscripts that had been tossed aside from leading publishing agencies, and gave the promising ones a chance. It’d been eight years and the company was still going strong.

Harry had taken a chance when he hired me fresh out of university, and I like to think I’ve proved indispensable since then. I was incredibly lucky to work in a position where my opinion mattered and I felt needed, like I belonged. Not to mention my boss was unequivocally sexy, and somehow still single.

Single was a good thing. That meant I may still have a chance. He had to notice me eventually, right? Okay, yes, I’ll admit it; I fancy my boss, but it’s innocent! I swear.

I needed to stop thinking about him. The anticipatory butterflies were already fluttering in my stomach, and I needed to get them under control. Coffee in hand, I walked the remainder of the two blocks to the office, and met Lavender on her way in.

“Never made it home this weekend, I see,” I said with a smile as I handed her coffee over. I was totally judging her and she knew it. I was never one to engage in one night stands and she knew it.

Lavender gave me a smug smile and ignored my question. “Maybe. Not that I could find you to stop me. What happened to you the other night? You were hardly there and then you left with that guy. Did you get lucky?”

“What? No! Of course not.”

“Oh, yes, I forgot. You’re holding out for Mr. Right,” Lavender scoffed.

I ignored her comment as we meandered through the main doors into the office. Luna Lovegood, the receptionist, was sitting at the front desk. “Morning, Luna!”

“Hi!” she said brightly.

“Question for you: have you seen my Filofax around anywhere by chance?”

“No,” she answered simply.

“Oh, okay then. It’s probably in my office. No problem. I’ll keep looking. Did you happen to send out the order I left on your desk Friday afternoon for the manufacturer?”

She looked nonplussed. “No.”

“Alright. No big deal, I’ll take care of it,” I said as we continued on down the hall.

“Wow, Hermione, you really told her,” Lavender said.

I sighed. “It’s fine, Lav, I should have done it myself anyway..”

“But you’re the boss, you’re allowed to tell people what to do.”

“I’m not the boss, and you know that. I’m the boss’s assistant. There’s a difference.”

“Correction, there would be a difference if the boss didn’t rely on you so much as well.”

I rolled my eyes. “Maybe I just like my job.”

“Or maybe, it’s not the job you like, but the boss,” she raised her eyes knowingly at me.

 “Get to accounting, Lavender,” I told her, since I wasn’t willing to admit that she was right.

“Oh, sure, now you get bossy,” she said as she meandered off.

I chuckled to myself as I walked into my office and got settled for the day. My first point of business was to find my Filofax. That held my life. Every appointment and event was written in there. Not to mention all my cut outs of details I loved and wanted to incorporate for my own dream wedding. I searched high and low and it was absolutely nowhere to be found.

Giving up, I turned to my computer and attempted to get some work done. My productivity didn’t last very long, though. I looked up a half hour later to see a flower delivery at the front desk. Did Luna just point to me? My heart beat a little faster in my chest. I think she did. The man was walking towards me and stopped just outside my office. 

“Hermione Granger?” he asked.

“That’s me,” I said in a hushed voice.

“These are for you,” he said as he handed them to me and turned to leave.

I was dumbstruck. I never received flowers, let alone at work! Setting them on my desk, I began searching for the note card that should have accompanied the beautiful bouquet, but nothing was there to reveal the mystery sender.

“Oh, sure, I spend all weekend in bed with a guy and you’re the one who’s sent flowers!”* Lavender sounded annoyed as she strolled into my office. “Who are they from?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t say.” My voice still sounded shocked.

When I turned to look at Lav, I watched as her face went from annoyed, to understanding, and then it finally settled on pity. “Hermione, no, you can’t possibly think it’s from him.”

“Well, who else could it be?” I asked indignantly.

“I don’t know, but you’ve got to stop this! You’re in love with a man who doesn’t even know you exist.”

“I am not in love with him,” I lied. “And he does too know I exist.”

“Yeah, in a ‘she’s my assistant’ kind of way, not in a ‘she’s so sexy I want to rip her clothes off and have mind blowing sex with her’ way.”*

“You don’t know that,” I said weakly.

“I do too know that! Honestly, at least get it under control, will you? The whole office knows,” Lavender argued.

“They do not!” I said incredulously.

Luna, who was passing by my door at that exact moment, must have heard Lavender and chimed in. “Yes, we do.” She smiled at both of us and kept right going before I could stop her.

“See?” Lavender pressed. “I’m telling you—” she was cut off by a dog barking, which could only mean one thing.

“Pads!” I cried as the large black dog darted towards me.

“Hey, Padfoot, easy there. Hermione doesn’t want a face full of slobber this morning,” came Harry’s sultry, baritone voice.

“No, no, it’s okay!” I said quickly as I stood back up. “Hi. How was the conference?”

“Brilliant! If things went as well as I hope they did, we may be expanding into the American and Canadian markets.”

“That’s wonderful!” I noticed Lavender pretend to gag from over Harry’s shoulder. 

“How are things here? Have we met our quota for the end of the month?” Harry immediately began business talk. I liked a boss who was no nonsense and wanted to make sure things stayed on track.

“Almost. There’s a few manuscripts to get through, and we’re waiting on approval from Hopkirk on the illustrations. If we can get that soon, the art department can move forward, and we should have the new publication out by the middle of next month.

“Great. I’ll make a point to call her personally to see if we can get the process moving more quickly.”

I nodded. “Just so you know, you’ve got an 11:00 meeting with marketing. Oh, and the Boys and Girls Club has an event coming up that they’d like you to speak at. Nothing too intensive, just a few words on the impact that reading has had on their kids, and how you’ve seen the program grow since you’ve become involved. But it will be a formal affair,” I added.

“Ah, so I suppose that means I’ll need to bring a date,” Harry acknowledged.

“Yes, probably,” I said with a small smile. I was trying to hide the hope that he might ask me. It was a work event. Sort of…

“Well, I guess that’s one aspect of my life that I shouldn’t need your help with, right?” he said with a chuckle.

“Er, yeah, right,” I said regretfully.  

I watched as he turned and left my office. Lavender looked like she wanted to say something. “Don’t even start.”

“Fine. Hey, what are you doing before Luna’s sten party tonight? I’m meeting some friends for pre-drinks. You could use the distraction!”

I laughed at her brazenness. “My neighbor is coming back into town. I promised I’d pick her up at the train station

 and we’d grab a bite before the party.” I lowered my voice for what I was about to say next. “Who schedules a sten party on a Monday anyways?”

“Are you just starting to question Luna’s decisions now? And is that the neighbor you’ve been friends with since you moved in, but know nothing about? The one who disappears for months on end?”

“Yeah, Jenny. But she’s really nice, and fun to hang out with when she’s in town. There’s only so much I can take of you,” I joked.

“You wouldn’t know what to do without me,” Lavender scoffed.

Just then, Harry popped his head back in my office. “Hey, Hermione, did you leave the coffee on my desk?”

“What? Oh, yes. It was nothing. I, er—I figured you might want it,” I said with a nonchalant shrug.

“Thanks! You were right, just like always,” he smiled and I thought my legs were turning to jelly. “That’s why I love ya,” he added as he disappeared from my doorway.*

I was awestruck. “I love you, too,” I said quietly under my breath as I watched him walk away*. 

Slap! Lavender smacked me hard across the face. “Get it together!” she snapped.

I shook my head as I cleared my head from the haze. “Y-yeah. Yup. Thanks. I needed that.”

Lavender had no words for me. I always appreciated her realistic view on things, even if it was a bit crass. The fact that she was speechless over what had just happened was like someone dumping ice water down my back, and the cold realization creeped through my veins. I had it bad for my boss, and I was stuck.

~o~

I was right on time when I arrived at the train station to pick up Jenny. She’d been away for six months, which was longer than normal, but I was excited that she was coming home for a while. I loved Lavender and her friendship, but sometimes she was a bit much. Jenny was way more relaxed, and didn’t press me as much about my personal life. Soon enough I saw her flaming red hair in the crowd. I waved and it didn’t take long for her to spot me. 

“Hermione!” I heard her cry as she made her way over to me. She wrapped me in a hug. “It’s so good to see you! I’m sorry you had to pick me up. My brother bailed on me last minute.”

“Ah, yes, this mysterious brother you insist exists, yet I’ve never met in our five years of sharing the same building,” I joked. “Come on, I’ve already called for takeaway.”

“Brilliant! I’m starved. Fish and chips, I hope? I can’t tell you the last time I’ve had a good English classic,” she said eagerly.

“Of course, would you expect anything less?”

Jenny threw her arm around my shoulder as I took one of her bags and we made our way to the taxis. The ride took a bit longer than usual since it was rush hour, but our takeaway was still warm by the time we got to the flat. Jenny dropped her bags off in her flat next door to mine, and then met me a few minutes later.

“Finally! I was drooling in the taxi,” she said. 

“So, how were your travels this time around?” I asked between bites.

“Eh, same old, same old. It’s a rough schedule being on the job for six months and then off, but I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

“You’re an athletic trainer for one of the female football teams, right?” I attempted to verify. 

“Something like that, yeah. It’s hard to believe I’ve finished my sixth season already.”

I nodded, storing that information in the file I had in my brain for her. I’d learned a good deal about Jenny over the past few years, even if it was nothing terribly close to her personal life. I knew she wasn’t overly fond of animals, hated cleaning, and could drink anyone into the ground and be completely fine the next day. She was strikingly beautiful with chocolate brown eyes that possessed a hardness to them when she showed the world her ‘no nonsense’ attitude. I was sure she had no trouble finding men even with her crazy work schedule getting in the way.

“Soooo,” Jenny said, interrupting my thoughts. “What’s been going on with you? Have you met a man yet?”

Maybe I’d spoken too soon when I said I appreciated her friendship more than Lav’s. “No, still single, but I received flowers from some anonymous person at work today,” I mentioned with a chuckle.

“Oh? Tell me more!”

“It was nothing, really. Just a delivery with no note. I have an idea who may have sent them, but they never came forward.”

“Do you think it’s from your mysterious workplace crush? Have they finally noticed what they’ve been missing out on?”

“One can only hope,” I said as I shrugged. “What are your plans for tonight?”

“Probably dumping the contents of my luggage on the floor of my bedroom and crashing, if I’m being honest. Why? Do you have anything planned?”

“Luna, the receptionist at work is having her sten party at XOXO,” I told her. “You’re more than welcome to join if you’d like. Meet new people, reacquaint yourself with London’s nightlife…”

“At an Indie bar? We’ll see how I’m feeling after this food digests. I’m way too full to think about going anywhere,” she said. 

“Well, the offer stands if you decide you want to meet me there later on, though I don’t blame you for wanting to make a date with your sofa instead.”

We got up and took care of the containers. As Jenny was getting ready to leave, I saw her pause by the counter. “What are these?” she asked as she picked up several newspaper clippings.

“Nothing!” I said quickly, snatching them out of her hand.

“Do you really save wedding announcements?” Jenny asked me.

“Not all of them! Just the ones written by Billy Weston. He’s the best!” I insisted.

Jenny was looking at me quizzically before she headed for the door. “Well, you do you, I guess. Thanks for picking me up again! And for dinner. I owe you one.”

“No problem! It’s good to have you back.” Jenny flashed me a smile before she left. 

I hoped that maybe someday she’d trust me enough to let me in on the parts of her life she kept locked up tight. The least I could do in the meantime was be a good friend. For now, I needed to get ready for the sten party.

~o~

Lavender and I were walking away from the bar in the club when I heard someone say Harry’s name. He was here! I turned in time to see him making his way over to us. 

“You got them annual passes to the London Zoo and Aquarium,” I said, noticing the worried look on his face.

“Great! Thanks, Hermione. Any chance she’ll believe it’s from me?” Harry asked.

“Maybe. You do an okay job of getting to know your employees, so I’d say there’s a fifty-fifty shot,” I quipped.

He gave a look of approval. “Excellent. I’m going to head to the bar and get a drink. Do you guys need anything?”

I chuckled as I said, “No, thanks. I’m set.” I held up my own drink as Lavender also shook her head no.

Harry nodded and walked away as Lavender looked at me incredulously. “Are you kidding me?” she shot me a look.

“What?”

“When a guy asks to buy you a drink, you always say yes! Even if you already have one. If you ask for a sex on the beach, it’s a subtle hint to indicate what you’re hoping for later.” 

I shook my head. “Honestly, Lav, do you ever not have sex on your mind?”

“What’s wrong with that? It might finally get you what you’re hoping for. He buys you a drink, you talk about something other than work, he sees you more than just his assistant and voila! Happily ever after!” She lifted her drink in a cheers motion.

I couldn’t help but laugh at her ridiculous statement. “We already do talk about things other than work. I’m not going to rush him into anything.’

Lavender rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible.”

“No, I’m responsible.”

“What guy wants responsible?” Lavender was clearly getting flustered now.

“Harry! He loves my responsibility and appreciates me for who I am,” I insisted.

“Well, yeah, but he might appreciate you more if he knew what you wanted,” Lavender said just before clamping her mouth down on her straw and taking a big swig of her drink.

I gave her a look as Harry made his way back over to us. “Hey, Hermione, I hope that thing I left on your desk this morning was okay…” he said quietly.

“That...thing?” I said breathlessly, immediately thinking of the flowers.

“Yeah. I mean, I know it’s kind of a new level for us and I just wanted to make sure you were okay with it.”

‘Y-yeah! Yes! Totally fine with it! Definitely,” I said as a grin broke out on my face.

“Great. Er, thanks,” Harry said as he nodded to me and took off to mingle.

I turned to Lavender. “It was him. He sent me the flowers. Oh my God! Lavender, he sent me the flowers!”

“Holy shit, he really did!” I could tell by the shocked look on her face she couldn’t believe it either. “What are you waiting for?!” she asked.

“W-what?” I asked, confused.

“What are you waiting for? Go over there and tell him how you feel! He made the first move with the flowers! It’s now or never! Go declare your love! I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it’s your fairy tale moment.”

“Oh, yeah, right. Go. Yes, I’ll go,” I said awkwardly.

Lavender pushed me in his direction and I began walking slowly his way. This was it. The moment I’d been waiting for years to come face to face with! My heart was beating faster with each step.

I was only a few paces away when I saw him notice something. I followed his gaze across the dance floor and saw Jenny looking around, probably for me. I was used to seeing her dressed down in a pair of jeans or sweats, but she was actually done up nicely. Her makeup was done, and her straight red hair fell over her shoulders. She was wearing a shimmery emerald green dress that showed off a bit more than I would have ever expected from her. 

I saw her notice Harry, giving him a small smile. I should have stopped and turned around when they were clearly making their way toward each other, but I couldn’t stop my feet. They just kept propelling me forward. Ironically, I met up with them just as they stopped in front of each other.

Jenny noticed me out of the corner of her eye and muttered, “Hermione.”

“Oh, er, right. Harry, this is my friend Jenny, Jenny this is my Harry—no! I mean, this is my boss, Harry,” I clarified. How humiliating!*

“Yeah, Hermione’s the best assistant anyone could possibly have. Half the time she knows what I need even before I do, and she’s always willing to help,” he said nervously. Since when did Harry get nervous? “Just this morning I left Padfoot’s groomer appointment slip on her desk. It was last minute and I had a meeting, so I asked Hermione to drop him off for me.”

I felt like I’d been sucker punched in the gut. The flowers weren’t from him after all. How stupid was I to get my hopes up? 

“Ah, Pads’ appointment. Right,” I tried to say as lightly as I could. 

“Well, a clean dog is rather important,” Jenny agreed in a sweet voice.

“Would you like to get a drink?” Harry asked. He only had eyes for her.

“Well, I came to get a drink with my friend, but I couldn’t possibly say no,” Jenny giggled. Since when was Jenny a giggler?

My worst nightmare was coming true. Harry was clearly smitten with my neighbor. This wouldn’t be happening if I’d never invited her to come along, and now I’m watching them get a drink together. 

Before I could turn and leave, there was a tap on my shoulder. It was Ron. “What are you doing here?” I asked. I was totally shocked to run into him again.

“Fancy meeting you here! Did you like the flowers?” he asked me.

“What? Those were from you?” I asked. My voice definitely sounded rude.

He nodded with the lopsided grin flashing across his face. “Er, yeah. Did you like them?”

“Oh great, the marriage hating cynic left me romantic mystery flowers this morning. How ironic!” Could this day get any worse?

“Yeah, I guess you could put it that way. Oh, also, I have something for you.” He paused, and I watched him dig around in his satchel. “Here you go!”

It was my Filofax. “Oh, thank God! You found it!”

“Yeah, it was in the back of the cab. You should be more careful where you leave stuff like this. It was either I meet you here tonight or Thursday at your dad’s birthday party.” He laughed like it was a joke, but I was deeply offended and creeped out.

“You read it?”

He shrugged. “I tried to. I didn’t know anyone could fill up every possible centimeter on the page,” he joked again. 

I didn’t find it funny, and what made matters worse was I now saw Harry leaning in and whispering into Jenny’s ear. She was smiling and flirting and it felt like my life was falling apart.

 “Hey, Ron, could you hold this for a sec?” I asked as I shoved my drink in his hand.

He never got a chance to respond as I made my way to the nearest exit to get some air. Luckily the club was loud enough so no one inside could hear the scream of fury that was escaping my lips. I wasn’t proud of the vulgar language I let out, but tonight called for it. I stopped abruptly when I heard someone clear their throat. I looked up and realized the door I’d left didn’t actually lead outside, but to another room where a child’s birthday party was taking place. 

“Oh! I’m so sorry. I didn’t—5 years old, wow. Congratulations!” 

I knew my face was red as I swiftly turned around and made my way back into the club. I reluctantly walked back over to Ron. “Sorry about that.”

“No problem,” he said, handing my drink back to me. “Do you want to get a drink?” he asked hopefully.

“I don’t know…” I said. I suddenly wasn’t in the mood. 

“Come on, it’s just one drink,” he said. “Let me prove to you I’m not some creep.”

“It’s not that. I just—I won’t be any fun tonight,” I admitted.

“Oh, er, alright then. Well, maybe I’ll see you around? Thursday?” he joked again. 

I glared at him. “Goodnight, Ron.”

He gave me an awkward wave as he turned to leave. Lavender had suddenly appeared behind me. “Ooooh, who was he and where can I get one?”*

“He’s no one, Lav,” I said. I wasn’t in the mood anymore, and I just wanted to go home.

“What happened?” She asked, concerned.

“It’s a long story. I’m going to call it a night. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said.

