#( god I’ve been so buried in yarn lately

[shieldworn]

I’m working up a charmander and i a) love this pattern, and b) it’s for a gift BUT NOW I WANT ONE FOR ME

[ssajj]

Experience

Basically, a collection of moments from dating Spencer. Features Spencer learning how to knit, his little tummy, a few mishaps, and how much he loves you. 

gn! reader, 2.7k

“Did you know that it’s believed knitting originated in the Middle East around the fifth century?” Spencer asks you, wrapping his arms around you and resting his chin on your shoulder. 

You feel a small smile growing on your face. “I didn’t know that, actually.”

“Since knitting is largely defined by the yarn used, it’s also interesting to note that early Egyptians used cotton fibers instead of wool. However, by the time the practice made it to Europe, wool was the primary material used.”

“What’s got you looking into knitting?” You turn around in his arms, pressing a kiss to his nose. 

He blushes, which is exactly what you wanted. Since the beginning of your relationship, you always try to foster an environment where Spencer feels comfortable talking about his interests. You hate the way his face falls when he gets cut off or when he realizes that the person he’s talking to clearly isn’t interested. The team loves him, you know this, and you also understand that the middle of a case isn’t the best time for him to ramble about something random, but you do wish they’d be better about it when they weren’t on a case. So far, little acts of love are the most effective way to let Spencer know that you care. 

“I wanted to try it.”

“Yeah?”

His blush gets deeper. “According to a few studies I’ve seen, knitting can be considered a psychosocial activity that encourages stress relief. It can also improve fine motor skills, cognitive anchoring, and reduce awareness of pain. Some therapists are even using it as a technique with their patients.”

You hum. “Sounds cool. Do you have all the stuff you need? What do you even need, just needles and yarn?”

“No, not yet,” he says, pausing. You wait for him to continue. “Can you come with me?”

“Duh.”

An hour later, the two of you are at Michael’s. It’s the first time either of you has ever been in, and frankly, the store is huge. You look around with wide eyes. “Good thing the aisles are marked, huh?”

You take Spencer’s hand, letting him trail behind you as you find the aisle with all the yarn. There are so many colors to the point where it seems overwhelming. “Any clue what colors you want to start with?”

To your surprise, Spencer seems to know exactly what he wants. Without saying anything to you, he heads toward the yellow section, pondering for only a few seconds before grabbing a few and heading back to you. 

“Yellow?” You question, holding out the basket you’d grabbed. “I figured you’d go for like...neutrals or something.”

Spencer places his pick in the basket. “Greys, blacks, beiges, browns, and whites are generally considered neutral colors.”

“And you got yellow.”

He nods.

“Do I get to know why you picked yellow?”

He shakes his head, some of his hair falling in front of his face from the action. “Eventually.”

You roll your eyes. “Alright, Mr. Secretive. Let’s go get the other things you need.”

…

Spencer continues to be oddly secretive about the entire knitting thing. He tells you about it, sure, but he tends to work on his projects when he’s off on cases and won’t let you see them after. 

“Eventually,” he keeps repeating, even after you try to bribe him with cupcakes. 

Because you’re a weak human being, you give him the cupcakes anyway. You’ve never been able to resist his puppy eyes. 

After he grabs a cupcake, he joins you on the couch, pulling you against him with his hand on your waist. “These are really good, bub,” he tells you. “I’ve missed your baking.” You adjust so that you’re laying down, head resting in his lap. You kiss his stomach, smiling when he lets out a little giggle. God, you’re so in love with him. You’ve loved watching him become more confident, you’ve loved watching him become comfortable in his body, and you’ve loved watching his smile come out more and more. When you first started dating, you never thought he’d be the giggling type. 

“I’ve missed baking,” you admit. “Work’s just been crazy.”

"I know," he says, tangling his hand in your hair. "You've been more stressed."

Sighing, you shift again so your face is practically buried against his stomach. "I know. And it's stupid. It isn't like my job is even that hard. Nothing like hunting down a billion serial killers."

He doesn't say anything for a moment, just long enough for shame to start burning through you. Before you can start backtracking, apologizing for being stressed over nothing, he pulls you up, settling you so you're seated in his lap. "Y/N," he says, shaking his head. "Your job is important. And you're allowed to be stressed over it. You help people in a different way than I do, but that doesn't make it inherently lesser."

You hum. 

"I'm serious!"

"Be a weird thing to joke about," you mutter. "Look, it's fine. Seriously. You don't need to try to make me feel better."

He kisses your forehead. "I love you. I'm always going to try and make you feel better."

…

Spencer has a bad case. You can tell the second you see him, the brief moment the two of you lock eyes before he slams into you, rocking you back on your heels as his arms wrap around you. 

"Hey, hey," you soothe, rubbing circles along his back. "C'mon, Spence. Breathe with me."

He sucks in a few panicked breaths, his grip on you tightening. You make sure to keep your breathing even, coaxing your boyfriend to follow the rhythm. Eventually, he settles down enough that you feel okay pulling away a little. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" You ask. 

He shakes his head. "Can we just go to bed?"

You've never been one to say no to him, so you don't. Instead, you let him lean on you as you make your way to bed, helping him strip off his clothes and get into something more comfortable before sliding under the sheets. 

"I don't know what I'd do without you," he whispers, voice sounding raw. 

"You'll never have to find out."

…

Significant others are always allowed at team hangouts, so you, Beth, and Will are all gathered at a table with the BAU at their favorite bar. Morgan and Penelope are off dancing, Rossi’s chatting up a confused looking bartender, Hotch is glued to Beth's side, JJ and Emily are playing darts, and Spencer's standing behind you, letting you rest against him. 

"I love you," you blurt out randomly, twisting in his arms. You think you can hear Beth's "awww" from where she's seated. "Like, a ton."

Instead of answering, he kisses you. It sends an electric current through you, just like it always does. His hands come up to cup your face, tilting your chin to allow you better access. Your arms go around his hips. Every time he touches you, it always feels like you're on fire but in the best possible way. You'd let yourself burn like this for an eternity, you'd let yourself stay in his arms and melt away. 

"Whoa, there!" Morgan shouts, making you smile into the kiss and ruin it. Spencer's smiling too though, so it's okay. "Keep it PG, you two! Mom and dad are here!"

"Mom and dad?" Will questions. 

You don't let go of Spencer, but you do turn your head to look at Will. Spencer's hands drop down to your shoulders, like he can't stand not touching you either. "Hotch and Rossi," you explain. 

He nods, even though he still looks pretty confused. 

After an hour, Spencer wanders off with Morgan, asking the older agent something about Star Trek that you don't quite catch. You trust him well enough with your boyfriend, so you make your way over to JJ and Emily. "I have an important question."

They both turn to look at you, eyebrows raised. For people who were so drastically different, they have a lot of the same mannerisms. You wonder if they got them from each other. 

“Do you know what Spencer’s been knitting?”

JJ gives you a small smile as Emily starts giggling. 

“That’s your very important question?” Emily asks. 

You nod. “Sure is.”

“He said we aren’t allowed to tell you,” JJ shrugs. “I’m sure you can figure out why.”

Frankly, it takes you an embarrassingly long time to allow the dots to connect in your brain. When it does, you can feel your entire body soften. “Oh. He’s making me something.”

Emily rolls her eyes. “Did it take you this long to realize that? I thought Spencer liked smart people.”

“Em!” JJ chides gently before refocusing her attention back on you. “She’s kidding. Spencer will give you what he’s been working on once he’s happy with the final product.”

As you walk back to your table, you ignoring the warring feelings in your gut.

…

“Why do you always ask me “did you know” before you start rambling about something?”

It’s late, and your question catches Spencer off guard. He rolls over in bed so that you’re facing each other. “What do you mean, love?”

You bite your lip, chewing at it as you think. Before you can even answer him, he reaches out and pulls it free. 

“You’re going to make yourself bleed if you do that.”

He’s right. He’s always right. “I was just wondering if, well. If you’re going to get bored of me, since I’m not nearly as smart as you.”

Spencer sucks in a breath. “Y/N, where is this coming from?”

You shrug one shoulder. “Dunno. Look, why don’t we just forget-”

“I’m not going to forget about it,” he interrupts, voice surprisingly stern. “Even if my mind allowed me to forget about things, I wouldn’t want to forget about this. Because honestly, that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life.”

When you go to speak again, he takes one of your hands and brings it up to his face, kissing it gently, effectively shocking you back into silence. 

“I love you,” he says like it’s the simplest thing in the world. He’s still holding your hand. “You make me happier than I thought I could be, happier than I thought I deserved to be. And I know I’m not always great with words or emotions, but you need to understand how important you are to me. You’re the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing I think about before I fall asleep. When I’m feeling down, I know that I can turn to you and you’ll help soothe me and I hope you know you can always come to me, too. When I talk, you listen. And you aren’t even listening just to placate me, or out of pity. You’re really, truly listening. You engage with the conversation, and you do your best to remember the things we converse about. When I learn something new, I’m excited to talk about it with you. When we’re together, I count how many times you’ve smiled. One, because it’s gorgeous. Two, because I need to make sure you’re happy, and if you’re not, I need to help as much as I can, becuase you always deserve to be smiling and happy. I just- I trust you in a way I’ve never trusted anyone else, Y/N. With my mind, my body, with everything. I don’t need someone with the same IQ as me. I don’t want someone with the same IQ as me. I just want you.”

“Spencer,” you breathe, your eyes stinging with unshed tears. 

“I know it can be hard not to doubt yourself. It’s a natural human emotion. But I just need to make sure that you’re aware that I’ve never doubted you, okay? And if you need a reminder, just let me know.” He wipes at the corners of your eyes, catching the tears. 

“I love you.” He smiles. “I know.”

…

Spencer laughs when you jump on his lap, a soft exhale of breath escaping. “Yes, dear?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“Guess what I did this morning?”

“What?” “Made you cookies.”

His eyes light up. “Chocolate chip?” You give him a quick kiss. “Of course. Let me go grab them.”

In one quick movement, Spencer stands, sweeping you into his arms. You shriek, lacing your fingers together behind his neck for extra security. 

“What’s happening?”

“We’re going to get the cookies you made,” he tells you, starting to walk toward the kitchen. 

You laugh. “I guess working out with Morgan has been going well, huh? As long as you don’t lose your tummy.”

He blushes. He knows how much you love his entire body, but he also knows how much you love that one area in particular. 

Once you’re in the kitchen, he puts you back on your feet, but still wrapping his arms around your midsection. By now, you’re used to his tactile nature, but it had come as a shock to you back at the beginning of your relationship. Spencer had told you a million times that he wasn’t particularly touchy, and that had been fine. You’ve seen him dodge other people’s handshakes and hugs. After a few months, though, you figured out that he loved affection from the people that he cared about. It’d been obvious in the way he always stood a little too close to Morgan and JJ, in the way he let them ruffle his hair with a smile on his face, and the way he hugged them like the thought of germs or cross-contamination never even entered that big brain of his. When he started getting like that with you, it had made you want to weep. 

The cookies are in a tin on the counter, so you don’t have to separate from Spencer to grab them. “Here,” you say, opening it up. “Here’s the result of my day off.”

