#i found a paperback copy of the outsiders at work a few weeks ago and fully annotationed it

[ybbag777]

[agapaic]

[19 days] sin city

this drabble is a gift to one of my dearest and biggest supporters, @geoviki​, who requested a bonus ‘second kiss’ continuation scene between he tian and guan shan in the ‘sweet tooth’ universe (a crazy rich asians-inspired fic), and i sincerely hope you enjoy it, viki! all my love, xxx

Guan Shan hasn’t set foot in God’s house since he was a kid. His mother goes every weekend when she doesn’t have a double shift, but he can’t bring himself to go with her. Too busy, too cynical. He knows he can’t struggle with his faith when he’s lost it; he doesn’t know if he ever found it. He knows without a doubt that he sins.

As it is, he isn’t burnt in the service, isn’t poisoned by the communion. He thinks that if anyone were to be dealt retribution then he wouldn’t be first in line. Singapore’s elite have bigger, dustier skeletons in their closets than Guan Shan, half-disintegrated with age.

He tells himself this through the readings and prayers and hymns he’s forgotten the words to, glances routinely through the stained-glass windows for a glimpse of an outside reality he can’t see. He can hear it: the rush of mid-morning traffic beyond the grassy verges of the church, neatly protected from the central business district by iron fencing and a half-acre of flower beds and rain trees.

Beneath the lip of the pew, where copies of the testaments, old and new, have been neatly placed and the firm, embroidered hassocks hang off metal hooks, He Tian squeezes Guan Shan’s hand.

‘Nearly done,’ he murmurs, while Father Joshua delivers his sermon on godliness in children and parental obedience.

Guan Shan's gaze slides to his. It’s one of the only things He Tian’s said the whole service.

‘You believe all this?’ he asks, whispering.

‘They do,’ He Tian replies, his lips barely moving.

Fans move lazily above them from the high steepled ceiling, their chains rattling over the din of the priest’s solemn tone. They don’t offer much: the inside of the church is still sticky with heat, and members of the congregation attempt to cool themselves with the service pamphlets or paperback copies of the Bible with broken spines and annotations in the margins.

From the seat in front of them, Guan Shan watches a bead of sweat slide down a woman’s neck, dampness collecting at the high laced collar of her Chanel dress. She has her own bamboo fan, painted with pretty avian sketches.

Guan Shan pulls his gaze away. ‘Which godly child are you?’ he asks He Tian quietly. ‘Absolom or Samuel?’

He Tian tries to hide a grin. ‘Destroyer of kingdoms or a monk?’ he questions, angling his head as if looking behind him. His breath is cool at Guan Shan’s ear. Guan Shan lets him lean close, breathing in sandalwood and khus oil. ‘Are those my only choices?’

Guan Shan sets his eyes forward. ‘Nothin’ else seems to be acceptable.’

‘Yes—they’re a stern lot.’

‘They should put their money where their mouth is.’

He Tian snorts quietly. He releases Guan Shan’s hand, and Guan Shan says nothing when his hand moves instead to rest innocently atop Guan Shan’s thigh.

‘He Tian…’ he starts to warn.

He Tian keeps his expression plain. ‘I told you if you came I’d make it worth your while.’

‘That’s not—’ Guan Shan bats his hand away. The gesture elicits a harsh smacking sound, and a few heads turn. Guan Shan presses his lips into a hard line. When eventually their attention shifts away again, Guan Shan hisses, ‘I’m not doin’ that.’

‘I thought you didn’t care much for His wrath,’ He Tian says, pointing discreetly upwards.

‘That’s got nothin’ to do with…’ Guan Shan breaks off. He Tian’s eyes are glittering. He’s joking with him. Guan Shan clenches his jaw. Murmuring, he says: ‘You shouldn’t mess with people like that.’

‘But you make it so much fun,’ He Tian whispers.

Guan Shan glares at him. He endures the rest of the sermon in stoic silence. Absolom, he thinks. He Tian, the destroyer of kingdoms—and young men’s hearts.

///

They linger outside after the sermon. The air is thick and charged with the aftermath of a morning thunderstorm, the ground wet with rain and the smell of petrichor. Guan Shan breathes in deeply, stepping back while He Tian greets strangers and allows middle-aged women to offer both cheeks for him to kiss, their husbands noticeably absent. They run their eyes over Guan Shan and the suit he’s going to make He Tian return by the end of the day, and He Tian politely evades their desire for introductions.

He knows everyone, Guan Shan realises, but it doesn’t surprise him. He’s seen the He family work a crowd at a party or a charity function. The lingering congregation of a Sunday mass is only another opportunity to schmooze and gossip.

‘Just another five minutes,’ He Tian murmurs at Guan Shan’s ear. ‘My father will have my hide if I don’t show my face for a decent length of time.’

‘How long’s that? By his standards?’

‘He’d have me go to brunch with someone’s mother and their daughter if he had his way.’

Guan Shan fingernails bite into his palms. The thought of He Tian being palmed off to some socialite’s offspring makes him bitter with jealousy. He’s seen He Tian only a few times since the charity function at the She estate, communicated with him mostly in veiled text messages and late night calls.

It’s been weeks since they’d shared the feeling of each other’s lips in a quiet room at the She mansion, weeks since they’d shared kueh with their legs dangling over the edge of a jetty across from Sentosa island. Most nights, Guan Shan still tastes both on his lips.

He’s got little stake to claim over the young heir of the He fortune, but he can’t help himself. He goes where He Tian asks him to, wears the suits He Tian buys him. Fuck, he’s started smoking his brand of cigarettes, too. And if He Tian wants to take him to church one Sunday morning so he has better company than a band of middle-aged women wanting him for themselves more than their daughters… Who is Guan Shan to say no after the first three times?

‘What are you thinking?’

Guan Shan blinks. Another church-goer has come and gone, and they’re alone. He Tian is watching him closely.

‘I want a cigarette,’ Guan Shan says. Technically, it’s not a lie.

He Tian snorts. ‘In the courtyard of our Lady of the Veil? Blasphemy, Mo Guan Shan.’

Guan Shan shrugs. He remembers their exchange at the threshold of the church, where two children no more than ten stood with a coin bowl held out, covered in pool-table green cloth and more cash than Guan Shan earns from a month’s tips.

‘I’m not a Catholic,’ he’d told He Tian, feeling strangely compelled to tell him with an even stranger degree of anxiety about the fact, as if it were a make-or-break moment for something they had that could neither be made nor broken.

He Tian had snorted then, too. ‘Don’t worry,’ he’d said, stepping through the doors, palming the children a few bills to line their pockets. ‘Neither am I.’

Now, Guan Shan watches as He Tian reaches into the lining of his suit jacket and pulls out a carton of cigarettes from the pocket. It’s too warm to stand outside in their Sunday best for long, and He Tian tugs Guan Shan over beneath the shade of an Indian-almond tree, its boughs offering some cool relief to a small section of the church courtyard.

Guan Shan watches He Tian light a cigarette between his lips, the flame close to his fingers. It catches; there’s a cherry red glow. Smoke blooms between them, and then He Tian plucks the cigarette from his lips and holds it out as if it’s a newly picked flower.

‘Here,’ he says. A moment passes, where Guan Shan doesn’t take it. ‘I thought you wanted it.’

‘I do, I just—’ Guan Shan can feel his cheeks starting to redden. He swallows. His throat has gone dry. He can hear the voices of men and women standing before the church. He knows some of them are watching, wondering, eager to know who his family is and where he’s come from and how he has captured He Tian’s attention with such painful, singular attentiveness.

‘You’re not—’ He Tian breaks off with a laugh. ‘You’re not worried that I’ve touched it, are you?’

Guan Shan looks away, and He Tian’s eyes widen.

‘Oh,’ he says. His smile grows wider. ‘Mo Guan Shan,’ he croons. ‘I didn’t know you were such a puritan. How proud He’d be.’

‘Shut up,’ Guan Shan mutters.

He Tian’s stance shifts, intrigued. ‘If I’d known it took an indirect kiss to make you blush, Man Upstairs be damned, I’d have put my mouth elsewhere a long time ago.’

‘Shut up.’

He Tian’s laughter is deep as he takes a drag of his cigarette. Some of the women are frowning at him. The hot breeze carries the smoke in their direction, and they waft it away with their fans and paper service pamphlets, rouged mouths pursing tightly. He smiles at them, all affable apologies, and they can’t begrudge him long.

‘They want you to fuck them,’ Guan Shan mutters.

He Tian’s eyes flick to his, and his smile grows indulgent. ‘I know,’ he says.

‘You’re not gonna do anythin’ about it?’

‘Like what?’

Guan Shan grits his teeth. ‘Like—tell them to fuck off?’

He Tian snorts. ‘They’re old friends of the family. And you forget they haven’t made me an offer, sweetheart.’

‘And if they did?’

He Tian considers him carefully. His playfulness begins to fade. ‘You’re jealous,’ he says. ‘Of them?’

‘They’d divorce their investment husbands if they knew they had a chance with you.’

He Tian taps cigarette ash to the ground. He looks away, squinting at the skyline, considering something, before taking a step forward.

‘Firstly,’ says He Tian, his voice low, ‘if they had a chance with me they’d know it. Secondly, there’d be no divorce or marriage to a man twenty years their junior because their reputations wouldn’t survive the scandal. And thirdly: what the fuck would I want with them when I have the prospect of a whole indirect kiss with you?’

Guan Shan glares at him. ‘Gimme that,’ he says, snatching the cigarette from He Tian’s fingers before putting it to his lips. He nearly chokes on the inhale, eyes watering, and smoke seeps from the corners of his mouth before he can control it the way he wants it to. There’s nothing attractive about it, but he catches He Tian watching him with an indulgent smile.

‘It’s been five minutes,’ He Tian says, taking a glance at his watch. ‘We can go now. I promised to buy you brunch. You’re still happy with Orchard Road?’

‘I’m not finished,’ Guan Shan says.

He Tian’s brows lift. ‘You can’t smoke and walk?’

‘I didn’t mean that.’

He Tian tilts his head. ‘Oh?’

‘I meant—it’s not really fair, is it? It’s always—always you kissin’ me, and shit.’

‘Always?’

‘Yeah, with the—distractin’ the guards at She Li’s house and with—’ He makes a vague gesture. ‘—the cigarette and—’

‘Guan Shan—’

‘—it’s only fair that I get to prove my own fuckin’ point too—’

‘Mo Guan Shan—’

‘So will you just shut up and let me kiss you?’

He Tian stares at him.

Then he swallows.

‘If you really want to,’ he starts, ‘I suppose I’m in no position to—mmphh!’

It isn’t tender or soft, and Guan Shan is vaguely aware of the cigarette burning to ash between his fingers. He lets it fall, hopes he’s ground it out beneath his foot properly and remembers to pick it up after or risk a fine, but first: this. His fingers tightly locked in the dark strands of He Tian’s hair; He Tian’s lips bruising against his own, the sharp gasps of the women loitering by the church doors.

It’s exactly as he remembers from last time. A crushing pressure, the sense of being caught unawares. No finesse. Guan Shan knows it could be slower, that they could take their time, a pilgrimage of vulnerability and one body learning another, but something possessive in him has taken over—this is a crusade.

He Tian’s answering kiss twists into a grin against Guan Shan’s mouth. Guan Shan swallows He Tian’s amusement down, finds the feel of He Tian’s smile against his lips unfairly alluring. He does his best to try and rid He Tian of it, crowding close until He Tian’s back hits the trunk of the almond tree and He Tian is groaning beneath the pressure of his lips. He tastes the acrid smoke of their shared cigarette and He Tian’s breath mints, feels the humid beat of the mid-morning sun—and He Tian’s hand pressing gently at his chest.

He pulls away, staggering and breathing hard. With satisfaction, he notes that He Tian is, too.

‘I think we’re even now,’ says He Tian, a slight rasp to his voice. His eyes are bright and he runs his thumbnail over his lower lip, which has gone swollen and red. ‘You’ve suitably convinced your audience.’

Guan Shan looks away. ‘Dunno what you’re talkin’ about.’

‘Oh?’ He Tian asks, amused. ‘That wasn’t you staking your claim?’

Guan Shan hesitates. Part of him can’t bear to look behind him. ‘Are you gonna be excommunicated?’

He Tian chuckles. ‘I’m sure I can find my way back in. Father Joshua is particularly fond of He Cheng’s hideously curvaceous Bugatti.’

‘Guess that’s somethin’,’ Guan Shan mutters.

In answer, He Tian sweeps a hand through the loose strands of Guan Shan’s red hair that have slipped down across his forehead. The touch is fond and familiar and makes Guan Shan swallow hard.

‘You know,’ says He Tian. ‘You can do that any time you want. Not just to prove a point.’

‘You haven’t,’ says Guan Shan, an accusation.

‘I didn’t want to scare you off. I realise last time I was a bit—’

‘Forceful?’

‘Abrupt,’ He Tian corrects delicately. ‘But still—I don’t want you to think you’re any less mine.’

Guan Shan looks at him. ‘Thought you couldn’t have anythin’ you wanted.’

‘Ah…’ He Tian drops his hand, leans back on the heels of his Louis Vitto’s. Almost boyishly, he says, ‘I thought it was a done deal. You and me.’

Guan Shan neither confirms or denies. Instead he asks, ‘Who’d you trade with to get that impression?’

He Tian nods his head upwards. ‘Did it work? I sold my soul for it. ’

‘And they still let you in?’

He Tian’s look is sinful. ‘They let the worst of us through.’

Guan Shan rolls his eyes. He wets his lips. ‘Well,’ he says. ‘I think you’re on a decent road to redemption.’

‘Is that your way of saying it was a worthwhile bargain?’ Tell me it worked.

‘Is that your way of askin’ if I’m yours?’ Guan Shan asks. All these riddles and metaphors—sometimes he has to bring them back to the ground, make sure they’re on the same page.

‘I—Yes.’

Guan Shan nods, then jerks his chin in a challenge. ‘Make me believe it and I might be.’

He Tian’s eyes flicker towards the church just for a moment, but then he smirks, reaffirming their closeness with one step. ‘Mo Guan Shan,’ he murmurs, angling his head down, ‘I thought you’d never ask.’

[kmalexander]

The 2020 Cosmic Horror Holiday Gift Guide

The phrase “Black Friday” has a more menacing tone in 2020—especially here in the United States. Hopefully, you’re following the advice of the experts, staying home, laying low, wearing masks, and washing your hands. But a pandemic shouldn’t stop gift giving! So, once again, I took some time and assembled my List of Lists for 2020. In it, you’ll find a plethora of paraphernalia for the weird-fiction fanatic, cosmic-horror connoisseur, or mythos maniac in your life. As with previous years, I’ve worked to assemble a list of exceptional items for all ages and budgets.

There’s a few changes this year. First, I’m now linking to IndieBound for all books. Please do what you can to support your local bookshops and small businesses. Odds are they can get you anything Amazon can, and it’ll help out your community. Secondly, where possible, I’m also linking to the author’s personal webpages. Check them out. Follow them. It’s a nice way to stay current with what’s happening in the world of weird fiction. Please remember, while I’ve ordered these by price, the prices and availability are subject to change. I don’t have any control over that. Happy shopping!

 QUICK LINKS 

• Books • Music • Apparel • Games • • Housewares • Miskatonic •

Books

Mother Hydra’s Mythos Rhymes by Jarred W. Wallace $9.95 + Shipping (Paperback)

This mock children’s book features twenty-one sinister nursery rhymes twisted with a Cthulhu Mythos bent and illustrated by the incredible Heather Hudson. Also included is a complete Edward Gorey-style alphabet. Every budding cultist should learn their ABCs after all.

The Worm And His Kings by Hailey Piper $13.00 + Shipping (Paperback) $6.99 (eBook)

This arrived only a few weeks ago, and I can’t wait to dive in. Set in New York City in 1990, the story follows Monique as she hunts for her missing girlfriend. But the trail goes much deeper than she realizes, sending Monique into a subterranean world of enigmatic cultists and shadowy creatures.

The Stars Were Right by K. M. Alexander $14.00 + Shipping (Paperback) $2.99 (eBook)

I’m nearly finished with Book Four’s edits. So, if you haven’t, now is the perfect time to start reading my Bell Forging Cycle. Follow Waldo Bell as he is sent careening through the multi-level megalopolis of Lovat, fighting to clear his name as a bloodthirsty killer stalks him. It’s mystery and monsters, chases and cults, and an ancient evil in a world that is similar but not quite like our own.

RADIO by J. Rushing $15.99 + Shipping (Paperback) $3.99 (eBook)

A jazz-infused, opium-soaked, historical fantasy with a transgressive edge that explodes from the opening chapter and never relents until its final pages—a welcome addition to modern fantasy literature and weird enough that it earned a place on this list.

Murder Ballads And Other Horrific Tales by John Hornor Jacobs $16.95 + Shipping (Paperback) $7.95 (eBook)

Seems like it’s becoming a tradition to see a new book from John Hornor Jacobs on this list every year, and it’s no surprise. He’s arguably one of the best mythos writers working today. This collection of recent horror and crime short stories takes you through tales involving old gods to malevolent artificial intelligences, plus it includes the sequel to his 2011 novel, Southern Gods.

The Cipher by Kathe Koja $17.95 + Shipping (Paperback) $3.99 (eBook)

Part haunted house story, part body horror, part descent-into-madness tale all told in the style of Transgressive Literature. The Cipher is one of those stories I was shocked I hadn’t read until this year. Koja writes stunningly physical characters and knotted complex relationships that feel eerily familiar to anyone who’s spent time in artist circles. Enjoy the Fun Hole. (One of my 2020 Three Great Horror Reads for Halloween.)

The Only Good Indians by Stephen Graham Jones $26.99 + Shipping (Hardcover) $9.99 (eBook)

At its heart, this is a horror novel about growing up poor and native in western Montana. But The Only Good Indians also a novel about revenge, mistakes, and their extended consequences. I blew through it. I grew up not too far from where this novel is set, and I have yet to find a recent author that captures the behavior and actions of the people in that area quite as well as Jones. You’ll never look at elk the same way again. (One of my 2020 Three Great Horror Reads for Halloween.)

The City We Became by N. K. Jemisin $28.00 + Shipping (Hardcover) $14.99 (eBook)

The first of the Great Cities series focuses on a roiling, ancient evil that stirs beneath the streets of New York City and threatens to destroy the city. New York must go on, and it will take five protectors scattered across the boroughs coming together to stop it. An allegorical response to Lovecraft’s work and a love letter to the city.

The Dark Brotherhood and Other Pieces by H.P. Lovecraft $650.00 + Shipping (One Copy Available—Sold via AbeBooks)

This rare late-60s first edition copy from Arkham House is in fine condition with a fine dustwrapper. It also comes with an inscription by the publisher and editor of this work: “for Herb Arnold from the compiler – August Derleth.” An extremely unique find and a unique piece of weird fiction history.

No book catches your interest? Check out the books featured in one of the previous guides. • 2014 Books • 2015 Books • 2016 Books • 2017 Books • 2018 Books • 2019 Books •

Music & Audio

Tribute To H.P. Lovecraft by Epsilon Eridani Free (Digital Download)

This atmospheric and somber dark ambient album is the third project from Mexican electronic artist Juan Pablo Valle. Blending instrumental tracks, spoken words performances, and recitations of parts of Lovecraft’s stories, this tribute serves as an excellent horror soundtrack.

The Yellow Sign $6.99 (Digital Download)

While Lovecraftian music often skews towards dark ambient or metal performances, The Yellow Sign goes takes a more orchestral approach. Composer Graham Plowman has created a fantastic classical soundtrack putting this album on par with any feature film—brooding, menacing, and wonderfully enjoyable.

Beyond Madness by Aklo $9.00 (Digital Download)

Erich Zann would be jealous. Aklo, like its madness-inducing namesake, is hard to pin down. But this album captures “the beyond” in ways not often heard in modern music. Part noise, part experimental, Beyond Madness is an excellent addition to any Lovecraft fan’s collection.

Live from Stockholm by Ogham Waite $12.00 (Digital Download)

Ogham Waite, one of Innsmouth’s Deep One inhabitants, and the Amphibian Jazz Band are the mythos’ answer to the lounge stylings of early Tom Waits. Bluesy and moody, this seductively smokey album drips with saltwater. Waite’s performance and delivery are melodious as they are melodic, a great addition to mythos music.

Ambrose Bierce’s The Boarded Window $20.00 + Shipping (Vinyl)

This limited vinyl pressing of Bierce’s unsettling perspective-shifting tale is read by Anthony D. P. Mann and scored by Chris Bozzone. Cadabra Records always goes the extra mile with their products, and it’s clear from the hand-poured red and white splattered vinyl to the incredible art by Jeremy Hush.

Deities by Tortuga €22.50 ($26.68) + Shipping (Vinyl) €5.00 ($5.93) (Digital Download)

This one showed up randomly on a playlist, and I found myself intrigued. Once I listened to it, I became a fan. Tortuga is a Polish doom metal band whose work is loaded down with intricate and heavy driving riffs inspired by Lovecraft’s writings. It’s good stuff.

Not finding any music or audio that interests you? Check out one of the previous guides. • 2014 Music • 2015 Music • 2016 Music • 2017 Music • 2018 Music • 2019 Music •

Apparel

Tiki Cthulhu Embroidered Patch $9.00 + Shipping

I see many patches as I search for new cosmic horror gear throughout the year, and occasionally I find one that rises to the top. This sew-on tiki-styled Ctuhulu is 3″ x 2.5″ and was created for the 2018 H. P. Lovecraft Film Festival. If you want a mythos inspired adornment for your bag or jacket that’s a bit outside the norm, look no further.

Cthulhu Socks $18.00 + Shipping

It’s winter in the northern hemisphere, that means you need to keep your appendages warm. Also, socks-for-Christmas is a right of passage. Why not consider getting these Cthulhu Socks from PutYourSocksOn featuring tentacles up the side and an illustration of the dead and dreaming Cthulhu on the ankle.

Sourpuss Tropicthulhu Rosie Dress $29.00 + Shipping

When you are associated with the ocean, you generally get associated with the tropics regardless of where your sunken city dwells. This 40’s style Rosie Dress allows you to show your appreciation of R’lyeh’s favorite son in a subtle but delightful manner.

Amulet of Azathoth £23.95 ($34.42) + Shipping

It’s the grandpappy of the mythos deities in amulet form! Well, kinda. A representation of the nuclear chaos beyond angled space himself. This antique amulet is a little over an inch and a half long and is cold cast in a mixture of resin and brass—a stunning little pendant.

Mother & Father Statuary Set $85.00 + Free Shipping

These handmade and hand-painted resin figures of Dagon and Hydra would work perfectly as bookends or garden statues. Aged in a way to evoke feelings of lost treasure salvaged from the seafloor or perhaps a dank and forgotten chamber somewhere beneath Innsmouth. Kinda cute to boot.

Cara Mater Silvae Shub-Niggurath Woodcut Print $187.50 + Free Shipping (Limited Edition)

Liv Rainey-Smith’s fantastic woodcut work has long been a fixture in the weird lit community. This limited-edition print is done in the style of a sacred icon and features a great rendition of Shub-Niggurath, The Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young, or as my readers will know her, “Cybill.”

Keeper of the Nightmare Mask $331.53 + Free Shipping (Made to Order)

Plague doctors always cut a fearsome figure in humanity’s historical memory, but what lies beneath that leather mask and shielded eyes? This custom made-to-order mask twists tentacles to form that familiar (and terrifying) plague-doctor shape adding an extra level of menace to an already menacing form.