I found myself walking over to the bar, approaching Harry and Jenny in a last ditch effort before giving up. “Hey,” I said to them. “Jenny, you must be tired from all that traveling today. Do you want to share a taxi?”

“What? Oh, no Hermione, I’m fine,” she said dismissively. “Harry, do you want to go somewhere more quiet?”

“Sure, I know a place a few blocks from here.”

“What? No—Jenny, it’s getting—” I tried to interject, but nothing could break their attention from each other.

“Brilliant! I hardly ever explore this side of town,” Jenny said to him.

“Do you want to join, Hermione?” Harry asked.

I looked between Harry and Jenny, and she was giving me a frown and a slight shake of her head, willing me to say no. Of course, I couldn’t let her down, so I said, “Oh, no. You two go. I need to get back.” That was it. My chance was officially blown.

“Maybe next time,” Jenny said convincingly. “Let’s get coffee in the morning, yeah? I’ll text you!”

I nodded weakly as I watched them get up and head for the door. Jenny turned around mouthed ‘Thank you! You’re the best,’ before taking the arm Harry held out for her. My heart felt like it was shattering to pieces.

I caught a taxi and made my way home, resisting the urge to cry. There was no way I was going to sleep tonight. I tried to do a few things to tire myself out, like clean the kitchen and doing a home workout, but I found myself obsessively checking the peep hole in my door, and listening intently to hear whether Jenny had come home and whether or not Harry had joined her. 

Just the mere thought sent needles through my heart. At around two in the morning, I gave up and forced myself to go to bed. It was everything I could do to avoid getting up. Eventually, after a lot of tossing and turning, I managed to fall asleep.

[sohin-ace]

Jotaro - Fanletters

This is cross-posted from Wattpad and available on AO3.

Enjoy~

You and the infamous Jotaro were pretty close friends. It was really a weird friendship, but it worked out well. You knew each other from elementary school and lived 2 blocks away from each other. Your parents were nicely acquainted as well.

You basically grew up together. Overtime, you learned to manage his edgy nature and embrace his odd gestures of kindness while he learned to tolerate your eccentrism and appreciate your patience towards him.

In any other circumstances, you both would have never even been friends, but fate worked like that sometimes. You wouldn't trade Jotaro for anything in the world and he wouldn't let anyone think of even touching you.

Of course, everybody at school knew about the Jojo-Y/N duo. Everybody wondered how a girl like Y/N managed to get to the stone cold Jojo, and how a guy like Jojo could even bear the presence of the freaky Y/N.

Some were jealous, some were excited, and some were completely indifferent to the chemistry of the two.

And between some jealous fangirls stood some who wanted to take advantage of your accessibility to pass some messages, letters, gifts and many more to the lady-killer Jojo.

It has become a habit for you now, you didn't really mind, even if it could be bothersome sometimes. It was actually pretty entertaining for you. You were the person who received the most love letters at school, with your shoe locker and desk always filled to the brim, too bad they weren't from your fervant admirers, but Jotaro's.

You would usually just take the love letters to him but you always got the same response of denial. Telling you to just throw them away or whatever. But you would always try and convince him to read some of them with you, since 'it could be fun'.

"Yooo Jojo that one is wild look at that! Ewwww! Would you even do that to a woman? No that's straight up EVIL!" you showed him the letter as he was laying on his bed and you were sat at his desk.

"Yare yare daze... I don't want to see it" he huffed, not wanting to deal with yet another cringy lustful confession.

You two would spend some afternoons like this. Sometimes you felt like his personal assistant sorting out his mailbox or something.

One day was very special though.

At the end of one school day, you were assigned in cleaning duty. After cleaning with the other assigned students, you stayed a bit later to empty your shoe locker and desk which took forever. Everyone was gone by now and you were heading back to the classroom to get your bag and finally call it a day.

You got the lockers and opened yours to get your shoes but found one single letter left there.

"Oh? I forgot one... I was sure I got everything... Did someone just put it in? Eh whatever."

You took the letter, put on your shoes and decided you'll pass by Jotaro's house to give him the letter, even if you knew he couldn't care less about it.

"What do you want?" he grunted, but opened the door wide to let you in. The duality of the guy.

"Oh nothing important, just this." you handed the pastel pink enveloppe. "It sat in my locker, alone and afraid." you joked.

Jotaro reluctantly took the letter in his hand. He was ready to just tell you off and shoving it back into your face, but then he noticed what was written on the other side of the enveloppe.

'For Y/N <3'

Jotaro let appear a tiny smirk on his strong features. Things just got interesting for him. If you brought him the letter, that means you didn't notice it was for you.

To your surprise, Jotaro kept the letter and put it aside.

"Huh? You're not going to tell me to throw it away or shove it up my ass or something?" you said a bit baffled.

"No, I'll do it myself." he turned and tossed it on a nearby table.

"HUH ??? SHOVE IT UP YOUR ASS???"

You then felt Star Platinum slap you across the back of the head with a nice 'ORA!'

"Owowow!" you cried a little while rubbing your head. Jotaro turned around muttering his iconic "yare yare daze".

Later that evening, when you were already gone home, Jotaro took the liberty to read the letter, wondering what kind of boy could even be interested in you, and see who he had to pick a fight with.

He read the entire thing, and throughout the reading he thought that person was acting pretty mysterious, it was very different from the letters that he recieved from his fangirls.

No, here the letter was filled with many "I'll understand if you don't really roll that way" or "I know it's weird, please don't take this the wrong way". Basically the letter felt very apologetic and the person was obviously self conscious.

At first Jotaro didn't understand why until he read the name of the sender.

'Kaneda Mokou'

He froze. 'Mokou'? So it was a girl. Well at least he wouldn't have to fight anyone so that's good, but also it was interesting.

A girl was into you. Romantically. Or even more. How cute.

He leaned back in his chair, wondering what your reaction would be when he'll break it down to you.

Even if you had a weird sense of humor and overall weird personality, he knew you were very kind, too kind to confront these situations by yourself, especially if you had to reject someone.

He expected the next day greatly.

You went to pick Jotaro up to walk to school with him. You greeted Holly and went on your way with him.

"Aaah it's way too early, be my pillow Jojo." You leaned lazily on his arm without even waiting for his response and he just let you be, too tired to deal with your shenanigans right now.

After a brief moment of silence with both of you peacefully walking, Jotaro broke the ice suddenly.

"Y/N, what about girls?" he blurted. You stood back straight and looked at him like he was the craziest man on earth.

"What the hell is that question, out of nowhere? About your fangirls, you mean?"

"What if a girl liked you?" he looked straight ahead so you couldn't read his eyes, but he seemed serious.

"Aaah...." you paused to think. "I think I'd be flattered, but also sad that she would like me of all girls haha wouldn't that be funny? Not like it will happen anytime soon. Why? Did a guy ask you out again? Was it the letter from yesterday?"

He stopped in his tracks and had a scary glint in his eyes as he took the now opened letter from his pockets and handed it to you.

You hesitated and looked at him with worry.

"You scare me Jojo, what's going on?" he didn't reply. You just took the time to read the letter and realized it was not aimed at Jotaro at all, but at you!

You blushed at the realization and looked at him, but he ushered you to continue reading with his gaze.

Your face reddened the more you read the letter. The tender words of affection, the compliments, the poetic lines and the saddening doubt in the sender's words.

You finished reading and gasped when you saw that it was from your classmate Kaneda Mokou.

"W-waaah!!! Mokou-chan likes me???" You squirmed in embarrassment and stared at Jotaro who seemed amused by the ordeal.

"YOU KNEW IT DIDN'T YOU?? THIS IS WHY YOU KEPT THE LETTER !! YOU SHOULD HAVE SHOVED IT UP YOUR ASS LIKE YOU SAID INSTEAD OF READING IT!"

Jotaro was this close to slapping you to space.

"Just go see her before I kick your ass" the boy growled.

"Hey Jojo, what do you think I should tell her?" you said recovering from your flushed state.

"I don't give a shit it's on you."

"So you wouldn't mind if she becomes my giiiirlfriend~ ?" you said with a teasing tone.

Jotaro flinched and didn't answer for a moment.

"...Do you want to?" he mumbled.

"I don't know, will you be okay with me kissing her and holding her hand and-"

He suddenly grabbed your shoulders, turned you around and shoved you forward.

"Just walk already we're late" he stayed behind you to hide his growing blush.

To be honest Jotaro had this tiny crush on you but even he barely realized it. He was very protective of you and swore he would beat the crap out of any guys that would confess to you, but now that the opponent was a girl he was lost.

Did he have competition? Were you even interested in girls? Or even interested in trying? What should he do?

He thought you would just be a coward and act as if the letter never existed, but now you acted like you were contemplating the offer a lot and that brought a sweat to his brow.

At the end of the day, you decided to talk to Mokou to give her your answer. Jotaro decided to wait for you a few feet away where he couldn't hear what you were saying.

After a few minutes of talking and even some laughing, Jotaro saw you both hug and then separate before bidding each other goodbye. You then joined your tall friend and he didn't say anything but his eyes spoke the question for him.

"Hmmm can you guess? Did I say yes or no?"

"Cut the crap Y/N."

"So impatient! To be honest I wouldn't have minded but..." you blushed a little bit and he raised an eyebrow at you "I think... I need someone that's a bit more like you, Jojo." You added, embarassed.

He showed you a surprised face a this sudden confession. Before he could react any further you continued.

"She wouldn't have put up with me I think. She's very nice and sweet, but she probably would have dumped me after, like, 3 days. Can't blame her haha." you laughed sheepishly.

"Good." Jotaro said turning around. You were confused at his reaction.

"Good? What do you mean 'good'? How is me being dumpable any good? Hey, come back here! ...Jojo! SLOW DOWN YOU'RE TOO FAST! JOJOOOOOO !!!"

He ignored you and speedwalked away from you as you started jogging to catch up to him.

That basically was your relationship with Jotaro Kujo. There was a hint of something more than friendship between you two, but neither of you could put your fingers on it.

"Finally haaah... I caught up to you haaa, you freaking daddy-long-legs" you panted.

He smirked and grabbed you in a headlock.

"Oi, that hurts let me go!" you hit his arm repeatedly, asking for mercy.

"You said you wanted me to be your pillow" he said, dragging you back home.

You only knew that you wanted to be with each other, and no one else.

"Yare yare daze..."

"...That's my catchphrase."

[connordavidscamera]

Return to Sender | Connor Brashier

A/n: RIna, I’m sorry!!!

Summary: Connor found the note and now he needs to find you.

Warnings: angst

Word Count: 2k

***

I check the time on my phone, it’s nearing three in the morning and y/n still isn’t back. I have half a mind to call her, but decide against it. If she wanted me to know where she was, she would have told me when she left. So I turn off the show that I was tuning in and out of and groan as I get off the couch, trudging toward the bedroom. I ignore the off putting feeling that consumes my body when I walk into the room. I shouldn’t, but I go to the closet and pull my shirt off, tossing it in the hamper, my pants thrown in shortly after. I sigh and walk over to the bed, rubbing my tired eyes. I sit down on my side and hear a crinkle under me. I pull the paper from under me and furrow my brows. 

Connor the center of the paper reads. 

I stare at the writing, it’s distinctly y/n. But there’s no heart around my name like there usually is. Every note she’s ever written me, my name was inside a heart. I shake my head and unfold the page in my hands. 

Dear Connor,

I miss you. I know it sounds silly, saying I miss you when you’re in the next room. But I do. Because it’s not the same. It hasn’t been for too long now and I just can’t ignore it anymore. There’s no fire left for us. No fight left in us. 

I blink once, twice. But the words don’t change. This isn’t real. It can’t be. My eyes scan over the letter again and again, and it just keeps getting worse. 

Because you definitely haven’t noticed that most of my things are missing from the closet, have you? And I bet you’re going to check right now because you don’t believe me. 

I throw the paper to the side and rush back to the closet. She’s right. Her clothes is basically all gone. My hoodies are all hung and I swear I stop breathing for a minute. “Y/n, what the fuck?” I scoff and grab my phone from the nightstand. It rings twice before going to voicemail. So I call again.

“You have reached the voicemail box of…”

 I hang up and try again.

“You have reached the voicemail box of…”

This happens fifteen times before I finally leave a message. “Y/n, where the hell are you? What does that note mean? What do you mean this had to happen? Baby, come home. We can fix this. I’m sorry.” I don’t realize that I’m crying until I sniffle. “I’m so sorry, baby. Just,” another sniffle, “just come back to me. Please.”

I throw my phone on the bed and search the dresser. Some of her stuff is still there, a few shirts and shorts, but nothing that she wore often. I grab a shirt and sweatpants from the drawer, trying to ignore the fact that I can literally feel my heart breaking at this very moment. "Where'd you go, y/n?" I ask myself, grabbing the note and shoving it in my pocket. I take my phone again and dial the only number I can think of.

"Brashier, it's late. You okay?" Shawn asks, his voice sounding tired, but I could tell he wasn't just asleep.

"Did she tell you?"

"Did who tell me what?"

"Shawn don't play games," I mumble shoving my shoes on before grabbing my keys and walking out the door. "Did y/n tell you she was gonna do it?"

"Connor, what are you talking about?"

"Did she tell you she was breaking up with me?" I ask through gritted teeth. 

"Whoa! No. She broke up with you? What happened?"

"She left a note. A stupid note that said we weren't the same. A note that said she wasn't my world anymore. What kind of shit is that?"

"Well is she?"

"What?"

"Is she your world?"

"Of course she is! How could even ask me that?" I back out of my parking spot, not quite sure I know where I'm heading, but I'm going anyway.

"Well you haven't been acting like it recently."

"How the fuck would you know?" I run a hand through my hair.

"Because she tells me things. She told me you don't look at her the same. You promised her, dude. You said you'd always look at her like that. What happened?"

Life, I say to myself. For so long it was easy to drown myself in her. Pretend like she was what was keeping me pulled to earth. And in almost all cases, she is just that; gravity in human form. But life started moving too fast and I was trying to keep up and still trying to keep her happy. A part of me was convinced that nothing I did would be enough to keep her. Touring all the damn time left so little time for her and that killed me inside. Those late night Skype calls weren't enough because I wasn't there tracing random shapes on her covered skin to get her to sleep. The breaks between tour legs were always cut short because I spread myself too thin, wanting to see everyone before I finally got to her.

I wanted her to have my absolute full attention, but by the time I was hers and hers alone, I only had a few more days before I was gone again. And the pain in her eyes hurt me every time. I knew I wasn't doing enough to keep her satisfied, I knew it. And somewhere along the lines, I stopped trying at all, because what was the point? Nothing I did was going to be right in my eyes. And so I neglected her. I stopped spending time with her because I knew it was never enough time anyway. And I beat myself up for it every night when I'd climb into bed and she curled into my side like nothing was wrong. But something was wrong. I wasn't giving her my all and that was eating me alive.

I should have expected this. I should have known. But I thought she'd talk to me about it. I thought she'd yell at me and tell me what a shit boyfriend I've been these past six months. And I would deserve it because she's right. But she didn't do that because that's not her. She's not one for dramatics. Leaving the note was the most y/n thing she could have done and that's why it hurts so bad. Because she was still so authentically herself and I couldn't tell you who I was even if I tried. Because my answer normally to "who is Connor Brashier?" Is "y/n's boyfriend," but now I'm not that. Who am I?

"CONNOR!" I flinch when Shawn's voice registers in my brain. "Connor, are you okay?"

"No," I mumble because it's true. And I won't be okay until I have her in my arms again. I hang up the phone and toss it in the passenger seat, sniffling back the hot tears that threaten to spill. I drive in silence and I keep driving until I reach water. I don't know what pulled me here until I see her car parked just ten feet away. I cut the engine and hurry out of the car.

The crashing waves are almost deafening as I approach her. She's sitting right at shore, her feet getting covered by the cold water with ever wade of the water. She doesn't react when I sit next to her, not for a while. Not until I take the note out of my pocket and put it in her lap.

"Connor," she says quietly and it breaks my heart.

"I don't want this."

"And you think I do?"

"I don't mean the letter," I look right at her, but she's looking down at the crinkled paper in her lap. "Even though I don't want that either. I mean I don't want to break up."

She shakes her head, "you can't just say that and expect it to change things."

"I don't expect it to. But I want you to let me try. Let me try to fix this. You're still my world, y/n. That hasn't changed."

"Then why does it feel like it has?" Her voice cracks when she finally looks up at me. Her eyes show a different kind of pain, I've never seen someone so broken and I wonder if she sees the same in me. And despite how broken she looks, I've still never seen her so beautiful, the reflection of the moon on the water paints her in this almost ethereal glow and it suits her well. But she looks away again and it pains me a little more.

"Because I'm an idiot. I stopped showing you that I care because I didn't think it was enough for you. I've been gone so much that it didn't feel right showing you all this love and affection when I would be gone again days later. It wasn't fair to you."

"So it seemed fair to just stop loving me all together."

"I never stopped loving you," I argue. "I could never stop."

"Well you could have fooled me."

"Y/n, stop. Please. Baby just look at me."

"Why? So I can see that-"

I take her face in my hands, forcing her to look at me. "It's here. Y/n, the look is still here. You're here. You're my world. That hasn't changed."

She shakes her head, "Don't do this. Don't try and make it seem like I made this all up in my head. I know what I saw, Connor."

"No. I was stressed and scared that I was losing you.”

“You were losing me?” she asks in disbelief, taking her face away. “That’s rich. Because all this time you thought you were losing me, I was really losing you. You didn’t try, Connor. Not even once. You gave up.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yes it is! And I’m tired of this relationship that you just now decided that you wanted to still be in. You say you still look at me like I hold your world. But you don’t. Your ‘fighting’ because you don’t want it to seem like you lost.”

“But I love you.”

“And I love you too. But you’re not in love with me anymore. And I can’t force you to be. And you can’t pretend that you are. Face it, Connor. We’ve run our course.”

“I refuse to believe that. Because no matter what you say, no matter what you believe, you are still my world.”

“I’m not. Your eyes don’t say it. Your mouth is saying one thing, but your eyes are telling me the truth. This isn’t you fighting. This isn’t you chasing. This isn’t the way you look at your world. I know what that looks like. And it’s not this.”

“But it is.”

She rolls her eyes, "Okay, I’ll bite. It's here now. But where was it yesterday? And last week? And all those months before? Why is it here now that I'm gone? You didn't want me while I was there. But now you do. That's not fair, Connor."

“That’s not true!”

“Is that all you know how to say? That it’s not true? Because I am so sorry to tell you that what you think is true, isn’t what you’ve been showing me. And I’m sorry that I have to do this because I’m going crazy in that apartment, Con. I can’t do this anymore and I need you to accept that.”

