#that’s the only detail of this book that i remember other than which children’s librarian did that story time and that she wore overalls

[chronic-invisibility]

I keep remembering tiny tiny details of books I read as a kid or books that were read to me as a kid and desperately wanting to find them again but having so little detail to go off of that it’s virtually impossible. This is like the third book I’ve remembered and had an all-consuming need to find, although I did actually find one of them recently, the other one I’ve been wondering about for a few years, and I just remembered another tonight while I was taking a bath.

[dearestones]

A Weirdo at the Library (Brian Thomas and Reader)

Warnings: Reader is too curious for their own good, slight horror.

Anonymous Request: Could I have the Prompt "Why should I trust you?" For Hoodie from Marble Hornets?

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There’s a strange man who frequents your library from the time it opens until it closes. He's dressed in a tan hooded sweatshirt, a black hat that looked better worn during the winter months, and a blank expression on his face that never quite seems to emote. Even though you usually arrive at work a few minutes before the start of your workday, the man is usually hunched over by the entrance, his stance clearly relaxed.

For as long as you've remembered, the man was always alone. Aside from the backpack that housed a laptop and a few other essentials you were not privy to, he had no other belongings. Briefly, whenever you decided to give him some thought, you wondered if he was homeless.

It would make sense.

The clothes usually stayed the same, the scent of mustiness that reminded you of campsites and forests filling your nostrils. However, other than his permanent outfit, you had the feeling that he wasn't an absolute slob. You had no right to judge, but you had the feeling that maybe he frequented public facilities like local gyms to accommodate his hygienic needs. 

Maybe he did have a home and you were overthinking.

Whatever the case, it didn't matter.

You always unlocked the door for him if you were the first to clock in and it went unspoken amongst your colleagues that it was best not to disturb the man.

And so, it went like that for months, maybe even years. You weren't particularly too detail oriented about the specifics of how long you had known the man in the tan hoodie, but you did know that it was rare not to see him in the library.

Even though it was none of your business, you often wondered if he worked solely through remote means. Perhaps he didn't have wifi wherever he lived and was utilizing the library's resources. Sometimes, whenever you glanced up from your desk or reshelved books into their proper places, you would find him leaving his laptop behind on one of the tables he monopolized for himself to peruse the bookshelves. He never checked out a book to take home, but you did catch him bussing stacks of texts to his table. Minutes later, he would end up scribbling on scraps of paper he would tear from battered notebooks. 

On the rare occasion that you were the sole person to reshelve the books he left behind, you realized that he was picking up books about codes, ciphers, and texts about computer programming and software.

In the beginning, you chalked it up to a hobby that he liked to pursue in the midst of his work.

That is, until you managed to get a good look at his laptop and the notes that he left on the table one afternoon.

At the very beginning, the man in the tan hoodie used to close his laptop shut and flip over his notepad or weigh it down with a series of reference texts. However, for some reason unknown to you, he must have felt relaxed enough to leave everything on his work station available for everyone to see. You spotted him retreating into the men's bathroom—not an unusual scene—but you happened to be only a few feet away from his table at that exact moment.

Your next few actions were unprecedented and unconscious.

As a librarian, you learned from the very beginning not to judge people for their tastes and preferences. So what if there was a middle aged woman reading erotica meant for women years younger than her? Or that was a young man reading a children's series about school mysteries? Or that there was a straightlaced businessman checking out a niche manga series from the nineties? Checking out books meant more engagement, which could potentially lead to more funding for your library. You only checked their library card and made sure that they returned their books on time.

But this was the man in the tan hooded sweatshirt.

He was a mystery who not only perplexed you, but also your coworkers. 

What you were going to do next was neither illegal nor immoral… Perhaps a little questionable, but that meant nothing! 

It wasn’t wrong to take a quick glance at someone’s work, just a passing glance nothing more. Everyone always caught a glimpse that wasn’t necessarily their business, so why was this any different? And if you were caught, you could say that you had dropped something near his work space… You were merely an unobtrusive, simple librarian. What was this man going to do to you for being curious?

Your interest had been piqued so long ago and you had been patient, you needed to know.

Before you could stop yourself, you swiftly walked over to the table and took a sneak peek at his laptop. 

What you saw on the screen looked banal and not at all what you expected to see from the man in the tan hoodie. He used a browser unfamiliar to you, but anyone from a mile away could initially recognize the layout of YouTube. You focused on the video player upon the screen, squinting at the video’s title.

It appeared to be nondescript and unassuming; it was titled “entry” followed by what you assumed was its corresponding number. 

The uploader of the video was also unknown, but their handle was far more whimsical than you had expected from the title alone. Marble Hornets, you read. What, were the hornets made out of marble? Or were they marbles with hornets in them? 

Still, the name stuck with you despite it all. 

You found your eyes drifting past the keyboard and onto the series of books and scraps of paper that littered the majority of his table. For some unfathomable reason, a number of those scraps of paper were littered with dozens of sketches of pine trees, strange circles that were crossed out, and vague, disturbing warnings about something watching in the woods. You dared not touch any of the scraps lest you leave incriminating evidence behind, but you did see that one of the reference texts was open to a page about encryption methods. 

Glossing over the contents, you didn’t learn too much except that whoever the man was, he was smart. 

Whatever the case, you didn’t want to any longer than you had to. It was one thing to sneak a glance at his belongings, quite another to be caught theorizing right in front of him. Quickly, you hurried off to another part of the library, something nondescript like the children’s section. 

No sooner did you help a child pull the newest picture book off of a shelf did you spot the man striding from the bathroom and towards his spot. Averting your eyes, you gently reminded the child to not tear the pages and to ask for more help if they needed it. Excited and eager to please, the child thanked you heartily and skipped away to whom you thought was their guardian. 

You happened to turn around at that exact moment—later on, you would contemplate why—only to find that the man in the tan hoodie was staring at you. Normally, whenever you found yourself locking eyes with the man—usually in passing—one or both of you would nod in acknowledgement before quickly turning away. That simply wasn’t the case now. 

For five complete seconds, his eyes held you in place, the expression on his face strange and surreal to see on his normally impassive visage. 

And then—

When you began entertaining the idea that maybe he knew or had seen you retreating, he turned away and began scribbling something in one of his papers. 

You could only hope that he wasn’t furiously drawing more trees. 

After that incident, you forgot about that strange man. 

At the end of the day, you were still a librarian and that meant that you still had to cater to a variety of people's interests. There were a group of young ladies who wanted to know if the latest romance novel by a famous author had been shipped. An older gentleman with a hearing impairment asked if there were any books about developmental psychology. There were other questions and requests; all of them, you were sure to fulfill to the best of your ability. 

Shortly after, the librarian closed and you watched as the stragglers gathered the last of their books, logged off their computers, or printed out the last of their research papers. Once that was done, you said goodbye to your fellow coworker, some of whom decided to stay a little later just to tidy up and gossip.

You laughed a little at that, but wished them the best for their evenings before you stepped out of the premises and into the chilly evening air. Having been working in this library for a while now, your guard wasn't up as you walked into the near empty parking lot, your car parked strategically near a lamplight so that it illuminated it perfectly. As you unlocked your vehicle, you began to feel a tickling sensation at the nape of your neck that trickled down your spine and raised the skin on your arms.

Someone was watching you, possibly from behind.

On guard, you immediately turned around, your keys wrapped in your fist as if you were brandishing a knife. Before you could initiate a stabbing or slashing motion should you find someone or something standing behind you, your hand was immediately intercepted by someone who was stronger than you. The shock of being caught without so much as a backup plan hindered you from recognizing the person holding you hostage until you noticed that the man was wearing a tan hoodie and that same expression on his face that you spotted him wearing him the last time you saw him, was aimed at you. 

It was wariness and suspicion. 

“What did you see?” 

His voice was raspy and soft, as if it had been a long time since he had used it. However, you could not deny that even though there was a lack of volume, there was a notable threat—as if the tightening hold on your wrist wasn’t enough. 

“W-what—”

“Don’t play stupid.” His grip flexed and you had no choice but to let go of the keys. As they cluttered onto the ground, he relaxed the hold he had on you, but the look in his eyes was still suspicious. But there was also an undercurrent of desperation. “What did you see?”

Maybe he had known all along that you had been watching him. 

You were stupid to think that you could get away with this, but it was all for curiosity’s sake! There was no way he was getting riled up over something this stupid!

“F-fine!” You gritted your teeth and answered, “All I saw was a YouTube video and some of your creepy drawings. Happy?”

His eyes hardened. “You’re the one snooping through my belongings. Why should I trust you?”

You bit the inside of your mouth. “Okay, it was wrong of me to take a look—it was just a loo!—and I should have respected your space! I’m sorry! I didn’t see anything other than that! Honest!”

Finally, after you thought that he was sizing you up for a mugging, the man in the tan hoodie finally let go and practically shoved you into your driver’s seat. You tripped, but managed to right yourself so that you could cast one more fearful glance at your attacker. 

“What the—”

“Go home, stay home. And don’t go snooping into places you aren’t supposed to.”

Had you the bravery, you would have retaliated, but you could barely stomach your shock when he grabbed your keys from the ground before throwing them into your lap. 

By the time you slammed your door shut, locked and made sure all of your windows were secure, and started the ignition, the stranger was long gone.

That was the last time you ever saw him. 

However, you couldn’t help but sense the feeling that something was following you. Always in the periphery of your vision, but never quite coming into focus. It was not the man in the tan hoodie, but it was something far more malevolent.

And it reminded you of the strange drawings that the man had scribbled. 

What else had you seen?

Oh. You remembered now. 

A tall, slender man hiding among the trees. 

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If you want to donate a Ko-Fi, feel free https://ko-fi.com/devintrinidad.

MARBLE HORNETS MASTERLIST

[televinita]

The results of April's book sale bonanza, four library sales in two weeks! Long text post incoming...

Left stack in the first photo is from one sale, right stack is two other sales, and the final photo is from the last one alone. Somehow acquired more in April than I had Jan-March combined. I don't even want to count up how much I spent, so I'm simply going to decide it was worth it because so many pretty books, exciting finds, and fun!

I will say, the craziest thing to me is that the super-mega-huge sale, the one I made an effort to drive an hour for on Wednesday night? It was indeed huge and I spent 3 hours there & had a good time, but only found seven books, pictured in the right hand stack - from The Darcys & The Bingleys up through the 3 skinny paperbacks (plus a couple of CDs I took a chance on, didn't like). And the sale that usually doesn't have much of anything, that I barely had an hour in? The best sale of the month.

I tried to organize the cover photos mainly by age group, with YA blending into adult, so I think that's actually the order in which I'm going to go through them, not least because I missed a couple of them for the stacks.

CHILDREN'S BOOKS

1. A Dog Named Wolf - Erik Munsterhjelm (1973): I snagged it mainly because vintage dog/wildlife novel, but then I realized it's actually on my OpenLibrary TBR, so now I don't have to read it that way!

2. Mr. Cat - George Freedly (1960): not really a kids' book but small enough to put here. Apparently a bind-up w/ "More Mr. Cat" but I cannot imagine how short these were originally, as together in a mass market paperback it's still only 160 pages. I assume he was already a famous enough writer, even if only at a newspaper, to be granted the indulgence of publishing a memoir about his cat....

[edit: "theatre critic, librarian and founder of the Theatre Collection of the New York Public Library, Freedley was a regular columnist for PLAYBILL, and the drama critic, book editor, and feature writer for the Morning Telegraph (New York)"]

3. The Black Pearl - Scott O'Dell (1967, 70s edition): not unlike Call it Courage, this is another one I remember really liking in elementary school but the details have been forgotten.

4. BSC Super Special #7: Snowbound: only grabbed because it was super-cheap; it's not in great condition but super-specials are a little harder to spot in the wild so while I'm not trying to collect this massive series, I can't help having a soft-spot for a few reps. (side note: the Karen/Little Sister novelty book "School Scrapbook" was also there, which I thought might be a fun collectible, but it had already been mostly filled out by its previous owner. Still fun to read her answers, though! I would cherish having something like that from my own 3rd grade year).

5. Two-Minute Mysteries - Donald J. Sobold (1967, 90s edition): even though a teacher's name is inked on it, I couldn't resist this nostalgic read! My 4th/5th grade teacher used to read these aloud to us and challenge us to solve them, and you know what? They're STILL kind of hard to solve. You have to pay really close attention to specific wording and tiny details.

6-7. Animal Inn #3 + 6 - Virginia Vail: remember this series I love? By wild coincidence, these are the exact same ones I read from a Little Free Library in 2020, but where those copies were in horrible water-damaged shape, these are as good as can be expected from cheap-pulp kids' paperbacks of the 80s

8. The Dog In My Life - Kurt Unkelbach (1966): yay! I'm interested in all his books but have been wanting to read this ever since I solved it on a Goodreads "What's The Name of That Book?" queries (one of my first, and one I worked very hard on finding!)

9. The Black Stallion & the Girl - Walter Farley (1971): only grabbed this because it was so cheap; it's not in great shape and I probably won't keep. I always wanted to love this series more than I actually did growing up -- everyone who likes horse books always says this is their favorite, and I just never got the hype beyond the first couple! -- but there were a few I really liked. Maybe this could be one of them.

10. A Summer of Horses - Carol Fenner: I see an 80s teen horse book paperback, I buy. Unsure if I'll keep it after reading, but it's not that thick so probably.

11. Flash of Phantom Canyon -- Agnes Ranney (1960s): I see a vintage Scholastic horse book, I also buy. I ended up deciding to read this right away, mostly because it was small and light and easy to carry in a shoulder bag while walking on trails in search of a good reading bench. Honestly, it's as much historical fiction/history lesson as it is horse book and if I ever make myself weed through the Scholastic Stack this is probably a donation candidate...but not just yet.

12. The Stallion of Box Canyon (1997): part of the Treasured Horses collection I owned several of as a kid from Scholastic book orders and LOVED, but sold off when I outgrew them, and have now been grabbing back. When I learned in 2020 that there were model horses to go with them, as well as more books than I knew about, my interest increased, and this one about a Mustang was my #1 most wanted!

13. Foxy - Helen V. Griffith (1984): Dog book! I think I read this in elementary school but want to be sure. May or may not keep, depends how sad it is.

14. The Collector - K.R. Alexander (2018): the modern-day counterpart to Mary Downing Hahn, I freaking love this scary-as-hell cover. I listened to it on audio but I wanted a physical copy as well.

15. The Sun Will Come Out -- Joanne Levy (2021): it was simply too beautiful and pristine -- it looks off the shelf new -- not to buy, knowing I could flip it to Half Price. I think I probably will do that now that I've read it, but I did enjoy it.

16. The Diddakoi - Rumer Godden (1972): figures that I find it just one year after I finally caved and read it on OpenLibrary last year after 6 years on my TBR. But this is the first time I've seen a physical copy. This edition is not my favorite cover so I'm not sure if I really want to keep it, but I did enjoy the book.

17. Tucky the Hunter - James Dickey (1978): pictured in the last photo, I bought one (1) picture book because the illustrations were so beautiful, and the rhyming text written in calligraphy. Do I agree with the story theme of a child dreaming about all the animals he wants to shoot? Not really, but...

YA/TEEN

1. Seventeenth Summer - Maureen Daly (1942, 2006 edition): it's only a mass market paperback, but still thrilled to finally have this classic in my hands to read when ready!

2. City of Darkness - Ben Bova (1976): I just couldn't resist the premise of this one -- Manhattan is now under a dome and only "open" in the summer as a tourist spot, but a kid sneaks in and gets stuck there to find out that gangs secretly live there year-round, fighting for sheer survival? I intended to read & release because it's not in the best condition, so I read it right away, but now I think this is so creative I want to keep it around.

3. In the Hand of the Goddess (Alanna #2) (1984, 2011 edition) - Tamora Pierce: ex-library but I think I can peel the tape/stickers off. I've decided to collect both this version of the series and the mass-market paperbacks as I find them because I love them equally for different reasons.

4. In Front of God and Everybody: The Confessions of April Grace - K.D. McCrite (2011): technically middle grade but putting it here because it's a visual match. I saw this at the sale a few years ago but gave it a pass because it was Christian fiction. Now that bothers me less, and I'm so glad I changed my mind because I read it last week and it was HILARIOUS and I want the rest of the quartet. (also very minimally "Christian Book" -- it shows only in that the family goes to church/says a blessing before dinner and lives by the principle of "be kind to others no matter how ungracious they are")

5. Pretty Fierce - Kieran Scott (2017): a 5-star swoon-worthy YA spy thriller! So happy it's mine.

6. Top Ten - Katie Cotugno (2017): as recently mentioned in the reading triage, this is ex-library w/ a broken spine so I mainly bought it to dismantle for the snapshots on the cover and endpages, but then I realized ah heck, this sounds pretty good and I want to read it after all. I'm 70 pages in and really enjoying it, but saving it for the sunny days.

7. What Comes After - Steve Watkins (2011): one of my standout YA reads in *checks notes* actually 2011, wow! I still think about it regularly -- orphaned teen is sent to live w/ only remaining relatives, an abusive aunt & cousin; finds solace in caring for the goats

8. This Is What It Feels Like  - Annie Barrows (2018): has been on my summer TBR 2 or 3 years running, now I can stop worrying about when the library will weed the last copy.

9. In Real Life - Jessica Love (2016): an underrated read from, I think, 2018? Again with the sweet romance.

10. The Girls of No Return - Erin Saldin (2012): a much more serious book about girls in a wilderness therapy camp/school that really impressed me, thrilled to have one in pristine condition.

ADULT FICTION

Now we're gonna mix it up a little as fiction and non aren't separated in the above photos, mainly to match size & color, but I'm listing all the fiction first.

Driftwood - Elizabeth Dutton (2014): I thought it was a misplaced YA when I bought it, until I started reading and MC is twenty-eight. It promised a solo California road trip, following a route left in letters by her late father, so I decided to take a chance. It seemed so perfect for the weather I ended up starting it in a nearby park before I even went home, and finished the next day. 3.5 stars rounded up to 4, I'm glad I bought it

2. The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay - Michael Chabon (2000): I bought husband a brand-new copy of the newer edition w/ four extra short-stories in the back, which he never read and now I'm kind of glad he didn't so it stays pristine in a way only I can manage, and meanwhile, I decided to get this one too because it is MUCH, MUCH floppier and more comfortable to read.

3. Maurice - E.M. Forster: I've never read this and kind of want to. I've started making it a habit to look for nice editions of classics at these sales, and while this isn't amazing, it's like new, a floppy paperback, AND it has horses on the front, so.

4. Where the Forest Meets the Stars - Glendy Vanderah (2019): I've been flirting with the idea of reading this and while my library DOES have it, I'd love a perfectly-new copy of my own for $2.

5. The Haunting of Gillespie House - Darcy Coates (2015, 2020 edition): same with this one. I still can't believe that after discovering a whole shelf of her books at the library in 2022 and being like "I'm gonna read them all!", I actually only read one. But this was definitely high on my interest list!

6. The Darcys and the Bingleys - Marsha Altman (2008): had there been more at this particular sale I wanted, I might not have bought it, but the library doesn't have it and my interest is piqued by this P&P fanfiction sequel (which...is the first of ten in a series?? good lord this one is already large enough).

7. Coffee Train - Margarethe Erdahl Shank (1953): It's in terrible shape -- awful foxing on the pages -- so I really shouldn't have, but I'm Intrigued by this vintage read; my family has no Scandinavian roots but much of Minnesota (including my husband) does so I have a soft spot for it. Even though this takes place in the state next door, I think it will be very charming.

Through the eyes of little Mugs, a Norwegian-American girl, we see life in North Dakota with Norwegian Lutherans in the days following World War I.

8. The Dogs of Christmas - Bruce Cameron (2013, 2018 edition): I absolutely loved this book and this is the "author's preferred edition" with an extra chapter at the end! I saw it at a garage sale 3 years ago and resisted like an IDIOT who was trying not to over-buy books she didn't ~need~; have regretted and been looking for this version ever since, now it's mine.

9. The Christmas Dog - Melody Carlson (2009): I couldn't resist this slender novella. This year's December reading is gonna be SO CHRISTMASY I swear it.

10. Christmas at Corgi Cove - Annie England Noblin (2023!): aaand now I am back up to owning 3 unread books by her after having only read 1 and given it 3 stars. But hope springs eternal and all that.

11. Roxane the Blue Dane - Alice Kingham-Lechevre (1988): "a series of short stories chronicling the relationship between the author and her favorite show dog, Roxane, told from the perspective of the great dane." Takes place in France, so I had a devil of a time trying to figure out why this author was famous enough to write about her pet, and finally deduced she was a decently well known English/French artist/illustrator, particularly of animals, born late 19th century. It seems quite wonderful from the chapter or two I've read.

12. The Sccrets of Pistoulet - Jana Fayen Kolpen (1996): this one I'm actually really excited about because a) it's in a slipcase, which I didn't previously know because I read a library copy, and b) I spotted it in the cookbooks section I only ever skim (for Susan Branch). I don't actually love the story, which is a murky magical-realism adult fable set in France, but I do love that it's mixed-media with transparent overlays, at least one card that opens up, and several recipe cards you can physically remove from envelopes.

NONFICTION

1. Unauthorized X-Files -- Hatfield/Bur (1996): I would have climbed over people to get my hands on this in high school. "In this ultimate game book for X-philes, the authors have put together a collection of trivia challenges: Some are based on specific episodes from the first three seasons (brief episode summaries are provided); others address behind-the-scenes and on-the-set information, site locations, dialogue between characters, more. Testing methods vary, ranging from multiple choice to fill in the blank. Also included are actor and character profiles, memorable Mulderisms, and scintillating Scullyisms!"

Even though it's limited to the years of TXF I mostly avoid rewatching, the vestigial Phile in me is still intrigued. By the same authors, I also saw Unauthorized X-Cyclopedia, which tempted me, but I figured I'm unlikely to actually use it for reference and tbh, it'll just annoy me that it doesn't cover the full series.

2. Growing With the Grass - Ted Hall (1992): a small local press-published memoir of a boyhood circa the 1920s, arranged as a collection of brief anecdotes & vignettes, snagged because Old Frontenac is a lovely day trip visit and still just as much of a village as ever. I don't know if this will fully be to my tastes or a keeper, but I couldn't resist.

3. House Lessons - Erica Bauermeister (2020): a memoir of restoring an old house on an island off the coast of Washington, crossed w/ life lessons. Would you believe I was on a Libby waitlist for the audio for three months as our library doesn't have a physical copy, finally finished it during first week of driving to book sales, and then found a physical copy at the last one! Decided I liked it enough to own, at least for a while. Plus physical copy has little sketches before each chapter!

4. The Big House A Century in the Life of an American Summer Home - George Howe Colt (2003): now for the opposite coast...I think I put this on a TBR before; our library only has one copy and I really want to read it but I'm never quite in the mood. Now it's mine forever!! (I was SO excited to find this with you lmao)

5. Cold Antler Farm - Jenna Woginrich (2014): I read her first book twice (Made From Scratch), and while unfortunately there are 2 more memoirs to go before I chronologically reach this one and the library doesn't have any, I'm really excited I have this one!

6. Connemara Mollie - Hilary Brandt (2012): I'm ALSO super excited to try this one, never heard of it but it's a memoir of a long-distance pony trek the author took around Ireland in 1984.

7. Brother Super - Bill Rice (1961): Pet memoir about another Great Dane, this time a family pet.

OTHER MEDIA (not pictured)

Audiobooks: When We Were Lost by Kevin Wignall, a cracking good YA adventure about a plane crash in the jungle, and Why Not Me?, so now I have both of Mindy Kaling's memoirs in her voice! (someday I'll listen to it...)

DVDs: Spiderman: No Way Home; Uncharted

CDs: Patty Larkin - "Watch the Sky," and Matt Wasner's eponymous album/limited advanced edition copy (I took a chance on these based on appearance, because nothing is more fun than guessing right on something random that becomes a new fave!, but unfortunately I didn't like either of them so they will be leaving)

[viastro]

bookworm | jeon wonwoo

ミ★ synopsis: who knew that the cute guy you met at the library is one of the best players on the football team? literally everyone but you.

ミ★ genre: high school!au, jock!au, humor, fluff

ミ★ warnings: none !

ミ★ word count: 3,171

ミ★ pairings: wonwoo x female reader

ミ★ notes: i will be tagging @babiesanshine​ because she told me i have to tag her in anything i write that involves wonwoo. here’s a cute little oneshot i wrote, i hope you guys enjoy it <3

The weather isn’t too cold. It’s at the temperature you like, where it’s not too hot, not too cold, but a good medium. However, it’s a sign that summer is truly ending, and you’re somehow going to miss it. Even if you did spend a majority of it staying in your room, either playing video games or sleeping. What can you say? Summer is truly the time to unwind. 

But today your mom had other ideas, having woken you up at ten in the morning. She told you to do something ‘productive’ with your last week of summer, aka, go the fuck outside. It’s now one pm in the afternoon, and you’re driving to the library because why the hell not? You’ve never been to the library before, and it’s your senior year of high school. Might as well see what books they have in case you’ll need to do a quick run to the library because of your classes. 

You stick your hand out the window, doing small wave motions while the air hits it. While you spent most of summer inside, you love the vibe it brings. It’s just the idea of being able to be free for three months, without the stress of deadlines, group projects, or finals. Smiling at the feeling of being free, you turn into the parking lot, parking your car under the tree. Turning off the engine, you step out of the car, letting out a small sigh as you stare at the old library. You straighten out your skirt, before walking towards the entrance, phone and wallet in your bag. 

You step into the library, giving the librarian a small smile in greeting. She gives you a happy wave, before going back to her work. You glance at your surroundings, taking in the ambiance of the building. It’s a bit brighter than other libraries you’ve seen, the wooden shelves being painted white, and the walls having a floral detail to them. It has a more happy theme I guess you could say. You let out a breath, somehow feeling like you’re going to come here more often at the cozy feeling it gives you. 

“Nice.” You whisper, before walking further inside. Your hand reaches out towards the shelves, letting it drag softly across the numerous books lined up. You perk up at a sudden thought and you head towards the kids section, wondering if they have your favorite children's books. You’re so caught up in thinking about the frog and toad series that you quite literally slam into someone and fall backwards.

You let out a squeak, closing your eyes as your hands prepare to soften the impact, only for you to realize that you’re no longer falling. You register the arms wrapped around your waist, and you’re 100% convinced that you’re being abducted by aliens. You slowly open your eyes, and they immediately widen once they land on the person who caught you.

His black hair is fluffy and falls over his forehead. He’s wearing specs, slightly covering his strong nose. You take notice of his eyes, a pretty shape that would make him seem more intimidating if he wasn’t wearing his round glasses. His lips are really pink, and he’s absolutely the most handsome guy you’ve ever laid eyes on in your seventeen years of living. He gives you a smile, and you feel as if you’re going to faint because, 

what the fuck !!! he’s so pretty !!!! this is fucking illegal !!!!

“Are you okay?”

oh my god !?!?! his voice is so deep too !!!!! i’m literally going to go into cardiac arrest-

“Um, hello?” He releases an arm from your waist, waving his hand in front of your face to see if you’ve passed out with your eyes open, and you almost fall into an internal monologue again because holy shit he’s only holding me with one arm, but then your eyes widen. You immediately fix your stance, his other arm falling from your waist as you are now standing on your own. 

“I… am so sorry.” You mutter, and he chuckles at your wide eyes. You open your mouth to apologize again and he shakes his head, smiling softly at you. “It’s alright, it’s partially my fault too. I’m just glad I caught you before you fell.” 

i quite literally fell in another way i won’t lie to you luv x

“Thank you for doing that. Saved my ass from some bruising.” You joke, only to shut your eyes at how suggestive that sounds. He gives you an amused look, finding you more endearing the more you speak. You don’t dare look at him, deciding that staring into the darkness of your eyelids is much more preferable at this moment as you would very much rather choke. He lets out a laugh, “It’s okay, you can open your eyes. Sometimes things sound a lot more suggestive than they should. It is what it is.”

You slowly peek at him, and see that he’s smiling at you. You stand up straight, letting out a small cough into your elbow, before grinning back at him. He extends his hand towards you, “Hi, I’m Jeon Wonwoo, 17 years old.” 

You stare at his hand for a second, somehow surprised that his hands are also really pretty. You reach out and softly grasp his hand, “Hi, I’m yln yn, 17 as well.” 

The two of you stay like that for a moment, him wondering how your hand fits his so well, and you thinking of how you’d really like to continue holding his hand. You regretfully let go first, giving him a smile. 

“So, what brings you to the library on the last week of summer break?” Wonwoo grins, giving you a shrug.

“I had a mission to read every book in this library, and I think I’m almost done.” You tilt your head at him, leaning back on the shelves and sizing him up. You purse your lips, and he crosses his arms in an attempt to make himself look more serious.

“Oh really?” 

“No, the mission was just for this science-fiction section actually.” He answers, dropping his tough facade and  motioning towards the aisle the two of you are in. You giggle at his antics, and Wonwoo feels his heart warm at the sound, proud that he was able to be the cause of it. “Why’d you exaggerate it then?” 

He turns his head towards you, giving you a big smile. “Wanted to impress you.” 

You look away when you feel your face turn warm at his honesty, reaching up and rubbing the back of your neck. You smile, turning back towards him once an idea comes to your mind.

“Wanna read children's books with me instead?” He purses his lips, before grinning at you.

“Only if we start off with frog and toad books.” 

“What kind of person would I be if we didn’t start off with frog and toad, Wonwoo?”

“I like you already.”

“It’s been a month since I last saw you, and you wanna meet up at the big football game?” You ask into the phone, an amused smile on your face. You hear Wonwoo chuckle on the other end, “It’ll be fun. I can introduce you to some of my friends.” 

You raise an eyebrow, rolling over on your bed so that you’re now staring at your ceiling. You purse your lips, realizing that you can also introduce your best friend to Wonwoo, considering that she’s been incredibly curious of the guy at the library. Otherwise known as, 

your summer fling that isn’t really a summer fling because you guys haven’t done anything romantic other than smile at each other. 

Since school started, you and Wonwoo have been too busy to hangout. You thought he was a new student at your school since you surely would’ve remembered someone as handsome as him, but to your surprise, he wasn’t. Once you got home from your first day of school, you immediately called Wonwoo and asked what school he goes to. Turns out he goes to the high school on the other side of town, your school’s biggest rival when it comes to football. 

never expected him to be interested in football, let alone the biggest game of the year since our schools are competing against each other, but i miss wonwoo a lot.