Not finding apparel you like? Check out the apparel on one of the previous guides. • 2014 Apparel • 2015 Apparel • 2016 Apparel • 2017 Apparel • 2018 Apparel • 2019 Apparel •

Games

No Players Online Name Your Own Price (Windows/Linux)

What starts as a simple old demo of a capture-the-flag 3D shooter found on a discarded tape eventually twists and turns becoming something else entirely. I’m a sucker for the 80s glitch aesthetic, and it’s used here in masterfully unsettling ways—multiple endings, interesting game world, very much worth your time.

Kadath $5.99 (Digital Download, Early Access)

This first chapter of a first-person cosmic-horror adventure has you following the case of a World War II Nazi train that vanished only to reappear in a cave in the Himalayas 75 years later. Dripping with atmosphere and filled with brilliant puzzles, this first chapter left me excited for Kadath and wanting more.

Fate of Cthulhu $20.00 (Downloadable PDF) $35.00 + Shipping (Book + PDF)

In this tabletop roleplaying game from Fred Hicks and Evil Hat Productions, you and your friends will find yourself sent into the past on a mission to prevent the future. It’s a race against time as you try to stop the stars from being right and prevent Cthulhu’s foretold return, all before you and yours are transformed into something monstrous.

Elder Sign Dice – Blue Aether $24.99 + Shipping

Infinite Black has been making some wonderful cosmic-horror-themed gaming products for a few years. They’ve finally gotten easy enough to nab for holiday gifts. These Blue Aether Elder Sign Dice stood out to me, but they have a robust catalog making it easy to find the right gift for the dicing Lovecraft fan in your life. (Or yourself.)

Fate of the Elder Gods $63.99 + Shipping

Cults battle cults in this race to summon your ancient order’s elder god of choice! But it’s not just the other conniving worshippers and cult leaders you need to worry about, crafty investigators are on the prowl, and they’re working to subvert everyone’s goals as well. Hasten the earth’s doom in this competitive area-control game for two to four players.

Hastur $274.99 + Shipping (Two Shipments)

I’m a big fan of the Mysterious Package Company, the quality of their products always impresses. This latest journey into the realm of Hastur is no exception. Taking place over several mailings, Hastur invites the recipient into the world of the King in Yellow, the play with the same name, and the utter madness that dwells within those words.

Not finding a game you’d enjoy? Check out the games on one of the previous guides. • 2014 Games • 2015 Games • 2016 Games • 2017 Games • 2018 Games • 2019 Games •

Housewares & Collectables

Cedric’s Eatery 11oz. Mug $16.00 + Shipping

It’s cold out, and you need a new mug. Why not pick one up from Lovat’s own Cedric’s Eatery located in the entresol between Levels Three and Four. An in-between place for in-between folks. Waldo Bell’s latest hangout. Fill your mug with 11 oz. of bad coffee, your favorite tea, or something stronger. [From the pages of the Bell Forging Cycle.]

Cthulhu Clay Idol & Letter $29.80 + Free Shipping

Alternative takes on the Cthulhu idol are rare. More often than not, we see the same shape repeated over and over. Because of that, this rawer, more original piece stood out to me. It feels more realistic in many ways, reminding me of the sort of thing one would find on an archeological dig. Plus, with the attached letter, you get a little mini-experience here.

Sea Monster Shower Curtain $32.00 + Shipping

There be dragons. And there. And there. And… well, all over the place! If you love weird old sea monsters and old maps, then this curtain will be perfect for you. Decorate your shower with this fantastic curtain featuring beasts that look lifted from early Renaissance maps. 70″ x 72″. Liner recommended.

Cthulhu Lovecraft Blanket $59.99 + Shipping

As cooler air moves into the northern hemisphere, we can all celebrate the arrival of the cozy season. To stay warm, why not cuddle up beneath this cotton and acrylic Jacquard Knit blanket featuring the squatting visage of The Great Dreamer himself? He might be cold but you don’t have to be.

Anxious Blob Original Sculpture $325.00 + Shipping (Supplies are limited.)

This weird little one-off sculpture of a nervous little entity is made with polymer clay and hand-painted. The eye sits beneath a glass dome giving this piece a unique character. Who among us hasn’t wanted an anxious blob with hundreds of teeth and a single staring eye decorating our walls?

Not finding a houseware item you like? Check out the housewares from one of the previous guides. • 2016 Housewares • 2017 Housewares • 2018 Housewares • 2019 Housewares •

Miskatonic University

Miskatonic University Pennant $15.99 + Shipping

I love seeing all the different takes for Miskatonic University collegiate gear. Here you can show your support for “Ole Misk” with a felt pennant from H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society and cheer on the “mighty Miskatonic Myrmidons” to another victory. Wave that banner proudly!

Miskatonic University Real Leather Notebook $41.40 + Shipping

Journaler? Artist? Writer? Mathematician? Norwegian sea captain? Random idea generator? If you’re one of these, odds are you need a notebook. This 8″x6″ Miskatonic-themed journal features 100 sheets of thick handmade Khadda paper and is durable enough for the dig site while still being elegant enough for the classroom.

Miskatonic University Wax Seal $48.07 + Shipping

Secure your correspondence with old friends from bygones eras who seek answers using this classic and exquisite seal. It might not stop prying eyes, but at least your old colleagues will know if someone’s been tampering with their mail. (Wax sold separately.)

Miskatonic University Hockey Sweater $109.00 + Shipping (Supplies are limited.)

Every sports fan needs a jersey. Miskatonic students are no different. It’s why when I came across this Hockey Sweater from Geeky Jerseys I knew it’d be perfect for the cosmic horror student in your life. (While this one is great, I’m hoping the superior Miskatonic 2.0 sweater becomes available once again.)

Not finding any Miskatonic University gear you like? Check out the Miskatonic University items from one of the previous guides. • 2014 Miskatonic • 2015 Miskatonic • 2016 Miskatonic • 2017 Miskatonic • • 2018 Miskatonic • 2019 Miskatonic •

  Merry Christmas & Happy Holidays!

So that wraps up the seventh annual List of Lists. Let’s all keep wearing our masks, socially distancing, and washing our hands so we can all do this again next year. Big thank you to everyone who has suggested items in the past to help me pad out this list. Y’all rule. If I didn’t get to your submission, fret not. There are many more holidays ahead. I appreciate the help.

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[harryandmolly]

The Emancipation of Ginny ~ 9

summary: shawn and ginny could’ve ruined everything six months ago, and sticking together despite their past could make or break them now as ginny stays on as his personal assistant. but what happens on tour doesn’t stay on tour.

warnings: Language, easter eggs, The Bodyguard soundtrack

WC: 5.8k

Ginny stands, lips pursed, outside the door. After a moment and a little huff of breath, she jabs her elbow into Andrew’s side. He flinches and grunts, pushing his glasses up his nose. He looks over at her, exhaustion reaching into the fine lines of his face.

“You go in,” Ginny insists, raising her eyebrows.

Andrew frowns. “You go in. You’re his assistant.”

“You’re his manager,” Ginny shoots back.

“Exactly. Managers don’t go fishing popstars out of their girlfriends’ apartments. That has assistant written all over it.”

Ginny balks. “Where was that in my contract?”

Andrew opens his mouth to make another snarky comment when the door swings in, creaking on overpainted hinges. They both fall silent. Shawn stands just inside, blank faced and a little frazzled. When he got all their texts about waiting for him downstairs, he didn’t think they were actually impatient enough to be waiting on Sara’s stoop. But there they are, looking irritable, sleepy and a little guilty. He cracks a sheepish smile.

“Sorry, guys.” He reaches up and smoothes the collar of his button-up. He looks to Ginny. Her eyes are bright and warm despite the early hour. He smiles when he sees them.

She smiles back. “You have lipstick on your ear.”

She turns on her heel and bounces down the steps. She doesn’t look back when she opens the door to the cab and gets in. Andrew claps him on the shoulder with a grating sigh.

“Time to go.”

+

Shawn and Ginny have made a sport of surviving long flights. They’re both talkers, which helps. They can talk for hours and not get bored of each other. But more than that, they’re experienced flyers. They know exactly how much Benadryl to take at the exact right time to be knocked out for as long as an overnight flight will last. They know exactly how many Netflix episodes of a certain show to download before they’ll get bored of the same thing and move on. They’re professionals at entertaining each other and themselves.

Shawn doesn’t know what to expect when he buckles into his first class seat next to her on the flight from JFK to LAX. He just ostensibly spent most of their whirlwind festival weekend in Manhattan shacked up with Sara. He practically has whiplash. He imagines Ginny might feel the same.

He glances over at her. She’s got her head buried in her backpack at her feet, looking for something. He drums his fingers on his knees, waiting for her to resurface. When she doesn’t, he clears his throat.

“Lost something?” he prompts.

Ginny sits up and blows some curls out of her face. She grunts.

“Can’t find my book. Must’ve put it in my checked bag.”

She sounds flummoxed, and he would be too if he didn’t already know exactly where The Book is.

The Book is 13 Little Blue Envelopes by Maureen Johnson. It’s Ginny’s favorite. She keeps a paperback copy with her in every carry-on on every flight she’s ever taken. Shawn knows it almost as well as she does from when she used to read it to help him fall asleep.

Shawn grins, happy to feel useful. He shoves his hand into the bag at his feet and pulls out the well-worn, dogeared, cracked-spined paperback. He puts it in her hands.

“You left it in the snack bag we took to soundcheck in the park. I put it in my backpack before we left.”

Ginny sighs, relieved. She smiles and snuggles back into her seat, hugging the book to her chest.

“Dunno what I’d do if I ever lost it.”

Shawn nods in understanding. “It’s your good luck charm. The plane would probably crash or something.”

Ginny looks startled at the idea. Shawn snorts a chuckle. The sound makes Ginny laugh. They both snicker until a flight attendant passes to check their seat positions. The plane begins to taxi.

Ginny gazes out the window. Her heart feels a little lighter in her chest when the plane ascends through the clouds. She’s never much liked New York. Leaving now, exchanging overcast, seeping humidity for browning palm fronds in the dry, California sun feels like what the doctor ordered.

She flips open the book to her ironically-chosen faded Twilight bookmark. She clears her throat and chuckles at the passage in front of her.

“I get a little romantic about the old Empire State. Just looking at it makes me want to play some Frank Sinatra tunes and sway a little. I have a crush on a building. I'd been in there several times but never to work. I always knew there were offices in there but the fact never penetrated, really. You don't work in the Empire State Building. You propose in the Empire State Building. You sneak a flask up there and raise a toast to the whole city of New York.”

Shawn sits back and listens to Ginny read. He lifts a corner of his mouth sleepily when she finishes.

“You hate New York.”

Ginny shrugs. “I don’t hate New York. I think New York is a sad attempt at what London has already perfected. I don’t know why they try.”

Shawn laughs. “You’ll be home again soon during the time off next week. You can drink tea and eat biscuits and sit in the rain all you want. You don’t have to think about New York again for a while.”

Ginny’s smile is wistful. She’ll be happy not to think about New York or anyone in it for a while.

Shawn catnaps with curls over his eyes and his face turned toward her for about an hour. When he wakes up, Ginny’s rereading the part where her fictional counterpart Ginny falls asleep and wakes up disoriented in Richard’s flat. It’s not a particularly loaded or meaningful section of the novel, but Ginny found herself seeking it out anyway. She finds solace in reading about someone who’s surrounded by love and family but remains confused and somehow unfulfilled.

She logs into the United Airlines WiFi and checks her posting on YouTube. She has a few new comments -- some trolls, some complimentary. She plugs in her headphones and watches it again. When it ends, she watches it again.

She’s chewing her cheek and staring at her phone when Shawn’s eyes flutter open. He smiles at the sight of her and her focused face.

“Whatcha lookin’ at, Gin?”

He has raspy morning voice. Ginny looks over. Her nose wiggles, shivering her septum ring with it.

“Just browsing,” she lies smoothly. Shawn nods and sits up in his seat. He picks up the bag of pretzels resting on his tray table and drops it on hers.

“Oh god, thank you,” she mutters, opening the bag ravenously like she’s been waiting all day to eat his pretzels. He closes his eyes.

“Can I ask you something?”

His eyes open. His heart begins to race for no real reason other than that he knows her and knows she doesn’t preface questions very often. Ginny always just asks.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think everything happens for a reason?”

Shawn’s quiet. He aims his gaze down at his lap and swipes his tongue over his front teeth.

“I guess I want to think that,” he answers finally.

He braves a glance at her. She’s looking out the window.

“Me too,” she whispers, “Sometimes I just want to know what the fucking plan is though.”

Shawn is somewhat startled by her sudden philosophical detour. He clears his throat. His hand twitches at his side.

He could sit here and guess what she could mean -- is she thinking about him? Is she thinking about her music? Is she thinking about just… everything?

He decides since she’s not wading further into the conversation, it’s not for him to know right now.

He garbles out an unsatisfactory ‘I know what you mean’ and tries not to watch her as she falls asleep. As she drifts off, he holds her book in his big hands and whispers the words until her breathing evens.

+

Ginny’s never been more grateful for so much noise.

Piled in a blacked-out Escalade on the way to some bar in Silver Lake, smashed between her fellow crew mates, the noise in the car is finally enough to block out the noise in her head that’s been raging for weeks. She’s a few swigs of whiskey in, courtesy of the flask in Ziggy’s jacket. The lightness of her head and the hollowness of her body give her a floating sensation so delicious that she hasn’t noticed Shawn spending most of the evening quiet and texting Sara.

She’s gotten good at not noticing anything that has to do with Sara, including Shawn’s repeated pleas to Andrew to find another weekend to get back to New York.

The liquor helps.

The music cuts out suddenly. Ginny’s bleary eyes focus past Mike’s head to Andrew in the front seat. His finger hovers over the stereo system and his other hand holds his phone to his ear. The car goes respectfully quiet until Andrew hangs up. He looks back at their expectant faces.

“There’s a ton of paps outside. Jake’s gonna get out first, let venue security know, get us some help.”

Ginny pieces together the fact that Jake is in the car ahead of them, Shawn’s car, the one stopped in front of the bar. She can see the way the paps swarm the vehicle like vultures. She makes a face. Mike laughs and elbows her. She elbows back.

After the first car empties, they pull up to replace it. Ginny’s relaxed heartbeat stirs up a little faster. The doors are thrown open. The clicks of the cameras, the flashes reverberating around them, the shouts of the photographers, they replace the comforting noise Ginny was basking in moments ago. They set her teeth on edge.

One by one, the occupants of the car filter out onto the sidewalk, engulfed in paparazzi that are not well controlled by the flimsy venue security team. Ginny comes out last. She focuses on the back of Mike’s head until her vision is obscured by the kaleidoscoping shapes the flashes leave behind in her eyes.

She winces and pulls back. She stands there, head down, trying to ignore the rising wave of tension lapping at her hips. She wants to crawl back inside the car. She wants to go home.

She attempts to lift her head and look around. She’s unstable on her feet and falters, knocking into a photographer who knocks her back. Ginny grunts, stumbling, grabbing the car to keep from tipping off the curb. Her heel slips. She’s heading for a fall that probably wouldn’t really hurt anything more than her pride. But she doesn’t fall.

A long, firm arm sweeps around her waist and hauls her upright against a similarly built chest. She swallows and locks up her throat to scream until she catches a whiff of his cologne. She releases her rasping breath all at once, a relieved sigh. She drapes an arm up around his neck and lets him help her off the side of the car.

“Can you guys please, please move?” Shawn all but barks. Even when he’s pissed, which she can hear he clearly is, he’s polite.

With the help of Jake, Shawn keeps his arm fastened around Ginny, leading her inside amidst the even louder screams because oh my god, he’s holding a girl, these photos are gonna sell big.

His fingers dig into her flesh so firmly she’s sure she’ll wake up with bruises. He’s practically dragging her because her body’s not exactly cooperative right now. In the back of her mind, she wonders exactly how pissed Jake will be that the venue was so ill-prepared.

She focuses on Shawn’s voice once they’re through the door.

“Gin?”

It’s clear and anxious and panted at her through her hair. She lifts her head and turns to look at him. His eyes are wide. His lips are parted with heavy breaths. His gaze flickers between her eyes and her lips. She locks her jaw and closes her eyes until she can convince herself not to kiss him. It takes a good few seconds.

“I’m ok,” she finally spits out. She drops her arm from around his neck. She steps back.

“I’m sorry.”

Shawn shakes his head. “No, don’t-- I mean… there’s nothing to be sorry for. I’m sorry. I’m sorry this is so fucking crazy.”

Ginny looks around. The team is gathered, watching them carefully like middle schoolers gathering around playground drama. She feels heat rise to her face and smoothes her sweaty palms down the front of her jeans. Andrew and Jake are having very stern words with who she guesses are the venue managers. Andrew’s eyes dart to hers every few seconds like he thinks she’ll collapse in Shawn’s arms at any moment.

She clears her throat. She’s not that fragile.

“Thanks for the assist, Prince Charming,” she laughs a little shakily, patting his arm in a way that’s a little too friendly, a little too casual. She turns to join Mike and Zubin as they wade into the crowded see-and-be-seen-style bar.

“No problem,” Shawn murmurs a little self-consciously, shoving his hands in his pockets and following.

+

The good noise is back and Ginny loves it.

Good noise, like Zubin and Mike chanting “shots! Shots! Shots!” every time they see a server pass with a tray of them. Good noise, like Shawn attempting to sing badly along to a very weird but hilarious remix of “Stronger” by Christina Aguilera (he still sounded great). Good noise, like Teddy Geiger screaming “HEY GINNY BABY” right in her ear.

Ginny leaps out of her seat despite having had a couple more drinks since they arrived. Ginny loves her team, even kind of likes feeling like the rose amongst the thorns being a woman amongst all the many men, but Teddy’s squeal in her hair feels like a life preserver when she didn’t even realize she was in deep water.

Teddy insists she needs a drink and hauls Ginny off to the bar. Even with her head in the clouds, Ginny knows what Teddy wants.

They lean into a corner beside the counter, propped up against the wall with their drinks. Teddy eyes her suspiciously.

“So,” she begins, “What do we think of Sara?”

Ginny turns her nose up delicately. “I haven’t met her.”

Teddy smirks. “I bet he hasn’t said a single fuckin’ word to you.”

Ginny laughs. Teddy might know Shawn almost as well as she does. She’s not threatened by it. In fact, it’s handy. Sometimes she needs similar perspective when she can’t trust her own judgment.

“I guess I’ll know it’s really serious when he starts talking to me about her. I don’t think he’ll say anything until he knows she’s not going anywhere,” Ginny muses, glancing off into space.

Teddy pokes Ginny in the chin and makes a pouty face. “And if that’s what happens?”

Ginny’s lips come together from the corners the way they do when she has a secret. Teddy grins conspiratorially.

“You know I love Shawn,” Ginny begins diplomatically.

“But,” Teddy interjects, lifting her eyebrows.

“But, I can’t trail around behind him forcing him to spit out his gum and making sure his laundry gets done forever. He’s my best friend. He won’t stay my best friend if I don’t grow just like he gets to.”

Teddy nods solemnly. Wise, impressive words, given how toasted she is.

Teddy reaches out, squeezes her arm with a wink. “You need any help with that, you call me. Women helping women, and all that.”

Ginny nods and watches Teddy cast off across the bar back to Emily and her friends.

And two hours later, Shawn is pouring her into the backseat of a hired car, praying she doesn’t yack up.

“C’mon, Gin, you’re not allowed to take that with you,” Shawn insists, trying to loosen her empty tumbler from her nimble fingers. She’s giggling madly and squirming away from him.

Shawn’s never seen her like this. She’s always the mom drunk, ready to snap into sobriety when she needs to. This time, she’s the tricky drunk.

Finally, he does get the glass away and tucked into Andrew’s hand. Thankfully, the paps are gone. It’s late. Shawn’s long past ready to head back to the hotel, but Ginny and the rest of his team still had wilding to do. He played along, fought through his exhaustion because he’s still on New York time and has stayed on it so he can spend more time texting Sara on her schedule, but it’s past 2am and Shawn is done.

Shawn keeps an arm around Ginny’s waist as she trips into the elevator to head up the stairs. Her head is bobbing, her eyes are starting to close. Shawn groans.

“Nope, no, Gin, no. You can’t fall asleep on me in the hallway. We’re almost there, c’mon. Where’s your room key?”

Ginny blearily blinks at him. She has no idea what he’s talking about. He sighs.

He looks her over. She’s not carrying a bag. Her phone is in his pocket. She has virtually nowhere to hide a key. He bites his tongue and glances over her shoulder to see a rectangular shape pressed against one of the back pockets of her ridiculously tight jeans. He blinks quickly, grunts, and slips his fingers into the pocket to fish it out. Ginny just giggles again. He ignores his stupid, slightly tipsy body’s reaction to the sound and opens her door.

Ginny flings herself inside and drops backwards onto the bed, legs flailing, curls crashing against the pillow. Shawn grins and sets her keycard down on the dresser, hovering awkwardly.

“Wan’ watch a movie, love?” she coos half into a pillow, waving her hand toward the remote on her nightstand. He shakes his head and steps further into the room, assessing. He sees a line of small water bottles by the TV and cracks one open, walking toward the bed.

“Can you sit up for me?”

Ginny cranks herself to a seated position, supported by the headboard. She lifts her feet into his lap and takes the proffered bottle.

As she sips, he carefully unbuckles her strappy platform sandals and smiles when she wiggles her toes at him like she’s waving.

“Miss you,” she mumbles. He looks up.

Her eyes are closed. She drank about half the bottle, which is likely all he’ll get out of her. She’s sniffing gently, rubbing at her piercing, head drooping.

“I’m right here, Gin,” he whispers, squeezing around her ankle.

“No,” she sighs, sounding resigned, “Like we used to be. Used to tell me everything.”

His breath and words are stuck in his chest. He chokes on his voice.

She lifts her head, rolls it back against the headboard to look at him. Her gaze is hazy but unwavering. He feels naked, caught in it like this.

“I know you’re writing a song about me.”

He flinches.

“Wh… what?”

She shrugs. “It’s either about me or her but I think it’s about me cause you’ve been working on it since before you met her, if it’s the same one.”

Her reasoning is sound in a way that tells Shawn she didn’t just come up with this theory. Her drunk brain didn’t do this. She concocted this theory sober, drunk brain is just the one voicing it.

Shawn has a few answers lined up -- I’ve written songs about you before, this doesn’t have to be a big deal and we shouldn’t be talking about this, among others. He doesn’t get to say them before she turns a suspicious shade of green and starts blinking quickly.

Shawn winces. “Gonna puke?”

She nods vigorously.

He helps her up, shuffles her to the bathroom and holds back her hair while she vomits into the toilet. He sits patiently, massaging his fingers against her scalp. He waits with her while she brushes her teeth. He helps fish out her scarf and watches her wrap her hair into a pineapple, fixes it when her still-uncooperative fingers make a hash of it. He tucks her in, places a trash bin beside her bed and sleeps in the armchair.

When she wakes up, it’s to eggs benedict from room service and a text from Shawn reminding her to drink more water. She smiles, calls Hannah and eats breakfast in bed.

+

Her breakfast high doesn’t last long.

Andrew calls her on his way back from a meeting and tells her to check her social media. Everywhere, from JustJared to People to fan accounts, are the pap shots from the night before. Shawn gripping Ginny so tight around her hip that she remembers to check her skin for bruises (she does have a couple that match the spread of his fingers). Shawn nearly carrying her into the bar. Ginny looking up at Shawn like a goddamn damsel in distress.

The thing is, she doesn’t look drunk. She just looks scared. Shawn has the hard furrow of skin between his eyebrows that sets in when he’s pissed but trying to keep his cool. Ginny is clinging to him.

She sets her clenching jaw and turns off her phone. She chucks it into the pile of throw pillows Shawn made when he tucked her in last night. She closes her eyes.

