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annikasafternoonread · 3 years ago

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Hello all! It’s been a few days (okay it’s been a whole ass week) -- I’m sorry for the wait, but I had a surprisingly hard time starting this wrap up. Part of that was just being busy with life, but I also just… felt like I didn’t know what to say. Or maybe I didn’t know how to say it. These books are deeply complex, which is part of what makes them so captivating, but it also can make it hard to describe or respond to or explain. So much is left unanswered or unexplored or unknown. How can I sum up something so multi-faceted, that I know I’m only scratching the surface of understanding?

So, Harrow the Ninth. I want to preface this post by saying I did enjoy this book a lot, and I’m glad I read it. Tamsyn Muir is a very talented writer, I love the characters and the world, and the story is really cool. But although I liked the reading experience as a whole… I seem to have a lot of things I wasn’t totally happy with in the book itself.

Tamsyn Muir’s books are fascinating, but they are also challenging. I’m sure that description doesn’t come as a surprise to anyone who has read them. It is both a strength and a weakness, part of what makes these books so intriguing and surprising, but also something that I know can turn off potential readers. I remember shortly before I started reading Harrow the Ninth, someone told me that the book itself is really hard to read, especially at the beginning. I remember that during the book, someone else told me that they had read Gideon the Ninth and started Harrow the Ninth, but wound up not finishing because the second person was too confusing.

Neither of those was my experience. I didn’t mind the second person, or the confusing nature of the first sections. It was what I expected from this book at this point, and while it was unusual, it worked. The world they exist in is incredibly complex, the writing style is quite unique, but none of that really fazed me. For me, the ending was what felt... a lot of things. Confusing, incomplete, unresolved… and for me at least, a little unsatisfying. Again, I get that it’s kind of the point, but I just… 😒 is the best way I can describe the emotion. Like, okay I guess, but also no.

The good news is, this book as a whole answered a lot of my questions from the previous book. Not all of them, but a good few. We know a lot more about this universe, about the history leading to this point, about who and what they’re fighting against, about what Lyctors are and how they work and what they do. And we know why Gideon didn’t die from the gas 🤯

This book also hit a lot of the themes I was hoping for, many of which are concepts I’m quite interested in. In my opening post, I guessed that we’d be seeing a lot of focus on the ideas of: identity, duty, loyalty, morality, and truth. Granted those are kind of generic and open-ended, but I think they were all pretty on the nose. Harrow’s identity shifts with her memory, with her sense of who she is and what she is supposed to do and be. We explore duty and loyalty through her relationship with Lyctorhood and especially with the other Lyctors’ actions. Morality is a constant undercurrent, never really brought to the surface by most of the characters (well, I guess with regards to becoming a Lyctor it’s explicitly explored, but with regards to killing planets and the BoE and such it isn’t really touched much) but always there and very intentionally so. The narration doesn’t engage with it because the characters don’t question it, but it’s clear that we the reader are supposed to. And truth -- well, there sure are a lot of lies on that ship. I was even spot on that truth circles back to identity, though granted not in the way I initially expected.

But while this book answered a lot of the questions from last book, it of course introduced many more of its own, and many of those weren’t resolved either. Some of those I expect to be answered later, like: How did Mercy and Augustine connect with the Blood of Eden? Why did they want to break open the Locked Tomb? What’s up with Original Gideon (OG) and did he (or someone else) fuck with his brain? Some of these it makes sense to leave unresolved to heighten the drama, like: What exactly is God and why and how? What exactly is the Blood of Eden and what do they want and how much should I trust or distrust them? What exactly is up with the Body? Some of these are small but still bother the heck out of me, like: What was up with Ianthe’s arm after all? How did the Commander get into that sword? Did Harrow hallucinate before she became a Lyctor, or was that a false memory too, part of the dreamscape?

But some of them are big. Some of them matter. Some of them feel like I’m supposed to think they’re answered, but I just… don’t. Like, why did Mercy and Augustine break with God? I get the surface level reason that they’re talking about, but it doesn’t make sense to me, there has to be more to God or Lyctorship or the Resurrection or something. Or at least, I have to believe that, because honestly if there isn’t, I think that would be more unsatisfying to me. I’m also deeply curious about how all the different souls and ghosts inside of Harrow interacted -- did they fight each other, layer with each other, influence each other, braid each other’s hair? For instance, who told Harrow to keep the two-handed sword close -- was it Gideon or the Commander or Harrow or some other reason?