“I’m intrigued.” 

“Is that a yes?” Wonwoo asks, a big smile on his face as he waits for your answer. He hears Seungcheol and Jeonghan make kissy noises from behind him, and he rolls his eyes. You grin, letting out a sigh to make it sound like you’re not as excited as you actually are. 

“I suppose it is. I’ll see you on Friday then bookworm?” You tease, and you hear him let out a chuckle, causing you to giggle yourself. 

“Yes you will gamer. I’ll text you later, my friends are being annoying.” Wonwoo tells you, laughing at the sound of Seungcheol and Jeonghan now whining at the fact that he insulted them. You smile, opening your mouth to say bye when Wonwoo adds, “I miss you. I’ll see you on Friday.”

Your cheeks heat up, and you hear Wonwoo’s friends in the background teasing him once again. Running a hand through your hair you mutter, “I miss you too. See you soon, Wonwoo.”

You end the call, placing your phone beside you. You bite your lip, big smile on your face, before grabbing your pillow and shoving it over your face. 

“aaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!”

“Okay, where’s your boyfriend?” Jihyo asks once the two of you enter the venue, and you nudge her shoulder. “He’s not my boyfriend! Don’t call him that in front of him and his friends alright? I’ll literally eat your ass if you do that.” 

Jihyo winks at you, and you roll your eyes, causing her to throw her head back in laughter. She holds your arm, giving you a squeeze to show you she’s just teasing. You pull out your phone, curious as to which area Wonwoo and his friends are sitting, only to see his new text, 

wonoot: i’m running a bit late, just go and sit on the bleachers and i’ll find you later <3

You pout, “He’s running a bit late, but he told us that he’ll find us when he gets here.” 

“Okay, I think the game’s about to start so let’s go find a spot before everything gets taken!” Jihyo tells you with a smile, pulling you towards the stands. The two of you find a spot in the third row of the middle bleachers, giving you a solid view of the football field. You place your water bottle in the spot Wonwoo will sit, and you pull out your phone to tell him where you and Jihyo are sitting.

you: we’re in the third row, middle bleachers !!

“Those football uniforms really highlight their asses. Even if they don’t really have one, in those uniforms they do.” Jihyo says, and you snort at how true her statement is. You look up, seeing the football players running onto the field. You’re about to open your mouth to respond, when you catch sight of one of the players from the opposing team taking off his helmet. “Oh? That looks a lot like Wonwoo’s friend, Jeonghan. I didn’t know he played.” 

“He’s cute.” Jihyo mutters appreciatively beside you, and you nod your head. Wonwoo has a lot of pictures of his friend group on Instagram, and it shocked you to see that all of them are handsome. 

how you wished the guys at your school looked like this.

You watch as they all go to stand on the line, getting their names called over the loudspeakers. You tilt your head to the side when almost half of the opposing football team is filled with Wonwoo’s friends. “That’s so weird, almost all of Wonwoo’s friends are on their school’s football team.” 

“And Wonwoo isn’t?” Jihyo asks, turning to glance at you as she prepares to take a sip of water. You shake your head, before letting out a small giggle, “Probably because he’s a bookworm-”

“Now we have #96, wide receiver Jeon Wonwoo.” Your mouth drops open, and Jihyo spits out her water back into the bottle. You stare with wide eyes as #96 takes off his helmet, revealing Wonwoo who’s sporting a big smile on his face. He runs a hand through his hair, revealing his forehead and strong eyebrows. 

“Y-your summer fling...”

“He’s a jock?!” 

Wonwoo squints at the middle bleachers, trying to find you from across the field. Jun turns his head to glance at his friend, letting out a chuckle when he sees the expression on his face. He nudges his shoulder, “Your face looks stupid.” 

Wonwoo laughs, hitting Jun’s arm. “I’m trying to find yn, but she’s too far to see from here.” 

“Bet you gave her the shock of her life.” Jeonghan jokes from beside him, and Wonwoo smiles. 

“That was the goal.”

“Let’s go Wonwoo!!” You scream, not even caring that some of your classmates are glaring at you for cheering on the opposing team. Jihyo cheers alongside you, doing a victory dance whenever Wonwoo’s team scores. 

It’s the fourth quarter, and Wonwoo’s team has the ball for the final seconds of the game. They need three more points to win, and there’s only thirty seconds left on the clock. In all honesty, they need a miracle to win this game. 

To say you were shocked when you found out Wonwoo was on the football team was partially an understatement. However, finding out that he’s really fucking good at being a wide receiver almost made you pass out. Wonwoo, the guy who spent the whole summer trying to read all of the books in the science-fiction section at the local library, is among the fastest and best players on his team. 

plot twist indeed luv.

You grasp Jihyo’s hand once they get out of their team huddle, watching Wonwoo go to his position. You feel anxious, and way too invested in a high school football game. The ball gets thrown to Seungcheol, and your eyes follow Wonwoo as he runs all the way down the field. You’re frozen once the ball leaves Seungcheol’s hands, shooting across the field towards Wonwoo. 

It’s as if time slows down, and your heartbeat is loud against your ears as Wonwoo lifts his hands up. You squeeze Jihyo’s hand tightly, and your mouth drops open when Wonwoo fucking catches it. You and Jihyo scream when he sprints the last few feet towards the end zone. 

“GO WONWOO!!” You screech, and you lift your arms up in victory when he runs into the end zone right as the buzzer goes off. Your eyes go to the board, 43-49. You and Jihyo jump together happily as Wonwoo takes off his helmet, a giant smile on his face as his friends run directly into him in a huge group hug. 

“Guys let go of him! He’s been dying to go see his girl.” Jeonghan laughs, and heat rushes to Wonwoo’s face once the guys start cooing at him. He slaps Joshua’s arm once he starts up the kissy noises. “Shut up, she’s not my girl yet.”

“YET?!”

“I heard a yet fellas!” 

“I hate it here, I’m gonna go see yn now.” Wonwoo says with a big smile on his face, effectively breaking away from his group and running towards the bleachers. 

“I think he’s going to see you! GO DOWN!” Jihyo shouts once she sees Wonwoo running in your direction. She grabs the water bottles before taking your arm and pulling you out of the bleachers. The two of you sprint down the stairs while you whine,

“Jihyo stop dragging me!” 

To which your loving best friend responds, “No bitch!”

You both run towards the opening in the fence, now on the track field. Wonwoo catches sight of you, running a bit faster until he meets you halfway. You let out a big smile, breaking out of Jihyo’s grip and immediately wrapping your arms around Wonwoo, even if he is sweaty. He freezes, before hugging you back, one hand cradling your head. You pull away after a moment so that you can look into his eyes,  your guys’ arms still wrapped around each other.

“You should’ve told me you were on the team! I would’ve made you a poster!!” You scold, and Wonwoo lets out a laugh. 

“I just won the biggest game of the school year and you’re yelling at me for not telling you I was on the football team?” He jokes, and you stick your tongue out at him. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m doing. Makes me feel like a bad gir-friend. A bad friend.”

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow at your correction, and you look away as soon as you feel your cheeks turn warm at your mishap. Jihyo squeals quietly behind you two, taking as many pictures as she can. Wonwoo lifts his hand, resting it on your chin and making you turn your head so that you’re staring at him again. 

“Will you be my girlfriend?” 

“I beg your pardon?”

“Will you be my girlfriend?” Wonwoo repeats, an amused smile forming on his face when you turn your head to see if he was asking someone else behind you. He squeezes your waist with his other hand, eliciting a squeal from you. “We’re literally hugging each other and you think I’m asking another girl to be my girlfriend?”

“I mean… maybe?” You respond, and Wonwoo chuckles, shaking his head at your silliness.

“But on a real note, will you be my girlfriend?” He asks more seriously, and you grin at him. 

“Of course Wonwoo, I’ll be your girlfriend.” 

“HELL YEAH!!!”

“LET’S GO BABY!!!” 

“MY SHIP HAS SAILED!!!!” You and Wonwoo turn your heads to see his friends and Jihyo jumping up and down happily at the two of you becoming official. You raise a hand up to your mouth as you laugh at their antics, and Wonwoo rolls his eyes. 

“I’m sorry about them.” He whispers to you, specifically eyeing Soonyoung and Seokmin making kissy faces towards you and Wonwoo. You turn your head towards your boyfriend, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, causing the guys and Jihyo to screech even louder. Wonwoo lifts a hand to the area, smile forming on his face as he turns to you. 

“Consider it a winner’s kiss.” You tell him shyly, giving him finger guns. Wonwoo laughs at your cuteness, before leaning down and pressing a kiss to your forehead. Your eyes widen, and out of the corner of your eye you see Seungkwan and Chan fall to the track, unable to express how cute they find you two in words and screeches. 

“Consider it a winner’s kiss as well, for getting me as your boyfriend.” Wonwoo jokes, and you roll your eyes. 

“So cocky.” 

“You love it though.” 

“Just a smidge, bookworm.”

[poptod]

The Old Gods

Description: Jack has to get close to a powerful suspect. Jack also ponders upon his humanity.

Notes: genuinely didnt meant for this to get so long, my apologies, i just like writing conversations bc i never get to have them.  also! I hate myself so much for writing supernatural fanfiction in the good year of our lord 2021. its not my fault, it was the only show i could watch with my cousin that we both liked. anyway! lmk if you like it i could do a part two WC: 11k

+

The nearest library could hardly be called a library. A more accurate description would be a collection of books––a small collection––that could be read freely but never taken from the library itself. There was little need within the Winchesters to visit the library, considering they had one in their home filled with mythical lore, but the records of Kansas and neighboring cities and states were detailed thoroughly in the nearest library.

Jack knew a great many things; inherent natures and laws of the universe, the experience of power and of fear, both before him and within him. Many things he'd seen deserved to be feared, exposing him to dangers often unheard of amongst regular children.

Three months into existence, however, Jack liked to think he knew more than he did when he was born. This was because he'd spoken to more people, experienced more things, and learned select things about his mother, his father, his family, and strangers. Still, there were things that puzzled him––the age of the world was clear in his mind (4.543 billion years, four months, 22 days, 6 hours, and 52 seconds) but how humanity progressed into what they now were astounded him.

"Humans started as... these creatures with unending curiosity," Castiel explained to him, his hands folded neat in his lap but hidden by his too-long trenchcoat sleeves. "Ceaseless innovation. They started without language but they always had kindness. I think.. that's why God favored them, at least at first."

"So... kindness is a form of.. intelligence?" Jack asked slowly, his brow furrowed tight as he stared past his father.

"I believe so," he said, shifting in his seat. "Kindness drove these animals to building homes, to conversing with one another, to creating a better world for descendants they would never know. It's quite beautiful, actually."

"Am I a part of that story?"

Only half-human, only half-alive, only half the story, belonging to nothing concrete. Jack wasn't really human, leaving him alone in his species.

"Yes," Castiel said without hesitation.

Civilization first started off in a number of areas. The first book Jack found dealt with the fertile crescent northeast of Africa, where Mesopotamia brought forth a number of societies, of cultures, meshed together over the course of thousands of years. Sumerians were one of the first to build their cities, creating writing, the wheel, and the plow in their haven apart from the unpredictable and often violent wild.

But no––the next book Jack found stated that Jericho was the oldest city, west to the fertile crescent near the shore of the Mediterranean and the Dead Sea. The citystate was independent from any other power, often becoming abandoned from raids only to return to high populations, as humans flocked back to the spring water that still poured from inside the earth to this day.

Over the rest of the day spent in the nearest library, Jack learned there was no single spot in which civilization was created and then spread from. The Nile in Africa brought forth Egypt, the Indus river in Pakistan birthed the Harappan civilization, and the two rivers Yellow and Yangtze in China created the first asian cities. From there villages, towns, and cities spread like mold across the earth's surface, eventually bringing humans to inhabit every continent and nearly every environment known on earth.

There were far too many things to know, and the strain of reading on his eyes eventually forced him to retire for the day. He hardly understood anything yet, but the librarian was understanding as to his prolonged stay, and wished him a good evening when he left. He beamed a bright smile despite the strange pain growing behind his eyes, and waved good-bye.

Dean gave him painkillers when he got back to the bunker after Jack thoroughly (and unnecessarily) described his headache.

"Humans are... strange," Jack said, his brow furrowed in deep thought. He rested his elbows on the table, leaning over an empty bowl of cereal.

"Not wrong, but, care to elaborate?" asked Sam, who was sitting across from him at the kitchen table, a newspaper and pen in his hand.

"Castiel said you created the first cities out of a desire to.. to protect each other, and to keep yourselves safe. And then the first thing you do when you meet other cities is to go to war with them."

Sam sucked in a sharp breath, leaning back as he set the newspaper aside. This would take a little more concentration than a passing ear.

"People are scared by things they don't know," Sam began only to be cut off.

"Why?"

"They don't know if it's dangerous. You didn't trust us, at first, either. We didn't know whether to trust you. Remember?"

"Oh," Jack said softly.

"Yeah. But you're right," he said with a long sigh. "It's strange. We're... strange."

"Are humans inherently good?"

"I don't think anyone is inherently good," Sam said, and Jack straightened his posture, suddenly confused by his claim. "Every person – every thing, every living thing has – has the capacity for good and evil. It's really just up to the individual to decide which side they want to give into."

"Am I a good person?"

"First off, you're not really a person," said another voice from the doorway.

Sam and Jack both turned at the same time, meeting the eye of Dean, who had yet to change out of his bathrobe despite it being 2PM.

"Second off, you haven't been alive long enough to be a good person," he continued as he entered, an empty coffee cup in hand.

"Dean –" Sam began, only to be cut off.

"What? It's the truth."

The coffee machine buzzed loudly once Dean pushed a few of the buttons, setting his cup beneath the nozzle. He muttered something to himself before turning back to the kitchen table.

"Anything strange in the paper?" He asked, leaning against the counter.

"Maybe," said Sam.

He grabbed the paper again, delving into the details of a nearby missing persons case that soon faded out of Jack's state of mind. His thoughts were still absorbed in his existence, in his beginnings, and how they compared to the beginnings of humans. At least with angels he knew everything; that was how angels were born. Knowing everything.

Jack remained seated at the table when Sam and Dean left, still stewing in his thoughts that he imagined would never go away. It was half an hour later when the two brothers returned, this time fully dressed, and packed up on their way to the car.

"We've gotta go find some local records," Dean said.

"So we're headed to the library," Sam finished, and the two gave each other odd glances at the coincidental synchronicity.

"I was there a couple days ago," Jack said, suddenly perking up. "Can I come with you?"

"Sure, just don't get in the way," Dean said with a dismissive hand, already leaving the doorway.

Sam pursed his lips, letting out a bitter, almost apologetic chuckle before he followed.

He liked the middle seat. It didn't have a seatbelt, but he wasn't sure what seatbelts were for anyways, and the middle seat allowed him easy access to see both of the Winchesters. Dean never spared a glance in his direction while he drove, but Sam offered awkward, curt smiles.

Technically Jack could just fly to the library in an instant, but the drive into town was pretty, lined with the colors of autumn. Recently winds had taken up a more brisk edge, marking the absence of birds that flew in packs overhead. He scooted to one of the window seats, craning his neck awkwardly to look up and out of the glass, grinning at the ravens flying through the orange and gold trees.

The librarian showed the three men where the records were kept, directing them towards missing persons cases when they requested it. While Sam and Dean thumbed through the records, Jack returned to ancient history books, studying art and images from Vedic India.

There, amongst the carvings printed on soft paper, he found something rather odd. He stood from his position on the floor, still staring intensely at the print as he walked over to the table Sam and Dean sat at.

"Hey Jack," Sam said as he sat down, gently placing the book on the table. He scanned Jack's hunched posture before he asked, "something up?"

"I found something... strange," he said, his brow still knotted neatly above curious eyes.

"Yeah well, join the club, kid," Dean said with a groan, wiping his face with his hand.

Jack opened his mouth to ask what they'd seen, but Sam answered before he could speak.

"There's been repeated attacks, kind of," he said, waving his hand vaguely. "Once every ten years a couple of kids go missing. Always two kids, always on the same day of the year."

"And another anomaly," Dean said, reaching over to a stack of papers and slapping them on the table in front of Jack.

Big, black words displayed the newspaper title, and below it, the date of publishing. January 4th, 1967. The main article dealt with a concert happening in a nearby city, and the image printed with it displayed a number of concert-goers, most of them in their teens or early adulthood. Hidden behind several other people, a familiar face appeared––the librarian. Unhindered by time.

"Is that..."

"Big boots over there?" Dean asked, pointing with his thumb in your general direction.

You were sorting through a stack of books, but as Jack looked down, he found you were wearing rather large boots. The ends of your pants drowned in them.

"Do you think they're related?" Jack asked as he turned back to the Winchesters.

"Possibly," Sam said with a nod. "Bit early to tell. But, uh..."

Sam trailed off as his eyes focused on something past Jack's shoulder. He, as well as Dean, turned to meet your eyes that quickly darted away once all three of them were looking at you.

"I think I have an idea," Sam said.

Dean and Jack curiously tilted their heads to the side at the same time, though when Dean noticed that, he fixed himself immediately.

"I think they have a thing for you," he said in a much quieter voice.

"Me?" Jack asked, pushing his finger into his chest.

"Yeah. You could get a little closer and see if something's up."

"Are you seriously setting up Jack with a fuckin' demon, for all we know?" Dean asked flatly, earning an odd look from Sam, who had never heard Dean protest putting Jack in danger.

"Dean, Jack's dad is a demon-angel thing. I don't think it's a big deal," he said.

That seemed to shut the older Winchester up.

"Hm," Jack hummed as he debated the idea. "I also found something strange."

"Oh, right," Sam said, clearing his head with a shake. "What was it?"

"It was also... the librarian," he said with a deep frown. "In one of the books."

He pushed forward the textbook, opening it to reveal the page in which he'd found your face. The stone expression was remarkably similar to your traits, from the curve of your nose to the positioning of your eyes, and the small, polite smile on your lips.

"I found it in the history section," Jack explained. "It says it's from Vedic India."

A quick Google-search later, Sam was reading out the age of Vedic India.

"According to this it says the Vedic age was approximately around 1500 to 800 B.C., so... about 2,500 years ago."

"Wow, this fucker's old," Dean snorted.

Sam shot him a look over the top of his computer screen.

Having found the information they were looking for, the Winchesters began to pack up their belongings and their scribbled notes, shoving them into their bags or into their many-pocketed coats. Jack, on the other hand, prepared himself for talking to you, hoping his ineptness towards social situations with humans wouldn't be too obvious. He swallowed through the knot in his throat, taking a shaking breath in an attempt to steady himself.

It didn't work.

"Dean, what am I supposed to say to them?" He whispered when they were already approaching the front desk, his palms growing sweaty.

"I don't know, their job or something? Something normal," he very unhelpfully advised.

"Thanks for letting us stay for the day," Sam said with a polite smile, handing back one of the printed out records you'd fetched for them from beneath your desk.

"Not a problem. You keep quiet. I like that in a reader," you said, smiling back as you glanced between the three of them.

None of them moved, and your expression turned to mild confusion. Dean had to jab Jack in the side to get him to speak. He opened his mouth to protest, but Dean motioned something to Sam, and the two of them quickly left for the car, leaving Jack alone while they 'situated' themselves.

"I, um..." Jack started before he was ready.

The silence felt wrong, but the silence after saying something was much, much worse. Whatever came into his mind first would have to be what he said.

"I like your job," he said, keenly scanning your expression for any hint of your thoughts.

You paused, clearly taken back for a moment, before you broke out into a chuckle, looking down to your hands as your face flushed.

"I like it quite a lot, too," you said with a grin, looking back up at him. "I've always been interested in becoming a librarian. Granted, I didn't quite imagine it in Kansas, but it is pretty here."

"Where did you imagine it?"

"Greece, actually," you chuckled, and he smiled as well, his heart thumping with a sudden haste. "I was heartbroken to hear the Library of Alexandria was burned down."

"The Library of Alexandria?" He repeated, tilting his head to the side again.

"Haven't heard of it?" You asked.

He shook his head gingerly. Was he supposed to?

No matter––you explained in full what the Library of Alexandria was, when it was created, when it was burnt, and the loss it caused amongst human society. He listened intently, frequently asking questions you were happy to answer. When Jack glanced out the library window, he found the impala gone, and realized Sam's plan had, in a way, worked.

"Are there.. any books about the library?" He asked once you completed your short story.

"Yes, but I don't want to hold you folks up –"

It was then you looked out the window as well, finding the two large men had abandoned the smaller.

"Oh where'd they go?" You said in a curious, high voice.

"Don't worry about that, I... have a bus," he said, earning a strange look. "I am... I ride buses."

A beat of silence passed.

"So the Library was in Greece?" He asked, and your earlier mood returned.

You brought him––with much excitement––to one of the rows in the library filled with simple textbooks for primary school kids. Other rows of your well-tended library were occupied by old books, their bindings worn and frayed at the edges from continuous use. Pages were turned yellow and were soft beneath his fingers, but despite their age they were rather hard for Jack to read and understand, meaning his discovery of children's comprehensible textbooks was a giddy one.

Jack wasn't entirely sure what he was supposed to be looking for when it came to you. What counted as suspicious? You continued to speak with him even after the sun set behind mountains, that could be a sign you were trying to gather information on him, as well. That could also mean you liked him. Was your friendliness suspect?

"- and the Phoenicians were really only called that by the Grecians. The name came from the purple dye that they're famous for, some root word for 'purple people' in Greek is Phoenicia," you explained, moving your hands expressively despite the fact that Jack's eyes were set dead on the textbook on the floor in front of you. Paragraphs of words surrounded modern depictions of ancient people and their art.

"So what was their actual name?" He asked as he looked up to you.

"Canaanites. From the land of Canaan."

"... you know a lot," he said, looking back to the page as you chuckled.

"It's just memory," you said with a shrug.

"Can I... can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Do you know anything about mythical creatures?"

Surely this would reveal something, Jack thought––you might react poorly, in which case you could be the monster, or you might react in complete knowledge, which... could also mean you were the monster.

"A little," you said slowly. "Why do you ask?"

"I have an interest, in myths and monsters," he said, almost smiling again.

"Oh man, I have a show you're going to love."

Far in the back of the library, a hollow, steel door led to a small break room, the carpet inside being a dark, scratchy grey against his palms when he sat down. There were no chairs in the room, but an old TV sat on a cheap cart plugged into the nearest, bare wall. On the opposite side of the TV was a dull blue counter that stretched from the door to a window covered by plastic shingle curtains.

You snatched the remote off the counter, pressing a large, red button that had the television buzzing to life loudly. The screen sparked, static radiating around it as a thin line of white brought life to a Netflix loading screen.

After several minutes of waiting for Netflix to load and then typing a title into the search bar, a show called Myths and Monsters was before him. He let out a laugh as he realized what had sparked the connection––he'd literally spoken the title.

Would an ancient being or monster know how to work a TV?

Castiel could work a TV.

Kind of.

The first episode began to play and you took a seat beside Jack, crossing your legs neatly beneath you. A few minutes in, rain pattered lightly on the roof, followed by sudden winds that battered the now pouring rain against the window. Jack watched through the side of his eye as you smiled at the change in weather.

That was suspicious.

Late in the evening, when night darkened the land and heavy thunderclouds darkened the sky, he left the library. He stood in the threshold between the warm light on your desk in the otherwise dark room, and the falling rain outside. Yellow-orange streetlamps illuminated the sheets of rain and the nearby bus stop, but you still stopped him, holding the door open as you both stood motionless in front of one another.

"I have a car, I can drive you home," you offered, gesturing over your shoulder to a door in the back that led to a private parking lot behind the library. "I'm not sure if the bus runs this late."

Extended time with you would be good, and he imagined your face illuminated by dim dashboard car lights would be better than good––great. Beautiful. You had wonderfully warm features. But you couldn't know where he lived for a number of reasons; if you were the monster, that was giving away a hiding place, and if you weren't, you would wonder why he lived in such a strange place.

"Thank you, but it's alright," he said. "I like the rain."

A small smile stretched across your plush lips.

"So do I," you said, and the two of you bid good-bye, retreating into your respective dark.

He gave a thorough rundown of the events proceeding after Sam and Dean left, and the three of them––Sam, Dean, and Castiel––listened closely. Dean already filled Castiel in on the rest of the case, and the two brothers were eating at the long table in the bunker's library.

They stared at him in silence when he finished.

"Sounds like a regular kid," Sam finally said.

"Ah don't be so sure about that," Dean said, raising a single brow. "What did you say the monster probably was?"

"A – a fae, or something," he said.

"Fae's good at lying," Dean pointed out, earning a reluctant nod from Castiel.

"He's right. Fairies are remarkably good at acting," he said in his low, grating voice.

"So... what next?" Jack asked.

"We'll keep looking into the case more, and you can probably ask the librarian out on a date," Sam suggested, earning an agreeing remark from Dean. "You can keep them distracted while we search their house."

"Do we know where they live yet?" asked Dean.

"No, but it shouldn't be too hard to find out," Sam said.

Jack watched the brothers for a moment, his mind emptying of answers as to what a 'date' was.

"What's a date?"

"Oh Christ," Dean muttered, moving immediately to his feet and leaving the room.

Sam let out an exasperated sigh at his brother, turning to Jack to explain what a date was, what were appropriate date activities, and how he should act when asking you out and when being out with you.

"Okay," Jack said with a nod despite not really understanding. "What are dates for?"

"They're between people who are interested in.. getting to know each other," Castiel said as he took a seat beside Sam across from Jack.

"So... like when Dean and I went driving."

"No. Not like that," Sam quickly said. "Not like that at all. If – if a guy is interested in a girl, like interested in having her be his girlfriend, then he might ask her out on a date. It's a romantic thing."

"The librarian does seem to be interested in you, from what I’ve heard," Castiel said with a pointed look in Jack's direction.

"I think you've got a shot," Sam agreed, nodding.

Jack thought for a moment before he said, "okay."

A few days later––Dean insisted he only try a few days later, saying anything less was damaging his honor––Jack returned to the library, lighting up when he found you were still working at the small front desk, your nose buried in a large box full of papers. Large, round glasses were hanging off the tip of your nose, and you pushed them up to your eyes when they slipped further off.

The door clicked softly shut behind him when he entered, scanning the room as if there was another reason he was there. You watched him the whole time, continuing to when he approached you, something obviously on his mind.

"I was wondering..." he trailed off, losing himself in your bright, expectant eyes. When he realized he'd fallen silent, he added the first thing that came to mind––a lie. "... if you could show me where the... books are."

You chuckled before you said, "which ones?"

"Maps," he said, smiling as he came up with something actually substantial.

Of course, it wasn't asking you out, but at least it was talking to you. He would have to do that later, though he supposed he'd have to do it that day or he would be disappointing the Winchesters and Castiel when he came back to the bunker without even trying to complete their orders.

"We don't really have a maps section, but I might be able to help you if you tell me the time and place you're looking for," you suggested for him, and he nodded slowly.

"Yes. Please."

"So what are you looking for?"

"Oh. Right, uh.. Greece and Mediterranean," he said, repeating subjects from the last time you'd spoken.

"Mediterranean sea?"

He nodded.

"What year?" You asked.

"Uh..." he drew another blank, "two... hundred."

You seemed reluctant to ask the next question, but it was necessary; "before christ or after?"

"... before."

"Alright," you said with a soft snicker, moving around your crowded desk area and towards the bookcases.

Your stride slowed as you approached a certain shelf, shifting up onto the tips of your toes to reach the highest books. Jack thought of offering his help, but he wasn't much taller than you––if at all––and he didn't know which books to get down.

Four thick books ended up in your arms, and you heaved them over to the nearest table, letting them thump down heavily. You spread them out, flipping rapidly through the pages till you found the proper maps you seemed to have memorized within each of the books.

"This one's about 900 BC to 200 AD, so it's got a bit wider of a range. Includes the bigger cities. This one is.. 1500 BC to 300 BC, so a little bit within range, has a lot more cities," you said, moving from one textbook to the next while Jack stared at you, enamored by your plush lips.

He barely even noticed that you finished your explanations, nor your quick words mentioning you should probably return to your studies and leave him to it. But he reached out on instinct, grabbing your wrist and tugging gently, convincing you to turn back to him. Your eyes, still bright, retained that same patient expectancy as his previous evening with you.

"I... could you talk to me?" He asked, oblivious to the implications read clearly by you.

"About what?" You asked in return as you stepped subtly closer.

"About fairies."

You paused, your eyes widening slightly.

"The ones from Celtic folklore or... like modern media fairies?" You asked slowly, slinking down into a seat you situated to face him.

He did the same, his feet planted firmly on the floor as he watched you, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Just... the oldest versions of fairies."

You nodded, again slowly as you pursed your lips.

"Well the oldest mentions of them in literature actually comes from ancient Greece, from the Iliad, by Homer," you began, immediately using your hands expressively as you spoke. "Those weren't Celtic fairies, though. Greeks considered creatures like satyrs and such to be fairies, as well, so... generally fairies and the fae as we think of them now came from Ireland and Scotland."

"Where are they?" He asked with a head tilt.

You stuttered for a second, your eyes flying across the room until you stood, returning to the shelves. He watched with much humor as you read the book titles at a frightening pace, fingers flipping over the bindings till you pulled one down.

"Here, world map," you said, and though he didn't notice, you didn't comment on the oddity of not knowing where Scotland and Ireland were. Almost everyone knew where those two countries were; or, at least, the general area.

"In Ireland fairies are seen as simply... mythical people. Great warriors and poets, or witches, they're all considered part of the fae in Celtic culture. In Scotland, though, fairies are more dangerous, essentially being creatures that feed off humans in one way or another," you continued. "Like... banshees, those are Scottish, and jack o' lanterns."

"Jack o' lanterns?"

He'd heard of banshees before; they were mentioned a few times by the Winchester brothers.

"Not like the Halloween pumpkins," you said, but when you were met with further confusion, you slowly said, "...and you don't know what those are either, do you?"

He shook his head reluctantly.

You spent the next two, whole hours talking to him, going over any question he had no matter how much you thought he should've known the answer to begin with. Jack relaxed into that feeling, into that ease, while suspicion grew in your own mind. There was no one of his age and stature that didn't know the questions he posed. Still, you found yourself unable to pin any such wariness of manipulation onto such a polite boy.