+

@Tasteyshawn: but liiiiiike y’all look at the way he’s looking at her he is straight up in love #boyfriend!shawn

@shawndarhimes: omfg can u believe #shinny my actual otp omfg omfg

@shawncometobrazil98: ahhhhhhhHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH ITS FINALLY HAPPENING #shinny

@happyrosyshawn: guys, the most important thing is that he’s happy. You can clearly see he loves her. So treat her with respect. Shawn would be so upset if people started hating Ginny. And let’s face it, look at them together. They’re endgame.

Endgame. Endgame. Endgame.

The word’s been circling his head all morning, scraping at his tender skin, tearing at his healing heart. His teeth are on edge. His body temperature feels like it’s up by ten degrees. He keeps running his fingers through his hair, tugging at the ends like he does when he needs to ground himself.

Endgame. Endgame.

How the hell would they know? They’re just pictures. These girls, his fans, he loves them, but they can’t know. They don’t know. They can’t pretend to know who he’s meant to be with. But he can’t shake the fucking feeling that they’re right. He hasn’t felt this bone-deep panic since that night on the plane when Ginny was lying on his chest and everything was absolutely, perfectly ok until it wasn’t.

Endgame.

He glances at his phone. He swipes past the messages from Andrew and fumbles for his phone app. He knows what he has to do now.

Calling Sara

+

Sara took herself to brunch today.

She woke up, checked social media and put her phone on airplane mode five minutes later with a tight feeling in her chest.

She stood, checked herself over in the mirror, completed her most elaborate version of her multistep Korean skincare routine, put on a dress she got on sale last year at Nordstrom Rack and walks all the way to Sarabeth’s.

It’s Sunday. It’s hot as balls, so all of Manhattan smells like garbage, but it’s nearly empty. At least this part is. Everyone that lives in this neighborhood is in the Hamptons this weekend soaking up the sun on a beach like god intended. Not Sara. Sara slathered herself in SPF 80+ just to walk out the door. The only sun she’s getting is what gets reflected off the skyscrapers.

She sits in the puddle of sweat under an umbrella. She’s the only one on the patio. She smells Hawaiian Tropic and the vodka in her bloody mary. She orders the crab cake benedict from the smiley red-headed waitress with the spring in her step and the Neverland tattoo on her forearm.

When she has enough bloody mary in her system to stomach turning her phone back on, she has a text and missed call from Shawn, which she expected. He’s asking for a call.

His voice is a little high pitched and frantic at first. He explains he doesn’t know what she’s thinking right now, he doesn’t know if she’s mad or sad or hurt or scared, but he just wants to talk. He wanted to hear her voice.

“I’m not mad, Shawn.”

And it’s true. She has no trouble saying it out loud because it’s true. She isn’t mad at all. She knows very well he didn’t fuck his assistant last night. He’s just not that kind of guy.

She’s not just his assistant, though. She’s been around him enough to know Ginny is Shawn’s best friend. He says the words differently when referring to Ginny than when he’s talking about Brian or Niall or the other guys from Toronto. He says best friend -- she sees the word in italics in her head when he says them. She can feel the gravity. He takes her friendship more seriously than almost any other relationship in his life.

Sara doesn’t read comments. She knows better. She knew better even before she started dating a popstar. But she doesn’t have to read them to know what they’ll say. They’ll say finally, together at last, Shawn and Ginny, as they were always meant to be. Probably less eloquently than that because, well, comments sections. And do you know what? She can’t even be mad about that. Because she and Shawn do nothing but jump through hoops to keep their relationship a secret. Sara designed it that way. She asked for that.

So no, she’s not mad. She can’t be mad.

But her entire body stings.

“Listen,” she begins, clearing her throat. She looks out at the horses hauling carriages of tourists around Central Park and back down at her empty plate, “I don’t suspect anything. I don’t think anything. I don’t know you well, but I know you didn’t do that. You don’t owe me an explanation, as far as I’m concerned.”

She takes a deep breath and continues, “At this point, I don’t think either of us is comfortable with this being the kind of relationship where we have to answer to each other for things like that. We’re not there yet. We’re just… easy, right?”

+

Ginny sits back in her chair. Her smile is warm and flat like the beer sitting on her coaster. She’s not drinking tonight, but a Dos Equis was put in front of her anyway. She’s ignoring it just like she’s ignoring everyone’s weird glances from the past week since the night at the bar and the subsequent pictures.

The day after the photos, Andrew had another sit down chat with Shawn and Ginny about public boundaries. This time, as Ginny cast sidelong glances at him, Shawn didn’t even flinch. He agreed easily. Space is a good idea.

So space she gave him. It wasn’t just in front of the cameras, though. They’ve been actively avoiding anything that has to do with the other unless it’s work related. And when a paradigm like that shifts within the team, everyone notices. Everyone stares. Everyone talks.

Despite her desire to drink away the feeling of the eyes on her, Ginny sits up straight and grins, watching Andrew croon his way through a rendition of “Hallelujah” that Ginny tried to convince him was an awful choice for a karaoke tune but Andrew insisted anyway. Shawn is at the next table, knees bouncing. He looks down at his phone every 15 seconds or so. Not that Ginny’s counting.

Andrew takes a bow. Ginny howls, trying to outdo the squalling yells from Geoff and Mike and Zubin. Shawn claps and laughs like he doesn’t even hear them.

Andrew plops himself down in the chair across from Ginny. His eyes are glassy from one too many tequila sunrises. She smirks.

“Well done, boss.”

“I think you can do better,” he laughs.

“I’m sure I can, but I don’t feel like it tonight.”

Andrew’s eyebrows raise. She’s never once turned down an opportunity to perform. When Shawn is caught behind for soundcheck, she gets onstage and plays and sings for them until he gets there.

“I already put your name in, Gin.”

And so he did. The DJ calls her name over the din, welcoming her to the stage. She swallows and feels her face heat. There are those eyes again. She shakes her head, insisting someone else can have her turn. No one wants it. They want to see Ginny sing.

Over a rousing chant of her name, Ginny rises to her feet. She avoids Shawn’s curious glance and ascends, ducking over the side of the stage to the DJ to request her song.

She makes herself comfortable under the spotlight. She can’t see anyone. Her heart rate calms. It’s just a stage. It’s just a song. This is what Ginny knows, this is where she shines.

The music begins. A few cheering calls go up when the tinkling, synthy 90s keyboard tune rises, but she recognizes the shift of the room, too. It happens every time she sings Whitney, because no one ever expects a random woman at a karaoke bar to be able to do it justice.

Ginny closes her eyes. She wraps her fingers around her mic and leans into the feeling of perfect aloneness she feels on stage. The audience is out of sight, out of mind -- if she can’t see them, they can’t see her. And if they can’t see her, if those eyes are finally gone, she can just feel.

She wets her lips and feels goosebumps prick up down the length of her arms at the tinny snap of the horns that precede the vocals dropping in for the first verse.

Ginny takes a deep breath. She smoothes a hand down the mic stand and back up, leaving her eyes closed under the hot pulse of the house lights as she starts to sing.

Share my life, take me for what I am

Cause I’ll never change all my colors for you

Take my love, I’ll never ask for too much

Just all that you are, and everything that you do

Ginny’s warm, weathered-heart voice glides over the softness of Whitney’s words. It’s effortless and sweet, despite the sting she feels in every pore of her body.

The tempo starts to pick up. The music rises in perfect 90s power ballad style. Ginny’s voice firms up with it, deepens and hardens as she resigns herself to the exposure.

It’s just a stage. It’s just a song.

I don’t really need to look very much further

I don’t want to have to go where you don’t follow

I will hold it back again, this passion inside

Can’t run from myself, there’s nowhere to hide

It’s on the last rising, vibrato-shaken note of the pre-chorus that the rest of the audience joins her team in their certainty that Ginny can handle some Whitney. They show their support with some whoops and hollers.

Don’t make me close one more door

I don’t want to hurt anymore

Stay in my arms if you dare

Or must I imagine you there

Don’t walk away from me

I have nothing, nothing, nothing

If I don’t have you

Ginny opens her eyes. She sees shifting black shapes before her. She reaches for them as her voice carries, strong and nimble, just as she is. She lifts the mic from the stand and works the stage to the delight of her invisible audience.

She can’t see them, she doesn’t want to see them, but they can see her, whether she likes it or not.

They see the way she stretches and pulls at every word like she wrote them herself. They can see from the clench of her shut eyes and the strain of her throat that she’s never sung this song this way before. She’s never felt it like this before.

Andrew looks away, closes his eyes for fear of letting the tears fall. He can’t bear to watch, but listening is one of the true privileges of his years of friendship with Ginny. He bobs his head and tries to keep his cool.

Zubin and Mike exchange a glance, but otherwise don’t take their eyes off her. Geoff sips at his beer and stays quiet, sniffling to himself. Ziggy is mesmerized, rocking in his chair, nodding to the beat, eyes wide as saucers. Cez looks between Andrew and Geoff, chewing the inside of his lip as his chest grows tight. Jake and Josiah, each sitting beside Shawn, fight not to stare at him.

Ginny’s voice soars into the final repetition of the chorus. Andrew winces at the now raucous cheering of the audience that he knows Ginny can’t even hear. She returns to the stand and stretches her arms out like she intends to take flight.

Don’t make me close one more door,

I don’t want to hurt anymore

Stay in my arms if you dare

Or must I imagine you there

Don’t walk away from me

She shakes her head, shoves her hands into her hair and wails.

Don’t you dare walk away from me

I have nothing, nothing, nothing

If I don’t have you

Her voice grows quiet. Her arms fall limp to hang on the mic stand by the tips of her fingers. Her shoulders sink, hunching with exhaustion from the strength of her release. As she coos through Whitney’s last winding vocal runs, matching them with ease, Andrew scrubs at his cheeks, rubbing the wetness on the thighs of his jeans. He sees from the corner of his eye that he’s not alone in this.

When Ginny’s voice fades out, she swallows. The club is nearly in a riot. The DJ has gotten up onto the stage behind her to cheer with the rest of the unwitting barflies. She blinks, eyes and throat dry, body numb as she watches a very tall figure open the door of the bar to exit.

She doesn’t have to check his seat. She knows him down to the silhouette.

She stands in the center of the stage, wetting her lips, letting the applause slide off her and hit the floor. She watches the door shut, Shawn on the other side. It’s a full minute before the cheering dies down enough for the DJ to announce the next name.

Ginny steps down, walking past the curious, adoring eyes of new fans. She slips back into her seat like she never left. She doesn’t look at the empty one he left.

She looks down into her amber glass and traces her fingers around the condensation trails.

She feels the eyes again, so she closes hers and waits for them to look away.

I’d love to blame watching Endgame for a second time last night for the angstiness of this but the truth is, it’s been planned since I came up with the premise. Buy me a Ko-fi (linked on main page) anyway?

Taglist: @smallerinfinities @the-claire-bitch-project @achinglyshawn @infiniteshawn @mendesoft @singanddreamanyway @alone-in-madness @abigfatmess @shawnitsmutual @awkwardfangirl2014 @september-lace @thotfulalena @sinplisticshawn @rollingxstone @yslsaint @randi-eve @sauveteen @fallmoreinlove @voguemnds

[trombonesinspace]

(1/2) Okay maybe that last ask was good timing cause I do have a request 😹. I found a college AU here on tumblr and have been sitting on it for a while, but it just cracks me up so here goes: “I took a bunch of free condoms from health services just because i could and they all fell out of my bag at once and now you’re staring at me weirdly” I think this would be so funny to work in with Matt and Karen in some way.

(2/2). Also, if you’re able to make it in any way smutty, that would just be perfect 😂. And I don’t want to make it sound like I’m demanding it, you know? If it’s not something you wanna write I understand! Thanks for reading!

Some day, I may figure out how to write, quick, short ficlets in response to prompts. 

Today is not that day. 7k words, everyone.

I did try a smutty version first, anon, but it just wasn’t working. It felt like I was trying to drag the story in a direction it did not want to go. So I stopped trying to force it, and wrote this instead. It’s not super funny? But there is some humor in it. I hope you like it, I had fun writing it!

I’m also posting it on ao3.

* * *

“I thought he was being nice,” said Karen, gesturing widely with her glass, which she had luckily just emptied. She was in the dorm room of her friends, Trish and Jessica, drinking whisky. None of them were twenty-one yet, but Jess kept a bottle hidden in the bottom drawer of her dresser, bought for her by a grad student who owed her a favor.

“You guys know how stressed I was about midterms, and that project I had to finish, and…stuff.” She tipped her head back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling above Trish’s bed, where they all sat.

“I didn’t want sex,” she said, over-enunciating her words with inebriated care. “Not for weeks. Too busy. Too tired. And he said that was fiiiiine. He was so understanding.” She lifted her head again to stare accusingly into her empty glass. “I thought he was being a good boyfriend! But he was fucking. someone. else.” She slapped her free hand down on the mattress with each word, for emphasis.

Trish and Jessica exchanges glances. They already knew the main fact that had brought Karen to their door—she had arrived half an hour ago, announcing, “You guys, Josh has been cheating on me!” and bursting into tears—but the more they drank, the more details were emerging, as Karen’s mood shifted from hurt to anger.

Trish patted Karen’s shoulder. “He’s a shithead,” she said firmly. Jessica poured another round of drinks.

“He is a shithead,” Karen agreed. “Why did I not realize sooner what a shithead he is?”

“Because he’s hot?” suggested Jess.

“Oh, god,” Karen moaned. “Soooo hot.”

“You said you dumped him,” Trish reminded her.

“Yes. I did. He is so, so dumped. Doesn’t mean he isn’t hot, though. Shithead.”

“There are other hot men,” Trish consoled her.

“And a good fuck with someone else will help get your mind off him,” Jessica added.

“Yeah,” Karen agreed. “I should fuck somebody else. Oh!” she suddenly exclaimed. “I didn’t tell you what else he did!” She paused to take a drink. Trish and Jessica waited.

“He stole my condoms!” she said dramatically. “My condoms, in my desk, that I bought with my money! The last time I fucked him, I had half a box. Now, I have nothing! He’s been fucking another woman with my condoms.”

“Wow,” said Jessica. “Classy.”

“Insult to injury,” said Trish, shaking her head.

“I don’t wanna buy more,” Karen said mulishly. “I shouldn’t have to buy more. I had half a box. It’s not fair for me to have to buy more because Josh the Shithead stole mine!”

“Well, that’s easy enough,” said Trish. “They give them out for free at Health Services. You can get some there, enough to tide you over until you’re ready to buy your own again.”

“Sure,” said Jessica. “New condoms for new sex with new men. It’s symbolic, or something.”

“You guys,” said Karen earnestly. “You guys. That is a great idea. I love that idea.” She held out her glass. “Here’s to new, free condoms!” They all clinked glasses, and drank.

* * *

The next day, Karen made her bleary way across campus to the Student Health Services office. She had spent half the morning curled up in bed, nursing a hangover and feeling sorry for herself. But acquiring free condoms still seemed like a good idea, and when she finally dragged herself out of bed, she decided there was no time like the present.

A table in the office held an assortment of informational handouts about various health issues, and flyers advertising the services available to students. There was also a large glass bowl filled with condoms, free for the taking, and Karen helped herself to a generous supply.

She felt a little better once she had them safely stashed in her shoulder bag, despite her throbbing head and queasy stomach. It was symbolic, like Jess had said—a defiant first step into her new, Josh-free life.

But when she went back outside, she winced and groaned softly. The light cloud cover had cleared while she was inside, and now sunshine stabbed into her eyes, lancing straight through her skull. She stopped dead, closing her eyes in protest, and someone following too closely behind walked right into her.

He pushed past her impatiently, and continued on his way without a backward glance as Karen stumbled off-balance, her eyes snapping back open. She managed not to fall, but her bag went flying, its contents spilling into the air. She made a desperate grab for her phone, catching it triumphantly before it could fall to the pavement, but everything else lay scattered on the ground all around her.

“Ugh, shit,” she muttered, staring balefully at the retreating back of the guy who had slammed into her. She crouched down with a sigh to gather her things, squinting painfully around her in the bright sunlight.

And then she heard a pleasant male voice ask, “Are you all right?”

Looking up, she saw another student, book bag slung over his shoulder, with brown hair and dark glasses. Sunglasses, she thought, wishing she had brought her own. But then she noticed the long white cane in his hand, and realized he must be blind.

“I’m fine,” she answered. Her head and her stomach might not agree, but she knew he only meant, had she fallen? He must have heard the impatient guy collide with her, but couldn’t see what happened. “Some rude asshole ran into me, and made me drop my bag,” she explained. “But I’m not hurt.”

To her surprise, he dropped lightly to his knees beside her and began feeling over the ground.

“Oh, you don’t have to…” she began, as he picked up her comb, a hair clip, and several barrettes and held them out to her.

“Uh, thank you,” she said, reaching out to take them and put them back in her bag. She gathered up two protein bars, a notebook and pen, and a paperback copy of Plato’s Republic, and looked back at him just as he picked up one of the condoms.

He felt the small packet, clearly recognizing it for what it was, his eyebrows rising up over the rims of his glasses. But he made no comment, even when his searching hands found more condoms in rapid succession.

Karen quickly swept up the rest of them herself, flushing hotly with embarrassment. There was nothing wrong with carrying condoms in her bag, she told herself defensively. But normally, she wouldn’t have been carrying…quite so many.

The man held out his cupped hands, head tilted questioningly. Karen sighed. “Yep, those are mine, too,” she said, resigned. She held her bag open under his hands. “Here’s my bag, you can drop them in.”

He did so, his expression unreadable, and she felt the need to explain herself. “My shithead ex-boyfriend stole my condoms,” she said, “So I came here to get some more.”

“Ah,” he said, nodding. “That’s pretty shitty all right, stealing from his ex. I hope he didn’t take anything else.”

“Oh! No. I mean…we were still together when he stole my condoms.”

He looked puzzled, and she hurried on: “He was cheating on me, and he took my condoms to fuck someone else.” She had to swallow down a sudden lump in her throat as she said it. “Which is why he’s now my ex.”

“Oh.” He digested that in silence for a moment. “That seems…stupid, as well as shitty. Did he think you wouldn’t notice?”

“God, I don’t even know. I mean, I hadn’t slept with him in a few weeks, I was too stressed out, so I never checked my supply until yesterday. But who knows, maybe he wanted to get caught. Maybe he wanted me to break up with him, so he wouldn’t have to be the bad guy…as if fucking cheating on me didn’t make him the bad guy already!”

She was abruptly furious. “Or maybe he is just that stupid. When I noticed the condoms were gone, I went to his room to talk to him about it, because I knew my roommate wouldn’t take them, she’s allergic to latex, so who else could it have been? And there was a pair of women’s underwear in his fucking bed. And I knew damn well they weren’t mine. God, you should have seen the look on his face, he knew he was busted. He didn’t even try to deny it.”

Her fury ebbed as quickly as it had risen, leaving her feeling sick and miserable. “I trusted him,” she whispered, tears stinging her eyes.

The man reached out to touch her sleeve, feeling gently along it until he found her hand. “I’m sorry,” he said, squeezing her hand lightly. “If it’s any comfort, he really does sound like a shithead. You deserve better.”

She sniffed. “You don’t even know me. I might be a shithead, too, for all you know.”

He shrugged. “You’d have to be pretty bad to deserve being cheated on by someone you trusted.”

His voice was sympathetic, and his hand felt warm and comforting around hers as they sat on the ground together. Despite her preoccupation, she was beginning to notice that he was very attractive. His eyes were hidden behind his dark glasses, but the rest of his face was handsome. His jaw was covered in dark stubble, and the sun picked out warm highlights in his hair. And he was evidently the kind of guy who could make jeans and a henley look really, really good.

Karen realized she was staring, and abruptly became aware of her own state—hungover, unwashed, her hair uncombed, dressed in her most comfortable pair of old, broken-down jeans and a baggy oversized sweater. He couldn’t see what she looked like, of course, but that was small comfort. The smell of stale sweat clung to her skin from the night before, and her breath probably wasn’t any better given how her mouth tasted.

She felt suddenly unbearably grubby and unattractive beside him. What’s more, he was a complete stranger, and she’d been unloading her personal problems on him. After dropping her bag right in front of him, and spilling enough condoms to supply the entire basketball team. God, what was wrong with her?

“I’m sorry,” she said, feeling more miserable than ever. “You don’t want to hear about my problems, why would you? I’m sorry.”

“I don’t mind,” he began, but she was already scrambling to her feet. She needed to leave, now, before she embarrassed herself any further.

“I have to go,” she said hurriedly. “Thank you, you seem really nice, I’m sorry.” She turned away and practically ran down the sidewalk, back toward her dorm.

* * *

Behind her, Matt stood up slowly, listening to her rapidly receding footsteps. He frowned, running over their conversation in his mind, but he didn’t think her abrupt departure had been prompted by anything he said. She was obviously upset, by things that had nothing to do with him. She had just broken up with her cheating boyfriend, and the way she smelled told him that she’d been drinking heavily last night. Consoling herself, after confronting him? With a pang, he hoped she hadn’t been drinking alone.

When he had heard the other student collide with her just now, it was only common courtesy to stop and make sure she was all right, and to help her pick up her things. He would have done the same for any random stranger. But almost immediately, she had caught his interest in more particular ways.

His enhanced senses had registered the dive she made to save her phone, athletic and graceful despite her hangover; and when she spoke, her voice was beautiful. The smell of her was heavily overlain with whisky sweat, but beneath that he could detect a more appealing scent. This random stranger was, in fact, a very attractive woman.

And she hadn’t been weird about his blindness. He had braced himself for the usual exaggerated back-pedaling after she said “you should have seen his face,” the overdone apologizing for mentioning sight to a blind man, but it never came. She was probably too wrapped up in her own problems to realize what she’d said, but still, it made a pleasant change from people anxiously dancing around his disability.

And her explanation for the large number of condoms in her bag filled him with sympathy, and indignation on her behalf. She was hurting, through no fault of her own, because someone she trusted had decided to be an asshole. But before he could do more than attempt to offer comfort, she had fled.

He sighed. If she didn’t want his company, he certainly had no right to follow her, or force himself on her attention. But he wished she hadn’t left so quickly. He was certain he had never met her before, in any of his classes, or his dorm, or any of the other places he habitually went—which meant it was unlikely he would run into her again. He wished he had at least asked her name.

* * *

“You met a hot guy already?” said Trish. “Excellent.”

“No,” said Karen, “Not excellent. I feel like a scarecrow and I smell like the Swamp Thing and I flung condoms everywhere when I dropped my bag. And then I told him about Josh, like a pathetic loser, to explain the condoms.”

“So? Then he knows that you’re single, and that safe sex is important to you.”

Karen snorted a laugh despite herself. She could always count on Trish to help her put an embarrassing incident in perspective. “I’ll probably never see him again, though, I don’t even know his name.”

“You don’t need to know his name to fuck him,” Jessica pointed out.

“Yeah, but I do need to not run away immediately after meeting him.”

They silently pondered that undeniable truth.

“Well,” said Trish after a moment, “If you do happen to see him again, I don’t think you need to be embarrassed about today. Maybe you’re not at your best right now, but you told him why. He knows he was catching you on a bad day.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” Karen buried her face in her hands. “I told him I got cheated on, it’s pathetic.”

“Hey, that makes Josh look bad, not you.”

“You wouldn’t be saying that if someone cheated on you,” Karen grumbled.

“I’m just saying, don’t rule this guy out as a possibility,” Trish said. “You said he was nice, besides being hot.”

Karen sighed. “He seemed nice, yeah. But it’s not like I’m just going to run into him again. He’s definitely not in any of my classes, I’ve never seen him before today.”

“I bet I could find him,” Jessica offered. “How many hot blind guys can there be on this campus?”

“Jess, no. You are not stalking some poor guy I don’t even know.”

Jessica grinned, unabashed. “Well, if you want to know him, the offer stands. Just say the word.”

