Junie B. Jones writes a story @juniebjoneswrites - Tumblr Blog

Children's book Editors -

Hello! I've recently written two fully fleshed out children's book with a third in the works, and many more ideas banked.

They are done in a comic book styles. However, I can't seem to find any good advice on how to transform these PowerPoint pages into a presentable manuscript for editors or publishers to review.

Any help would be greatly appreciated!

#childrens books #kids books #books #help #illistration #manuscript #comics #kids comics #publishers #author #indie author #female writers #writers

A Thousand Miles // Niall Horan

The Map (1)

I dramatically flip open my map like every traveler in a 90’s movie. Remind me who said taking a solo stretch during a backpacking trip was a good idea? I just have a few words for them. I huff a stray chunk of hair from my eyes as I strain in the Ireland sun. If I’ve calculated correctly there should be a “Wicklow” sign. I wander around finding a main road and… a sign! “Mullingar, Westmeath,” fuck. I unceremoniously fold my map and frustratingly skip it across the sidewalk, collapsing on a bench.

We all have our flaws, mine being navigation. And after a year and a half of this you’d think I could figure it out. But setting aside my one and only flaw, the present, deep seeded need was for a drink. Glancing both ways down the street, I have no strong feelings either way, or maybe I do? Who knows. But at this point trusting my gut has only gotten me lost, so I’ll just wing it. I decide on the right. I find a small hostel along the way and immediately take a room and a shower. I wash the last few days off like shedding skin, feeling myself becoming more bearable. I give the tub an extra rinse before filling it with hot water, detergent, and dumping in my dirty clothes. I take the metal rod I carry for protection and stir my cauldron of laundry like I’m a witch turned housewife. I leave it to soak. Who needs to spend on a machine anyway?

Back on the street the energy is more alive. People buzz from work to home, work to bars, you name it. I overhear a woman around my age excitedly state to a friend while grabbing their shoulders, “We're ahn de tear, be mahre excited!” Bingo. I slightly increase my speed to keep pace with the group. If they notice this hobo-esque woman following them, they don’t show it. We end up at a red-faced pub. Taking a seat at the bar I order whatever the bartender would get for herself then focus on the futball game.

“Hey, who do the people around here root for?” I ask the two men a few seats away.

“We root fahr-”

“It doesn't matter who they root fahr as lahng as it's Darby County,” the second man says, cutting off his friend.

I laugh, “Well, I’m glad we cleared that up.” I cup my hand, ready to palm the drink sliding my way. Looking significantly more awesome than what I’m capable of, the cup slides smoothly in my hand, spilling nothing. A new talent acquired?

The Derby County fan jumps with excitement, the other scoffs, “You’re gettin’ loehcky, mate,” he throws back the rest of his beer, “Set down befahre ya right embarrass yooehrself,”

Instead he spins to the bartender, “A pent o' the black stoehff!”

His friend drops his head and sighs, pulling out his phone, “Well I guess I’ll tell de maht we’ll be late,”

Turning away from their animations, I watch another man coming in from the rain. It’s started to pour. Perfect. I have no dry clothes back at the hostel, and no umbrella with me. And my map! I groan loudly and throw my face to my hands. My map! It’s soaking up all the rain back on the sidewalk. It had years on me, my mother traveled with it, her friends traveled with it. It was a backpackers dream; information and drawings, notes taped to its front and back. Safe places, dangerous places, all the best food places. It was more valuable and sentimental than any of my new equipment, and was now lost to the weather because of my foolishness.

“You alright?” the first friend asks.

“I lost my backpacking map,” I finished my beer.

“Can’t ya get a new one?”

I sigh, “It’s not the same,” I tell him all the facts of this map and how it was undoubtedly superior to all other maps.

“Oof,” the Derby fan says, “Get the lady anahther pent as well,”

The bartender obliges and hands me another beer. “You know,” she says, “We do 'ave sahme maps 'ere,” She plucks one from under the bar, “Dey're a lettle ahld, boeht as nahthengs really changed, dey're stell pretty bang-ahn,”

The Derby fan takes the seat to my right as the first man and their recently arrived friend stays on my left, “Get some sahme pens, Cara, we’re makin’ a new map, lads,” he exclaims. “Go ahn, give it a lash,” he says once supplies arrive.