Engrossed fully in whatever you had to say and rarely speaking himself, Jack absorbed a number of facts about the fae. About their trickery and mischief, about their magic, how different species had different thoughts on humanity. Considering the lengths you knew about other subjects, none of what you told him occurred to him as suspicious. You seemed, again, to be a dedicated––but human––scholar.

When at last he exhausted his questions, both on and off topic, he began a build-up of courage. Asking someone out for a case should've been much easier than this, or at least that's what he thought. Dean mentioned he'd done similar things for other such cases.

Jack's face scrunched up in deep thought despite the silence between you.

"Are you alright, Jack?" You asked.

"Oh. I'm... fine," he said, nodding his head in a way that didn't convince you all that well. "I – I wanted to ask you something."

You nodded, gently helping him along.

"I know we don't know each other that well, but... you.. interest me, and.." he trailed off once more. It was difficult to tell a lie that was technically the truth. "I was wondering if you wanted to go with me. On a date."

He expected a number of things from you––perhaps anger, perhaps embarrassment, perhaps shock, but you just chuckled, leaning back in your chair. His brow furrowed at your odd reaction. Were you laughing at him?

"Was that what you wanted to ask me when you first came in?" You said through your giggles, your soft skin glowing in the warm, early evening light.

"... yes," he said, huffing out his own chuckle as his eyes fell to the floor. "I'm sorry."

"There's no need to apologize," you said with a grin. “You’re the one who had to listen to me ramble.”

"So.. will you..?"

"Yeah," you chuckled, nodding. "I enjoy your company as well."

A smile made a permanent home on Jack's face as he returned to the bunker, his official mission having been successfully completed, and his hands still burning with the touch you left as he walked out the door. While most of the town smelled like baking pies and cinnamon cider, the bunker carried no such warmth, and smelled more like rotting leaves than anything else, though Sam lit a couple apple candles in his room. The scent filled part of a long hallway.

He found his fathers all sitting on a single couch, facing a television that had some sort of film playing on it through the static. Jack silently stepped round the nearest chair, taking a seat beside them, and watching on intently. A soft, high note hummed from the speakers.

Red, ratted curtains pulled way for sunlight streaming through dust-filled air. The wooden windowsill had a vase in which a single, molted flower sat, most of its petals having fallen off long ago. But that wasn't where the camera stopped; it halted above the image of two women tangled in sheets similarly worn down as the curtains were, requiring many patches over large holes. One had their face pressed to the other's neck, her nose nudging a sharp jawline owned by still sleeping eyes. Their limbs were knotted tight together, chest to chest, and a quiet, sleepy melody humming out of the smaller's pale lips.

Jack frowned. He'd never seen two people so physically close together. The nearest thing he'd seen was Dean and Castiel hugging, and even that was reserved in a way. This was pure trust––pure peace, and he found himself wondering if it was entirely fictional, or if such happiness could really exist in the world that at times felt poisoned.

Maybe it did exist if you found a way to smile that brightly.

He earned a whole other course of schooling once he announced their plan was successful. Dean clapped him proudly on the back, shooting a dirty grin that Sam countered with clean praise. Even Castiel seemed to be proud. Jack beamed at that, his heartbeat now pounding at the thought of three days from now; when he had planned the date.

In the meantime, the brothers stayed up for most of the night, though they looked much worse for wear that morning than Jack after he stayed up with them. Researching faes was actually a little easier than a lot of other monsters––there were many articles about them, and a deeply-engrained fear of changeling children had led to thorough documentation on the fae realm and its inhabitants. Jack was still a little slow at typing, so Sam captained the computer research, while Jack sped through the books in the bunker's library. Dean looked through articles and stories in newspapers searching for any hint of where they children might be kept if they weren't immediately killed.

The more he read about fairies, about their habits, their composure, and their lies, the less he could picture you as one. Originally a fairy brought to mind someone beautiful and fair, or someone like you, with dazzling eyes that could stop an archangel in their step. But the sharp teeth and wicked, wirey hair didn't sound at all like you. He'd felt your hands––once brushing over his––and there were no claws or stinging sensations that lingered in your touch. Still, the Winchesters probably knew better than him, and he pushed the feeling aside.

In the next evening, after Dean took a long day nap, Sam and Dean set to packing up their tools and tricks once more, tossing them into the back of the impala with the rest of the permanent fixtures. Jack watched as they did this, his hair still neat and clean despite not sleeping or washing up for two days.

"Can I come with?" He asked in the politest voice he could manage.

They were headed off to the library under the cover of night. After hearing about several back rooms Jack noticed during his time there, a reasonable question was posed––was there more information you could be hiding?

"Uh –" Sam began, only to be cut off by Dean saying –

"No. If we get found, that's fine, but if you're with us, we lose your relationship with her."

Before Jack could reply Dean climbed into the drivers seat, followed by Sam clambering in beside him. He had issues getting into the car at times. The engine stuttered to life, and Sam waved good-bye through the windshield as they pulled and drove the car away.

Jack frowned, his brow knitted together again.

"Bye," he said, but he was the only one to hear it.

Castiel would be back soon. He decided waiting in the library would guarantee he'd see Castiel as soon as possible, something he desired, as there were a number of new questions he wanted to pose to the elder angel. Thousands of years his senior, Castiel must've had answers––some sort of insight to some strange impulses, or simply comfort against 'wrong' thoughts.

Technically your library was private, meaning others weren't allowed to take your books away from the building, but you allowed him to take something home under the assurance of a guarantee. He would return it next time he saw you, a promise that clearly meant a lot to you going by the ease that overtook you when he said 'okay' with a signature, sweet smile. The only reason you leant the book to him was because it contained information you considered thought-provoking, thoughts about how humanity evolves, and how technological advances could change the actual anatomy of the human mind. Some of the claims seemed to him to be a bit of a reach, but others brought him interesting points.

The metal latch on the door let out a resounding click as the door swung open, Castiel standing behind with wild hair and a stunned look about him. He flung the door shut before running down the stairs towards Jack.

"Have they gotten back from the library yet?" He asked as he approached.

"No, they left..." he glanced at the clock, "a couple hours ago."

"Hmm," Castiel grumbled. "That's a long time for them."

"Should we go help them?" Jack suggested, setting your book aside as he stood straighter in his chair.

"No, we'll give them some more time. See what happens," he said before he set off, jogging into the hall.

Jack sighed as he slumped back into his seat, almost mourning the death of an easy excuse to go see your library. And Castiel left before he could ask him anything. Dean had a point, though––if they were caught and he was with them, that would ruin your relationship entirely, and that was something he, for some reason, despised.

It took another hour and a half before Sam and Dean were waltzing back in from the garage, tossing their duffel bags aside and shucking off warm, autumn jackets to side chairs. Something must've given away their presence, as Castiel was quick to reenter the main room.

"How did it go?" He asked.

"Like shit," Dean said, not even bothering to stop as he passed Castiel.

"We didn't find anything," Sam clarified. "Whole place was clean."

"Well.. maybe it's at their house," Castiel said almost gingerly, turning to keep his ever-vigilant eyes on the elder Winchester. "All the tools and... stuff."

"Yeah, that's what we're hoping," Dean said as he disappeared into the hallway.

"When did you say your date was again?" Sam asked, turning to Jack, who blanked for a moment before he answered.

"Two days from now," he said.

"Alright, well... we'll see what happens," he said with a nod, setting his hands on his hips. "Hopefully find where they might be hiding the kids."

Dean reentered with a bottle in hand, taking a quick swig as he settled down into one of the cushier chairs.

Jack's heart sped when his fingers began to fidget together, squirming restlessly in front of him. Questions still lingered on the edge of his mind, and answers from anyone would do him well, though he was well aware Dean would probably be reluctant to offer any advice to him.

"Could I ask you some questions?" He asked in the general direction of Cas, who happened to be standing right beside Dean. Castiel opened his mouth to answer.

"Sure," Dean said before he could speak. Castiel promptly shut his mouth after that.

"I know this shouldn't get in the way of the case, and it won't," Jack said as he took a seat opposite Dean. He and his brother shot each other glances. "I just have strange... thoughts, when I am around the librarian. Impulses, kind of."

Dean, who had raised the bottle to his lips, paused at those words and set it down instead, a decision that shocked both Sam and Castiel.

"What kind of impulses?" He asked in a flat voice.

"I want to... eat them," Jack said slowly, his brow furrowed deeply as he looked at the ground. When he looked back up, all three men were staring at him.

"You want to what??" Castiel asked.

"Like.. put my mouth on them...?" He tried.

"Wait – you mean kissing?" Sam asked as he shifted his weight between his feet.

"N... no, I don't think it's that," Jack said, though he was growing even less sure of himself with how they continued to gawk at him.

"You want to make out with the fairy?" Dean asked with a look that screamed 'unbelievable'.

"Maybe?" was the best answer Jack could offer.

Dean sighed, rubbing his face tiredly with his free hand.

"I don't want to.. encourage these thoughts," Castiel said, "but they might help on your date."

"So I should kiss them?"

"Maybe at the end of it," Sam suggested.

"And... how do I kiss?"

"Fuckin' –" Dean muttered under his breath as he stood, leaving the room with annoyance in his scowl.

The three of them––Jack, Sam, and Castiel––watched Dean round the corner and disappear.

"Ignore him," Sam said.

Sam, with some help from Castiel, patiently re-explained the happenings and ongoings of dates, from conversation topics to activities often done on dates. Sam assured Jack that he needn't do anything dramatic, over the top, or especially original, since Jack 'wasn't actually going on a date,' a phrase that made him a little sad for a reason he couldn't identify.

A bouquet of chocolate roses lay in his hands, the neon and florescent lights of the convenience store flickering and buzzing above him. Sam insisted a good way to start a date was with a gift––conventionally flowers, but the second Jack saw the chocolate roses he was entranced. He'd never seen candy in the shape of something real. Surely you would be delighted by the art, as well. Sam was less sure than he was, but allowed him to buy it with a chuckle, muttering something about how he wouldn't need to get chocolates anymore.

"Now remember," Sam began as he adjusted Jack's collar, "blood-soaked iron is what kills them, but since we don't have that right now, I think iron should hurt them."

"Forks, fire pokers, metal pipes... those usually have iron in them," said Dean.

"And if you get into a fight, just get out of there," Sam finished.

"No hanky-panky, either," Dean said.

"Dean," he hissed, slapping his brother's arm.

"What's hanky-panky?" Jack asked, furrowing his brow.

"Nevermind, just––be safe, have fun," Sam said with a smile, patting his shoulder.

The brothers dropped him off at your house before circling the block in search of a good vantage point. He took a shaky breath as he climbed your steps, soon rapping his knuckles on the plain, wooden door. It was a bit of a task trying to swallow, but he managed to push past his tight throat and put a smile on his face.

Footsteps sounded, growing closer until the door opened, revealing your wide eyes and the olive green silk you wore, draping elegantly from your chest down to your feet. A heavyweight scarf rested upon your shoulders. The warm light of the hallway behind you illuminated the loose strands of your always messy hair, but the sight still had his lips parting as he gasped softly. He felt suddenly out of place in his simple button-down, pants, and everyday jacket, shifting his weight almost uncomfortably as he found himself at a loss for words.

"You look... really nice," he said rather awkwardly, gesturing vaguely to your outfit with a dopey smile.

"Thanks," you said, chuckling. "You look nice too."

He stared for another moment before he suddenly remembered the chocolate and foil roses in his hands.

"I got these for you," he said as he handed them to you, scanning every inch of your reaction. "Sam told me to get flowers, but I think this is better, ‘cause then you get to eat them."

"You actually can eat roses! They just don't taste very good," you giggled, fixing your hair as you took them, a blushing smile still on your face. "I do like chocolate more, though."

"Oh, good," he said, his shoulders finally falling from their tense position. "I hope you don't mind walking. I don't know how to drive."

"I like walking, actually," you said as you walked past him, trotting down the front steps of your house. He followed along, his soft brown hair flopping like a puppy's ears over innocent eyes. "I like taking walks at night, but I don't take them a lot. It's kind of dangerous."

"Why?"

"A lot of people aren't very nice, or they're down on their luck and make poor decisions. I don't want to get hurt or mugged just because I like wandering around."

"Why would someone hurt you? You're such a nice person," he said with a frown.

"That doesn't mean anything," you laughed softly.

Food wasn't a particular attraction of Kansas, but few things were. The amount of restaurants in town was high, most of them serving a very similar menu containing lots of meat, barbecue, pie, and sometimes funnel cake. None were all that classy, so Jack took you to a place that Sam recommended––a nearly 24 hours open cafe whose kitchen was always open, and who hosted quiet, live jazz on select evenings.

You and Jack spoke of a number of things while you walked, none more interesting than any of your previous conversation topics, as you seemed to want to stay on the topic of him as a person rather than the history you usually rambled about. You asked who Sam was, which he explained as one of his fathers, at which point you asked who the second was. He hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should tell the truth or formulate a more normal-person lie.

"I... my mother died in childbirth," he said, his voice uncharacteristically low and quiet, murmuring with the sureness of his trust in you. "My father, Castiel, takes care of me, with his brothers, Sam and Dean."

"Oh. I'm sorry," you murmured, and he opened his mouth to give the usual speech––it's alright, I've gotten used to it––but you continued with, "it's an honorable way to die."

He paused to absorb your words. No one had ever said that before.

"Yeah," he finally said. "I guess you're right."

"So what's your father like?"

He sucked in a breath, forced to once again decide between a truth, a half-truth, and a lie. Like with most things, he took the middle road.

"My genetic father isn't... I don't talk to him," he said.

"Oh."

"But Castiel is good. He always tries to do what's right. I'm still trying to learn about this whole.. being-alive thing, from him."

"I think we all are," you chuckled.

You ended up ordering for him when you finally got to the cafe, standing in line for only a few minutes before you were looking for a table. He had trouble understanding the menu, often asking you what things were, and eventually you had to gently push him on to let the next people in line have a turn. If this bothered you, it didn't show.

Piano and saxophone played in time with one another, their rhythms and melodies dancing around the beat of the drummer. Scant, warm light shone from above, illuminating the haze of clouds drifting from smokers, most of whom stood in the corner, nursing the embers as they watched the musicians play. Jack tapped his foot to the beat against the dark oak floor.

You joined him a moment later, two coffees in hand and your coat draped over your arm.

"Have you ever been here before?" You asked as you took a seat, casting your jacket over the back of the chair after you set the coffee down.

"No, I don't really get out much," he admitted.

"How come?"

"I don't.. really have friends," he admitted, again, though this time much more reluctantly. He'd heard that generally people respected you more if you had friends.

"That's alright," you said, leaning back with a soft smile made only more alluring by the dim, red and orange light. "I've found it's more fun to stay in than to go out sometimes. Everything becomes the same after a while. You can drink at home, you can dance at home, sing, host parties..." you sipped from your steaming cup, ".. so, obviously, I don't go out much either."

"You have friends, though?"

"Not really," you chuckled, glancing down. "Books last longer than conversation, generally."

"Then... why talk to me?" He asked, attempting to meet your eye with that knot still tucked into his brow.

"Because you came to me."

Soon your conversation was halted by a server bringing out your food. You made sure to thank him as he left, before hungry eyes settled eagerly upon your funnel cake. Unwrapping the napkin, you set the orange cloth on your lap, revealing your silverware. Jack followed your lead, copying your motions near exactly down to you rubbing your hands together excitedly.

He'd never tried funnel cake before, leaving him to melt as he took his first bite.

"Good, isn't it?" You chuckled through a full mouth.

He nodded ardently.

The crowd began to thin halfway through your meal, turning thick conversation to quiet murmurs confined to singular tables in corners and shadowed areas. Jack still had yet to find anything incriminating about you, an answer that led only to other questions, ones that flew wildly around his head.

You didn't seem human––at least, not entirely. There were things you said that hinted to something else, a knowledge within that was a little too wide for the lengths of a human mind. That and your soul; what he could see of your soul was strangely colored, florescent holographic, and warped far more than normal people's usually were––almost as warped as Sam and Dean's souls now were. Bright, yes, but warped. Something had happened to you.

But there was nothing bad within you. Darkness tinted the edges, the edges so often scraped by the world around you––the world around both of you––but the center within, where your heart emanated, was clear. It was actually rather beautiful; you were rather beautiful.

He wished he could tell you without seeming strange.

"What do you think about most, Jack?" You asked, pulling him away from his thoughts.

He instantly stuttered, as what he'd been thinking about was you, but he couldn't say that.

"Just.. uh, my, uh.. my place in the world," he said, tapping the end of his fork on the old wood table.

"Like your job, or your purpose as a human?" You asked as you sipped from your third refill of coffee.

"My purpose, sort of," he said, his eyes flickering to the ground. "I have a lot of responsibility. My father thinks I'm very powerful."

Was that giving too much away?

"What does he want you to do?"

"He wants me... to stay alive," he said, earning a soft chuckle from you that had a smile spreading across his own face. "I think he wants me to be safe and happy."

"That's a wonderful goal," you said with a grin. "And there are so many ways to achieve that."

So far he'd only found ways to achieve the opposite––how to antagonize the world by existing, how his grandfather wanted him dead, how his genetic father would use him for any power grab he posed. If you wanted to feel at risk of dying at any moment, he knew a thousand ways to do it.

"I haven't really found any," he said quietly.

You paused before you asked, "do you want my advice?"

He nodded, hesitantly at first, but sure of himself when you smiled softly.

"Always be kind to others. Mind your own business unless someone is getting hurt, and if you have to get your hands dirty, do it for only a second. Then get the hell out of there and wash yourself clean for the next hundred couple years," you said.

There it was again. A hint of something more. In passing conversations Jack heard from strangers, no one spoke like they lived history. Not like you did. And he'd wager no historian spoke with the sense of memory that you did.

"Anything specific make you realize that?" He asked, unable to stop himself from chuckling.

You looked his age––sometime in your 20's––but you spoke like an 80 year old. Something about that facade appeared humorous to him. He also looked your age––sometime in his 20′s––but he spoke like a 10 year old far more than he liked to admit.

"Family drama," you said dismissively. "I've been steering clear for a while now."

Did fairies have families?

Well, if you were a fairy, you could just be lying then.

Jack frowned. If Dean or Castiel were here, they would know what to say and think.

"I understand," was what he said instead.

The impala was still parked near the house by the time Jack was walking you home, a sight that nearly sent him panicking. Sam and Dean wouldn't want him to do that. So he clenched his fists in his pockets, his shoulders tightening ever so slightly as he tried to slow his pace in a way you wouldn't notice.

But you did. Of course you did.

"You alright, Jack?" You asked, matching his pace.

"Yeah, I just..." what was something normal to say? Something he could back up – "I meant to ask you something, but I didn't ever... find the time to."

"What was it you wanted to ask?"

He shivered as a brisk wind picked up, the dry, orange leaves on the edges of the sidewalk passing quick by his feet in the breeze.

"Do you think everyone feels this lost in life?" He asked, barely audible above the wind.

"There's a little bit of you in everybody, just like how there's a little bit of everybody in you. You're capable of the same things that a murderer is just as you are a... a hero, or a martyr," you said, taking time to think before you spoke. "Humans are remarkably similar, you come to see after a while. And even Gods face these questions, these wonderings of their origins and their purpose, if their creations are everything they're meant for or – or if they're doing something wrong, and they should be doing something else instead."

He continued to stare at the ground as you walked slowly side by side, brought out of his intense expression by something soft flopping over the back of his neck. His heart thrummed as you stopped him there, turning him to face you, and looking him in the eye as you fixed your scarf on his shoulders. The effect was instantaneous––his shoulders relaxed and the stress fell from his brow, absorbed in the warmth of your gesture.

"Whatever you're going through," you gave him a pointed look, telling him silently to not deny this truth, "is worse and better than what other people go through. It may not be the best but it's probably not the worst."

Your advice, though insightful, didn't mean much considering his problems had to do with the continued life or prompt execution of the entire universe by a bitter, old man. But the main point remained; there were more painful deaths than his, just as there were better ways to die than he would or will. He may not be facing the best circumstances, but they could be much worse, and the fact that normal humans often asked the same questions he did was more of a comfort than he thought it would be. Perhaps he really was connected to his mother in that way.

The steps creaked beneath your shared weight as you both approached the front door of your house. You opened the door, stepping partway through the threshold before you turned to him, hesitation lacing your open mouth.

Behind you, Jack managed to spot two shadowed figures running across the hallway towards what he presumed to be a back door. His eyes widened imperceptibly and he pursed his lips, quick averting his gaze back to you.

"You're special, Jack," you said quietly, scanning him with a careful look. "Don't let bad circumstances own you. You only get so much time in this world."

"You're very kind," was all he could managed to respond with. "Thanks for... going out with me tonight."

"Of course. I like talking to you."

"I'm glad you do," he said with a sheepish chuckle, one you mimicked as you fixed your hair.

"I'll see you again soon?"

"Yes, I – oh," he interrupted himself, remembering your scarf still enveloping him, "this belongs to you."

"Don't worry about it," you said, taking his arms and settling them back down to his sides. "It's kind of cold out tonight, and I'm assuming you're walking home... aren't you?"

"... yeah," he lied, blood rushing to his face at the thought of taking a piece of you home.

"Then I'll get it back another time," you said, smiling.

You hesitated to close the door again, and instead you gingerly moved forward, raising yourself to press a single, soft kiss to his cheek, the edge of it just barely touching his lips. His mouth parted in surprise, but before he could say anything you shut the door.

He walked back to the impala completely starstruck.

"I don't think they're dangerous," Jack said, restating what he'd said earlier to Sam and Dean on the drive home––he just couldn't see you as suspicious. Strange, yes, but not murderous.

"If what you say is true, though, then this is quite likely a fae," said Castiel as his eyes flickered from Jack to Sam and Dean.

"See? Facts are facts, kid," Dean said, pointing to Castiel with a smile.

"Hexbags, crystals, actual photos with them from, like, 1890? And the amount of plants," Sam continued with a slight shudder.

"How many plants were there?" Castiel asked, frowning sternly.

"Too damn many," Dean answered for him. "The point is, we gotta interrogate that thing."

"They didn't do anything wrong!" Jack said, his voice tripling without his knowledge.

Everyone in the room reacted accordingly––stiff postures and sharp breaths as the golden light faded in his eyes.

"Jack..." Castiel began hesitantly, his voice quiet and low.

He barely uttered out an 'I'm sorry,' before he turned and left, disappearing down the hallway and into his room.

It took him nearly a whole day to leave his room, having spent most of the time alone to brood and ponder over his actions, and whether or not he was being manipulated by a fairy creature. He couldn't deny the fact that there was a chance he was wrong and he was under your control, thus landing him with the only sane decision, somehow; trust Sam and Dean.

Silence surrounded him as he padded through the bunker, headed towards the kitchens after not eating for nearly 24 hours. Technically he could live without food for much, much longer than that, even without sleep, but it wasn't a particularly pleasant experience.

When he reached the kitchen he also found it empty. In fact, the whole bunker sounded empty, leaving all the cereal for him. He smiled.

Sam and Dean returned before Castiel did, though after their return they hid away doing 'private business' in the basement area. Jack tried to ask what it was they were doing, but Dean curtly brushed him off, sending him back upstairs to go clean up the mess they left in the kitchen after a quick, midnight dinner.

As he was scrubbing the dishes, a door lock clattered in the distance, marking Castiel's return. Now that the fort was manned again, he could sneak off to see you in the morning. Castiel informed him that showing up at people's houses at midnight could be seen in a very bad way. He knew you wouldn't judge him, but he still didn't want to embarrass himself, and it was only a few more hours to wait till dawn.

He could fly. He could also ask Sam or Dean to drive him (while he could also ask to drive Baby, he knew the answer would be an ardent no), but the grey clouds promised rain, and the smell of rain hitting the leaf-covered earth pleasured his mind. With your scarf wrapped around him, he could avoid the cold as well.

His feet were a little tired by the time your library came into view, though still warm in the crisp air from fuzzy, woolen socks. The frayed edges of your scarf fluttered about chaotically in the wind as he noticed something rather odd––the library wasn't open. None of the lights were turned on, the chairs were still atop the tables, and you were nowhere to be seen. He had left the bunker a little early, but you always opened by 5AM at the latest, and it was 8 now.

For several minutes he hadn't a clue as to what to do, meaning he stood motionless in silence in front of the glass door, his head tilting slowly to the side in confusion. Maybe you woke up late––that would explain it. You were perfectly safe in your bed, dozing after a good night's sleep, completely unharmed.

But things rarely worked out so easily for Jack. Your home was empty, no sign of your disappearance left as your shoes, jacket, keys, and wallet were still left by the front door. In a sudden panic at the thought of your absence, the world around him flickered for a split second before he appeared in the bunker's war room. Knowing the usual fate of the people he cared about, you were probably being hurt, perhaps kidnapped by the actual fae who'd been killing the children, or lost of your own volition in a forest you wandered too far into.

"Castiel." Jack grabbed the angel's coat sleeve, stopping him on the way to the stairs. "I went looking for the librarian and they're missing."

"Missing?" Castiel repeated with a grimace. "Did you check the library and the house?"

"Yes, I couldn't find them."

"They might be headed for the children," he said, sending a pang through Jack's heart that he ignored.

"Is... is there a way to track a fae?"

"There's no spell I know of," Castiel said, his gaze falling to the floor as he scanned his mind. "But if it's a magical creature, it may carry a sort of... a sort of scent."

"A scent?" Jack furrowed his brow, wondering if something could carry your scent.

Something you'd been around a while. Something like your books, or your bed, or –

Jack jumped after he realized he was still wearing your scarf which, despite its' time with Jack in his room, still smelled of you. He shoved it into Castiel's arms, but he only gave him a confused look.

"It's their scarf," he explained.

Castiel spared him from the embarrassment of explaining how he'd gotten it.

He held the crumpled scarf in his hand up to his nose, intaking a deep breath with closed eyes. Jack hadn't ever heard of this kind of tracking, which was odd since he inherently knew most things about angels, but he would never distrust his father. What he did distrust was the churning feeling in his chest, as though a curved knife had impaled itself in him and twisted slowly through his skin.

Doubts pervaded both angels almost immediately as Castiel followed the trail. It led near to the stairs, but took a harsh turn and went into the hallway, leading them further into the bunker.

"Are you sure this is theirs?" Castiel asked as they hurried down the hall.

"Positive," he said, earning a sigh and a nod from Castiel.

They continued, this time less sure of themselves, as the scarf continued to lead them through the bunker, trotting down stairs till they landed in the base floor. Here the walls, ceiling, and floor were made of thick cement, allowing their footsteps to echo around the empty halls.

Jack picked up the pace and Castiel followed, running after the trail that ended right in front of the dungeon door. The torture room door, where monsters were locked up, and sometimes friends as well. A sort of fury was boiling in his blood despite his earlier acceptance of the Winchester's plan. Keeping you here in secret was never something he agreed to.

Without even fully realizing it, Jack was wrenching open the handle, the door whizzing open and slamming against the wall with a resounding crack. There, in the center of a pentagram, you were bound to a chair with thick, iron chains, your molted form flanked by Sam and Dean. The latter carried a knife in his hand, one covered in dripping blood. Sam whirled around at the sound of the door opening, meaning he was the first to see Jack's glowing eyes, and the suddenly panicked expression on Castiel's face.

"What are you doing to them?" Castiel growled with wide eyes, taking long, quick steps over in front of you. Without hesitation he undid the restraints, letting you fall down to the floor.

"Cas, they're a fae," Dean said, his tone stern and curt.

"No, they're not," Castiel replied, his own voice equally as sure. "I can't.. blame you, for not knowing this. You're only human. But it's obvious to me."

Sam opened his crossed arms, waiting for the angel to explain himself. Meanwhile, Jack regained his composure after being shocked by Castiel's actions, and made his way over to you, kneeling at your side. You'd been cut in a few different places––nothing too grievous, at least not by Winchester standards––and drops of your blood painted streaks down your sweaty skin.

"They're an Old God," Castiel finally said, but the words were followed by silence.

"We're just supposed to know what that is?" Dean asked gruffly.

"I thought your brother might," he said in a quiet voice.

Dean unfolded his arms, shifting his weight as he cast a glance to his brother.

"Old Gods are... ancient deities created by wandering bands of hunter-gatherers in your past. They got their power from their worshippers, not from Chuck, which... made them very different, to say the least," Castiel continued, still keeping his voice soft as he raised his hand above several of your wounds, stitching the skin back together with his grace.

"I've heard of hunter and gatherers," Jack said as he recalled some of the books in your library. "They wandered in bands of around 50 to 100 people."

He earned several unimpressed stares.

"Well – if they got their power from worshippers, how's this one still alive?" Sam asked after a moment of silence.

"I don't know," Castiel admitted. "I've never met this one before."

"Okay, just because they're not a fae doesn't mean they aren't the one that killed those kids," Dean said, interrupting their short conversation.

The iron knife still twirled in his hands; the only weapon against fairies. Jack kept a close eye on it as they spoke.

"An Old God would never hurt a human," Castiel said with such an intensity that no one had any choice but to believe him. “And besides,” he turned back to you, “they would’ve lost their powers long ago when humans stopped believing in them.”

Your eyes listed open while you lay in Jack's hold, the swirling image of your friend coming lazily into view.

"... Jack?" You mumbled, struggling to keep your eyelids up.

His gaze shot down to you, eyes widening at the sight of your movement.

"Hey," he said softly, hushing you when you tried to speak. "Are you okay?"

You mustered your strength to nod.

"I'm assuming you're an agricultural God," Castiel said after a moment of watching the two of you interact. "You look to be around 12,000 years old." He looked up to Dean and Sam. "That's how old agriculture is."

"Yeah, I know," Sam scoffed, but Dean remained silent.

"Do I really look that old?" You asked, laughing through your slurred words.

"Your soul does," Castiel answered.

You hummed weakly in response, drifting back into unconsciousness, your body going limp in Jack's arms.

Jack healed what remaining injuries you had, using it partway as an excuse to touch you. His palms set flat on the cuts, and with you far off in your dreams, you didn't feel the burn or the relief of his healing. He thought first to bring to his room to lay you on his bed, but Sam gently suggested that you should be put in one of their many spare bedrooms.

Castiel and the Winchesters attempted to take his mind off of you, but it wasn't long before he was back at your side, waiting for you to wake up again. He scanned your body constantly with his mind, searching for any hidden injuries he might've missed the first time around. The case remained unsolved, the children still missing and the culprit unknown. Your disqualifying left the Winchesters with no more suspects, but Jack couldn’t bring himself to worry about a creature that wouldn’t strike again for another ten years when you wouldn’t wake up to his voice calling your name.