Karen knew there was a good chance she could deliver on that offer. Jess had a real talent for finding out information about other people, when she put her mind to it. Karen suspected that that was how she had earned the gratitude of the whisky-buying grad student, although Jess would neither confirm nor deny her suspicion. And Karen had to admit, she did feel a tiny pang of regret at the thought of never seeing the hot guy again. If only she had met him when she wasn’t such a wreck, she might have wanted to get to know him better.

Not enough that she’d resort to stalking, though. She felt pathetic enough already.

Still, she knew the offer was kindly meant. It was Jessica’s way of being supportive, and Karen appreciated it as such.

“Thank you,” she told her. When Jess raised her eyebrows, Karen added, “I’m not saying do it. But thanks for offering. And thanks for listening, both of you. You guys are the best, really.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Jessica, trying to hide her smile. “Go take a shower already, Swamp Thing.”

“And then we’ll go out for pizza, or something,” Trish added. “Have you eaten anything since you got up?”

“No,” Karen admitted.

“Then it’s time you did. Shower, then food.”

Karen went back to her own room to collect her shower things, feeling grateful for her friends. But in a corner of her mind, there was still that twinge of regret for the hot guy, and a wish that she had at least found out who he was.

* * *

“And she just ran away? Smooth, Murdock, very smooth.”

“Thanks,” said Matt drily.

“It’s not like you to meet a beautiful woman, and not even get her name,” his roommate went on.

“What makes you think she was beautiful?” Matt asked, smiling.

“Just playing the odds,” Foggy answered. “And anyway, you wouldn’t be bothering to tell me about a girl you met for a grand total of about two minutes, if you didn’t think she’s hot, no matter what she may look like.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong. “She had a really nice voice,” Matt admitted. “And she smelled nice.”

“Ah-ha!” said Foggy triumphantly. “Good for you, it’s been a while since you met someone.”

“I didn’t ‘meet her’ in that sense, Foggy. It wasn’t a flirting sort of situation.”

“If you say so, buddy, but that’s the best meet-cute story I’ve heard all year. She dropped her condoms right in from of you, and you helped her pick them up! That has to be the start of…well, something.”

Matt shook his head. “She was upset, she’d just found out her boyfriend was cheating on her. I wouldn’t try to hit on someone while she’s so unhappy.”

“Unhappy maybe, but not inconsolable,” said Foggy. “If she was loading up on free condoms, it sounds like she’s in the market for some good old-fashioned revenge sex.”

Matt considered the idea, and found it unappealing. He’d had his share of brief flings, but the idea of going to bed with that angry, unhappy woman—assuming he ever met her again—just so she could score some imaginary point off the man who’d hurt her…no. It would feel like taking advantage of her distress.

“It wouldn’t be right,” he told Foggy.

Foggy hummed thoughtfully. “You really like her, don’t you?” he said. “A beautiful woman who’s been done wrong, that’s like Matt Murdock catnip.”

Matt wanted to protest, but again…Foggy wasn’t entirely wrong. He had felt drawn to her unhappiness, and wanted to try and help. But that didn’t mean it was something he actually found attractive, did it?

“Objection,” he said. “Supposition. I would still like her, even if she weren’t upset.”

Foggy grinned. “Withdrawn,” he said. “But still, that means you met a beautiful woman, you like her, and you have no idea who she is or how to find her again.”

Matt sighed. “Yeah,” he agreed quietly. “Yeah, it does.”

* * *

Over the next few weeks, Matt couldn’t help paying more attention than usual to the people around him, listening to women’s voices with particular care. But the voice he was searching for was not to be found, not in the library where he studied, or the cafeteria where he ate, or anywhere else he went. It was what he had expected, but he still felt oddly let down at being proven right.

Karen, too found herself looking at the faces she encountered all over campus with new attention. Any time she caught sight of a brown-haired, unshaven man in sunglasses, her heart would lift—only to fall again, with a strange feeling of disappointment, when she saw that it wasn’t him.

* * *

As he headed back toward his dorm after his last class of the morning, Matt heard someone talking up ahead of him. At first, it was simply meaningless sound—recognizable to his keen ears as human voices, but too far away to distinguish anything else. As he came closer, he was able to separate the sounds into two different voices; closer still, and he began to pick out words and intonations.

“…what is wrong with you, why would I ever…”

“…if you would just listen, I never wanted…”

A woman’s voice, and a man’s. Having a fight, by the sound of it. Great. He was going to walk right past them, unless he left the path to avoid them and cut across the expanse of grass that covered half the hillside.

“…bullshit, you were fucking cheating on me—”

Matt froze in his tracks as he was about to step off the pavement. He had heard that phrase, spoken with that exact bitter intonation, the day the woman who dropped her bag had told him about her ex. He moved closer, listening intently, and yes! That was her voice, arguing with a man he didn’t recognize.

“Karen, come on, I’m asking for another chance here, you’re not going to make a big deal over one little mistake, are you? I said I was sorry…”

She laughed, a hard, angry sound. “You mean, things didn’t work out with her, so you thought you’d try to get back in my pants. No thanks. You’re not sorry for what you did, you’re just sorry I found out. You would’ve been perfectly happy to fuck both of us if you could.”

“Dammit, Karen, you’ve got it all wrong—”

Matt felt anger stirring. This was clearly the ex in question, the one who had hurt her. And clearly the woman—Karen—wanted nothing to do with him, but he was refusing to take no for an answer.

“Come on, you know you still love me. Tell me you don’t miss me.”

“I don’t miss you,” she said promptly. “And I do not love you. And I am not. taking you. back.”

Matt wanted to do something, wanted to help her out somehow. But what could he do? She might not even remember him, and she almost certainly wouldn’t appreciate a stranger interfering in a private conversation. Even if that conversation was loud enough that even people with normal hearing could have overheard them.

Remembering her forlorn whisper, “I trusted him,” what he wanted to do was punch this guy in the face. But he knew, realistically, that would probably make things worse. Still, he couldn’t just pretend he hadn’t heard, walk away and do nothing. He could at least let her know she had backup available, if she wanted it.

He walked forward, raising his voice to be heard over the other man’s continued arguing.

“Karen?”

At the sound of a new voice behind her, Karen whipped around—and then stopped dead, staring. It was the hot blind guy.

But her surprise at suddenly seeing him again couldn’t extinguish her fury at Josh, who not only had the gall to try and get her back, but who assumed all he had to do was keep asking and she would give in, and who was following her across campus and refusing to be shaken off, making her listen to his utterly self-centered bullshit.

She was angry enough that she was willing to consider drastic measures to get rid of him. And now a perfect opportunity was standing right in front of her. She smiled.

Matt had sensed her movement as she turned toward him. He heard her startled intake of breath, and her heartbeat, already elevated by anger, kicked up another notch. Maybe she did remember him, after all.

And then she let the breath back out, and stepped toward him. “There you are, babe,” she said, in a voice that was suddenly all warm affection. The unexpected endearment, and her tone, gave him a suspicion as to what she had in mind; the touch of her hand on his arm, sliding up to his shoulder, her arms curving around his neck, confirmed it.

Well, he was willing to play along. He slipped his own arms around her waist, and gave her a smile.

A small, sensible corner of Karen’s mind was telling her that this was a terrible idea. But the rest of her was filled with reckless determination. She did take a moment to gentle her approach, though, running her hand up his arm before putting her arms around him, because even in her anger she wasn’t such an asshole that she would grab a blind guy with no warning.

She watched surprise, and then realization, flash across his face…and then he put his arms around her and smiled. Good. Before she could start having second thoughts, she leaned in and kissed him.

Matt knew what she was doing, of course. She was angry, and trying to upset the ex—whether she was aiming to make him jealous or just piss him off hardly mattered. With regard to himself, it meant nothing.

Still, that was no reason not to enjoy it, and do his best to make sure she enjoyed it, too. It was only kissing, after all.

The press of her lips against his was hard and angry, and he pulled back a little in order to ease the kiss into something softer. He kissed her gently, parting his lips slightly and tugging softly at hers, and felt her mouth relax under his. A small, involuntary sound escaped her—surprise? pleasure? something else entirely?—and then she responded with a more lingering kiss, her lips clinging to his.

He kept his hold on her relaxed, so that she could pull away whenever she chose. But he leaned his body toward her, and was pleased when she leaned closer as well, pressing herself  against him. She was as tall as he was, and slender, and she smelled like grapefruit shampoo and lavender body wash and the warm, enticing scent of her own skin.

He made a small sound of his own, of pure pleasure, as they went on kissing, and let his tongue slip out just far enough to lightly brush her lips. Too much? he wondered. But her lips parted, her own tongue darting out to tease him, just the tip sliding into his mouth before withdrawing again. Her heart beat rapid and steady in his ears, and he felt the warm flush spreading over her skin.

Karen felt taken aback by the undeniable rush of desire flooding her. She had intended this kiss as nothing more than a goad to finally make Josh go away and leave her alone. But the man she was kissing had turned it into something more—something much, much better. He was kissing her like he meant it, and she was responding with an eagerness that startled her a little.

She broke the kiss, pulling away far enough to see his face, and he smiled at her.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” she answered, managing not to sound as breathless as she felt.

“Sorry I’m late,” he went on smoothly, “I needed to talk to my professor after class, and I got delayed.”

“That’s all right,” she told him, as easily as if they’d planned it out beforehand. “I got delayed, too.” Her voice turned cool, and she turned to see if Josh was still there. He was, staring at them indignantly. She sighed.

The hot blind guy raised his eyebrows, one arm still casually around her waist. “Is this the shithead ex?” he asked, and Karen nearly kissed him again. “I heard you arguing as I came up the hill.”

“It sure is,” she answered, trying not to laugh, even though she felt a brief flare of embarrassment that he obviously remembered their first meeting in detail.

“Why didn’t you say you were seeing someone else?” Josh demanded.

“Because it doesn’t matter, Josh! All that matters is that I don’t want you, I don’t have to give you reasons why. If I were single, I still wouldn’t want you, so what difference does it make?”

There was a moment of tense silence. Then the man beside her gave her a gentle squeeze, and asked, “Well, should we go have lunch?” He sounded completely at his ease, as if Josh wasn’t even there, and Karen again felt the urge to laugh.

“Yeah, let’s go,” she answered. He folded up his cane and took her arm, and they walked off together.

Matt could feel a familiar stiffness to her movements—most people didn’t know quite what to do the first time a blind man took their arm. But they were supposed to be acting like an established couple, and the ex was still standing there behind them. So…

He leaned in close to her and murmured under his breath, “Just walk normally. You’re not leading me, you don’t have to do anything special.” He brushed his lips over the soft skin in front of her ear, in case the ex was watching, and felt her shiver. He wondered again if he might be overstepping, but then she laughed brightly, as if he had said something amusing, and relaxed. They fell into step together, just as if they really had been doing this for weeks.

Once they were a safe distance from Josh, Karen said, “Look, I know it wasn’t right for me to grab you like that without asking first. I’m sorry. I was just so mad at him, I didn’t really stop to think—oh my god. You aren’t seeing anyone, are you?”

“No, of course not.” He sounded slightly indignant. “If I were, I…well, okay, I don’t know quite what I would have done. But I definitely wouldn’t have kissed you…the way I did.”

“Sorry,” she said again. “I didn’t mean…I guess I’ve been kind of assuming the worst about men lately. You seem like a decent guy, but then, I thought Josh was a decent guy, too, so I’m not super confident of my own judgment right now. I’m sorry.”

“Oh. Well, I can understand that. It’s all right. And as far as you grabbing me, that’s all right, too. Like I said, I could hear the two of you arguing, so I knew why you did it. And I wanted to help, that’s why I stepped in when I recognized you.”

“Well, thanks for going along with it, I really appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome. It’s not exactly a hardship, kissing you, even if it was…a little unexpected.” He grinned, and she felt her face flushing.

“Okay, good. And, um.” She cleared her throat self-consciously. “Likewise.” She watched as his grin softened into a more tentative smile, his cheeks turning as pink as hers probably were. He looked almost shy for a moment, and Karen felt reassured. Any lingering chance that he might be some kind of opportunistic womanizer faded considerably at the sight of that blush.

“So,” she went on, “Now that I’ve had my tongue in your mouth, I have to ask…What’s your name?”

He laughed, his whole face lighting up. Now that she wasn’t distracted by her anger at Josh, Karen was noticing all over again just how attractive this guy was.

“My name’s Matt,” he told her, smiling broadly. It was a nice, warm smile, as if they were sharing a private joke. “I know you’re Karen, but only because I heard the shithead say your name before.”

She laughed, too, secretly delighted that he kept on calling Josh “the shithead,” even though he must have heard her say his name.

“It’s nice to meet you, Matt.”

“You too, Karen,”

They walked on in comfortable silence for a moment or two, and then Matt asked, “Do you want to have lunch with me?” They had left her ex far behind, there was no need to keep on pretending if she didn’t want to.

“Yeah, I do,” she answered, her beautiful voice sounding happier than he’d heard it yet. “I think it’s about time we got to know each other better.”

“Me, too,” he said, pleased. “I was just going to go to Walker, that’s where I live.”

“Fine with me,” she replied.

Once they were seated at a table with their food, in the cafeteria attached to Matt’s dorm, Karen remarked, “If you live way over here, it’s no wonder I never see you around. I live at the other end of campus.”

Matt looked surprised. “Have you been looking for me?” he asked, smiling.

Karen blushed. “Well. Not really. I mean…kind of? You were nice, and cute, and I just ran away because I was so hungover and gross and miserable…” she trailed off, flustered.

Matt felt his cheeks warming. She thought he was cute? “I looked for you, too,” he admitted. “Or, you know, listened for you. I, uh. I really like your voice.”

“Oh. Really?” That was unexpected, but flattering. She wouldn’t have guessed that he found anything attractive about her, or that he would want to find her again, after their first meeting.

“Yeah,” he answered.

She studied his face, which was turning pink again. God, he really was cute.

“Well, I’m glad we finally met again,” she said happily.

“So am I,” he agreed. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a class with you, what are you studying?”

“Journalism. I wasn’t sure when I started, so I’ve been taking a lot of different different things, filling general degree requirements.”

“I’ve been doing the same thing. I know I want to go to law school, if I can come up with the money, but that means I can major in just about anything.”

“You want to be a lawyer?” she said doubtfully. She had a general impression that lawyers were assholes, and she didn’t like to think that maybe Matt wasn’t as nice as he seemed. “Don’t a lot of lawyers…help people get away with stuff? No offense,” she added hastily.

He made a face. “Some do, yeah. But that’s not what I want. I want to help people who really need help, not people who think they can just pay someone to make their problems go away. I believe in our judicial system, but I know it isn’t perfect. Sometimes, the side that wins is the side with the better lawyers, not the side that’s right. Sometimes, people’s lives are ruined by other, more powerful people, because they didn’t know what their legal rights were, or how to defend them. Sometimes wrongs go unpunished, because no one is willing, or able, to oppose them.”

“And that’s what you want to do?”

“Yes. The law is supposed to protect everyone equally, not just the powerful, and I want to help make sure that it does.” He knew he sometimes got carried away once he got started talking about justice, so he stopped himself there. He didn’t want to make speeches at her.

“That sounds really good, Matt,” she said. “We need more people who are willing to take on the assholes. I hope you’re a big success.”

He smiled. “Thanks. And you want to be a reporter?”

“Yeah. There’s so much going on in the world, and only a fraction of it gets into the news. There are lots of stories out there that deserve to be told, and I want to find them, and tell the world. There are stories that need to be told, to hold people accountable for their actions, to make sure the truth doesn’t get buried or forgotten.”

Her voice was animated, and he could tell that she was just as passionate about this as he was about justice. His smile grew wider.

“It sounds like we both want the same thing, we’re just coming at it from different angles,” he said. “I hope you’re a big success, too.”

“Thanks,” said Karen, beaming. She sometimes felt like idealists were in short supply in the world today, and she was pleased that Matt seemed to be one of them.

“Josh thought it was crazy to try and make the world a better place,” she went on, wrinkling her nose. “He thought we needed to just accept things the way they are, and not stir up trouble. I wonder,” she mused, tipping her head and looking out the window, “I wonder how long we would have lasted as a couple, even if he hadn’t cheated on me.”

“Were you together long?” Matt asked. He wouldn’t have brought it up on his own, but she didn’t sound too upset.

“Six months,” she answered.

“That’s longer than any of my relationships have lasted,” he told her.

“Really?” she asked, surprised. She wouldn’t have expected someone as attractive as him to have trouble finding someone.

He nodded. “I’ve had several promising starts, but they never seem to last. Foggy says I have a real talent for dating the wrong women.”

“Foggy?”

“My roommate. He’s also my closest friend, and my self-appointed wingman.” He looked self-deprecating. “He’s had a front-row seat to my love life, if you can call it that.”

“Well, better to be single than to be with the wrong person.”

“Yeah, I guess so. You certainly seem happier than you were the first time we met.”

“Oh, I am. It still hurts, what he did. But at this point I think it’s hurting my pride maybe more than my heart. And I have two great friends, Trish and Jessica, they’ve been a big help.”

“That’s good. Breakups always suck, but they suck less if you’ve got someone to help you through them.”

“Boy, that’s the truth.” They had both finished eating, and Karen checked the time. “Oh!” she said surprised to see how late it was. “I’ll have to go soon, I’ve got a lecture at 2:00.”

“Oh, okay,” said Matt. He was a little disappointed that she had to leave so soon, but the regret in her voice told him that she was, too. “Could I, uh…could I get your number?” he asked hopefully. He knew he wanted to see her again, and he wasn’t about to rely on chance a second time.

“Yeah, of course!” She sounded pleased. They both took out their phones, and exchanged numbers.

“I prefer calling to texting,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. Can you text?” she asked curiously.

“Sure, there’s an app that translates between text and speech. But I’d rather just talk to you.”

“That’s fine with me.” Karen was glad he had asked for her number, she had been about to ask for his. Now that they’d spent a little time getting properly acquainted, she definitely wanted to get to know him better.

“I could walk you to your lecture,” he offered, “If you want. I’m done for the day, there’s nowhere I need to be.”

“All right,” she agreed. She didn’t really want this conversation to be over yet, and the fact that he apparently didn’t, either, made her heart give a happy little skip. They carried their trays over to the dish room window and put them on the conveyor belt, then left the cafeteria together.

Once they were outside, Karen asked, “Did you want to take my arm again? I mean, we’re not putting on a show for Josh anymore, but if you wanted to…I thought it was nice, on the way over here.”

Matt smiled. “I thought so, too.” He tucked his hand around her arm. “Where’s your lecture?”

“Humanities,” she answered, and they set off.

Karen had a little time to spare, so they didn’t need to rush. They walked along at a leisurely pace, talking about the classes they were taking this semester, enjoying each other’s company.

But eventually they reached the Humanities building, and they stopped outside.

“So,” said Karen. “First meeting, you helped me pick up my condoms. Second meeting, I made out with you to piss off my ex. What happens next?”

Matt grinned. “I’m open to suggestion,” he said.

“Oh?” she replied, managing to put a world of innuendo into the brief syllable.

“Absolutely,” he answered, his grin taking on a wicked edge that set Karen’s pulse racing.

But then he turned more serious. “I know you’re on the rebound, though,” he said, giving the arm he still held a squeeze. “And I’m either very unlucky, or just very bad at this.” He wrinkled his nose. “So I don’t really know what happens next. I definitely want to see you again, but maybe we should just…take it one day at a time, no pressure, and see how things go?” His voice rose into a question at the end.

“I like that,” said Karen, nodding. He was right, it had only been a few weeks since she dumped Josh. And if Matt’s experiences so far had been as disappointing as he seemed to be implying, it made sense that he might be feeling cautious. But he did want to keep seeing her, and she definitely wanted to keep seeing him, so they could take as much time as they needed to figure it out. There was no hurry.

On the other hand, she really wanted to kiss him again.

“Does that mean we shouldn’t kiss right now?” she asked.

A slow smile spread across his face. “It can mean whatever we both want it to mean,” he told her.

“Do you want to kiss me?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper. He lifted a hand to her face, and felt her cheek curve under his fingers as she smiled.

He kissed her, and this time it was tentative, a gentle, questioning kiss. She answered by wrapping her arms around him and pulling him closer. Her lips were warm and welcoming, her body soft against his as he slipped his other arm around her. Her heart beat rapidly in his ears, the smell of her skin surrounding him, and he sank into the kiss, letting the sensations wash over him.

Karen kissed him back eagerly. He had seemed a little hesitant for a moment, but there was nothing hesitant now about the way his lips moved over hers, one arm holding her close, the other hand moving up past her cheek, his fingers sliding into her hair. She let her mouth fall open slightly, her tongue stroking lightly over his lips, and he opened to her immediately, with a little hum of pleasure. His own tongue slipped into her mouth, softly exploring her as she was exploring him. She melted against him, her body molding itself to his, and they clung together until a catcall from a passing student recalled them both to the present.

Matt broke the kiss reluctantly, and rested his forehead against hers.

“I guess I should go,” said Karen, sounding a little breathless.

“I guess so,” Matt answered. He made himself step away from her, his hands lingering as he let go of her. Karen’s hands lingered, too, brushing over his chest before falling away.

“I’ll call you,” he said.

“I’ll call you, if you don’t,” she replied, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

He smiled back. “Okay,” he said.

“Okay,” she echoed. “Well, bye.”

“Bye, Karen.”

She turned to go inside, but couldn’t help looking back when she reached the doors. Matt was still there, still smiling, and as she watched, he unfolded his cane and gave her a little wave. She laughed in surprise—how had he known she would look back?—and waved back. Why not?

When she finally went inside, she was fairly certain she was going to be too distracted to pay proper attention to this afternoon’s lecture.

[finn-nelson-for-the-win]

Finn + Rae 25? like them meeting thanks that one of them leaves a message in a book?

Hello love! Thank you for sending me this ficrequest nearly a month ago haha! (It’s related to this post, in case any of youforgot because it took me forever to finally post this) Once I wrote this Irealized that it’s not exactly what you asked for and it sort of took on a lifeof its own, but I hope you still like it nonetheless! :)

25. “I could tell it was your favorite bookbecause of all the notes you wrote in the margins.”

***

Finn looked around hesitantly as he tried tofind a sign that would point him in the direction of where he was trying to go.He never considered himself to be a studious person—he got decent grades whenhe was younger and he was able to at least pass his classes with the grades hewas getting in college—but as Finn stood in the entryway to the librarysurrounded by more books than he had ever seen in one place, to say he was outof his element would be an understatement.

“Good afternoon! Is there anything that I canhelp you find today?”

Finn turned around and was briefly startled tosee a petite old woman with large glasses resting low on the bridge of her nosestanding beside him with a large stack of books in her arms.

“Oh! Sorry, ma'am, ya startled me a bit,” Finnreplied with a nervous chuckle, “I’m here to find a book that I need for aproject I’m doing for college and well, I have no idea where to start…”

“You’re in luck then! I’m the head librarian,Trudy, so I’m just the right person to ask! Follow me to my desk over here,son, and I’ll help get you all sorted.” The woman used a small hand to signalfor Finn to follow her, which he did after only a brief moment of hesitation.

Trudy set the large pile of books that sheseemed to be carrying with ease down on the metal cart beside her desk with aquiet grunt before taking a seat in her chair on the opposite side of the deskfrom where Finn still stood awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other.

“So…what book can I help you find today?”

“Er, it’s by Emily B…Emily B-something,” Finnpulled a small folded scrap of paper from the pocket of his jeans and noddedbefore continuing, “Sorry, it’s called ‘WutheringHeights’, I think?”