And then there was the scene with Camilla and Judith and Coronabeth. Like, I get that this scene served quite a few purposes -- introducing the idea of a River Bubble, letting us (sort of) meet the Commander, getting to see some of Harrow’s letters, setting up the next book (as per the epilogue), and let’s not ignore the value of getting to say hi to some favourite characters, but at the same time it just… it feels so out of place. Like a weird crossover, except these characters actually do go here? But they’re not supposed to? They show up once, their presence is not explained, and then they disappear into the plot of the next book. A cameo within their own world.

There were of course plenty of things I liked. This world is fascinating and we got to know a lot more about it, about history and necromancy, about how this society views death and destiny, about their conflicts and challenges and triumphs and fears. We got to see a lot of new party tricks. Like in the previous book, we got plenty of unapologetic queerness and enjoyment of titty fiction. The writing style is engaging and makes me laugh at the most unexpected moments. I love a lot of the characters and seeing how they think and interact. I want to know more about this world and these people and this story.

But if I’m being completely honest, I’m not sure I’ll read the next book. Not because it’s challenging to read, but just… I don’t know if it’ll give me the payoff I want. Especially given the amount of effort and brainpower these books do take. I want to know I’ll get something back for my investment. Not eventually, when the series ends, but in the book I’m actually reading. Maybe the incomplete ending is supposed to cliffhanger me into desperately wanting the next book. But I don’t want to jump. I just want to land. And with this book, I guess I just don’t feel like we stuck the landing here. I don’t feel like we landed. I feel like we’re still in freefall. I’m definitely not ruling out reading it, I’m sure I’ll be drawn to it and like I said I do want more from this universe. But I just don’t know.

I feel like this is one of my more critical wrap up posts, and I feel a little bad for that because I know so many of you guys love these books. And I’m glad for you! They’re great books! Well worth loving! If someone asked me if I recommended them, I’d absolutely say yes. I enjoyed them a lot, and my lukewarm response to the conclusion doesn’t take away from all that I did love. It just means I’m wary of that happening again with the next book.

But that’s a problem for next year! In the meantime, I’m going to have to read something else :) The contenders for our next read are An Absolutely Remarkable Thing by Hank Green, Most Likely by Sarah Watson, or Wild Magic by Tamora Pierce -- any of them are still in the game, so let your voice be heard! I hope to start reading on Saturday, so see you then!

And as always, thank you for joining me on this journey. It means the world to have you along, and you guys make it so much fun. I love doing this, and I love sharing it with you. Thank you. I hope to see you on the next journey :)

#annika reads #Tamsyn Muir #Harrow the Ninth #The Locked Tomb #bookshelf #book outro #what's next?

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queenlua · 4 years ago

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You're a druid and an ex-evangelical, right? What does being a druid mean to you? How did you get from evangelicalism to where you are now? And of course feel free to ignore this if it's nosy. (sincerely, a Christian who wants to leave but who doesn't know what to do)

this is going to make me sound ignorant as hell, lol, but i'm happy to share

under a cut because this got very long, sorry, lol.

my personal progression was: "vaguely christian -> VERY christian -> christian agnostic -> agnostic/atheist -> agnostic/druid -> some sorta druid-neopagan-animist thing." i guess i'll just go through what made me switch between each of those, and close out with some high-level thoughts that may be helpful for you?

okay, so when i was

VAGUELY CHRISTIAN,

i went to Sunday school every week because That's What You Do, and because my whole hometown was very southern Baptist, i never questioned the veracity of its teachings much... until they ran a whole weekly series on "why [x] is wrong," where [x] is some other group

e.g., we had a week on why Mormons are wrong, and i didn't bat an eye because i hadn't even known Mormons existed until that moment

then we had a week on why Muslims are wrong, and that... bothered me, because i had a friend who was Muslim, and she was just objectively a better person than me, and i was like "any universe where she goes to hell and i don't seems really fucked up"

then we had a week on why EVOLUTION was wrong, and that just absolutely threw me, because while i hadn't thought about evolution much (i think i was in fourth grade or so), it seemed common-sense? scientists thought highly of it? "adaptation over time" just seems logical?