I sent out a mass S.O.S. on my high-tech, grade-A, top-of-the-line Tracfone to my fellow backpackers for any helpful bits for the map, albeit it’s mostly Ireland. For the next, almost hour or so, with the help of some pints, my memory, and their messages pouring in, I reconstructed the map. Dora the Explorer and her Map had nothing on me. The three friends and bartender support me the whole way through, giving more insight to their area. I learn their names along with Cara’s, the first friend: Sean, Derby fan: Niall, the man from the rain: Nicky. They asked questions about my travels, Niall seeing many parts of the world himself, resonated with my trips. Most of what I’ve seen has been on the opposite end of his spectrum though, so I gave him names and places to visit if he ever ventured out far enough. A few of my favorite places in the Philippines he swore to visit.

I expected the bar to fill up, though the rain instead kept the patrons away. Those of us stuck inside watched the game until Derby inevitably took a 5-0 lead and the win. Niall did a small dance with Sean, causing them to trip over a stool leg, bringing Sean almost to the ground; Niall catching him before the ground could. The beer gave me warmth against the rainy cold as I finally finished the map with what I could. There were no longer stains from previous trips and owners, the initials in the corner from those who once depended on it, now obsolete. I place my initials and the date in the bottom corner to relight our tradition. It was a beautiful mosaic of native and foreign, colorful paper and a multitude of pens markers from the others helping hands. I told the four of the tradition and to initial their names as I did, it only seemed right.

“Dahn’t sell dat now,” Nicky said.

I laughed, confused, “Why would I do that?”

“Because o’ Niall segnin it,” he pauses for my reaction, “Because'e's a senger,” he states at my confusion.

“Wait? Really?” I ask, they look bewildered. “I’ve been traveling for a long while,” I say shrugging.

Niall laughs, “Yeah, yeah that’s what they all say,”

I hold up my Tracfone as evidence. Holding it like a touch screen, I pretend to look him up, “Ah, yes. I do see it now. Niall Someone, singer, and oh? What’s that?” I suck on my teeth, “Wow looks like you’ve been cancelled,” I give a sorry pout to him, “How sad,”

Sean laughs, hitting Niall’s chest, “I dedn't get me mahneys wahrth frahm ya yet, mate, ya can’t be cancelled,”

“Well I guess in that case,” I say, carefully folding the map, “To the highest bidder it goes.” The friends laugh and grab the map. I pull it to my chest for safekeeping. “Maybe I’ll just keep it instead, I do need to get around still,”

----------

Sometime later we moved to leave the pub. The rain’s cleared, leaving a cloudy, moon lit sky. We say our goodbyes and I head in the opposite direction. I walk a few yards before a hand on my elbow spins me around. I grab my metal rod from my back pocket, pressing the button to lengthen it, I hold it in the air before realizing who was before me.

“Jesoehs Noelle, it's joehst me,” Niall cries.

I let out a frightful sigh, “Man, don’t do that,” I clutch my chest.

He laughs a little, "I'm invitin’ a few to me place and thooehght maybe you'd like to see a lettle mahre o' Ireland,”

“Yes, obviously,” I say in a relieved, obvious tone. “Just promise no one will jump me when we get there,”

“I cahnaht do that,”

“We’ll at least you’re honest,” I retort, earning his laughter as we walk into the night.

#niall horan #niall horan fanfic #niall horan fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #one direction #harry styles #zayn mailk #liam payne #louis tomlinson

Ominscient // Tom Riddle

The Giving Tree (2)

They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, which you could also say about evil. We are what we make each other. And he was both.

The brisk fall wind fights my clothes, trying hard to crawl under my skin. I cast an Impervius spell to my robes, pulling them tighter I give a silent heckle to mother nature. How long, and far, could magic go against her before she retaliated with those powers of her own, making sure we could no longer be in her defiance? We are natural, of course, but our kind has tempted fate far more often than not.

-----------

Many years ago while I was still young, my eldest sister fell gravely ill from Dragon Pox. Before her death my parents attempted many life-saving spells, never finding the one that would spare her. Falling short of a Horcrux, they attempted to bind her life-force to another’s. The idea slipped quietly through our family, searching for a willing, healthy volunteer. They wouldn’t risk both children, removing me as an option. My parents were also unable to take on that role as they would age, and die long before my sister’s time should come. They needed someone young.