…

“Okay!” You announce loudly, covering Spencer’s paperwork with your hands. “I was under the impression that a certain someone isn’t allowed to work from home when he’s injured?”

Spencer glares at you, not that there’s any real heat behind it. “I’m bored.”

“You’re injured, honey.”

Last week, you’d gotten the most terrifying phone call from JJ, who told you in a shaky breath that Spencer had been shot. She assured you that he’d be okay, but you didn’t breathe again until you were in his arms, his voice filling all your senses. 

Despite him continuing to protest, he doesn’t stop you as you pack up everything on the table, placing it on the counter. “I know you don’t like to let your mind wander,” you acknowledge “But you need to let yourself rest a little bit. C’mon. Come sit with me in the living room, I’ll get us takeout.”

Five hours later, the two of you have binged the worst reality show you’ve ever seen. Spencer had watched most of it with his mouth slightly open, like he couldn’t even believe what he was watching. “Hey,” he whispers. “Thank you for taking care of me.” “Always.”

…

On your birthday, you get to find out what he’s been knitting. 

It’s painfully early in the morning, but you and Spencer had agreed to celebrate early, since you were both nervous about him getting called away on a case during the day. He hands it to you with a blush coloring his nose and you unwrap it gently. 

It’s a winter set. A hat, a pair of gloves, and the softest looking scarf. They’re all the same shade of yellow he picked out when you went with him to Michael’s. 

“I know it’s kind of stupid-” he starts. 

You interrupt him with a kiss, pulling him against you and letting him deepen it. He smiles against your lips. “Does that mean you like it?” “I love it, Spence.”

He’s standing above you, so you put the gifts on the table to give him room to sit on your lap. He does almost instantly, pressing his forehead against yours. “The color reminds me of you. Sunshine.” You don’t think you can ever be any happier than you are at this moment. You bask in it, in him. “You’re perfect.”

[oigimi]

. blanket .

. mozart x reader . 1.2k words . hurt/comfort, fluff .

Mozart jolted upright in the bed he shared with his beloved Liebling. The room was lightless and the air was calm, yet the musician was panting and gripping at his blankets. He wiped sweat from his brow, turning to check on you. You remained curled up in the comforters, cuddling into a yarn blanket you’d bought to share. Nothing broke your barrier of sleep. In your subconscious, nothing had even happened.

Mozart aired himself out and tried to lie back down, but images of you being torn away from him and falling victim to unspeakable punishments haunted his mind. He tried to force those horrendous thoughts back into the pits of Hell where they belonged… How could he even come up with scenarios? God, now he was going to have to live with himself knowing those were images he’d made himself. Not by choice, but in his mind, he’d dreamt up such a terrifying scene, and he was going to hold himself responsible. But what was he going to do next?

Unfortunately, Mozart’s tossing and turning had been a tad forceful, because before he knew it, a sleepy voice uttered, “Mozart? What’s wrong?”

He jerked to face you, his heart still pounding like a hammer in his delicate chest. Electing not to answer, he simply pulled you into a hug and buried his face in your shoulder. “Shh, please…” he whispered, trying not to let his voice crack. “Stay like this for a moment longer.”

“O-okay…” You held Mozart in your arms, stroking his hair with one hand and patting his back with the other. “Are you sure everything is okay? I’ve never seen you so anxious like this.” His refusal to answer told you everything you needed to know, so you nodded slowly and began to rock him. “It’s okay. I won’t force anything out of you.”

The two of you sat idly for a moment, you stroking Mozart’s hair and whispering to him, and him clinging onto you as if he was sharing with you his final moments. He shook his head and pulled away at last, looking you over. He brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear and swallowed. “You’re too kind for your own good.”

“Me? I just wanted to help calm you down.”

“Not now, just in general.”

“You think I’m too nice?”

“Yes.”

“Why? I mean, I know you think that, but why bring it up now?”

A moment of silence rang in the air, Mozart struggling to meet your gaze. How was he supposed to explain to you that he’d completely made something up in a horrible dream? That he always worried about you to the point that his own concerns disturbed him in his sleep? That he realistically didn’t have a reason at all?

When he still refused to answer, you glanced at the clock. “Three in the morning. It’s late,” you noted. “I know what’ll cheer you up. Come on.” Still gripping the yarn blanket, you’d pulled Mozart out of bed and into the kitchen, giving it to him.

“What is this? You’re going to wake Sebastian up,” Mozart huffed, trying his hardest to hide the trembling that still plagued his voice.

“No I won't! Just trust me.” You fetched some milk and poured it into a pot to warm it, turning to grin at your boyfriend, who still wore an oblivious look on his face. Not that you could really blame him. He’d seemed so shaken up from whatever woke him, and it was so late at night. You poured the milk into two cups and got a box of chocolates out from the cabinet. “Come on, let’s go relax.”

He stared at the little saucer his cup lied on and gingerly accepted it, swallowing. “Thank you, Liebling… This is very thoughtful of you.”

“I just know it’s a surefire way to get you to go back to sleep! Ah, but don’t you remember how we drank hot milk and drank chocolate after the ball the night you took me? It was so late at night, and that’s when you opened up to me for the very first time. It was a night I’ll never forget.”

“I see,” Mozart murmured. He kissed your temple and escorted you back to his bedroom, not noticing his tight grip on your blanket. When you arrived, he turned on the lamp on his nightstand and sat on his bed, taking a deep sigh and lifting the cup to his lips. The liquid seemed to ease him more and more as it traveled down his throat, warming up his body, and seemingly his heart.

“Feeling better?”

“A little.”

“Good,” you chuckled, holding a chocolate up to him. The musician cocked an eyebrow at you and opened his mouth for you to place it on his tongue. “Just like old times!”

“I suppose.”

You chuckled and sat back, drinking some of your own milk. Eating chocolate and drinking hot milk with Mozart was one of the things in life that brought nothing but tranquility to your soul, but it was the circumstances that made your heart drop. You took a deep breath and rolled your head over to look at Mozart. “So what happened? You can tell me anything, you know. I’m here for you, you-”

“I know,” Mozart interrupted, his face a little whiter than usual. He gripped your blanket and sighed, shaking his head. “How do humans create such despicable scenarios for themselves?”

You tilted your head. “What?”

“Dreams, I mean. Why do humans make such horrible images and ideas to project for themselves?”

“Oh… I don’t know,” you replied, frowning. “So you had a nightmare, huh?”

“Not just a nightmare. It was horrid, Liebling. I can’t even- I can’t bring myself to describe the details. But, I’m happy you’re safe. That’s all I ever want. Your safety is the only thing I ever worry about.”

“Mozart,” you murmured, cuddling into his shoulder. “I’m always going to be safe. Do you know why? Because I have you. I trust you. I believe in you. I love you. There’s nothing I don’t trust you to protect me from.” You paused for a moment and chuckled, “Except maybe specks of dirt.”

He rolled his eyes, holding you close to him and kissing your head again. “I would overcome it for you.”

“Aww, my hero!” You kissed Mozart’s cheek and giggled, taking the blanket from him and spread it over you both. “Here, are you feeling better now?”

He nodded and sighed, popping a few more chocolates into his mouth. “I suppose. Are you all finished with your milk?”

“Yes. Come on, it’s even later than when we woke up. We should rest now. But Mozart?”

“What is it?”

“I meant everything I said. I believe in you, and I always have and will, so you should believe in yourself. I love you so much, okay? I know you’ll always be here for me.”

Mozart chuckled and nodded, pressing your lips together in a chocolatey, sweet kiss. “Thank you, Liebling. Thank you very much.”

He leaned over to the lamp and turned the lights off, watching you retreat back into the little ball that you’d been in before he’d disturbed you. With a deep exhale, he smiled, tucking back into the sheets and snuggling into the fluffy warm blanket that you two shared.

[vanillann]

all too well (sirius black x f.reader)

sorry i’ve been in a sirius mood lately!!

inspired by “all too well” by taylor swift

word count: 3.0k (i went crazy)

warning: swearing, a small metion of sirius mother beating him (it’s barely mentioned), and ANGST 

“Black! Potter!”

Slughorn turned to the two laughing fools, each closing their mouths but small giggles managed to make it through the side of their lips.

“That’s it! Black move to sit with (L/N) and Evans will sit with Potter.”

Lily's face dropped from beside me, grabbing her book and giving me sorry eyes. She had a feeling Black wouldn’t be much better than Potter.

Both boys face lit up, Black grabbing his belongings and running to the seat beside me.

“Morning (L/N),” Black muttered, throwing his books to the table and turning to give Potter a thumbs-up behind Lily's hair.

“I think you might be a little too excited.”

“This is his chance,” Black finally turned from the two and let his head fall to lay on the wooden desk.

“Do you understand what he’s saying?”

“Nope,” I looked at the boy, a smirk playing at his lips as he slowly picked up his head.

“You’re telling me you weren’t paying attention?”

“Yep,” I popped the “p” giving a sarcastic smile before flipping through the pages of the book.

“I thought you were a goody-two-shoes.”

“You thought wrong.”

He looked to me with a little smirk, this quill passing between his fingers.

“Where have you’ve been all my life?”

*

“Sirius!”

I laughed as I felt my body collapse into the Black Lake, my body dripping in freezing water. I let myself sink further down, playing a prank on him as he waited for me to come back up.

I heard his voice muffled like he was calling my name but I couldn’t tell as I held my breath a little longer. I was about to break the surface when I saw his body dive into the water. I let his arms wrap around me as he pulled me up, my smile bright as soon as I reached the top. I took a few heavy breaths as he searched my face for god knows what.

“That wasn’t funny,” he mumbled, his arm still wrapped around me.

“It was hilarious,” I smiled, kicking off his leg and floating back to the rocks where our robes and my scarf laid. I turned, pulling myself out the water onto the rocks, Sirius at my side in seconds.

“You’re evil, vile even.”

I watched the water drip from his long dark locks, my eyes so fixated on it I didn’t notice him messing with my scarf until he turned around with him wearing it. The bright green color was wrapped around his neck, one I had found at a shop years ago but it suited him better than I ever could.

“Hand it to me?” I held my hand out waiting for the scarf but it never came.

“It’s mine until you learn to behave,” he spoke with a cocky grin, hiding the yarn behind his back as I stood up reaching for it. He ducked my hand, laughing at my bored face.

“Sirius gave it back,” I reached again but this time became closer to me, letting his lips rest on mine. My head started spinning but I quickly let my lips mold with his, my scarf long forgotten at this point.

“Oi, he did it!”

I slowly took my lips from him, looking over to the castle to see the other three of his little group waving at us, Lily standing beside Remus and James with a little smile playing at her lips.

“I’m afraid we’ve been caught, love.”

*

“Look at it!”

Sirius spun around in the center of the small apartment, his arms wide as he looked to the dirty walls and what looked to be a bloodstain on the floor.

“I see,” I spoke lightly, careful not to bust his ego in the moment.

“It’s three minutes from Moony, five minutes from Wormtail, and a direct Floo to Prongs,” he spoke with a little giggle, running up to my side and wrapping his arm around my shoulder with a kiss to the side of my face.

“It’s something,” I still couldn’t get over the bloodstain in the carpet and what looked to be a knife stuck in the wall little ways over.