It took hours until you stirred again, eyes fluttering into a half-open state as they fell to Jack. He had his head hung low, his elbows leant on his knees, and his hair drooping in front of his face.

"I was created in Turkey," you rasped out through a dry throat.

At the slightest sound his head shot up, eyes widening with a spark upon seeing your soft smile.

"It's a country, by the way," you mumbled, correctly assuming Jack didn't know the country, and only knew the bird. "At a place they call Gobekli Tepe, now. The people of the land would... would gather there, and share their cultured seeds, and the magic needed to make them grow."

"Magic?"

"Simple water and sunlight," you said with a weak chuckle. "It was magic to them. Everything was."

You fell silent before you said, "I miss them."

"Were they different? From people now?" Jack asked.

"Very," you nodded assuredly. "But there are some people, nowadays, that remind me of them."

He chuckled quietly. Warmth spread from your touch when you reached forward, just barely gracing his hand with yours. He took the initiative, entangling your fingers together, and watching intently as your thumb ran over the back of his hand.

"You are a new God, aren't you?" You asked, narrowing your eyes curiously, with no sense of hostility.

"I'm... I'm a nephilim. Lucifer's son, actually, but I promise I'm not like him," he said, gripping you tighter.

"A nephilim?" You asked with a frown.

"The son of an angel," he clarified.

It was the first time he was able to tell you something you didn't know instead of the other way around.

"I've never heard of angels."

His brows raised in surprise.

"Really?" He asked.

"I haven't really kept up with the world as of recent. When did angels first appear?"

"I... don't know," he said after wracking his brain and finding no answer. "Castiel might know."

"Castiel.. Castiel, that was your father, right?"

"Yeah. The good one," he said, earning a chuckle from you that brought a blush to his face.

"He is another God?"

"Another angel, yes," he nodded. "(Y/N), I... I have so many questions for you."

"About what?" You asked skeptically, giving him a playful glare.

"About humans, mostly," he said. "I mean, I've already been asking you questions, but now I know you have a lot more answers than I thought."

"Yes, well, I do keep my memory stored in a mushroom," you muttered beneath your breath.

Jack frowned. Was that normal?

"Can you tell me about them?" He asked, just barely masking his eagerness.

"My people?"

He nodded, and you smiled softly, your eyes glazing over as you recalled thousands of years past.

[house-of-galathynius]

Only You ~ Rowaelin

A Rowaelin fanfic, set if Aelin’s parents had lived and she had met Rowan under normal circumstances, if Erawan and Maeve weren’t threats. Hope you enjoy! 

Chapter One 

Prologue: The Night Before

The moon was high in the sky as Aelin made her way through the palace courtyard and towards the river that ran beyond. It was well past the time anyone would be out here. She was confident in her abilities at keeping hidden as she strolled down the path and stopped as she reached the waters edge. 

In the winter she wouldn’t even hesitate at crossing the river. Terrasen winters were harsh and bitterly cold. Parts of the river where it flowed slowly would freeze over from mid-December until February. But it was September, and that meant the water was running freely; so Aelin had no choice but to jump in and swim quickly across. If it wasn’t for her fire magic that was able to dry her off within seconds, she would hate that crossing more. 

She checked behind her, ensuring no one was following and quickly made off into the night. 

The walk from the palace into the city itself was not long if you were taking the normal route. For Aelin, she would have to go the long way round; traipsing through thick brush and woodland to reach the edge of the city. 

After too many scrapes and close encounters with the ground she saw the distant lights of the city. As she entered the city walls themselves she marvelled at the white stone buildings and the way they glowed in the moonlight, the streetlights flickering in the shadows. It was louder here, the taverns only just opening for the night. A group of Fae stumbled down the street, arm in arm, laughing at each other. 

Aelin knew she was privileged, to live in a palace, to have maids and cooks and cleaners. She was happy there, with her family. But sometimes, when she would sneak off to see Sam, she wished she could have a life like this; a life of freedom, to do what she wanted whenever she wanted. The stolen moments with Sam were ones she cherished. 

She approached the large store front, a dark wooden sign hanging above the door reading Little Library of Orynth. The real library of Orynth sat above the city, it’s walls protected with magic to ward off any unwanted attention. And whilst Aelin loved that library, she came to find the old librarians there to be too strict, too stuffy, to fully enjoy the books they held. 

She had found Sam’s library years ago; when it was not Sam’s library. Her father had taken her there to browse the collection of romance books which were not available elsewhere. Since then, she had come back more times than she could remember. 

Sam had always been there, in the shadows of the towering shelves and the dusty books. It hadn’t been until she was eighteen and Sam twenty that they had crossed paths properly. They had bonded over their mutual love for a series of books and had continued from there. It had been two years and every moment she had with Sam was precious.

She gave a few gentle taps on the oak door and waited. It was only a few seconds later when Sam was there, a smile on his face, dust covering his clothes and his hair messy. His classic look. 

“You really need a haircut.” She grinned at him and placed a kiss on his cheek. 

“And you really need to learn time management.” He kissed her right back and pulled her into the darkened library. 

“I was trying to get away sooner, but Aedion was complaining about his new training—“ she trailed off. “You don’t need to hear about Aedion’s boring life.” 

She grabbed the lapels of his jacket and pulled him closer. She took in his scent, old books, leather and a faint hint of lavender, before bringing her lips to his own. 

She lost herself in the softness of his lips, the way he caressed her head as she leaned into him. Her hands found his hair and slid through the messy locks. 

Sam broke away first, his hand finding her own, and slipping his fingers through hers. “I have a treat for you.” 

“I hope it’s chocolate. Kasper has me on a diet.” Kasper was her trainer, and he had put her on a new diet, to try and curb her appetite for sweets. 

Sam laughed. “Kasper can try, but we both know you will not be stopped when it comes to chocolate.” He continued walking, up the stairs and into the apartment above the library. It was rare to find somewhere like this in the city. Most buildings would house two or three shops over several stories; people’s homes were found just outside of the city walls, tucked away amongst the foothills of the Staghorns. Sam had been lucky. The old man who had owned this place before him had converted the floors above into a large, airy apartment. The ceilings were high, dark oak beams jutted across the ceilings, the walls a light beige, and the floor an old herringbone design, worn with years of footsteps. There were little touches of Sam dotted around; a painting he had purchased on a trip to the Southern Continent, a large rug which Aelin had bought him for his birthday. Scattered amongst his things were her own. Books, shirts, a hairbrush which perched on the mantle. She could imagine living here with him, and sometimes it hit her that none of this was permanent, that her love with Sam would one day have to end. 

“It’s not much, but I found it when I was digging through some old trunks of books I found.” 

Aelin snapped away from her thoughts and looked towards Sam who was holding a badly wrapped book. She took it from his hands, turning it over, shaking it to check that it wasn’t, in fact, chocolate. 

“What’s the occasion?” She sat on the sofa, tucking her legs beneath her. 

“Does there have to be an occasion for me to get the woman I love a gift?” She blushed at the words. It was still felt foreign to her, the concept of love, and the idea that she was in love with Sam and he with her. And every time he said he loved her, it would fill her with a warmth that she couldn’t describe. 

She hastily unwrapped the book and her breath caught in her throat. “Sam… this is—“ she opened the cover. “This is too much.” 

“I saw it and immediately thought of you. It’s from Eyllwe. I remembered you used to have a friend from there and you had always said—“ 

“I love it, Sam. Thank you.” She swept her fingers over the patterns and ridges of the leather, admiring the detail in the small book. The fact he had remembered Nehemia, that he had remembered what she had meant to Aelin… her heart swelled. 

She didn’t know what to say, so she showed him instead. Slowly peppering kisses along his jaw, lower. 

And lower.

He moaned at the feel of her. A sound that sparked something within. The lazy touches became faster as they both raced to take the others clothes off first; which were hastily thrown to the floor, neither caring where they landed. They were wrapped in each other’s embrace, their mouths moving together, Sam’s soft hands caressing her curves leaving warmth wherever he touched. Her breath was heavy as she let Sam pull her across the room, never straying too far from the other. 

They were moving towards the bed; groans mixed into the frantic kisses, their touches fevered and rough as they made up for the two weeks apart. But Sam was gentle as he laid her on the mattress, his eyes devouring her. She heated at his touch, as he showed her all the ways he had missed her. 

And when they lay there later, Sam’s head on her shoulder, his fingers trailing patterns along her skin, she didn’t think she could want anything more than she did right then. 

The two of them dozed on and off, until Aelin’s stomach growled. Sam huffed a laugh at the sound. But neither of them made to move, they stayed wrapped in each others arms for a while longer. Sam was the first to break the silence.

“Run away with me.” Aelin balked at the invitation. Turning her head to look at Sam. He was looking back at her. “I know it’s insane; but just listen…” 

He stood from the bed, rummaging to find some pants. Aelin watched his movements as he made around the room gathering up papers and books, before he laid them on the bed in front of her. “I’ve done my research. We could head to the Southern Continent and with the money I have saved and the inheritance from Terrance I can buy us a house with enough land for horses, enough room to raise children. It would be perfect, and the Southern Continent is beautiful, I know you would love it, Aelin.” Of course she would love it. And she was sure she would love the life that Sam was proposing, but in her soul she knew that it was a dream, one that would likely never be able to come true. She hated to ruin the bliss they had been in, hated the look on Sam’s face as he saw her hesitation. She shook her head once, clearing her mind, trying to think of the easiest way to say that his dream would always be a dream. But the words didn’t come. 

Sam spoke again, “I know it’s insane. And you would be giving up a lot, I know. But there are other people who can take the throne Aelin.” He took her hands in his, eyes wide with excitement. “People have given it up for less.” 

“What of my family, Sam?” Aelin stood then, grabbing the clothes that were strewn across the floor. “I love you Sam; you know that. But it’s one thing for me to be sneaking around with you here in Orynth, but to runaway from here completely?” She shook her head. “I could not do that to my family… to my kingdom.” Sam’s face fell, she saw the defeat in his features. “Is it not enough that we have each other right now?” 

“Of course it is. But then what happens when you have to marry, when you have to produce heirs for the throne?” This had been a conversation she had wanted to avoid at all costs. She would be expected to marry, and her family would certainly not let her marry Sam. There was also the other small problem of her immortality. “We pretend that everything is perfect, we have our stolen nights, and we ignore the dark cloud that has been over us since we began this thing.” 

“Can we not do this now? Please.” Aelin put on her shoes. “I have to go. Guests are arriving tomorrow and I need some sleep.”

“So we’re not going to talk about this?” He looked so hurt, so devastated at her leaving. 

“Not tonight.” She kissed his cheek. “I’ll see you soon.” 

And then she was gone.

[andypantsx3]

in cinders | 8 | revelations

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

length: 24,362 words / 9 chapters

summary: You’re just trying to fairy godmother your best friend into a happily ever after. If only the prince would stop hanging around and cooperate.

tags: cinderella AU, prince!Shouto, romance, misunderstandings, reader-insert

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut

You spent every spare minute of your week in the library. The librarian seemed to recognize you from your evening lesson with Prince Shouto, and he made himself quite useful, fetching you a small set of thin books that looked well-loved. You were vaguely insulted upon discovering they were a collection of children’s fairy tale books, but the librarian had your skill level well matched. It took you most of one evening and half of the next to finish one, slowly mouthing out the words to yourself.

You could feel yourself getting more adept, and faster. Some of the words you still couldn’t quite figure out, but having the context of surrounding words--once you’d figured those out--helped quite a bit. By the end of the week you’d finished three of the small volumes.

Reading was incredible.

You also took care to practice writing out your letters, sometimes copying out the words in the stories that you couldn’t figure out in a slow hand. You were careful to hide the paper and quills in your aprons as you crossed through the kitchens, sensing Kamiko’s watchful eyes on you. She’d been restless in the last week, and you could tell she was growing frustrated that you’d seemingly escaped punishment at the hands of Lady Utsushimi.

By the time Saturday came around again, the pocket of your apron was stained inside with ink, but you had a small list of words clearly copied out to ask Prince Shouto about. Saturday morning you awoke to a note slipped under your door, reading simply:

Meet me in the ballroom. -S

Your head buzzed with his confidence that you would be able to read the message. You ran your fingers over the neat lines of his handwriting, so much cleaner than your own, before folding the note and stowing it carefully in your skirts.

You attacked your morning chores with enthusiasm, and scarfed down your lunch with an alacrity that seemed to alarm everyone around you.

When the noon bell tolled, you set off for the ballroom. Arriving from the entrance was a significantly different experience than arriving from the hidden door. The interior of the ballroom was just as you remembered, but from this angle you could pick up a fair amount more detail - the gold molding lining the windows and walls, the painting of clouds sweeping over the vaulted ceiling, and the Todoroki crest emblazoned across the floor at the center of the room.

Prince Shouto was already there, dragging a booted foot idly across his own family crest, and he looked up at the sound of your entrance.

“Y/N,” he said simply. Again, your name in his deep, clear tone sent something hot racing up your spine. You shook yourself. You were going to tell him, today. You didn’t have the time to swoon over him like a maiden in one of those children’s stories.

As he moved closer to you, however, you were struck by how happy he looked and how handsome he was, and you found yourself giving in a little.

Maybe...maybe just for today. Just today you could have this, have him. Today he would teach you to dance. And tomorrow he would be Ochako’s.

You couldn’t begrudge either of them that. Ochako was so very kind and sweet. You had no doubt that Prince Shouto would make her a good husband. He’d proved himself thoughtful and attentive - he’d taught a kitchen girl to read just because he’d worried he’d offended her. He was teaching you to dance just because you'd said you couldn't. His kindness would be a good match for Ochako’s sweet-tempered nature.

The thought of them, as sad as it made you now that you understood your own feelings, also warmed you. They’d make each other so happy.

And if Shouto wasn’t too furious with you, the ladies’ maid job was probably still yours. You’d still get to lounge around with a book and have tea with Ochako on the daily.

Yes, after today.

“Your highness,” you said by way of acknowledgement.

“Shouto,” the prince said quickly, almost so abruptly that you didn’t hear him.

You looked up at him. “Your highness?”

“My name,” he said, looking somewhat self conscious. “It’s Shouto.”

You looked at him in askance, wondering why he was telling you. Did he think you thought his proper name was Your Highness?

He seemed to sense your confusion. “I’d like you to use it. My name.”

You stared at him. Had he gone mental?

“Your highness, I couldn’t--that’s not--”

He let out a soft noise that sounded something like frustration. “You don’t have to. But I’d like it very much if you did. Think of it as a favor to me. In exchange for the lesson.”

You thought it a rather uneven deal, but you sensed the note of earnestness in his voice.

Yes, just for today. For today you could give yourself this.

You drew a breath.

“Shouto,” you said, face pinking a little. “Thank you for teaching me how to dance.”

He laughed. “Well I haven’t yet. You can thank me after if I’ve proved any good.”

You thought of his strong form, leading you smoothly through the dance as you stood on his boots. If his performance at the ball was any indicator, he would prove very good.

“Before that,” you said, thrusting a hand into your apron pocket. “I’d like your help with something else.”

You pulled out your parchment with the words you’d carefully copied down on it and held it out to him. He stepped closer to you, and you could feel the warmth of his fingers as his hand closed around the note. His mint scent washed over you and your brain went a little fuzzy. He was always so overwhelming up close.

“These are words I found in books at the library,” you said. “I couldn’t figure them out even with context. I thought perhaps you could help?”

He stared at you for a moment, his gaze burning into yours like embers in a warm hearth.

“You read books on your own?” He asked.

You nodded, and he let out a short laugh.

“Of course you did,” he said. “You were a quick study, I shouldn’t be surprised.”

You flushed.

“What did you read?” he asked, and you named the three story books you’d finished.

He smiled. “Which was your favorite?”

You thought for a moment, running over a tale of schemes and plots and adventure. “East of the Sun, West of the Moon. I liked the girl’s persistence, and their plan to trick the trolls and save the prince. It seems I like a good adventure story.”

Shouto laughed. “Why doesn’t that surprise me. Now that you know what the storybooks say of princes, you will tire of me quickly. I’m afraid I can’t do anything nearly as interesting as turn into a white bear.”

You chuckled. “I know the difference between fantasy and reality. I can think of a few real life trolls, though.” Your mind turned to Kamiko.

He grinned and it looked so charming on his normally serious face that you found yourself smiling hopelessly back.

“Well then, let’s have a look at your words.” He said, unfolding the parchment. His dual toned gaze scanned quickly over your careful scribbles. He read them out carefully to you, pointing to each one with an elegant finger.

You scowled as he read the last. “How is neighbor possibly spelled like that? Why’s it got all the extra letters?”

He chuckled. “I suppose I never thought about it.”

“Well now’s the time,” you said a little oafishly and he laughed again.

“I promise to do my research on its origins if you can memorize two dances by the end of the evening,” he said, something like a challenge sparkling in his eye. “So we’d better get to it if you want to have any chance of finding out.”

You nodded seriously. “I accept your terms.”

With that, he stepped closer to you. Your mind suddenly went a little blank.

Shouto took your hand and pulled it up to a strong shoulder. Now that you knew the truth of his power, you thought you could feel the coolness of his right side through his soft doublet, almost cold under your fingertips. His left hand grasped your own, much the opposite, feeling like it was mere degrees from scalding you.

His right hand came up to your back, pressing you carefully to him.

“Now, step your left foot back and follow with your right,” he said, and you did. He went with you easily, pressing even closer into your space.

“Now step right with your right and follow with your left.”

You did as he asked. For every step you took, he followed you closely. After a while, you began to pick up the pattern of the steps and anticipate your moves. Soon enough, Shouto stopped directing you, content to just lead you along with the strength of his arms and the sureness of his steps.

A thumb stroked softly across your back and you shivered, unable to help yourself. Shouto’s grip tightened around you, pulling you even nearer to him, and all of a sudden you were transported back to the ball -- being so close in his space, feeling his calloused thumb along your back.

Shouto’s gaze burned into you the way it had that evening, looking out at you as he had from behind his mask.

You stared back, feeling helplessly caught in his gaze. You cast about desperately for something to break the tension, to pry your thoughts from going down a path that the prince would certainly never follow you on.

“Do you dance often, your highness?” A warning look from him had you correcting yourself, “Um, Shouto, I mean.”

To your surprise, he shook his head. “I try not to.”

You wondered at that. He was good at it, and he’d certainly not had any reservations about tricking you into dancing with him, that evening on his birthday. But then, you supposed, he had been obfuscating for whatever reason, finding a way to prevent you from learning the whereabouts of your friend and his valet.

“Why not?” you asked as he swept you expertly around the room.

“Camie is the only one I can stand to dance with,” he said, fixing you with a dry look, “and she much prefers standing around and gossiping. All the other ladies are a bit too much for me, I’m afraid.”

“Too much how?”

Discomfort flashed across his handsome features. “You’ve heard, I suppose, that my father means for me to marry?”

You nodded. You’d heard the rumor that this was the true motivation for the ball.

He cleared his throat. “Many of the court ladies are, ah, eager to become a princess. I’ve found that for many of them, I am...somewhat of a game.”

Oh.

You were hit with a wave of feeling for him, eyes roving over his figure. Discomfort was written into every line of his body.

He was a royal, better off than any in the castle in so many fortunate ways, but you supposed the curse of one’s station was inescapable at any level. For all his books, and the size of his quarters, and the fineness of his soft shirts, he was still just as defined by his station as you and Ochako.

You nodded, feeling an understanding, “They see you for what you are, rather than who you are.”

Shouto leveled you with a scorching look, his eyes boring into yours. “Yes.”

His intense stare unnerved you. You could only gaze back, feeling lightheaded with the intensity of his focus.

All of a sudden you stumbled, feeling completely unsteady, and it was enough to break the moment.

“I suppose that’s one dance down,” Shouto said, glancing away as he reached out to right you. “You did well.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “Soon, I will have my prize.”

He smiled and pulled you gently into him again. You arranged your hands over him once more, and he began to lead you in a different dance.

“Though I do not prefer to dance, this one has become a recent favorite of mine,” he said in his calm tone, before directing your steps again.

As you moved, you began to recognize a familiar set of steps. Though you weren’t standing on his boots this time, the feeling of the movements felt similar and you laughed quietly to yourself. So this is how it would have felt if you hadn’t been stepping all over his toes. This is how it could have felt had you been a proper lady.

That evening, he’d held you so close to him. You’d been so embarrassed and so desperate to wiggle out of his grasp that you hadn’t thought to enjoy it. But now you could, and you let yourself bask just this once in the feeling of his rough hands on you, the strong lines of his body pressed closely to yours, his mind-addling fresh mint scent you could catch with every breath.

He was pressed so firmly to you that you could hear his chest rumble when he finally spoke.

“I’d never come across a lady without interest in my station before. Until my birthday some weeks ago.”

You looked up at him quizzically. Was he going to talk about Ochako? You had hoped for a few moments more before you had to give him up. But it was time, then.

“On that night,” he continued, eyes glittering down at you, “I met a girl who refused to give me her name.”

You froze, feeling yourself stiffen under his hands. Was he...was he telling you about you?

“I had thought her a contriver as all the rest, until she tried to run from me. It became clear she had no interest in me, and for that she caught my interest.”

You felt his hands tighten on you, and your heartbeat picked up in your chest. What did he mean by interest? Why was he telling you of yourself, when his gaze had only been for Ochako that evening?

Your mind began whispering wild insinuations at you, but it couldn’t be true. Ochako, he had been interested in Ochako.

“She kept insisting on fetching her friend and I thought perhaps she was already married, to have so little concern for making her own introduction. But I could find no sign of a husband on her.”

His thumb smoothed over your ring finger where he grasped your hand, and all your focus narrowed to that one spot. Suddenly, the only sensation left in your body was there, where his skin brushed yours so unbearably gently.

“She was so cross with me, so eager to get away, and I’d never experienced anything like it,” he said. “I confess to acting obnoxiously, insisting that she dance with me, only to find that she was perhaps the worst dancer in all the kingdom.”

You could feel your face burning, and you realized with alarm that the two of you were no longer moving, stopped in the middle of the floor.

“She was so easy to tease,” he said, and a gentle hand came up to catch a strand of your hair. You felt your mind turn to liquid, feeling your thoughts empty from your brain so effortlessly like water trickling through a sieve. “And her hair smelled a little like olives.”

He tucked his face into your hair, taking a deep breath, exactly as he had the night of the ball. You stilled completely. Your heart was rabbiting in your chest and you felt hunted.

“You had reminded me, in the kitchens, of the very same girl,” he said, mouth at your ear. “So you can imagine my surprise when you moved closer in the library, and I caught the scent of olives in your hair.”

That’s what had had him freezing up. That's why he had acted so strangely after that. You felt his next words coming before he even spoke them.

“I’ve found you again, Lady No Name.”

You stood frozen in his grasp, feeling like he’d iced you to the floor with his magic. Your mind was simultaneously empty of every thought and racing faster than a horse at full gallop. What now? Was he angry?

He pulled back to look at you, his two-toned eyes darker than you’d ever seen them. His hand caught your chin, tipping your face up to his.

"I'm so happy it was you."

And then his mouth was over yours.

You had just enough time to register the heat of his kiss, and his fingers still entwined in your hair. And then Izuku Midoriya burst into the ballroom, doors clattering behind him.

“Shouto!” he shouted, and the prince jumped away from you. “Your father has immediate need of you in--oh.”

Your face went red and you ducked your head in embarrassment. The prince cleared his throat.

“Izuku,” he said, and the sound startled you. You flinched. "Does it have to be now?"

Izuku frowned but nodded, looking extremely apologetic. "I'm afraid so."

Shouto closed his eyes, letting out a long breath. Then he turned to you. “Please wait for me. I will speak with you after.”

He tried to catch your eye but you couldn’t look at him. Ochako suddenly floated in front of your vision and you burned with shame. You needed to tell her. You needed to apologize.

The prince hesitated, looking concerned, but another call from Midoriya had him moving to the door. In another moment he was gone, leaving you alone just as he had the night of the ball.

You stood for a moment, letting the tidal wave of feelings wash over you. Shouto knew you were the lady from the ball. He knew and he'd still wanted time with you. He knew and he'd kissed you. Your stomach churned with confusion, surprise, happiness, and shame.

You squared your shoulders, crossing to the door. You had to talk to Ochako this instant before Shouto found you again. You had feelings for him, you might even call it love, but no matter your feelings you had to set things straight. You would not choose him over your lifetime of friendship with Ochako.

You rushed down the halls and into the doorways the lead to the servants’ quarters. Though it was early afternoon, the servants’ halls were strangely barren. You met surprisingly few people as you raced towards the kitchens.

When you arrived, you found why.

Dozens of servants were gathered into the kitchens, roiling like an agitated swarm of bees, watching the scene unfold before them. A legion of the kingsguard was present, a few of them blocking access to one side of the room. Over their shoulders, you could see the housekeeper, and beside her was Kamiko. In Kamiko’s hands was a familiar pink dress, and she was screaming almost louder than you’d ever heard a person scream before.

“Thief! You filthy little thief, this will teach you!”

Your eyes snapped towards the victim of her ire and all at once your heart stopped.

Trapped in the heavy grasp of one of the kingsguard, looking more frightened and miserable than you’d ever seen, was Ochako.

[punkpoemprose]

Single Bells- A Kristanna Oneshot

Rating: G (General Audiences) Universe: Modern AU, Librarian Anna, Single Dad/ Firefighter Kristoff Length: 8239 Words

A/N: Merry (day late) Christmas Val! @val-2201 I’m sorry I got a little bit behind. As per the usual the word count got away from me a bit so I ended up needing a little time to finish, haha. You said you enjoy single parent AUs so I hope you enjoy this little piece about single Dad Kristoff needing to solicit assistance from a very nice red headed librarian!  I hope you had a wonderful holiday and that your New Year will be full of joy!

Anna wasn’t supposed to still be at work, but if there was one thing she couldn’t say no to, it was a kid with a research project. Especially a first grader with beautiful blonde ringlets dragging her frazzled looking father to the information and research desk that Anna had been staffing for the day. Normally she worked only as the children’s librarian, but since two different librarians were out on maternity leave, she’d been willing to shift gears and wear many hats.

They’d come to her desk within the last five minutes of her shift, but Anna hadn’t mentioned it. It was two weeks from the last day of school for the winter holiday, and if her suspicions were correct, the father and daughter were working on a particular project for which she’d assisted four other families in the last few days.

Teachers loved to assign festive work before the holidays, but sometimes she wondered if they really thought through the fact that heavily parent involved projects were sometimes more stress than they were fun. She'd helped quite a few families try to determine what their ancestral traditions had been. Some, she was happy to report, did have legitimate plans to include them in their celebrations after the project conclusion. That at least made her feel like some good was coming out of the stress.

“I have a presentation to do!” the little girl announced with a smile that revealed a missing front tooth.

She was dressed in the brightest green coat she'd ever seen and her little hat, that she'd already pulled away to reveal static filled curls, was made to look like a reindeer. She couldn't help but feel that this was going to be another kid who insisted upon celebrating a newfound tradition. If she was, in fact, working on that project.

Anna grinned in return, noting the child’s enthusiasm for the project she was in the library to work on. She’d said it perhaps a bit too loudly for some of the other librarians’ tastes, but for Anna there was nothing like the boisterousness of young children. She supposed there was a reason that her office and the children’s area in general had been relegated to the basement. Being upstairs still felt strange.

“That’s due tomorrow,” the father said, sounding a bit miserable but looking mostly defeated.

He had a bit of scruff to his chin, and the bags under his eyes told Anna that he probably hadn’t slept well in weeks. It was a common sight with parents around the holidays, exhaustion and uncharacteristic scruffiness. Not that she really knew whether his scruffiness was uncharacteristic, having never seen him before in his life.

“Uh oh!” Anna said, directing her attention at the child rather than the father, knowing that she was much better at working with kids than adults, “We’ve got to work fast then, huh? What’s the presentation about?”

The little girl nodded, “It’s about Christmas traditions! I told Daddy on Monday that we needed to do it, but he forgot.”

When Anna looked toward the father out of the corner of her eye, she saw him flush. It was Thursday, so she imagined that they’d had some time to complete it. She wouldn’t judge him for the timing of course, she barely could keep herself on a schedule somedays, let alone a six-year-old. She also made a conscious effort to not judge any of her patrons, even the ones who came in asking about unique topics.

She’d once had a woman come in asking for an entire book on just Guinea pig costumes, and she wasn’t sure whether she should be more concerned for her guinea pig or that the library system had not one, but six books on guinea pig costuming. Last minute project fell somewhere toward the bottom of the judgement list.

“I didn’t forget,” the dad said, sounding very tired, but not particularly upset, “I’ve just been busy, and I didn’t realize it was Thursday.”

Anna smiled and then looked at the dad, “It happens to all of us. Can you two narrow down the kind of Christmas traditions you’re looking for?”

The dad looked embarrassed again.

“She needs to pick a specific country to look up traditions from and she wants to pick the one my family’s from.”

“Oh, that’s easy enough,” Anna said with a nod, “Where is your family from, and we’ll go from there!”

“That’s kind of the problem,” the man said with a sigh, “I don’t know.”

***

They were in the children’s area, on one of the library’s iPads at one of the kid sized tables. The little girl, Ivy, was in her glory. She’d spent more time commenting on the posters on the walls and snowflakes on the ceiling than she had focusing on the task at hand, but Anna didn’t really mind. It was easy enough for her to hold a conversation with both the girl and her father as she searched for clues about the man’s heritage. Really all they had to go on was his last name.

  Bjorgman. Kristoff Bjorgman.

“I think that my parents were maybe immigrants. I was adopted when I was just a little older than Ivy, but I’d been in the system since I was maybe two or three? I don’t remember them, and I was never given any records. My birth certificate was created when I entered the system, so it doesn’t have either of their names on it. Just mine, and that was just because it had been pinned to my shirt when someone dropped me off.”

Anna couldn’t help but feel as though that was terribly sad, but the man, Kristoff, and his daughter didn’t seem phased by it. It was just another detail of life for them she supposed, but she couldn’t imagine not remembering her parents. All she had of them now was memories, and a few knick-knacks that had managed to be saved after the house fire.

She tried not to think about that though, and it was easy enough to direct her attention back to the man sitting across from her.

He was much too large for the table, and he made the child’s chair he sat in look comically small. He was handsome, and by Anna’s estimation, not much older than she was. He was maybe 26, tops, and she couldn’t imagine having a kid of her own.