“Ah, yes, Bronte! A true classic, indeed. Ithink most of your classmates came by about a week or two ago to check out thisbook…”

“Oh, so does that mean that…”

“But you just so happen to be in luck, becauseone of the copies we have was just returned earlier this morning!” Trudyreplied before turning in her chair to search through the stack of books shehad placed on the metal cart minutes ago.

“Oh, that’s a relief! Thank you for your help,ma'am”

Trudy opened the front cover of the book andused her date stamper to fill in the date that this book would be due beforehanding the book across to the desk to Finn.

“You’re welcome, son. Just let me know if youhave any other questions…I should be walking around here re-shelving allthese books.” Trudy gave Finn a polite smile as she walked away from the deskpushing the cart full of books in front of her before stopping at a nearbysection with rows upon rows of nonfiction books.

Finn examined the worn-looking novel in hishands, taking note of the way that the paperback cover was frayed on thecorners and there was clearly some damage to the spine of the book that made itlook like it had been read and checked out by many people before it ended up inthe hands of Finn Nelson.

Finn opened the front cover of the book andpulled the checkout card out of the sleeve attached to the inside to write hisname in the next available spot and he noticed that every other row above hisname had been filled-in by the same name written in narrow, delicatehandwriting: Rae Earl.

***

After finding the book at the library, Finn hadto hurry to footie practice—which he was already running late for before heworked up the nerve to go into the library—and it was a couple hours before hewas back in his bedroom and debating whether or not he should get a head starton his assignment for college.

Well, technically thiswas assigned nearly a month ago, so calling it a “head start” would be a bit ofa stretch…

But then again, I stillhave two weeks to read this book and write an analysis on it…I have plenty oftime, so do I really need to start it today?

When Finn got home from footie practice, he hadtaken a quick shower to freshen up, changed into comfortable clothes, and evenfixed himself a snack—doing basically everything that he could to waste timeand delay doing what he knew he had to start inevitably.

Finn now sat in the chair in front of his deskwith his school notebook open to a new page and his cross-body bag openedslightly so he was just barely able to see the book he had borrowed from thelibrary within his bag.

Wow…who knew that 323pages of paper bound into a pastel purple novel could be so intimidating.

Finn sighed deeply and shrugged before reachinginto his bag, pulling out the small book, and opening it to the first page.

“1801—I have justreturned from a visit to my landlord—the solitary neighbour that I shall betroubled with.”

Finn had read a few pages, but his progress wasslow moving as he often got distracted or lost track of what was happening andhe had to reread a number of passages more than once.

“It is astounding howsociable I feel myself compared with him.”

Finn set the novel aside and began making noteof anything from that first chapter that seemed worth remembering; however,even in those few short pages, Finn had found himself struggling to keep trackof the characters and details being introduced and that did not seem to bodewell for his success with reading the rest of the novel.

Fuck it…it’s just oneassignment. What’s the worst that could happen if I skip this?

Finn had perfected the art of getting by incollege—earning grades that weren’t exceptional nor cause for concern—but hisEnglish Literature teacher had recently pulled him aside after class to talk tohim about all his “wasted potential” and threatening that Finn’s father may becalled in for a meeting if she didn’t see Finn “take charge of his learning”.Finn rolled his eyes at the memory of that brief conversation the prior daywhich ultimately led him to the library this afternoon, but he picked the novelback up and continued to read and take notes to the best of his abilities as hewent.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Finn groaned ashe placed the book back on his desk and ran his hands over his face infrustration.

As Finn continued to read and continued tostruggle to keep the details clear and understand what was happening throughthe dialects and confusing writing style that Emily Bronte used, Finn alsobegan to notice that a number of the pages had markings on them to drawattention to specific phrases or quotes. He also noticed that in the margins ofcertain pages, there were notes and commentary written.

Initially he brushed it off a nothing more thanvandalism caused by prior people who had borrowed this book, but when Finnfound himself particularly stumped by what was happening, he shrugged anddecided to go back and read some of the notes written on previous pages.

Well I’ll be damned…

Finn copied the quotes that had been underlinedwithin the book into his own notes and decided to keep reading the notes leftby the previous readers, since he finally felt like he was beginning tounderstand what was going on.

When Finn’s dad returned home from work andcalled upstairs to Finn to let him know that there was pizza waiting for him inthe kitchen if he got hungry, Finn was too engrossed in reading to take noticeor respond back will anything more than just a quick greeting to his dad and a“thank you” before he went back to what he was doing.

Finn laughed aloud on more than one occasion ashe read the notes left behind by the person who he assumed had written all thenotes in the book—since the ink colors varied but the handwriting was the same—andhe quickly developed an appreciation for this person’s understanding of thisstyle of writing and their wit and sense of humor that was conveyed throughthese notes.

Finn’s own notes had easily filled up an entirepage in his notebook, but as he began to better understand the story throughthe notes in the margins he found it easier to stay focused on what he wasdoing. For the first time in a long time, Finn realized that he was actuallyenjoying reading a book for college, but he decided not to dwell on the factfor fear of messing up the good thing that he had going.

Finn was unsure exactly how much time hadpassed, but as he looked outside the window of his bedroom and saw that the sunhad long since set, he closed the novel after placing an old beer mat that hefound on his desk inside as a bookmark, and finally made his way downstairs tograb a few slices of pizza that had gone completely cold inside the cardboardbox on the kitchen counter.

***

Finn had finished reading Wuthering Heights and writing his analysis of the novel well beforethe project was due—much to the satisfaction of his teacher, Mrs. Edwards—andalthough Finn would likely never admit it out loud, he felt extremely proud ofhimself and accomplished when he turned in his essay knowing that he hadactually put effort into this assignment.

The book wasn’t due back into the library for acouple more days, but since footie practice had been cancelled and Finn hadalready completed his assignment, he decided to take a quick trip over to thelibrary to return the book.

The library seemed to be slightly more livelytoday than the prior time he had been there, but as he walked up to thelibrarian’s desk with the book in-hand, he no longer felt quite as out of placehere.

“Oh! Well speak of the devil! Are you here toreturn the book? How did your project go, son?”

“Good afternoon, Trudy! Yeah, I’m all done withthe book now and the project went very well, thanks!”

Finn placed the paperback novel on the counterof Trudy’s desk and stood a short distance away from the girl that had beentalking to Trudy before he had walked up.

“Oh, how nice of ya to finally decide to returnthis book,” she mumbled in Finn’s general direction, which caused him to lookaround briefly to ensure that she was in fact talking to him and not someoneelse.

“Are you trying to check it out too?” Finnlooked over at the girl who was reaching to grab the book from where Finn hadset it down on the counter and he noticed first and foremost that she wasincredibly pretty.

“It’s not late or anything, I promise…” Finnadded in an apologetic tone even though he was aware that he had done nothingwrong.

I don’t know what I did,but this beautiful girl is mad at me for some reason, so odds are I probablydeserve it…

Finn looked over to see her filling out thecheckout card for the book before shooting him a brief glare and walking awayfrom the counter quickly, leaving Finn at a loss for words.

“What was that all about?” Finn asked Trudy whenhe was finally able to understand what had just happened.

“Oh, don’t take it too personally. She’s beenthe only one that checked out that copy of the book for the last few monthsuntil you…she’s never had to wait for the book and she’s been coming in everycouple days hoping that you would have returned it.” Trudy explained, givingFinn a kind smile that he found to be surprisingly reassuring.

“Aren’t there other copies of the book?”

“Yes, of course! What kind of library would thisbe if we only had one copy of a book?” Trudy asked with a laugh that made Finnquestion whether he had missed the joke, but she soon shrugged and continued,“Almost all the other copies are currently in stock, too! I think she just hasa bit of an attachment to that specific copy.”

“I see…well, thank you for your help Trudy!”

Finn gave the librarian a small smile beforewalking away from the counter. He had started heading in the direction of thedoors to the library, but when he saw the clock on the wall beside him, herealized that he still had some spare time to waste before he had agreed tomeet his mates Archie and Chop at the Chippy. With nothing better to do withthis time, Finn decided that this was the perfect opportunity to wander aroundthe library and explore.

Before long, Finn realized that he had snakedhis way through every aisle of nonfiction books on one side of the library andhe found himself nearing a section along the back wall of the library where thereare displays of assorted records, cassette tapes, and CDs.

Ah, perfect! Books maynot be my thing, but music? I definitely know my music…

Finn began looking through all the music andcouldn’t help but notice that there were a few cassette tapes that were stackedvertically so that the track listings on the tapes were facing upwards, unlikethe other cassette tapes in the same section.

“Huh, these seem a bit out of place,” Finn saidto himself as he lifted the small stack of cassette tapes to review them further.

What do we have here?Nirvana, Oasis, Oasis, and the Stone Roses…all top-notch bands!

“Oh this is just fucking great…” Finn heardsomeone say behind him and he quickly turned to notice the clearly annoyed butstill beautiful girl that stood behind him with her arms crossed over herchest, “first you hold my copy of WutheringHeights captive and now you’re trying to steal the music I was about tocheck out too?”

“Sorry…I—uh, I didn’t see your name written onthem or anything…and this is a public library, so I don’t really think youcan stake a claim to anything in here,” Finn replied with a slight smirk,hoping that a bit of humor could have diffuse some of the tension.

“Most people can’t, but I can,” She replied in asimilar tone as the one he had used.

“And why is that?”

“Because I do whatever I want to,” she statedmatter of factly.

“Ah I see, but if I were to, for example, checkout these tapes as well…you’d have no other choice but to wait until I returnthem. Isn’t that right?” Finn decided to keep playing along with the jokingtone he used before, but he punctuated his question with the most flirtatioussmirk he could manage and hoped that this bold move would work out in hisfavor.

Finn watched as it took a brief moment for thebeautiful girl to realize that he was trying to flirt and within a matter ofseconds her cheeks blushed a pretty shade of pink before she squared her jawand cleared her throat slightly before speaking.

“Ugh, whatever…just do whatever yawanna…fucking prick,” she spun on her heels and began walking away, but notbefore Finn caught her rolling her eyes at him.

Finn stood in place, trying to decide what itwas he said or did that had turned their fun banter into frustration towardshim.

Did I take it too farwith the smirk? Was that little bit of flirting really that out of line?

Finn reached forward to grab the stack ofcassette tapes he had set down when the pretty girl from earlier had approachedhim and walked around the library for a couple minutes until he saw the samegirl sitting at a table in the far corner of the library—away from the other peoplewho were talking and studying in groups—reading Wuthering Heights.

Finn knew that what he was about to do couldeasily backfire just as easily as their prior conversation had, but heproceeded to walk up to her table and take a seat in the chair across the tablefrom her. When she finished reading the page that she was on, the girl set thebook down on the table and looked up at Finn with an eyebrow arched in silentquestion.

Rather than speaking just yet, Finn placed thestack of cassettes on the table and slid them over to the girl sitting acrossfrom him as a peace offering.

“I just wanted to apologize if I came off asrude or anything. I was just joking, but I think I may have taken it too far,so I’m sorry, Rae.”

“It’s fine. I’m sor—wait, how do you know myname?”

Fuck…how DO I know hername?

“Oh, uh…sorry…I just assumed because thelibrarian said you’re the only one that checks out that copy of Wuthering Heights and I saw your name onthe checkout card…” Finn rambled as he struggled to find a response that wouldmake him seem like he was not a total creep for knowing her name when they hadnever even met in-person prior to just less than an hour ago.

“Oh, right, of course…I’m sorry if I seemedrude as well,” Rae replied with an embarrassed chuckle that she tried to playoff as a cough, “You can check out these cassettes if you want to…I willallow it, but just this once!”

Rae slid the stack of cassette tapes that sat onthe table in front of her back to Finn’s side of the table and gave him a smallsmirk.

“Thanks, but no thanks. I’ve already heard allof these on vinyl or on tape, I was just looking at them when you walked up tome over there. I had no intention of checking them out, I just thought it couldbe funny to get you a little worked up…sorry.”

“Ah, I see”

“You should definitely borrow them though, Oasisand the Stone Roses are mint!” Finn replied as he slid the stack a bit closerto Rae yet again.

“Oh, I’m well aware,” Rae straightened herposture and gestured to her black Oasis t-shirt beneath the red flannel she waswearing to prove her point.

Finn glanced briefly at her shirt but realizedimmediately that not allowing his gaze to linger on the way that the Oasis logoon the shirt stretched tightly across her chest proved more difficult that Finnwould care to admit.

For fuck’s sake Finn! Donot stare at her boobs…even if they are great, which they are…it’s stillnot polite to stare.

Finn was pulled from his thoughts by the soundof Rae clearing her throat and staring at him with a slight trace of disbelief,which immediately caused Finn’s face to flush bright red in embarrassment atbeing caught staring at her chest.

“Oh, sorry…I didn’t mean to stare or make yauncomfortable, it’s just I, uh, have that same shirt. I got it when I went toKnebworth with some mates this summer.”

“That’s where I got mine too!” Rae replied witha wide smile.

Pleased to see that he was able to recover fromhis unintentional ogling of her chest, Finn decided to launch further intoconversation with Rae about Knebworth and music.

By the time Rae stood up to leave the libraryand Finn followed shortly behind her, he was relieved to see that he was onlygoing to be a little bit late to meet his mates at the Chippy.

***

As Finn walked into the library—taking a quickdetour after his last class of the day and before he needed to meet his matesin the park for footie practice—he chuckled lightly to himself as he thoughtback to the apprehension he had felt entering the same library just over amonth ago.

Finn glanced over to the librarian’s desk andfound that the desk chair was currently empty. Though he had never had tonavigate the library to find the particular book he was searching for today, hefound the small section dedicated to “Literary Classics” and was able to findwhat he was looking for by the alphabetically arranged authors with ease.

He approached the librarian’s desk and set thebook on the counter, waiting patiently for the librarian to return, when heheard a familiar voice behind him.

“Fancy seeing you here! I certainly didn’texpect to see you in here checking out this book so soon, so it must have leftquite an impression on ya, huh?”

Finn smiled as he saw Trudy set the large stackof books down on the metal cart behind her desk before taking a seat in herdesk chair.

“It’s nice seeing you again too, Trudy! AlthoughI did enjoy Wuthering Heights morethan I had thought I would, I’m actually here to borrow it again ‘cause theyadded a second part to the ‘Classic Literature’ assignment for college and Iwanted to check out the book and get the assignment done sooner rather thanlater.”

“Oh, how responsible of you! I’m sure yourteacher would be so proud to hear her student say something like that!”

“Uh, ‘suppose so,” Finn chuckled nervously atthe unexpected praise, but he felt proud of himself for being responsible andnot putting off this assignment as well, though he’d never admit it out loud.

Trudy picked up the copy of Wuthering Heights that Finn had set on the counter, but when Finnglanced at the stack of books that was sitting on Trudy’s desk, he cleared his throataudibly to get Trudy’s attention.

“If it’s not too much trouble, ma’am, could Iactually borrow that copy of the book again?” Finn pointed to the copy sittingon the top of the pile that was noticeably more worn and tattered-looking withslight hesitation, “I think it’s good luck for me because that’s the best gradeI’ve gotten on a college assignment…well, ever!”

Trudy picked up the book he was referring to andheld it in her hands for a moment, clearly considering his request, beforeopening the front cover and using the stamp on her desk to indicate the duedate beside the next open line on the checkout card.

“I don’t see why not!” Trudy replied with abright smile, which Finn returned as he reached for the book she is handing tohim.

“Can I ask a question?” Finn asked as he wrotehis name in the checkout card beneath two rows containing Rae’s name.

“Of course! What can I do for you, son?”

“You do know how much Rae has marked and takennotes in this copy of the novel, right? Can’t she get in trouble for doingthat?”

“Technically, yes. We didn’t notice anything fora while, but the first time Rae wrote in it and we saw about a month or twoago, we let her know that if the book got damaged she’d have to pay for it.”

“And?”

“And she asked how much she’d owe us to just buythe book and she said that she’d buy it the next time she came in, since shedidn’t have the money on her that day. The next time she came in to buy thebook was when you had it checked out the first time, but she hasn’t tried tobuy it since then,”

Finn nodded thoughtfully as he flipped open thefront cover of the book to the checkout card where he saw that it had only beenRae checking out the book for what looked like months prior to when he firstborrowed it from the library.

“I had decided not to check it out to anyone,since it seemed like Rae would need to purchase the book based on how heavilynotated it was, but when you came in looking for a copy, I could tell that youreally needed a copy of it and I decided to accept the risk of you complainingabout the poor condition the book was in by allowing you to check it out,”Trudy explained when she followed Finn’s gaze to see what he was looking atwithin the book.

Nearly at the bottom of the checkout card, Finncouldn’t help but notice that beside where his name was written the first timehe checked out the book in delicate handwriting was the word “twat”; however, in a different color ofink it had been messily scribbled out and was now surrounded by doodles ofhearts and smiley faces.

“Thank you again for the help and for the book,Trudy,” Finn replied with a contemplative smile, “Have a nice day!”

As Finn made his way to the doors of thelibrary, Rae’s copy of Wuthering Heightstucked safely inside his bag as he walked quickly toward the park to avoidbeing much later to footie practice than he already was, it was impossible forhim to ignore the additional pep in his step and the smile on his face that hemade no attempts to conceal.

***

“The library? Are you serious right now, Finn?”

“You’re bailing on joining us at the Chippy forthe fourth time in less than two weeks…to go to the library? What—or should Isay ‘who’—brought this change upon so suddenly, Finney boy?”

Archie and Chop had been walking alongside Finnas they walked the short distance from college to the library where it seemedthat Finn had been spending the majority of his time as of lately, askingquestion after question to try to understand why their mate had been so distantand had been opposed to joining them at the Chippy or the pub like he used todo.

“Try not to sound so surprised, Arch,” Finnreplied with mock hurt as they kept walking, “I may not be a genius like you,but I do know what a library is.”

“Finn, you know that’s not what I meant,”

“I know, Arch, I was just joking. I just reallydidn’t want to fuck up this Classic Lit assignment when I know that Mrs.Edwards is scrutinizing every little thing I do. I don’t want her to make goodon her threat to bring my da in for a meeting…he already has enough on hisplate…”

“Finn, mate, we get it. We really do,” Chopreplied softly, his voice almost completely void of his usual brashness, “Wejust think you deserve to have a bit of fun from time to time as well, you know?”

“Exactly! Look Finn,” Archie added, “We don’twanna force you to join us, but at least say you’ll think about it?”

Finn turned to both of his friends, consideringtheir offer, before giving them each a nod and a tight-lipped smile.

“I finished my assignment already, so I’m mostlyjust here to return the book. How about you lads head to the Chippy without meand once I’m done doing what I need to here, I’ll meet you two at the pub for adrink later tonight?”

Archie and Chop agreed to Finn’s suggestion beforecrossing the street to head in the direction of the Chippy while Finn keptwalking along the familiar path to the library.

As Finn walked through the door to the library,he noticed that someone was walking towards the library a short distance behindhim and he decided to hold the door for them.

“Finn?”

Wait…I know thatvoice…

“Hiya, Rae! Fancy seeing you here today! Whatare the odds?” Finn replied in surprise as she walked through the door that hewas still holding open.

“Yeah…It’s been a while! How are you, Finn?”

“It has been a while! I’m doing well. I’massuming you’re here for this?” Finn pulled the book from his bag and held itup to show it to her.

“Yes, actually! That and some new music tolisten to…”

“Perfect! Well I’m just returning it now, so youcan grab it from me as soon as it gets checked in.”

The pair walked side-by-side to the librarian’sdesk and made casual conversation as they waited for the person sitting behindthe desk to finish up with the parent and young child that were checking out afew books when they approached.

When the bored-looking young woman behind thecounter gestured for Finn to step up to the desk, he let her know that he wasgoing to check in the book but before handing the book over to her, Finngrabbed a pen from the counter and scribbled something quickly on one of thepages.

Finnturned around after handing the book to the library employee and was met withRae standing behind him with her arms crossed and an eyebrow raised inquestion, which made the sheepish smile and subtle flush of his cheeks a bitmore prominent.

“I guess I’ll see you around? Have a nice day,Rae!” Finn replied quickly and walked away from Rae before he could embarrasshimself any further under her questioning gaze.

With no intention of joining his mates at theChippy and nowhere else to be until he met Chop and Archie at the pub laterthat night, he walked to the periodical section of the library and beganlooking at anything and everything that caught his attention.

A short time later, as he was looking though oneof the latest copies of NME magazine, he was surprised to hear somebody walk upbeside him and clear their throat to get his attention.

“Oh, uh, hi…” Finn mumbled, glancing away fromthe magazine only briefly to acknowledge Rae’s presence beside him.

“Hey Finn…uh, yes.” Rae replied after a momentof hesitation as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other and held hercopy of Wuthering Heights with herarms crossed close to her chest.

“Yes, what?” Finn asked distractedly as hecontinued to flip through the pages of the magazine idly.

Rae chuckled lightly under her breath beforeopening the front cover of the book and using a finger to point to the line onthe checkout card where Finn had scribbled “Rae-wouldyou like to go out with me sometime?” in the margin beside where he knewshe would be signing her name to checkout the book

“Oh, uh, that…” Finn replied nervously when helooked over to see what Rae was showing him until her response to the questiondawned on him, “and you’re saying ‘yes’?”

“Yes?” Rae said, phrasing it as more of aquestion than a statement in response to Finn’s surprise at her initial answer.

“Great! I mean…uh, cool,” Finn began a bit tooeagerly before he was able to contain some degree of his initial excitement.

Rae kept one arm crossed over her chest but sheused her other hand to cover her mouth and hide the smile tugging at her lips.

“Are you free now? There’s a coffee shop downthe road that I think you’ll like…” Finn added, gesturing vaguely towards thedoors to the library.

“Yeah, I’m free now and I’d love a cup ofcoffee!” She replied with a smile that made her eyes sparkle, a fact thatcertainly did not go unnoticed by Finn.

She stepped aside and gestured for Finn to leadthe way, but as they walked past the librarian’s desk and out of the librarytogether, he couldn’t help but notice the satisfied grin on Trudy’s face whenshe saw the two walking past from where she stood behind her desk.

***

“Just a minute,” Finn called loudly in responseto the repeated knocking he could hear coming from the front door of his houseas he made his way down the stairs as quickly as he could.

Finn unlocked the door, already knowing whostood on the other side, but grinned widely nonetheless when he opened thedoor.

“Come on in!” Finn said as he held the door openand stepped aside for Rae to walk in.

He shut the door and locked it before turning tolook at Rae as she removed her scarf and thick winter coat and hung them on thecoat tree beside the door.

Regardless of how many times Finn looked at Raeand simply admired the beautiful girl in front of him—which he does as often ashe possibly can—he never failed to be in awe of her breathtaking, effortlessbeauty.

Every time he glanced at Rae when she assumedthat no one was looking at her, he saw the way that everything about her lit upwhen she was happy and when she was around him. Every time he looked at her Finnwas always reminded of the same quote that was underlined in Rae’s copy of Wuthering Heights, a quote that healways felt was appropriate to describe his opinion of Rae since the first timeher had met her: “I have to remind myselfto breathe—almost to remind my heart to beat!”

“Ugh! It’s bloody freezing outside,” Rae mumbledas she removed her snow-covered boots and set them near the door to avoidtracking snow any further into Finn’s house, “I damn near froze my tits offjust walking from my car to your door.”

“Hiya girl,” Finn greeted her with a chucklebefore pulling Rae into a hug and giving her a quick kiss on the cheek, whichcaused her to blush slightly and look away as she greeted him with a simple “hello”.

Fuck…I’m never gonnaget tired of seeing the way that I can make this lovely girl blush like that.

Finn looked Rae over from head to toe andchuckled slightly when he meet her eyes and knew that she had caught himstaring for the umpteenth time.

“How does a nice hot cup of tea sound? It’llhelp warm you up…” Finn asked but he began heading toward the kitchen withoutwaiting for her reply.