Finally a cousin arrived at our door. I knew only vaguely of her, remembering whispers from my parents of a man who killed hers instantly in a fire. She hoped she could help save what she herself had lost. So, during a full moon, under our eldest tree at the base of our falls, my father performed the ritual. It had seemed to work; my sister sat up without pain, moved and ate with eagerness. She lived happily for days and weeks that felt so long we thought this was our happy ending. Our cousin stayed with us, not having anything to return to; and with our love and gratitude, we grew a third sister.

On the third full moon following my sister’s second life, my cousin sat on a rock atop the falling water. I found her staring down at the eldest tree. “Are you alright, Sybil?” I asked her. If she was aware of my presence in that moment, she made no acknowledgement of it. I stepped closer and placed my hand to her shoulder. Her body immediately stiffened before relaxing, giving a rush of heat before the cold. I repeated my question.

She slowly looked up at me, “It speaks to me. Do you hear it as well?”

“What is speaking?”

Her eyes return to the tree. “The tree, of course, Ella. The tree,”

“No, my dear, the tree does not speak to me.” I knelt beside her, hand still on her shoulder. “What does it say?”

Her head shakes, but only just. Nearly undetectable. “How long has it lived here?” she questioned.

“As long as I’ve been alive. And even before then, I imagine,”

“It is old and new,” She said. “This ground will not last,” she looked at me again, “Us two will not last.” And with that my cousin slid herself off the rock to the crashing water below.

There was no time for me to react towards her. I threw myself away from the edge as if she could crawl back up to pull me under. I ran as quickly as my body would allow to the base of the falls. I called for her again and again; but her body wouldn’t emerge until the following morning. I cried out for help but fear kept me out of the water. My instincts, feelings, said if I were to follow after, I would meet the same fate. I glanced at the tree, it felt darker, menacing. The moon’s light scattered around it but never quite touched it. I felt it taunting to me, or maybe a dare. I ran to it, throwing the few curses I knew. It seemingly absorbed them into its bark, giving me a list of all the ways I could not hurt it.

I sunk to my knees, breathing rapidly and rough, I stared at it and yelled as if the sheer force of my desperation could put a chink in it’s armor, and that’s when I felt it. It was all around me in an instant, I felt it’s poison rooting into the soil. I could feel the glow it once had shrinking within itself like a butterfly returning to a green, slug-like form. It whirled around my mind for a long moment before I succumbed to its weight.

My sister died in her bed that night as the link between the two ended within the waters. My mother found me in the grass where I had fallen and brought me home; I told her of Sybil and the tree. I lay next to my sister as my parents investigated my claims. Her greenish tint had returned, and her sores were prominent again, as if she had been glamoured into health. All the while the universe watched her story play out as it had always intended. I thought of my cousin and how she was viewed in this play. It was not her in those final moments, as if someone was watching from her eyes. A tree could not have that influence on her, could it? Surely my sister would have shown signs then as well?

We bury the two in a wide, single grave with a headstone that read, “Two became one, before one made two. Under a faithless moon and seeking waters, found time dripped sweetly. But death did seek, and fates it settled.”

-----------

As the wind leaves and warmth returns, I think of my stolen family. There’s a lot I don’t understand of what happened with my sister and Sybil, a lot I cannot remember, either. But if what I do know finds itself in the paintings of that history, then I must be ready to see it does not happen again.

I turn the corner into my potions class, the dim fire light casting long shadows, I take my seat next to Septima. “I hear your time with Tom was not altogether friendly?” She asks.

(1) / (2)

#Tom Riddle #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle fanafic #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #hermione granger #ron weasley #fanfic #fanfiction

Omniscient // Tom Riddle

To Be or Not To Be? (1)

They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, which you could also say about evil. We are what we make each other. And he was both.

There’s something to say about a family who studies the Dark Arts together. From the outside you may see an unloving, cold family, but inside you’d be cut to pieces if you crossed us. Over time our magic has fed from dark secrets kept in tombs, caves, and other places that hide the dead well. We ourselves are unknown, how we like to be, and can travel the streets uninterrupted. We don’t seek the danger of the Dark Art’s the way others do, we merely use it as a means to an end.