“I know it’s a mess, but it just needs love like I did.”

I looked up at him, admiring the way he looked to the way with shiny new eyes. He always was much better at these things, the optimism of the relationship.

“Yeah, he can get a nice couch-” I pointed to the wall with the small curve in it.

“An L-couch, I looked it up cause I know you like sitting in corners. It can be blue, I like blue couches,” he skipped to the wall I pointed at, letting his hands run over the paint.

I smiled at his excitement and the way he knew the little things about me that I barely knew of myself.

“I like that,” I set my bag to the side and slowly walked up beside him.

“I think we should do black walls because one day you’ll have my last name and we need to keep the same energy,” he spoke as if the idea of marriage wasn’t some crazy idea.

“You want to share a last name?”

“Why of course, why else would I have stuck with you this long?”

He smiled down at me, that same cocky smile from those days at Hogwarts still played at his lips.

“Well, we have a war on th-”

“No talk of war in our new apartment,” he held a finger up to my lips, smiling as he turned to me and slowly backed me up til my back hit the wall.

“I-”

“Hush now, let’s look at where I’ll be living with the love of my life,” he turned back to my side and opened his arm to the room.

Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst with him.

*

“Look at these Polaroid!”

James came running around the corner, the pickles Lily asked for nowhere to be seen as he carried a box with stickers on it.

“Oi, blimey,” Peter jumped up, grabbing the box from James and opening it to see a box full of muggle Polaroid they’ve been taking since first year.

“It’s Sirius when he got glasses,” Remus held a Polaroid of Sirius sitting on his bed in his dorm with square-shaped glasses sitting on his nose.

“You wear glasses!” I reached for the photo, Sirius jumped for it but Remus held it back until my fingers were close enough to grab.

“That was second year,” he reached around me for it but I turned closer to Lily and her baby bump to look over the photo better.

He looked horrible mad, which made sense. I looked to the bottom that wrote ‘Sirius Nerd Phase’ and a small giggle fell past my lips.

“They’re for reading!” He finally got the photo from between my fingers, shoving it in his coat pocket most likely to burn.

“I found (Y/N) and Sirius when he brought her to the dorm,” James held up, showing Lily as I leaned over to get a look. I had all of Sirius's blankets wrapped around my body as Sirius had a pillow he was using as a blanket while he sat staring at me.

“You still steal the blankets,” he whispered in my ear, the smirk obvious in his voice as I smiled at the sight.

“I can’t help it, you fell in love with a blanket theft.”

*

“Whooo!”

I held my hands reach to the air in the convertible James let us borrow for the trip downtown. I heard Sirius giggle from beside me as we drove down the street with a smile across my face.

“I love this car, think James will want it back?” I turned to Sirius who was watching me as his eyes filtered back to the road every so often to make sure no cars came out of nowhere.

“He’ll sell it soon with the baby but I don’t think I can give my dear motorcycle up love,” he spoke gently, like you would when telling a baby no to the candy in the store.

“So you don’t want to see this image for the rest of your life?” I lifted my eyebrows at him while giving a great big smile.

“Trust me it’s drawn into my brain forever,” he reached over waiting for a kiss, the car still flying through the air as he waited for me. I reached for him but my eyes filtered to the bright red light not far above us.

“Red light!”

Sirius looked up, slamming on breaks as soon as he saw it. A giant truck flew past us as soon as the car stopped, I felt my hand reach for my heart as I let my breathing steady out.

“Sorry love wasn’t paying attention,” he mumbled out, guilt-filled. I only nodded and let myself calm from the almost accident.

“We definitely can keep this car.”

*

“Shit!”

I slammed my hand to the table, my eyes watering at the thought of the last meeting, knowing Lily and James and Alice and Frank were now going into hiding to be safe.

“Love?”

Sirius walked into the kitchen, his eyes soft for the first time in months. With the war coming up the trust he had in everyone was slowly dissipated and he felt far away so seeing him look at me with emotions felt weird.

“Hey, sorry,” I let my thumb wipe my tears, looking at the clock that read 3:28 and I felt bad for waking him up with my sniffling and anger.

“It’s fine,” he slowly walked around the counter, watching me as I turned to the fridge and opened the door to look at the empty box of cold air.

“I’ll be quiet,” I mumbled back when I felt his arms wrap around me, I was amazed as he barely touched me anymore.

“Come to bed, yeah?”

“In a minute,” I still couldn’t bring myself to sleep and I knew he’d watch me until I did.

He waited with his arms still around my waist, a small tune humming between his lips when he started swaying.

“Sirius-”

“Dance with me like we did when I proposed,” he whispered gently in my ear, bringing a shiver up my spine at how cold his breath was. I thought about it for a minute before turning in his arms and letting him sway us side to side.

When I felt tears reach my eyes I buried my head into his collar bone, small chuckles rubbed his chest.

“Stop acting as I’ve never seen you cry.”

“You act weird when I do,” my voice was muffled on his skin and I felt his gon ridge for a second before he calmed down.

“Hate to see you cry is all.”

Nothing was said as the only light that filled the room was from the fridge as we swayed back and front until I slowly fell asleep in his arms.

*

“Oh don’t go there!”

Sirius pointed a nasty finger at my chest, his once warm grey eyes cold as they color itself.

“I wouldn’t have too if you started trusting someone once in a while,” I felt the anger in my chest bubble but attempted to stay calm for his sake.

“Remus is a werewolf for crying out loud-”

“You act as he asked for it!”

He let his finger drop, his eyes full of hurt as he watched me.

“You’re sleeping with him,” his voice wasn’t even a question like he knew the answer.

“Oh my Merlin Sirius, no I’m not sleeping with your best mate-”

“James is my best mate, Remus is a traitor,” he mumbled the words, looking at me with wild eyes.

“He’s not a traitor, we don’t know who the mole is yet!”

“Oh my you are sleeping with him,” he dropped the paper that was once rolled in his hand to the floor and let his finger run through his hair.

“I’m not sleeping with him, I haven’t slept with anyone in months because apparently you don’t want to touch me anymore,” I felt the anger overflow with each word, tired of all these stupid fights were kept having.

“Oh so you’re horny so you sleep with him,” he spat out the words like venom, slowly walking closer to me with each word.

“Stop talking about him like that! He’s been your best friend for years even when you lost everything he stood right there and you’re going to backstab him? What are you going to do to me?”

I was roaring with anger, stepping closer to me with each step I took as I looked to him with anger.

“Is your plan to get me pregnant and run? Maybe ruin my reputation in the wizarding world with my dirty secrets?”

“Shut up (Y/N)-”

“Gonna beat me like mommy did you,” I wished I had stopped talking at that moment but it was too late.

“Get the hell out of this house.”

I didn’t fight, turning to grab my coat and ran out the door. I slammed the door and looked to the wall outside, my breath heavy as I ran to the phone box to call Remus, hoping for a place to stay.

*

“Merlin.”

I sat on Remus' bed, my eyes heavy as I read the letter in my hand from Sirius.

Dear (L/N),

I revoke my proposal, please send the ring back as it’s a family heirloom and has no business in a nasty hag finger-like yours.

From, you should know unless you have multiple proposals

Remus sat beside me, rubbing his hand up and down my shoulder with sad eyes as he read the letter himself.

“I’ve sent three letters apologizing and I even went to him himself,” I spoke with a shaky voice, slowly dragging the ring from my finger as I read the letter again just to make sure it was his handwriting and this wasn’t a cruel prank from James.

“Stakes are high right now, once this war is over he’ll be waiting for you.”

I tried to listen to his words but all I could focus on was the fact that all that love we once shared was fake like it wasn’t real anymore.

*

“I’m sorry about the bite, I was aiming for the rat.”

Sirius had the red-headed boy arm around him as he helped carry him from the shake.

“Hey, Moon?”

“Yes?”

“Have you’ve spoken to- uhm her?”

Remus was taken aback by the question, as he never thought he’d speak about the two in the same sentence ever again.

“After the Order broke she left for the states, haven’t spoken since.”

Sirius said nothing as they reached the end of the tunnel, sitting the boy down before looking to the Black Lake quickly. His heart broke as he knew that they'd kissed moons ago.

“Maybe you can write her-” Remus' voice sounded far away as he walked to the edge to look to the castle, where he’d meet everyone who ever meant something to him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to the air, hoping to carry his voice to the state for her to hear because she deserves that much.

*

“Wow.” 

Harry sat in amazement as I finished the many stories from Remus and I about his godfather, waiting in his empty house for the rest of the Order to arrive.

“He was on a trip,” I spoke in a cracked voice, Remus rubbing my knee as the emotions started hitting me. If only I came back a year earlier I could have seen him one last time, maybe I’d save him or maybe we’d run away together.

“He always knew what to say, you know.”

Remus picked up, sharing a few stories he felt Harry should know for the sake of the missing piece of him.

“He loved wearing another sweater,” Remus laughed at the distant memories when I fell into a loud fit of giggles.

“I never got that stupid scarf back, that bright green one with the flowers from the Black Lake,” I spoke most to Remus as he would remember it better than Harry.

“Green scarf?”

I nodded, smiling at his pleased face when he turned around with it hanging from his neck like a fashion show. Harry stood up quickly for where we sat on the floor, running to the cupboard under the stairs and looking through a box.

I couldn’t see what was in his hand until he turned back to the once-living room with it in his hand.

I felt my hand fly to my mouth, looking at that stupid scarf that Harry held between his fingers, still as bright as the day he stole it from me.

“It has something on it,” Harry walked to us, holding the scarf to me which I was scared to touch. The smallest piece of me hoped that touching it would bring him back like his soul was stuck to it or something.

I took the soft material from his hands, my brain working a mile a minute as I looked to the rolled-up letter that was pinned to the bottom of the scarf.

I quickly unpinned it, taking the parchment in-between my own fingers and read over the words that looked rushed.

Dear Goody Two Shoes,

You learned how to behave so I thought best to stick to one of my promises to you. I also returned the ring because it doesn’t fit on anyone’s finger as it did on yours, you were never a hag. Enjoy this photo and you better never show it to a soul.

From, Your Love

I felt tears stream down my face, looking at the old ring that was taped to the bottom of the parchment with the Polaroid of his beside it.

“Oh Merlin Rem, he kept it all,” my voice was strained as I spoke, Remus moved to sit beside me and brought me to his side.

Oh, Merlin, I remembered it all too well.

im horrible at angst so i’m sorry this is kinda a mess

general harry potter tag list:

@siriusmaraudeers @marauder-exe @haphazardhufflepuff

sirius black tag list:

@coldlilheart @inkhearthes

[efrmellifer]

Entanglement

It was easier to pretend that nothing was happening, that Etien was knitting because that was what a wife of the highborn did. But it wasn’t true. She wasn’t working on a specific item, so it was clear she was knitting to relieve stress.

So it was easier to pretend. But it was better to be honest.

“I think I have to go back to the First again. I know I’ve been flying back and forth, but I think I need to go back and stay there until this is all finished up.”

“Why?” Aymeric asked, doing his best to stop the waver that wanted to invade his voice.