“Your adoptive parents don’t know anything?”

He shook his head, “No more than I do. The information just doesn’t exist I guess.”

“She didn’t want to do her Mom’s family’s traditions?” she asked, fishing only a little bit. 

She thought that maybe given the level of flustered he seemed to be exuding might be indicative of him being a single dad. She hoped not on the one hand because that was such a difficult position to be in, but also he was the first cute dad she’d run into that wasn’t significantly older than her. So she wanted to make sure if she was ogling him in the chair it was something that she could do with a clear conscience.  

“No, and even if she did, we don’t really know anything about hers either. She’s passed on. It’s just us.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry…”

He shook his head, “It’s alright.”

He looked over at his daughter then, smiling at her softly as she pushed her little chair back and walked over to the bookshelf to grab something out of the easy reader bin. She’d looked bored for a little while and was now clearly determining that this was grown up work that she didn’t want anything to do with and therefore was free to explore.

Anna couldn’t help but grin when she saw her pluck out a Mercy Watson book. She loved those. She must be reading a little beyond her age group to be reading it for fun.

Turning her attention back to the ipad, and away from the little girl who was eagerly plopping herself into a beanbag, she looked at the search results she pulled up with his last name. The information on the screen was pretty much what they already knew. His first and last name were Nordic of some kind.

“So we’re looking at Sweden, Norway, Finland, Denmark, or Iceland. We can make an educated guess based on where you lived when you were a kid based on the census data from that area as most immigrant families move to areas with other people from the same country, or where there’s a strong presence of the culture they’re familiar with.”

“Well… I was born here, I think. Or at least this is where I got put into the system, which is why I moved back here a few years back.”

 Anna lit up, she didn’t have to do any more searching. Any vaguely Nordic last name in their town generally meant one thing.

“I can say then, with 90% certainty, you’re Norwegian. Not that it helps right now, but have you ever thought about taking a DNA test? Kids tend to just have more heritage questions as they get older and if you both take one it can help with any genealogy research."

"That's a lot of certainty for just a last name and a town," he said, looking surprised as he met her eye.

"Oh, well I mean Arendale was named for the Arendelle family and was founded by Norwegian immigrants so most of the population is descended from Norwegian families. Most immigrant families from Norway still settle here when they come over from the states. I mean there’s a little Norway downtown." 

"Oh," he said, "You just knew that? I guess it's probably something that comes up often…"

"Yes, but well also I'm an Arendelle. It's been drilled into me since I was born. We turned the family manor into a museum a few years ago. I used to give tours when I was in my master's program."

"That's…"

"Extremely boring,” she interrupted, not wanting him to trouble himself to find something nice to say, “Except on field trip days. Which is how I decided working with kids was for me. Adults, eh. No offense of course."

"None taken,” he replied, grinning, “Why do you work at the research desk then?"

"I'm actually a children's librarian," she said happily, glancing over at his daughter who had looked up over her book at them with interest as they talked about information valuable to her project again. Anna motioned with her hands like she was opening a book and then gave her a thumbs up which the girl returned with a grin.

"I'm just helping out because a few of the librarians are out on maternity. If you want to see what I usually do you should come for my ornament making sessions. I'm doing them every day after school and then in the mornings on the weekends until the day before Christmas Eve."

He looked almost impressed.

"Daddy! We have to!"

"Now she's tuning in," he said with a sort of shy smile that was quickly accompanied by a shrug. "Come here sweetheart, you have to pick a tradition. We're pretty sure I'm Norwegian."

"And I know so many traditions!" Anna told the girl brightly, "we don't even have to search!"

“Hooray!” she said with a grin, carefully sliding the book’s ribbon bookmark into the page she had marked with her thumb before running over to where her father was seated.

She crawled up on his lap, book still in hand.

“Can we pick one that talks about food?”

He laughed and as he tucked the little curly head under his chin he mouthed, ‘bottomless pit’.

Anna couldn’t help but feel that before she left for the evening, she’d be processing a minor and adult card sign up and checking out a Mercy Watson book and perhaps even a Norwegian cookbook.

“No! Wait! One about ornaments! I love ornaments!”

Maybe, she thought, a craft book too.

The dad rolled his eyes playfully from up above where his daughter could see and Anna did her best to stifle a giggle. These were the moments where she loved her job most.

***

They'd come for her craft time the next day, and Ivy had told her how well she'd done at her presentation and how she'd been proud to already know a bunch of the other Norwegian traditions other kids had shared.

Now though she was busying herself with playing with the other kids, the usuals that Anna had introduced to her by name.

Her blonde head was bobbing along in a conversation as the kids built a large block tower together, and she could see her dark little eyes gleaming with mischief as they discussed knocking it down when they were all done. Anna had never in her life been more grateful that they had foam instead of wooden blocks.

“She looks just like you."

Her hair was just a little lighter than his, and her eyes a little darker, but there was something in her features, her expressions that was an identical copy to her fathers. Even only having met them the day before, she could tell that she definitely took after him.

“I hear that a lot, and it’s funny… Not like really funny, I mean, it’s just interesting because Ivy’s not mine,” he said quietly as the little girl played with the other children.

Most of the other parents had been content to talk amongst themselves. They were regulars and they were comfortable together, being mostly moms. Anna noticed that they were occasionally glancing back and forth between the two of them surreptitiously. Or at least as close to sneaky as a group of nosy 30-something women could be.

“I usually don’t tell people that. I don’t know why I told you that.”

“It’s par for the course for librarians. We’re like bartenders, just with books,” She replied a bit too quickly.

He looked down at his feet for a moment then met Anna’s eye again, smiling a bit nervously, like he’d worked something out in his head, and then took a deep breath.

“I mean legally speaking she is mine, just so you don’t think I stole a kid. After her mother died, I adopted her. Genetically she’s got another Dad out there somewhere, but her mom, Evelyn, she never mentioned him. I don’t think he was ever involved.”

“Oh,” Anna said, feeling her face grow hot at the misconception, “I’m sorry. So Evelyn was your…?”

She knew she was probably just digging herself a deeper hole, but she felt a warmth flutter to life in her heart. He’d mentioned before that Ivy’s mom had passed on, but she’d assumed that he was her biological father and that was why she called him Dad. That he’d been adopted, and then he’d adopted a child after meant a lot. That made her realize that her interest in him, regardless of how new and how impossible, was rooted in more than looks.

“Neighbor,” he said quickly, like he was afraid of her saying anything else.

She stared at him, surprised by the answer, watching him blush under her gaze.

“Sorry, I’m just used to people thinking we were… you know, together. She was just… she was so young. I wouldn’t have been with her like that, she was just a neighbor and a friend. I think she had a rough life. She didn’t talk about it much, but when she moved in next door to me she was working a bunch of odd jobs with crazy hours and Ivy was two. Evie was eighteen. I think her parents might have kicked them out or something, so I would watch Ivy on my days off because Evie didn’t have anyone and it was just me and my dog anyway, so I had plenty of free time."

He took a breath. Before Anna could find the words to say, he kind of sighed and shrugged, deciding to say more. Anna just focused on his eyes while he talked. There was a deep love there and she could tell it was for Ivy.

"I started taking extra days off here and there with my vacation time because Evelyn started to not feel well and she would go to the clinic a lot. Sometimes she would wait for hours for someone to tell her she was stressed or whatever. When they found out it was cancer it was too late. It was less than a year before she was gone. When no family came forward for Ivy, I did. She was three then. I’m the only dad she knows. The only parent she knows really. I didn’t have many pictures of her mom, because she was my neighbor and I didn’t think to take some when we found out she was sick, but we talk about her.”

Anna thought she might cry.

She was no stranger to loss, but she’d never heard of anyone doing anything like that before. She tried to step up for strangers and community members a little but each day. She donated to charity and worked with the economically disadvantaged, but she’d never changed her life forever just to help someone else. She’d never been able to see herself stepping up that far.

“You adopted your neighbor’s kid.”

She let her eyes tear up, her throat felt tight.

She could certainly see that beneath the sort of gruff exterior he first offered, there was a kindness that ran through him. She could see it now, as she had before when he’d been focusing on helping his daughter. He had a lot of love in him, and it was obvious when he glanced back over to where Ivy was playing and smiled.

 “Well I fostered her first, but yeah. I mean my parents did it for me, and I guess I didn’t want to roll the dice and hope that someone else would be as kind when I had the means… at least financially. I’m three years in and still working out the rest. I just feel lucky everyday they let me adopt her with my work schedule and everything.”

“I think,” she said quietly, trying not to cry, “I think most parents are. Even the ones who’ve had their kids from the start.”

“Thank you for saying that. I don’t know many other parents, so it’s always a guessing game about whether I’m doing the right thing.”

 He looked back from Ivy and caught a glimpse of Anna’s expression. She saw him frown and look genuinely concerned. She wanted to tell him not to worry, but he found the words quicker than she did.

“I didn’t mean to upset you, sorry. I’m not great with people.”

He held a hand out to her, paused for a moment like he was wondering what he should do, and then rubbed the back of his neck with it.

Anna shook her head and wiped her eyes on her sleeve, giving the moms staring at her openly her best and most polite look of “it’s fine, but also mind your own business”. They seemed to get the picture well enough, returning to their own conversations with only a mildly mischievous and conspiratorial gaze at each other. Anna was sure she’d have plenty of texts later from the library mom chat asking what she and the “hot dad” had been talking about.

“No, you’re fine. I’m kind of an emotional person. I’m just happy for you two. She loves you so much, I can tell. She deserves to have someone who loves her just as much.”

He smiled softly and then nodded, putting his hand back down at his side and appearing to relax slightly now that the topic was back to just Ivy. He still looked as tired as he had the day before, especially now after she’d accidentally worried him.

“She’s a special kid. She’s not like me very much, even though I’m raising her. She’s so optimistic and brave and sort of stubborn… which I suppose she could have gotten from me, but really she’s great and I’ve been so lucky to have her."

Anna nodded in return, wiping the tears away on her sleeve.

“Yeah, I can see that. And I don’t mean to pry but… you look a little tired. I hope she didn’t make you pull an all-nighter on that project.”

He sort of chuckled at her lame joke, and she appreciated the attempt at acceptance of her levity. She was never particularly good at intentional humor. Most people just laughed when she accidentally tripped over something or had chocolate on her face and didn’t notice.

“No, no all-nighter. I’m just exhausted.”

“I hear parenting does that to a person.”

He nodded and then sighed, giving her a sort of nervous look before looking beyond her to Ivy.

"I don't mean to tell you my life story. Even though, I kind of already did, but… I just feel bad when I can’t give her the world, you know? Like, I finally wanted to do a big at home Christmas for her this year. We were going to go home to see my family like usual, but my Dad just had some pretty serious back surgery and even though he loves the kids my sisters and I agreed not to flood the house while he’s recovering.”

She nodded along some more, knowing that he probably didn’t have anyone to vent this sort of thing to. She wasn’t a parent herself, but working with so many young children meant that she talked with plenty of parents, and she at least comprehended a bit of what it was like. She couldn’t pretend to understand fully, but she didn’t mind listening to parents when they needed to breathe. She particularly didn’t mind listening to Kristoff.

He looked back at her with a sort of exasperation that she was familiar with. He looked like he’d just run a marathon in his head. He looked like her after inventory day.

“You know I never realized how much my mom did for us for the holidays, you know? It’s one more week of school, and then I have to find a babysitter for the days I’m not off during her winter vacation. I barely managed to negotiate for Christmas off at the firehouse as it is, let alone to find all that time. The guys are great and sometimes I can bring her to work if I don’t have anyone to watch her because someone usually stays behind or one of the guys will have their wife or older kid there for a visit, but around the holidays… there’s a lot of fires you know. Not really a place to bring a kid. I have shopping to do, wrapping, we have to get a real tree because she really wants one, and then there’s cookies to bake, and God I’m just glad she hasn’t asked about those elf things because I don’t think I could pull that off too.”

“That seems like a lot.”

“It is, and that’s not even the half of it. We have to get a wreath to bring to her mother’s grave, and it’s so hard to find in the snow because it’s just a small grave marker so it’s really a whole day affair. I don’t mind, but I don’t want to run out of time to do everything else. She wants to go caroling and see santa and make ornaments… which thanks for this by the way, it was nice. She’s very proud of her star. It’s just with work and everything it feels like there’s not enough time.”

Anna nodded. It was a common concern with the other parents, but most of them had more hands to help, less work, and more practice at it.

“I can help.”

She didn’t think before she spoke. She was absolutely shocked by her own words even as she said them. They were practically strangers, and he was venting about his difficulties as a single dad while she was trying not to notice how perfectly chocolate brown his eyes were, or how easy it would be to imagine him in a firefighter’s calendar. Or rather, trying not to let herself wonder whether AFD had plans to put out a firefighter’s calendar this year.

“I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“You weren’t,” she said, watching as some of the moms began to get their kids ready to leave, knowing her window of opportunity to get her thoughts out was closing by the moment, “I offered. I’m great at wrapping and I love to shop. If you’re looking for help I’m happy to give it.”

He looked at her for a long moment, until Ivy ran over and pulled on his pant leg.

“Daddy,” she said, “Can I have some candy? Danny’s mom brought candy canes and she said I had to ask you first.”

He looked to Anna for a moment, and she understood the concern in his eyes.

“Oh, you mean Mrs. James! She’s so nice. She brings candy for us all the time. She’s been bringing Danny here for storytime and crafts since he was just a little baby.”

She could understand his concern. She was always a little worried herself when the parents brought things to share, especially if the parents were fairly new. It was one of those fears that was mostly irrational, but one really never knew.

He looked back to his daughter and gave her a stunning smile that made Anna melt on the spot.

“Yeah sweetheart that would be fine. Please and thank you, right?”

“Always!” she said, running off in the direction of Danny’s mom who was waiting with a cheeky smile, staring again at Anna and offering her a wink.

“Were you serious?” Kristoff asked, breaking her concentration as she tried to give Mrs. James a ‘please don’t interfere’ look in return.

Not that it would do her any good.

“About Mrs. James? Of course. I’d never encourage anyone’s kid to take candy from a stranger I couldn’t personally vouch for.”

“No, I…” he was flushed again and Anna realized that she’d missed a point. She was making him ask her, just like she’d said he didn’t have to.

“I meant about the help.”

“Oh, yes! Of course I meant it! I love the holidays and I’ve been working a little more than usual but I still have plenty of time.”

“Your boyfriend wouldn’t mind? I’d hate to take time away that you could be spending together around the holidays.”

“I… I don’t have a boyfriend.”

She was almost certain that there was a look of interest in his eye when she said it, but as quick as it was there, it was gone.

Maybe, she thought, she wasn’t the only one interested.

“Then I’d love the help,” he said with a nod, “For Ivy’s sake.”

***

Anna wasn’t sure she’d ever enjoyed anything so much as she did being Kristoff’s personal Christmas elf. She’d given him her mother’s family recipe for Norwegian butter cookies, an answer to Ivy's now rampant desire to learn about those traditions, and she’d picked up stocking stuffers and amazon packages and bits of this and that. She’d wrapped gifts and brought them to the fire station for safe keeping. Somehow, she’d managed to mostly do so when Kristoff was out on a call, or when he wasn’t working at all.

It was unfortunate as she wanted to see him, so she was pleasantly surprised when five days before Christmas she’d received a text message from Kristoff inviting her to help him and Ivy go tree shopping. She’d seen them at two separate decoration making events before it, so she supposed that it was only right for her to help them select the canvas on which to display Ivy’s beautiful work.

Ivy had, of course, been on a mission during the trip.

“Color, smell, and needle retention,” she’d said in her little, but very certain voice.

Anna had later learned that she didn’t actually know the meaning of the word retention, and that she’d learned her tree picking skills from a YouTube video, but she had been nevertheless impressed.

She’d helped Ivy pick, and then she’d helped, with mixed results, to strap the six-foot tree to Kristoff’s car. He’d mostly brought it inside his apartment himself, but when Anna had turned to leave, Ivy had caught her hand, and Kristoff had shyly offered her some hot chocolate. They'd sung Christmas carols, lead by Ivy and decorated the tree together with some ornaments that his friends from the firehouse had given them and the ones that Ivy had made herself. Anna wished she had her old childhood ornaments. Ivy, she knew, would have loved one.

The rest of the week passed much the same until, two days before Christmas, Anna found herself finishing her last ornament and story session with the kids before the holiday. It was a bittersweet thing, being swept up in the excitement of children looking forward to Christmas but knowing that she wouldn’t see them again for a while after.

Ivy, who had been in attendance, was busy playing with her new friends, and Kristoff, who hadn’t taken his eyes off Anna for the whole session, was speaking with her again.

Anna couldn’t help but note how quickly they were getting to know each other. She couldn’t help but blame the holiday in part. Not only was she doing more story and craft sessions in the evenings than she normally would, but she’d also been helping him make the holidays for Ivy. She supposed it was inevitable that they would talk, and in their conversations get to know each other a bit better.

The topic of conversation now, was a wrapping accident on one of Ivy’s “little” presents, a slime kit. It was from Santa, but Anna had accidentally wrapped it in the paper she’d set aside to wrap gifts from Kristoff in. The tag though, still said “from Santa”.

“So you’re sure you don’t mind,” she said quietly, low enough that they kids couldn’t hear her, “I know some kinds are just really perceptive, so I don’t want her to see that dad and santa have the same paper and realize what happened.”

“If she notices I’m just going to tell her that Santa accidentally ripped the wrapping paper coming down the chimney and had to rewrap it in some of my paper to keep it a secret until Christmas morning.”

She nodded. It was a brilliant plan.

“That’s so smart,” she was thoroughly awed, “I come up with a lot of little fibs around the holidays to keep the magic for the kiddos, but that one’s just genius.”

He laughed and shook his head, “Maybe I’m better at this than I thought.”

“You really should give yourself more credit.”

His smile softened then, “As should you. I can’t believe that you just offered to help a stranger put Christmas on for their kid and then actually followed through with it.”

“Need I remind you that you adopted a neighbor’s child without hesitation? What I did was nothing in comparison.”

He was close to her and stepping closer. She could practically feel the eyes of the moms as they lingered in the room, just to see what was going to happen. Her eyes drifted down to his lips and she felt herself flushing at the thought of kissing him, even though she told herself that they couldn’t, that it wasn’t going to happen. His previous stubble, the ball he’d had to drop to keep his daughter on schedule was now even more pronounced, but in an intentional sort of way. She could imagine how it would scratch against her.

“I wouldn’t call that nothing,” he said quiet, so low that she could barely hear it. “To us, it’s everything. I don’t think I can ever thank you enough.”

She focused for a moment on breathing as she’d realized that she’d been holding her breath ever since he leaned in. It was easy, she thought, to let him take her breath away.

And then the giggling and “goodbyes” of children broke Anna’s focus, and she turned her head to see moms giving her subtle thumbs up, and kids donning coats.

Ivy was skipping towards them, candy cane in one hand and her popsicle stick star in the other. Glitter was flaking off the craft as she bounced towards them, and Anna knew she’d be spending at least the next hour vacuuming. She almost felt bad for the parents who were about to have their houses covered in poorly glued sequins, glitter and foamies.

Almost.

“Ms. Anna!” the little girl said with great excitement, “What are you going to do for Christmas?”

The question caught Anna off guard. The kids had asked her before, but it had never felt like a big deal to tell them the truth. Kids understood more than adults most of the time, and they felt things stronger and they were more open with it, so Anna was more open with them. With Ivy and Kristoff though, just having gotten to know them, and having all sorts of confusing feelings in her chest for him, she wasn’t sure she could take the pitying eyes.

“Well hon,” she said quietly, waving to the other parents and kids as they drifted out as both a politeness and a distraction, “I’m not doing anything. My sister is my only family and she lives far far away.”

“Oh,” the little girl said, looking sad.

Anna couldn’t look at Kristoff, but she could tell he was giving his daughter the soft but chiding look he’d given her a few times in the two weeks she’d known them. The look that said he wasn’t mad at her, but that she’d said too much or her manners were lacking. She thought it was a nice way to remind kids of their behavior and had filed it away for her own use.

“Like Grandma and Grandpa.”

“Yeah,” Anna said in response, “But it’s okay, I’m used to being by myself. I’ll read a book and make myself dinner.”

She knew she didn’t sound particularly believable. She wasn’t even buying it herself. Truth be told her whole apartment was decorated for Christmas, complete with a tree, and she always made herself sad around the holidays thinking about how she’d had so much fun as a kid, but now spent them alone. She always thought that there was an unfairness in showing that to a child though, in showing them that the holiday was anything but magical for some people, so she tried to keep a stiff upper lip.

“That’s okay Ms. Anna,” the little girl said, grinning broadly at her with little tears sparkling in her dark eyes, and stepping close to grab her hand, “You can have Christmas at our house!”

She felt like crying again.

“Oh Ivy that’s so sweet,” she said, her throat feeling tight, “But it’s your family Christmas. You don’t want a stranger there.”

 “You’re not a stranger,” Kristoff said softly, reaching for Ivy’s other hand and giving it a soft squeeze that made the little girl’s smile brighten.

She seemed glad for her dad’s backup.

Anna forced herself to meet his eye, and she found in it a sort of shyness. He looked at her like he was uncertain, but also like he was excited by the prospect. She noted the twinkle in his eyes despite his furrowed brow, the gentle upturn of his lips as he looked at her for an answer.

“I don’t want to intrude…”

“You wouldn’t be. Ivy invited you as her guest. I’d… I’d also like you to come as my guest if you don’t mind. I know you’ve only known us for two weeks, but I think we’d both really like it if you came. Right sweetheart?”

Ivy squeezed Anna’s hand tightly and then nodded, bouncing a bit on her heels as she did so like her whole body was agreeing with her dad.

“Well then,” Anna said quietly, “How can I refuse?”

***

Her arms were full of presents and chocolates when she came to his door, so she had to tap the wood twice with the toe of her boot to knock. She’d been battling herself the entire drive over, trying to decide whether this was the right thing to do and whether she should really be feeling as giddy about the whole thing as she was.

She was basically crashing someone else’s holiday, and she knew that she should feel bad about taking them up on an offer made out of kindness and sympathy, but she didn’t. She didn’t feel bad because she really liked Ivy and wanted to help make Christmas a little more special for her this year. She didn’t feel bad because she really liked Kristoff and even the idea of pretending for a few hours that he felt the same made her heart flutter.

She’d never fallen for a patron before. Nor had she ever been so sure that she loved someone so quickly. She’d had bad luck in the past with similar feelings, but this time she had faith in the rightness of the feelings and the positivity of the situation. Kristoff Bjorgman was a good man, and whether anything more came from it, she was happy to be his friend and to share his Christmas.

She thought maybe if she could have written a letter to Santa though, she would have maybe wished for more. If it wasn’t too much to ask.

She hadn’t so much as put her foot down after tapping the door than Ivy opened the door and ushered her in. Kristoff was watching from just a few feet back, letting her know with a smile that Ivy had been so excited to open the door that she’d been waiting for the knock. She wondered if she’d been waiting for her since she called to let them know she was arriving.

“I waited to open my presents from Santa until you got here Ms. Anna,” the little girl said with zeal, “I wanted you to see!”

Kristoff stepped forward then, helping Anna with her parcels while telling her quietly that she hadn’t needed to bring them. He whispered into her ear about how excited Ivy had been about Santa and how she’d been even more excited to wait for Ms. Anna.

She thought that her heart might pound out of her chest. Less at the thought that Ivy had wanted to wait for her, and more at the fact that Kristoff hadn’t told her not to. That he’d just whispered in her ear, and that he was making it extremely evident that he wanted her there from the very start.

“Ivy that’s so sweet. I can’t wait to see what Santa brought you!”

“I hope I got a Pokémon stuffy!” she said excitedly, running towards the tree that they’d decorated together.

It felt strangely domestic, like she belonged there because her touch was in the tree. Like she was family, and not just a new friend they’d invited to share their holiday.

“You know what?” Anna asked, feigning ignorance, “I don’t know if he did, but I’m sure you’ve been so good this year that you deserve it.”

Kristoff raised a brow at her, and Anna got the message. “Good cover.”

In fact she knew that Ivy had two Pokémon plushies under the tree, one from Santa, one from her Dad, and Anna also knew that there was one more in the box Kristoff had taken from her labeled with the little girls name and Anna’s own.

Being an elf had its perks.

“But first… if you don’t mind, I have a couple special gifts for you two to open.”

“You really didn’t have to,” Kristoff said, giving her a soft, but appreciative look that she knew she would treasure in her memories for as long as she lived.

She knew that she didn’t have to. But they didn’t have to share their Christmas with her either.

And also, she’d already fallen in love a little bit with them both, and she knew that for now presents were a good way to demonstrate that.

“I have a special present for you too Ms. Anna!”

“You do?”

“Yes!”

She looked over at Kristoff, who looked almost as surprised as she did.

“You mean the one we got her at the store yesterday sweetheart?”

“Nope! A special one! I made it, Mrs. James told me how!”

“Huh,” he said with a shrug, “I guess I’ll be as surprised as Ms. Anna then.”

“Would you mind if I gave you yours first?” Anna asked, excited to know what Ivy had made her, but more excited to give the little girl and her father the special gifts she’d gotten them first.

“Okay!” she said excitedly and ran into the apartment proper as Kristoff and Anna managed the process of her removing her outerwear, hanging it up, and him helping her bring in the gifts and treats.

Once Ivy and Kristoff had settled themselves on the small loveseat near the tree, and Anna had brought them their gifts, she settled into the well worn high back chair that served as the only other Livingroom seating.

“Okay. I have some other presents for you guys too, but these are the most important ones, so I want you to open them first, alright?”

Ivy was already tearing into the paper on the box. Not needing to be told twice.

She held up a little soft ornament, and then held it to her chest.

“It’s Mama,” she said in the quietest littlest voice she had ever heard her manage, and Kristoff quickly looked between Anna and the ornament.

It had been easy enough really, to look up Evelyn Taylor. She had a Facebook before she passed, and some friends on the page who mostly lived out of state. There wasn’t much that Anna could find on the page without sending a friend request that she knew, sadly, would never be answered, but there were a handful of photos that she had access to. One of her and Ivy, confirming that she had the right Evelyn Taylor in the first place. The little girl had been two or so at the time the picture had been taken, but her little face had even been then, so strikingly like Kristoff’s. Evelyn even looked a bit like him she thought, like a cousin. The others she’d found included some pictures of the girl with high school friends, a few shots of her looking brave in photos where she’d moved into her apartment, a photo or two of her without hair when she’d been going through chemo.

Anna had gotten them all printed, every single one she could find, and put them in a small box that was under the ornament. The ornament had been a last-minute project. She’d run to the store and picked up printable iron on paper and felt. She printed the photo of Ivy and her mother onto it, ironed it onto the felt, and did her best to channel her mother’s creativity to make a small Scandinavian style embroidered felt plush ornament. It was shaped like a heart, and on one side she’d managed to layer on felt and little stitched snowflakes, while the other held the image on white felt.

She felt a bit bad, of course, about not asking Kristoff if it was okay first, but she thought that the soft look he was giving her may be proof that sometimes it’s better to try for the surprise.

“How…?”

“I’ll tell you later,” she said before Ivy could even get to the box below, “You still have a box to open.”

He looked between her and Ivy for a long moment, like he wanted to say something else as the little girl was excitedly hugging her little ornament, but ultimately, he looked down at his own gift.

“Go on,” she said, eager to see if her surprise gift for him would be met with such excitement.

He opened his gift with less speed, but with equal interest.

She held her breath as he pulled out a small box and a small book.

“Is this… is this a DNA test?”

She felt tension return to her body. He didn’t sound upset really, just surprised, and she hoped that she hadn’t just crossed a line.

“I mean… it’s just… you know, if you ever want to. They’re expensive usually so a lot of people don’t do them, but my sister is in business and she happened to know a guy who knew a guy so I was able to get it for you for nothing. So it’s just if you want to dig in and do some research. You know because I’m a librarian and all. One track mind.”

“Anna…”

“I’m sorry if I crossed a line, I just thought…”

“Anna.”

She looked at him and saw he was smiling, a little bit teary eyed.

“Anna, thank you. I was going to buy one after the holidays. That project Ivy did… it made me realize that I want to know where I came from.”

“Oh… good. I’m…” she sighed, letting the tension leave her, “I’m glad, because I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

He smiled, and then looked at the book.

“But… uh, what’s Hygge?”

She laughed at that, feeling happy in a way she hadn’t ever remembered feeling outside of work, and she saw Ivy smiling brightly too, hopping down from the couch to go grab something from under the tree.

“Hygge is a Norwegian and Danish concept… it’s just, you know, since I hope you’re Norwegian like me. Hygge is just that cozy mood that we can’t put into words. I think you feel a lot of hygge when you get a moment to breathe when you’re with Ivy, and I thought you’d like the book. There’s another one I ordered you too, but it won’t come in for a while. It’s all Norwegian fairytales. I thought you might like to read them together.”

He grinned broadly and stood from the couch, walking over to her and taking her hand, “Anna this is…”

But Ivy cut him off before he could finish.

“Ms. Anna! I have your present, are you ready?”

“Of course! I’m so excited,” she said, giving Kristoff an apologetic smile and turning her attention towards the child who was holding something behind her back.

The little girl grinned in response and held up a picture she’d drawn in crayon. There were little green leaves and little white berries. It was immediately obvious to Anna what it was meant to be, and depending on how things turned out, she was either going to ban Mrs. James from the library, or send her a fruit basket.

“Is that?” Kristoff started.

“Mistletoe.” Anna finished.

She felt her face go hot, but then when she looked over at Kristoff, his hand still in hers, she saw him clearly doing some internal negotiating.

“May I… may we?” He asked.

“It is a tradition,” she said quietly, looking over at the little girl and giving her a bright, if not a bit embarrassed smile to let her know that she did in fact, love the drawing.

And before she could say anything else he was helping her off the chair and into his arms. She giggled when he kissed her, his stubble, now an almost beard tickling her skin.

Ivy, ever the encouraging an delighted audience, was jumping up and down.

“Santa must have gotten the letter I hid under the cookie plate last night!” she said delighted, “I knew Daddy liked Ms. Anna!”

Kristoff, ended the kiss a bit abruptly to look over to his daughter, a deep blush on his cheeks that Anna was sure was mirrored in her own.

He didn’t release her though, still holding her close, his touch tender but firm.