In our home wandless magic has always been at the forefront. Our power lies within us, it’s who we are. It is a concept the rest of the Wizarding World hasn’t progressed on and I’ve never understood why. They feel shoved aside by the Muggle World, now we rely on wands to do our bidding. Our magic is raw and should be taught control that way. My family taught this as I grew, but even so, there are still things that require schooling.

The sorting hat and I have a conversation as it sits atop me. There’s an understanding between magical abilities and magical abilities. The Hat and I have this understanding; sometimes magic can grow beyond the definitions of others. In this case, Hogwarts. I, by no means, have the abilities of my mother or father, but I have the knowledge of the world around me to navigate. I know the hard work and nerve it takes for learning, I know it takes courage and patience to develop cunning ambition and leadership. I know how these four homes, together, could be something great; life changing. But I am still young, and I have work to do on my own.

The Hat tells me leadership and resourcefulness comes with experience, as does bravery and courage. To be a Slytherin or a Gryfindor? I think bravery and courage can come to anyone under the right pressure, but to be a leader, that has to be earned. I wish to earn it. “Slytherin!” it yells to the school. I smile wide at the feeling of negotiating these choices for my own behalf. I join my Slytherin family as my robes change to an emerald green. I hope to make them proud.

By the middle of dinner the head of the Slytherin house seems a little too distracted by the wine to hold a conversation; so I sought one directly below.

“Excuse me,” I say to a Slytherin girl. “I see Professor Slughorn is occupied and I’d rather like to know the school grounds. Is there someone else I could speak to?”

“Well, Elladora and Tom are our head boy and girl” she pauses, searching the table,“But it seems Elladora may be a bit preoccupied.” I follow her eye and see a beautiful young woman vying for the attention of another, equally, beautiful woman. “So you can ask Tom, I suppose,” she says, reluctantly pulling her eyes from our Head Girl. “He’s over there,” she points to the middle of the table, “However I would address him by his surname, Riddle,”

“Thank you,” I say. “I’m Eloise Elphick,” I hold out my hand.

“Septima Pelva” She says. I smile wide at the hopes of a new friend.

I manage to squeeze a seat, with a few apologies, between Mr. Riddle and another student. As I take my seat, my plate magically appears before me just as it had sat before I moved. I laugh lightly at the display. I take a sip of my tea and make a point to feel those around me. With magic being at our core, we project those energies and abilities without our knowing. Much like an aura, any seer could tell you this. Sometimes it’s hard to control what you put out based on emotion, but without learned control you tend to put out your whole self.

The way Tom feels is… encompassing. As if he could pull you under at will. His power is authentic, but it’s angry. Anger can be powerful, however it must be controlled. I feel my hesitation; but I chose this house, leadership comes at many costs. “Head Boy, Riddle?” I ask.

He continues his conversation with a blonde boy for a moment before excusing himself. “Mrs. Elphick, if I recall,”

“Yes, you have a very good memory,” I say graciously. It never hurts to be polite, and flattery is never a bad option either. “I was hoping for a tour of the grounds. However it seems Professor Slughorn and Miss Elladora are indisposed, so I was hoping you’d do the honors.”

His dark eyes beckon and call to me. I can feel the pull between him and I; My own thoughts push back. I let up a silent charm around my mind. His pupils dilate and pulse with my defense. “Please don’t do that,” I say softly, for his ears only.

I watch his face turn incredulous and shocked. But he hides it well, and swift. “How?” is his only ask.

My smile holds firm. “I just wish for a tour of the grounds,” I reaffirm.

He watches me, I feel his resolve turn to curiosity. “Then I shall lead the way,” An unmistakable sternness hangs over his words.

I gave a slight nod, “Thank you,”

We excuse ourselves from dinner and he shows me my home for the next, and only, year. He informs me of our many seventh year benefits and rules. On multiple occasions I feel his mind trying to intercept mine; I find it amusing, truthfully. My mother taught me the ability to shield my mind, she showed me the many reasons it's important. “Why are you so persistent?” I ask him.

“Where did you learn to deflect?” he counters.

I was taught to never give your enemies your secrets, “I suppose you’ll just have to find out,” I reply with a slight, coy smile. Mr. Riddle may not be my enemy at the moment, but he certainly holds secrets; and I’ve always found secrets interesting.