As they waited for the kettle to boil, Finn lookover at Rae and could tell that she seemed slightly sad, but he knew betterthan to press her to talk about what was on her mind.

If she wants to talk tome about it, she’ll bring it up on her own accord…

When their tea was ready, Finn led both of themupstairs to his room and Rae took a seat on his bed as he walked over to therecord player on the other side of his room to put on some music.

“Happy birthday, by the way, Rae!” Finn said ashe looked over his shoulder for a brief moment before turning his attention togetting the record started, “I know you tried to keep it a secret, but I’m yourboyfriend and I know all!”

Behind him, Rae sputtered and coughed loudlywhen the gulp of tea she had inadvertently taken did not go down smoothly. Finnput the needle on the record and turned around to grab his mug of tea beforetaking a seat on his bed beside Rae and patting her back in a soothing gestureas her coughing subsided.

“Alright, girl?” Finn asked in concern when Raehad all but stopped coughing.

“Ugh…please don’t say that! You can’t justcatch me off-guard and say something like that! I could’ve died, Finnley…”

“Don’t say what, Rae-Rae? That it’s yourbirthday or that I’m your boyfriend?”

“Both?” Rae replied raising her hand that wasnot currently holding her cup of tea in frustration, as if the answer shouldhave been more obvious to Finn.

“Why? It’s the truth! Today is your birthday andunless I’ve misunderstood your signals from the last 2 months and youmisinterpreted when I asked you to be my girlfriend officially last week, I amin fact your boyfriend!”

“No, you’re right. I just…I don’t know, it’sstill weird to hear you calling me your girlfriend and you my boyfriend…”

“Well, Rae, you should get used to it. You aremy beautiful and amazing girlfriend and I have no intention of letting yourforget that fact.”

Rae rolled her eyes in response when Finn endedhis statement by giving her arm a playful nudge with his shoulder and turned togive her a peck on the cheek. Rae reached over to grab Finn’s face and gentlyturned it towards her so she could place a gentle kiss on his lips.

“Well then, thank you for the birthday wish, ohlovely boyfriend of mine.” Rae replied in the most artificially sweet voice shecould muster.

“I don’t appreciate the sarcasm, Rae, but it’s astart at the very least and I’ll take what I can get. What have you been up totoday?”

“I spent most of the day with my family and thena couple of my mates met me at the pub for a birthday drink. After that Iwalked to the library because I got some money from my mum for my birthday andthere was something I’ve been meaning to buy, but that didn’t work out…” Raetrailed off slightly as she gave Finn a sad smile before taking another sip ofher tea.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I have a little something foryou that may brighten your day though,” Finn said as he stood up and set histea down on his desk before grabbing a decorative bag overflowing with tissuepaper and returning to his seat on his bed beside Rae.

“I’d say start with the card,” Finn said ashanded Rae the bag and gestured to the small gift tag attached to one of thestings of the bag.

Finn watched intently—his focus shifting betweenthe small gift tag in Rae’s hand and the look on her face to gauge her reaction—asRae opened the small, folded gift tag and read what was written inside: For my favorite girl on her birthday…herfavorite book and the reason we’re together today. xxFinn

“No…you didn't…” Rae replied after reading thenote attached to her gift multiple times to ensure that she was interpreting itcorrectly.

“I didn’t what? You haven’t even opened it yet!”Finn replied, but his feigned ignorance was immediately betrayed by the widegrin he was currently giving Rae.

She rolled her eyes at Finn, but proceeded toremove the paper on top of the bag before pulling out a worn, pastel purplepaperback book.

“Oh, Finn! Thank you!” Rae said as she leanedover to wrap her arms around Finn with the book still held tightly in one ofher hands.

“It’s nothing girl,” Finn replied as he broughther closer and tightened the embrace, “Icould tell it was your favorite book because of all the notes you wrote in themargins, and I just simply had to buy this specific copy for you.”

Rae pulled away from Finn slightly and hisdoubts began to sink in about whether or not she truly liked the gift.

“Do you, uh, do you like it?” He askedhesitantly before shifting his gaze towards where the discarded gift bag sat onhis bed between where he and Rae were sitting.

“Finnley, of course I like it! This gift isperfect, it’s…it’s…”

Rae seemed to be at a loss for the right wordsto describe how thoughtful his gift had been and how much she appreciated it,but she decided to try her best to put everything that she wanted to convey toFinn and everything that she wanted to tell him into a passionate kiss, whichthoroughly caught Finn by surprise and elicited just the response she had beenhoping for.

“So…I guess I’ll take that as a ‘yes’, inresponse to my question about whether or not you like the gift,” Finn repliedbreathlessly after he was forced to break the kiss with Rae in order tobreathe.

“Of, course that was a ‘yes’ you dickhead!” Raereplied with a flirtatious smirk, “Or would you like another demonstration tohelp further clarify things for you?”

The End!

A/N: Holy shit…this started out as a simplefic prompt request and it somehow spiraled out of control into a 6700+ wordbehemoth of a story…oops! I have no deep-rooted emotional attachment to EmilyBronte’s work or Wuthering Heights, it just happened to be one of the firstbooks I saw on my own bookshelf in my apartment and I decided to run with thatidea (tattered pages, underlined quotes, and notated margins and all since Itruly did use this book for a project I did for school roughly 4 years ago). Ialso love a little bit of storytelling from Finn’s perspective, since it is aPOV that I feel is seldom explored.

As always, thanks for reading and until nexttime: Stay awesome, my friends! :)

[swordarkeereon]

No More Outside Publishers. Period.

I made a solid decision at the beginning of the year to no longer work with any outside publishers. There are two exceptions. The first being my friend Bernadette’s publishing house, 5 Prince Publishing, where Saving Sarah May (my first, and perhaps only, sweet romance) was published. The second, being my friend Andre Gonzalez publishing house, M4L Publishing, which publishes me and Andre’s co-authored Amelia Doss series.

What was the final straw, you ask? It wasn’t a straw really. It was more like I had a realization of what my work is actually worth, and that people were coming to me with TERRIBLE publishing deals and offering to pay me what professional writers were making back in 1990. YES – 30 years ago professional rates. I’ve been writing for almost 30 years, and I’m really not doing anything for other writers in the industry, or myself, by accepting anything less than .20 cents a word for an article (plus more if newsletters and videos are required).

Modern day, professional advances on non-fiction books are running $5,000 – $20,000 ($2,500 is noob, rock bottom), and I’ve had publishers contact me and offer me $500 -$700 and tell me that’s a professional rate. Uh, no. Sorry. Not for a professional writer who’s been at this game for over 30 years, and who is one of the foremost world experts on her subject matter. Advances on non-fiction haven’t been that low since the 90’s, and if you’re working for that — you’re fucking yourself.

What is even worse is when you know what these publishers are selling the books for, and that they’re only paying their authors $4-$5 per copy sold toward the advance of $700, and you know the publisher is making $36 a copy (after you deduct the $10 print cost). Yet — it was the AUTHOR who did all the work. Especially in occult publishing, I’ve learned, no one is hiring editors, and layout is often done by the publisher him/herself. I know this because I’ve later found mistakes in my own work published by certain publishers that any editor would have caught.

Frankly, coming to a professional author who isn’t just starting out, and offering them 1990’s rates for professional content, is FUCKING INSULTING. And between last year and this year, I’ve been insulted enough to realize – hey – I’m worth getting paid professional rates!

Especially when I can publish my own work, do a fantastic job, AND make 100% of the profit without having to include a middle man, and not only make my professional rate, but also the publisher’s cut (minus printing, editorial, and formatting fees). But still, the difference is huge. Let me just spell it out for you.

ARTICLES: A 7,000 word article at .20 cents a word (which is the rock bottom professional NF rate in 2021) is $1,400.00. If you’re writing NF articles for someone and they’re paying you less than that…. WTF are you doing? The last one I did has barely netted me .10 cents a word, which is what I was being paid to write articles for a trade magazine back in 1996. Not kidding.

BOOKS: Let’s specifically talk the economics of limited edition hardcovers (LEH). Let’s say a publisher prints 250 LEH. They offer the author a $700 advance with an 8% royalty toward that advance (that means you have to sell at least 175 books before you earn out that advance and start actually making money, of which there is approximately only $300 more to make.) This means you’re being paid, AT MOST, $1000 to write a content rich book at a minimum of about 30,000 to 40,000 words. SERIOUSLY. Now, take into account that the publisher is likely only paying about $2,500 in printing (including shipping, taxes, etc) and the book, with all copies sold, the book stands to bring the publisher $12,500. Even if the publisher hires an editor for about $400, that means it’s only $4000 out of his pocket. The author gets $1000. The printer and editor get $3000 between them. The publisher walks away with over $8,000. Seems a bit predatory to me since without the author, you don’t have the book. Period.

Now I’m not saying the publisher shouldn’t make money. After all, they have to hire the editor, format it, get it printed and do the distribution, marketing, etc… But honestly — that’s the easy part nowadays. I know because I’ve been indie publishing since 2006. The hardest part is learning how to format or finding a formatter, where to find editors, where to find a printer, and how you’re going to distribute it. Once you have those things set up – you sit back and delegate. You line up orders, you package them and ship them out. Hell, you don’t even have to leave your home office to do that. You can print your own mailing labels directly from most point of sale systems, or via USPS online. USPS will deliver your mailing material, and they’ll pick that shit up for you if you arrange it. After the initial rush of sales on a book, your time spent packaging orders is minimal (unless you do that as your primary business).

There are some publishers that are doing better splits with authors, but the sad fact remains that many of them are just putting out the up front money to have the books printed, hoping the author ran it by a few friends who edited it, they quickly format it via word (which literally takes maybe an hour depending on length), and distribute it. For that, they’re taking half, or more. They don’t edit. They don’t market. (They’ll tell you they do, but they don’t. One post on their social media page doesn’t count.)

I published one book with a publisher who honestly didn’t know how to sell my books. We did have a 50/50 split, but this guy was HORRIBLE at selling the books. I got the first few royalty payments okay, but then, like a lot of small publishers do when they start to go under because they don’t know what they’re doing, he started spending the money as it came in and when it was all said and done, he owed me a little under $1000 and basically whined that it was my fault the book wasn’t selling. That I wasn’t well-known enough and the books were worthless to him. (All this so he could get out of paying me my $950 or whatever.) So I told him that instead of cash, he could send me the books he couldn’t sell. He did. I made well over that $950 he owed me on those books. A lot over, actually. I had no problem selling them. He couldn’t figure it out. ::shrug:: To this day, I don’t know what was so difficult about selling them and my only guess is HE wasn’t putting forth any effort to market them, and was expecting me to do it. And so I did and I ended up doing well on that book.

So — there’s that. Not all publishers know what they’re doing beyond distribution, and if they want to pay an author peanuts for a book and expect the author to do all the marketing — well seriously, fuck that. Let’s not even get into the hourly rate you’re making. If you make $1000, divide by the minimum wage in your state (it’s almost 12.50 in Colorado) — that means you have to be able to write a full book in 80 hours (two weeks) just to make minimum wage. That means all outlining and research, all the writing, and all the revision. 80 hours. Considering most NF books can take authors six months to a year to write — how much you think authors are actually making per hour at $1,000.00 for a book? Even for a 30,000 word book at .20 cents a word – the author should be making a minimum of $6,000.00. That at least pays the author for 480 hours, which covers twelve 40 hour work weeks at minimum wage (12.50 an hour), or three months of their time. (I could write a solid 30K book in 3 months).

Then the question is — if you’re going to do the bulk of the work anyhow, why not just add managing the project and distribution to the mix and do it yourself? You can have readers fund the printing costs through paid pre-orders. You only need 50 people to pre-order to pay for a 250 print run. 56 if you want to hire an editor. At least then you’re the one making the eight to ten-thousand dollars. Yes, you’ll have earned every cent with writing, hiring editors, formatting, dealing with printers, and doing your own marketing and distribution, but you won’t feel used – like a cheap whore.

If you are a professional writer, you charge professional rates because you’re WORTH PRO RATES. End of story.

Is there an instance where I would consider a traditional contract? Absolutely. The contract would require the following:

Contract limit of 3-5 years, at which time 100% of all rights revert back to me.

It better be a million dollar book deal.

I get full creative license.

HAHA — contracts like that don’t exist. But if I can do what a publisher can do, and I could do it better and actually make what I’m worth, then why wouldn’t I? That said, I don’t often deal in LEH anymore. I prefer my books to be affordable for readers which means ebook, paperback, and hardcovers that won’t break the bank. Which means I do make a lot less than the above example, but at least I’m not handing most of my wages to a middle man who is basically my pimp while I do the bulk of the work. If I’m doing the bulk of the work anyway — I’m doing IT ALL. Eventually each book will earn out the work I put into it. Some books it happens faster – others it happens slower.

Okay, I’ll quit bitching. I am simply fed up with being offered insulting contracts.

[jhope-seok]

Written Down; You Will Live Forever

Disclaimer: All of the things mentioned in this story are all works of fiction and have been made up by me, the author.  I did not intend to make anything based on real life, and any coincidences to real life are purely coincidences.

Genre: F L U F F / Bookstore!au

Members: Namjoon x Reader

Length: 6,935

Note: Title paraphrased from Poet by Bastille.

Masterlist

You whispered to yourself as your eyes skimmed over the stack of books in front of you, fingers tracing over each individual spine; smooth paper interrupted by raised letters of authors and titles for the words written within. Glossy hardback covers turning to rougher paperback novels, some with cracks etched into the spine where people had already peeked into the magic hidden within.

You were looking for a specific author, as you’d heard their new book had been released a few days ago and you had to get a copy for yourself.  They were your favorite writer but they were lesser known, not as sought after, and all of the bigger bookstores you’d tried already hadn’t had any copies of their new book, claiming they weren’t sure when they were going to get copies in.

So, here you were at the quaint bookstore on the edge of town hoping they had a copy you could claim as your own. It was a long shot, but it was where you came when you couldn’t find the books you wanted anywhere else. You were always surprised with the books you could find hidden in the overstuffed shelves.

This place was a wonderful mix of new books and used books, the smell of fresh print awaiting fresh eyes combining with old pages that had faded over time and many owners to create a scent unlike any other. It was the kind of scent that overtook you, filling your lungs and brain the moment your feet entered the store, the cool, autumn air unable to penetrate past the door. Near the back of the store the smell was intoxicating, coming over your body in such a way that made you wonder how long you would have to stand there for the smell stick to your clothes so you could take it home and never forget it. Your eyes glazed over as you breathed in deep through your nose, momentarily forgetting your reason for entering the store in the first place.

“Can I help you?” a voice sounded over your shoulder, ripping your mind back to the present.

You had been crouched over trying to read the books on the bottom shelf and when you stood up to face the man standing to your right, you grimaced as your muscles released the tension built up from your position near the floor. “Um. I guess?”

The male raised his eyebrows at you and straightened the glasses on his face. “Are you looking for something...in particular?” He paused, glancing to the shelf you stood in front of, presumably trying to get some sort of hint at what had brought you to his place of employment today.

You couldn’t help but notice how handsome he was. His name tag read ‘Namjoon’ and you tried your best to keep yourself from blushing. He was wearing a simple grey button-down shirt tucked into black jeans with a set of thick, square, black framed glasses that gave him an air of polished intelligence. But, his hair was dyed a light silvery grey color that was combed over to one side revealing a side cut that made you think there was more to him and his story than what his cover was showing. When he tilted his head at you, you had to shake yourself out of your thoughts to answer his question.

“Oh! Yes.” You told him the name of the book you were looking for and explained to him the tale you’d told many other employees before him. “I’ve tried a few other stores, and none of them had gotten them in stock yet. So I thought I’d try here as one last shot in the dark.”

He smiled at you, showing off his deep dimples, and your heart beat a little faster. “Well, you’re in luck. We just got our first shipment of them today. We haven’t put any on the shelf yet, so to save your back from anymore pain, let me go get a copy for you,” he waved his hand towards some unseen place and your eyes lit up.

“That would be great! Thank you so much.” The smile that spread across your face left your cheeks aching, but as you watched him walk away you couldn’t seem to return your mouth to its normal resting position.

While you waited, you browsed the other books on the surrounding shelves, eyes scanning title after title, occasionally tipping a book out of it’s place on the shelf to skim over the summary. Two different books caught your eye, so you tucked them under your arm, moving further down the shelves when you felt a light hand on your shoulder.

“Miss?” You turned to face Namjoon again, who was holding out your requested book. “Here you go! Fresh out of the box.”

“Oh!” You had to peel your eyes away from his gorgeous smile to look down and grab the book from him. “Thank you again. You’re a life-saver.” You scanned over the cover of the book, flipping it over to read the first few words on the back cover, even though you knew it would be great no matter what you found written there. Then, without thinking you opened the book and inhaled. When you heard him chuckle, you looked up to see him covering his mouth with his hand, although it was obvious he was smiling behind it, his dimples betraying him as they poked out over his forefinger.

“Oh, jeez. I bet I look crazy right now,” you stammered out, trying to explain yourself as best as you could. “I mean, it’s just--”

“New book smell,” he cut you off. “I get it. Not crazy at all.” You blushed at his words. “I do it too,” he offered you a soft smile, and you found yourself returning it.

“Do you need help finding anything else?” he spoke up after a few moments of silence.

“Um…” you paused to look around at the surrounding shelves. “I don’t think so? I found some other books,” you gestured to the books under your arm, “but I think I’m okay for now.”

He nodded and bit his lower lip. “Well, I can check you out if you’re ready?” His eyebrows raised and you caught a hint of something in his voice, and you wondered if he felt the same as you, wanting to delay the end of this conversation.

“Okay, yeah,” you started. “I think this is all for today. These will keep me busy for a few days at least.” You rocked back and forth on your heels, unsure of what to do. You didn’t really want to leave, after all he was the cutest man you’d talked to in a long time, and he seemed sort of interested in you, but your mind was blanking on ways to lengthen this encounter. All you could think about was the typical romance story and how the two main characters always seemed to have a chance meeting that lead to them falling in love, and how this could be your chance meeting with your true love. Although, your mind was also telling you he was only friendly because it was his job, and that hint you’d caught in his voice was him trying to get you out of the store so he could go help another, prettier customer you couldn’t see.

“Alright then. Follow me.” His words cut through your thoughts, sharp and succinct. You followed him back through the maze of shelves to the register where he rang up your selections.

“Thanks again for helping me find this book by the way. It means the world to me!” You ran your finger over the title on the cover, the embossed letters beckoning you to open it and read it right there in the store.

“Oh it’s no problem at all.” You looked up to see him smiling so wide his eyes had crinkled shut. “And let me know how you like it. I’ve heard great things about this author, but never had a chance to sit down and read their books. But…,” he paused, biting his lip. “Maybe I’ll have to if you like this one.” His cheeks tinted red, matching the color you suspected had emerged in your own.

“Well if it’s anything like their other books, it will be worth the read. Regardless, I will let you know how it is,” you said as you grabbed the books off the counter and slipped the receipt into your purse. Then, before your brain had time to process what was happening, your mouth had opened and blurted out, “Bye Namjoon!”

As you pushed through the door and stepped back into the crisp fall air, your eyes widened and you halted just beyond the threshold of the door. “I just called him by his name. His name that I read on his nametag. His name that he never actually said. Oh god. Oh no.” Your heart was racing as you realized your mistake and your stomach started to roil. Your instinct was to race back inside and explain yourself, but when you realized that you were still standing outside the door, you figured he was probably watching you through the storefront windows, wondering why the creepy girl who knew his name was loitering outside.

You adjusted your scarf around your neck and raced away, down the street, and hopped into your car, escaping the cold that was already seeping through your clothes into your bones. You hoped with all of your might that you hadn’t made it impossible for yourself to ever return to this store.

----------------------------------one week later--------------------------------------

You’d gotten out of work early and somehow you’d wound up here, outside of the same bookstore. You’d sped through all three books you’d bought the last time you were here, having spent every night wrapped up in a blanket, the fall breeze catching the corners of the pages as it blew through your open windows. Since you finished the last page of the last book, all you could think about was buying more books. But, whenever you thought about it you always pictured yourself going to the other bookstores in the area. In your thoughts you had specifically avoided this bookstore, in order to save yourself from the shame of facing Namjoon again.

Alas, here you were. Standing on the street outside the small bookstore, the air nipping at your nose. You pulled your jacket tighter around your waist and grabbed the door handle, knowing that the longer you stood outside the more chance you gave yourself to be the same creepy girl lingering outside his place of employment. As you pulled open the door and the familiar scents of old and new books filled your lungs, you reassured yourself it hadn’t been weird that you called him by his name. He wore his name tag for a reason, you told yourself. There was no way he’d found it odd at all, other customers did it all the time; you weren’t the first to have done it.

Even still, you ducked behind the first shelf you came to, and made your way through the stacks to your favorite section, hoping to evade contact with him if you could, if he was even working today.  Which you hoped he wasn’t, but knowing your luck you could bet he was.

You were browsing titles, hunched over to avoid the chance of him seeing you over the shelves, three books already tucked into the crook of your arm, when you sensed someone standing nearby. When you looked out of the corner of your eye, you saw a man standing a few feet away from you, facing the shelves behind you, unpacking a cart of books. Your eyes glanced up to his face and confirmed your worst fears. Namjoon didn’t seem to notice you, so you straightened up and tried to sneak past him to another, safer section.

Unfortunately, you stumbled a bit when you caught a whiff of his cologne and bumped into him, the books in your arms spilling onto the floor. “Sorry!” you muttered under your breath, bending down to try and gather the books off the floor as fast as you could.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Let me help you with those,” he said as he bent over to help you, grabbing the books before you could. You kept your face down, averting your eyes from his, hoping to keep this unlucky interaction short. “Here you go.” You stood up and took the books out of his hands as he offered them to you, head down. You tried to make a quick exit, thanking the gods that he hadn’t remembered or noticed who you were, but much to your dismay he bent over as you passed him to look into your eyes, which caused you to stare back at him, surprised by his sudden movement. “Oh--Hey! It’s you!” he exclaimed.

You stopped in your tracks and turned around to face him, only to notice the thick, square framed glasses he’d been wearing the last time you saw him had been replaced with smaller, circular wire ones. His hair was swept onto his forehead and you found your breath catching in your throat as you stared at him. Your brain was struggling to process the words he’d said and when you finally came to, all you could sputter out was, “Me! Yes. It’s me!”

“How’d you like the book?” His eyes lit up with curiosity and as you stared into them your brain had a hard time conjuring up what book he was referring to, until you remembered the reason for your last visit.

“It was-it was good. Great. Another great book by my favorite author,” you let out an awkward chuckle.

“That’s great! I’ll read it this weekend.” You smiled as he spoke and tried to rid your mind of the image that was swimming just behind your eyes of you calling him by his name and then running out of the store after your last encounter with him. Staring into his beautiful, deep brown eyes almost did the trick for you, but when you tore your eyes from his you noted that he wasn’t wearing his nametag today.

You were overly aware of the fact that if you called him by name this time, it would be obvious you liked him enough to remember his name. You tried to map out a conversation with him in your head where you could steer clear of a situation where you might blurt it out again, but as silence fell between the two of you, he didn’t give you a chance to get very far into your imaginary conversation before he introduced himself.

“I’m Namjoon, by the way. I own this store.” He stuck out his hand to you, and you couldn’t help but wonder again why he was going to such lengths to be nice to you.

“Y/N--I’m Y/N,” you stuttered, grabbing his hand and giving a firm shake, trying hard not to focus on the rough texture of his palm or the way his fingers wrapped around yours in a way that made you think his hand was meant for yours; the missing puzzle piece. In an effort to keep those thoughts at bay you muttered, “It’s a very nice store,” and cringed internally at your pathetic attempt at a conversation starter, your hand dropping back to your side.