“There’s too much temptation if I stay here.  To keep eating the forbidden fruit and forgetting to do my job. I hate to call it forsaking the cause, but with Krile handling the Scions’ bodies so well, and with them not really needing me while they debate and research how to move their souls, it’s so much easier on my mind to stay here, where I can make the argument that I’m needed. Wanted, at least.” She didn’t look at him, staring forcibly at the navy blue yarn between her fingers, trailing from the wooden bowl wedged between her legs and Aymeric’s.

Etien put down the yarn and her needles and buried her face in her hands. “And despite all that, when I’m there, it’s easier to pretend I’m a hero. That they’re going to need me, eventually. And I guess they will. That makes me important.  It makes me think, though. Am I… do I measure up to what Haurchefant thought of me?” She sighed. “Am I what any of you think of me? Edmont, you, the Scions, gods, even Garlemald?”

Aymeric moved the bowl of yarn and pulled her closer, gently guiding her to rest her head against his upper arm. “In some ways, yes. Insomuch as we who love you think that you are a good person who only wants to help as many people as she can before she collapses, you are exactly that. But in other ways, I suppose you are not a perfect match to what people think. You are, however, something better.”

She sniffled lightly. “And what’s that?”

“Yourself, Etien. Someone who deserves to be thought highly of.”

She sighed, lying down so her head was resting on Aymeric’s leg. “It’s a lot to live up to.”

He brought his hand to her head in his lap, running his fingers along her ear and stroking her hair. “I know, dearest. I know.”

“And as much as they’ll need me when it’s time to bring their souls home, they don’t need me. They just need the soul that travels back and forth with its body. I’m little but a tool. Still.”

“Still?”

“When I was nearly 19, I was just a Miqo’te living in the Black Shroud. One making a lot of poor decisions, but making them for herself. But the second I was called by Hydaelyn, I started acting under the orders of the Scions, the whims of the star.” She huffed, frustration clearly mounting. “I can’t even have children with you yet because I need to make sure I can bear everyone else back without… losing anything.” Already, her hand came to her belly protectively, as if there were something there to protect. “I’ve been dreaming a lot about Amaurot.”

Aymeric just kept stroking her hair, coaching his tone and training his thought to remain listening to her, not thinking about his own feelings about Amaurot. So he asked, quietly, “oh?”

Etien nodded, a soft “mm-hmm,” accompanying it before she kept speaking. “A lot of the time, I dream about the fight with Hades. I had a dream once Hydaelyn punished me for struggling. It… was a nightmare. A bad one.” Her ears shifted to flatten out, and Aymeric lifted his hand from her for a second.

She looked over her shoulder at him, and he returned his hand to her hair.

“You say usually. Not this time?”

“This time, I dreamed about Hythlo- Hythlodaeus, I mean. It was like my reliving my memories, like it tends to be, but this time, I realized something.” She paused, and he heard Etien’s breath change. “I felt the same way, sitting there with Hythlodaeus, that I did every time I did in Haurchefant’s company. It was such a deep friendship that if I had had the tears to weep then, I probably would have broken down. Maybe I’m lucky. If I’d been able to let go, I might not be here with you now, instead trapped in the Tempest, a glutton for aether.”

Aymeric’s hand had reached Etien’s shoulder, and there it settled, gripping her tight.

“Can you sit up, dearest?” he asked her, voice bordering on a whisper.

He heard her sniffle, then swallow. Finally, he felt her nod. She sat up, and he scooped her into his arms and against his chest. “You’re safe here. You can let go now, if you need to.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and broke down into sobs. “How much more of this do I have to bear?” she pleaded, her voice cracking.

He rubbed her back. “I wish I could tell you. All I can offer you instead of answers is my support.”

He could feel the spots of her tears on his skin, wetting his clothing. She was hiccuping, too, her stomach spasming where it was pressed to his from how close they were holding each other.

Eventually, she stopped shedding tears, and a little while after that, her breathing had settled. Aymeric hadn’t said another word since his offer of support, and didn’t intend to do so now, simply holding onto Etien, letting his fingers run along her spine every so often.

He realized at some point during this that not only was it late, but Etien’s breaths had settled so much that they sounded the same as they did when she was asleep. While he wasn’t thrilled she’d cried herself to sleep, he was thankful that it had been in the safety of his embrace, at the very least. She needed the rest, after all, if she was going to be making the journey to the First in the morning.

So he stood, making sure he still had a good grip on her, and headed for the bedroom. Slowly, due to only using one hand, he pulled back the covers and carefully laid her on the bed, deciding against getting her into her nightgown, instead just letting her sleep. He changed into his sleepwear and joined her, covering them both up. Before he settled down for the night, he leaned across the bed and kissed Etien’s forehead.

As his wish goodnight, and to encourage her even as she slept, he told her, “Wherever you go, you go with my love and support, my friend and wife, and hero besides.”

[secretlyatargaryen]

July 2019 Reviews

Games

Walden, a game - A delightful experience for those who love games and literature and the idea of them together. The best parts of the game are the quotes from Thoreau's book that appear on the screen when you examine something closely, like a fox or a maple tree, complete with great voice acting. The ecological detail put into the game is impressive. The worst part is that the game mechanics for completing tasks are clunky and there is very little time each day before the game forces you to go to sleep and begin the next day, and your hunger, fuel, and shelter meter always seems to be low, causing you to spend the majority of your daylight hours picking berries and collecting firewood. I get that this is supposed to mirror the experience of "living simply," but 1) it is boringly repetitive and if anything calls to mind the irony of “being one with nature” in a computer game and 2) there are a lot of other interesting things to do in the game which you do not have enough time to do, such as helping escaped slaves on their way to the underground railroad. I learned playing this game that Henry David Thoreau was basically every guy I met in college who hated the government and whose solution to its atrocities was to fuck off into the woods and smoke pot instead of actually doing anything about it. This analogy is completed by the fact that you are able to go into town and get food and clean laundry from your parents' house if you get too low on those things.

Black Mirror (2017) - No, not the Netflix series. This is a re-imagining of the Black Mirror series of adventure games developed in the early 2000s. The original game is considered a classic of point and click adventures but suffers from an unoriginal plot (obligatory part where I once again complain about horror games and their obsession with "Surprise! You're crazy! Dead women!") and the unfortunateness of early 3D polygon graphics. The second and third game took the series in a completely new and original direction and were quite good, so while I had never heard of the remake before I came across it during the steam summer sale, I was cautiously hopeful. Even if it was trash, it's just the kind of gothic-mystery-exploring-a-haunted-castle trash that I like to throw my money at. The gameplay is pretty fun (minus some quick time events where you can get killed by ghosts mostly by failing to operate the somewhat clunky controls - the game was originally ported for PS4) and the story is original but also expands upon the series mythos. An enjoyable trashy gothic yarn, although the story also felt incomplete, even to someone who has played the original games, and was both wrapped up too quickly and left weirdly unresolved.

Books

Greenglass House, Kate Milford - I started this book a while ago and it’s been on my radar for a while, and I restarted it again when I heard it was going to be on this year’s BOB list. A fun young adult adventure story which utilizes one of my favorite mystery tropes, the closed circle. The story is that preteen Milo lives in the eponymous house, which his family runs as an inn. The house used to be a meeting place for smugglers back in the day, which means there’s buried treasure somewhere in the house, and when the story starts a slew of guests arrive at the house and are stranded by a snowstorm, when things start getting mysterious. Someone in the house is a thief! I really like this book and the way that the story’s original folklore is woven into the plot. There are also several dungeons and dragons elements that play a role in the plot - to solve the mystery, Milo and his friend Meddy pretend to be characters in a role-playing game, and I love the way the story makes connections between games, stories, and language, since that happens to align with my interests.

Serafina and the Black Cloak, Robert Beatty - Another BOB book, this one also has been on my radar for a while because the series is very popular among my students, and when I went to Beatty’s website recently I saw that Disney had already put their name on it, lol. What I didn’t know was that the series takes place in my state. The setting is the Biltmore Estate in the late 1800s, and the story is a historical fantasy that utilizes some of the local folklore in some really interesting ways, although it’s more fantasy than historical. An enjoyable read with an interesting female protagonist.

Movies

Ready Player One - I enjoyed this movie a lot more than I thought I would. I had heard going into it that it was not a great adaptation from friends who loved the book, which I haven’t read. That might be why I did enjoyed it so much. I don’t think it’s anything that memorable, but it is enjoyable. I can see why the book became so popular, although I’ve read books with similar storylines. I guess a book like this is more relevant nowadays with the popularity of VR in the modern gaming market, but the story relied on some tired cliches nonetheless. I also was a bit annoyed when the story acknowledged the issue with the main character falling for Artemis’ idealistically beautiful avatar without really knowing her...and then had her turn out to be stunningly gorgeous in real life. Okay, she had a wine-stain disfigurement on her face, but she was still traditionally beautiful, and the main character gets to be with her in the end while meanwhile, his actual best friend, who turns out to be an unfeminine black girl in real life and who obviously has a crush on him, is left behind.

Picnic At Hanging Rock - I come across this movie on gothic film recommendation lists every so often and have wanted to watch it for years, and I happened to find it on youtube, which surprised me. The original movie is from 1975 and is a cult classic for a reason. Stunning visuals and a story that leaves you confused in the just the right way. After watching it, I was itching to learn more and came across last year’s amazon prime series with Natalie Dormer and watched all six episodes, and although the series was enjoyable and a good extension for anyone who enjoys the original movie, it does not have the charm or brilliance of the original. The series expands on the story, but part of the beauty of the original movie is the way the story is told in what isn’t said, and in carefully choreographed scenes where nobody on screen says a word. I can see why the movie is called “gothic” as it has some of the trappings of the genre. It takes place in 1900 at a remote and mysterious boarding school in Australia. Three girls vanish during a school field trip, seemingly without a trace. What happened to them may have been supernatural. Or they may have been murdered, kidnapped, or run off on their own. Also, I’m pretty sure everyone is gay.

We Have Always Lived in the Castle - I’m a huge fan of the Shirley Jackson novel which this movie is an adaptation of, and unlike Netflix’s The Haunting of Hill House, this movie is actually a fairly straight adaptation of the novel. The movie captures the gothic feel of the book as well as the anxiety about gender and class from which it gets its themes, and there are solid performances all around, but the movie does seem a bit devoid of a life of its own. Despite, and possibly because of, the voice-over narration, Merricat never really comes alive as a character the way she does in the book. This is, I think, a problem with a lot of book to movie adaptations that rely on voice-overs to tell the story. I can see the appeal of this, especially with a book like this which is both heavily steeped in POV and characterized by an unreliable narrator, but I found myself really wishing the movie would just let itself tell the story rather than the narrator.

Shows

American Gods - I watched all of season two on the starz website except for the finale, which I was told that I needed to upgrade by account to watch, so if you are watching on the website or the app be aware of that. I enjoyed season two, although it lacked some of the urgency of the first season. I do enjoy some of the adaptational choices made that update the novel a bit, such as having Technology be outsourced by New Media. Also, season two saw the arrival of my daughter, Sam Black Crow. I’m also looking forward to the Lakeside subplot next season (I assume) as it’s my favorite part of the novel.