(1) / (2)

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Thanks for liking my call out, and the follow for some! Please let me know if this is to wild lmao. It’s strays hella from the books and cannon but, as I said, it’s just been a daydream for a while so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

@mr-marvolo-riddle

@sweetietom31

@reflexioanimae

@thereinsly

@velvetsasha

#tom riddle #tom riddle fanafic #fanfic #fanfiction #harry potter #jk rowling #hermione granger #ron weasley #voldemort #lord voldemort

Tom Riddle readers

I’ve started to write a dope ass fic of Tom but maybe(?) I need someone to fact check it because as much as I love this fandom I know there’s a lot I don’t know. I’m open to anything. Shoot me a message, lets be friends.

ALSO this fic is mostly based on my daydreams lmao so it’s very plausible that most of it is incorrect

help ya girl out

calling literally anyone who wants to read a Tom Riddle fanfic lmao

#harry potter #tom riddle #fan fic #fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #tom riddle fanfiction #literally anyone who wants to read a story

cherrysmoon

the duality

watchmegetobsessed

“I’ll have your daughter home by 8, sir”

“your daughter calls me daddy and you should too”

hijabe

okay i’ll bite. who is Harry Styles.

Bring Me Home // Harry Styles

Hey Harry? (6)

On this particularly nice evening I drove up to the station to see Seb. The sun will be setting soon meaning the golden hour before a lovely cotton-candy-like sunset is soon upon us, and my depressed ass wasn’t going to miss my chance for a moment of calmness. My car tire hits one of the big potholes and I curse this place for its dismissiveness of vehicle safety and my wallet. Getting out I see Seb inside filling the candy at the counter. I pull my supplies from my trunk and place the chairs near the door under the lotto sign. As I open the beach umbrella I hear a car pull up to a pump; I look to see if they need help but it seems they’re competent so I focus back on the task at hand.

“June, dear, what are you doing?”

“Ah yes, Sebastian, thank you for joining me here today,” I drag the cooler from my back seat and place it in front of the umbrella, between the chairs. “You see tonight is supposed to be a very special night,” I sit in one of the chairs and crack open a soda. Seb waits for me to finish but picks up a drink and takes a seat anyway. “It’s the night before summer.” I toast him.

He chuckles and sips his lemonade. “You know you could have bought these here and given the store money,”

“Where else would I have gotten them?” I tsk. “I bought them before closing last night.” We wave as the gas pumper drives off, then sit in silence for many moments while the golden sun creeps up on us. The rattling in my chest has turned into the slow drip of an hourglass. I’m not sure how much time it has given me but I’m determined to use every last grain.

“I am very proud of you and your friends, you know,” he says. “He was a good man.” My eyes are closed and I stay in this moment a little longer before responding.

“Thank you, Seb. He was.” We sit in silence again as I watch the waves roll softly in.

Moments before a black Range Rover drives up, Seb goes inside. Too much time spent in the sun thinking of loss can turn a person away. So he goes back into the cool shop where he can look at a picture of his wife and be distracted by a game show. The man waves, putting the nozzle in the tank and walking over.

“Yeah no, you really shouldn’t leave it like that,” I call. I hold my hand above my eyes, shielding the sun.

He turns back to the car and then back to me, “Eh, I think it’s probably okay,”

Why am I always telling this man what to do? “Ah,” I say when he’s in front of me, “It’s you,”

He laughs, “I hope that’s okay.”

I just shrug and offer him the other beach chair. “Unless it’s you know, not up to your standards,” He raises an eyebrow in defiance and takes a seat. I open the cooler and he picks out water. Boring. “I hope you at least turned it off,” I motion toward his car.

“Of course,” he holds up his keys. I’m taking a drink but I give an enthusiastic thumbs up for a job well done. “You seem better than the last time I saw you,” he says carefully.

“Yeah, well. Time heals all wounds,” I look back at the sea and play with the latch on the cooler. “That’s what they say at least,” I take another drink. He doesn’t say anything, and we spend a moment in silence. I wonder what L’s he might be remembering. His pump stops and I instinctively stand to take care of it. He catches my arm before I get far.

“I got it,” he states.

“We offer assistance to those clients who,” I pause for effect, “Need it,” I give a small but reassuring pout and rub his forearm. “And, well, seeing as how you left your pump unsupervised one can only assume this may be new to you,”

“Mm,” He hums, “Then by all means,” he steps out of the way and allows me to pass.