“And if I can’t?” I ask desperately.

“Then you have to find something to distract yourself. Because it doesn’t matter how much I love you. I can’t do this anymore.” She stands up and dusts off the sand from her pants. “I’ll take the letter back, but I can’t come back to you, Connor. I’m sorry.”

“Y/n.” I say as she starts to walk away. 

“What?”

“What am I supposed to do now?”

“Do what you were doing when you thought you were losing me. Nothing.” And she walks away, letter and my heart in her hand. 

***

I hope you enjoyed! Like, reblog, and leave feedback!!

Tag: @sunrise-shawn @anamariel2301 @shawns-badreputation @bbellbagel @turtoix @ivegotparticulartaste @tomshufflepuff @dino-16-avocado @sleepybesson @lifeoftheparty74 @shawnssongs @luvluvxx @foreveralone19588 @shawnandconnor @5-seconds-of-mendes @emma-manuhpe @nedthegay @shawnsblue @curiouslycryptic @adelaidestreets @vinylmendes

Connor Tag: @shawnm521 @divinginfearlessly @enchantingbrowneyedgirl @bettroff @myyohmyuohmyy @madison-malfoy @shawnieeboyy @mutuallynotmutual @tinycertain @rockstarshawnmendes @lostinmendess @sunrisebrashx @alinaxxshawn @heart-struck @ilsolee 

[waltzing-gonzalo]

Zoe 30, is that impossible?

Our apologies for the late response! We have been terribly occupied but we are here to quench that thirst up!

—

Who’s my Little Good Girl?

“Lady Magda, Lady Magda!”‘I thought I could have all the morning to myself. Why is she shouting so early?’ the little woman thought, as the sheets shuffled in her attempts to stand up next to the bed.“Yes?” Hoping her voice would not give away any tone of annoyance, the maid who barged in did not need any convincing she has just woken up. And that she has definitely interrupted the young miss from her rest. A rare occurrence that she ended quickly.“I’m terribly sorry for waking you so early, young miss Ellenstein. I was told by your mother not to disturb you but–”“What is it?”“Right!” Shaking herself with a sense of direction, she handed over a letter adorned with embossed florals on every corner, perfumed with lavender, it was ribboned and sealed with dried crimson red seal. carrying a noble’s emblem.“From the Olineaux Family?”“Yes, young miss.”

Skimming through the letter while the maid waited with hands folded, as to how it was written, Magda could definitely claim that it is Duke Zoe’s.Inscribing how it is the Duchess’ idea to invite her to their afternoon tea, detailing how his wife would be anticipating; ‘I guess I have somewhere to be today now.’ she thought to herself, reaching the letter’s conclusion.About to fold the letter to three, a little note played hide-and-seek with the corner of her eye, its ink fainter than the paragraph she just read whose message could be seen from behind, with soft strokes, the little text whispered;Come immediately at my den, little doll.I will be waiting.-Z.’

Maybe I am just imagining this.. From thinking about him..Spending sleepless nights from trying not to forget his touch tomorrow morning.Yet..His den? I thought this is an invitation to the Duchess’ afternoon tea?And am I that little?Perhaps in his arms I am–“Young miss?” the maid interrupted her thoughts that spiraled down about the sender. A terrible annoyance or a timed-in rescue, she could not tell with her little mind already imagining the way his arms would hold her close even if it were only a moment, a single waltz before he would rejoin with his wife. If only there were no strings attached.To suppress that bliss when his eyes met hers in a ball whose gazes are on hers, deep inside, she knows those stolen glances at him are reciprocated.“You may now be dismissed. Tell mother when she returns that I will be in the Olineaux’s care.”“Yes, ma’am.”

Read more here, lovelies~

[douchebagbrainwaves]

BUT INCREASINGLY THE FOUNDERS OF A LOT OF I/O-BOUND

Even YC's haters buy it. The best investors are also the most selective, because they don't have sufficient flexibility to adapt to the whims of investors. The other connection between startups and technology is that startups are not identical, but that was the right way. By the 1970s, when I was running a startup you have lots of meetings but isn't progressing toward making you an offer. Could VC be a Casualty of the Recession? A couple days ago an interviewer asked me if founders having more power would be better to describe iTunes as Web 1. It also means you know what to test most carefully when you're about to release software to users. I can tell, the first is to tell the reader something new and useful; work in fairly big quanta of time; when you finish, leave yourself something easy to start to depend on it happening. To find them, keep track of opinions that get people in trouble today. As long as you might expect, considering the bimodal distribution of outcomes in startups: you need the permission of investors to do it is to buy all the best deals, because if angel rounds become more legitimate, then startups may start to focus on the upside: they get less done, but they are not the ones you have to give a baby the impression the world is a small change and what is a lot more on its design. For many, the only reason you need a certain body type.

And as clients get smaller, software development gets exponentially more efficient. I find myself saying a lot is at stake. The fact that the text is email, and whatever it returns gets inserted in place of the macro call. It means the probability of raising more money, and another that uses these tools to write the sufficiently smart compiler, but no smarter than you; they're not as motivated, because Google is not the primary cause. We've now reached that point with stuff. The dialog on Beavis and Butthead was composed largely of these, and when you do decide to raise money. Friends would leave something behind when they moved, or I'd find something in almost new condition for a good part of the language, and to spend as little money as possible. So the most important reader. You only take one shower in the morning, and see what new ideas it gives you another source of interesting heresies. Html for bright red turns out to be fuzzy around the edges if you examine it closely. Under the present rules, patents are of secondary importance. After the lecture the most common type of ambition.

But it's not humming with ambition. We plan to raise a certain minimum amount. But we soon saw we needed a third: start your own startup. By unsavory I mean things that go behind whatever semantic facade the language is trying to make good things. In the original sense, is something called bottom-up programming. It's hard to find something you like so much that it's critical to get your product to please users first, and that's just information. What would make the legislator who introduced the bill famous. But remember that ramen profitability is that it's good for morale to know people want to make a living. But hackers use their offices for more than their lifetime value, counting users as active when they're really not, bleeding out invites at a regularly increasing rate to manufacture a perfect growth curve, etc. The market is a lot flatter than for students, especially in math and one rooted in machine architecture. The big disadvantage of the new applications that get written in the same conversation. The toolmakers would have users, but by then it's too late.

A friend of mine said, Most VCs can't do anything really well. And that has a lot more on you than on your competitors. And I found the best way to begin may not be so useful if it delivered your dinner to a random person off the street and somehow got them to play games with kids' credulity. This is not the power of holding a program in one's head: to see when two ideas don't fully cover the space of startup ideas as scalars. Make something people want. And yet someone always decides to try anyway, and about fifteen minutes of reading an article is understanding its structure—figuring out what you're doing. Well, they're not all innate. That kind of change that yielded Apple; advances in chip technology finally let Steve Wozniak design a computer he could afford. A lot of ancient philosophy had the quality—and I don't think anyone really believes it is the most common mistake people make about economic inequality combines all three. They would say that was a test of investor quality.

If you're still losing money, then eventually you'll either have to get bought for 30 million, you care. And the startups where they have to include business people? And if you have competitors who get to work on it. Day could see the average town was like a bunch of big public companies doing search. The reason the filters caught them was that both companies in January switched to commercial email senders instead of sending the mails from their own startups. We've kept the program shape—all of us having dinner together once a week, but if I were playing some kind of read-macro. Convince Investors August 2013 When people hurt themselves lifting heavy things, it's usually because the product was a Basic interpreter for the Altair; Basic for other machines; other languages besides Basic; operating systems; applications; IPO. Imagine walking around for years with five pound ankle weights, then suddenly notice it was almost lunchtime and I hadn't gotten any real work done. He said he didn't think so, but you can't save him from referring to variables in another package, but you have no immediate use for teenagers. But events like Demo Day only needs to be tweaked slightly.

What's going on? But this wasn't what made them eminent—it was more a flaw their eminence had allowed them to keep whatever wealth they created. So there could be other ways to arrange that relationship. The way I studied for exams in these classes was not except incidentally to master the material taught in the class, but to show where languages are heading. Which in practice usually means, whatever existing agreement he finds lying around his firm. Such deals may be a struggle ahead. The reason credentials have such prestige is that the founders of the next Google, but out of 2500 some would come close. Partly because I'm a writer, but to notice quickly when your beliefs become obsolete, you can't tell who the good hackers are much better than Microsoft today. How do you find them? They'll be tougher on valuations, but more than full-time at being popular every waking hour, 365 days a year. They didn't feel the need to present as a given—as an area of fixed size, over which however much truth they have must needs be spread, however thinly. And not merely linearly, either.

[snicketstrange]

The Great Hiatus Theory and Miss K Enigma

Part 5 is completely dedicated to explaining the Duchess of Winippeg's letter to Lemony, according to the Strange Interpretation of Jean Lucio from Brazil.

 To understand this text, it is necessary to read my previous texts.

The letter is found in Chapter 2 of the UA. Right after the letter, there is a personal note from Lemony. In this personal note, Lemony states that there are two possibilities: Either the letter is not from the true R, or the letter is from the true R, and she is trying to pass him a secret message indicating that she is in danger. Before beginning to explain my interpretation, I would like to highlight the importance of Lemony's doubt. Even the letter bearing the calligraphy of R, Lemony believes that it is possible that this letter comes from an impostor. Why is there such a doubt? Because in the universe of ASOUE, calligraphy and signatures do not prove who the real author of the letters is. Trained people can imitate other people's handwriting and their signatures. This concept is important to my interpretation of The Beatrice Letters, and I will explain it in another text, of course.

Let's start with the beginning of the letter.

"My Dear Mr. Snicket,

Thank you, you are alive and relatively well! The night, when I arrived at the Orion Observatory to give my annual lecture to the Metrological Society, I saw someone breaking into a navy blue Jeep parked in the southwest corner of the parking lot, and my heart leaped: perhaps there was a chance you were still alive. I did not expect to find out until the man handed me his letter. "

Please note that R, or the imposter, claims to have seen someone breaking into a navy blue Jeep parked in the southwest corner of the parking lot, and just by noticing this, R or the imposter deduced that Lemony might be alive. This means that “R” spent some time having serious doubts whether Lemony was alive or dead. There are small untruths in describing the scene. These untruths are highlighted by Lemony in his personal notes. Lemony wrote:

 "The Jeep outside the Orion Observatory was of course not navy blue but black, and parked in the northwest corner, not the southwest."

 Another detail not denied by Lemony is that Lemony actually wrote a letter to R. On what kind of paper did this letter from Lemony to R written? The letter says:

 "I can not, however, help you answer the question YOU WROTE ME ON THAT GUM WRAPPER."

 Another important detail is where local R was when she saw the car. She says she was at Orion Observatory.

 Why is this significant?

Because this entire scenario seems to perfectly describe the arrival of the manuscript of Book 4 (TMM) in the hands of Lemony's editor. Please read the letter to the editor printed at the end of the TWW book.

“To My Kind Editor,

I am writing to you from the Paltryville Town Hall, where I have convinced myself the most to allow me to enter the eye-shaped office of Dr. Orwell in order to further investigate what happened to the Baudelaire orphans while they were living in the area. Next Friday, a black jeep will be in the northwest corner of the parking lot of the Orion Observatory. Break into it. In the glove compartment, you should find my description of this frightening chapter in the Baudelaires' lives, entitled THE MISERABLE MILL, as well as some information on hypnosis, a surgical mask, and sixty-eight sticks of gum. I have also included the blueprint of the pincher machine, which I believe Mr. Helquist will find useful for his illustrations.

 Remember, you are my last hope that the Baudelaire orphans can finally be told the general public.

 With all due respect,

Lemony Snicket "

 I seriously believe that “R” saw the arrival of the manuscript from book 4. I know there are many theories that try to explain that all these details are coincidences, and that there were other similar deliveries at the Orion Observatory. But I do not believe in these theories. From my point of view, the reference to GUM WRAPPER makes this delivery unique. In my theory, R saw the arrival of the original TMM book. And that is significant, because Lemony spent years without publishing any book, and so many believed that he really was dead, as published in Daily Punctilio. Note the 'R' wrote:

“You took a terrible chance in contacting me, but I am glad you did. I am so sorry that I was unable to prevent, or least delay, your CAPTURE at my masked ball that evening, and I have been worried sick ALL THESE YEARS THAT YOU WERE DEAD, despite rumors of your activities spreading through the network of loyal members. There are not many of us left, Mr. Snicket, but we are ready to help you in any way we can.

That masked ball was the LAST PUBLIC EVENT the members of the organization dared attend together… O Mr. Snicket, everything you kept in my home is gone. Your BULLFIGHTING COSTUME IS GONE… Everything in that guest room is gone, and all the things in the guest room next door. BEATRICE, OF COURSE, IS FAR PAST COMPLAINING ABOUT LOST POSSESSIONS – THE VERY REASON, I AM CERTAIN, THAT YOU HAVE DEDICATED YOUR LIFE RESEARCHING THE LIVES OF THOSE THREE POOR CHILDREN.”

Please watch out for these details. First, when this letter was written, Lemony had already begun his research on the Baudelaire siblings. "R" says: "THAT YOU HAVE DEDICATED YOUR LIFE RESEARCHING THE LIVES OF THOSE THREE POOR CHILDREN".Second, "R" says that Lemony spent years presumably dead. She says: "I have been worried sick ALL THESE YEARS THAT YOU WERE DEAD". As I explained in the last text, there were two moments in Lemony's life in which he was presumably dead. The first moment was soon after the cancellation of his marriage to Beatrice. The second moment was after the publication of some of the ASOUE books. This letter can not refer to the first moment when Lemony was presumably dead, for at that time Lemony had not begun researching "the lives of the three poor children" because the "three poor children" did not even exist.

Another important detail is to realize that Lemony was not publishing books during the time he was presumably dead. If he was publishing books during this time, anyone would realize that he was actually alive. It is good to remember that his books are aimed at the Great Public in his universe.

That's why I created the theory I call The Great Hiatus Theory. The theory states that there was a Great Publishing Hiatus in the universe of ASOUE that lasted many years. This hiatus occurred between books 3 and 4 of ASOUE. Note that this theory is independent of the fact that the actual author of the letter being considered to be R or an impostor. The evidence I have raised so far has not been questioned by Lemony in his personal notes. Lemony did not write something like "I believe this letter may come from an impostor because the sender of the letter states that I spent several years presumably dead and this is not true, I only spent a few months dead."Lemony also does not say something like "I believe this letter comes from an imposter because I have no idea which three poor children the sender of this letter is referring to." The Great Hiatus Theory works even if the real sender of the letter is someone else.

 I'll pause to speak directly about the letter of "R". I will explain the consequences of the Great Hiatus theory. You will realize how the Great Hiatus Theory perfectly explains some apparent inconsistencies in the ASOUE text.

 One of the apparent contradictions I have already explained in an earlier text. Prufrock Pre closed during the Great Hiatus. According to UA, in Chapter 9,  an enemy of Lemony sought information about the reptiles from Uncle Monty's collection in the book TRR. This book was in the library of Prufrock Pre, at that time Prufrock Pre was open and running. However, in writing the TAA book, Lemony says Prufrock Pre was closed many years ago. This is perfectly explained by The Great Hiatus Theory. When Lemony returned to write the books of ASOUE from TMM after resurfacing from abroad, Prufrock Pre had already stopped working.

The Great Hiatus theory also helps to solve what I call "Miss K Enigma. 

In Nero's letter to Carmelita Spats' parents, which is printed in Chapter 8 of the UA, Nero states that he hired Miss K to become a teacher. At that time Mr. Remora had retired. Mrs. Bass was still at her job, but she had to take time off in order to settle matters with the bank (probably rob the bank). Miss K took Prufrock several books of interest to VFD, including one of the ASOUE books. The enigma is: Who is Miss K? The first time I read it, I evidently thought it was Kit Snicket. But reading TPP I realized that this would be impossible. In the situation described in TPP, Mr. Remora still worked for Nero, for he calls him chief (TPP cap.6). Thus, Nero's letter was written after the events described in TPP. Kit died a few days later, nothing indicates that she was in Prufrock Pre between the events of TPP and TE. And as I have already explained, the ASOUE books seem to have been written a few years after the events described therein. With the help of The Great Hiatus Theory, the puzzle is solved as follows: Lemony wrote books 1, 2 and 3 and stopped publishing for a while. In the meantime, someone passing through Kit was in Prufrock Pre. (Or another volunteer, who also had the letter K as her initial). This person took one of the first three books from ASOUE to Prufrock Pre. I'd rather believe that this Miss K is actually Beatrice pretending to be Kit, because that also fits my theory of the secret letter in the TSS. 

Lemony made a sentimental remark on Miss K.'s photo. He writes "Will I ever see her again?" Since this is not Kit, then I think it's Beatrice. (The fact that Miss K is wearing a completed skirt in the photo, and that her feet are not exposed in the photo, are elements of another theory of mine ... UA pictures are really fun to try to understand their meaning. For example, in Chapter 1 of the UA there is a photo of Lemony when he was baby that it hides the Lemony's left heel , exactly where I believe there was already a tattoo.) According to TAA Chapter 6, Prufrock Pre actually closed when Mrs. Bass was definitely arrested, some long after Miss K had visited the place. Lemony speaks of this event in the past because from his point of view in writing TAA, this event was really in the past. But in writing TRR, this event was still in the future from Lemony's point of view.

 Update of Miss K Enigma theory:

The R Letter Interpretation is just beginning. I'll leave the rest to the next text.

[hartlessfiction]

can you rec me some good stuff??

Oh boy! I’m not sure what you’re looking for when you say ‘good stuff’ but I’ll do my best!

Supernatural- Destiel

Anna’s Dad by @mscaptainwinchester​

Raiting: E - Word Count: 35,000When Charlie talked him into joining the prom committee, Dean was not happy about it. He’s not even interested in going to prom, let alone planning it. But a meeting at committee chairman Anna Novak’s house changes all that. When Dean meets her smoking hot dad, a punk gothic god covered in the most alluring tattoos, it alters his entire perspective. Now he’s hanging out with Anna all the time and finding every excuse to flirt with her gorgeous dad.Castiel Novak swore off romantic relationships when his mate died a decade ago. Now he writes novels, throws lavish Halloween parties, and drinks with his fuck-buddy, Meg. When he meets Anna’s stunning friend, Dean, all his determination to keep emotions out of the equation goes flying out the window. Now it’s all he can do to keep his hands to himself in the face of relentless temptation.Will Dean ever get to see how far down Mr. Novak’s tattoos go? Will Castiel get over his hang-ups and let Dean in? Or will they both go their separate ways without ever knowing if their explosive chemistry could be more than just a tryst behind the pool shed? Featuring sexist classmates, a champion robot named Leia, growly alphas, and a prom theme from Hell (er… Hogwarts).