Stranger Things - I watched the first four episodes of season one when it came out, and then for some reason never finished it. I know, I know. It didn’t take me very long to watch all three seasons, which I sort of interpreted as one as a result, although I do think there’s a drop in quality somewhere in the second/third season, but overall it’s a fun show that definitely kept me interested and invested in the characters. Also, every scene relating to the upside down motivated me to clean my bathroom.

[mythandwords]

31 Days of Spiritual Journaling part two (1 of 2)

6. Make a beginners or field guide for an important element of your practice (stones, weather, herbs, gardening, tarot, camping…)

So, I actually did write a very lengthy blog post about one element of my witchy practice. I am going to copy most of it here because I think it’s pretty useful stuff for the average witch.

Banishment spells are terrific for getting rid of unwanted things, people, or general negativity in your life.

These spells can be done at any time, but if possible, you can do them at the waning or dark moon for added efficacy.

When performing banishing, you must be calm and centered. It does not good to carry your own negative energies into banishment. So, make sure you’re well grounded, calm, centered, and in a good place before performing banishments.

Once you’ve completed a banishing, you will have an empty energetic space left over. Refill the newly created space with positive energy. You can use uplifting music, or visualization, dance or yoga, even a positive sexual act will help refill the space where the negativity was with new, positive energy! This step is often overlooked but it’s best if you can refill the space with positive energy than allow it to remain open for new, negative energy to come in.

Resources:

Lesser Banishing Ritual of the Pentagram (disclaimer – I’ve never done this one. It dates back to Alesiter Crowley and the Golden Dawn and isn’t really my style, but I’ve included it because it is a very well-known one. And if it’s your cup of tea, I say give it a try and let me know your results)

http://www.sacred-texts.com/bos/bos026.htm

Fire Banishing:

This simple banishment is perfect if you’re short on time.

Materials needed:

slip of paper

pen

fireproof surface or bowl

lighter or matches

To Work the Spell:

Write down what you’re banishing on the paper – the name of a person, or spirit or the negative energy you wish to remove (negative self-talk, bad habits, etc.).

Focus on what’s written down, visualize it in your mind as clearly as you can.

Light the paper on fire and drop it in the bowl or on the fireproof surface. As the paper burns, visualize the negativity leaving your life. Then, focus your attention on what your life will look like after the banishing takes effect.

Once the fire is out, dispose of the ashes away from your home. Scatter them into the wind or on the ground or dump them in the trash outside your home.

Use common sense and don’t do this spell on flammable surfaces, in the wind, or anywhere you can’t control the fire or your surroundings.

Candle Banishing:

Another simple banishment, this one takes more time than the fire banishing above.

Materials needed:

black candle

candle holder

lighter or matches

black pepper

salt

a knife for carving

oil (your choice here, you can use essential oils or olive oil or whatever you have at hand)

Sprinkle the salt in a circle around you and your work space. Visualize the salt protecting you during the ritual.

Visualize the target of the banishing spell. Carve your intention into the candle. Again, this can be used for banishing negative energy, a person, or a spirit.

When you’ve finished, anoint the candle with the oil and sprinkle the pepper over it. Put the candle in the holder and light it, speak your intention aloud. You may say your intention once or you may chant while the candle burns.

Allow the candle to burn itself out. Never leave a burning candle unattended. This step may take several hours, depending on the size of the candle you chose to use.

You may carve a line into the candle at the half or third way point up the candle and confine your spell work only to that portion of the candle if need be. If choosing this option, only use this candle for banishing in the future.

Poppet Banishment:

Sympathetic magic can be incredibly useful. It’s versatile and can be used for almost any purpose you can imagine. The use of a poppet has a long history in many different religious practices.

You will need to make a poppet for this banishing spell. A poppet represents a person, so it should resemble one as best you can. Feel free to be as elaborate as you wish here.

You can make your poppet from fabric, clay, wood or just about any other material. I will give you one way to make a poppet from fabric here.

Materials needed:

piece of fabric ( for banishing black is good, or something with a print like swords or fire)

thread

needle

filling (cotton balls, poly fill, old pantyhose, socks, etc.)

oils, leaves, stones, herbs, etc. to put in the poppet (you can also use something personal of the person you are wishing to banish such as hair or a photo)

Cut out a body shape from two pieces of your fabric – ideally your poppet will have a head, two arms, and two legs, and a torso. You can make your outline before cutting. It only needs to be big enough to stuff later.

Place your two pieces of fabric with the right sides together. Place the pattern (if you made one) on top and cut it out. Leave a little room around the edges for seams when you sew the poppet together. You can use a sewing machine to stitch the poppet but hand-sewing will give you the time to really focus your efforts on the magic. As you sew, visualize the person you are creating. Tell the poppet who it represents, saying something as simple as, “I made you and you are John Doe,” will work. Leave a small, unsewn space for filling the poppet – enough space to stick a couple fingers into the poppet is all you need. Turn the poppet right-side out.

Now you are going to fill the poppet with the filling you chose. You may also add the additional spell components, if you choose to use them – oils or stones or whatever you gathered. The more you can individualize the poppet, the better. Make sure you get the filling into all the crevices of the poppet. Again, as you are stuffing the poppet, tell it who it is.

Once stuffed, sew the hole up. Now are you are ready to decorate and customize the outside of the poppet. You can dress your poppet like the intended, draw any tattoos or distinguishing features onto the poppet if you wish. Add hair from string or yarn or whatever you have at hand. Tell the poppet who it represents as you do this step as well. You can tell the poppet how much you dislike it, and how much better your life would be without the person.

Now that you have your poppet, you can perform a banishing spell on it.

A simple spell is to light a fire beneath the poppet with a candle. The intent is not to burn the poppet up but to single the bottom of the poppet. Tell the poppet that the person it represents is hurrying out of your life. Once done, take the poppet somewhere away from your home and bury it.

7. Engage with the theme of love. What does that mean to you?

Wow love. Romantic love. Familial love. Friendship. Love comes in all shapes and sizes and there is no wrong or right way to feel, find, and enjoy love. Yes, before you give me grief, I know there are toxic people. I know love can be used as abuse. I know all the negative there is in the world. But, this is my forum, my answers to prompts, and my positivity (that hopefully inspires you or makes you feel better). And my desire is to spread good into the world so I’ll be focusing on that. If you want a forum for the other side, I’m happy to oblige that too. Just reach out and we’ll get negative together.

For now, let me take you on a journey about the meaning of love as it relates to my spirituality.

If you look up the definition of love you will find that it talks a lot about attraction, attachment, devotion, and affection. You might even find a reference to loyal and benevolent love as of God’s fatherly concern for humanity.

And those are all good and right ways to define love. Except. Except for that one about loyal and benevolent fatherly concern for humanity. Is it though? Do we assume our gods to be like humans and treat us with fatherly concern? Sure. That’s one way to put a focus on it. And I’ve got no doubt that the gods do love humanity. Because without humanity, what are the gods? Our belief gives them structure in which to work with us. Without our belief they are thunder and lightning, sun and moon, the mundane and the everyday. It is only with the addition of our own belief, our own spirituality, that the gods take shape at all. That does not mean to say they do not exist without our belief, only that they cease to be ‘gods,’ to us and become ‘life.’

It is our love that gods need. Just as it is the acceptance and guidance of the gods that humans need. Love. In both directions. Symbiosis in the most literal, powerful way. We need one another to be spiritually complete. And that’s an amazing way to be. Existence with the divine because the divine need us too. Neat.

8. Take notes on a book, article, video, or guide about something you’d like to do soon.

Gods, this is an easy one. I’ve a bucket list as long as my arm of things I want to do before I die. One of the ones that has popped back to the top of the list lately is to take my family to Iceland. I am a traveler who has been staying put a bit too much of late…just waiting for my kid to be old enough to enjoy some of the places in the world that I adore. And this year, Iceland is top of the list.

I don’t even have to take up a lot of your reading time here on this one. I will just point you to the website I use for my “notes” on the trip: https://www.icelandtours.is/en/

Iceland is amazing. I realize not everyone has the funds to travel, or to travel extensively. But. If you ever find yourself in the position where you can scrape together the money to go…Iceland is just beautiful and the Iceland Tours website has a lot of great options out there for you to do.

9. Did you have experience being pagan/witchy in school? Advice for kids who grow up in a pagan/witchy home?

I was weird in school. I’m sure that comes as a shock to…probably no one who reads my blog, really. I’m still weird in life. Ha. I wasn’t pagan. I was kind of witchy but it was low-key witchy and remained separate from almost everyone at school, save the one or two other kids who were also low-key witchy. So, I was kind of in the broom closet about my witchy side back then. Advice for being kids growing up in a pagan/witchy household…I can give some of that. I’ve got a kid so I feel entitled to speak on it. Hubs is mainstream Christian. I’m (looks at self) whatever this is…hey, I just call it like I see it…anyway. My son rides a line where his father’s religion is out there and socially acceptable…and mom is…weird. I make no secret of what I do, but I also don’t really push my agenda on my kid, if you can get behind that. He is allowed to, and encouraged to, ask questions of both of us about what we believe…and shockingly, he's allowed to formulate his own thoughts on what spirituality and religion mean to him. He is a member of a mainstream church…which we don’t attend. Hubs is lassie-faire about religion and disagrees with some of the teachings of his own religion, so he’s OK with his son asking/questioning/learning about this stuff in a holistic, natural way. My advice to kids in similar situations is to do what my son does…ask, learn, grow at your own pace and in your own way. It’s up to your parents to raise you to be a moral, upstanding member of society who can pull your own weight one day. But that doesn’t mean your parents get to decide what your spirituality will look like for you. They can point you in a direction and hope for the best (whatever that looks like) and they ought to answer questions to help you learn as best they can. I hope you all get the opportunity to do that. Ask. Learn. Grow. That’s my advice for what it’s worth.

10. What are your core values? Challenge yourself to list them and explain your choices. (Need help? Get started by looking at formalized lists like the 9 noble virtues, et.)

Gotta go with the Hávamál for this one to start….then I will digress because not all of the Hávamál isterribly nice to women…but it’s a jumping off point toward a greater understanding of values and morals and ‘right.’

Working my way through the stanzas:

Look before you leap. The Hávamál recommends you look around before you advance through the doorway because you can’t know for sure what enemies are there without checking. So, look before you leap.

2 through 4. Be a good host. Offer hospitality. Food. Clothing. This is an easy one. And, for me, extends beyond the borders of my own home. Making offerings of hospitality should be done whenever and wherever I may find myself. My hospitality might just be standing in solidarity with someone else, or it might be traditional food or drink or a place to rest your weary bones.

5 and 6. Think before you speak. Don’t be so sure of yourself that you end up looking stupid through your assumed knowledge. Really. Good life advice.

[geekmama]

Surprising

A belated entry for Day 6 of Molly Hooper Appreciation Week, in the same “All Holiday” series I’ve been pursuing lately...