“Thank you,” I say courteously. I return the nozzle and cap his tank, closing the latch. To drag it out I take the squeegee from its holder and wash his window as well, making sure to get his lights. Then remembering this is a very expensive car, I pray I didn’t ruin anything by doing that. Putting the squeegee away I make a quick glance at him, he isn't angry so I let out the breath I've been holding. “Well there you are,” I say, trying to Vannah White his car but probably looking more like Will and Jada Picekett Smith at the red carpet.

“You’re very good at your job,”

“Well, to be fair, it is not hard,”

I stand near his driver side mirror as he walks closer. “Why don’t you get one that’s more challenging?” His question sounds sincere but playful. “I already have that,” I counter. And I do, but it doesn’t pay well. Or at all. He tilts his head and raises an eyebrow questioningly. “Maybe I’m a hitman?” A lie too close to the truth. “Or maybe I’m not. You know I can’t really talk about it,” I give a defeated shrug.

“I suppose that’s not something one should reveal. But a very interesting secret indeed,” his eyes are too green, too intense. I fold under their weight so I refocus my energy. I look back at the sun giving me peak golden hour vibes, I smile and release some tension. “You like watching the sunset?” he asks.

“I do, I came up here for it,”

He frowns, “I don’t want to stop you enjoying it,” he turns slightly, giving me an exit that I take.

I smile at him and continue on my way. I get a few steps and almost turn but I hear his door open and close. His car starts driving as I get to the chairs; I go to wave but he’s gone.

“Okay, then,” I grumble and grab a book from my bag.

“You know he dies at the end?” He calls a few moments later.

I throw my arms up then slam the book shut. “Why?” I ask incredulously. “You were gone, you should have stayed gone,” his head dips as he laughs. “And a little rude without a thank you or goodbye, might I add,” I throw the ruined book back in my bag.

“I like the dramatics a little,” He takes the other chair again. “I think this would be nicer on the beach, yeah?”

A small shiver runs through me, “Yeah,” I manage out. We grab everything and take it down. As I set it up he disappears back up to the station, probably securing his car. I take that moment to enjoy the silence and the secret between Elijah, the Ocean, and I. If the three of us can work together we can make retribution happen. But for now I watch the pink and peach sky marry the water in a beautiful matrimony.

A can opening pulls me back as Harry hands me a beer. A beer? A gas station beer. I look at him confused. I make direct eye contact with his “You Booze You Lose” tattoo and give a small laugh.

“I thought it was the right occasion,” he sounds a little disheartened as he brings the can back to him.

I quickly grab it, “Thank you,” I rush out, not trying to seem ungrateful. “Thanks.” I take a drink. “Wait, what’s the occasion? The sunset?”

He looks instantly uncomfortable as if maybe this was all a bad idea. “Your friend, Seb, said it's the night before summer,” I nodded. “And that it's… also.. Uh,”

“Eli’s birthday,” I sit back in the chair and take another drink. I didn’t think he’d remember. That old man is full of surprises.

“Sorry,” he slides in the chair, still stiff and uncertain.

“Thank you for this,” I smile at him, making both of us more at ease. Funny to me that he’d be the nervous one.

We watch the sunset with easy conversation and laughs. It lights us up and gives our bodies warmth like we're old friends. I thank it in my mind, and I thank Seb for his words, I thank this beer for warming my mind, I thank Harry’s voice for it’s steadiness, I thank the waves. I watch him talk, a little rose tint to his cheeks, his dimples forming with smiles, he's happy and animated. I haven’t been his kind of carefree for a long time. The cold in the pit of my stomach threatens to ice over so I take another sip, and another, and another. I imagine my cheeks match his now. I rest my head back on the seat and for a time I don’t feel the coldness. He stops talking so I lazily turn to him. His smile reaches his eyes with curiosity so I have to admit that I may have drifted off in my own mind.

He laughs lightly and pats my hand, “It’s okay, June.”

The sun has left us, replaced by the moon. There’s no fire to keep us warm this time, no dancing or singing, no other friends. But there is a plan now. I stare back at the moon and dare it to tell me not to, naturally it doesn’t. It will keep my secrets.

“Hey Harry?”

“Mm?”

“Should we run tomorrow?

(1) / (2) / (3) / (4) / (5) / 6