One Thousand and Ninety-four Days Verse by @envydeanwrites​

Rating: E - Word Count 3,313 - Series w/ 3 fic’s still growingIn which Dean and Cas are in prison. Castiel Novak, murderer, cell mate and servicer. He doesn’t do it because he has to, he does it because he loves it. Nobody makes Castiel Novak do anything. Not in this joint.

Queer Eye for the “Straight” Guy by JessJesstheBest

Rating: G - Word Count: 6,945“Hi, and welcome to Queer Eye for the Straight Guy: celebrity edition. Where instead of the Fab Five, who are all experts in their fields, you have me, Dean Winchester, a bisexual hockey player who is slightly above average at these things.”

“Today’s victim is Castiel Novak: world renowned etymologist specializing in honey bees. His latest research publication is receiving all kinds of awards so he’s going to have a little celebration tonight. That’s where I’m here to help.”

Good Hands by aileenrose

Rating M - Word Count: 13,238Cas is the owner of a failing—and falling apart—B&B.

Dean might be able to help with that. Dean’s good with his hands.

Unexpected by @bloodandcream​

Rating E - Word Count: 3192Grunting, Castiel squirmed, pulling at the handcuffs until they hurt. Flinched as Dean stroked a hand gently down his thigh, took him into that lying mouth, soft heat and wonderful pressure as he sucked down, down.

Somehow, this was the most unexpected turn of the night yet.

In It For The Long Haul by @ltleflrt​

Rating: E - Word Count: 25,495Long haul trucking can be a lonely business. Sure, Dean can chat up other drivers on the CB, and when Sam’s not in class or drowning in homework he’ll let Dean talk his ear off on the phone. But it’s still hours and hours of staring at the road and scanning the radio dial for local stations because he’s too lazy to upgrade the truck to satellite radio. And then a flirty waiter in a 24 hour truck stop restaurant sits down with him to chat while he eats his dinner, and suddenly his life no longer feels quite so empty.

Photography doesn’t pay much, and insomnia is a bastard. Which is why Castiel accepts his cousin’s offer of employment at the truck stop restaurant. The graveyard shift is perfect for his fucked up sleep schedule, and Gabriel doesn’t mind if he sneaks a free meal now and then. Besides, all the most interesting people come into the restaurant in the middle of the night. Including the gorgeous man with the sad green eyes that makes Castiel want to pull out all the stops to make him smile.

The Dic Pic Verse by @dangerousnotbroken​

Rating: E - Word Count: 67,550 -Multi Fic Verse CompleteIn which Dean Winchester gets an unsolicited dick pic from an unknown sender which is both totally not disappointing in that it’s a really nice dick pic, and incredibly disappointing in that it’s clearly a downloaded picture of his favorite porn star.

There’s absolutely no way it’s actually this porn star sending it to him, right?

Right?

A Flash of Black and Gold by @osirisapollo​

Rating: G - Word Count: 2,094Gabriel is acting very strange when Castiel gets to the Great Hall for breakfast. It’s easy enough to ignore, until Dean Winchester starts acting strange as well.

Wisteria by @unforth-ninawaters​

Rating E - Word Count 3,379Tumblr ficlet written in response to the prompt: So what about witch or mage dean who accidentally enchants his plants in a spell gone twisted. So what about witch or mage dean who accidentally enchants his plants in a spell gone twisted. The kinkier the better.

The Guy by @mscaptainwinchester​

Rating: E - Word Count 2,803Castiel’s boss is convinced that he would be perfect for her son, and is determined to get him to come to the Christmas party so they can meet. Castiel is still hung-up on his first and only one-night-stand. Or more specifically his dick.

The Unspoken Rule by @spnhell​

Rating E - Word Count 14,205Dean’s just a boy the first time he travels, wrenched through time and space only to be found by a strange man, one that never seems to age no matter how many years pass. He grows up with Cas, with their snatched moments in the spiral of time, and what starts as friendship eventually starts to grow into something more.

Revealed by Valinde (Valyria)

Rating: E - Word Count 10,822When a ritual backfires and Dean ends up with wings, they reveal things that he’d much rather keep hidden. Prompt fill.

And Cause After putting this whole list together I’d like to think you’d want to read my fic’s too… so:

Magical Misconceptions by @hartlessfiction

Rating: G - Word Count: 7,991This came about from the following prompt on Discord, which was then playfully dubbed the ‘NotAWitch!Cas’ Verse: “Me, in my cottage, in front of the wood stove, sipping tea. Looking outside, my bees are pollinating my expansive garden. My goats and chickens and cows are happy and safe. I feel content with my choices and my future. I unconditionally and recklessly love myself. The local children believe I am a witch"  The prompt is in first person POV but the fic is not written in the first person, it’s from Cas’s pov. I hope you enjoy this warm and fuzzy holiday season themed fic with so much beautiful art by FoxyMoley.

That’s Why I’m Your Sweetheart by @hartlessfiction

Rating: T - Word Count: 2,839Dean didn’t think his life could get any better. He had the mate of his dreams, a really nice apartment in the heart of the city, and a comfortable position at one of the leading architectural firms. At least that’s what he thought when he stepped off the elevator after a long, late shift at the office. The smell of cookies baking is supposed to make a man feel happy and hungry, but to Dean’s sensitive nose it sparks a warning bell. There’s no other explanation for it, Cas is stress baking.

The Battle by @hartlessfiction

Rating G - Word Count: 770The silence should have been Gabriel’s first sign that something was off. When you have two six-year-old boys in the house, it should never, ever, not even for one moment, be quiet.

Teen Wolf -Sterek 

(only cause i’ve been really into this recently)

Parallels by inatshej

Rating: E - Word Count: 21,299Stiles slowly pulls in a mouthful of curly fries, dumbly focused on the task.’'It’s weirdly homoerotic how you do this,” muses Derek, eyeing him.Stiles chokes and Derek’s lips curl up into an almost smile. It’s so easy to get the reaction he wants from Stiles.“Yeah, it’s disgusting, Stilinski,” says Jackson, looking at the boy with distaste.Derek turns to him, letting his eyebrows rise. “And who asked you, Whittemore?”Jackson glances at him, surprised. “I’ve just agreed with y-”“No one cares,” Derek interrupts him. “Fuck off.”

Love Runs Wild by DevilDoll

Rating: E - Word Count: 9,494“You’ve got a hickey on the back of your neck!” A Neckz 'n Throats story.Or the one where Stiles shows up fro work as a model for Neckz ‘n Throats with a hickey on his neck and Derek doesn’t take it well.

Free Consultation by DevilDoll

Rating E - Word Count: 12,691Stiles Stilinski, professional knotting surrogate. Derek Hale, lonely Alpha.

Hunger by DiscontentedWinter

Rating: M - Word Count: 55,382Beacon Hills.Two lost souls.A homeless boy, a lone wolf, and people who will stop at nothing to destroy them both.

Do Not Go Gentle by MojoFlower

Rating: E - Word Count: 195,867Derek Hale, Beacon Hills Alpha and Dom, wakes up in a dark cell already housing another captive – a mute, traumatized sub with a cruel collar around his neck. His only goal is to get them both free of their brutal circumstances; but even as he tries to get his young companion home, a bond between them grows. Nothing comes easily: danger and harrowing echoes of their ordeal shadow every step they take.

Red Witch by rootbeer

Rating T - Word Count: 34,271The red hair of a banshee. The red eyes of an alpha. The red hoodie of a mage. The red of fire burning.Derek Hale has been a prisoner to the hunters since they burned his family alive. But now someone has come to save him: skinny, defenseless Stiles–147 lbs of skin and fragile bones. Turns out, sarcasm isn’t his only weapon.

The One with the Mail-Order Brides and A/B/O Dynamics by Stoney

Rating: E - Word Count: 16,149Wolves aren’t meant to be alone. Laura tells Derek this repeatedly. Which… is why Derek knows he’s losing his mind, as Laura has been dead for more than six years. Wolves aren’t meant to be alone.And so he sends away for a companion. JUST for a companion, not for a mate. The universe, however, has a different plan in store for him.

Ok Nonny, I hope that tides you over for a while…. 

slinks off back into the bowels of the internet.

[thenarcolepticone]

Process of Elimination

by The Narcoleptic One

(AO3)

Summary: Valentine’s Day is around the corner, yet Arthur isn’t going to be fooled by flowers and pretty words. He’s a master of surprises, and he’s prepared for the worst.

A/N: GOD. I’ve finally found my drive and I can finally POST this late thing. For @chibiauthorchan, thank you so much for being so patient with me. For the USUK Valentines 2k18. 

Warnings: None.

(Part One)

Everything that Arthur had expected up to that point in the week had been already preplanned.

From the first letter with the cheesy Shakespeare quote on Monday to the teddy bear and rose, to the rose tea that was left on his desk by Friday after lunch, Arthur was entirely convinced that he had discovered his anonymous admirer by a hunch he liked to call “narrow down every possible person known by the letter A”. This person, A, who had an affinity for roses, was already suspicious enough to be Francis. Arthur had no trouble with identifying the insistent motif of roses as a symbol of love to the frog, but Arthur supposed Francis would be at least bold enough to put his name on it.

And so began the guessing game of potentials on who could have given this letter to him.

Thankful, this task was not as tedious as it sounded. The process included a haphazardly created names list written on a scrap of notebook paper and a mechanical pencil on its last piece of lead; a whole procedure that took up only 10 minutes of his time during Precalculus to cross off until he made his guess. And after shifting through the list of girls and guys, he found his match.

The answer he concluded on, however, was the worst one that could have been predicted. Or rather, it was a person that he felt would be the last guy that could be it. It was entirely unlikely, enough to the point that it was almost too obscure for this to even happen. It couldn’t be anyone else. And Arthur sighed, eventually throwing that paper into the recycling bin on his way out of class.

This had to be a fabricated ruse meant to cause him another round of humiliation renewed for the New Year.

Later in the evening of that same day that Arthur had made that discovery, the thoughts of positivity, the idea that someone would actually like him, had finally sunk into its crude reality. This was fake. It wasn’t a real confession at all, but rather, just a trick that was causing Arthur to preemptively prepare for a laughing session. The warmth of affection had disappeared as if it had been squashed by God’s finger and pressed into the dirt, buried and gone from sight. Arthur lost his appetite that dinner and went to bed with confidence drained and self-pity taking its place.

His mother didn’t have the energy for consoling him that evening and Arthur being mopey was something entirely normal enough that his brothers didn’t even think to question him on how his day went.

The evenings that followed him, Arthur forced himself to keep real to that realization of all of this being an elaborate joke. It hurt a lot more to reread the letter given to him that Tuesday, with the words twisting itself into an oddly mocking tone to him.

“True, you say,” Arthur felt himself mentally poking fun at the note. He had a mind to make sure the note was in one piece, just so that he would be ready to confront his admirer by Valentines Day and perhaps, if he felt dramatic enough, rip it in front of him just to show how much of a ‘mission failed’ it was.

Unfortunately, Arthur’s toleration until Friday was a lot harder than it sounded. Thanks to the senior class president Ludwig and his overly excited boyfriend’s imagination, there had been a significant increase in the number of heart shaped decorations that were stabled onto the walls in the school corridors. The student store began to allow the use of non-latex balloons in preparation for those days, and some classes had even convinced their teachers to hold the primary school tradition of passing out paper valentines with candy to classmates.

Overall, it was a difficult kind of negativity to hold onto. It didn’t take long until it became Friday.

That day, Arthur had been wearing something a bit extra, just to continue the act of pretending that he was expecting his lover. A nice white button up with good pants, loafers, and a black tie to top it all off. Arthur was secretly proud of himself.

Sir Prize was ready for anything.

And so, his day continued normally until he had gone to his locker, which contained another note.

“I’ve got no way to make this sound sweeter. But if you could, please meet me on the roof at lunch. I have one last surprise for you. - A”

He had taken the moment then to finally compose himself when he read it. Relieved that the sender finally had the conviction to end the charade, Arthur had made sure to take some extra measures of holding the notes given to him that week in his hands. And folding the notes in half, he went to grab the rest of his belongings so that he could go up to the roof, rip those papers, and give flip his trickster off.

Everything that Arthur had expected up to that point in the week had been already preplanned.

But at the top of that rooftop, where he had thought he had known who was there all along, was someone he still didn’t expect.

In his sights, was the backside of Alfred F. Jones, who looked as if he had been waiting there for much too long.

The attack plan was thrown out of the window. The one involving the anticipated “Ah ha! I knew it was you!” moment was deleted promptly.

His eyes met blue ones. Ones that were happy, bubbly and entirely expectant.

“Of all the things I've called you in those notes, none of them could compare to how I see you in this moment. Arthur, you know I'm not the best with words, any other time I've talked to you it's probably seemed rude, blunt, insensitive, and careless. But to be honest, I just didn't know what to say. So I figured, it would be easier to show you instead of tell you.”

Arthur felt the backpack on his shoulder drop.

“I picked out everything myself because I thought each one would be what would make you the happiest. I know how much you like poetry, Shakespeare, and your tea. I know your favorite flower is the rose and I saw you eyeing that teddy bear at the gift shop on our last field trip. And... I know I'm probably the last guy on campus who you'd fall in love with.”

Arthur swallowed, hand still holding the notes from the week, now being crumpled and discarded into the wind when he released them.

“You're just so overwhelmingly, beautiful, smart, witty, and just, perfect. While I'm too loud, crude, cocky, and seemingly insensitive. I knew from the start I had almost no chance with you, but you stole my heart regardless. So, I'm showing you the other side of me, the timid over thinker who is hopelessly in love. The guy who's thoughtful, tries his best to be romantic and will go to any lengths to be able to say 'you're mine'. “

Arthur covered his mouth to try and hide his gaping expression. The attempt to hold his surprise wasn’t working.

“I know I promised one last surprise, but I'm afraid I've made it two. So, Arthur Kirkland,”

The boy got down on his knee, finally taking his arms from behind his back to reveal a ridiculous amount of roses -- wait. No.

Chocolate roses.

“Will you be my Valentine, and possibly my boyfriend?”

There is a long and quiet pause, as if the whole scene itself had decided to take a moment to weigh in.

Arthur laughed. Laughed a lot harder than he thought he would. Was he crazy? He couldn’t tell if he looked that way. Arthur laughed and laughed, and his eyes had held tears at this point. The week of planning. The confession. He couldn’t believe it.

The expression Alfred had a moment ago was twisted to that of brief concern. But not before Arthur lifted a hand to let Alfred know to wait until he had calmed down.

“S-Sorry, love,” clarified Arthur, who finally had sighed in relief. “I know, I know. I shouldn’t be laughing like this, but… I need to say it. I’m relieved. Yes, yes, I’ll be your boyfriend.”

Arthur picked up his backpack again, going over to him as he took the roses.

“I can’t believe that I thought you were Antonio.”

[okimargarvez]

I HAVE TO GO

Original title: Ora devo andare.

Prompt: go away.

Warning: sequel of Imperfect .

Genre: romantic, drama, angst, friendship.

Characters: Penelope Garcia, Luke Alvez, JJ, Emily, BAU team.

Pairing: Garvez.

Note: oneshot 26 in Garvez collection.

Legend: 🔦.

Song mentioned: Per un po’ sparirò, Tiziano Ferro.

MY OTHER GARVEZ STORIES

This story is dedicated to my Peruvian friend and fellow in night chatter @thinitta

I HAVE TO GO

For those who believed that love was take and run away, for those who will still believe in it from now on...

Obviously is raining. And she can't say that this displeased to her, the time is perfectly matched with her internal mood. She could even almost manage to convince herself that she was the actress of some film noir.

Penelope hugs her suitcase, sheltered under a colorful umbrella. Or in Singing in the rain. She begins to hum the melody in a low voice. Headlights illuminate the street strangely little traffic. She looks her reflected in a puddle. She sighs and moves forward, without looking over her shoulder, towards her apartment.

The taxi stops in front of her gate. A 60 ages old man comes down and, after kindly greeting her, loads the only baggage behind it, then opens the door for her. She closes the umbrella and shakes off a few drops of rain. Inside there is a nice warmth, but it’s not powerful enough. It can’t contrast with the frost that pervades her.

The driver was tired to hear the complaints of people on who knows what various topics (Reid had mentioned a study about it, which showed that people open up mostly with hairdressers, taxi drivers and some other category that he couldn’t remember) he became a bit of a psychologist: he realized that the blonde woman didn’t want to talk and left her lost in her own thoughts. Probably he also notices that in the middle she begins a silent cry, but something in her bearing, in her look, in her eyes, suggests him that it’s a serious matter, yes, there is something extremely proud in her tears.

I don’t have to think about it, but now what is the use of censoring me, forcing me not to do it? He'll never know it. So, I ask myself: what is Luke doing right now? He will be with her, probably. They'll be... She bites her lips, closes her eyes and forces herself to say it. They'll making love, surely. After spending a quiet evening watching some stupid TV program. His arm around Lisa's shoulders, she with her head resting on his chest, every now and then she’ll have raised her chin to look for his lips ... and then they will have laughed, he’ll have bent his mouth in that strange way, so sexy and mischievous and he’ll have proposed turning off the TV to move on to something more interesting. And then they may fall asleep together, legs intertwined, his arm on her stomach and this morning he’ll bring her the breakfast to bed and...

She believed she was strong, that she would be able to pretend that everything was going well, that nothing had changed. This was until Lisa had appeared from O'Keef, shattering the barrier between work and private life. She couldn’t hide what she felt, could no longer joke with herself and settle for that little, now that Luke had a girlfriend, especially if she was there, present.

And realizing how much their behavior together was natural, this had finally killed her. It wasn’t the adventure of a night, or a "phase". Surely Luke would have married Lisa, just as Derek had ended up doing the same with Savannah. It wasn’t about seeing the overlaps where there weren't: they were both female doctors, beautiful women and good people.

May you be happy, Luke. I wish you only this.

But she wouldn’t stay there to see it.

 For those who believed that giving oneself means being strong, I say no, nothing at all ...