so i went to the public library every day after school for like a week, read some Darwin and some science books, and came back to my Sunday school teacher with, like, an itemized list of objections to the whole "evolution is wrong" thing. and he came up with some standard Answers In Genesis rebuttals, and i did more research and came back the next week with more science, and we repeated this a few times until he was like "lua, you just gotta take some things on faith"

which. lmao. full existential crisis time, because no matter how hard i thought, i couldn't *not* believe in the science, but i also didn't want to go to hell, so i was like "maybe if i believe SUPER HARD i will SOMEDAY be able to unbelieve the condemn-me-to-hell bits"

so i decided to become

VERY CHRISTIAN

and my frantic googling for shit like "proof of god" and "god and evolution" *eventually* broke me out of the Answers In Genesis circles of the internet, and into some decent Christian apologia, like, think First Things and various Catholic bloggers. and there, i found some way to square my gut sense that evolution was right, with a spiritual worldview.

like, i remember finding some blogger who said:

"young earth creationists get tripped up when they try to explain stars that are millions of light-years away, and end up basically arguing that God's tricking us somehow, and—no! my God lets you believe in the evidence of your eyes, my God does not demand that you make yourself ignorant or stupid, my God expects you to use your brain"

and i just started crying at my computer, because no one had ever said "using your brain is Good and part of God's will," i was like *finally* here's someone who won't tell me i'm going to hell for just *thinking* about things

(st. augustine does a much better riff on a similar theme, fwiw, but i only found him later)

still, it was an uneasy fit, because, the more i learned and read about world history, the more it seemed... weird... that the One And Singular Path To Salvation was... the successor to some niche desert cult... which didn't even occur at the *beginning* of written history, like, it was all predated by that whole Mithraism thing, etc... and like, sure, i could trot out all the standard theological talking points for why Actually This Makes Perfect Sense, but gut-level-wise, the aesthetics just seemed kinda dumb! and no level of talking myself out of it made that feeling go away!

so at this point i started referring to myself as a

CHRISTIAN AGNOSTIC

i mean, not aloud. i still lived in southernbaptistopia and i didn't want, like, my hair stylist to tell me i was a horrible person. but in my *head* i called myself Christian agnostic and it felt right.

and i started church-hopping, which honestly was really fun, would recommend to anyone at any point. i visited the fire-and-brimstone baptist church, the methodist church, the episcopalians, the universal unitarians, etc.

unfortunately, while this gave me *some* new perspectives, each of the places either had the same shitty theology as my old megachurch (i remember the *acute* sense of despair i felt when i was starting to jive with a methodist church... only for the dumbass youth minister to start going on about evolution), or, they just lacked any sense of the *sacred*. like, the Church of Christ churches, with their a capella services, *definitely* had it; i felt more God there in one service than i did in a lifetime of shitty Christian rock at the megachurch. but their beliefs were even *more* batshit, so. big L on that one.

having failed to find a satisfactory church, i was basically

AGNOSTIC/ATHEIST

by the time i went to college, but honestly pretty unhappy about it; while it was harder than ever for me to actually *connect* with the divine, i didn't like thinking that my previous experiences of the divine were total lies. because my shitty evangelical church, for all its faults, could not *completely* sabotage the sense of God's presence. there were real moments in that church where i do believe i experienced something divine. mostly mediated by one particular youth minister, who in hindsight was the only spiritual teacher in that church who didn't seem a bit rotten inside, but! it was something!

so when i happened upon a bunch of writings on the now-defunct shii.org (that's the bit that makes me look WILDLY ignorant, lol), i was utterly captivated.

said author was a previous archdruid of the Reformed Druids of North America, an organization that was formed in the 1960s to troll the administration of Carleton College (there was a religious-service-attendance requirement; they made their own religion; their religion had whiskey and #chilltimes for its services). however, this shii.org dude seemed to take it pretty seriously. he was studying history of religion and blogged a lot about his studies, both academic and otherwise. while RDNA had started out as a troll, that didn't mean they hadn't *discovered* something real in the process, he said.

this, already, was going to be innately appealing to me; i've got a soft spot for wow-we-were-doing-this-ironically-but-now-it's-kinda-real? stuff in general.

in particular, shii.org’s discussions on the separation of ritual from belief was really interesting to me: most religions/spiritualities have *both*, but like, you can do a ritual without having the Exact Right Beliefs (if there even is such a thing!), and it can still be useful to you, it can have real power. (he had a really lovely essay, speculating on the origins of religion as just a form of art, but that essay is now lost to the sands of time, alas.)