Birthdays at “the cake place” -- Marcelline’s, a ten minute walk from 221B -- had recently become an established tradition for the small, bemused coterie of persons privileged to call themselves friends of Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock had still been on the mend from his latest foray into drug addiction when he’d been the first to be honored, polishing off a slice of Triple Chocolate Gateau with an alacrity that had astonished his minders, accustomed as they were to his finicking (or nonexistent) appetite. A few weeks later, Sherlock, John, and Molly had treated Mrs. Hudson on her natal day. She had, as was proper, declined to share her true age, but she had thoroughly enjoyed the Mango and Blackcurrent Mousse she’d chosen from the menu and startled them once again with a few offhand remarks about her unconventional history. Then, about a month after the Sherrinford debacle, it had been Greg Lestrade’s turn (Strawberry Tart) -- a surprise gathering arranged by Sally Donovan. Sherlock and Sally’s interactions on that occasion seemed to indicate they’d more or less buried the hatchet, and if he and Molly had felt a bit awkward, Greg had only been unabashedly thrilled. 

Molly had noticed that Greg’s joyous reaction to the unexpected event had intrigued Sherlock, but she was unaware of the exact extent of his interest and the reason for it until her own birthday rolled around. 

The morning started out in quite an ordinary fashion. She’d somehow failed to ask for the day off, so she’d actually had to work, and it turned out to be exceptionally busy. By the time her shift was ending, she was so tired that she almost decided to text Sherlock and beg off coming to Marcelline’s at all. He would understand. He was, after all, a great part of the reason for her weariness, having kept her up half the night before again in the most delightfully devastating fashion. 

This had happened all too often in the several weeks since the events following Meena’s Hen Night, events that had finally altered her relationship with Sherlock in the best possible way, a true testament to the efficacy of drunkenness and forcible debauchery as he’d later observed with a cheeky glint in his eye. She could hardly argue with that, or with his apparent determination to make up for lost time. His zeal was admirable, if exhausting, and since his bent for observation, deduction, and scientific inquiry were leavened with a wonderfully tender regard, she hesitated to voice even the mildest complaint. However, it was becoming obvious to her that a regimen of love-making interspersed with light dozing until three or four (or five) in the morning would not do, at least not on work nights. 

She changed her mind about texting him, though. Once she left Barts, got outside in the rain-washed air of that early spring evening, she felt a great deal better. A short ride on the Tube, an easy walk through the familiar Marylebone streets, and she entered Marcelline’s with a smile of pleasant anticipation. 

And then a roar of “Surprise!” echoed through the cake-scented air, and suddenly she really was wide awake. 

It was the biggest gathering yet: John and Rosie, and Mrs. Hudson, with Mr. Chatterjee hovering near; Greg Lestrade with Donovan, Anderson, and Hopkins; Meena and her new husband; and several colleagues from Barts, including Mike Stamford, his wife, and the three oldest of their five children. 

Sherlock was the first to come toward her, saying,, “I tried to get Mycroft to come, too, but Alicia is out of town at present and seemed unable to guilt him into it via text.” 

She laughed, saw that he was holding out his hands and took them in hers. “You did this?”

“Do you like it?” 

She wanted to leap up, wrap her arms about his neck and snog him senseless, but she only had time to squeeze his hands tight and reply, “Yes!” before they were surrounded and she had to let him go to turn and greet everyone else.

 *

 “I’ve never had a surprise party before,” she said to him later as they walked along, her hand tucked in his arm. They were headed over to Angelo’s, just the two of them now, looking forward to a light post-cake supper. 

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Sherlock said with a smile. 

“It was such an inspiration to invite Mike’s children. They were adorable when they took Rosie under their collective wing.” 

“Mmm. They didn’t seem to mind being relegated to the Children’s Table. I always hated that, when I was growing up, but I can certainly see the advantages of it as an adult.” 

“Oh, yes. And eating dessert first, that’s another advantage. That lovely little salad with the shrimp that Angelo makes will be perfect to follow. And it was so kind of Mrs. Hudson to offer to take my gifts back to Baker Street so we could walk to Angelo’s. Everyone was too generous!” Molly sighed happily, remembering the beautiful silk scarf she’d received from Mrs. Hudson, Mike and Betty’s Amazon gift card, the NSY crowd’s big tin of Milk Caramel Praline Sea Salt Truffles from London’s most prestigious chocolatier, Charbonnel et Walker, and the pretty new jumper from John and Rosie (“Another fruit-based cardigan?” Sherlock had muttered, to which Molly had replied, “Hush, you! I love it!”). 

But now Sherlock had fallen oddly quiet, and presently Molly looked up at him. 

He glanced down at her, not quite smiling, then looked away again.  But then he said, “I… I have a gift for you, too.” 

“Oh! I thought the party itself was your gift!” He’d arranged for everything, reserving the whole shop and paying for everyone’s choice of cake and other refreshments at what she knew must have been considerable expense. 

“Well, that. But I have something else for you.” He slowed, stopped, looked undecided for a moment, then pulled her over to the entrance to an alley -- a fairly clean, respectable one, running between Petersham’s Books and the back of a gourmet food shop. There were shadows, as it was growing dark -- a few stars could already be seen between breaks in the clouds -- but there was a light by the back porch of the food shop that cast a pleasant golden glow. 

Still: an alley! “Can’t this wait until we arrive at Angelo’s?” she asked as he reached into an inner pocket of his coat. 

“No,” he said firmly, though it was obvious to her that he was tense, troubled. “Open it now. I… I’m not certain… well… here.” 

And he drew out a small, flat, brightly wrapped parcel. 

She did not take it at once. The wrapping was a shiny red, and it was tied with silky black yarn, and there was a tag. 

It looked exactly like her gift to him on that terrible Christmas Eve so many years before. 

She looked up at him, suddenly wary. But his lips were set in a firm line, and his eyes were… afraid. This was no teasing joke, then. There was some serious intent behind it. 

She steadied herself, and solemnly took the box, happy to see that her hand did not tremble. 

The tag read, as she’d known it would, 

  Dearest Molly Love, Sherlock x x x

 Her lip quivered, very slightly. 

“Open it,” he said, his voice intense. 

She slipped the silken tie off the corners and carefully loosened the paper from around the box. He took the wrappings from her and shoved them in his pocket, and she found herself holding her breath as she drew the lid off and looked inside. Two narrow envelopes lay there. The kind that held tickets. 

Her Christmas gift to Sherlock on that long ago night had held only one envelope: two tickets for the London Philharmonic, with Itzhak Perlman performing Vivaldi. 

Memories swirled through her head, old pain once again brought to the fore: climbing the stairs to 221B to deliver some body part to him and for the first time hearing him play his violin; gathering her courage to try once more to make an impression on him, allow him to see what he meant to her, hoping he would understand that it was no infatuation (well it was, but it wasn’t only that); agonizing over what to wear, and then throwing caution to the winds entirely with that black dress, heels that were too high, earrings that she’d thought festive but realized later were simply ridiculous. Her hair. Her make-up. God, she had tried so hard… 

She bit her lip, her eyes stinging. Picked up one of the envelopes and drew out the tickets… so many… good heavens… 

“What… is this the whole season?” she gasped, looking up at him. 

“Molly, please don’t cry,” he said softly. 

She forced a laugh, and sniffed, blinking back tears. “No. Sorry. But Sherlock--” 

“Eleven performances. For you, and for… whomever you like.” 

She pursed her lips. “For you, too, then, obviously.” 

He smiled just a little, but then grew solemn again. “I know my apology that night was not enough. I… I didn’t even open your gift until days after Christmas, and then… did you really have to work the night of the concert?” 

She flushed a little. “I had Mike rearrange the schedule. On the off-chance you’d ask me… and you did! But… I couldn’t bear it.” She sniffed again, and bit her lip. 

“Molly!” he whispered, and gathered her against him. 

She hugged him fiercely. Thinking how very far they’d both come since that night. 

And then the box slipped from her fingers. 

“Oh! Sherlock, I’ve dropped them! Let me go!” 

He laughed, releasing her, and together they bent and picked up the tickets, many of which had come out of the too-stuffed envelopes. 

Finally she stood up and carefully counted them. “I think I have them all. Twenty-two?” 

“Yes. Mostly symphonies. I think you’ll enjoy them.” 

“I know I will. Did… did you enjoy the one I gave you? Was Itzhak Perlman brilliant?” 

“According to all reports. I… er… gave the tickets to Mrs. Hudson and she took Mr. Chatterjee.” 

“Oh, Sherlock!” she exclaimed, frowning. 

“Molly, how could I go and enjoy it after… everything. If you had been willing to go…” 

“So it’s my fault!” But she almost laughed. 

He smiled crookedly. “You’ll get some good use out of that black dress, now.” 

She frowned again, with narrowed eyes. “I gave it to charity at the first opportunity.” 

“Oh.” He hesitated, then blurted, “You did look lovely--” 

“Sherlock!” 

“--except for the earrings, they were a bit much.” 

She sighed, shaking her head, suppressing a chuckle.

He said, suddenly inspired, “I could take you shopping!” 

“No!” 

“No?” 

“Well, maybe,” she conceded. “I have a couple of dresses that would work, but I can’t wear the same things to eleven performances -- not with the kind of attention you get from the media. But give me a chance. I may surprise you.” 

And at that, he finally grinned and pulled her close again. “You’ve always surprised me, Molly Hooper,” he said. “In the best possible ways.” And he kissed her.

 ~.~

[choisgirls]

Hello!! RFAs reaction to MC who casts spells? Like lights candles and casts spells like a little witch. MC started because she found spells online and tried them out, but they actually seemed to work! Whether or not they really do is up to you haha

A/N: guys idk if youknow this but i’m actually really into witchcraft- like magick, crystals,spirituality, spells, sO MANY DIFFERENT THINGS and i just im soRRY IM SOEXCITED FOR THIS REQUEST but i toned it down a little to spare y'all ~Admin 404

*YOOSUNG:

           -He was the one to bring the idea upin the first place, actually!

           -“MC!!! I can’t rememberanything! I’ve studied this same page for the past hour or so and I can’tremember ANY of it. Uhg, why can’t there be any kind of magic to help me withthis? You know, kind of like Harry Potter? Or the magic spells in LOLOL!!”

           -Now you weren’t witch-savvy but youwere determined to find something that could help him!! Or at least make himfeel as if he’s being helped! He needed to pass this upcoming test and seeinghim suffer made you feel terrible!

           -So, thanks to the internet, youfound a sort of “Study star” spell for him! You explain it to him andhe is so!!! ready!!! to try!!

           -You light up an orange candle, ashe focuses on the light. You had him draw a seven point star, had him dab a smudgeof sage oil in the center of the star and on his forehead between his eyes. Youalso had him repeat the chant a few times.

           -You had him keep the paper in hishand the whole time he studied, and when he was done, he blew out the candle

           -Neither of you knew if it didanything but he did have to admit that he was excited to try it anyway!!

           -He came home the next day from histest extremely hyper, loud, and just all around excited puppy yoosung

           -“MC! MC! I PASSED! I PASSED ITWITH FLYING COLOURS! IT WORKED, THE SPELL-THINGY WORKED! OH MY GOD WE HAVE TODO IT EVERY SINGLE TIME”

           -He was yelling in excitement,jumping on the other half of the couch as you bounced up and down on the otherhalf due to him. You agreed to do it every time he need to study, so he couldget and keep his grades up!

