bury it and rise above

 𝒘𝒊𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈  𝒉𝒆𝒓  𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒔  𝒐𝒏  𝒇𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒅  .  .  .  blue  jeans,  luna  thoughtfully  watches  the  stray  seeds  fall  to  the  grass.  most  certainly,  the  birds  will  get  them  later.  and  the  thought  of  it,  it  warms  her  heart.  “i  don’t  know.  i  think  every  story  has  a  little  truth  to  it.  don’t  you  ?  but,  yes.  maybe  someday,”  agrees  luna,  rising  to  her  feet.  “you  are  quite  kind,  magnus  bane  lightwood.”  with  a  kind  smile  of  her  own,  she  accepts  his   handshake.  “luna  lovegood.”

He smiles at her. “I think you might be right. As the Shadowhunters say, all the stories are true.” He smiiles. “Would you like to have a picnic? I can rustle up some stuff with my magic.

 𝒔𝒉𝒆  𝒊𝒔𝒏'𝒕  𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈  .  .  .  anyone  else,  to  be  in  the  cemetery,  let  alone  someone  so  friendly.  too  exhausted,  to  question  it,  she  thinks  —  well,  she  doesn’t  think  anything.  “the  legal  drinking  age,”  rue answers,  holding  up  the  bottle  that’s  already  half  empty.  the  liquor  sloshes  against  the  sides  of  the  glass  &  to  rue  ?  it  sounds  like  m u s i c.  rue  almost  turns  to  walk  off,  but  she  pauses  as  his  words   comprehend.  “jack  skellington?  awesome  name,  dude.”

“Oh are you underage? I won’t say anything your secrets are safe with me.” He pats the ground, “Come sit. What’s your name?” He smiles. “You really like my name do you? I like my name too. Do you drink in the cemetery often?” He asks curiously.

Gemma was walking the streets, looking at her phone, fascinated by it. She ran into someone. “Oh pardon me, I’m a little lost.” She looks up. “Felicity? What are you doing here? Holy crap I’m so happy to see you I’ve missed you desperately.”