(note that i wouldn't really recommend seeking out *recent* writing by the shii.org guy; he kinda went full tedious neoreactionary-blowhard-who-reads-a-lot-of-Spengler at some point? sigh.)

the shii.org guy led me to checking out a bunch of books on the history of neopaganism & also books by scholars of religion in general, and the more i read, the more excited i became. and i started doing little ritual/meditation stuff here and there.

then i was fortunate enough to attend some events with Earthspirit (this was when i lived in Boston), which cemented my hippie dalliances into something more real. the folks there, being from Boston, were all ridiculously overeducated (a sensibility that appeals to me), but also, being the kind of folks who drive out to a mountain in the middle of nowhere for a spiritual retreat, they tolerated a full range of oddities (everyone from aging-70s-feminist-wiccans to living-on-a-farm-with-your-bros-Astaru to dude-who-started-having-weird-visions-and-is-just-trying-to-figure-out-the-deal to Nordic-spiritualist-with-two-phds-from-Scandanavian-universities-on-the-subject, etc), which gave me a lot of room to explore different types of rituals, ceremonies, "magic", etc.

(polytheism in general lends itself well to this sort of easy plurality! i can believe other people are experiencing something real with their gods, and i can be talking to a totally different set of gods, and that’s just all very compatible, etc)

anyway, i started calling myself

AGNOSTIC/DRUID

around then, because i knew i'd found *something*, something that felt like all the realest moments i'd ever had in nature, and all the realest moments i'd ever had in that shitty megachurch, but i wasn't quite ready to put a theology to it.

but, idk, you do the thing for a while, and you start encountering some things that you may as well call gods, and you realize you're in pretty deep, and you ditch the "agnostic" bit and just throw hands and start describing yourself as

SOME SORTA DRUID-NEOPAGAN-ANIMIST THING

because that's the most precise thing you can muster. in particular, the druid bit resonates because nature's still very much at the center of my practice; the neopagan bit resonates because i'm not especially interested in reconstructing older traditions or being faithful to any actual pre-Christian traditions, and animist resonates because what i sometimes call gods seem to be tied pretty tightly to the land itself. it's all very experiential; all this mostly means i'm some weird chick who sometimes grabs a car and drives out someplace very lonely and hikes for a while and does some hippie shit to try and talk with the land or the god or whatever is there. and sometimes i come back from it changed, or refocused, or what-have-you, and hopefully i'm better for it. i'm aware this makes me look a little ridiculous, and is an unsatisfying answer, sorry!

WRT YOUR SITUATION

i don't know you or your situation, obviously, but if i wanted to give former-me some advice to save her some angst, i'd say

-> Christendom itself is far wilder and more diverse than many churches lead you to believe. if you still want to be Christian on some level, and it's just a shitty church that's convinced you the whole project is fucked, i'd honestly explore, i dunno, your nearest Quaker meeting. they're invoking the Holy Spirit with regularity but they're not raging douchenozzles about it.

-> if you're specifically interested in druidism, i found John Michael Greer's "A World Full of Gods" really nice. (caveat: Greer has *also* gone full right-wing nutjob these days, sigh, so like. would not recommend a great swath of his writing. but that one's good)

-> deciding that a just God wouldn't give me a brain and then ask me not to use it was hugely comforting to me. like, that was the start of the whole process, that was what made me feel ok searching for other churches and trying to find something that fit. obviously you should take this with 800 grains of salt, because obviously i'm no longer Christian, and thus maybe i'm just some poor misguided fallen soul, but... i still kinda believe that! maybe if you can make yourself believe that, it'll seem less scary?

idk, happy to answer more questions, sorry for the long ramble, hope it helped~

#druid stuff

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oh-theres-a-woman · 5 years ago

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Flowers in a Peaked Cap; Part One

A/N: Heres to attempt two at writing this author’s note… Let’s just say, I haven’t perfected the art of saving drafts. Note to self to actually find out how to make the draft before losing three solid paragraphs of rambling about the story… Sophie Points; Nil. Laptop/Internet Points; One. Welp, honestly internet and laptop have won a hell of a lot more than that. Just don’t remember how many times I’ve lost work because of not quite understanding how to post on here…. Safe to say I’m still a noob.

Any hoot! Enough rambling about that stuff.

After posting the first piece to this story; in the very very early hours of this morning. I couldn’t help but feel the massive urge to continue and work on the more of Tillie’s little adventure. It made me want to think about her as a person outside the relatives that we already know. What this girl’s goals are and ambitions. Unlike the rest of her family, I think she has a relatable amount of vulnerability and anxieties that are more from society’s working in the 1920s compared to her brothers; Arthur, Thomas and John that all suffer war-related mental illness and scars.