“Santa didn’t get a letter under the cookie plate last night,” he whispered low into Anna’s ear as Ivy took back off toward the tree, leaving her drawing on Anna’s chair.

Anna couldn’t help but giggle at his bewilderment. She thought that it was most likely that Ivy had simply dreamed writing the letter. Some kids her age had a hard time remembering what they had and hadn’t done when they woke in the morning.

“Well either the big man is more real than we thought, or Mrs. James has more connections than I thought. Or you know, she just dreamt the whole thing.”

He grinned broadly.

“Well someone must have gotten my letter too,” he said, a little louder, “Because Ivy is right. I do like you. I know it’s fast but…”

“I like you too Kristoff,” she said quietly, “And we can take this slower from here, but for now…”

He leaned in again, kissing her gently. She let her hand slide up, her palm cradling his stubbled cheek.

When they broke the kiss, they rested their foreheads together, the sound of tearing paper and Ivy’s excited cheering behind them.

“Merry Christmas Kristoff.”

“Merry Christmas Anna.”

She’d never been so grateful for a reference desk query in her life.

[thetomorrowshow]

Slower Than Words Ch. 23

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Hey..... a member of my household just tested positive for Covid-19, and I am displaying symptoms sooooooo hopefully that won’t affect posting but it has made this chapter a little shorter than I had wanted. Basically if the next chapter isn’t out on time that’s why.

cw: b a d parenting, references to trauma

~

Remus chewed on the end of his pen. Riley, Alberts, Robertson, Robinson, Richards, Allison, Reese, Arlowe . . . something that started with an 'A' or an 'R'. But what? Why couldn't he remember his own last name?

Logan was always saying something about brainwashing and trauma, but Logan knew his own last name! Stupid Logan Sanders and his calm explanations for everything in Remus's life. He didn't want someone telling him how he felt or why, he wanted to move on. He wanted to figure himself out for himself. He wanted out.

The trip to the library a couple weeks ago had been even worse than expected. Logan hadn't even let go of Patton, despite how uncomfy the kid looked. It had to suck to be twenty-something and have your dad drag you around by the shoulders everywhere you go.

Patton had only wanted one book, for some reason. There were so many books in that building, and Logan had pulled like a hundred from the shelves just to show him. He'd signed so quickly about the book that Remus couldn't keep up, but Logan had frowned and talked to the librarian for a few minutes, before eventually presenting Patton with a book—which was probably the one he'd been asking for. His face looked weird after receiving it, happy, but also seriously depressed. It looked pretty old, Remus had no idea why he'd wanted that book.

Rivers, Albright, Abbott, Ramsey, Russell, Reed, Rowell, Austen. . . . Nothing. Not even a smidge of anything. Well, if he couldn't remember his last name, what about the name of where he used to live?

The city came to him almost instantly.

Sharon.

Remus snorted. That was a stupid name for a city. Actually, he could remember joking about it with his brother, about how their mom shared it.

Energy flooded to his limbs with a suddenness, and when the bell rang from the door opening beside him he literally fell out of his seat.

“W-welcome to Chevron,” he said, straightening up. The customer nodded barely at him, making a beeline for the refrigerators in the back. Remus quickly wrote on the scrap of paper he'd been doodling circles onto so far: 'sharon – town and ma'.

Now he just had to figure out which state sounded the most familiar, and if Sharon was a city there. He'd spent days just driving around town with friends, he probably still knew his way around.

The customer paid for a few jugs of Gatorade, then left, dust puffing up behind his truck as he pulled out of the parking lot. Remus sat back down, scratching his mustache with his pen. He could google the city when he got home, then. . . .

Then he'd figure out how to tell Patton and Logan he was leaving.

-

Patton sighed, flipping through the first half of the book again. Summer, it was called. This copy looked almost identical to the other one. He closed his eyes and ran his fingers along the slightly indented title, like Virgil would. He'd had it for almost two months now, asking Father to renew the book instead of allowing it to be returned. He really wanted to finish it, after all.

Not that he could ever get himself to read past around the middle.

Patton's notebook was almost full now, but he couldn't ask Remus for another. Not after how much Remus was already doing for him. The pages were filled with studying mouth movements, bad jokes, and journal entries that mostly were about Virgil and what they'd do when they were together again. In tiny, cramped handwriting was a detailed recollection of everything Patton could remember that Virgil told him about where he lived—which wasn't much. It was hard to hold on to any memories from there. His therapist said it had to do with trauma memories being stored incorrectly, and said he might have flashbacks about it. So far, none had happened, but sometimes he wished one would—just so he could see Virgil again.

He wasn't good at drawing, but here and there in his notebook were vague sketches of Virgil. Some days, Patton woke up not sure what he looked like. He couldn't forget him. Patton would never forgive himself if he forgot the lovely mistiness of Virgil's eyes, the way his hair fell into his mouth and made him sputter, the stark paleness of his face against his black hoodie. . . .

Patton wrapped the hoodie around himself. He needed to think about something else, or else he'd start crying again. Crying made his head and ears hurt, which his doctor said would probably always be the case. So he mostly did his best to not cry, ever.

Patton cast his mind around for something new to think about, and landed on the trip to the library several weeks ago. The trip wasn't . . . optimal?

No. The trip sucked.

Father wouldn't let go of him, which just made him feel like a toddler having to be guided around. It was bright, and had a lot of people, and was a little startling, but Patton was sure he could have handled it. Why didn't Father trust him?

It wasn't just that. Father made him go to bed at a specific time every night, wouldn't let him have any say in what he ate, wouldn't even let him pick what to watch on the TV. It was . . . it was stupid! It was awful, it was embarrassing, it was demeaning! It made Patton feel worthless, like he wasn't even a proper member of society! He wasn't a boy anymore, he had even had a job back at the Haven, he wasn't helpless!

Maybe soon, with all that he'd been learning, he could prove to Father that he was capable. And if Father wouldn't believe him, well . . . Patton would have to make him.

Again, that anger was right at the surface, ready to spill out into the air. At least he had the book.

-

Somehow, Logan had let Remus convince him that he didn't need to go to every therapy appointment with Patton, so Logan was at home alone. For the first time in months. He was exhausted, but he did not have time to sleep.

Patton was hiding something. Logan was undeniably certain of it. And when Patton hid something, he hid it under his bed.

Logan didn't get up immediately. This was a matter of privacy, after all. He understood that he was likely being a little too restricting with his son, but who could blame him? He'd almost lost him. So if Patton was hiding something, it was likely best to know what it was. Patton didn't seem to realize the amount of danger he was in. It wasn't his fault, he was just a child. Children weren't supposed to worry about this sort of thing, it was their parents' jobs to care for them. So, naturally, he had to make sure that whatever Patton was hiding wasn't going to bring harm in some way. If it was, he could gently confront him about it, and explain why it was not acceptable.

With that plan in mind, Logan stood from his desk and made his way to Patton's room. His door was always open, even when he was inside—it made sense, all things considered.

The room still had almost precisely the same setup as Logan had put together, down to the making of the bed. He'd told Patton that he was allowed to customize his room and ask for personal items, but so far he had done neither of those things. The only difference was that the small closet now had a few more pieces of clothing in it.

Logan bent to his hands and knees beside the bed and peered beneath. Sure enough, there were items underneath the boy's bed: a battered blue notebook, the singular book that he had wanted from the library last month, the jacket that had belonged to the other other prisoner. Logan reached for the notebook, grunting when his back popped.

He pulled himself onto Patton's bed to open it. It was confusing, at first, some jokes in his son's handwriting, rather poor sketches of an unfamiliar face. Then. . . .

Oh.

That—that was bad.

Logan took a few deep breaths, then flipped another page, then another. More of the same. This wasn't good. This was not good at all.

These diagrams and instructions, clearly for lip-reading? These would get Patton taken away from him. These would hurt him. These would make Patton want to leave the safety of home.

These were dangerous.

~

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[adrenaline-roulette]

I am flesh and I am bone

Pairing: Ahkmenrah x Read (female) Word count: 7.5k + Warnings: None for this chapter!

Chapter One: Do you walk in the valley of kings

- Hi everyone! I would like to welcome you all to my first Ahky fic! For those who know me, I normally write for Queen and BohRhap cast, now with added 6 Underground! However This idea came to me out of no where a few weeks ago. I’ve been sitting on it for a while now, and after posting to see if anyone would be interested in reading what I had, I decided that I may as well share it! There will either be 2 or 3 chapters, depending on how things go! Huge shout out to @polarcrystall​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ @ryeosomnia​ @thenewnightguard​ @stfuchaase​ for letting me know that you wanted to read this! I hope it lives up to expectations! -

Exactly two weeks ago, you had brought home a permission slip for a class field trip your science and history teacher had organised, you had waved the form around in front of your mothers face, dancing around the kitchen as you begged her to sign it. 

“Please Mom, you have to let me go! It’s the Museum of Natural History! Uncle Larry is always talking about how amazing the museum is!” You plead, eyes shining up at your grinning mother. Although you were still so young, everyone knew exactly where your interests lay, you had a gift for knowing everything there was to know about historical events. At only six, you could recite the exact date and time the Titanic both set sail, and ultimately sunk, and at seven you could name every British monarch in consecutive order. Those were considered your hobby histories though, as your parents had once said. Your one true historical love was that of Ancient Egypt. Perhaps it was due to the stunningly rich colours that were used to decorate the Pharaoh’s sarcophagus’, or maybe it was the sheer amounts of sparkling gold, you were young after all, and just like a bird, you were often attracted to shiny objects. No matter the reason, for close to two years of your life, you had learnt everything your little mind could fill itself with in relation to Ancient Egypt. Every book your tiny hands found in the library on the subject, you would check out for the week, if one of the librarians were to look through your borrowing history, they would find nothing but history books that were typically checked out by college students, and not by under ten year old’s.

As your Mom read through the form, she smiled wearily, before turning to face the kitchen counter, smoothing the paper over the flat surface. “Okay Y/N, of course you can go. But remember sweetheart, there are other exhibits to look at, and not just Ahkmenrah’s tomb.”

You nod your head obediently, though her words go in one ear, then out the other. Your uncle Larry had been the nightguard at the Museum of Natural History for close to three years now, and whenever you saw him, he would tell you stories of how amazing it was to work with all of those historical figures. You always loved it when he told you stories of the young Pharaoh, of course to the rest of your family, these were just that, stories, though to you they all sounded real, and to Larry, they were.

<<ooo>>

The night before your field trip you were beyond excited, finding yourself barely able to sleep, far too thrilled with the knowledge of where you would be the very next morning. Every ten minutes you would leap out of bed, turn on your bedside lamp, and start reading through one of your history books again, this one all about life of Ancient Egyptian slaves. Each time you would switch your light on, one of your parents would walk past your room, spot the small stream of light beneath the closed door, then storm in, taking the book from you before turning the light out once more. This happened all of thirteen times, until your father had warned that if you didn’t go to sleep, he wouldn’t let you go to the Museum. Soon enough, you found yourself slowly drifting off, and your parents found themselves no longer needing to stop you from reading.

When you woke the next morning, you got yourself dressed in record speed, throwing on your freshly washed uniform. The navy blue polo shirt was free from stains once again, though your Mom knew that it wouldn’t stay that way for long, and your pleated gray skirt had been crisply ironed. All that was left were your black school shoes, though you knew better than to put those on in the house, so instead you opted for skidding around the wooden floors in your white socks. As you sat on the sofa, eating a bowl of cereal and watching morning cartoons, your Dad bumbled out into the kitchen, yawning and stretching loudly. “Good morning sweetie.” He smiled, looking at you from over the back of the sofa. “You’re up very early!”

You turn around to look at him as he set about making breakfast for himself and your Mom. “I thought if I got ready early then you could take me to school earlier!”

“I can’t do that Y/N, no one will be at school this early. You’ll have to wait.” He smiled, watching as you slumped down on the sofa, sighing dramatically. With a chuckle, he finished making breakfast, leaving you to watch cartoons and grumble.

<<ooo>>

“Alright class, this is Mister Wright, he will be showing us around the museum today. Can we all say Good morning Mister Wright?”  Your teacher, Miss Clarke called, gesturing to the tall, thin man who stood before your class of thirty. He wore wire framed classes, and a tweed jacket, from the eyes down he looked like your stereotypical scholar, however on top his head sat a flaming red mohawk, which added nearly an entire foot to his overall height.

“Good morning Mister Wright.” Chorused your class, smiling at the tall, funky looking man. He looked rather unsure of himself, it was likely that he wasn’t used to leading a tour group full of children. Gazing around the foyer where you stood you grinned to yourself, the spinning globe atop the main desk shone brightly in the large room, while the massive T-Rex skeleton served as a sneak peek for what you were all going to see further in the museum.

“Psst, Y/N, come on!” You friend Hailey giggled beside you, snapping you out of your trance. You just wanted to take as much in as possible, who knew when you would next be able to visit the museum? Quickly, the two of you ran to catch up with your class, who had moved on to taking a closer look at the T-Rex, Mister Wright going into detail about the life style, size, and speed of the dinosaur.

You listen intently the whole tour, finding your way to the front of your class, so to be as close to the exhibits as possible. Most of your class found the tour interesting, whilst some found it to be boring, how they found it boring you had no idea, you simply couldn’t fathom it! Here you were, standing amongst history! Nothing about this experience was boring in your opinion! “And here we conclude today’s tour, with Theodore, or Teddy Roosevelt, who served as our twenty-sixth president, and of course his horse Little Texas.”

Outrage flooded your senses, you knew who Teddy Roosevelt was, but that wasn’t what had you so worked up. “What do you mean this is the end?” You burst out, your hands balling into fists at your sides.

Mister Wright looks down at you in surprise, clearly not having expected any protests in today’s tour. “Miss Y/L/N! Where are your manners?” Miss Clarke admonishes, walking over to you with a stern look in her eyes.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to be rude!” You sniff, your lower lip trembling as you try to fight off tears. “It’s just, do we not get to look at the Ancient Egyptian exhibits?” You mumble, staring down at your feet, not daring to look your teacher or the tour guide in the eye. For two weeks, all you had wanted to do was look through the Egyptian exhibitions, and here you were, being told that the tour was over without ever stepping foot near them?!

Your teacher and the tour guide pass a look between each other, no words are spoken, though an unspoken conversation takes place none the less. “It’s alright Y/N, I understand.” Miss Clarke smiles, causing you to look up at her. “We have plenty of time to look around ourselves now. Everyone, please find a buddy, and always stay together. We will meet back here in two hours, at two o’clock!”

Not needing to be told twice, your class quickly begins to pair off, giggling schoolgirls racing off in different directions of the Museum. A group of five of you remains stood in front of the model President. Yourself, Hailey, Claire, Amber and Belinda, all looking between each other with broad grins. The five of you all got along like peas in a pod, often spending weekends at each other’s homes, playing dress ups out in the garden. So of course, when faced with the option of either trying to break off into small groups, or sticking all together, you chose the latter.

The five of you ran off back the way you came, taking turns through different corridors and into rooms which had been missed entirely on the tour. “Hey Y/N, does your uncle move these little guys around when he’s at work?” Amber grins, beckoning you over to where she was stood, looking into the miniature Roman Empire diorama.

“I don’t think he would do that… Why?” You shrug, peering over the edge of the diorama, your eyes falling on what Amber was clearly talking about. In the mini Colosseum, up on one of the balconies, there stood a tiny Roman soldier, hands reaching out and planted firmly against the back of a blonde cowboy, who was clearly from the Wild West diorama next door. The cowboy was stood precariously on the ledge of the window, and it was obvious to anyone who saw, that the Roman was attempting to push the intruder off the building. “Uncle Larry wouldn’t have done! He loves history as much as I do!” You blanch, eyeing the odd scene one final time.

Shaking your head, you move on further through the museum, leaving your friends behind as you grow nearer a section of the museum which seemed uncharacteristically quiet. Looking down the long corridor, it was dimly lit, and oddly sparse, and unlike every other area you had visited so far, this hall seemed to not see many visitors, or at least not at the moment. As you walked further into the hall, you failed to notice the yellow caution tape which had fallen down from across the archway, making your way down the corridor, the smell of wet paint assaulted your nose as you grew closer to the end of the corridor, a large gate pulled across the floor to ceiling entrance, with only a small crack of an opening. Unaware to you, your friends hadn’t realised where you had gone, figuring as it was nearing the end of your free roam time, they assumed you must’ve left to return to your teacher. The four of them packing up their things, and leaving the miniatures exhibit, and in the process leaving you behind too.

As you grew nearer the massive room, a gasp escaped your lips realising what you had discovered, hidden away at the back of the museum. Just behind the gate stood two, twenty-foot Anubis statues one on the left and the other the right side of the room. You had read about Anubis, the jackal deity of the afterlife, a shrine to Anubis was placed in the tombs of Pharaoh’s to keep guard over them as they passed into the next world. In all your reading though, coming face to face with these enormous statues, nothing could have prepared you for the sheer height of them.

  Crouching down, you crawl through the small gap in the gate, squeezing your tiny body through, until you were inside the tomb. Back at the other end of the corridor, a security guard takes note of the fallen caution tape, picking it up and reattaching it to the archway. The Tomb of Ahkmenrah was in the process of being renovated, and it wouldn’t do anyone any good to go down there at the moment. Of course you knew nothing about this, though even if you did, it likely wouldn’t have stopped you from entering either way.

<<ooo>>

Miss Clarke looked over the huddle of children before her, taking a head count to ensure all students were present and accounted for. As she moved her eyes from one end of the group to the other, a student who had been at the very front moved her way to the end. Normally this wouldn’t be an issue, however this little girl stood with her back to Miss Clarke, and from the back she was sporting the exact same back pack as yours, it of course didn’t help that the two of you also had the same hair colour. To Miss Clarke, she had thirty students just as she had started with, if she had recounted her students however, she would quickly notice she was missing one. Though with the knowledge that the coach was waiting for them out the front of the museum, she thought better than to count a second time, and ushered the students outside.

<<ooo>>

Gazing around the tomb, you easily lost track of time, had you been there for five minutes or five hours? You really had no idea, but seeing as no one had come to find you yet, you assumed there was still time left to look around. After taking in every detail of the Anubis statues, you moved further inside to look over the ornate lid of the sarcophagus which sat front and centre of the tomb. Delicate navy blue lines mixed in with deep burgundy’s, before making way for vibrant turquois, all intermingled with the rich gold that covered the entire coffin. Hieroglyphs were carved down the body, from what you had read, they were designed to allow the Pharaoh safe passage into the afterlife, prayers were also commonly inscribed too.

You found yourself hypnotised by the craftsmanship of the sarcophagus, and paid no attention to the sound of the gate being dragged back across the tomb, closing it off from the entrance entirely. Slowly, you moved away to look around more, you wanted to see as much as possible, and commit it all to memory, just on the off chance that you wouldn’t be able to come back again for a while. On the wall behind the Pharaoh was a shining slab of gold, the tablet of Ahkmenrah. Your uncle Larry had told you that the tablet was magic, though when you had asked him what it did, he shook his head with a smile, promising to show you one day.

Carefully, you moved around, being sure to not touch anything, ‘Look with your eyes Y/N’, you recall your Mom telling you when she took you to an art gallery once. So you did just that, drinking in everything with your eyes. A small yawn escaped your lips, and you suddenly realise that perhaps it was time to leave the exhibit, and join your class. Stepping carefully, you stop in front of the gate, you heart beating rapidly in your chest. Where there had been a child sized gap on your way in, the gate was somehow now closed, and try as you might, you could not get it to budge. You were trapped! “Help me!” You shriek as loudly as your lungs would allow. “Somebody please help me!” Your screams mix with tears as you cry, fright settling into your bones. You paused your cries for a few moments, waiting with a bated breath on the off chance you heard someone coming your way to rescue you. No such luck, you had no other choice but to continue calling out, praying that someone was still in the museum, or perhaps that Uncle Larry would be starting work soon, then he could rescue you!

Your voice grows hoarse and your throat hurts, and you find yourself unable to call out any longer. Slumping down to the ground, you curl your knees up to your chest and rest your forehead against them, wrapping your arms around yourself to bring some comfort back to the situation. Someone would notice you missing soon, if they hadn’t already. Your parents would be expecting to see you at home when they arrived back from work tonight, of course they would look for you, and they would find you soon too. With your head buried down, you didn’t see the bright light sweep across Ahkmenrah’s tablet, a bright white shine glossing across every line in the golden tablet. You did however, feel it, a breeze seemingly coming from nowhere rushing all around you, picking your hair up before dumping it back down over your back and shoulders. For a few seconds, it was as if everything in the museum was holding its breath, before sighing deeply, allowing all the stress that had been built up, to be let go of.

At first you think nothing of the strange sensation, making it out to be your imagination, though that all changes rapidly, when you hear what sounds to be concrete grinding against itself, before you feel the room tremble, a loud rumbling moving throughout the tomb.  Slowly you lift your head up, tears still streaming down your cheeks, your eyes red and puffy from your sobbing. Craning your neck, you look up and up, until you come face to face with one of the Anubis statues, though something had changed, whereas before both statues had been looking dead ahead, they now had their heads faced directly at you. You’re too scared to breathe, afraid of what may happen if you do, before you have the chance to take action, both statues take a step towards you lifting their spears. A blood curdling scream erupts from your lungs, as you leap to your feet, flinging yourself towards the back of the tomb, throwing yourself behind the sarcophagus, the ceiling was lower there you had noticed earlier, and you hoped it was low enough for the statues to not be able to reach you. You curl up into yourself once again, your back pressed against the golden coffin, your entire body trembling with both fear and sobs.

A similar sound as before echoes from behind you, though it sounds far smoother and more practiced, perhaps it was the statues again? You’re too scared to look, curling in further against yourself, trying in vain to make yourself invisible. Behind you, the lid of the sarcophagus slowly glides off, a figure sitting upright and looking around his tomb.

<<ooo>>

His guards were on edge, why was that? Had something occurred as he was waking up? Ahkemnrah slowly moved his arms out in front of him, his shoulder blades popping once, before the discomfort alleviated itself. Turning to his left, he looked at the two statues, calling out to them in his native tongue. “Put away your weapons, there is no danger here!”

  The two statues did as told, though they remained positioned directly before him, rather than returning to their rightful place at the entrance of his tomb. Ahk shook his head softly, brunette curls swaying slightly against his forehead, there was an oddsound emanating from his tomb, one he was rather unfamiliar with. With great care, he lifted himself out and onto the floor, his bare feet permanently calloused, even in reanimation. The smell of chemicals assaulted he newly regained senses, he could not wait until his wing of the museum had been restored, at least then the smell of fresh paint would no longer cling to everything in his tomb. Crystal blue eyes gaze around the tomb, as his ears listen out for the odd sound he had awoken to, it seemed to have ceased, at least for the time being, perhaps it was something to do with the work that the builders had been doing in the area lately? Ahk moves over to collect his peschent from its display pedestal, fitting it to his head once again, he may no longer be in Egypt but he was still Pharaoh here at the museum.

There it was again, that noise! Ahk pivots on his heel, looking back at his empty sarcophagus, he knew for a fact that there was nothing in there that could be making any sound, however, there was a small gap between it and the wall. Surely there was nothing there that could be making such a noise? Despite his unsureness, he makes his way around the end of the sarcophagus, gazing down the side against the wall. There, curled up in on herself was a small child, trembling and crying softly. His heart ached for the child, all alone and frightened, how had she gotten in here? Larry had told him there would be no visitors this way for a few weeks, with the entrance blocked off… He pushes his questions to the back of his mind, instead, he crouches down, smiling gently across at the girl, leaving a decent amount of distance between them, to avoid startling her further. “You are safe young one, no harm shall come to you now. What has happened?”

Your head flies up, turning to look directly at the man who had spoken, coming face to face with someone you had only ever seen artist impressions of in your books. Surely this was impossible, you couldn’t possibly be talking to Ahkmenrah? “I – I was here with school… The gate, I crawled through it to look around, but someone closed it! I can’t get out.”

Ahk nods softly, standing up slowly from his crouched position, extending his hand to you. He watches you carefully, a look of fear and adoration flickering across your eyes as you seem to contemplate whether you should take his hand or not. Gently, you reach up, your small hand clasping around his larger warm one. With ease, he pulls you to your feet, your clothes covered in dust from where you had been resting on the ground. “I am Ahkmenrah, Fourth King of the Fourth King, what is your name young one?”

Your words catch in your throat as you listen to the man before you introduce himself, he truly was the Pharaoh you had read about all of these years, the fourth Pharaoh of Egypt was holding your hand, waiting for your reply. Stuttering with nerves, you bow your head. “I’m Y/N Y/L/N, I’m ah…. I’m a student at Rose Hill elementary.”

“Ah, you are a scholar then Y/N?” Ahk asks softly, leading you out from your hiding place, and out into the main entrance of his tomb.

You shake your head wildly, the tears slowly drying from your cheeks, with no more threatening to spill either. “No, I mean not yet. I’m only seven.” Ahkmenrah stops suddenly, and you worry you had said something wrong, though you realise quickly that that is not the case. In a language you have never heard before, his voice echoes up to the Anubis statues, who continued to watch you intently. “Open the gate immediately, I must find Larry so he may return the young one to her family.”

The statues bow before their King, the ground shaking as they march over to the gate, arriving in only four paces, where it had taken you far longer. The metal gate shrieks in protest as the Anubis’ peel it away from its hinges, a loud snap echoing around the tomb and hall when the metal is yanked free from the wall. The statues take a step backwards, one holding the gate at its side, as if it would attempt to replace it on its hinges. Ahk moves forwards, his cape billowing behind him as he moves at a fast pace, his mind racing, trying to think of where Larry would be this early in his shift. What Ahk failed to realise, was that he was perhaps walking too quickly, his long legs carrying him down the corridor with ease, it wasn’t however, until he looked back to ensure that you were following, that he recognised the quick jog you had adopted in order to keep up. “My apologies Y/N, I did not mean to cause you to rush. Please, forgive me.”

You catch up quickly, though you’re glad to no longer be running, walking a much more pleasant mode of transport in your opinion. “It’s alright, I have little legs, it happens.” You shrug lightly, following once again as Ahkmenrah leads, this time at a slower meandering walk. You couldn’t help but find it unusual, surely a Pharaoh would never normally apologise to someone beneath him, even if you were a child. And dead or no, Ahkmenrah was still a Pharaoh…

As you reach the end of the long, paint filled corridor, you come across caution tape which had certainly not been there when you had entered earlier in the day. “I do not mean to pass judgment young one, but did you not notice this? It seems to be a rather vibrant colour, surely it would be difficult to miss.”

“It wasn’t there when I came down here! If it had been, then I wouldn’t have entered! I’m not stupid you know.” You may be young, but you weren’t dumb, you knew what caution tape meant, and you would never normally do something so reckless.

Ahk can’t help but grin, turning away from you before you can see his expression, for someone so young, you sure were quick with your words. He found it rather refreshing, to have someone speak so candidly with him, not caring that he was King. In his time, when he ruled, no one would dare accuse him of thinking they were stupid. Yet here was this child, a meagre girl of seven, who had no issue with calling him out. “Of course you are not stupid, I am glad you were unharmed in your expedition down here however.” Ahk offered in a gentle tone, moving through the museum.

Your eyes grow wide as you enter the miniature diorama room you had looked through with your friends earlier, people shouting could be heard from inside each diorama, along with a train puffing along its track. “They – They’re alive?” You gasp, head swimming with what you had always considered to be impossible.

Ahk looks back at you once again, his head tilted to the side gently, he was unused to people being surprised by the exhibits coming to life at dusk. Larry was of course aware of the late-night happenings of the Museum, as were his son Nick, and the docent Rebecca, who despite having finished her latest piece on Sacajawea often found her way back to the museum to spend her evening’s with Larry. You however had never experienced this before, and your shock was understandable. “Yes young one, from dusk till dawn with the magic of my Tablet, everything in this museum comes alive. Despite most being made of wax, they all behave just as they would if they were the real thing.”

Something that would likely to have had you killed for back in Ahkmenrah’s time, you interrupt his explanation, instead opting to race over to the ancient Roman diorama. “My friends and I were looking at this one today. Up on the Colosseum there was a Roman Soldier trying to push a cowboy off. My friend thought someone had set it up as a joke. But, they did that themselves?” You gasp out, looking over the diorama where the Roman soldiers were busy, seemingly forming an attack plan.

“Yes, I imagine that would have been Jedediah and Octavius. Mostly the two are able to put aside their differences and are close friends, however I believe there had been a misunderstanding between the two last night, it must not have been resolved before dawn rose.” Ahk explains, watching you carefully as you peer down into the diorama, your eyes shining like stars in amazement. He had not expected you to take to this as well as you were, from what Larry had told him, he had spent days attempting to wrap his head around the situation. Yet here you were, drinking it all in. “Come along Y/N, we must get you home. It is late, and I am positive your family will be frightened for your welfare.”

<<ooo>>

As you round yet another corner, you are stopped by none other than President Roosevelt and his steed. Ahkmenrah stands in front of you, obscuring you partially from him. “Good evening Ahk, I hope all is well? Who have we here, surely she isn’t a new exhibit?” Teddy grins, waving at you softly.

Ahkmenrah steps to the side, allowing you to be seen fully by the President now. “This is Y/L Y/L/N, she was separated from her school group today, and found her way into my tomb, we are on our way to get her home.”

“Miss Y/L/N, it is a pleasure to meet you I’m Theodore Roosevelt, though most call me Teddy. It is wonderful to make your acquaintance.” Teddy smiles down at you, his eyes twinkling with mirth. Little Texas whinnies , stamping one leg impatiently. “I had best continue on my patrol. Have a wonderful evening both of you, I hope we will see you again Miss Y/L/N.” He tips his hat, before riding off, the clop of horse shoes could be heard for quite some time after wards, the tiled floor doing nothing to muffle the sound.

After one final corridor, you find yourself back in the foyer of the museum, where your day had started. It felt so long ago now, but it really was only a few hours ago that you had arrived. The platform where the T-Rex had stood in the morning was now vacant, despite all you had seen during your walk with Ahkmenrah, you hadn’t expected even the dinosaur skeleton to come alive! You wondered where it could’ve run off to? “No, I haven’t seen her. I’m looking don’t worry, I promise if I see any sign of her I’ll call you immediately.”  A familiar voice says from the reception desk, his back is facing you, but you would recognise him anywhere.