*ZEN:

           -He was disappointed about notgetting the part he wanted in a play

           -And the moment he walked into yourguy’s home, you were practically hit in the face with his negative aura

           -“Oh no, nonono, step backoutside”

           -You pushed him out of the frontdoor and he stood there completely confused. Too confused to even ask what wasgoing on, or attempt to re-enter the home

           -He watched as you mixed salt andgarlic and sprinkled it along the doorsteps, the windowsills, any entry pointto the house

           -“MC what in the world are youdoing can I please come inside now?? What are your sprinklingeverywhere??”

           -You explained that you protectedthe house from negative influences, and that now he was able to enter the house

           -“I don’t want your negativeenergy up in here Zen, so I’m protecting our home. Now, come on inside and tellme what’s wrong, love”

           -HE DIDN’T KNOW YOU WERE INTO THISKIND OF STUFF???? MC can you give me more protection things? Self-care? BeauTYSPELLS????

           -You just sigh every time he asksbut you do secretly draw him an herbal protection bath at least once a monthand he just thinks you buy the MOST amazing bath salts because they smell andmake him feel a m a z i n g

*JAEHEE:

           -You’ve noticed her stress lately,it’s not like she hides it well

           -And you wanted to help!! But youjust COULDN’T think of a spell to help

           -You thought of maybe combining twoof them, but suddenly you had an idea!

           -You ran up to her with a bag fullof different colour yarn, and told her the meaning of each colour. She wasthrown off and wasn’t sure why you were telling her, but she played along

           -“You have to pick oneaccording to how you feel, as in what kind of problems you’re having! Did youpick one? Oh good! Okay, the next thing you need to do is hold it taut. Gotit?”

           -She followed your directionssilently. She knew you believed in things like spells and magic and she wantedto respect you although she didn’t believe in it herself. Besides, she knowsyou’re just trying to help, and she can’t complain about that!

           -“Okay now, concentrate on allof your problems you’re having. Really visualize them as you tie knots intoyarn. Yes, just like that! You’re tying up the problems and they can’t getaway!”

           -She held it out to you when she wasdone visualizing, “Alright now what? Do we do something about visualizingthe same problems and untie the knots, as if we’re letting go of- MC where areyou going?”

           -You snatched the yarn from herwhile she talked, holding it far out in front of you as if it was evil, and youran outside. She watched as you tried to quickly dig a hole in the dirt andthrow the yarn in it, figuratively burying her problems

           -She shook her head and couldn’thelp but smile. She didn’t feel any problems go away, but she did get happierknowing you wanted to help her bad enough that you’d run outside and try to diga hole with one hand

*JUMIN:

           -He came home one day to find yourubbing some sort of liquid across your wrist, heart, and forehead. And onlythose places. He was thoroughly confused. You weren’t new to spell casting buthe’s never SEEN you do it

           -It smelt like a mix of lemon juice,mint, basil, and a few more that he couldn’t place off the top of his head

           -He asked what you were doing andyou just smiled at him, shrugging before you answered

           -“I made a spell! I boiledbasil, bay leaves, coriander, lemon juice,-” He watched you list several thingsoff but just tilted his head to the side out of confusion

           -“You…casted… a spell? Likeas in magic? And witches?”

           -“Yeah! I casted itbecause…well.. I just wanted to strengthen our relationship and make sure ourlove is there and strong at all times…”

           -You looked down at your feet,pouting a little bit, hoping you didn’t freak him out, but he kissed yourforehead instead

           -“Oh, MC, you didn’t need aspell for that. The love I have for you is immense, there’s no need toworry”

           -Which wOW you couldn’t tell if thatwas just him being honest with you or if your spell DID work. You’d have to tryanother one to see if it worked.

           -“But um, MC? What can I usedto wash this mixture off because I really dislike the taste. I probably shouldhave kissed your cheek instead.”

*SAEYOUNG:

           -Can’t tell me nerd boy hasn’t triedto recreate spells from Harry Potter or the show Charmed

           - i also believe that he’s trieda few protection spells for saeran growing up

           -But lately you’ve noticed he’s hada string of nightmares and you felt terrible! Watching him wake up completelyfreaked out broke your heart

           -You weren’t sure how to reallybring up the idea of performing a spell, so you just blurted it out

           -He just nodded and smiled towardsyou before saying, “Yeah I was thinking the same thing. Last time they gotreally bad I tired one and it seemed to help. Maybe with you doing it with me,it’ll work even better!!!!”

           - im sorry last time you whAT

           -You threw your shock out of thewindow when he pulled out the items you needed- salt, rosemary, rose petals,glass bowl, valerian, and polish moonstone

           -WheRE DID HE HAVE THESE THINGS ANDWHY DIDN’T YOU KNOW ABOUT IT

           -Helped him find a place by the bedto put the bowl where he wouldn’t accidently knock it over

           -Overall you had no real part inthis?? He did it all himself??? You weren’t NEW to witchcraft or anythingbut??? You’re just disappointed that you had nO IDEA HE WAS INTO IT

*V:

           -He travels often for hisphotography

           -But this most recent trip, therewas a little hiccup and made the trip a little dangerous

           -And you DID. NOT. LIKE. IT.

           -So you were determined to make surehe was safe every time he left the house

           -You were new to the whole magickaspect, and decided to find something on the internet and see if it would helpat all

           -(Or at least help ease your mindabout him leaving)

           -You decided to make a “SafeTravel” charm for him!!!

           -Crying a little on the inside asyou tore a bit of your red flannel shirt (MC it’s not like it fits anymore,it’ll be okay), placed some dirt, large pieces of rock salt, and one of yourfavourite silver rings into it. The moment you were done sewing it into alittle bag, you rushed to give it to him

           -He was surprised at the gift, buthis heart immediately MELTED when you told him what it was, what it’s made of,and why you made it. HONESTLY DIDN’T WANT TO LEAVE ON TRIPS AFTER THAT, howcould he worry his MC that much??

           -He swore to be 500% careful when heleft the house, and NEVER do anything to make you worry. Neither of you knew ifthe charm actually worked the way it was supposed to, but it did remind himthat he needed to take your feelings into account when he takes trips

*SAERAN:

           -He’s seen you participate in spellsand rituals before

           -He’s even read up about the magick!Mainly because he was interested in the black magick aspect before meeting you

           -Now that he’s met you, and youparticipate in the white magick, he figures what could it hurt.

           -He’s been pretty down lately, andyou felt horrible about it! The both of you knew nothing really caused it, but youstill wanted to try to help

           -He was walking into the room to askyou a question about this new movie he saw, but noticed you were sitting at thealtar you set up

           -You were sitting in front of 3yellow candles, he could smell cedar, and he watched you sprinkle some herbsaround the candles

           -He kept hearing you mutter to yourself,and he decided not to disturb you. But once you were done, he definitelyquestioned just what you were doing

           -“You were testing a happinessspell? What for? Are you not happy, MC? Is everything alright?” Heactually got REALLY worried like oh nO MY MC IS SAD???

           -“No, no! I wanted to see if itworked because… I mean, if it does work I was gonna suggest you try it.You’ve been down lately and I just want to help but I guess I should have justasked if you wanted help and I’m sor-”

           -He cut you off before you couldapologize by hugging you. He muttered a thank you before he kissed the side ofyour head. He agreed to try the spell with you, as well! that was easy,thought i’d have to fight more

[nehigrape]

BOOMERANG

BOOMERANG by OSCAR COOK

 Warwick threw himself into a chair beside me, hitched up his trousers, and, leaning across, tapped me on the knee.

          “You remember the story about Mendingham which you told me?” he asked.

          I nodded. I was not likely to forget that affair.

          “Well,” he went on, “I’ve got as good a one to tell you. Had it straight from the filly’s mouth, so to speak—and it’s red-hot.”

          I edged away in my chair, for there was something positively ghoulish in his delight, in the coarse way which he referred to a woman, and one who, if my inference were correct, must have known tragedy. But there is no stopping Warwick: he knows or admits no finer feelings or shame when his thirst for “copy” is aroused. Like the little boy in the well-known picture, “he won’t be happy till he’s ‘quenched’ it.”

          I ordered drinks, and when they had been served and we were alone, bade him get on with his sordid story.

          “It’s a wild tale,” he began, “of two planter fellows in the interior of Borneo—and, as usual, there’s a woman.”

          “The woman?” I could not refrain from asking, thinking of his earlier remark.

          “The same,” he replied. “A veritable golden-haired filly, only her mane is streaked with grey and there’s a great livid scar or weal right round her neck. She’s the wife of Leopold Thring. The other end of the triangle is Clifford Macy.”

          “And where do you come in? “ I inquired.

          Warwick closed one eye and pursed his lips.

          “As a spinner of yarns,” he answered sententiously. Then, with a return to his usual cynicism, “The filly is down and out, but for some silly religious scruples feels she must live. I bought the story, therefore, after verifying the facts. Shall I go on?”

          I nodded, for I must admit I was genuinely interested. The eternal triangle always intrigues: set in the wilds of Borneo it promised a variation of incident unusually refreshing in these sophisticated days. Besides, that scar was eloquent.

          Warwick chuckled.

          “The two men were partners,” he went on, “on a small experimental estate far up in the interior. They had been at it for six years and were just about to reap the fruits of their labours very handsomely. Incidentally, Macy had been out in the Colony the full six years—and the strain was beginning to tell. Thring had been home eighteen months before, and on coming back had brought his bride, Rhona.

          “That was the beginning of the trouble. It split up the partnership: brought in a new element: meant the building of a new bungalow.”

          “For Macy?” I asked.

          “Yes. And he didn’t take kindly to it. He had got set. And then there was the loneliness of night after night alone, while the others—you understand?”

          I nodded.

          “Well,” Warwick continued, “the expected happened. Macy flirted, philandered, and then fell violently in love. He was one of those fellows who never do things by halves. If he drank, he’d get fighting drunk: if he loved, he went all out on it: if he hated—well, hell was let loose.”

          “And—Mrs. Thring?” I queried, for it seemed to me that she might have a point of view.

          “Fell between two stools—as so many women of a certain type do. She began by being just friendly and kind—you know the sort of thing—cheering the lonely man up, drifted into woman’s eternal game of flirting, and then began to grow a little afraid of the fire she’d kindled. Too late she realized that she couldn’t put the fire out—either hers of Macy’s—and all the while she clung to some hereditary religious scruples.

          “Thring was in many ways easygoing, but at the same time possessed of a curiously intense strain of jealous possessiveness. He was generous, too. If asked, he would share or give away his last shirt or crust. But let him think or feel that his rights or dues were being curtailed or taken and—well, he was a tough customer of rather primitive ideas.

          “Rhona—that’s the easiest way to think of the filly—soon found she was playing a game beyond her powers. Hers was no poker face, and Thring began to sense that something was wrong. She couldn’t dissemble, and Macy made no attempt to hide his feelings, He didn’t make it easy for her, and I guess from what the girl told me, life about this time was for her a sort of glorified hell—a suspicious husband on one hand, and an impetuous, devil-may-care lover on the other. She was living on a volcano.”

          “Which might explode any minute,” I quietly said.

          Warwick nodded.

          “Exactly; or whenever Thring chose to spring the mine. He held the key to the situation, or, should I say, the time-fuse? The old story, but set in a primitive land full of possibilities. You’ve got me?”