Actively she’s a romantic escapist that wants to make her brothers and aunt proud. Making a name for herself in the means of writing and exploring the tales that are brewed from the memories of old days.

In the progression of this story, I want to be able to explore the growth in Tillie as a young woman. The stepping out of her brothers’ shadows and coming into her own. Growing into a more confident young woman that could be from meeting new people like in this chapter and moving away from her fears.

I do see romance in this story, something like and full of all the trend first experience one faces at one stage or another. In terms of smut, I’d think it’s lighter and would be something that is worked towards. Tillie to me doesn’t seem rather lust-driven. So, it’ll happen if it does, and if not; its simply because Tillie Shelby isn’t interested in that sort of thing.

Important note; I’ll be working on organising the Taglist a little more throughout my next few posts. Please notify me if you’re interested in anything specifically and want tags there or if you mind just being on the general tag list and included in every story I post. Thank you!!!

Requested By; @csigeoblue

Parts; [ Prologue ]

Taglist; @zodiyack, @itsfrancisneptun, @amys-small-world, @fandom-fucking-shit, @hesagod-notyet, @hinagiku0, @dylanlover24, @amirahiddleston, @a-dorky-book-keeper, @theamuz, @csigeoblue, @smallheathgangsters, @beautycinders

Word Count; 1400

Watery Lane wasn’t the play that supported the wild fantasy’s of Tillie Shelby, but the little bookshop that was filled with many hopefuls or lads that were born a little more well off collectively grouped together. Reading the stories they wrote. This gathering was apparently one that caught the attention of the paper since the known publishers and well-off lads from another book club around England had found themselves doing a sort of travel for their source material.

Since the profile of this club of prolific writers had taken interest in the area of Small Heath and its inhabitants. Inviting upstart writers or aspiring tellers to come and meet them. So, onward the youngest Shelby strolled until she pulled open the door of the quaint little bookshop. The signal of her arrival was the sound of her kitten heels and the ringing of the bell on the door. Doe-like blue eyes that were like the crystal-clarity of the purest of water found themselves settling on a group of well-dressed gentlemen. Her eyes flicker between some faces she knew of Small Heath, most of them being the arseholes she went to school with and thought themselves privy to a better life.

It wasn’t that Tillie didn’t believe they weren’t welcome to it. Mostly, it was the way they treated people in order to get there the young woman didn’t quite agree with. She was rather foolish coming to her though since her brother’s had a very vision about how the Shelby family should be seen. Their measures to getting things done with it were also less than admirable. Perhaps, it was the fact that Billy Bronson, James Fitz and Joe Gilbert made hers and Finn’s school life a living hell one way or another. But, it also made it seem extremely unfair to talk to their older brothers about what happened. Since most knew better than to fuck with the kin of the Peaky Blinders.

Plooms of cigarette smoke clouded in the air, filling the bookstore with a spiced herbal infusion and rippled tailored sticks of tobacco. Moving her gaze from the lads she knew; to the new arrivals. The youngest of the Shelby mob offered a little smile. “Is there room for one more?” Tillie finally spoke up, pulling her book that contained the novel she had poured hours and hours over. Smiling hopefully. Arms hugging the expensive leather made book that her brothers banded together in the hopes for a lovely birthday present in the days before the war.

Hoping that she’d fill in with various things she enjoyed to draw, but instead, Tillie hadn’t touched it until she was old enough to respect things. Asking Aunt Pol to help her keep in a safe place until then. Scraps of paper were best for sketches in any case.

Eyes ever hopeful looked at the posher sort, some seemed wary until a certain collared lad smiled and offered a little nod then the place he’d been sitting. Away from the boys that seemed to make life a little more bothersome. “Thank you,” she whispered, settling down in the seat. Resting the book down on her lap before looking to the other lads who straightened their composure.

“We were all about to introduce ourselves since we’ve never travelled outside of London for such a meeting before. Yet, it seemed like a brilliant idea when bought up. Birmingham seemed like the best place, so raw and thrilling. Small Heath alone.” Spoke finally a lad in a handsome waist-coat, the colouring of coal, stiff collar and matching suit made her think of it being something her brother; Tom would wear. Only on the best occasions, or when he was dressing-to-impress. Unlike Thomas, this lad had handsome hazel eyes, the slightest tan to his skin like he enjoyed the frolicking on the beach. His name was Walter, but everyone called him, Walt.