“Thank you. I love books, so it was the only way I could make a living out of reading them all the time,” he laughed and you noted that it came from deep within him, a sound that was so true and hearty, you couldn’t help but laugh along with him.

“I can’t deny that I’m a little jealous,” you brushed a few stray strands of hair off your cheek, as your eyes looked around. “This is like...my actual heaven. I would give anything to be surrounded by books all day,” you breathed out another laugh, a smile tugging at your lips, as you met his eyes again. “I mean, this is quite the collection you have going,” you motioned to encompass the whole store.

His eyes crinkled shut as his lips curled up ever so slightly at the edges and you admired the way his dimples sunk into his cheeks, matching crevices forming where only moments ago there was smooth skin. “Thanks. I’ve been at this for a while now. I started out with just used books, selling books from my family, friends, and neighbors that they claimed they had no use for anymore. Which, is blasphemy if I do say so myself.” Your eyes widened and you nodded in agreement, because who could ever get rid of books with such careless ease. He continued, “then I got more people who were donating old books with a demand for newer releases, so I expanded, and it’s been growing ever since.”

You stared around at the massive shelves scattered throughout his store and wondered how small it must have started, and tried to imagine empty shelves begging to have books occupy their spaces. When you looked back at Namjoon he was watching you, eyes filled with an emotion you couldn’t name. While your heart sensed that emotion was a hint of attraction, your mind reminded you that there was still zero reason for him to be talking to you.  Yet, your heart pointed out that he didn’t have to tell you all of this, but here he was opening up to you about the history of his business that he built from the ground up.

“Well,” you started, ignoring the war taking place inside of you. “From what I can see, I’d say you were doing very well for yourself.”

He smiled at you, those same dimples re-forming in his cheeks, and nodded. “Yeah. It’s pretty crazy to think how far it’s come. But, enough about that. Is there anything I can help you with today?”

You bit your lip and stared down at the books in your hands, wondering if you were ready for this conversation to end. You hummed, and then looked back up to find him staring at you, eyebrows raised. “You know...yes. I picked these out because they looked interesting, but what else would you recommend?”

Namjoon seemed caught off guard by your quick change of direction back to him. You were hoping that by asking for his recommendation that you would not only guarantee yourself more time with him, but also subtly convey your attraction to him and your want to get to know more about him. You could tell a lot about a person by what books they liked and what books they recommended, and you wanted to know if he was interested in what you’d already picked out and what he would suggest for further reading.

He reached out his hands and inquired a, “May I?”

“Of course,” you handed the books to him, which he took and sorted through quickly, noting the titles and authors you had procured.

“I see,” he said after he read the third title. His eyes glanced up to the shelf next to you, then he turned to survey the rest of the store, shelves filled with stories far and wide. He hummed to himself and took a few steps away from you, before turning back to meet your eyes. “How do you feel about mystery?”

“I love it,” you offered. “One of my favorite authors is a mystery writer.”

“Great!” he smiled. “Follow me. I have a great book I think you should read.”

That’s how it went for several weeks. You’d stop by the bookstore on your way home after work, having finished all the books you’d previously bought, ready to fill more space on your shelves at home. You and Namjoon would chat at the register, discussing favorite parts, potential symbolism, and give each book a ranking as it compared to other books you’d read. This then led to the two of you to roam the store suggesting to each other the next books to read. You thought of it as a sort of secret book club, just between the two of you. Namjoon didn’t have to read the books while you read them, but each week you came back surprised to hear he’d read them so he could talk with you about them.

It became the thing that you looked forward to every week: that time alone in his store. You and him wandering through the shelves, the mass of books encompassing you both, creating a safe haven that you never wanted to leave.

When you did leave, it was always with at least three books, if not more, a smile plastered to your face and a steady beat in your heart that drove you home to start reading so you could return as soon as possible. Every day that passed between your visits made you more anxious to see him, yet each time when you stepped in the door, leaving the smell of fall behind you, his smile warmed your heart in an instant and you felt like you were meeting up with an old friend after a long time. Except, you knew that from the way your heart fluttered every time you saw him that what you felt for him was more than friendly, and you hoped that by the light in his eyes he felt the same as you.

Namjoon was an incredibly intelligent man, having amassed an incomparable knowledge from all of the books he’d read in his life. Talking with him amongst the books filled your heart and mind with warmth and wonder. Every word he said seemed to fall off his tongue, the next word eager to follow, always knowing the exact right word to use to describe what he wanted to say. He made you love books so much more, and he made you start to see life in a brand new way, his words and statements following you out of the store even while he stayed inside.

When he talked about the worlds authors created, in a simple phrase he had transported you into that environment, more vivid than you believed the author could have ever done themselves. You travelled through mystery, classic literature, science fiction, even romance, and every sentence he uttered seemed more brilliant than the last. His mind was so beautiful and with each moment you spent with him you found yourself more and more attracted to him; drawn into his world, seeing things the way he saw them. You couldn’t help but wonder what his eyes and mind saw in you, wonder what words he would use to describe you, wonder how he would write you in the novel of his life.

So, as you drove to the edge of town to stop by his bookstore today, your smile grew wider the closer you got. All of the leaves on the trees had begun to change and fall to the earth, and with this change in the scenery you hoped you could change your relationship with Namjoon from one that was confined to his store to one that could explore the shared world you lived in. You had journeyed through countless realms created by many different authors, and you wanted to experience with him the adventures that the physical world had to offer.

You had spent the last few days contemplating how you were going to ask him out on a date, worrying that you would come off as too forward. But, every time you doubted yourself you reminded yourself that Namjoon had seemed equally as interested in you as you were in him. Each time you returned to his store, when you entered he always greeted you with the warmest smile, your name rolling off his tongue in the most melodious way. He was the one who, as you walked out the door, new books in hand, always sent you one last farewell with an accompanying, “See you next time!” as if he was awaiting your return as much as you were.

Yet as you entered today, the shop felt different. It was quiet, and there was a younger boy at the register that you’d never seen before. He was hunched over the counter reading a magazine and didn’t seem to notice your presence at the door. The thought passed through your mind that Namjoon had to have other employees, how could he run the store on his own? But you wondered why you’d never seen this boy or anyone else working for the store besides Namjoon. Nonetheless, you approached the register, still hoping that Namjoon was just somewhere in the back that you couldn’t see.

“Hi,” you offered to the new face before you. “Is Namjoon here today?”

The younger male looked up at you. His nametag read ‘Jungkook’. “Sorry, he’s not in today. He’s out at some meeting. Maybe with the bank? I don’t know, he was rushing his words when he called me in on my day off, so it was hard to understand. But he’ll be back tomorrow morning. Can I help you with anything?”

“Oh, no. I’m good right now. I’ll just look around and be back.” You gave him a nice smile and began to immerse yourselves amongst the bookcases.

You found that the idle browsing was marginally less entertaining when you weren’t doing it with Namjoon. You stopped every so often to remove a book from it’s place to glance over the summary, but you found that without Namjoon’s deep voice to recount how a particular book related to something else he’d read, the process to find new books wasn’t as enticing anymore. You realized that he had been pushing you out of your comfort zone when it came to books, always reassuring you that you’d like what he was recommending, connecting it back to your personal preferences in the most thoughtful way.

That was something else amazing about him. From only two interactions with you and from a glance at the titles you’d chosen on two separate occasions, he had picked up on your interests in a heartbeat. He was intuitive in a way that no one else in your life had been, and as you’d gotten to know him more and more over the weeks that passed, he had noticed many things that took your best friends months to realize. But that was the best thing about Namjoon, that regardless of how long you’d known him, he caused you to open up about your deepest thoughts on topics you’d never fathomed discussing with even some of your closest friends.

When you returned to the register ten short minutes later you’d only chosen two books. You’d tried your hand at picking out books outside of your comfort zone, but found that without the extra push from Namjoon, you’d stayed very well inside of your usual box. You set the books down on the counter and offered a half smile when Jungkook made eye contact. He stared for a second longer than you would have liked, unsure of why he was studying your face, so you averted your eyes, reading and re-reading the cover of the books you’d picked.

“You wouldn’t be Y/N, would you?” he suddenly asked.

You glanced back up at Jungkook and his eyebrows were furrowed, as if he was trying to remember something. Your own eyebrows followed suit, wondering where he was going with his question.

“Um...yes? That’s me. Why do you ask?” your voice sounded far less hesitant than you truly felt, but you sensed he had no foul intentions in his question.

“Oh!” Jungkook’s face lit up with a smile. “Namjoon told me you might stop by today. He left me……,” Jungkook mumbled as he bent over to reach for something under the counter you couldn’t see. “Here it is,” he stood back up a book clasped between his hands. “This!”

He stuck the book out to you, and you stared at the book, and then back at him. “What?” you deadpanned.

“Namjoon left this for you. He told me that a girl looking like you with your name might stop by today, and he said that if he wasn’t back by the time you got here to give you this,” he lightly shook the book at you.

Your eyebrows raised, still confused. “He left me...a book?”

“Yeah. He said he wants you to read it....At least I think that’s what he said. He kind of yelled it at me as he was running out of the door. But I’m pretty positive that’s what he meant.”

“O--kay?” You reached for the book in his hands. You turned it over in your hands, noting how the spine had been broken in so thoroughly you imagined it passing from hand to hand, owner to owner, and wondered how each person had experienced it. You glanced at the title and the summarization of the adventure within on the back. From what you could gather the book was a romance novel, a story between two people who’d faced great adversity yet somehow managed to forge through everything to be together. It seemed like something you’d expect Namjoon to recommend to you. He always knew what to suggest and his books never failed to entertain and captivate you.

You look back up at Jungkook with a confident smile this time. “Okay. Yeah, I’ll take this too.”

“Oh, it’s on the house, ma’am. It’s from Namjoon’s personal collection so you don’t have to pay for it,” Jungkook grabbed your other books and rang them up and quoted you your total. As you handed him your cash your mind ran wild about why Namjoon would’ve left you a book to read, especially one from his own personal shelf. Your eyes wandered down to the spine again as Jungkook pressed buttons on the register, and speculated how many times he’d read this particular book for it to look so well worn. You thought about how many times he’d taken the journey from start to finish and questioned if there was something about this book that made it worth reaching for over and over again. You contemplated what about it would let him give it up so easily in order for you to experience the same adventure he’d taken so many times.

Your gut was telling you that it wasn’t out of the ordinary; you and him and been recommending books to each other over the last few weeks, pointing them out as you spotted them amongst his shelves and each reconvening the next to discuss. But, even if he mentioned in passing that he owned a particular book himself, you always left with your own copy; he never went out of his way to loan you his copy. He was a store owner after all; he had a business to run.

You also had a nagging feeling that there was a hidden meaning behind all of this, but you brushed the thoughts out of your mind as Jungkook returned your change and receipt. You picked the books up off the counter and crossed the threshold back out into the cold autumn air.

As the door was shutting behind you, you heard Jungkook yell, “Enjoy the book!”

You turned back to stare at him through the glass, caught off guard at his sudden exclamation. He smiled wide and gave you two thumbs up, before returning to his magazine. You thought to yourself how odd that was, and it wasn’t until you were back in your car, willing your car to heat up faster, that you realized he’d said ‘book’ in the singular sense. You stared at the pile of books in the passenger seat next you, eyes focused on the one Namjoon had left for you. “Did he mean that book?” you thought to yourself. You shrugged, thinking that the whole encounter with Jungkook had just been weird in general, pulled the gear shift back into drive as warm air burst through your vents onto your cheeks, and drove off as the sunset began to stretch its way across the clouds.

After dinner that night, you’d made yourself a cup of your favorite tea and sat down on your couch to relax. The three books you had procured earlier laid in front of you on the coffee table, and you began to reach for one of the two you’d chosen personally until you thought better of it and grabbed the one Namjoon had left for you. You were curious to find out why he’d loaned it to you and figured that the longer you put it off the more anxious you’d be to read it.

You took a sip of your tea, savoring the warmth that spread through your body as it hit your stomach, and inspected the cover one last time. You were still perplexed at everything that had taken place inside the bookstore earlier in the evening and you tried to brush it off, but as you opened the front cover something fell out of the book and onto your lap.

You looked down to see a small piece of paper, a handwritten note scrawled across the stark white of the parchment. Your first thought was that since the book was Namjoon’s that it was a note he’d left for himself during his last read through, maybe something he’d used as a bookmark. But, when you picked it up to inspect it closer, you saw that it was addressed to you. It read:

Y/N--

This is one of my favorite books of all time. I hope you like it as much as I like you.

It’s yours to keep if you want.

--Namjoon

Your heart started to race and your cheeks flooded with color. You remembered how determined you’d been on the way into his store to ask him on a date, to further your relationship with him. And now here you had physical proof that he felt the same way for you that you felt for him. You bit your lip in an attempt to stop the smile that was slowly spreading across your face as you read and re-read the note over and over again.

Your brain focused on the way his strokes seemed to flow so effortlessly over the page; the curvature of his y’s and the sharpness of his k’s. You pictured him writing this note and wondered if he’d written this in a rush before running out the door, or if he’d written many before this one, writing and rewriting this simple message to try and get it just right. Either way, you couldn’t help but want to rush back to his store and let him know how you felt even though it was late at night. But, you thought it better to wait a few days, read the book first, and sit on how best to approach him when you saw Namjoon next.

So, you picked up the book he’d chosen for you, took one last glance at his note, and began to read.

Three days later you returned to his store.

You’d stayed up late the first two nights reading until you fell asleep with the book on your lap. The book had been an amazing journey, one that took you through the highest of highs and tearful lows. It was the perfect love story, one that made you envious, as it was only fictional. You understood why Namjoon recommended it and why he’d read it so many times.

The night after you finished it was spent pacing your apartment going through possible scenarios for what you would say when you saw him. You rehearsed several possibilities, each seeming more pathetic than the last, and decided that you would just have to wing it when you got there. But, now here you were, parked on the street two storefronts down from his shop.

Your heart was racing and your hands were starting to sweat. You stared at yourself in your rearview mirror, unsure if you were ready for what was to come next. Just a few short days prior you’d been so confident, and yet you were more nervous now than you’d been before you knew he liked you. It was something about the way he’d confessed that had your heart racing. You felt as if nothing you could do or say could amount to his simplistic yet powerful note; his confession intertwined as a background plot point. As if his attraction towards you had been apparent all the time. Nonetheless, you opened your car door, took a deep breath of the crisp fall air, and told yourself that the future moments held only good things for you.

You approached the storefront eyes cast down on the sidewalk in front of you. You were careful not to stare through the glass because you were afraid that if you caught his eye before you entered that you’d turn and run back to your car. The bell above the door chimed brightly as you pulled open the door and you finally allowed your eyes to glance at the register.

You were surprised when you found it empty. The worst that could have happened was to find Jungkook there once more, but neither him nor Namjoon stood watch over the front. Your eyes flitted around the nearby shelves, uncertain of where to go next. This outcome was not one you’d played out in your head, and so you stood in your spot for a few beats before deciding that if he wasn’t at the front that hopefully he was somewhere amongst the shelves. Besides, it was a bookstore after all, and you wouldn’t mind picking up another book or two.

You set off through the shelves, following the path you took many a time back to your favorite section, to browse the selections by your favorite author. You passed shelf after shelf and each time as they opened into a new aisle your heart caught a little in your throat, hoping Namjoon would be down one of them, yet every time all you found was more books.

You rounded the last shelf before your coveted section with your heart heavy, convinced that luck was just not on your side today; Namjoon must have been off again. You decided that this was just one more struggle that you’d have to overcome before meeting with him again. You sighed, your eyes falling to the floor as you stepped down the aisle of books. But, your eyes landed upon a pair black shoes standing right in front of where you wanted to be, and you stopped in your tracks. Your eyes followed up his legs, to his torso, and finally to his face. In a sequence of events you never could have planned for, Namjoon stood before you, eyes trained on yours. He had been stocking books onto a shelf, and even without looking you knew that it was the same shelf that he’d found you at that day so long ago, crouched over searching for a book. You thought about how apropos it was that it was all coming full circle, ending where it all began.

Except you hoped this wasn’t an ending.

Neither of you spoke, neither breaking eye contact with the other. You didn’t want to speak, for fear of saying something idiotic, so you were relieved when he spoke first.

“Y/N.” His voice was soft, hesitant, but you could see the question lying behind his eyes. He wanted to know if you got his note.

Your brain was working a mile a minute to try and form any sentence that would make you sound like an intelligent human being. You wanted to convey to him how much you liked him, and how much you liked the book, and how much you wanted to be with him, but you were struggling to come up with anything coherent. It wasn’t until Namjoon began to speak again, the silence having stretched on too long, that you knew what you had wanted to say all along.

“Did you--” he began.

“Namjoon...I loved it.”

You crossed the distance to him and stared up at Namjoon, repeating yourself with more assurance. “I loved it.”

The smile you’d been holding back for three days spread across your face, relieved and hopeful for whatever the future had to hold for you. Namjoon smiled back at you, his dimples that you’d grown to love so much etched into his smooth tan skin. He reached his hand up to touch your cheek, brushing away the hair that laid against it.

“I’m glad,” he whispered, bending down to place a kiss on your lips. In all your years, you’d never had a man kiss you like Namjoon did in this instant. It was delicate and sensual, yet passionate and desperate. You could feel the tension of wanting to kiss him for so long slip away under your fingertips as your hands rested against his chest.

As the leaves outside were turning to signify the changing of the seasons, summer to fall, fall to winter, you could feel the pages turning to start a new story. The story of your life with Namjoon. A story that began within the shelves of his store, but one that would far outshine any of the words written upon any page in any book stacked within them.

[skepticaloccultist]

The Bookshop as a Meeting Place

Treadwell's Books has been a part of London occult life for more than a decade. A center for London's disparate and motley occultists, witches, and magicians of every ilk and path to celebrate and meet.

Between weekly events, book launches and tarot readings Treadwell's is a home away from home for occultists the world over. From regular lectures and presentations by Phil Hine, Michael Staley, Hannah Sanders, Chris Josiffe, Robert Wallis, Owen Davies and dozens more to walking tours of the British Museum and Bloomsbury's occult history it's a place to linger, searching for that rare bit of booklore, meeting others on their own path. Some incredible people have found their way through Treadwell's door, a couple of friend's even found each other and eventually married because of Treadwell's. Its a magical place in many ways.

Having moved seven years ago from its first location in Covent Garden it is now tucked away down Store Street in Bloomsbury. A bigger space upstairs and downstairs lends itself to more events, with a comfortable downstairs that is even available for lettings for various group functions, public and private.

Behind Treadwell's is proprietor and "presiding spirit" Christina Oakley Harrington. In between her sold out Magical Bloomsbury Walking Tour and otherwise busy schedule I managed to chat with her about London occulture, her passion for books and running a bookshop in 21st century London.

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Christina Oakley Harrington of Treadwell's

While Treadwell's has only been in London since 2003 it seems to be a fixture that is much more firmly rooted in the occulture of London than its teenaged years belie. How have you come to be so central to the occult community of London?

Gosh, are we really? I have to give the credit to the wonderful people who've come through the doors of Treadwells for that. I've been hugely inspired by London's history of occult communities and in particular, the exciting occult renaissance of the 1880s and 1890s, when the Order of the Golden Dawn and the Theosophical Society had hundreds of members and there were gatherings, rituals and conversations happening every night of the week. I saw that such a renaissance might be possible in our own day if there was a bookshop which was actually a meeting place -- and I saw from history that such a place needed to offer a combination of hospitality, friendship-building and events space.

We hosted our first event within a few months of opening our doors. Since then, it's never been fewer than three nights a week that we're here. That's why we can't open any earlier than 11 am during the week and at weekends we certainly couldn't start any earlier than noon. All our late nights here!

What misbegotten adventure led you to opening an occult bookshop?

I got involved in paganism and the esoteric community in 1987 in the US, where I lived for eleven years. In 1989 I moved to London. It was the Atlantis Bookshop under the ownership of Caroline Wise which was the hub of activity and occult community creativity -- she was a force of nature, hosting conferences, promoting groups, advertising pub moots, and generally making me (and other young people) welcome and feel so inspired. Through her we got to meet magical orders, attend rituals, learn about magic from practitioners. She kept the channels flowing. If you went into her shop, she'd bombard you with recommendations, hand-made fliers, posters and postcards. So I opened Treadwells just as she was retiring from owning Atlantis, and felt that in that regard, she passed on the baton to us. Caroline's been a huge supporter of Treadwells and she's my personal inspiration of what an occult bookshop owner should be.

Do you collect books yourself?

I do! My collection is pretty eclectic. I don't have the completist gene, so I don't need to own full sets of things, mercifully. Then I get bored. I collected all of Dion Fortune's first editions, then once I had the full set, I didn't care anymore, so I sold them. I now have her work in paperback, which I've marked up with my marginal notes and personal opinions in the front and rear covers. So I work most of my books pretty hard. It's from my days as an historian, that I have opinions on what I'm reading and want to debate with the authors, or agree with them. So the margins of my books show that.

In the corner of my study is a shelf of books mentioning Treadwells, signed by their authors. Authors sometimes mention the shop in their novels, or in their guidebooks. Occasionally students and scholars mention Treadwells in the acknowledgments if we've helped them with their research - and that's so lovely. We have a commitment to assisting scholarly research where we can.

My collection is a working library of books containing ideas I love, historical research that inspires me, and lots of poetry -- which I use in contemplative reading and adopt into rituals I write. Big subjects I read are witchcraft, sapphic writers from Sappho through the 1920s, Renaissance planetary magic, and biographies of magicians of previous centuries. I've got an entire room for my books at home, and most often there are lots of them piled up on the desk with bookmarks stuck in, and intermingled are my various notebooks with quotes scrawled from the books I'm reading.

You mentioned a background as a historian, were you an academic before becoming a bookseller?

I was! I was a medieval historian. I taught for eleven years at a college of the University of Surrey. My PhD was at University College London with supplementary study at Jesus College, Oxford. The links between the world of scholarship and magical practice have grown wonderfully over the past fifteen years, so I relish reading the recent academic articles and studies of medieval magical texts and practice.

Do you recall the first book of, or on, magic you remember owning? Not a library book, but something that was your own?

I am sure I had children's books with witches as a very young child, as I was crazy about witches, and always wanted to try to do spells, and I even pretended to be able to fly (I had a children's storybook called No Flying in the House). However, I was very taken with a book whose name I can't recall, which I took from my parents' bookshelves, on superstitions and charms. I would copy the best charms -- in my opinion -- into a notebook, which I called my spellbook. I must have been about six, seven years old....

What rare items have come through Treadwells shelves over the years?

I'm so fortunate to see treasures coming through here. We have had a good smattering of Aleister Crowley first editions, Gerald Gardner first editions and books signed by Kenneth Grant. These are the staples of occult rare bookselling. But I love the offbeat stuff - we've got awesome zines. Zines are overlooked but are truly collectible as they're snapshots of the occult community at a particular moment, at the working coal-face, as it were. A faintingly exciting moment was when we got a very early Rider-Waite tarot deck, from a lady who had it in her attic, and had inherited it from her grandmother. We had people coming in just to look at it before we sold it to its current owner - during those two weeks we were honoured to be able to let tarot-lovers view it and appreciate it.

Some rare items are new - we've launched very limited edition items here -- nocturnal parties for books which are individually consecrated and inscribed and of which only one or two hundred copies are made. Those events are very magical, as it's just a small group of guests, lots of incense billowing, and good red wine flowing.

How has occult bookselling and publishing changed from your perspective over the last 14 years?

Bookselling now is a harder living than even twenty years ago, with London rents being high and with people having the option of purchasing on Amazon. But it's still vibrant, and getting even moreso. Reading occult literature inspires people to want to practice and meet others -- that's where the bookshop is crucial, and always will be. A bookseller is a curator, an advisor, and a bit of a therapist even, at times. I love that it's a continuity, a continuity of over 200 years.