He awakens hearing a sound that he is get attached now, but when he opens his eyes to read the content of the message, he is surprised to see who the sender is. It's Prentiss, a new case has arrived. He rubs his eyes and yawns. Needless to lie to himself, he is sad that it’s not Garcia, it was usually she to throw him out of bed with that sentence, combined with a joke every time different. In fact, Lisa had never appreciated this either (that another woman snatched him from her arms), but before tonight (last night, now) he hadn’t noticed.

He dresses without turning on the light, he doesn’t need it, because enough of it enters from the window. It is six o'clock in the morning. He can’t wait to get there, to see her. Of course, he can‘t speak already now, because they have to concentrate on the case, but later, in short, when this case too will be archived, perhaps...

Roxy barks, distracting him from his ruminations. -I'm sorry, girl, no walk today.- he gives her a caress. -Jenny will arrive soon.- without Lisa’ stuff his house doesn’t seem so different. He can’t help but imagine unicorns, octopus-shaped cups, strange-colored curtains. If there was Penelope in her place, yes, he would feel the difference.

He shakes his head and climbs into the van.

Because those who flee will not be a real winner at all, only those who don’t hide will win...

Finally, he sees the outline of the very high building, he parks and rushes to the elevator. In that narrow space he fries with anxiety. He just needs to see her, just a second... the doors open, and he go down. He heads to his desk. -Hey, good morning!- he is excited, anyone could understand it. He greets Spencer and Matt, who reciprocate him. He notices that Rossi is talking on the balcony with Emily. He turns to JJ, who is intent on working on some documents, very focused. -Hey!- he says, but the blonde doesn’t seem to have heard him, because she doesn’t answer anything. But she seems to notice that he is staring at her, because she slams the papers on her desk and sighs, as if she were trying to control her anger. Maybe she fights with Will? He sees no other solution to her behavior. -JJ?- he asks, uncertain. She turns to him and glares at him, one of those looks that are very close to those that usually gave him Penelope. Luke stands up in front of the woman. -Hey, are you okay?- JJ also stands up, pushing the chair badly, but instead of answering, she heads towards the round table room. -What's wrong with her?- he asks the other two men. Simmons shrugs, dr. Reid seems to know more, but also, it's not willing to telling him anything. After not even a second the chief appears on the balcony. -Guys…- 

Camouflaging your love can only hurt you, so it should never be done...

As soon as he comes in, Luke notices that someone is missing. There is an empty chair and the remote-control rests abandoned on the table. However, he doesn’t have time to ask for anything (because in the euphoric state he is in, he probably would have been able to do it), since a man who he has never seen, makes his entrance.

-Good morning, sorry for the delay.- and the man grabs that remote control. Luke must refrain from taking it before him, as if he wanted to protect an object he deems worthy only of the undisputed goddess of the BAU, one of the many nicknames he had discovered had been created by Morgan specifically for her.

He immediately starts talking about the case, but Luke can’t concentrate. He stares at him as if he were a usurper. He has gray hair, wears a pair of glasses with banal frames and has a voice that he finds annoying immediately. And he is clearly an IT. Kevin Lynch, is written on the name tag hangs on a shirt in bad taste.

Who is this man and where is Penelope?

Luke doesn’t participate in the debate, he doesn’t give any contribution. He wakes up only when Emily utters the mantra. -Wheels up in 20.- then he watches JJ approach the man and whisper quietly. She definitely knows him, and Prentiss too, it's obvious from their attitude. Then the blonde goes out and her place is taken by the last woman left in the room.

-I'm Dr. Tara Lewis, nice to meet you.- Lynch smiles, but this doesn’t make him more nice. Matt also shows up and so he realizes that he is forced to do the same, or he’ll seem to have something against this stranger. And even if it's really like that, it's not good for others to know it. Not immediately, at least.

-Luke Alvez.- no kind formula, it would feel hypocritical. The IT has a firmer hold than he would have imagined. In hearing his name seems to light up.

-Alvez, of course! Plum juice told me about you. Don’t worry, I’ll not call you newbie.- he doesn’t know which of the thousand things implied by this sentence should upset him more. Plum juice . It is clearly a nickname related to Garcia and is almost as odious as Derek Morgan's baby girl. Plum j... Penelope, in short, told Lynch about him. And finally... this guy thinks he can make fun of him. No one else in the world can call him that way, except JJ, every now and then...

JJ. He has to talk to her, she surely know something more about him.

-Okay... now, I’m sorry, the jet is about to leave and I wouldn’t want to stay here...- he takes leave with one of the worst excuses that have ever occurred to him. He basically runs to get on board as soon as possible. Just outside he almost crashes against JJ. -Hey, I was looking for you...- but the blonde doesn’t seem to have changed mood.

-Alvez, be more careful. Try to focus on the case, rather than on your girlfriend.- a cold, pungent tone that makes feel Penelope absence even more. JJ had never called him by surname, they were good friends, they often went out in pairs during the missions. -What do you want?- she stands in front of him with folded arms.

- I... nothing, do you know where Garcia is? Is she fine?- Finally, he is forced to ask directly what he really wants to know. The woman bursts into a sour laugh. But she decides to be generous and gives him at least one of the answers.

-She had to leave for personal reasons.- totally aseptic. -Why are you interested in knowing, Alvez?- she approaches him, this time smiling smugly. -Then? Did someone cut your tongue?- Luke shakes his head and almost manages to move her, but then she remembers that at that moment her best friend is about to take a plane and fly away, far away, all alone and the fault is of this wretch she has before her.

He sighs, closes his eyes and when he opens them he stares at her with such intensity that he upsets her. -Because I love her, JJ.- she sees a few tears in the corners of his eyes and realizes it must be something serious.

-Well, you don't show it very well.- she moves away a little. -Anyway, she told me to tell you to look in the first drawer of your desk. And move, Luke, the jet doesn’t wait for anyone.- some shade of sweetness more than the last time. The man opens it without knowing what to expect, but definitely not that.

A black and white puppet in the shape of a cat. And there's a note underneath, he recognizing the convoluted computer technician’ writing, in green. I'm sorry.

 What is fashionable, now, I don’t know, until yesterday the instinct was followed... what will remain of us, now I don’t know, I only know that for you, I will not be the same more...

Penelope opens the umbrella and pulls the suitcase up to the airport entrance. It is still raining. She can’t help wondering what is happening in Quantico in the meantime. Has a case arrived? How's Kevin doing? But she must not reflect on these things, otherwise it will change her mind.

She walks through the crowd, trying to go unnoticed. Her heels are not so tall, nor the colorful dress like so many others she had wear previously. But the suitcase is bright pink and the raincoat far too dated. In no way she couldn’t be noticed. Too bad the right person hadn't notice her, not in the way she wanted, at least.

Of course, she made him laugh with her jokes and keeping him at a distance, but... nothing more.

She lines up behind a couple of elderly gentlemen. She observes the way in which both try not to weigh on each other, but at the same time they manage to support each other. The man gives a caress to his wife, who snorts, complaining that her legs hurt. Penelope sighs, takes another step and before she realizes it, she is a few steps from the ticket office. She turns to look back, almost hoping to see Luke appear, running towards her, begging her not to leave him.

Obviously, there is nobody.

-Miss, how can I help you? -

 Maybe yes, maybe not, very careful and distracted, you've ever wondered, why it happens that... getting hurt is easier than giving a kiss, for what reason I don’t know, and I... for a while I'll disappear... for a while I'll disappear...

The screen turns on and a man with glasses begins to speak, drawing up a list of the last places visited by the victim. But Luke can’t concentrate. For a moment he had hoped to see her, inside that little box, be able to hear her voice as she said it was all a joke, that she hadn’t left. He had deluded himself so much, how could he?

-Rossi, you and Reid will go to the coroner. Tara, JJ, you talk to Felicia Miller's parents. Simmons, Alvez, you with me from the Wikins.- not even the voice of Emily seems to be able to bring him back to reality. -Luke, are you there?- the man nods. He must strive to be professional, can’t allow other girls to be murdered just because he is stupidly in love and can’t manage his feelings. As soon this case will be solved, the sooner he’ll be able to think about his business. Penelope could never love such a selfish person. He must become the man she deserves to have close.

 The previous evening

For those who had fun in a group and shouted at me “you disgusted me” and now I think, that they no longer laughs... for those who believe to be strong because they can hurt, I say no, nothing at all...

-Penelope, are you absolutely sure that this is what you want? That there is no other solution?- she sees that her best friend is trying hard not to cry and not showing weakness, to not force her to stay if it’s not what she really wants.

-Yes, JJ. I'm sure. I'm sorry, I'd like to be strong enough, be able to pretend it's nothing, but I can’t do it, I'm sorry, really. I know it's selfish, leaving you this way, abandoning you with all the cases... but I've talked to Kevin, he is willing to take care of some cases and if...- JJ interrupts her.

-Don't say that, even in fun! You are the least selfish person in the world! It's just... I'll miss you.- now the eyes of both are limpid. -But we'll do it, you don’t have to worry, just think about recover. Ok?- Penelope doesn’t even try to show herself stronger than she is. She pulls her in a hug.

-I’ll miss you too, my friend. And the others too, to die for, you know. But I need some time to reflect, to understand how to overcome this situation... and I can’t do it here, seeing him every day. I can’t treat him like before, every time I see him I feel like crying and when he smiles I just think it's another, the one that makes him feel so good and... and I should be happy for him, but I can’t. I can’t, JJ, that's not me. I've even been able to forgive Battle and mourn Baylor's death, why it's so hard to accept that...- she swallows but forces herself to say that name. -...that Luke is busy with another woman?- she is crying openly, now, without breaking away from the other blonde.

-At seven o'clock.- Penelope wipes her face with a tissue. -Now it's better if... if I go home, I still have things to do... could you... could you put this in Luke's drawer?- JJ looks at the intrigued puppet. -It's... an antistress kitten that he gave me... after the case in Vermont, that of the boy who was also killing while he was sleepwalker... I know it's a stupid and theatrical thing, but...- the other blonde makes a sign that she understood.

-Ok I will. But you call me when you land, it doesn’t matter what time it is. Okay?- Penelope sighs.

-All right. Bye, JJ. Take care of yourself and... of Will, the guys...- it sounds awfully like a goodbye.

 For those who continue to hurt themselves, not loving enough, like you, but perhaps also like me... I look into the eyes of my worst enemy and I don’t let guide from my grudge...

They are walking along the road facing the house of the last victim. Luke seems to have returned to himself and his insights turned out to be correct: Patricia Wilkins had a lover, like the first murdered girl. This doesn’t mean, however, that he has stopped thinking of Penelope, at all. Only she has become a fairly small dot that steadily occupies a corner of his brain, instead of shining in the center and dazzling it.

There is an awkward silence. He decides that to ask a few questions will not be so terrible. He glances at Matt and then at his boss. -Prentiss?- the woman turns immediately to him. Of course, she spoke to JJ, both before and after this case arrived, both later, when they were about to land. But unlike the blonde she wasn’t surprised, the first time Luke introduced himself to O'Keef with another woman. That Lisa didn’t even look bad, her only real flaw was... not being Garcia. Not realizing that Alvez's heart (and mind) were already busy, but... at least someone else had to be notice of it during that evening. Penelope couldn’t take her eyes away from the couple and finally ran into the bathroom, to re-emerge only half an hour later and... without makeup. Definitely shocking.

The whole universe had realized that IT had a serious crush on the Newbie and that the latter was even worse... except those directly involved, of course. Yet, she couldn’t see only in negative the fact that Luke was going out with another. What really mattered here was that he had started going out again, that he was ready to get back on the market... to hang out with someone. Of course he couldn’t go directly to the subject of his desires, the "true goal", as they would say if it were an unsub, but he had to look around, start with something simpler, less intense and busy... and Emily had even hoped that this could help Garcia herself to unblock herself, to understand the depth of her feelings and take a minimum step, because she could also lose him...

This was until her doorbell rang at eleven o'clock in the evening and a Penelope with the smudged makeup had not put a ball of black fur in her arms. Only asking her excuse and giving her shortly after a letter, on rosy paper, but no less official.

A temporary leave? Yet, there was just written like that.

-Why you're interested, Luke?– she chooses to prolong the agony a little bit. She also wants to see how far he is willing to push himself for know. How far he is willing to expose himself, to make others understand what he feels, to feed his jealousy. He looks her in the eye and doesn’t look away. A lot, I'd say.

-Well, he called her...- she sees the man's Adam's apple going up and down as he strives to pronounce that nickname. -... plum juice and he told me that Garcia spoke to him about me. I just assumed that.- she can’t be so bad, he deserves to know the truth.

-Yes, Kevin and Garcia have been together almost for four years.- the eyes of the Latin agent are wide open beyond measure, eyebrows raised in the most sincere and surprise expression she has ever seen. A little like when he found out that a wretch had shot her, after a date. -They've been on-again, off-again for the past few years. And the last time... it happened because she didn’t agree to marry him.- well, this she shouldn’t have said it, but how could she resist to not have the satisfaction? Alvez must have known that there was a man out there who wished to make their computer' technician as his wife, who had loved her so much. Because yes, it's clear that Luke also loves Penelope, but... but he must never forget the luck he would get if she allowed him to love her. She is one of her best friends, a person too important, strong, but also terribly fragile and it’s her duty to protect her. Also, she is co-mom of her cat.

The man's legs refuse to move when he hears that word. Marry. The image of Penelope in a white dress flashes him. Her smooth, blond hair around her face, making her look even more like an angel. The frame of the clear, almost transparent glasses and the light makeup, because she doesn’t need it, to be beautiful. And shoes, shoes high, but not in an exaggerated way, on the other hand exalting terribly the neck of her foot. Nothing else, no other frills. The only accessory she would wear is her smile.

-Hey, Alvez, are you there, are you okay?- maybe she has a little exaggerated.

 One, I always look forward and I don’t give up; two, if I tell you you're the top, I'm lying...

She sits down at the spot marked on her note, next to a decidedly handsome man, with dark hair, slightly curls. If it were not for a pair of blue glasses, he could almost be mistaken for Luke. Damn it, why she can’t stop thinking about him? What's the point to fly miles away from him, if her heart has remained in Quantico?

He had find it, the kitten? If she closes her eyes, she can vividly relive the moment when he gave it to her... the way he had smiled at her, the nuances of his voice... what he had told her. Everything had led her to believe that... he was not just a slightly too careful colleague. And how had she reciprocated him? Reminding him that she wouldn’t stop tormenting him, even if he had shown careful about her, taking care of Reid.

How stupid!

-Attention, we are about to start the take-off phase. Please turn off your electronic devices and fasten your seat belts until the plane will reached a steady position.- Penelope hurries to execute and while she sends her cell phone to sleep, she is disappointed to see that there aren't messages from him. But why does she still hope to receive a signal?

-First time you flies?- she jumps, hearing her neighbor's voice. He is smiling at her and seems very kind.

-No, but I can’t get used to it.- she replies, trying to force the heart to regain a regular heartbeat. The stranger's eyes are brown, but slightly clearer than Luke's. Luke. All roads lead to him.

 Maybe yes, maybe not, very careful and distracted, you've ever wondered, why it happens that... getting hurt is easier than giving a kiss, for what reason I don’t know, and I... for a while I'll disappear... for a while I'll disappear...

Luke can’t conceive how much he misses her. It’s not just the need to hear some joke, stupid or joyful, but always apt, or about jealousy, challenge, sense of revenge. No, it’s only about love, the word that have always scared him. He had always tried to avoid it, but he wasn't able to stop himself from falling in love with her. She managed to penetrate his skin, to change everything, every attitude, every thought. If he hadn’t met her in that elevator, cold and willing to convince him of the talents of her Canadian boyfriend, would he accept Hotch's proposal to join the BAU? He doubts it, and so much. Surely when he met her he was already doing a little thought about it, even if to Rossi he had said the opposite. But she, Penelope, had been decisive.

They all get on the jet. They go back home. But it's not home, if she's not there to wait for them, with some drink or big proclamations, and O'Keef without her laughter... it's just another place to feel alone. That's why he makes the decision to talk to JJ and understand why she has problem with him. It’s certain that it concerns Garcia, so he has twice reasons for doing so.

-Hey, JJ, can we talk for a moment?- the blonde looks up at him and then moves to Prentiss. She nods and follows him in the drinks area. She puts her arms folded and stares at him, waiting. -Would you tell me what I did to you? You've been strange since before we left, and I have a theory. Do you want to hear it?- she doesn’t answer. -I think it's about Garcia and, also the reason she left the team overnight. And I think that Emily also knows it, but she has an opinion different from yours, because she didn’t treat me like you...- the blonde explodes.

-Ok, what the hell! You're right, it's Garcia!- she pushes him away. -It's your fault, Alvez and I'm not like her, I'm not understanding and sweet like Penelope, so I'll never stop hating you for having hurt her.- her eyes are bright, but out of anger, not for the pain.

-I... I would never have…- she doesn’t let him finish talking, of course. Their screams are heard in the armchairs, but Emily signals the others to take no notice.

-Maybe not consciously, but you did it anyway, the result doesn’t change.- he realizes that she is trying to calm down. -With all those looks, those smiles, those attentions that you have dedicated her... do you think I’m an idiot, Luke? Do you really think I didn’t notice anything? Why grab her remote-control and play with it before leaving it to her, why smiling sly when she called you newbie, why help her get off the sidewalk, console her for Reid, give her that damn kitten... take her to your friend with that pet...- while she talks, he blushes. But JJ doesn’t seem to be left in the slightest move. -I wonder, in fact, I ask you... why do all these things and then go out with another woman? Engage with another but don’t stop flirting with Garcia? And then, the worst crime: bringing her to O'Keef. Will never comes with us. That's our space, Luke, ours, only BAU, do you understand?- she runs a hand across her face.-Yes, I understand...- but the blonde shakes her head.

-No, you didn’t, otherwise you wouldn’t have brought Lisa. What did you think, Alvez, when you were with her? Why make fun of two women? I know you now, and you're not like that, you're not that kind of man... So? Why tease Garcia, deceive her that way and then find another one? Answer me, for the love of heaven!- Luke tries to stem her outburst by taking her by the shoulders.

-I don’t know, JJ, I swear. I didn’t even want to go out with Lisa, it was Phil who has organized everything and forced me. I... I didn’t do it on purpose, nothing. Until... until Lisa told me that Garcia had staring at me all the time and that it was perfectly clear that she was in love with me... I swear, I didn’t realize it, neither about what I felt, nor about that what she felt. I'm... I was so blind and stupid, but I never wanted to hurt her, never, never. She is a miracle on earth and I would be ecstatic if only I could hear her voice one more time, even if she told me I'm an asshole.- JJ yields and hugs him, but also gives him some pat on the back.