“Even the presence of criminal activity and organisations like the Peaky Blinders, it does make the area a prize for writing. Wouldn’t you agree, lads,” spoke up for eccentric Norman, who took delight in the thing that only made Tillie smile in a measure of great awkwardness. The name seemed to follow her everywhere she went, and there was a measure of awkwardness for that. “Sorry, miss, I didn’t quite mean to be so rude, it’s just you don’t seem the sort to know much on that end, too kind and pretty, huh?” Norm covered himself for any form of rudeness that could have been interpreted.

Only causing a polite little lowering of her head, as her hands wrapped anxiously around her book’s spine. Before relaxing at the conversation drifting off elsewhere. Sobering to the notion that the following cough from Joe Gilbert had goosebumps appearing on her arms. Causing a vast amount of discomfort in the young woman. Tillie traded glances with the nicer of the Londoner’s; Robert. Whom quickly coughed to get things back on track.

“In any case, back to the introductions. We shouldn’t dwell too long on the story topics if we’ve lacked the proper course of introduction. Shall I start?” Robert spoke up, settled against set up for the purpose of meetings. “My name is Robert Augustine, myself and these other gentlemen,” he said, gesturing to the others in the group of London lads.

“Are from a collective of young men that wish to write and publish arts. Never before have we had a lady join us, but surely in this modern world we’d be able to welcome the bright minds of femininity amongst us. After all, lady authors are blooming into the publishing world more and more with each generation.” His words seemed to still the anxiousness within her soul at the agreement of his other companions. Looking forward to seeing a hand extended to her, Robert allowed her to stand. The mix of coarseness and softness met between the two palms meet.

Holding her book, Tillie looked down smiling a little at her feet. Hugging her book to her chest, like it was the most precious thing to her. That was… Because it truly was the thing that held so much value to her heart. Her right hand still gently in the hold of the Londoner, cheeks lightly warming. “I’m Tillie Shelby, and I like to write about my brothers, their stories before the war. When we were kids,” she lit up sweetly talking of her brothers. Her hand and Robert’s naturally finding it parting, before he settled in his spot by the desk. Arms folding at his chest with a little smile.

“Would you be willing to share any of those stories?” Robert asked in a light voice. Tillie could only think of one response.

“Would I ever,” she beamed with a presence that seemed to warm the room and the quiet little shop around them. Settling down into her seat once more, she didn’t think about when the others were introducing themselves. Instead, she found herself lost within stories. The more whimsical tales of lads that laughed and partied. Or the ones that filled with a warmth that made her think of the family that suppressed or lost who they were before the war. Among them, none had known those woes and horrors.

They’d seen things happen on the outside. Felt the absence of a brother, father, uncle or grandfather that either died or lost what kept to their memory that their younger-selves recalled. Tillie was young then. Merely a baby in some regard. But she couldn’t ever forget the days of laughter, wherein night terrors; her heroes would just come up and curl into the undersized cot she called a bed. Soothing their fingers along with the softness of infant or child hairs–that had yet to understand dryness or damage.

When business didn’t entirely rule the Shelby family but happened in the background. Those were her tales. The tales of rawness and loss from a different scene. Where her brothers; the men who took over the role of an absent father, became; fathers, uncles, older brothers and best friends. And… Pol became the only mother she ever knew and remembered. Her voice spoke of the volumes to family values and how terrible things broke people. Yet, she never uttered their names aloud.

Only recording them within her mind when she read the tales that meant something to one of her brothers. Art. Tom. John.

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coreymichaelsmithson · 3 years ago

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The Lights of Treasure Island

For the past few years, I've been living on a barrier island named Anastasia. A sandy, sleepy, slow place, just off the coast of our nation's oldest city, Anastasia Island features tall palm trees and gorgeous beaches, along with excellent sushi and a surprisingly active arts scene. Its most splendid attraction, though, is an old lighthouse, one striped with a black and white spiral and crowned by a bright red lamphouse. It towers commandingly over the dunes, casting a long beam that can be seen from nearly anywhere in town.

I've always liked lighthouses. In days of old we set these magnificent lanterns on the edge of the sea, to guide sailors through dark and treacherous waters, to show them the way home. Lighthouses represent so many things we need: safety, comfort, reliability, navigation. But in my mind, these structures hold the magic of candles, the magic of illumination itself. When we speak of enlightenment, we may be speaking specifically of rationality and discovery, but we are also conjuring images of light prevailing over darkness. And in this way the lighthouse emerges as a powerful symbol of the spirit.