          For answer I offered Warwick a cigarette, and, taking one myself, lighted both.

          “So far,” I said, “with all your journalistic skill you’ve not got off the beaten track. Can’t you improve?”

          He chuckled, blew a cloud of smoke, and once again tapped my knee in his irritating manner.

          “Your cynicism,” he countered, “is but a poor cloak for your curiosity. In reality you’re jumping mad to know the end, eh?”

          I made no reply, and he went on.

          “Well, matters went on from day to day till Rhona became worn to the proverbial shadow. Thring wanted to send her home, but she wouldn’t go. She owed a duty to her husband: she couldn’t bear to be parted from her lover, and she didn’t dare leave the two men alone. She was terribly, horribly afraid.

          “Macy grew more and more openly amorous and less restrained. Thring watched whenever possible with the cunning of an iguana. Then came a rainy, damp spell that tried nerves to the uttermost and the inevitable stupid little disagreements between Rhona and Thring—mere trifles, but enough to let the lid off. He challenged her��—”

          “And she?” I could not help asking, for Warwick has, I must admit, the knack of keeping one on edge.

          “Like a blithering but sublime little idiot admitted that it was all true.”

          For nearly a minute I was speechless. Somehow, although underneath I had expected Rhona to behave so, it seemed such a senseless, unbelievable thing to do. Then at last I found my voice.

          “And Thring?” I said simply.

          Warwick emptied his glass at a gulp.

          “That’s the most curious thing in the whole yarn,” he answered slowly. “Thring took it as quietly as a lamb.”

          “Stunned?” I suggested.

          “That’s what Rhona thought: what Macy believed when Rhona told him what had happened. In reality he must have been burning mad, a mass of white-hot revenge controlled by a devilish, cunning brain: he waited. A scene or a fight—and Macy was a big man—would have done no good. He would get his own back in his own time and in his own way. Meanwhile, there was the lull before the storm.

          “Then, as so often happens, Fate played a hand. Macy went sick with malaria—really ill—and even Thring had to admit the necessity for Rhona to nurse him practically night and day. Macy owed his eventual recovery to her care, but even so his convalescence was a long job. In the end Rhona too crocked up through overwork, and Thring had them both on his hands. This was an opportunity better than he could have planned—it separated the lovers and gave him complete control.

          “Obviously the time was ripe, ripe for Thring to score his revenge.

          “The rains were over, the jungle had ceased wintering, and spring was in the air. The young grass and vegetation were shooting into new life: concurrently all the creepy, crawly insect life of the jungle and estate was young and vigorous and hungry too. These facts gave Thring the germ of an idea which he was not slow to perfect—an idea as devilish as man could devise.”

          Warwick paused to press out the stub of his cigarette, and noticing that even he seemed affected by his recital, I prepared myself as best I could for a really gruesome horror. All I said, however, was, “Go on.”

          “It seems,” he continued, “that in Borneo there is a kind of mammoth earwig—a thing almost as fine and gossamer as a spider’s web, as long as a good-sized caterpillar, that lives on waxy secretions. These are integral parts of some flowers and trees, and lie buried deep in their recesses. It is one of the terrors of these particular tropics, for it moves and rests so lightly on a human being that one is practically unconscious of it, while, like its English relation, it has a decided liking for the human ear: on account of man’s carnivorous diet the wax in this has a strong and very succulent taste.”

          As Warwick gave me those details, he sat upright on the edge of his easy-chair. He spoke slowly, emphasizing each point by hitting the palm of his left hand with the clenched fist of his right. It was impossible not to see the drift and inference of his remarks.

          “You mean——?” I began.

          “Exactly,” he broke in quickly, blowing a cloud of smoke from a fresh cigarette which he had nervously lighted. “Exactly. It was a devilish idea. To put the giant earwig on Macy’s hair just above the ear.”

          “And then��?” I knew the fatuousness of the question, but speech relieved the growing sense of ticklish horror that was creeping over me.

          “Do nothing. But rely on the filthy insect running true to type. Once inside Macy’s ear, it was a thousand-to-one chance against it ever coming out the same way: it would not be able to turn: to back out would be almost an impossibility, and so, feeding as it went, it would crawl right across inside his head, with the result that——”

          The picture Warwick was drawing was more than I could bear: even my imagination, dulled by years of legal dry-as-dust affairs, saw and sickened at the possibilities. I put out a hand and gripped Warwick’s arm.

          “Stop, man!” I cried hoarsely. “For God’s sake, don’t say any more. I understand. My God, but the man Thring must be a fiend!”

          Warwick looked at me, and I saw that even his face had paled.

          “Was,” he said meaningly. “Perhaps you’re right, perhaps he was a fiend. Yet, remember, Macy stole his wife.”

          “But a torture like that! The deliberate creation of a living torment that would grow into madness. Warwick, you can’t condone that!”

          He looked at me for a moment and then slowly spread out his hands.

          “Perhaps you’re right,” he admitted. “It was a bit thick, I know. But there’s more to come.”

          I closed my eyes and wondered if I could think of an excuse for leaving Warwick; but in spite of my real horror, my curiosity won the day.

          “Get on with it,” I muttered, and leant back, eyes still shut, hands clenched. With teeth gritted together as if I myself were actually suffering the pain of that earwig slowly, daily creeping farther into and eating my brain. I waited.

          Warwick was not slow to obey.

          “I have told you,” he said, “that Rhona had to nurse Macy, and even when he was better, though still weak, Thring insisted on her looking after him, though now he himself came more often.

          “One afternoon Rhona was in Macy’s bungalow alone with him: the house-boy was out. Rhona was on the veranda: Macy was asleep in the bedroom. Dusk was just falling: bats were flying about: the flying foxes, heavy with fruit, were returning home: the inevitable house rats were scurrying about the floors: the lamps had not been lit. An eerie, devastating hour. Rhona dropped some needlework and fought back tears. Then from the bedroom came a shriek. ‘My head! My ear! Oh, God! My ear! Oh, God! The pain!’

          “That was the beginning. The earwig had got well inside. Rhona rushed in and did all she could. Of course, there was nothing to see. Then for a little while Macy would be quiet because the earwig was quiet, sleeping or gorged. Then the vile thing would move or feed again, and Macy once more would shriek with the pain.

          “And so it went on, day by day. Alternate quiet and alternate pain, each day for Macy, for Rhona a hell of nerve-rending expectancy. Waiting, always waiting for the pain that crept and crawled and twisted and writhed and moved slowly, ever slowly, through and across Macy’s brain.”

          Warwick paused so long that I was compelled to open my eyes. His face was ghastly. Fortunately I could not see my own.

          “And Thring?” I asked.

          “Came often each day. Pretended sorrow and served out spurious dope—Rhona found the coloured water afterwards. He cleverly urged that Macy should be carried down to the coast for medical treatment, knowing full well that he was too ill and worn to bear the smallest strain. Then when Macy was an utter wreck, broken completely in mind and body, with hollow, hunted eyes, with ever-twitching fingers, with a body no part of which he could properly control or keep still, the earwig came out—at the other ear.

          “As it happened, both Thring and Rhona were present. Macy must have suffered an excruciating pain, followed as usual by a period of quiescence: then, feeling a slight ticklish sensation on his cheek, put up his hand to rub or scratch. His fingers came in contact with the earwig and its fine gossamer hairs. Instinct did the rest. You follow?”

          My tongue was still too dry to enable me to speak. Instead I nodded, and Warwick went on.

          “He naturally was curious and looked to see what he was holding. In an instant he realized. Even Rhona could not be in doubt. The hairs were faintly but unmistakably covered here and there with blood, with wax and with grey matter.

          “For a moment there was absolute silence between the three. At last Macy spoke.

          “’My God!’ he just whispered. ‘Oh, my God! What an escape!’

          “Rhona burst into tears. Only Thring kept silent, and that was his mistake. The silence worried Macy, weak though he was. He looked from Rhona to Thring, and at the critical moment Thring could not meet his gaze. The truth was out. With an oath Macy threw the insect, now dead from the pressure of his fingers, straight into Thring’s face. Then he crumpled up in his chair and sobbed and sobbed till even the chair shook.”

          Again Warwick paused till I thought he would never go on. I had heard enough, I’ll admit, and yet it seemed me that at least there should be an epilogue.

          “Is that all? “ I tentatively asked. Warwick shook his head.

          “Nearly, but not quite,” he said. “Rhona had ceased weeping and kept her eyes fixed on Thring—she dared not go and comfort Macy now. She saw him examine the dead earwig, having picked it up from the floor to which it had fallen, turn it this way and that, then produce from a pocket a magnifying-glass which he used daily for the inspection and detection of leaf disease on certain of the plants. As she watched, she saw the fear and disappointment leave his face, to be replaced by a look of cunning and evil satisfaction. Then for the first time he spoke.

          “’Macy!’ he called, in a sharp, loud voice.

          Macy looked up.

          “Thring held up the earwig. ‘This is dead now,’ he said—’dead. As dead as my friendship for you, you swine of a thief, as dead as my love for that whore who was my wife. It’s dead, I tell you, dead, but it’s a female. D’you get me? A female, and a female lays eggs, and before it died it——’

          “He never finished. His baiting at last roused Macy, endowing him with the strength of madness and despair. With one spring he was at Thring’s throat, bearing him down to the ground. Over and over they rolled on the floor, struggling for possession of the great hunting-knife stuck in Thring’s belt. One moment Macy was on top, the next, Thring. Their breath and oaths came in great trembling gasps. They kicked and bit and scratched. And all the while Rhona watched, fascinated and terrified. Then Thring got definitely on top. He had one hand on Macy’s throat, both knees on his chest, and with his free hand he was feeling for the knife. In that instant Rhona’s religious scruples went by the board. She realized she only loved Macy, that her husband didn’t count. She rushed to Macy’s help. Thring saw her coming and let drive a blow at her head which almost stunned her. She fell on top of him just as he was whipping out the knife. Its edge caught her neck. The sudden spurt of blood shot into Thring’s eyes, and blinded him. It was Macy’s last chance. He knew it, and he took it.

          “When Rhona came back to consciousness, Thring was dead. Macy was standing beside the body, which was gradually swelling to huge proportions as he worked, weakly but steadily, at the white ant exterminator pump, the nozzle of which was pushed down the dead man’s throat.”

          Warwick ceased. This last had been a long, unbroken recital, and mechanically he picked up his empty glass as if to drain it. The action brought me back to nearly normal. I rang for the waiter—the knob of the electric bell luckily being just over my head. While waiting, I had time to speak.

          “I’ve heard enough,” I said hurriedly, “to last me a lifetime. You’ve made me feel positively sick. But there’s just one point. What happened to Macy? Did he live?”

          Warwick nodded.

          “That’s another strange fact. He still lives. He was tried for the murder of Thring, but there was no real evidence. On the other hand, his story was too tall to be believed, with the result—well, you can guess.”

          “A lunatic asylum—for life?” I asked.

          Warwick nodded again. Then I followed his glance. A waiter was standing by my chair.

          “Two double whisky-and-sodas,” I ordered tersely, and then, with shaking fingers, lighted a cigarette.