Has the environment changed since the store moved to its current location several years back? Do you feel the community has grown?

We've been here at Store Street for seven years, having moved here after seven years in Covent Garden. I find it hard to believe we've been in Store Street just as long as we were in the old address. So uncanny! The community is different here than there -- and well, times change. In 2003 there was a tight connected community of people, and newcomers entered that network of people, socially. Now, it's much more open, less a community than a wider base of many many individuals who have overlapping interests. They will meet likeminded people at more niche events. I think it's because the era of subcultures is largely over, or so it seems to me. But Treadwells itself is a kind of community of regulars -- we get to know people whose vibe is in tune with ours and they keep coming back so next thing you know, we know all their kids' names and are invited to their art openings. But we are keen not to behave like a clique. So many occult-oriented people were outsiders at school that honestly, we don't need to replicate that in adulthood. A friendly gesture and a welcoming hello for our customers and new acquaintances: that's essential.

So many occultists I know scattered around the world have stories to tell about Treadwell's, visits on trips, meeting future spouses there, finding some bit of rarity they had long sought. Any insights into the future of occult bookselling in London and in general? Where does the plot take us from here?

I'm very excited about a new bookshop/occult event space in Seattle, Mortlake & Co, run by a wonderful chap named William Kiesel (of Ouroboros Press fame). It's got not only a range of rare books, but it also hosts intimate, intellectually-engaged soirees. I think occult bookselling is at its most exciting when it overlaps, not with the New Age, but with history and anthropology. By which I mean to say, when we widen our interest from the practice itself to include the people and the cultures that produced it. As an example, if you you love Enochian magic, check out Elizabethan court life. If you are drawn to hoodoo, learn about how African Americans lived in the era of slavery. If you practice traditional witchcraft, read a book on old cunningmen.

Any upcoming events or releases you would like to mention?

I'm particularly proud of our commitment to traditional, classic tarot reading. The art of reading the cards takes over a decade to master, but one can learn enough to have a meaningful experience in a single day. We offer one-day workshops, eight-week courses and even intermediate brush-up days. Tarot cards came out of the Italian Renaissance, so the symbolism is rich and deep, and it's the same symbol code you find embedded in Renaissance art. If you study the tarot cards, your trips to art museums suddenly become much more exciting.

+++

Discover Treadwell's Bookshop for yourself:

Treadwell's Books 33 Store Street, Bloomsbury, London www.treadwells-london.com/

[malcolmteller-blog]

[HORROR] In the City

My name’s Barry. That's the first thing you need to know. But apart from that...

Where to begin? I first moved to the city to work as a librarian about a couple years ago. I…I won’t say which city. I can’t. It’s too dangerous. It might…it might invite what had me before to come after me now, and I can’t risk that. I just can’t. But I will give some hints, so that you can hopefully figure it out on your own and know to avoid it: it’s one of Canada’s most major cities, on the mainland of the West Coast. That should be enough, yeah?

Anyways, where was I? Oh yeah, moving there for work. I moved here to work as a librarian. I was in year five or so of my career in libraries, and I’d wanted to move to the city for awhile. I mean, what wasn’t to love? The coast, how it seemed to be it for young, progressive, urban types (of which I consider myself one). I guess I’d just built it up in my mind for the past few years as this ideal goal, despite the hardship in finding sustainable work in my field in the city.

But that was it. It was my goal, and I followed through on it. I never had any idea the horrors that it would unleash into my life.

Where did it all begin? I’m not exactly sure. It’s not like I can just pinpoint it. But roughly, it was within my first few weeks of working as a librarian at the main city library. I usually was stationed at a downtown branch. For those first few weeks, it was amazing. I helped maintain the library collection, added to it through collection development, helped patrons get what they needed through reference interviews (talking them through searches for what they wanted), reader’s advisory (recommending them books based on their preferences), and more. It was everything I’d signed up for when I decided to become a librarian. I got a real satisfaction out of the job, out of being an agent of change and good in the community and in the lives of library users.

What was also good was that I made friends. See, I’d befriended a Library Tech named Jason. Young guy, in his mid-twenties. He was a more ‘alternative lifestyle’ type guy and was passionate about zines and comics, and deeply passionate about libraries. I liked him. On our lunch breaks, we’d chat for the whole break over graphic novels, library services to youth, and the potential for zines in library environments.

But in the midst of our friendship, something odd happened.

Now, before I get into that, I need to describe a hangout Jason and I had. We’d arranged to meet at one of the more prominent comic shops downtown to grab the latest Hellblazer trade paperback. We met up, bought a copy for each of us, then walked all the way to the city Art Gallery and had a lengthy lunch and conversation in the Art Gallery’s cafe, on the patio outside. As far as I was concerned, nothing was out of the ordinary when this was happening. Nothing.

So, imagine my surprise when I get a call from Jason the day after when I’m at home laying on my couch, reading a book.

“Hey, what’s up?” I casually asked as I picked up the phone.

“Barry, I’ll just get to it. Why’d you stand me up yesterday?” His voice was inquisitive, but also slightly accusatory - slightly hurt.

I sat up, furrowing my brow. “What? I never stood you up on you. We had a great time - grabbed what we wanted to get, and then had lunch at the Art Gallery.” After I said this, there was silence on the other end of the line, as if he didn’t know how to respond. “Jason,” I slowly asked, “what’s going on?” I could sense something was wrong.

“Barry, what you’re doing is really unfair and hurtful,” he said bluntly. “I wait outside the comic shop for over an hour for you, and you never show up. I was looking forward to us getting lunch, and you blew me off. Doing that without giving me fair warning is hurtful enough, but when you don’t even have a good excuse, and try to flagrantly bullshit your way through it? What’s wrong with you?” Now his voice was definitely hurt and slightly angry.

“I dunno what you’re talking about,” I said, angry. “What’s going on? I’m telling you, I was there!” I was forceful now, trying to get through to him.

“Okay, whatever,” he said shortly. “Forget about it. But I think you need to reconsider what it means to be a decent friend to others.” And with that, he hung up.

I didn’t know what the hell to think. Why would he just make up an issue like that, one that didn’t even exist? I mean, it wasn’t like him at all to create stupid drama like this. He was always straight to the point and had always disdained drama, as did I.

Well, it was eating at me, so I decided to get to the bottom of it. I threw my outdoor clothes on that very hour, and headed down to the comic shop.

I walked into the crowded and busy shop and looked around for the clerk Jason and I had spoken to the day before. Scanning the space behind the counter, I found him. Guy with a buzzcut and lots of piercings and a Batman logo T-shirt. I waved him over, and, his eyebrows rising inquisitively, he quickly strolled over to me and leaned on his side of the counter, looking down at me.

“What can I do for you, friend?” he asked helpfully.

“Hey,” I asked somewhat hesitantly. “Look, this is gonna sound really dumb, but I’m having some issues with a friend of mine - Jason, you’ve seen me and him in here before. We were here yesterday - I mean, you remember, since we bought some trades from you and chatted with you a bit - and… he says I wasn’t here. That I never showed up. I’m wondering if…” As I spoke, I realized how stupid this was. What, did I expect this guy to have some special insight into Jason’s mind? Into why Jason would make stuff up? Realizing this, I decided to abort mission. “Okay, no,” I said, waving my hand and smiling apologetically. “This is stupid, sorry for wasting your time.” After I said that, I turned to leave. But I was stopped.

As I was walking toward the door, the clerk called out to me. “Uh, you weren’t here at all.” That stopped me dead in my tracks. I looked back at him, my eyes wide.

“What?” I asked shakily.

He stared at me, not blinking, but visibly confused - I could see it in his eyes. “He showed up here, asked if you’d been by that day, we said no, then he went and bought a Hellblazer trade and left.”

Now I was pissed. This guy and Jason were playing some kind of absurd prank on me. Evidently my anger showed in my voice, and he then saw that I seriously didn’t understand what was happening, when I told him that what he was saying was absurd, because he put his hands up and made an offer to resolve things.

“Look, if it helps, I can show you the security camera footage from yesterday. What time were you both here at?”

“One in the afternoon,” I responded.

Minutes later, we were in the staff room where the security feeds were piped in. The clerk had just pressed Play on the tape showing the entrance at roughly the exact time Jason and I had entered the store.

Watching the footage, I saw people and clerks milling around, doing business…the usual. And then… at the point where I remembered coming in with Jason… nothing. We watched for a few more minutes, still nothing. Then Jason walked in and started talking to the clerk I was with.

“This is where he was asking about you,” the clerk said, pointing at the TV screen.

I watched in stunned silence as Jason finished talking to the clerk, nodded, walked into the store off-camera, then back with a Hellblazer trade - the exact one we were going to buy - and paid for it, then left with it. At this point the clerk stopped the playback, stood up and looked at me.

“I don’t know what to tell you, bro, but the camera doesn’t lie. You weren’t here.” I could sense not just conciliation in his voice, but a quiet steel edge. One that said “Don’t waste my time, I have an actual job to do.”

I nodded slowly, mumbled out some apologies, and then left. How did I feel? Shocked, stunned, sick. It was too surreal - I remembered being there. I remembered the whole day, every minor detail. How the sun felt as we walked down the street together. The minor chit-chat I’d had with the clerk as we bought our items. The walk to the Art Gallery, the pizza we’d ate at the diner. I mean, to break it to you even further, you know how you remember everything that happened to you yesterday? Imagine you remembered it perfectly, only it turned out that none of it actually happened. That’s the case here.

So, how’d I handle this? Well, I wasn’t sure how to at that point. Clearly something was wrong, so my first step was to schedule a doctor’s appointment. I had it set for the following week, and until then, I had to manage.

Then the other stuff started happening.

Back at work, I approached Jason in the staff room as our breaks were about to start. As I approached him, I saw his eyes go slightly wide as he noticed me. Stopping in front of him, I put my hands up apologetically.

“Jason,” I said, “look. I’m sorry, really sorry. I swear, as far as I knew, I did show up. I remembered…well, everything from spending the day with you that day. But, I get it, it never happened.” I paused, then continued. “Something’s wrong with me, clearly, and I’m getting it looked into. But I’m sorry, I am.”

Jason just stared at me for a moment, then slowly nodded and shrugged. “Well,” he said softly, “if it’s a medical issue, then how can I be mad? I hope you get it figured out, Barry.” I cracked a grin, we shook hands, and that was that.

When I got back from my break, I took my place behind the reference desk and went to work helping patrons with their inquiries. And then I saw it for the first time.

As I was idly scanning the library’s interior, waiting for a patron to approach me, I saw it standing there a ways away ahead of me, staring directly at me. A giant, man-sized hairless rabbit. It’s eyes were dark red, and its mouth was wide open with two rows of razor sharp teeth. I just stared at it for a brief moment, and then blinked, rubbing my eyes before opening them again fully. It was still there.

What the fuck?

As I stared at it, something strange started to happen. Well, not strange, really fucked up. These…gashes started to open up on the rabbit’s body, all over. And then thick, brown, ooze-ish blood started to bleed out. Then that same viscous liquid started to seep out from the corner of its eyes.

Feeling fucked up from this, I backed away, and blinked more times, trying to get it to go away. But when I opened my eyes when I finished blinking, I saw…oh God, I saw everyone in the library on the floor, dead. They were lying on the ground, their clothes ripped apart, deep knife wounds all over their bodies. Their blood was all over the floor, seeped deep into the carpet, staining it a dull reddish-brown.

My heart pounding, and me not knowing what the hell was going on or how to handle it, I… well, I took off. I ran like a bat out of hell out of the building.

I made it home within half an hour, and stumbled into my bathroom where I clumsily turned the tap on and splashed cold water in my face, trying to shock myself into sanity. I looked at myself in the mirror. Everything looked fine. But everything wasn’t fine. Now I was hallucinating.

So, the only thing left to do was see the doctor. Get meds. I called the doctor’s office, explained everything, and they slotted me in for the next day. I said thanks, hung the phone up, and then watched TV - uncomfortably, stressed out - for the next couple hours. Then I went to bed.

I slept soundly enough. I woke up normally, got dressed, and headed out.

And… well, that’s where things got even more fucked up.

I’m walking down the street to the doctor’s office. It was just a few blocks down, turn the corner, then another block and you’re there. I’m walking… and I’m walking… and I’m walking… and I realize that I’ve been walking for the past twenty minutes. And I’m not really any closer. I looked behind me. From that, I realized I was at the exact same spot I was ten minutes ago. Carefully, hesitantly, I took a few steps forward. This time I actually moved forward. Myself completely on edge, I moved forward more, making it to the corner. Rounding the corner, I found… something incomprehensible.

It was this bizarre maze, a kind of labyrinth, of roads, of various intersections kind of merged into one. There were buildings from various parts of the city, all shoved up next to each other like some kind of LEGO set put together by a messy and disorganized five year old. Now at this point, I was freaking out. I looked behind me, to retrace my steps, but behind me was the same maze and labyrinth. What the hell was going on? Starting to panic, but also trying to calm myself down, I decided - I’d try to find my way out of this. Picking the path that seemed best (and how could I even know which one was best? Ugh), I began to walk down it. Down the winding maze and path of the road, I walked to and fro. Finally, I started to recognize some of the urban geography in the distance. Moving closer and closer, I finally was in the midst of it. Then, looking behind me… I saw that area of the city behind me. None of the labyrinth.

Shocked and stunned, I scanned my surroundings - I recognized this place. This was the outlying edge of one of the outlying suburbs of the city. I’d been here before for a benefit concert. But here’s the thing - it takes two hours to get here on transit. I’d been walking for just thirty minutes. There was no way I could get here in that time. It was literally physically impossible.

That’s the point where I realized something was wrong. Seriously wrong. Not with me, but with the world. It all started to fit together at that point - I clearly remembered things that never happened, and I was seeing things - horrifying things - that weren’t actually there. And now the city was reshaping and twisting itself around me, turning into a kind of circus house of mirrors.

So… I made my way back home, and went to work. I began searching on the Internet for what was happening to me, seeing if anyone or anything could offer any insight. No such luck. All that came up was comic book fanfiction. After about five more hours of searching, I gave up in frustration. I didn’t know what to do or how I’d get through it. At that point, I… well, I prayed. I’d never been a really religious person, but at that moment I felt so so profoundly scared, alone, and powerless. Something was fucking with me in a profound way, and I had no idea who or what it was, and I knew - I knew - even without knowing what it was, that I was powerless to stop it.

Well, I powered through. It was the only thing I could do.

I sucked it up, suppressed my sheer existential terror, and continued on.

Things only got worse.

I kept seeing things. More things. Dead children, their throats cut wide open with blood gushing down all over their chests, continually, never-ending. The city kept changing on me. I’d walk for hours and hours and hours just to get from my place to my work, which was usually a twenty minute walk. I’d see faces in building windows as I passed by - horrible, monstrous faces, belonging to beasts which couldn’t exist, blood dripping from their jaws. It kept happening for months, intensifying in frequency and intensity gradually over time. It ate away at my nerves and my sanity, more and more and more. My heart would be beating itself out of my chest near-constantly. I was constantly on edge, constantly terrified something would happen to me. A usual day, around the end of it, would be me terrified, stressed, and anxious, and barely able to focus or deal with people.

Finally, I hit my limit. I broke. I woke up one morning, and - not knowing what whatever it was would throw at me next, and being terrified at not knowing - broke down into vicious sobs. I sobbed, so stressed and anxious and scared, for the next hour.

It also affected my work. I was a nervous wreck at work - snappish, sleep deprived, anxious and wired the whole day. One day Jason cornered me after work.

“Barry, dude, you okay?” he asked me. He was deeply concerned, I could tell from the sound of his voice.

“I-I’m fine,” I stammered out, my heart pounding hard as I wondered what’d happen next.

“Look, I’m worried about you, and I-” I cut him off before he could finish.

“I said I’m fine!” I shouted in his face before hurrying off.

But then… then I had a fortunate turn of events.

I was web surfing late at night, trying to take my mind off of everything. And through my searches, I happened upon an article from two years ago. A homeless man, well-beloved by the network of homeless people in the city and by social workers who worked with that population, had killed himself. Cut his throat open from ear to ear in a library bathroom. But that wasn’t what held my interest. It was what his loved ones said about the lead-up to his death.

They said that he had been seeing things - hallucinations. Not only that, that he reported the city twisting and shaping itself in horrible and crazy ways day in and day out for him. Eventually, it all hit a fever peak. He wasn’t able to function anymore. He’d break down sobbing at random points in the day. He’d start screaming at random, and more than once had the police called on him for causing a disturbance. Finally, it got to the point where they found his blood-drenched body in the bathroom of a suburban library.

This was it. This was it. This was what was happening to me! Not only that, with this being a thread I could follow, it could very well lead to the solution to my problem.

I spent the next few hours asleep, after an hour of forcing myself into sleep. I tossed and turned and dreamed. I needed this lifeline - and I’d get it. No matter the cost.

I called in two weeks of vacation time from the library, and went to work. For the next week, I explored the run-down ‘ghetto’ part of the city, where this man usually hung around. I went around asking people about him, about who I could talk to that knew him, but most didn’t really want to talk to me when they found out that I was looking for that group of people. How can I blame them? I was an outsider, someone trying to track down friends and acquaintances of theirs for God knows what reason.

But finally, I caught a break. It was the early afternoon, a sunny day, about a week into my search. I was doing my rounds, asking around that area of the city, when I approached a particular person. He was short, with a mohawk and a rough look - lots of tattoos, lots of tattered leather. As I walked up to him, he glanced over at me and looked me up and down.

I explained who I was, who I was looking for, and - after a moment’s hesitation - he told me about this old lady, Jenny, who usually hung around the intersection a block or two down the road from where I was, by an old hotel re-purposed into affordable housing. Apparently she was the last person to have spoken to him.

I made my way down there, and when I got within distance I spotted her right away. Dirty, stringy hair, ratty and stained clothes, and a shopping cart full of junk. This had to be her. She was knitting as I approached her.

I walked over to her, and was about to introduce myself and explain why I was there, when she looked up at me and smiled.

“Barry! It’s about time you got here.” Her voice was sweet, gentle - the kind you’d expect your grandma to have. But it was also somewhat scratchy and slurred.

I was surprised, and didn’t know what to make of this person knowing who I was. I’d never even met her, and she’d never even seen me before. To be honest, I found it kind of scary. But still, I decided to roll with it. I needed to, in order to figure out what was happening to me.

I slowly sat down next to her, and looked over at her.

“I was told you were the last one who talked to Reginald. Guy who ended up killing himself, was in the news way back.”

She responded cheerfully and immediately. “Reginald was an old friend. We’d see each other around every now and then, but then things started going so badly for him.” Her voice turned sad at this, as did her facial expression. Then it turned happy again. “But I was able to tell him how things were, what was happening.” She flashed me a wicked smile. “The city tells Jenny things, every now and then.”

Now I was both interested and also a mix of confused and frightened. What was going on? What did she mean by ‘the city tells Jenny things’?

All I could utter was the question, “What’s going on? What’s happening to me?”

Examining her hands as she responded, her voice very casual and nonchalant, she said, “It’s the city. It wants what it wants, and it loves to be pleased.”

I stared at her as I resisted the urge to disregard what she was saying. I started to seriously consider what she was saying… and, my God, it made a dark, twisted kind of sense. The city twisting all around me. The visions. The lost days where I remembered things that never actually happened. Could it actually be… the city? I looked around myself, up at all the tall buildings stretching up towards the sky. Could it all be… alive?

Slowly, I looked down and back at her. “Are you saying it’s the city? The city is alive, and doing all this to me?”

She just looked over at me, a blank expression on her face. At that moment, just looking at her, I started to feel very, very disturbed and chilled. Just the emptiness in her eyes. Finally, she spoke.

“It’ll get you too, you know. When it picks its favorites, it never lets them go.” Then, giggling, she returned to her knitting.

I got up and started to walk away, then started to run. Panic was taking over. This… this was insane. How could the city be alive? But I realized what I needed to do. I needed to get out.

I ran and ran and ran and soon was in a decent part of town. Catching, out of the corner of my eye, a car rental service, I went in. Minutes later, I was pulling out into the street in the rental car. Then, I started to drive.

I wasn’t going to go home for my things. I wasn’t even going to call in to quit my job. I had to get out. That was the most important thing. I couldn’t risk doing anything else. As those thoughts ran through my mind, my heart pounded desperately against my chest and I felt so much fear that anything could, and perhaps likely would, happen. The city would know that I was trying to leave. It would know, and it would try to stop me.

That’s exactly what happened.

I was driving for about half an hour, straight toward the city limits. But at the end of that half hour, I realized something - I was going in circles. It was very subtle, because I never went down the exact same route the exact same way, but I finally noticed myself passing similar landmarks on a recurring basis. It was impossible, in a logical world - I’d been going straight for the edge of the city. But I knew what was really happening.

So, what could I do? I gunned in. Took off in the car as fast as I could. Maybe I could outrace the city. The city buildings flew by me, and I felt the car swerve and lean as I tore around corners. I felt the speed vibrate through the car into every part of my body, and as I did so, I felt something peculiar. An odd sort of fear. A sensation. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I was being watched. Now I’d really gotten its attention.

As the buildings sped past me in an almost-blur, something odd happened. The city’s shape shifted and changed in front of me. Finally, I was in this jarring nightmare-like landscape. The sky was red with a black sun, and the buildings were twisted and shattered facsimiles of the ordinary buildings you usually see in a city’s downtown core. The road was cracked and broken, and I caught the smell of flames radiating in from the city. I guessed that the city was making its final play. At this point, I was terrified. My blood was pumping, along with the adrenaline, and my heart was pounding. I had no idea if I’d make it out. But, I had to try.

I gunned it even harder and sped through the twisted landscape. As I was doing this, I was trying to figure out how to actually get out of the city. Jenny had said that the city always got its favorites, but I wasn’t just gonna lay down and die. I had to do something.

Then I started to feel heavy.

Yawning, I tried to keep my eyes open. But I just kept feeling like they wanted to close. Finally, I figured it out. I was passing out. It became harder and harder to move my arms, my legs, to keep my eyes open. It was like something had drugged me. So this was it, then. The city was going to win.

But then I had an idea. A crazy one, one that could have only come into my mind when I had nothing else to lose.

Forcing my eyes open for a couple more brief moments, I scanned my landscape. Catching a decent spot, I decided on it. Suddenly swerving the car off to the side, straight into the direction of what looked like a skyscraper, I closed my eyes as the car sped directly into the face of the building.

Then I opened them.

When I opened my eyes, I didn’t feel tired anymore. Not at all. I scanned my surroundings. I was driving at a regular speed, well within the speed limit, on a long highway. Getting a glimpse at a passing sign, I realized - I was at least ten miles outside of the city. I’d made it. I still don’t know why or how it worked, exactly, but I’d made it out.

So, what else do you need to know? I made it to the next province over, and stopped in their capital. I’m not gonna bore you with the details of how I got set up again, but after about a month - and it was kind of rough - I had found employment at a provincial archive. That’s where I’ve been for the past five years, now.

What would I say to anyone who happens to make it to the city? I don’t know. It was luck and it screwing up, I think, that got me out. The best advice I can offer is to avoid that general region to make sure you don’t end up in its grip.

Still… sometimes I think it hasn’t given up. I still dream of the city - beautiful dreams, where everything is lit up beautifully in the sunlight, and I feel so warm and at peace. I’ll dream those dreams, and wake up in the middle of the night, desperately wanting to go back. Those feelings will pop up at various points throughout my day, and linger in me, and I know what they are and where they’re from. That’s why I don’t dare risk saying the name of the city.

Because it might just be enough to give it the power it needs to pull me back in for good.