This February, for my 47th birthday, I explored the Outer Banks of North Carolina, where I saw several amazing lighthouses. Impressive as they were, I did not think they quite compared with the singular majesty of the structure that stands on Anastasia Island. After a harrowing return journey, one in which I drove with no working alternator (and sometimes without headlights or windshield wipers) through nearly 700 miles of tornadic thunderstorms, I felt the most profound relief when I finally crested the peak of the SR-312 bridge, which connects my island to the mainland, and I saw those familiar black and white stripes in the distance, signaling that I had made it home. Less than half a year later, my feelings about this special lighthouse of mine would be forever changed by a chance encounter.

Just under two months ago, I received a brief and rather unremarkable message from a stranger on Scruff, a queer dating platform that I use. One might charitably call Scruff "a social club for discerning gentlemen" ... it appeals to men who are hirsute, meaty, perpetually horny, and even a few of us freaks who defiantly straddle the line between "butch" and "nancy". Since this man's profile didn't really offer all that much information, and his one available picture wasn't particularly compelling, I promptly tucked his message away and forgot about it, and went for my customary sunset walk on the beach.

I live exactly one mile from the southern boundary of a state park, which offers a four-mile stretch of pristine dune habitat, completely undeveloped and sparsely occupied. The only man-made objects in sight are a few empty lifeguard stands, the city's sightseeing pier, a radio antennae, and our lighthouse. Dolphins gather here, their dorsal fins rising and falling between the breakers. Squadrons of pelicans fly in tight formations, gliding only a few feet above the water's surface. Terns and sea turtles nest in its sands, and I've found many shark teeth among the sea shells and ghost crab burrows. This is a special place, a holy place, and I've made a daily ritual of enjoying its cloudscapes and crepuscular glow as I explore the edge between land and sea.

After a pleasant stroll, maybe an hour or so of blissful meditation, I turned around and started heading back towards my car when I caught sight of a man who had just walked out of the water and was now drying himself off. We locked eyes.

He was the most beautiful man I had ever seen. Arrestingly beautiful, the kind of handsome that stops you dead in your tracks. I just kind of gulped for a second, and then walked right up to him, with an audacity that I didn't even know I possessed, turned on every damn bulb in my Christmas tree, and murmured, "Hi!", making the word shimmer like tinsel. In a short amount of time, I learned that he was a Russian artist, born in St. Petersburg but living in Moscow. I had met him during a brief pause on his long drive from Jacksonville to Key West; he had only intended on stopping in St. Augustine long enough to explore our old Spanish fort and take a swim on our nicest beach. He possessed a keen intellect, a quick wit, and a laudable command of English. As we spoke, he kept giving me flashes of the most mischievous smile, and so when I finally asked him what he was grinning about, he revealed that he was the same man who had messaged me earlier. This came as a surprise, for I hadn't recognized him at all ... I had only been drawn in now by his gorgeous movie-star looks, the undeniable sex appeal of his dripping wet body, and some weird sense of destiny.

We talked. We talked some more. We went to dinner. And then he stayed for the better part of three days.

In my bed, we enjoyed the most astonishing kind of communion. Our nights and mornings were filled with such tenderness ... soft eyes, soft caresses, fearlessly sustained gazes, the kind of kisses that tell a hundred little stories. One by one, various secrets were brought to light. We shared toe-curling carnality, thunderous climaxes, an unalloyed and unembarrassed intimacy. We shared joy.

On our second day together, I took him to the top of Anastasia Island's lighthouse. We lingered on each landing to kiss and giggle, and our embraces grew more intense. We felt a stronger and stronger pull towards one another. I knew that this was more than just a simple infatuation. By the time we reached the lantern's round balcony, and stepped out together onto the most spectacular view of St. Augustine, I knew that I was falling in love.

I don't blame you for rolling your eyes at this. You may, in your justifiable cynicism, think it ridiculous for a man to utter such a powerful phrase within such a short time. But if you've ever known me, you've come to recognize by now my considerable capacity for love. My passions and appetites may rise to the surface with little interference, and will I admit some recklessness in how I've invested my energies, but I am no fool. I am neither naïve nor desperate. And I can say in all sincerity that what we felt then was, at least for a short while, genuine love.