Just as he hangs up the phone, your voice calls from across the foyer. “Uncle Larry!” You shout, sprinting away from the Pharaoh, and living him in the dust. Larry does a 180° on the spot, his eyes blown wide as he sees you racing toward him, followed closely by a surprised looking Ahk.

“Y/N? My God, everyone’s worried sick about you!” Larry exclaims, bending down to his knees and wrapping his arms around you tightly.

You throw your arms around his neck, grinning from ear to ear, releasing a sigh you hadn’t known you were holding. Despite how kind Ahkmenrah had been to you, along with all those you had met throughout the museum, there was a wave of relief that washed over you as you found someone you knew. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get lost, I’m sorry!” You whisper against his shoulder, feeling a shadow cast over the two of you now that Ahkmenrah had arrived.

Larry looks up, smiling at the Pharaoh. “How did you find her Ahk?”

“It seems as if the caution tape leading to my wing of the museum had fallen down.  Y/N found the gate to my tomb slightly opened and entered. I would dare say while she was in there, one of the end of day guards came around to ensure everything was in its rightful place, and in doing so they closed the gate to my tomb, locking her in there with me until I awoke.” Ahk looked down at you, your check resting against Larry’s shoulder, the crease between your eyebrows disappearing as you once again felt safe. “How do you know Y/N, Larry?”

Larry carefully stands, picking you up and placing you on the black leather desk chair, where you quickly make yourself comfortable. “She’s my niece.” He smiles fondly, to which Ahk nods. “Thank you for keeping her safe. I knew she’d find her way to your exhibit one way or another, she’s rather obsessed with Ancient Egypt.” Larry chuckles, lowering his voice so only Ahk could hear him.

“That would certainly explain all of the questions she asked me. Though she found questions to ask the others also.”

“Oh God, the others! She’ll need therapy after tonight! She’s too young to have to understand all of this!” Larry gasps, a coughing fit taking him over as he sucks in too much air.

Ahk places his hand on the night guards’ shoulder, comforting him until he can once again breathe properly. “I do not think that will be necessary. Y/N did not seem to be afraid at all, perhaps from the Anubis in my tomb there was some slight fear, but aside from that, she got along rather well with everyone, and they all seemed quite fond of her too.”

Larry lifts his eyebrows in surprise, turning to look back at you over his shoulder. You were sitting cross legged on the large chair, your hand gripping the desk in front of you, and using it to propel yourself around in circles. “Really? That’s – Well that’s rather surprising…. Are you sure, maybe she’s in shock? This is a lot to take in.”

“I do not know for sure Larry, though I do know that she promised at least twelve different people that she would be back soon.” Ahk smiles, watching as you spin yourself too fast, the chair finally coming to a stop as your face grows pale. Slowly you take your hand away from the desk, deciding to take a break from spinning.

“Thank you Ahk, I’ll talk to her after all of this is over, see if she’s as okay as she seems to be. Would you mind just keeping an eye on her for a little bit longer? I need to call her parents back, let them know that we’ve found her.” Ahk smiles as he makes his way back to you, lifting himself up onto the desk beside you, as you spin in your chair to face him, your entire face lighting up with joy as you look at him.

  As Larry calls your parents, reassuring them that you’re safe, you pick up your conversation with the Pharaoh once more. “Can I ask how old you are?” You grin, causing him the chuckle. He had grown fond of you over his short time with you, the inquisitive mind of a child had often intrigued him, and he found himself answering questions he would never usually.

“At the time of my passing, I was nineteen. Though if you count my age by the years I have experienced, then I am a few thousand years old.” He offers, allowing you to take your pick of which age you would rather associate him with.

You squint your eyes, counting on your fingers for a few moments, before beaming up at him. “So that means in twelve years, I’ll be the same age as you!”

Ahk can’t help but laugh, noticing Larry send you both a curious glance as he continues to speak with your family. “Technically you are correct. There will come a day where we are both nineteen.”

<<ooo>>

It didn’t take long before your Mom and Dad had arrived at the museum, Larry ushering you outside when he saw their car pull up out the front on the street. You waved goodbye to those who had gathered in the foyer to meet you, before turning to grin at Ahk. “Thank you Ahkmenrah.” It was plain and simple, but it was enough to cause the Pharaoh to grin widely at you. Larry followed you outside, opening the back door of the car for you, where you were instantly met with your parents gushing over how happy they were to see you, and that you were safe.

Moving away from the car as it drove off, Larry made his way back into the museum, locking the door behind him once again. Teddy rides up beside him, peering down at the exhausted expression on the night guards face. “Lawrence my friend, what’s that matter? Miss Y/L/N is on her way home now, surely that is good news?”

Larry nods his head yes, before it turns into a shake of no. “I think it’s going to be very hard to keep her away from here from now on.”

<<ooo>>

Just as Larry had predicted, it had been near impossible to keep you away from the Museum of Natural History. Since your first night there, all you could think about was returning, day in and day out you begged your parents to let you go back, though after the way your last trip there had gone, they were concerned about allowing you to return. This however didn’t stop you from pleading with them, coming up with every reason you could think of as to why you should be allowed to go back. Although you spoke about your time in the museum at night, you always said that it was just you, looking around at all of the exhibits, until you had found Uncle Larry. No one would believe you if you told them the truth about the museum, and you worried that if you did say something about what truly happened that night, that your parents would forbid you from returning there, and perhaps from speaking with Uncle Larry, he was after all, the one who always encouraged your love of history and fantastical stories at family gatherings.

After months of begging, pleading and bargaining your parents finally relented, allowing you to spend the weekend with Uncle Larry, under the pretext that you would be visiting the Museum during the day with Rebecca, and not while Larry was at work in the evenings. That of course, was not the case, not that your parent’s ever need know.

 It soon became tradition, that you would spend one weekend a month with Larry and Rebecca, sometimes with Nicky too, depending if it was Larry’s week on or off with him. And for two nights each month, you would spend dusk to dawn with the museum exhibits, learning as much as was humanly possible from them, swapping stories, though yours were never as interesting as theirs, at least in your opinion.

However there was always one exhibit you spent the most time with, you’re not sure when it had started, but at some stage during one of your weekends there, you had found yourself waiting patiently inside Ahkmenrah’s tomb, drumming your fingers against your thighs as you sat cross legged in the middle of the room, just waiting for dusk to fall, and for the tablet to work its magic. The thrill of magic filling the air and the breeze flowing around you, as the soft glow of light worked its tendrils into the fabric of every being in the museum, was incredible, and something you found utterly amazing.  From that day on, that was where you would always be found in the minutes before dusk, you would then spend plenty of time speaking with the Pharaoh, mostly about his life, as you learned what you could about Ancient Egypt. After a while, you moved on to others, never playing favourites with who you spent your time with, it was someone different each visit. When Larry and Teddy would come around, giving the call that there was one hour left until dawn, you would return to Ahkmenrah, and spend that final hour together, this time however, it was him asking the questions.

Ahk would never admit this aloud, but he found joy in waking up each night to you eagerly awaiting him, you grinning face being the first he saw on the days you were visiting. There was something comforting in having a familiar face to greet him when he woke, each morning he returned to nothing, there was no afterlife for him, at least not one he could recall. Each morning, as he fell asleep, there were no dreams to be had, no memories, there was nothing but an endless void for him to float through, desperately awaiting the night so he could awake. Each night felt like an eternity, though on the days where he knew he would wake to see you, the void seemed just that bit shorter. He found it difficult to track how many months had passed of your visits, each time he spoke with you he had an enjoyable time. You asked in depth questions, even sometimes things that surprised him! He often forgot how young you were when you spoke, the amount of thought you put into each and every question, not just posed to him, but to others as well, they were all well researched, and it was clear for anyone to see, that you cared about what you were doing. Which made you seem far older than you were. Ahk also took pleasure in asking about your life, hearing about your time at school, your family, hobbies, and the fun things your friend got up to, he loved hearing it all! Knowing that you were living a full life, while doing what you loved made him exceptionally happy.

He had no need to keep track of time as the living do, though he noticed the passage of time in other ways, in watching Nicky and you grow up before his very eyes, and in watching Larry and Rebecca’s relationship change. It was obvious that time was getting away from him, as it almost felt as if when Larry had announced his engagement to Rebecca that only a week had passed before he was showing everyone photographs from the wedding. Ahk knew that you only visited two days per month, though with no other guests coming into the museum on the nights between, they all began to bleed together, into one long night. Which is why it came as such a shock when he awoke one night, to find yourself, Larry, Rebecca, Nicky, Teddy Sacajawea, Octavius, Jed, and a few Huns all gathered in his tomb.

“Sorry for the intrusion my boy, but Y/N suggested we do this here so that you would be involved. And also so we could keep it away from Rexy.” Teddy grinned, as Ahk climbed out of the Sarcophagus, padding over to the small congregation, the two Anubis statues keeping a close eye on everyone, ready to pounce if they felt there was any threat to their king.

“Happy birthday Y/N!” Your family called, the three of them wrapping you tightly in a hug. “Double digits, that’s exciting!”

Ahk frowned for a moment, taking in the scene before him, had he known it was your birthday? He could not recall you ever telling him when it was, and he was positive he would remember such important information. He watched as Nicky darted off to the side of the room, collecting a white box and carrying it over to you. Lifting the lid, his eyes darted between the cake and the grin on your lips. He was having a difficult time wrapping his head around what had been said, double digits Larry had said. That would mean you were ten years old today? Surely it had not been three years since he had met you. He felt as if he had found you locked in this very room only a few months ago, and not years. Though looking at you now, it was clear as day that you were older, there was no use trying to deny it. As napkins filled with cake were passed around, you walked over to him, a grin still pasted across your lips. “Happy birthday young one.” He smiled, causing you to laugh softly. He was unsure of how much longer he would be able to call you that, if things were still as they had been when he was alive, there came a point where one no longer liked to be referred to as young. Though you would always be young compared to him, he understood that to others, you were aging correctly, and that he himself was the anomaly here.

“Thank you Ahkmenrah, sorry for bringing everyone in here. Despite what teddy says, it wasn’t actually my idea.” Ahk cuts you off with a quirk of his eyebrow. “He asked where I was headed when he awoke, and I said that I was coming here. He took that as an invitation for everyone to join.”

Ahk can’t help but laugh, his eyes sparkling as they lock with yours. “You, and the others are always more than welcome in here Y/N. And please, you may call me Ahk, we have known each other long enough now for you to use my, how do you call it, nickname”

You nod your head yes, taking a bite of your slice of cake, savouring the flavour as the icing melted on your tongue. “Alright, Ahk it is then.”

So there we have it, chapter one of two or three! Fingers crossed you all liked this, I would love to hear what you think! And if you would like to be tagged in the future chapter(s) let me know! Also, the title of the story, and all chapters are from the song Glitter and Gold by Barns Courtney, I would recommend checking it out here!

And on the off chance you’re at all interested in my other writings, here is my MASTERLIST

[libraribear]

2020 in Review

2020 is in the books. What a year. It seems a given that through life, some years will be good and some years will be bad, and for many 2020 was one of the bad ones. Globally, it feels like it was the worst year ever. Personally, I can’t go that far. So many people have it worse than I do, and I’m leery of writing this post because I don’t want to sound unsympathetic as I count my blessings (before going into the undeniably shitty, but FAR LESS shitty things than what some other people are going through).

Nonetheless, as part of a New Year’s Resolution to create more, I figured I’d polish up this blog and write more, so here’s my 2020: Good, Bad, and Ugly. This is a heckin’ long post so only read on... if you dare.

The Good

I never lost my job.

A lot of my academic colleagues did - basically everyone who had “temporary” or “adjunct” in their title was axed. By virtue of being temporary year-to-year faculty for five years, I was promoted to the tenure-track in 2019. I feel very badly for my colleagues, all who lost their job to circumstance, not merit. Six years ago I took a chance leaving a steady job with a newborn to pursue my goal of being an Academic Librarian.  The job was a one-year temporary position with no guarantee of continued employment, and I worked hard, interviewed for my job twice in five years, and managed to hang on. It’s crushing to imagine what it would have been like to survive all that and get axed because of a pandemic, and I feel very badly for my colleagues who suffered that fate.

I got to spend most of the year working from home with my kids.

Before I get into “The Bad”, namely that keeping a five and six year old on task while working a full-time job is incredibly stressful, the good was that I got to watch one-year-old girl grow and grow and grow every day whereas my two boys were in daycare at that age. I got to spend a ton more time with the boys and my wife too.

My kids live in a school district with resources.

We’ve made a lot of strides in Distance Education, but it still isn’t ideal. I feel like my kids’ school district is doing the best they can to make it work. I feel extremely fortunate to live in a district where that was an option from the start, with full distance, hybrid, and in-person options. Not wanting to expose my kids or their teachers to any risk, we’ve gone full distance the whole time. we chose this to keep our kids as safe as possible, so I hope you’ll forgive me when I go into detail under The Bad as why it sucks for everyone involved. ;)

Ms. Bear and I started Doctoral Programs

File this one under “things I’d have never done if I knew the pandemic was going to be this much of a problem in Fall”, but it’s still a good thing - and definitely not the kind of thing I would do if it wasn’t free through my university. With Ms. Bear it’s more of a life-fulfillment thing and I’m happy that I can help her realize her dream. 

The Bad

Distance Education Requires Training - Students Are Struggling

My college freshmen struggled to adapt to their first year seminar class and I attempted to make it as easy as possible for them to follow along, engage online, have second and third chances to turn in assignments... it didn’t matter. Elementary school students have it worse - my kids struggle to stay on task, and me and Ms. Bear do our best to keep them on task. I feel really bad for those kids whose parents can’t work from home or are too busy to stay on them and help them with distance education. I’m not anti-distance education by any stretch, but the pandemic forced a lot of people to switch to it relatively quickly and since distance education is by its nature very self-directed even with a good teacher/instructor, some people unused to this method really struggle.

I should note that none of this is meant as a criticism of the decision to go for distance education.  Health is most important, period, and those politicians that are like “But think of the children, send them to school” - well, hold them back a year if it’s that bad. I repeated the first grade. It’s better than dying. I worry less about the kids’ educational attainment and more for those kids from bad homes where school is a safe haven/source of food. If you’re that worried about it pass some laws to help. 

The Roof, The Roof, The Roof is leaking water

When you find a tiny leak in your roof, if you can afford it, pay the money and fix it. Don’t wait “because it’s a pandemic and we may need that money”. The money sat in my bank account until the the bedroom ceiling started to drop a few months later. Definitely the decision of 2020 I’d most like back.

2020 Was Not The Year to Reduce Stress.

I think everyone is running on fumes by the time they got to the end of this year. For my wife and I as young parents (can’t help that), full-time workers (gotta eat to live), and grad students (like I said above, if I had a do-over I’d DEFINITELY have waited until 2021, the pandemic represented the steady erosion of all the gains I made the past year. Anxiety? Back up. Overall level of physical fitness and nutrition? I was exercising and eating and feeling really healthy in March, but I eat (and feel) like crap now. 

The Ugly

Misinformation, Misinformation Everywhere... and Politics

Misinformation is nothing new for a US Presidential Election year. But as a librarian whose job it is to promote information literacy, understanding which sources are indeed trustworthy and which are not, this election year was frankly, terrifying for me. I mean, if you know a source is trustworthy because of the standards and norms that are used to govern it, but people simply roll to disbelief it’s trustworthiness... I’m not sure how in the hell you get through to them. Lest this be construed as too political a post (I did get a little political above, hee), I’m going to stress that these information discernment skills that seem to be lacking are skills people on both Team Blue Donkey and Team Red Elephant lack. Add to that the psuedoscience, lack of fact-checking, and the whole “If it doesn’t agree with my worldview, I refuse to believe it” attitude illuminated by the pandemic and I’m not going to lie, this shit is terrifying to me. I’m hoping it’s just a phase we’re going through in America, but geez. I’m not a doom and gloomer, but this year was TOUGH in the whole “Faith in humanity’s ability to reason” department. I’ll listen to anyone’s political opinion if they back it up with well-researched sources and facts, but rather than driving closer to this goal, we’re heading in the wrong direction.

I should note that to me, it’s not just Team Red Elephant that has trouble discerning information, or is duplicitous. I need to make that clear. I definitely lean left and it’s not hard to see why - I mean, I’m a heckin’ librarian for crying out loud. But lying and misinformation or misconstruing facts? Some politicians may be more egregious offenders, but most politicians do that regardless of stripe. I feel politics are more like a teeter totter constantly switching up and down. We do ourselves a disservice when we believe everyone on our team is rational and level-headed and everyone on the other team is evil, stupid, irrational. There was a time when we could have discourse, and through disagreements we could at least learn from one another. I intensely understand the desire to make and justify political beliefs, but they’re not how we progress in a country that’s run the way the US is. Maybe it’s always been this way, but as I’ve aged I notice we have a lot more tendency to anoint a politician of our political stripe as a savior. Whatever happened to the old worldview that all politicians were lying dirtbags and though you might side with them, you could never fully trust them? It seems to have been turned on its head, I’m not sure how, to “Trust my side implicitly, DO NOT TRUST THE OTHER SIDE AT ALL.” That one side could be a bastion of truth and virtue and the other a bastion of evil and ugliness is, I’m not gonna lie, extremely unlikely.

Do as I say, not as I do. I got swept up in the political fervor myself with my D&D Friends - for a time we had a “Just Politics” channel to talk politics. That was a big mistake. Though no friendships were ended, that channel alone intensified my anxiety tenfold (MY FRIEND IS WRONG ON THE INTERNET! I HAVE TO SHOW THEM THE ERROR OF THEIR WAYS!) and... yeah. The BEST decision I made in 2020 was folding and walking away from the political discussion table - but it took me a few months of arguing and stressing to get there. I’ve reverted back to trying to do good for all people in my little corner of the world and the web by treating everyone respectfully and rationally unless they give me reason to do otherwise, at which point I’m far more likely to ignore you than engage with you. I hate that I have to do that, but it is what it is. If I talk politics, it’s privately with someone I know that is sane enough to safely distance from the chaos, or someone I trust implicitly. I won’t deny that it’s a very fascinating subject to me since politics is so ingrained into human nature, but good lord, what a minefield.

UGLY Bonus Edit (I always think of the coolest things to say right after I hit post, after all)

A last thought - whenever we’re confronted with a worldview we disagree with, whatever happened to asking the person why they feel that way or what they meant before immediately labeling them scum on Earth? We don’t even bother to fact check the people we loathe when honestly at worst you’re just confirming suspicions, at best you may even cause them to question why they believe what they believe? I can’t remember the last political or heated conversation I’ve seen where that happened. When I was fighting with my friends on “Just Politics” I don’t think I bothered to ask that often enough myself.   

Anyway, I’m looking forward to making 2021 a better year than 2020. Happy New Year, everyone. Love and hope to you all.

[isidar-mithrim]

Letters from Hogwarts – Hermione

For more than a thousand years, every summer, in the United Kingdom, the lives of a lucky cluster of eleven years old are radically changed.

These are the stories of four of them.

The fourth is that of a girl rational enough to know she was special, but too rational to admit it.

{Fourth installment of the ‘Letters from Hogwarts’ series, but it stands alone}

{‘Letters from Hogwarts’ on tumblr: Neville, Gus and Remus; on Ao3: Neville, Gus, Remus and Hermione}

________________________________

Thanks so much to @siderumincaelo for betaing this story!! ^^

And happy birthday, Hermione! :D

This is a companion piece of  Night in Transylvania (on Ao3), but the stories can be read independently and in whichever order you prefer.

_________________________________

Of Matilda, War and Peace

°1985°

“Excuse me, are you the librarian?”

The man with the white beard behind the counter raised his head, offering Hermione a radiant smile.

“I am,” he said with a little bow. “At your service, milady.”

“I’m looking for a book, sir.”

He winked. “You’re in the right place, then. Do you remember how it’s called?”

“Well, I’m not looking for a specific one, just for one with a real story. I can’t keep reading books for little kids with pictures and nursery rhymes anymore.”

The librarian chuckled with amusement. “You are a bright kid, aren’t you?”

“And a very particular one,” said her mum with a smile, caressing her hair. “It turns out that Elmer the Patchwork Elephant is too simple for her.”

“I finished it in thirteen minutes!” It was obvious that she would have found it simple.

“Well, I’m sure we’ll manage to find a real book that suits you.” The librarian walked around his desk with a delighted expression and gestured for them to follow. “Come, I’ll show you the junior section.”

Hermione nodded, pleased, and she followed him over the stairs, making an effort to keep up with his steps.

“So, young lady, may I ask you how old are you?”

“I’m five years and a half old,” she answered promptly, her chin held high.

The librarian turned toward her, his eyes wide in surprise. “Five years and a half? Then you’re even smarter than I thought!”

“I’m the only one in my classroom that can read proper books,” said Hermione, happy to clear things out. “The other girls still play with their Barbies.”

“Once in a while you could play with them too, Hermione.” Her mum gave her a gentle smile. “There’s nothing wrong in it, and books don’t run away.”

“Oh, well, sometimes our books do!” said the librarian with mirth. “One day they vanish, and they never come back.”

Hermione’s heart missed a beat, and she swallowed hard. “ Vanish? You mean… into thin air?”

Her mum squeezed her shoulder, but the librarian chuckled again. “More like at somebody’s place. I’m afraid not everyone remembers to bring back the books on loan, but I’m sure this won’t be your case.”

Hermione’s heart calmed down. There was nothing to worry about: books couldn’t just vanish in thin air. Nothing could: her teacher had said it very clearly when Julia had made up that her Barbie had suddenly disappeared while she was playing.

“And here we are! This is our junior section.”

Only the label at the entrance distinguished it from the rest of the library: there were shelves upon shelves filled with books, real books, and Hermione nodded in approval.

“Give me a minute to pick something that might intrigue you, then you’ll tell me which story appeals to you the most, okay?”

Hermione stared in awe while the librarian checked rack after rack, grazing the covers with his fingers in search of the right title. Once in a while he stopped to pull out a book: sometimes he nodded satisfied and held it under his left arm, other times he put it back, shaking his head.

He seemed quite pleased when he finally came back to her, laying four books on a little table.

“Et voilà!”

The old man took the first book and showed her the front cover, a picture of a beautiful girl with an aquamarine dress.

“Swan Princess. It’s about a princess cursed by an evil sorcerer and –”

“I’m sorry, but I’ve already seen the animated movie,” cut in Hermione. “And I don’t want a princess story, anyway.”

The librarian raised his eyebrows, taken aback. “No princesses?”

Hermione shook her head, making her bushy hair dance in front of her eyes, and he chuckled with amusement.

“I reckon I should have seen it coming,” he said good-naturedly, winking at her mum. “Now I understand why you said you have a particular daughter.”

Mum smiled. “I knew you’d agree, eventually. I should have warned you that at the moment princesses aren’t her cup of tea.”

Hermione huffed, annoyed. How many times did she have to explain to her mum that she didn’t like that kind of stuff anymore? “It’s not my fault if princess stories are all the same.”

“I can see your point,” agreed the librarian. “I won’t waste your time suggesting this novel, then.” He moved the second book at the bottom of the pile and picked the third one. “This is The Secret Garden. It’s about a girl that finds out how to sneak into a garden and starts exploring it with her friend Colin. What do you say, think this might suit you?”

Hermione studied carefully the drawing on the cover. In the middle of the page, a girl with curly blonde hair and a red coat was peering through a hedge.

“Maybe,” she conceded with a hint of curiosity. She wanted to see the last book as well, before making a decision.

The librarian clapped his hands cheerfully. “Particular, and prudent! In all frankness, I think you’re right to be cautious, because it’s time to see my fourth – well, third – recommendation.” He leant closer and spoke in a whisper, his hand around his mouth as he was confiding her a secret. “And I assure you it’s no coincidence that I kept it for last.”

He held the book in front of her with a certain reverence. A girl with straight brown hair and fair skin sat on a wooden box with a big volume opened on her legs, and piles and piles of coloured books rose from the ground around her.

And just like that, Hermione knew.

“It’s the story of –”

“I’ll take this one.”

The librarian gave her a bright smile. “I knew you’d pick Matilda. Or maybe I should say the book picked you…”

°1991°

June

“It’s about a witch that falls in love with a vampire, and there are werewolves too! It’s amazing.”

“Thanks, Fardly,” said Mrs Stendeer, writing down the title on the blackboard. “Granger?”

“Well, I believe spending the summer reading about children’s fantasies such as sorcerers, unicorns and vampires would be a real waste of time, since these things don’t exist,” stated Hermione. “I’d rather suggest trying out War and Peace. A light reading, I finished it in eight days.”

The teacher gave her a strained smile before writing the title below Night in Transylvania, then she turned again toward the class.

“Mitchell, what do you propose?”

“So, how many votes for Night in Transylvania? Five… ten… Castark, is that a raised hand? Then thirteen… fifteen… twenty-one!” Mrs Stendeer wrote down the number beside the title. “It seems you were very convincing, Fardly.”

Hermione huffed loudly, trying at the same time to convey all her disapproval and to ignore the excited giggles of her classmates.

“Now, how many votes for War and Peace?”

It was definitely harder to remain indifferent to the scornful laughs that broke out when she raised her hand, but Hermione held her arm up until the teacher had written ‘one’ beside War and Peace.

When the last bell of the year rang in the halls, her classmates screamed like little kids and rushed to the door, shoving each other in their haste to leave.

Hermione looked away and her eyes caught the line she had just written down.

Homework for the summer: read ‘Night in Transylvania’ by Stacey Moore.

She slammed her homework planner shut and shoved it in her packed schoolbag. After standing up, she slung the heavy backpack on her shoulders, adjusting the straps to balance the weight better.

“Have a good summer, Mrs Stendeer,” she said with cold courtesy.

“Thank you, Hermione.” The teacher took a deep breath, and for a moment Hermione thought she was about to add something meaningful.

She was clearly wrong, though, because “Good summer to you too,” was everything Mrs Steender deigned to add.

Hermione gave her with a curt nod, and walked out of the door.

Jayne was twelve years old and she had long black hair, intense blue eyes and a petite figure. In short, on the surface she was a girl like every other, if it wasn’t for a tiny detail.

Jayne was a witch.

While the other mothers taught her friends how to cook, her mum made her brew magic potions; while her classmates learned to dance, she studied spells to move objects. While normal girls’ only worry was not to get their clothes dirty, she trained to hunt vampires.

Hermione closed the book with an abrupt thump.

She hadn’t finished the first page yet, and she already hated it.

How silly, she thought with deep annoyance. Nobody can move objects without touching them. Nobody, not with their thoughts, not with magic.

“Magic doesn’t exist,” she said through gritted teeth. Of that she was sure: magic only existed in books – books for stupid kids.

Six days had gone by since the last time Hermione had opened Night in Transylvania, but now that she had finished Les Misérables she had run out of excuses to procrastinate her assigned reading.

She took the book from her bedside table and sat down at her desk. She usually read on her bed, but she wasn’t going to qualify something this insipid as ‘reading’.

It’s homework, Hermione told herself. And homework shouldn’t be done in bed.

After finding where she had left off, she heaved a long, resigned sigh and began reading.

Because that was her family’s specialty. Hunting vampires was an art they passed on from mother to daughter for generations, and it would continue until all the vampires in Transylvania were eradicated.

Her mother had very similar features: she had the same bushy brown hair, the same hazelnut eyes and even the same protruding front teeth.

Hermione froze, her heart beating loudly inside her chest. Her eyes feverishly skimmed over the last sentence and then went back to gaze at the first lines.

Hermione was eleven years old and she had bushy brown hair, intense hazelnut eyes and protruding front teeth. In short, on the surface she was a girl like every other, if it wasn’t for a tiny detail.

Hermione was a witch.

She dropped the book like it was burning hot, and jumped from her chair in shock when it actually caught fire.

“Please, go out, go out!” she squealed, horrified. “Please, please, stop!”

A moment later, there was only a pile of ashes on the unmarked desk.

Hermione looked at it in bewilderment, her breath still ragged.

As if by magic, the little fire had died out, even faster than it had flared up.

No, not by magic, rectified Hermione, taking a deep breath. The fire extinguished itself only after consuming the whole book, or maybe the wind put it out.

And yet, the window was closed. Hermione opened it to let in fresh air, even if she couldn’t sense any burning smell, then she lifted her bin near the edge of the desk and swept the ashes inside with trembling hands, fighting the urge to wipe her silent tears.

This time it was going to be much harder to persuade herself that it was all a dream.

°1985°

By the age of one and a half her speech was perfect and she knew as many words as most grown-ups. The parents, instead of applauding her, called her a noisy chatterbox and told her sharply that small girls should be seen and not heard.

By the time she was three, Matilda had taught herself to read by studying newspapers and magazines that lay around the house. At the age of four, she could read fast and well and she naturally began hankering after books. The only book in the whole of this enlightened household was something called Easy Cooking belonging to her mother.

Hermione was immediately won over by Matilda’s incredible abilities.

I wish I was that clever, she thought with a hint of envy.

An instant later, though, she felt terribly guilty. It must have been horrible for Matilda to have parents like that.

One and half pages later, Hermione had understood two things.

One, that her next book had to be The Secret Garden, since Matilda herself had read it.

Two, that she didn’t want to be Matilda anymore.

She would have much, much preferred having her as a friend.

That afternoon Hermione devoured page after page without ever stopping, except to write down the books Mrs Phelps recommended.

As she read, she was indignant over the dishonesty of Matilda’s father, warmed by Miss Honey’s kindness, enraged by Trunchbull’s hammer throw, impressed by Bruce Bogtrotter’s resilience, and when dinner time came, she hadn't even realised she was hungry.

Hermione ate in a hurry and then crawled under the covers.

She was laying on her stomach with the book on the pillow when the story took an unexpected turn.

Slowly Matilda sat down. Oh, the rottenness of it all! The unfairness! How dare they expel her for something she hadn’t done!

Matilda felt herself getting angrier . . . and angrier . . . and angrier . . . so unbearably angry that something was bound to explode inside her very soon.

The newt was still squirming in the tall glass of water. It looked horribly uncomfortable. The glass was not big enough for it. Matilda glared at the Trunchbull. How she hated her. She glared at the glass with the newt in it. She longed to march up and grab the glass and tip the contents, newt and all, over the Trunchbull’s head. She trembled to think what the Trunchbull would do to her if she did that.