-I don’t know if I can forgive you anyway, for making her feel bad, whether you were conscious of it or not. You said it, she's a miracle and deserves someone who is aware of it and that treat her like a queen.- they break away and Luke looks down, obviously not feeling up to that task. -And you're, for the hell, that person. So, find her, please, and bring her back to us. It's an order.-

 And if the pain prevails, it will make more sense... this will disappear, it’s what I think, what it means, what it means, that I have suffocated... only the need of who, has not forgotten you, and I... for a while, I will disappear...

The heart is about to come out of her chest. She doesn’t care that others understand. She shows too much apprehension to be just a colleague, who for the most part has never given a single sign of having accepted him in the team. Nothing counts, at this moment, except know, checking with her own eyes that he is fine. She doesn’t greet them almost and rushes to the room where they told her she will find him. She opens the door with a click, because otherwise she would remain on the threshold indefinitely, without finding the courage to take that step.

He is covered up to his armpits by a white sheet and looks terribly thin, small and fragile, as she had ever seen him. And his skin is so strange. The arms abandoned along the body, motionless. And closed eyelids.

-Luke.- she moans, taking his hand and intertwining their fingers. It's cold, of course. The memory of that nickname snatches a smile from her. -I can’t leave you alone one day, see what you do without me.- with the other, she touches his hair. So many time she wanted to sink her fingers and now she can do it... -Please, Luke, lift those eyelids and show me your beautiful dark eyes...- no change. If there wasn’t that machine that continues to beep, she would doubt that she is still alive. The chest lifts so slowly... -It was my fault, I know, I should not have left, but I needed it, I don’t know if you'll be able ever to understand or forgive me, but I couldn’t stay and see you... happy with another woman. I love you too much, yes, exactly, too much. Not like I love others, not even Derek. I'm... I'm jealous of you, although... even if the most important thing is that you feel good, because you deserve it, you are such a good boy and I... I tried to deny it with all of myself, and it has nothing to do with the fact that you have taken the Morgan's place. It has to do with that I can’t afford to be in love with you, and I was right... you found a wonderful person, both outside and inside and...- now she is openly crying, tears running down, crossing her cheeks and a go directly on the inert hand of man. But without making any sound, only from time to time she is forced to stop because the lump in her throat becomes too tight. -But now if you open your eyes and... you insult me or give any sign of life, I promise I’ll return to work for the BAU and I’ll stay close to you, for what I can, even if I have to see you marry Lisa...- she lets go his hand and bends over to place a kiss on his forehead. Another tear falls from the female face on the male one and ends on his lips. She doesn’t even try to capture it, if anything like this would happens... she doesn’t want their first kiss will be like that.

Then she hears like a whisper. She notices that it comes from Luke. Both the lips and the eyelids are pulsing, then the eyes open wide, but he doesn’t seem to be able to focus on her. He coughes a little.

-Luke! You woke up, I knew you would not have left us.- she jumps and screams. She would like to throw her arms around his neck, but in his condition, she understands that this is not the case. She is forced to stop because he keeps trying to say something. She places her ear close to his mouth to hear better.

-Pe... Pen... Penelope...- she warns other tears ready to be poured. He is saying her name! She moves away and smiles at him. Even the man's lips bend in a slight smile.

-Yes, it's me, I'm here, everything's ok! Now I'm going to call a nurse, somebody, so everything will be all right, okay?- she turns and starts to move away, but a slight squeeze on her wrist forces her to turn back.

-No... please... don’t... go...- she turns to him and nods. She doesn’t have time to do anything else, because the door opens, and a brunette woman enters, who rushes towards Luke, almost crashing Penelope. Lisa.

-Oh, love, you woke up, I was so worried!- she throws herself on him and starts kissing him, but the man doesn’t seem particularly happy. He doesn’t close his eyes, on the contrary, he continues to look at his colleague. He almost seems to ask for help. Then, finally she separates and seems to realize that they aren’t alone. -Hey, Penelope, why don’t you go call someone? I stay with my boyfriend.- there is something bad, however, in the tone of the brunette. And as she continues to stare at her, her face is deformed, her mouth widening like that of Pennywise in IT. Sharp teeth and long fingernails like claws.

Penelope remains paralyzed and can’t even scream.

 But in the real world it succeeds. And so, doing wake up her travel companion and not just him. It takes some time to reassure everyone. She looks out the window, they are so high up that the cities below them look like a myriad of glowing dots. A perverse thought comes to her mind. Luke would never come back for me, to save me, he would never do miles and miles just to see me and make sure I'm fine. But she would do it. Love, sometimes, is just disgusting.

The anxiety is such that as soon as she lands she does exactly what JJ had asked her, calls her, to make sure everything is going well and that the dream was only that: a fantasy elaborated by her mind. After breathing a sigh of relief, she walks along the streets of the city where she grew up, before her parents died, that she was adopted. San Francisco.

Every street, every signboard brings back memories, even if many things have changed, so many shops have closed, and new ones have appeared. She doesn’t even know why she chose this place. There's nothing left and no one for her here.

She looks at the sign with a cross on it and sighs.

She comes in, her feet direct her to the right place, even though there has been so few times. Too few. She kneels, leaving herself almost to fall on the ground and caresses the headstone, the gold writing and the photographs. -Mom, dad, I'm home.-

 Maybe yes, maybe not, very careful and distracted, you've ever wondered, why it happens that... getting hurt is easier than giving a kiss, for what reason I don’t know, and I... for a while I'll disappear... for a while I'll disappear...

A race against time. His life after they land at Quantico becomes exactly this. Rushing at the airport, boarding the plane and counting the minutes that are missing at the landing. But San Francisco isn’t around the corner and therefore he is forced to yield. Falls asleep. And he has a strange dream, where he is in a coma-like state, even though he has never experienced such a sensation. He senses everything around him, he even sees it, but his eyes are tight. He notices when Penelope enters his room, when she takes his hand and starts to explain to him that he must wake up, because she loves him even if he is with Lisa, even if she is not the one he wants close to him. He tries with all his strength to open his eyes, but he can’t, some strange force prevents him. And then she starts crying and to be not able to console her is too much. A tear ends up on his eyelids and as if by magic he finally manages to raise them. And she smiles at him, she's so beautiful... he would like to tell her, along with many other things, but then enters Lisa, even if she looks more like a witch and she hugs him, hurting him and then kisses him and sends Penelope away and he doesn’t want to but can’t stop her and then...

Black. Someone shaking his shoulder. A hostess. They have landed. He has arrived.

And then the race begins again. Where will she be? The irony of the situation is that the data that are in his possession there were come out right from Kevin. By now the man has resigned himself to have losing Garcia (if he ever really had had her) and it seems that he is about to getting married to a certain Gina. However, this isn’t what interests him. No close relatives of Penelope reside in San Francisco. So, there is only one place where she may have felt the need to go.

He knew it well before he landed. Without knowing a rational reason. Instinct or maybe something else. He walks hurriedly, without running. He makes the sign of the cross, then wanders among the tombs for a while, before finding a custodian. Explain that he is looking for a friend's parents, who should be buried here. Unfortunately, he doesn’t know their real surname, because Kevin couldn’t find this information. Probably Penelope has found a way to censor and block some parts of her personal file. The same succeeds in obtaining the desired result. The caretaker remembers her. She was such a sweet and pretty girl, how could anyone forget her?

His eyes are throbbing, as he turns the corner, ready to face her, even if she’ll decide to insult him, if she’ll tell him it's too late, it's out of time, that she can never forgive him... he's prepared for everything. He is also ready to make the most of the sacrifices: leave the BAU, where he has found a family, his own place, in order to make return her to Quantico. It must not be her, the one who leaves.

He is prepared for everything... but not for the possibility of not finding her. He looks the smiling faces of Penelope's parents. From her mother she took those big eyes, from dad instead her blond hair. His lips fold in a sweet smile. He reads the written sentence under the date of death.

From my rotting body, flowers shall grow and I am in them and that is eternity. [Edvard Munch]

Definitely Garcia sack flour. Then notice something resting on the marble. A photo. It rained, before he arrived, and also very strong. In fact, it is faded, swollen with water and also quite crumpled. But he recognizes it instantly. It portrays a brown-haired man, a blonde woman and a shepherd dog. He doesn’t look towards the goal but towards her, as if she were a divine apparition. And her eyes are low, on the animal. Nor did she notice it. They aren’t perfectly in the picture because he has never been able to do these things. But he had so insisted that she finally gave in. And after seeing the photo on the computer, she had asked (kindly) to make two copies. One for her. But just because it portrays me and Roxy, don’t get your head up.

The other copy is on his desk. Next to the statuette of a dog and a black and white rubber cat.

He shakes his head and giggles, hearing again that phrase with her tone and even the punch on the arm she had given him. Penelope isn’t here, but she has been there.

Now he has just to find her.

  TAGS: @theshamelessmanatee @itsdawnashlie @talesoffairies @janiedreams88 @kiki-krakatoa @yessenia993 @teyamarra @c00lhandsluke  @gcchic @arses21434 @orangesickle @entireoranges @jarmin @kathy5654 @martinab26 @thisonekid @thenibblets @perfectly-penelope @ambrosiaswhispers @maziikeen92 @lovelukealvez @reidskitty13 @jenf42 @gracieeelizabeth27 @silviajajaja @smalliemichelle99 @charchampagne14 @ichooseno  @ megs2219 @rkt3357 @franklintrixie @thinitta @chewwy123 @skisun @maba84 @saisnarry @myhollyhanna23 @thenorthernlytes

[klcrisistine]

Second Person

A short story experimentally written in second person point of view (though most of the story is still written in first person)

Ah, another quiet sunday inside. You sit on the couch, you stare blankly in the distance, you try to type something, anything, on your keyboard but your mind is blank when you attempt to concentrate on filling the empty document in front of you. Your mind wanders. It flies towards subjects you hate: work, unanswered questions, crucial decisions that need to be made. You can’t seem to relax. The page on the word processor on your laptop screen remains empty. You keep looking at the clock.

2:42 PM. Maybe you ought to go to the mailroom and check if the electric bill has arrived. It would be nice to walk, even if the way from your miniscule one-bedroom condo unit to the mailboxes consists of only a brief walk and an elevator ride. Without thinking, you rise, put on a face mask, and head out. Taking a walk seemed to be a better idea than continuing to stare at a white screen and going nowhere.

You get off the elevator at the tenth floor and walk down the hallway past a dark, tightly locked gym toward the mailroom. Shelves of around a thousand small glass cabinets labeled with numbers line the room. You turn right and search for your unit number: 3115. The room is, of course, deserted.

After a couple of minutes, you open one compartment door, grab all of its contents, and make your way back to your own unit. At the top of the small stack of envelopes is one bearing the electric billing company logo. You move the envelope to the bottom of the stack. You find the internet bill. You move it again. Then, something strange catches your eye.

The very last envelope is pink, decorated with white polka dots and a waving Hello Kitty. The address on the envelope is that of your parent’s home, the house you lived in from birth until your college years. 

And the sender is you.

You stop walking. How can this be? Is someone playing a practical joke on you? Did your mother find the letter in your old house while cleaning up and decided to send it to you? You don’t think your mother or father would do such a thing. If they did find the letter and wanted you to have it, they could just hand it to you personally. You meet your parents for lunch every other Sunday, don’t you?

You return to your tiny condo unit and place the bills on the dining table. Then, you flop down onto the couch and stare at the odd letter in your hands. The flap of the envelope is held in place by a cartoony apple sticker.

Without hesitation, you tear the envelope open. Several sheets of paper folded together live inside. You unfold them. Each one is also painted pink but in a shade lighter than that on the envelope.

Your eyes widen in amazement. It’s your old penmanship, the way you wrote when you were in fifth or sixth grade. No doubt about it. Fat and neat. Easily discernible but still obviously a child’s writing. 

You read the first line.

Dear Future Me,

You swallow. When did you ever write a letter to your future self? Did a grade school English teacher, or perhaps the guidance counsellor, assign you a task to write to your future self? You don’t recall any such thing. But then again, maybe your head is so full of new practical information, new worries, new to-do list items that need to be crossed off that there is no longer room for memories of your elementary school projects.

You read on.

Dear Future Me,

Wouldn’t it be a lot more useful if you were the one to send me a letter? You could tell me what I should and shouldn’t do. I bet you’re a lot smarter than I am. Maybe you know how to make at least a few good friends in class or how to pass at least the first round of the Science High School exams. If you could write me letters, would you be kind enough to do so? For our own sake? Maybe we could live a better life.

But anyway, I understand that you can’t. A teacher once told me that there are some things only children can do. I guess this is one of them. Also, time travel probably isn’t possible yet. Or is it?

Anyway, how are you? Are you happy? What college course did you take and what are you doing now? I know you can’t reply. But it’s still fun to wonder about such things. Wherever you are, whatever you are doing, I hope you are well.

You stop reading and look up. Your eyes collect water. You blink and let some teardrops fall. There are only a few. You have already cried a good deal last night.

The question of whether you are doing well or not is a difficult one. Your parents, your aunts and uncles, seem to be happy that you make a decent amount of money. Despite being so early in your career, you can support yourself and live independently. The company you work for isn’t bad. You get good benefits. The working conditions are good. Plus, you have a flexible schedule. You have friends. You have a steady relationship with a guy who treats you well and does seem to really love you. Why can’t you simply say you are doing well? Why do you always cry when you are alone?

You realize you are asking yourself the same questions you always ask. A futile exercise. You decide to read on.

Do you still remember who I am? I am turning twelve years old this year. I can’t believe I’m only a year away from being a teenager and a high schooler. I spend most of my time reading books and studying in the library. I don’t have any close friends in class. But I am one of the smartest in my grade, according to my classmates. In the yearbook, they nicknamed me a walking encyclopedia even though none of them have ever heard me quote information from any book. I am quiet and timid so I wouldn’t just blurt out random facts to my classmates unless I need to. No one really knows me well enough. I wish at least one person would try to get to know me.

You’re probably wondering why I decided to write to you. What could someone like me, someone whose memories are only a fraction of yours, possibly say to you? Is it possible for me to know something you don’t already know? Well, the answers to these questions are in the questions themselves. With all the new memories you have collected and crammed into your brain, you have probably forgotten many valuable ones. I think it is my responsibility to remind you of those memories.

There’s one in particular I want you to remember.

Why do I think you don’t remember this? Because everyone who had heard this story denied it. And I’m starting to doubt what I saw, what I heard. Everyone else’s arguments are so convincing. The only one who believed me wholeheartedly was my younger sister. But my parents say she would grow up soon enough.

I knew, of course, that I too would also grow up. Eventually, I would deny the truthfulness of the stories I deeply treasured. And once I have denied them, they would be forgotten.

And so I wrote this letter.

I wrote this letter to remind you of a series of important incidents, the very first one occurring in the library. It was late in the afternoon, after classes had been dismissed. As usual, the school bus driver was late to pick me up.

The light filtering through the glass door was soft and orange. It was nearly sunset. I stood past the drawers containing card catalogues, past the glass windows behind which the librarians sat waiting for young bookworms to borrow books, and past a maze of tall wooden shelves and shiny, wooden desks surrounded by matching wooden chairs. I stood in the back of the library, browsing a shelf, not unlike the rest that accompanied it. Above me hung a white rectangular sign: The General Fiction section.

I had just finished reading Little Women. A beautiful story of four sisters and their own experience of life and womanhood in New England in the late 19th century. There was still time before my ride home would arrive so I decided to pick up a new book.

Though there were countless books on the shelf right in front of me, it wasn’t difficult to choose one. One particular book just seemed to stand out. It was large and thick, with a leather cover that seemed to be darker than black and an intricate abstract gold pattern on its spine. The book didn’t seem to have a title. In my little hands, it was extremely heavy.

I sat down and with a sigh of relief, laid the weighty book down on the nearest desk. I excitedly opened it. The very first page was empty. Probably like the others that made up the book, it was yellowish and smelled like an old dusty house whose windows and doors hadn’t been unlocked in decades. I started to turn one page after another, searching for the title page. But after at least ten pages, I still couldn’t find any trace of writing. 

Why would a book like this be in the general fiction section? No, why would it be in the library at all? It was probably meant to be somebody’s journal. I thought, picking up the pace as I continued to turn page after page. After about ten more pages, I was sure that my efforts would lead me nowhere. For some reason though, I refused to stop. I rested my chin against the back of one hand and continued to turn the pages with the other.

And then, I suddenly stopped. Finally, I had landed on a page that was not blank! The page was in fact the complete opposite of blank. Text filled the page from top to bottom, leaving no room for headers or page numbers. My newfound excitement had barely reached its peak when disappointment started to kick in.  On the page, I couldn’t read a single word. Everything had been written in a miniscule font. And the letters were crammed tightly together and faded. But I wasn’t about to be stopped. I had finally found something. I refused to give up. 

Glaring at the ineligible writing, I moved my chair forward. It wasn’t enough. I bent over. It still wasn’t enough. I flexed my neck and drew myself even closer to the book so that the tip of my nose was merely an inch away from the opened page. Finally, I was able to make out a fragment of the first line:

One day, in the middle of a clearing,

I paused to blink. It was a struggle to read on.

in a deep forest of tangled trees and bushes,

And the rest of the line was impossible to understand.

I heaved a sigh and decided to stretch my already strained neck. As I leaned away from the book towards the backrest, I fell to the floor. My buttocks hit the ground and I squinted in pain. 

What just happened? 

I looked up, searching for the chair that was supposed to be supporting my weight. But my surroundings were suddenly different. There were no longer desks or tall shelves filled with books. The ground on which I sat wasn’t the wooden plank floor I knew so well. Instead, it was bare sandy soil. And the static hum and cold air coming from the air conditioners had been replaced by the calls and chirps of birds I was not familiar with.

All kinds of tall trees surrounded me, some bore fruits -- mangos, bananas, coconuts, orange flowers. Others simply bore leaves of various shapes and colors: from mud brown and spade-like leaves to lengthy clusters of tiny bright green leaves hanging around thin stems. However they looked, the trees seemed to be eyeing me with great curiosity. They too must have been asking the same question I was...what was I doing here? Above me, the sky was cloudless and tinted soft orange and pale blue. The sun seemed to be getting ready to hit the hay.

Pshhhhh...

All of a sudden, a rustle made me jump. I turned my head toward the sound. There was definitely movement behind some tall strands of grass growing near the bottom of a tree trunk. Someone was there. I saw traces of black hair and white clothing. But one blink was all it took for me to lose sight of whatever it was that lurked behind the trees. I wondered if I had imagined it.