The Trunchbull was sitting behind the teacher’s table staring with a mixture of horror and fascination at the newt wriggling in the glass. Matilda’s eyes were also riveted on the glass. And now, quite slowly, there began to creep over Matilda a most extraordinary and peculiar feeling. The feeling was mostly in the eyes. A kind of electricity seemed to be gathering inside them. A sense of power was brewing in those eyes of hers, a feeling of great strength was settling itself deep inside her eyes. But there was also another feeling which was something else altogether, and which she could not understand. It was like flashes of lightning. Little waves of lightning seemed to be flashing out of her eyes. Her eyeballs were beginning to get hot, as though vast energy was building up somewhere inside them. It was an amazing sensation.

The description was written so well that even Hermione could feel that warm, electric sensation in her own eyes. She went right back to reading, filled with curiosity.

She kept her eyes steadily on the glass, and now the power was concentrating itself in one small part of each eye and growing stronger and stronger and it felt as though millions of tiny little invisible arms with hands on them were shooting out of her eyes towards the glass she was staring at.

“Tip it!” Matilda whispered. “Tip it over!”

She saw the glass wobble. It actually tilted backwards a fraction of an inch, then righted itself again.

She kept pushing at it with all those millions of invisible little arms and hands that were reaching out from her eyes, feeling the power that was flashing straight from the two little black dots in the very centres of her eyeballs.

“Tip it!” she whispered again. “Tip it over!”

Once more the glass wobbled. She pushed harder still, willing her eyes to shoot out more power. And then, very very slowly, so slowly she could hardly see it happening, the glass began to lean backwards, farther and farther and farther backwards until it was balancing on just one edge of its base. And there it teetered for a few seconds before finally toppling over and falling with a sharp tinkle on to the desk-top. The water in it and the squirming newt splashed out all over Miss

When Hermione moved her gaze to the next word, a patch of water started expanding on the page, blurring all the letters.

Hermione looked at it with horror. The book from the library! she thought in despair, blowing on the paper in the faint hope to make things better.

Dry up, dry up, please dry up!

That’s when the book caught fire.

Hermione squealed and threw it on the ground, grabbing a slipper and hitting the book with it. Go out, go out!

With a last hit, the fire went out.

Hermione leant against her bed to catch her breath, but any chance to calm down vanished as soon as she saw the state the book was in. How am I going to explain it to the librarian? she wondered with anguish.

A moment later, she heard the door opening, and with a quick push she sent the book beneath the bed before her mum could see it.

“Hermione!” she exclaimed with worry, rushing at her side to help her get up and gently rubbing her back. “What happened, darling?”

“Just… just a dream.” Hermione’s voice was trembling, in part because of what happened, in part because of the lie and the ruined book hidden beneath her.

“Did you fall from the bed?”

“I… I think so...”

“Don’t worry, honey. Everything is fine now.” She gently kissed her forehead, and Hermione felt a bit relieved. “Now get under the covers, so I can tuck you in.”

Hermione lay on her side and hugged the pillow, letting Mum fuss over her. Her heart was still pounding, so she made a conscious effort to breathe slower. Even if her mind kept running to the ruined book beneath the bed, Mum’s soothing caresses helped her calm down.

She was finally drifting off when Mum kissed her forehead and stood up.

“What is this?” she asked a moment later, reaching down to grab something at her feet.

Hermione jerked awake and watched in horror while her mother picked up the book.

When Hermione saw it, though, her horror turned into astonishment.

Mum smiled knowingly, glancing at her bedside lamp. “You fell asleep while reading, didn’t you?” She held the undamaged copy of Matilda in front of her. “Would you like me to read it to you until you fall asleep?”

Hermione shook her head, unable to speak.

“Good night, then,” wished Mum, before turning down the lamp and leaving the room, closing the door behind her with a low click.

As soon as the sound of her steps faded away, Hermione turned on the light, eager to understand how the book could look as new.

She grabbed it and turned it over in her hands, flippin through the pages: not a patch of water, not a single word washed-out, not a corner blackened by the fire.

The book looked as if nothing had happened.

She focused on the cover, and froze when she recognised herself as the girl of the picture. She shut her eyes, and a moment later Matilda was back, lost in thought.

Clearly, it had really been just a dream… After all, only in fairytales little girls were smart enough to make things happen with their mind.

In that instant, Hermione decided that the next time she would give the librarian even more specific instructions: no princesses and, most importantly, no magic.

[ask-de-writer]

MET BY MOONLIGHT : (Part 1 of 3) : Flocking Bay

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to Flocking Bay

MET BY MOONLIGHT

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

5740 words

© 2020 by Glen Ten-Eyck

written 2003 by Glen Ten-Eyck

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express written consent of the author or proper copyright holder.

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It was evening in Flocking Bay. My last patient had gone home hours before and I had finished up my day’s lab work, ground the last lens, and eaten a leisurely dinner. The second day of July was a fine one and I planned a quiet stroll by the last light of the sun and to finish by the light of the full moon which would not set until almost morning.

The long shadow of the ridge behind the town had covered my home and place of business, The Blackwall Street Ophthalmology Clinic, an hour before. As I sauntered along Blackwall, which ran across the back of the town, just under the ridge, I admired the lush green foliage fading toward black as the sunlight failed. I like the evening and the dark.

My ramble had taken me up the street nearly a mile. By now, the full moon was providing all of the light. The sun was just a glow of memory beyond the ridge. I passed the old Hilstrom House. It was the oldest house in Flocking Bay. Built in 1647 by the first Hilstrom. He had got the land for the town by shooting an Indian Shaman in the back. Peeling paint revealed hand squared beams and other details that showed its age. Many generations of Hilstroms had been born here, raised here and died here.

Seven years ago, the last of the Hilstroms had vanished. The courts had just declared him dead and now the place was due to go on the auction block for back taxes. I remembered all of the questions that I’d had to answer when it was realized that he had vanished — And I was the last to see him.

I had truthfully told them that I had last seen Mr Hilstrom in front of my clinic. Of course he was still there, – in slightly altered form – for any who knew what to look for. Only one living person that I was aware of did know what to look for. Myself.

I am the last descendant of the Marquost Shaman that the first Hilstrom had murdered by that shot in the back. That black deed and its bloody aftermath had gained the land upon which Flocking Bay had been built. The slaughter that followed that killing was the result of cooperation between white and Indian. The other tribes had not even coveted the Marquost land. They gave it away to the whites after they had used the whites to break the grip of our magic upon them.

The other Indians had sold the Marquost children into slavery with other tribes . . . a mistake. There has, as a result of that bit of greed, been a Marquost Shaman to hound them down the full tale of the years since the massacre in 1647. And the descendants of those Indians still think that the tribulations that they suffered are the result of white-man’s duplicity. . .

Hilstrom House was at the edge of town. Only a little further, just out of town, was the old Wikes place. I planned to turn around there and go back, loop through town, past the library to the waterfront and then back to my clinic. About four miles altogether.

I spent a short time contemplating the perfectly done, absolutely ugly, example of Carpenter Gothic architecture that was the old Wikes place. On my return, I became aware that I was being followed. At first glance, I would have thought that it was a wolf. That couldn’t be. The Maine Wolf has been extinct for over two hundred years.

It had to be a stray dog. Big dog. One of those Husky types, maybe. One good glimpse showed it to be a female. The dog kept its distance and I ceased to worry about it once I realized that it was not being hostile. Curious perhaps. I had no real fear.

Flocking Bay has little crime and few stray animals of any kind. Such crime as there is comes mostly from outsiders. We get along with a town constable and a justice of the peace.

The latter is a woman some thirty or forty years of age whom I met during the investigation of Mr Hilstrom’s disappearance.

I completed my walk and the dog followed me almost to my door. She paused at the round black stones that line my walk and parking lot. Her hackles rose just a bit as she sniffed at the stones, in particular the one that used to be Mr Hilstrom . . .

The beast disappeared into the night more silently than a ghost.

The next morning I looked up animal control in Flocking Bay’s tiny phone book. I dialed the phone and it rang a number of times before it was picked up.

“Laelia Darkmoon, Justice of the Peace,” said the voice from the receiver cheerfully. “What can I do for you, Dr. Fredricks?”

“Hi Laelia. Isn’t caller I.D. wonderful? I must have dialed wrong. I wanted animal control.”

“No, you dialed right. I wear both hats. Lost a critter?”

“No, I don’t even know if I should bother you with this but last night I saw a big stray dog. No collar, looked to be sort of a Husky-Wolf hybrid or something. I was out for a walk and it followed me from the woods out near the old Wikes place.”

She laughed, “I know it. Don’t worry. It’ll never harm a soul. Grey, white blaze, bit of a ruff at the neck, straight tail with long hair?”

“You’ve seen it before?”

“Only a few times. It’s the Flocking Bay werewolf. Not really a werewolf. It seems to be the very last Maine wolf. It wouldn’t matter if it did hurt somebody. It’s protected to the hilt by the Endangered Species Act.”

“Why’d you call it a werewolf?”

“Due to better light, its mostly seen at or near the full moon. It’s there anytime though, don’t worry about that. It’s real enough.”

“Thanks for telling me about the wolf. That was fascinating. I’ve only met you professionally. Coffee and the pastry of your choice at the Stone Oven, noonish, say?”

“You’re on. See you there.”

I got through my morning appointments without any problems. Simple glasses, a set of contacts, all the usual minor difficulties. I told my receptionist that I would be out for two hours at lunch.

Allison grinned at me. “Got a hot lunch date, Doc?”

“You wish,” I retorted with an equal grin. “I’m going to go talk to the Justice of the Peace about a wolf that I saw last night.”

“You saw the wolf?” asked Allison, wide-eyed. Wistfully she added, “I’ve lived here all my life and I’ve only heard other people talk about it.”

“I really saw it. I thought it was a stray dog until Laelia set me straight about it. It came right up onto the front walk of the Clinic.”

“It did?” She pointed, “You mean right out there?”

“Yes. Say, Allison, why don’t you take the rest of the afternoon off? My dime. Go take out your little sailboat or something. Enjoy.”

With a “Thanks, Doc!” thrown over her shoulder she was gone before I could change my mind. I locked up and walked down toward the waterfront. The Stone Oven Bake and Coffee Shop was only a block back from the water and had a nice view through a small park to the docks and the sea.

Laelia was waiting for me at a small table out in front. She was a large, spare woman, nearly 5'9" tall, with gray-black hair that had a white streak near the center of her forehead and icily blue eyes. I could not even make a guess at her age. Belying her otherwise formidable appearance was a smile of genuine warmth.

One of my little accomplishments is the reading of heraldry and she had a pin shaped like an escutcheon that could be heraldically interpreted. “Sable, wolf’s head proper erased argent, in the sinister chief an anulet argent,” I read.

She looked startled and then laughed. I liked that. She had a good laugh. “Not many can read that pin. It’s an heirloom. The family crest from the old country.”

“It looks like a wolf under a new moon,” I said and added, “Just coffee and pastry or would you like lunch? They have a fabulous stew served in a fresh baked bread bowl here. I can smell that it’s ready.”

“Lunch sounds and smells fabulous,” Laelia said stretching in an animal-like fashion. “The pin does represent a wolf under a new moon. Our family name was unpronounceably Polish before it became Darkmoon. That was a long time ago, though. 1648, I think.”

“Truly interesting.” I said as I seated myself. “Few know much at all of events that far removed in time. I had people here in Flocking Bay but the last of them was gone in 1647.”

She looked at me curiously and said, “1647? That was the Year of Founding, as they called it in the Annals of the Township. The Year of the Massacre would be more like it, I think.”

Slightly on my guard, I asked, “What do you know of the Marquost massacre? Most people haven’t even heard of it.”

“Did I tell you that local history is one of my hobbies?” she asked. “I have the complete Darkmoon Diaries, the older Hilstrom Diaries, the Annals of the Township – 1647 through 1882, and a long standing friendship with Mrs. Alderman, the Librarian. What she can’t lay hands on, hasn’t even been rumored to exist.”

I laughed. “I, too, have met the formidable Mrs. Alderman. Have you seen her file on the Wikes place? Now there is a mystery for a long winter night!”

I was surprised at the grimness of her response. “I not only have seen it, I entered a legal true copy into the Court Records when I got the order to block further sales of that house. Sixty innocent people have disappeared there!”

She relented and added, “Both the Township and Flocking Bay Realty opposed the order. The Township cited the loss of tax revenue from the estates of the missing persons!

“Flocking Bay Realty tried to cite loss of income by using the historic sales record. I asked if they wished to be named as accomplices in an investigation into the deliberate disappearance and probable death of sixty people. They shut up.”

Next==>

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to Flocking Bay

[hufflepirate]

Current Vox Machina feelings: Still thinking about Grog and Ioun even though I’m several hours of content past the gang’s convo with her.

But seriously though. She explicitly says that she’s not picking Grog as her champion because he’s so uncomfortable in her realm. She apologizes for that. She says THAT’s why he’s not her champion. Which implies that unlike the others, who are for specific character reasons not appropriate champions, he could have been. Her criteria for keys is that they should be unexpected and look at the world differently than she does. Who’s to say her criteria for a champion couldn’t be related??

What I’m saying is Champion-of-Ioun Grog AU.

What I’m saying is sweet, wonderful, open Grog, who learned painstakingly to read, who constantly embraces new people, places, and situations, who so often listens well even when he pretends he isn’t or when he can’t make sense of what he hears, becoming the champion of the goddess of knowledge and going out into the world that way.

What I’m saying is I meant to write a couple short headcanons and then this ran well away from me, so now it’s under a cut.

Grog faces a different test within the library, tailored to him, and therefore with less singing and magic. His friends work too hard and too frantically, desperate to help him because he’s the dumb one and this is Ioun, only to have him finally, finally find the book when he blocks them out and trusts himself and his instincts. He hands a tiny book with no words in it to Ioun and his friends are screaming behind him as she asks if he’s sure it’s the right one, and he looks her in the eye and says, “Well, yeah! It’s supposed to be a secret, right? So of course it’s blank until you make it tell us.”

Grog doesn’t let Ioun see how much his friends’ reactions are hurting him, because it isn’t polite, and she’s a goddess, and he’s not supposed to be petty and little around her. The moment they step up to Sprigg’s house, his feelings burst out all at once and he won’t let anyone but Pike near him.

It’s not long before he feels something new. Something different. There’s a voice in his head and what feels like a soft touch in the middle of his forehead, where the third eye opened up in Ioun’s presence, and she tells him that there’s lots of ways to know things. The others will see, in time.

His voice is quiet and reverent and sad when he asks Pike about it, and she’s so happy for him that she leaps up to hug him and place a kiss into the center of his forehead, and he pulls her close and lets her calm joy settle him down and make him feel ok again.

His forgiveness comes slowly for some of the group members, but things build back, and in the mansion, he discovers that reading is a little bit easier now, though he’s no better at sitting still for it when the subject matter is boring. It’s lucky that they don’t have a lot of time for reading, just now. Not with Vecna ascended. He’s still much slower than most of the others, and he doesn’t bring up how much frustration still keeps him bored even when things are important.

Puzzles are easier to solve than they used to be, the things that used to come slowly coming faster, chasing his instincts with less of a delay. He says things and the others look surprised, but there’s a faint sense of something in his head that soothes the hurt when they look that way, and he thinks probably that’s Ioun, too. He says things he would have said before, but this time there’s a reason and he can explain it.

The first time he uses her blessing, reaching into his connection to her at the height of the rush that comes with getting his best hit in on an enemy, it’s beautiful and euphoric and the sense of what’s vulnerable to him makes his heart swell with the exultation of battle and he shouts it out to his companions with joy.

After the dust settles, he and Pike are sitting, exhausted, slumped at a table like they used to at Wilhand’s (only better because here the chairs fit him and he’s not on the floor), and he looks over at her, and she’s wearing the Dawnfather’s armor, but doesn’t belong to him, and he’s wearing Kord’s gauntlets, but has been claimed by another, and he wonders again if it was the right thing. He decides that maybe, like the twins, who were black-and-white negatives of each other, in the end, he and his own sister are meant to be different-and-the-same, and maybe it’s alright that the gods are complicated, and maybe it’s even alright that they share.

He doesn’t have the words to say to Vex. He’ll never have the words to say to Vex. He thinks that’s probably not what knowledge is for, or what it does, and the soft, pleasant, comfortable stirring in his head that always means Ioun is there doesn’t have to speak to tell him he’s right. He watches her cry and insist that there’s a way to get Vax back, and he waits for her to realize that there isn’t and come around to blinding, directionless anger. When she does, he takes her out to the forest outside of Vasselheim and they fight the biggest monster he could get a contract on and he gives her all the money from the contract even though it won’t make things better.

Ioun is mostly quiet about it, but he can feel her approval, and he begins to understand what she meant about lots of ways of knowing things. Nothing about his plan was anything like the way Percy or Scanlan knew things, but Vex looks a little better as she wipes tears out of her eyes that might be anger or sadness or pain but are probably all three. He doesn’t say anything as he pulls her into a hug, but her arms are strong around him and the fake smile she pastes on when he lets go is a little less fake than the one she left with, and that’s alright.

Tary is Tary and he’s never really known what to do with Tary, all the way, but he’s been thinking a lot about books lately, and what they’re good for and what they’re not and why so many of them are boring and turn out not to have what he wants to know in them, so he goes to see Tary anyway. He doesn’t want to write a book, but he does some thinking about Tary’s and suggests that maybe Tary’s book tell the truth instead of being like all the other adventures Tary read as a kid that made him keep saying dumb stuff and not know what to expect. He doesn’t know if Tary’s listening or not, but it feels good to say it.

Percy says they might as well set up a temple to Ioun in Whitestone for when Grog visits. And anyway, it’s about time Whitestone had a good temple to her, instead of a corrupted one. He wants to fill it with books. He wants to make it a library. Grog says they’ve got to be careful and the books should be true, and there should be people there to teach you about the things that are written about. Percy doesn’t understand what he means at first. Not until he says you learn blacksmithing by feeling it in your bones, and sometimes you learn the truth by seeing it.

The temple in Whitestone is an odd place. It has many books and many tables, which is only to be expected, but everything else is - different. Half of Percy’s books are about science, so there are machines to play with to make sense of the books, and once he’s gotten Percy thinking about it, there are lenses and prisms and magnifiers for looking at things. There’s an open porch, protected from the elements with a roof and some screening and shelves with doors that close when the rain comes with wind, but the nature books sit outside and Keyleth’s raised up a garden with as many things as she can think of in it, and he didn’t know it would be good for her to build, without Vax here, but it is. There are books about devils and demons and circles of hell, and he’s learning, slowly, how to draw well so that he can tuck better pictures into them, so people can know what they’re looking at. It’s important that books have pictures. It’s important that the pictures be true.

Percy always looks surprised at the people in Ioun’s temple. He always looks surprised when there are farmers there, and children, and housewives, but Grog isn’t, and he gets JB Trickfoot to work there, because she’s been lots of places and seen lots of things, and the next time he visits Whitestone, he’s happy to find that another librarian has shown up who’s terrible at organizing things and very good at baking and has installed a small wood-burning oven in a little alcove to explain cookbooks with, because it’s one thing to write about the details of bread and another to pick the dough up and stretch it and feel it and look at it.

Grog is getting older. Calmer. He goes into the woods and watches things. He draws them. He kills them. He draws them some more. He keeps his drawings in a tidy bundle in the bag of holding and does not call them a book.

The longer he draws, the better he is at seeing the details. The better he is at seeing them, the better he is at drawing. He still reads slowly, and his writing isn’t as steady as his drawing, but his drawings are good, and he remembers the things he drew better and better and when he goes to visit Pike and Scanlan, Pike takes careful, tidy notes about the things he tells her.

Grog and Pike don’t write a book until she gets so pregnant that she can’t leave the house as much and he’s hovering around the house waiting for his new niece or nephew to arrive and they consolidate all his drawings and all her notes, looking for something she can do indoors, and discover they already have.

Percy has to invent entirely new technology because there’s no way drawings as intricate as Grog’s could be reliably copied by hand more than once without losing the details, and the details are important because they’re the truth. Percy and Tary spend months together in Percy’s workshop, covered in ink and smoke and calling him in to forge all the large pieces of a machine he can’t quite picture until they start building it. It starts to take shape, and it takes even better shape once they add the small, delicate pieces they’ve worked on, and it makes sense when Percy calls it an Imprinting Press, but he doesn’t really understand what they’ve made, in its fullness, until a month and a half later when he’s finally allowed in the room again.

The machine stands dormant, piles and piles of plates stacked nearly up to the ceiling behind it, and Percy and Tary hand him a tidy medium-sized volume, bound in nicer leather than most of the books in the library. He opens it up to find words printed with consistent, uniform letters, even more consistent than the best scribes’ work, all the a’s looking exactly like a’s and the b’s looking exactly like b’s. The pictures are breathtaking, printed from engravings that must have taken his friends many, many hours, but they both have an eye for detail, and everything he drew is there.

His book gets its own stand in the center of Ioun’s temple, and as he places it in its spot, he gets the sense of something big happening. Something new.

Ioun’s voice in his head isn’t a voice at all. She’s been with him for years, and it doesn’t have to be a voice, hasn’t had to be a voice for a long time. It’s just a feeling. She’s proud of him. She loves him. Something is happening, and he is a champion of Ioun, and what he has built is going to stand for a long, long time.

There are children in the library and they want to know about fighting dragons again, and he lets them drag him away to the porch to tell the story for the thousandth time, roaring and stomping and acting out the fighting and all. For a moment, he sees a three-eyed figure in the doorway, out of the corner of his eye, who vanishes when he turns to look straight on. He touches her symbol, tattooed on his forearm, and smiles.

[octopusunoreverse]

Analysing ‘where the wild things are’ by Maurice Sendak in more detail

The 338 children picture book for children written and illustrated by Maurice Sendak, id assume for children around the ages 3-7, directed towards boys, mostly directed messy boys.  The book has also has inspired and been adapted into several different things such as an animated short film, an opera peace a live action film which was directed by Spike Jonze and co-written by Dave Eggers, who wrote the novelisation of Maurice Sendak’s classic.  Sendak book ‘where the wild things are’ won the Caldecott medal from the children’s librarians in 1964 saying it was ‘most distinguished American picture book for children’ and not only was voted the number one picture in 2012 survey of school library journal readers multiple times.

Looking into the book in more detail than I probably should for a children’s book

The book focused on a young boy around the age of 5-7 named Max. max himself is a strange child who dresses up in a wolf costume (implying that he himself is much like a wild animal) he is a mischievous child who unleashes havoc around his house, coming across as someone who has little sympathy or comprehensive about the world or the people he affects with is actions for example he hammers the wall with a hammer (god knows where he got it) , and chases his dog around with a fork taunting them with his behaviour, which lands him in his bedroom without supper by his mum  after he threatened to Eat her and when after being sent to his room he uses his imagination to create a world where he could be a wild he wanted , this comes in the form of a forest (which also reflects on the fact that he is wild much like the wolf costume) this forest slowly grows all around rooting from things from his own bedroom like the bed and door frame as well as the carpet changing into grass , the interesting thing about max himself in these particular is when he first starts imagining the world around him changing the expression residing  on his face is at rest much similar to someone sleeping, which is probably most likely because that’s the only way I can see the world he makes being so real to him, but I haven’t been a child in a long time so I cant possible remember how truly strong a child’s imagination can be and I consider myself as quite imaginative so who knows.  When the forest as completely grown around him, he wonders off and finds a privet boat for himself, which might point to the idea that he’s a lonely child, the boat being a form of travel could be a hint at Max’s using this imaginational world as a form of escapism from the world.   When he talks about how his journey taking ‘weeks and almost a year’ which most likely refers to how easily bored children can get, which is probably why it escalates on to the next part of the story, thought looking back at Max’s expression slowly progress from a smug smile, to a concerned/surprised face from seeing the first ‘wild thing’  and then declines into a fed up/ grumpy expression when I finally arrives on the place where the wild things are. The wild things themselves are thoroughly large creators that resemblance of animals, predators in most cases with the horns, and claws (that all the wild things have) but they have a similar attitude to Max in the beginning of the book there mischievous and tend to cause havoc, Max tames them by yelling ‘BE STILL!’  and scares them with a magic trick (which we don’t see an actual magic trick but I assume magic trick refers to the fact that Max was able to instil that fear into the wild things), but with the wild things astonished by Max declare him the most wild of all and so crowned him king of the wild things , both crown and sceptre included (which is one of the most confusing things to find on a island full of monsters) Max with this new found position of power declares that they all start a wild rumpus (which I learnt meant a noisy or violent disturbance; commotion or uproar which I think is a fitting word) they perform quite animalistic things like howling and screeching at the moon, swinging from trees and parading their king around. Till ones again Max’s grows bored and send the wild things to bed without their supper, much like what his mother did to him, which could be him talking his anger about the situation out of them. But on the subject of the wild things, looking at them on a deeper leave one could say these wild things are a sort of a reflection of his own attitude, and from seeing that from the other side it’s very easy bored of yourself, and I think by spending time with them Max sees this behaviour and is able to reflect on his attitude towards his mother, which would make a person crave social contact with someone else; in this case Max wants his mother, it is then implied that he smells food (which is mum ended up leaving for him, while he was asleep) and with that he decided to retire from being king of the wild things and return home (wake up). But the wild things didn’t like that and so they cried and pleaded for him not to leave, superficially the quote “oh please don’t go- we’ll eat you up- we love you so!” this quote is very similar to what Max says to his own mother at the start of the story, but this time were introduced to the part that says ‘ we love you so ‘ which gives us a clearer idea of what Max means when he says ‘I’ll eat you up’ is Max’s way of endearment and love. Max makes his way back home, his specific expression in this part of the book ones again reflects someone who is sleeping ones again while he makes his trip back, and when he finally makes it back he looks like he just woke up as he makes his way to eat as the book ends.

Now after finally looking at the book completely I feel like I have a better understanding of the original book and broken it down, I get a fell of why this book was parsed as highly as it is. It’s quite an outstanding story and can quickly get the wheels in your brain working when thinking of creative ideas, it honestly keeps reminding me of the cartoon called ‘Over the garden wall’ which as a similar way of telling a story, and style  and this whimsical felling and its sill set in reality with that scenes of reality much like  Sendak stories.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Okay, I don't disagree that Animorphs is a children's book at all but... did Young Adult really not exist as a category until the mid 2000s?? I remember getting books (including animorphs!) from the young adult section as a kid in the 90s, and I can find references to a young adult section of the library in simpsons episodes from as early as 1994 (no links in asks, but s06e07). Is this another thing that changed when we shifted over to the Berenstain dimension??

Did Young Adult really not exist as a category until the mid 2000s?

Yes and no and yes and no.  YA literature — as in stories that fit under the umbrella of “children’s” but are a distinct category for marketing, lit crit, publishing houses, etc. — did in fact develop gradually over time.  Some of my local libraries* also had YA sections by the late 1990s, and school librarians were already marketing YA to teens for decades so that 16-year-olds wouldn’t feel like they were reading “kiddie” books.  There are a bunch of other forces that go into the development of the YA label.  I know the biggest one is the explosive popularity of Harry Potter, Twilight, and their ilk, but other than that I’ll have to ask @fandaliteacademy for her expertise and then get back to you.

I also want to emphasize that, when I call Animorphs children’s books, I am not making a statement about who should read them.  They were written for a child audience, specifically a middle grade audience, and that’s all that classification reflects.  I used to read YA literature in first grade; I read kids’ superhero comics today.  I finished Dan Brown’s then-bibliography before I was out of elementary school; I’m currently a grown-ass adult still rereading Animorphs.  The best books are the ones that anyone can read and enjoy regardless of age, and the only reason genres exist is to help people who love certain types of books to find more books that they’re likely to love.

Is this another thing that changed when we shifted over to the Berenstain dimension?

This is not a criticism of OP or anyone else who uses this meme, BUT — as a psychologist who studies misinformation and dates a psychologist who studies reading errors — the “Mandela effect” “Berensta/ein Bears” meme is like tin foil between my teeth.  It comes from an extremely common memory error that only occurs within a particular cultural context that a few people have, with well-meaning but tone-deaf cultural cluelessness, attempted to apply to a human universal.  This extremely common memory error is one of substituting one’s expectations for a memory into a slightly different memory that one has partially forgotten, in essence forgetting tiny details and then using an “average” response to fill in the gap.

Case in point: I know at least four people named Catharine, all of whom regularly get addressed or recorded as Catherine.  I assume that most of you just had to go back and reread that last sentence to figure out what the fuck the difference is between Catherine and Catharine.  That occurs because most contemporary English-speakers’ brains automatically read Catharine as Catherine.  When we’re reading quickly, our eyes automatically skip over the middles of words and use memory-based expectations to fill in the gaps, and these days Catherine is far more common than Catharine.  Tihs is aslo teh rseaon we cna siltl raed wrods wehn the ltetres aer mexid up, so it’s a damn useful mechanism.  Catharine (have you spotted the difference yet?) is actually the original spelling, but it has since become archaic, with Catherine becoming more popular.  Honestly, there’s no bigger societal issue underpinning the Catharine/Catherine confusion, so this means a few individual headaches for a few Catharines at the DMV, and that’s all.  Sorry Catharines, but your issue is not as egregious as the Berenstein/Berenstain problem.

Because “Berenstain” is a culturally Jewish last name.  And it’s the authors’ last name.  And it’s a last name that comes from a Jewish tradition, not the non-Jewish Western-European tradition that informs more of the dominant culture in the U.S. and originates the expectation that last names are more likely to end in -stein than -stain.  And a meme that suggests that this minor memory error has to be explained with A WHOLE OTHER FUCKING UNIVERSE rather than the human brain saving itself some effort by assuming that Berenstein, like Catherine, is the “normal” (WASP) default?  Well, it sure as hell doesn’t mean to be othering to Jewish culture.  Just like the “Mandela effect” doesn’t intend to be cringe-inducingly casual in its lack of South African cultural competency.

Again, nobody is doing this on purpose.  Most people simply don’t realize that that’s what’s underpinning this effect, because it just took me a long psychobabble explanation of schema-based saccade patterns to explain why it makes me cringe.  I’m not even saying that anyone should stop using either meme.  Just that both are, somewhat unavoidably, a little bit culturally incompetent in the extent to which they use magical thinking to explain a fairly common symptom of living in WASP-dominated American culture.

*I moved a lot as a kid, so I can tell you that our Pittsfield, MA library had a YA section as early as 1998, our Albany, NY library did not have one as late as 2002, and our Baltimore, MD had one as early as 2003.  Lancaster, PA and Des Moines, IA both have libraries with and without YA sections today.  Mine is probably not a representative sample, but those are the ones I know.