My heart was beating very fast. My breathing was also quick and heavy. I wasn’t supposed to be here. What happened to the library? What if the school bus driver had already arrived and was looking for me? How could I get home? How would my parents even know where I was if I didn’t have any means to contact them? I didn’t even have a cellular phone! Sitting on the ground, in the midst of an alien universe, I couldn’t help but cry. I felt helpless. I didn’t know what to do.

But maybe...I was dreaming. What was happening at the moment couldn’t possibly be real. There was no logical explanation for it. But still...everything looked, felt, and smelled too real. I could feel the grainy soil in my hands. I could grasp them and let them go. Some of them could cling to my hands, some could enter my nails. I could smell the mangoes in the trees, some traces of animal waste. I could pinch myself and feel pain. And most importantly, I could think clearly. I could wonder if I was dreaming or not. I had never done such a thing before while dreaming.

I cried again. My sobs were much louder now. I couldn’t help it. I was only twelve years old. My parents or teachers never taught me what to do if I got lost. And I never did get lost. Because my parents never let me wander anywhere unsupervised. They always made sure I was safe. If they weren’t home, a babysitter took care of me. When I wasn’t at home, I was at school. My teachers, the security guard at the gate, and my school bus driver always made sure I was right where I was supposed to be.

Now, all of a sudden, I was alone.

Or so I thought. Once again, there was a rustling and then, footsteps. I held my breath. Someone stood in the distance. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand to get a better look. It was...a boy. A boy about my age. A boy with short, black hair with wispy bangs, and sun-kissed skin. He was wearing a plain white shirt, pale brown knee-length shorts and flip-flops. I stared at him, continuing to sob. He cleared his throat.

“A-are you o-okay?” he softly stammered.

I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t speak anyway. I was still sobbing uncontrollably.

“Are you lost?” His voice cracked.

The question of whether to trust him or not to know I was indeed lost didn’t cross my mind. I felt desperate. I simply nodded. In the city, my mother always reminded me that it was dangerous to admit  to strangers that one was lost. It was safer to lie.

“It’s okay,” he said, inching closer toward me. His eyes were averted and his movements were slow and timid. He seemed to be very ill-at-ease. “I-I’ll do my best to help you find your way home. Do you live near here?”

“I don’t think so,” I very softly replied through sobs. The boy was about two feet in front of me now. I could see his long-lashed, dark brown eyes and bony, triangle-shaped face. For some reason, I didn’t feel afraid of him. I was more afraid of not being able to return home. “I’ve never been here before. I don’t know where I am.” I explained.

“How did you get here?” the boy asked.

I began to cry louder again, making the boy panic. He held his palms up and muttered, “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

“I don’t know how I got here.”

“Y-you don’t remember?”

I thought for a moment. “I think I do remember. But I don’t understand it.”

“I see...” the boy said, tilting his head. He seemed to be lost in thought for a moment. “Can you tell me?”

“You might not believe me,” I hesitated, wringing my hands.

“You have to tell me,” he said gently. “I can’t help you if I don’t know where you came from.”

I nodded. “I was in a library. I was reading a big book. I looked very closely at it because the words weren’t clear. When I leaned back, I was here.” I felt my ears turn hot. My story sounded more absurd now that I had said it to a stranger.

But the boy’s eyes widened as I said my piece. Whether he was shocked or had made a connection I didn’t know. All he said was, “Wait here.” before he ran back toward a spot near the edge of the clearing and disappeared behind a tree. I waited for his return with bated breath.

After about a minute, he re-emerged from behind the trees with a book. Not just any book. But the book I had last opened at the library, the book I had last seen before I had found myself in a strange new universe.

“I guess this must be yours,” the boy said, handing the book to me.

I gazed at it silently, thinking. Perhaps I can repeat what I did at the library. I could look for another non-empty page and stare at the faded words with great concentration, averting my eyes from anything else around me. Perhaps that was my way home...there was nothing else I could think of trying to undo what I had done.

“I found the book on my way here. I was going to take it because I thought nobody owned it. Sorry.” the boy suddenly explained. “I should have known it belonged to you.”

“It’s okay. Thanks for returning it. I’m not sure but as crazy as it may sound, I think it could be my way home,” I replied, feeling very uncertain. “Were you the one hiding behind the trees a little while ago?” I asked out of curiosity.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” the boy apologized again. “I usually come here by myself. I was actually surprised to find someone else here.”

“So why did you run away?”

“I’m not really comfortable around strangers,” the boy uneasily chuckled, scratching his head. “Especially if they’re...” he stopped abruptly, his face turning multiple shades of pink.

“They’re..?”

“Nevermind,” the boy said, shaking his head, probably hoping he could shake the heat off his face.

“Okay,” I said, disappointed he wouldn’t tell me anything else. “Do you live near here? Why do you always come here alone?”

The boy scratched his chin and looked up. He looked as though he were debating whether he should answer my questions or not.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me,” I interjected.

“It’s fine,” he smiled for the first time since we had begun speaking to each other. Something about it gripped my heart and made it skip a beat. I caught myself gaping at him and immediately fixed my eyes on the strange book in my hands.

“I...” he tried to begin his answer and failed. “Nobody likes having me around. And people don’t treat me very well so...I come here when I’m feeling sad or angry.”

“I see.” I suddenly felt like a jerk for nosing around in the boy’s personal business. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No need to be sorry,” the boy said, smiling again. “Anybody would probably be curious. I am a pretty strange boy.”

“I don’t understand why people don’t like you though,” I said.

He stared at me with wide eyes.

“I m-mean -- you’re very nice,” I stuttered. “You’re trying to help me right now even though you don’t feel comfortable around strangers and--

“Thanks,” he replied. “I mean it. Nobody’s said that to me before. People are mostly scared of me.”

“Why are they scared of you?”

The boy averted his eyes once more, keeping quiet. The silence was heavy and unbreakable. Why was I so comfortably asking the stranger in front of me so many questions.

"I'm sorry," I burst out.

The boy tilted his head again. "You apologize a lot," he commented.

I raised my eyebrows. "Really? I didn’t notice. But anyway, I think I really do owe you an apology. I ask too many questions, sorry."

“Don’t worry about it. You’re curious,” he said. “I get it.”

I bit my lip and looked down. Somehow, I didn’t seem convinced I had done nothing wrong.

“Can I sit here?” the boy asked after another few moments of soundlessness. I nodded. He awkwardly sat on the ground. Beside me.

“I’m also curious about you,” he said. “I mean, for starters, your clothes are strange.” I looked down at my clothes. I was wearing my school uniform. A white blouse with a tiny blue ribbon just below the collar and buttons down the front and a matching blue knee-length skirt. I was also wearing white, ankle-length socks and black shoes, spattered with dirt and soil. If I ever return home, my mother would blow a gasket.

“It’s my school uniform,” I explained.

“Yeah, it looks like a school uniform,” the boy agreed. “But there’s only one school nearby and the girls’ uniform there doesn’t look at all like what you’re wearing. Nobody lives near here either. My house is the nearest one and even that is at least two kilometers away.”

“Wow, and yet you said you come here a lot,” I said, amazed.

“Yeah,” the boy laughed a little. “I like walking around by myself and exploring.”

“I like exploring too,” I said, smiling. “But I do it by reading. My mother never lets me go out on my own. My school is really strict as well.”

“I’m not very good at reading. There aren’t a lot of books at my school,” the boy sadly said.

“What? How is that possible?”

“My school doesn’t have a lot of money. Books are shared by students.”

“That’s too bad...what grade are you?” I asked, rapidly changing the subject.

“Six,” he briefly said.

“Me too,” I excitedly declared. “So you’re going to high school soon too!”

“I don’t think I am, actually,” the boy replied. “I don’t think we have the money to pay the tuition.”

“Sorry,” I automatically said.

The boy laughed. “You’re saying sorry again. It’s not your fault. And anyway, I don’t think I want to go back to school. I’m not smart. And the other kids are always mean. I don’t have a lot of friends.”

“Me neither,” I said enthusiastically as though I were proud to be the class loner. But I was just relieved and oddly thrilled to find someone who was like me. Feeling so different from everyone else was a lonely life. “To tell you the truth, I don’t think I have any friends at all. I’m too shy. I can’t fit in with everyone else.”

“Actually, I don’t have any friends at all either,” the boy admitted, blushing. “I just didn’t want to say it because I didn’t want to look stupid.”

I suddenly burst out laughing. The boy’s mannerisms, the flows of his thought, and courses of action seemed too funnily familiar. They were practically mine. 

The boy laughed along as well. “I don’t know why we’re laughing,” he interjected between sniggers.

“It’s just really funny how similar you are to me,” I replied. The boy abruptly stopped laughing. Darkness seemed to play in his eyes.

“Is there something wrong?” I asked.

He shook his head, smiling weakly. The setting sun was now barely visible behind the trees.

“I think I should be getting home,” I suddenly said. “Or trying to get home,” I added, realizing I wasn’t yet sure of how to get home.

“Oh yeah, we almost forgot,” the boy said, slapping his forehead with one palm. “What are you planning to do?”

“Try to use the book, I guess,” I replied, shurgging. “It’s how I got here, as far as I remember.” I gazed at my muddy shoes, feeling my face burn. I felt embarrassed to admit I actually believed a book could take me home. But it was the only way I could think of.

“Would it be okay for me to watch you try and get home using the book?” The boy asked, his eyes twinkling in curiosity and wonder.

“Sure,” I agreed, grinning. “You ask for permission a lot.” The boy frowned.

I took a deep and courageous breath and opened the book once more. Desperate to get home, I became fully focused on turning one page after another. I was determined to find the page that wasn’t blank. My heart sank every time I landed on a new empty page.

“I can’t seem to find it,” I swallowed. I was growing more and more frantic. I was certain I should have reached the page I had been looking for by now.

“What are you looking for again?” the boy asked.

“Any page that isn’t empty,” I replied, oddly out of breath. It was as though I had been running through the forest. “I don’t think it’s here anymore,” I said, my voice shrinking in fear. I was on the brink of tears.

“There!” the boy exclaimed, pointing at the book on the ground. I looked back at the book and saw what the boy had seen: a yellowish page tightly packed with small typewritten words. I heaved a sigh of relief, a little too early. You don’t know if this is going to work yet, I silently said to myself. For some reason though, gazing at the page before me, I knew my plan was definitely going to work.

I turned toward the boy once more. “Thank you for all your help,” I said. “It’s too bad I won’t be able to talk to you again.”

The boy’s eyes momentarily widened in shock. He was blushing. “T-thank you.”

“For what?”

“I’m not really sure,” he admitted, averting his eyes once again.

I smiled and nodded. Without another word, I fixed my eyes on the book and buried my head in it. The first few words instantly became clear.

Sitting on a desk in an old but tidy elementary school library.

I looked up and once more, there I sat. In an ordinary desk in my favorite place in school. As I had thought, repeating what I had initially done was all it took to find my way home. I looked at the mysterious book lying on the desk in front of me, closed and innocent-looking. It was hard to believe that the very same book had just magically and literally transported me to a different world, a world that was very different from my own. I couldn’t help but tremble slightly in fear as the book looked back at me, urging me to open it once again. Without dilly dallying for another second, I returned the book to its proper place on the shelf and exited the library as quickly as I could. Outside, the sun had just set. And the sky was more light ink blue than orange.

You move your eyes away from the letter for a brief moment. You just finished reading three pages of a child’s writing, the writing of a younger version of you. You don’t remember living through any experience described in the letter: a very good reason to believe that it is only just a tall tale, the product of a twelve-year-old’s wild imagination. Strangely though, the contents of the letter thus far seemed to have made you feel a wave of nostalgia, as though you were indeed looking back at an old and beautiful memory, as though you were re-experiencing several golden moments with a dear old friend...

But it couldn’t possibly be true...right? You read on.

The incident in the library frightened me very much. Thoughts of being suddenly removed from my little universe and placed in unfamiliar territory kept me up most nights and urged me to avoid the library for a couple of days. Instead of visiting the library, I opted to do my homework in advance during break times so I could be free to do whatever I wished once I’d arrived home later in the day: play computer games or watch the primetime shows on Nickelodeon.

But thoughts of my brief journey to the woods weren’t only fearful ones. There were thoughts that made me smile. Thoughts that made me long to return there.

I thought about the boy I had met. It was the first time I had met someone who seemed to understand my feelings. It was also the first time in a very long time I had come close to making a friend. I always wished I could meet him again. Talk with him for hours and learn more about his life. I didn’t even get to ask him his name.

One night, I dreamt about the boy and the forest. When I had arrived in the clearing in the middle of the forest, the boy was sitting on the ground, intently gazing in my direction as though he had been waiting for me to appear.

“Hi,” he shyly greeted me.

“Hello.”

That afternoon, the sun was high in the sky. Not a single cloud obstructed its warm glow. The boy and I talked for hours. I learned that his father was a farmer, his mother a cook at a small carinderia, and that he was their second child. He had six other siblings. I learned that he was rather fond of music and that, aside from venturing out into the wild on his own, he often listened to the radio. He would sing along to all kinds of tunes on the radio: from Sundo by Imago to Smile by Lily Allen. His listening would only be interrupted when his father would return home from work and decide he wanted to listen to the news.

“Listening to those weird songs will make you dumber than you already are.” the boy’s father would always tell him as he switched to one of the AM stations. He did his very best not to argue with his father.

Neither the boy’s father nor his mother made it to college. His father’s family was too poor to send him to any college while his mother was disowned by her own parents.

“Disowned?” I repeated in disbelief.

The boy nodded. Apparently, his mother had become pregnant with his older sister at a very young age of sixteen. It was a major scandal. For months, it was the only topic of discussion amongst the housewives who lived in the neighborhood. His mother’s parents were absolutely furious. They were committed believers of the Catholic faith and considered the loss of virginity before marriage to be unforgivable. They had scolded and slapped their poor daughter, kicked her out of her own home, and forced her to fend for herself and the child growing in her womb many years too early. Meanwhile, his father had ran away from home in anger after his parents had refused to take in his pregnant girlfriend. And since then, the couple had been on their own.

“That’s rough,” I said.

“It is,” the boy said. “But I think I would never be able to fully imagine how hard it’s been for them.”

“Well, we’re still kids. I think there are a lot of things we still can’t understand.”

The boy shook his head. “It’s not that. I’m just always angry at them and I think I refuse to try and sympathize with them.”

“Why are you angry?”

“Because of the way they treat me. Sometimes, I feel like they don’t really love me, like they would rather have never had a child in the first place,” he sadly admitted to me.

“What do you mean?”

The boy opened his mouth to say something but he stopped midway and stared at me with large, astonished eyes and gasped.

“I think something’s happening to you...”

“What?” I looked down at my hands. They were starting to look less real, almost transparent. They seemed to be fading away. As were the rest of me.

“I’ll talk to you soon,” the boy said, his voice now echoey and distant.

I was not able to give the boy a reply; for before I knew it, I was back in my bed. Back in the darkness. For not a single raysingle of ray of light illuminated the room from beyond the light brown curtains over the window.

The next day, I decided to return to the library. I didn’t know whether the dream I had the night before was real or not. I was lost in a sea of questions. What was happening to me? Why did I keep running into the boy? Why did there seem to be an invisible force pulling me towards him? I needed to know.

And so after school, I had, as usual, left my bag at a secured waiting area by one of the many school gates and set off towards the library, my heart beating faster and faster as I grew closer toward my destination. When I reached the shelf, the book was in the exact spot where I had last left it. I quickly pulled it out of its place and laid it on the nearest table before I could lose heart. Gazing blankly into the depths of the book before me, I took a deep breath and exhaled.

And I began to turn the pages once more.

Not long after, I found the page I had been looking for. And I read the only legible passage at the top of the page, the very same one I had read before, clutching the book in my hands as though my life had depended on it. In a way, it did. It was, after all, my only way home.

After barely a second, my surroundings had changed. As I had expected, the elementary school library I knew so well had disappeared. But the ground, the trees, the little bushes were also nowhere to be found. In fact, I couldn’t see a thing. My surroundings seemed to be darker than black. I felt paralyzed. I did not want to reach out to feel my surroundings. I didn’t want to cry for help. I was convinced that some evil creature was lurking in the darkness and I feared that I would disturb it and put myself in graver danger. A wave of great panic rose within me. It seemed to be draining all the life and color out of me. It was hard to breathe. My chest felt constricted and heavy.

Was I still stepping on solid ground? It was so dark I felt like I was floating in the middle of a vast nothingness. I stomped one foot on the ground. It wasn’t hard like hardened cement. It was firm but soft like soil. Next, I strained my ears and checked for sounds. I heard the distinct sound of crickets, the call of an owl, and leaves rustling in a cold breeze. Perhaps, I was still in the middle of the forest. But it was nighttime. I turned my head left and right, looked down and then up...

I had stopped moving. I had stopped thinking. The panic within me died in an instant. Above me was a sight so marvelous and breathtaking that for a moment nothing seemed to matter. The sky was cloudless, tinged with night blue and purple, and very abundantly dotted with the gleaming stars of various sizes. I had never seen anything like it. In the city, I had never seen such stars during the very few times I was allowed outside at night. Water began to collect in my eyes as I continued to stare above in awe.

“You’re here!” a voice cried in disbelief. In an instant, the great sight above had disappeared. Suddenly, it was no longer dark. The old forest scene had once again laid itself before me. It didn’t look like it was nighttime yet. From the intensity of the sun and the incredibly hot air, it was easy to tell that it was mid-afternoon.

“H-how much did you see?” the voice stammered behind me. I turned and saw the boy, wringing his hands uneasily, averting his eyes as though he had done something very wrong.

“Stars,” I replied, still a little bit dazed. “At first, it was really dark. But then, I looked up...and I saw the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my life.”

The boy gaped at me, clearly in shock.

“Did you see the stars? Why did they suddenly disappear?” I asked excitedly. “I want to see them again!”

“You actually liked what you saw?” the boy asked, seeming unable to believe what he had just heard.

“They were amazing!”

The boy blushed.

“I didn’t get enough time to look at it,” I said, disappointed. The boy looked up at the sunlit sky, looking as though he were thinking very deeply about something. “Is something wrong?” I asked.

He closed his eyes tightly. And in a second, the darkness cloaked the forest and everything in it like a gigantic robe. In the sky, clusters of the brightest, most picturesque stars had returned. For some reason, they looked more brilliant than before. Gold and silver streaks brightened the sky even more.

“Do you see why people are afraid of me now?” the boy’s voice asked in the darkness.

“What?” I said, perplexed by his odd question. “Not really. Am I supposed to--”

“This darkness is my fault!” he cried, his voice cracking. “I’ve had this odd ability ever since I was born. My parents, my classmates, they all think I’m cursed.” 

I didn’t know what to say.

The boy went on. “I can make it so dark so that everyone around me is paralyzed, so that everyone around me trembles in fear. I am an awful person.” 

The boy seemed to be holding back tears.

“I can do it at will. But when I am angry or extremely upset, I tend to make it dark even though I don’t want to. And it happens a lot.

“I come here because it’s far enough from everyone else. Here, I can’t hurt anyone and no one can hurt me. And it’s the only place where the darkness isn’t so bad...because of the stars.”

I looked at the sky once more. The sight was incredible as ever.

“You think I’m awful now don’t you?” The boy said, frowning slightly. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness and I could see the boy as the stars lit his face up.

“I think what you can do is amazing,” I said truthfully, beaming at him.

The boy and I sat beside each other on the warm soil, talking for hours, underneath the most beautiful stars I had ever seen in my life. He pointed towards the stars he loved to gaze at: gleaming, silver specks. Some were bright and large, some small and mysterious.

He also traced the several shapes and forms that the stars made in the sky with his finger. He traced a kite, a lone flower bud on a stem stripped of its petals, and a man in mid-run. It took some time for me to turn one particular cluster of stars into a deformed crab.

“You’ve got a great imagination,” I remarked, chuckling.

The boy also pointed toward his favorite star: a star that seemed to be much farther away from the rest. It blinked at slow yet regular intervals. Sometimes, it looked brighter, sometimes dimmer.

“That’s the star I always make wishes on,” he said.

“It’s beautiful,” I said, grinning. “What do you usually wish for?”

The boy bit the corner of his lip. He seemed to be debating whether or not he should answer my question.

“Do you think my wishes would still come true if I told you?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Maybe, to be safe, you shouldn’t tell me.” I felt disappointed but I understood his sentiments.

“I could tell you what already came true.”

“Oh, yeah!”

The boy began to say something but he cut himself off before he could say anything comprehensible. Once again, his face turned red.

“Why did you stop? You were already about to tell me!”

“It’s embarrassing!”

“It’s not!”

“You don’t know that for sure!”

“You’re right,” I sighed, giving up. To me, arguments were exhausting. “I did say before that you don’t have to tell me.”

There was a pause.

“I--” the boy stammered. “I-I..wished I could meet you again. There! Are you happy now?” He said most of his words so quickly, it sounded as though he were chewing on them.

“Really?” I asked, pleasantly surprised.

“Don’t make me say it again.”

“I actually decided to come back because I dreamt that I talked to you,” I confessed.

“I did too,” the boy said softly. “I talked about my family--”

“That’s what happened in my dream too!”

“Maybe we had the same dream,” the boy said as though it were the only logical explanation to a great coincidence.

“Do you think it’s really possible?”

The boy grinned. “If I can make any place dark and you can teleport between two places very far from each other, then I think it’s possible.”

“Good point.”

The boy fixed his gaze on the stars in the distant sky once more. “I wish I could come close to those stars, you know, get the chance to explore them.”

“You could do that if you become an astronaut!”

“What’s that?”

“An explorer of space, a scientist.”

“You really think I can be one?”

“Sure! You just need to really study hard.”

The boy pouted. “I’m not good at studying. It might be impossible for me...”

“No way! You said so yourself. Anything is possible.”

The boy just raised an eyebrow. He didn’t seem convinced.

“I have an idea!” I said, bursting with excitement. “I can bring you books on astronomy when I come visit you again and then we can study them together!”

“Astro-what?”

“Astronomy. It’s what you need to study in order to be an astronaut.”

“Hmm...”

“It's worth a shot, right? What have you got to lose?”

“Alright, let’s do it.”

Since then, I visited the boy at least twice a week. We read through a colorful picture book on introductory astronomy. And when we were tired of studying, we talked about anything and everything underneath the marvelous-looking stars that only he could make visible. I described to him my teachers and told him my impressions of them. I particularly remember taking my time in describing Mrs. Santillan and how she, with her long straight black hair and sharp tongue, had always intimidated me. He talked about his father’s weird habits: complaining about the little income he gets from farming and then using up his earnings on alcohol.

On every visit, we covered a variety of topics: from parents to school life to different ways we amuse ourselves. My times with the boy were so full of life, so full of joy, that everything else in my life seemed dull: dinners with my family, history classes. I always just dreamed about the next time I could meet him again, the stories I would tell him, the new heavenly body I learned to name by reading. 

But then, there came a day when things were different.

On one cloudy afternoon, I found the boy standing in the woods with the astronomy book I had recently lent him.

“Take it,” he said to me.

“Are you finished with it?” I said, surprised. I had lent the book to him only two days ago.

“I don’t want it anymore,” the boy replied curtly.

“You didn’t like it?”

“That’s not it!” The boy was suddenly angry. “I can’t be an astronaut! It’s impossible.”

“We already talked about this,” I said, standing my ground. “You can do it. It may get difficult but you can--”

“I don’t even know if I can go to high school!”

“What--”

“We don’t have the money. My dad says that if I want to go to high school, I’d have to get some sort of scholarship. Don’t you get it? I’m not smart enough!”

“M-maybe...maybe you can--”

“Stop! It’s useless. Take it back!” He furiously threw the book on the ground. “Don’t ever come back, okay? You clearly don’t understand anything!”

“Fine!” I yelled back. “I’m sorry for trying to help you--”

“Just leave!” the boy cried out as he ran farther and farther away from me, never looking back.

“I will!” I screamed angrily at the wind. 

Once again, I was alone.

I didn’t dare visit the library after that. I left the strange book on its shelf and tried to clear my head of all thoughts of the boy, his problems, and astronomy. Several nights I found myself crying silently into my pillow as the rest of my family were sound asleep. I hated the boy. I hated ever meeting him. I hated all the anger and pain that were slowly crushing my heart into bits and pieces.

I started skipping lunch. I gave my packed lunch to whomever in my class would take it and ran to one of the stalls in the girls’ bathroom right next to my classroom. Inside, I tried to read books. When my concentration failed me, which occurred quite often, I cried my eyes out and waited for the bell to ring. I lost weight, people noticed. Everyone complimented me. Everyone asked me what my secret was. I merely feigned a small laugh and left that as my reply.

One night I dreamt about the boy. He was leaning against the trunk of one tree. His arms were wrapped around his legs which were folded and pulled against his body. His face was buried in his knees and he was sobbing very hard. The afternoon sun was once again high in the sky, cruelly hot and intensely bright orange.

I walked toward the boy slowly, carefully. I was afraid that he might just push me away like he did before. But I kept moving forward. I was sick of replaying my last meeting with the boy, sick of fighting a pointless battle with him endlessly inside my head.

The boy looked up once I was right in front of him.

“You came back,” he sobbed.

“Not intentionally,” I replied honestly.

The boy held his breath. He seemed to be trying to stop himself from crying any more tears. He wiped his eyes and cheeks with his shirt. But it was no use. The tears just kept coming like hard rain in the middle of a storm. 

Without thinking, I knelt on the ground and wrapped my arms around him. I held him tight. Neither he nor I spoke a word. But I understood and accepted his tears and I knew he felt my words through the grip of my arms and my firm decision to stay with him. In the midst of a darkness that can’t be seen.

“I wished to s-see you a-again,” the boy confessed through tears. “I w-wanted to explain.”

I said nothing in reply. I let the silence let the boy know I was ready to listen to what he had to say.

“They l-laughed at me,” he stuttered. “I c-can’t be an a-astronaut. I wasn’t b-born lucky. I w-was jealous s-so I got angry.”

“Jealous?” I repeated, wondering who he was jealous of.

“O-of you.”

I held the boy tighter in my arms. Tears began to collect in my eyes as well.

“Y-you have b-books. You h-have a l-library.” He paused for a moment to breathe. He was crying so hard that it was difficult to inhale and exhale. “Y-you have a f-future.”

Now, I was crying with him. We wailed and created our own little waterfall of tears in the middle of the forest, beneath the sunlit sky. But somehow we knew that no matter how hard we cried no one would be able to hear us.

“It’s h-happening again,” the boy said.

At first I didn’t know what he was talking about. But I saw my arms through the haze of tears. And once again, they were beginning to lose clarity. I could see the back of the boy’s gray t-shirt through them. I tried to clutch the boy tighter. But it was no use. I was slowly disappearing. I was being pulled away. This wasn’t where I truly belonged.

“D-don’t forget me, p-please,” the boy seemed to be begging. “I-if you can, c-come back...f-for me.”

I didn’t get the chance to reply. Once more, I was back in my bed, my face wet with tears. I continued to sob into my pillows. Everyone else was sound asleep.

The next day, I finally decided to return to the library. But the book was nowhere to be found. I checked every other shelf in the room. The books in the hands of other library visitors. The books on the carts. I even mustered up the courage to ask for the librarian’s assistance in searching for the book. But she claimed to have never seen it and insisted that all library books had titles on them.

Once again, I was devastated. I cried nightly for weeks. I had lost all connection to the only friend I had had that year. And I could do nothing more for him, no matter how hard I tried.

I always came back to the library though. I came back to check the shelf I had initially found the book in and I came back to read the books the boy would have loved to read. I read books on astronomy, classic tales like Sherlock Holmes, and books on fantasy and adventure like The Hardy Boys, Island of the Blue Dolphins, and Bridge to Terabithia. I sometimes imagined I was reading to the boy in the forest, laughing with him, and listening to his silly and sometimes infuriating stories about his father.

Unfortunately, this is where this story ends. I never met the boy ever again. As I said before, I am afraid I might forget him, forget the stars whose beauty only he could accentuate.

So I wrote you this letter.

The boy is probably still out there. If you can, keep my promise. Please come back for him.

Your younger self

There are no more words left to read. But there is still one last sheet of paper you haven't looked at. On the paper is a colorless picture, drawn in a Japanese anime style. It is the sketch of a girl wearing a blouse with a ribbon and a skirt, hair tied in a simple ponytail, and a boy in a plain t-shirt and shorts, sitting side by side against a tree, laughing.

The picture draws the tears out of your eyes and sends them sliding down your cheeks onto the paper you hold in your hands. A portion of the drawing is smudged with your teardrop. You silently fold the sheets of paper and gaze at them with what seems to be a new pair of eyes. And you return to your computer, more determined to fill the blank page before you than ever before.

[laerethbloodhawk]

((Another anon poem for Laereth!))

Anonymous (Sinful, Serious Sunday)

This time, when he entered the post office to pick up his mail, the girl behind the counter did not flinch. Did not shove his letters at him and rush out of the building as if fel hounds nipped at her heels, to put as much distance between herself and him as she could manage. She only offered him her usual shy smile and kept her eyes averted like a Kaldorei who could not bear to look at the sun lest it blind her. The edges of her smile seemed brittle and the remnants of fear still lingered in her hunched shoulders and trembling hands, but she greeted him by name and wished him a good evening.

Only a single letter today, and rather than reeking of flowery perfume or bearing hearts drawn in a clumsy, girlish hand, this one looked like the sort of notice one might receive when being informed that a relative had passed on. The envelope–black as a moonless night–bore the following words in an elegant hand: FOR LAERETH BLOODHAWK, WHO HAS NOT MUCH TIME. Bright against the somber background, the gold ink flashed in the waning sunlight when he stepped out into Tranquillien’s streets, and the back flap had been sealed with black wax. No discernible symbol denoted a possible sender; only what appeared to be a thumbprint pressed down until the wax had cooled.

Upon opening it, he would find a sheet of parchment every bit as dark as its envelope and these verses had been written in the same steady scrawl:

“I want,” she said, “you to bleed ‘til you’re dead,” as her fingers, they combed through his mane. “At the same time, if you died, the tears I would shed fall like raindrops on a cold window pane.” She leaned in too close, drew him in through her nose, and shut her eyes with a soul-crushing sigh. “Still, when considering you, I must weigh cons and pros; sometimes, I only wish that you’d die and stop tormenting me–I am sure you’d agree that you are made wholly of malice. And yet, I find I’d be glad to invite you for tea, though I would surely poison your chalice.” With a tiny, wicked grin, she tapped her pointed chin, and cocked her head to one side. “Be certain, dear Beast, I would–with every pin– bury violent death 'neath your bronze hide.” A breath left her lips and she tightened her grip on the hair she had wound 'round her fist. Her claws tickled his throat. “Ah, one little slip, and, great Hunter, you would cease to exist.” His skin smelled of fire and amber perspired, and she resisted the urge for a taste of the blood that she knew would only inspire more want that would leave her disgraced. “But as much as I hate you and speak just to bait you, I find comfort in your stolid presence. And though I know women would die just to mate you, I would–with these hands–cause misfeasance.” She released him and snickered, bit her hand and whickered, and stepped back to give him some room. The ground still smoldered from where they had bickered, while the sun fell, ushering in twilight gloom. Plopping down to the earth, she stifled her mirth with scaly scarf in which she hid– for across his sharp face, she found a vast death of appreciation for her every quipped bid to put the fear of ruination and eternal damnation in the chill heart that beat in his breast. But he saw, in her eyes, her pupils’ dilation that belied the desires she had confessed. “Tell the truth, little Sandcat–I can smell the foul rat whenever you do your best to lie.” He leaned against the tree at the bottom of which he sat, and he smirked. “Do you want me to die? Do you want me to choke? Do you wish to provoke me, until I cross blades with you? Do you want me to croak? These flames, who would stoke them and ensure that your stories, they grew? Do you think you could take me? Think your threats shake me?” He shook his head and then snorted, quiet. “Do as you will, little Sandcat, but you cannot break me, though I welcome you to draw near and try it.” He reached out with one hand, his skin scarred and tanned, and he caressed the black fall of her hair. “Would you mourn if I could not touch one more strand?” She flinched and avoided his stare. And in her heart churned vile desires that burned and scorched her with orange flame so sweet. Success, she had learned, could only be earned by freeing oneself of conceit. Though he ransacked her memory, made her recall century she had lived, through the mud and the fire, she clung to each image when he entered her reverie every time he outed her as a liar. Like two beasts drawn by scent, using breath to cement the bonds they tried to build up between, she folded in on herself, a bitch who’d relent and with submission, she washed herself clean. “It would be a tough fight, standing against your proud might,” she admitted, and she wrung her small hands. “But I would relish the chance to strike and to smite– you are the only one I know who understands the thrill found in clashing, in running and thrashing like a hare caught 'tween the jaws of a fox and should we break free, our teeth we’d be gnashing, we are friends most unorthodox. Where other people send cards or they hire skilled bards to present, to their friends, a gift–” A half smile crossed her lips. “Customs we disregard. Stereotypical kindness would cause a great rift. So I deliver quick blows to cause, in you, throes of agony; on the ground, you will writhe. And I share with you shows and all my best prose. Around you, I need not be blithe.” She rubbed her face with both palms and envied his calm, while she sat there, tied up in knots. He sat straight and tall, a wall of aplomb, beaming the steadiness that she always sought. “I know what you meant–know that I am content with the truth I can read in your cracks.” He stood then. “Come at me if you wish to repent, we’ll see the power you claim your fist packs.”

They faced off together, his chain and her leather, like wild animals set free from their cord. They met in bright sparks and no one knows whether 'twas her sharp wire or his razor-edged sword that won the altercation; they both faced frustration when neither seemed to come out ahead. “We are two beasts, matched, in their greedy predation,” he said. “Do you still wish me dead?” “I would take your bones, with carving knife I would hone them until their edges grew keen,” she murmured. “For your death, I could not atone. If I killed you, I would only demean myself. I will leave you so I won’t have to grieve you, a shade, I’ll make myself disappear. And I know my scarcity will only relieve you, for I am fog, making vision unclear.”

He scoffed and he smacked her, and the quick pain, it wracked her with a taste of heaven’s undeniable joy. “Foolish little Sandcat,” he growled, staring where he’d cracked her full lip, “is this some pitiful ploy? I am bulwark and tower tall, I make lesser creatures bawl– to whom might I reach out and befriend? I would gut cowardly men and wicked women maul, yet you think you have the power to rescind this bond between us, new–where agony is the glue that binds us in deep camaraderie. I should split you wide open, my blade to stab through to teach you the follies of your snobbery.”

She looked up–she moved slow as if she didn’t quite know what to do or what words she should say, and she blinked. “Are you saying you want friendship to grow, that you’d accept this uncouth, straggly stray?”

He growled, “I’m saying you are daft.” She threw her head back and laughed, and landed on her feet when released.

“Perhaps I am mad,” she agreed, “but I know my craft, and you will make a fine hero, dear Beast, when I tell the tale of how we fought in this vale, and managed to reach an accord.” her smile was impish and she watched his face pale, when she added, “You will soon be adored by all those simpering women who love a good lemon; I’ll write you sweeping them off their feet.”

“You will do no such thing,” he said, “your tongue you will dimmen, or I’ll show you the true nature of defeat.”

“And what will you do?” she scoffed as the captain withdrew, and settled himself by the fire. He shrugged. “Of course–something you’re wholly unused to, 'twill be unlike what you’ve had prior.” His smirk was malicious–oh, this elf was vicious, and he folded his hands in his lap. She squinted and sneered, her eyes so suspicious when he said, “I will start with the strap that will never again kiss your unblemished skin, nor my blade taste your scarlet blood. And I will not give in, no, not even when you prostrate yourself in the mud.” She gasped; he persisted and all that he listed made her squirm and wrinkle her hem. “Oh, don’t get it twisted, you won’t be assisted, you’ll have only yourself to condemn. No ropes or chains to bind, no knots around you twined, no lash to split open your flesh. You’ll be left alone with only your own warped mind, 'twill be your hands that have to refresh the scars that mar you. I won’t even spar you, all you’ll get from me is bland conversation. No joy in pain. Still not convinced, are you? Then seek you my eternal damnation.”

She lowered her chin, drummed her fingers on shin, and considered the threats he gave voice. And gnawing on her lip, her patience wore thin, and she grumbled, “I suppose I’ve no choice. I’ll refrain from writing about all of our fighting, but you’re a bastard; your true colours show through. And because what you’ve threatened is harsh and it’s biting, I will dream of all the ways I could kill you.”

But he knew what she left unsaid with her deft dodging of her honest feeling. And he sniggered to himself–let her bear that heft for without burden, she’d find no healing. Sat the contentious pair–and with quiet swear, she oft broke the amiable silence. And though she shot him foul looks and fierce, stony glare, they were united in a shared love of violence.