From the top of the lighthouse we could see everything. The old downtown, with its mixture of colonial and Spanish Renaissance buildings. The Matanzas River, named for the 1565 massacre of shipwrecked Huguenots, separating my island from the mainland. The harbor of St. Augustine, crowded with sailboats and pleasure craft, a forest of masts. And then the sea, blue and inviting, the sea that would soon separate us. We held each other tightly and looked upon the Atlantic together, casting our dreams towards the horizon, into this vista of seemingly endless possibility and hope.

On our last night together, we took a naked midnight swim in my pool, which is lit from above by a row of blue lights. A light and warm rain fell on our heads as we twined our legs underwater, and our ardor cast a web of rippling refractive patterns on the pool's concrete bottom. He looked me in the eyes, kissed me with the utmost gentleness, and formally invited me to come stay with him in Moscow. I accepted with my new magic word, "Да."

The following morning, our parting was so sweet, and so warm. We solidified our promise to be reunited. He drove down to Key West, enjoying a music playlist I assembled for him, and then he flew up to New York for a week's visit with old friends. After he returned to Moscow, we embarked on a passionate long-distance affair via telephone and social media apps.

I plunged right away into the Russian language, practicing for hours a day, rediscovering my knack for linguistics. I bought books on the cities of Moscow and St. Petersburg, books on Russian verbs, flashcards, a portable dictionary. I subscribed to online learning programs, put apps on my phone, read up on the country's history. I was all in, bringing every available bit of my enthusiasm, work ethic, and inventiveness to the challenge. Every day, I would send him sweet little videos or text messages ... sharing good news, conveying small but significant events of my daily life, showing off my rapidly accelerating grasp of Russian. I sent him notes of encouragement, pictures of me looking my cutest, small but enjoyable details of my life on Anastasia Island. I sent him a short clip of the black skimmers that sliced back and forth across the thin swash of the surf, their beaks dipping into half an inch of water. I sent him pelicans, beach crabs, waves, paintings, difficult words, idioms, cute terms of venery, sunsets, clouds, kisses, evidence of my changing body. I sent him love, every day. "каждый день," I promised him, placing my hand on my heart, "каждый день." Every day.

My love deepened by the hour. I know this is going to sound so gushy and gross, but I really pushed the lighthouse metaphor pretty hard, calling myself "твой смотритель маяка" or "your lighthouse keeper". I meant this in all sincerity, without a drop of bathos or schmaltz. Our time atop the lighthouse was sacred to me. I promised him that I would keep its light burning bright.

Over time, however, things shifted. As my interest grew, his began to dwindle. He sent less and less of himself, slowly removing from our conversation his humor, his sexuality, his warmth, his trust. It was like seeing a fully assembled jigsaw puzzle get lifted into the air, and watching all the pieces falling out ... at first only a few at a time, then more and more, until there was only a jagged perimeter where there had once been a lovely picture.

The nadir came when he lost his temper with me over my visa. I was confused about the process, as the Russian consulate and other sources were providing patchy and often conflicting information, and his own explanations changed from day to day. During our last video chat, I asked one too many questions, and he snapped. He rolled his eyes, effectively called me stupid and childish, and hung up on me three times. My many attempts at reconciliation were completely rebuffed. It was both baffling and extraordinarily painful.

Two days after our fight he was in a terrible car accident, one from which he miraculously escaped unharmed. He posted on social media an impassioned paragraph about the event, and how it drew into sharp focus all the love he had in his life, how he felt that he wasn't deserving of such love, how grateful he was for his friends. Yet instead of contacting me, inviting me into this experience, or trying to repair our frayed connection, he spent his evenings logging back into Scruff, the aforementioned dating app. He continued to ignore me, choosing instead to pursue (or perhaps refresh) other opportunities. I tried in vain to reach him, to restore our bond, but was met with only the most chilling silence.

How had I been so wrong? Had my desire devolved into mere obsession, albeit one artfully disguised as love? Had my zeal somehow suffocated him? The irony for me was that this disastrous affair unfolded during a period of rapid and positive transformation. In the space of the last seven months, I'd already changed my diet, fixed my teeth, joined a gym, paid off a chunk of my debt, reorganized my home office, purchased a standing desk, resumed my daily beach walks, started seeing both a psychiatrist and a therapist. My relationship to my body was improving, I was working at a higher level of professional responsibility, gaining new clients, writing my fourth novel, and churning out the finest paintings of my career. A recent experience with ayahuasca had given me valuable insights into my adulthood. It seemed only right that this Russian should be the cherry on my sundae, a prize I had been working so hard to deserve.

And so, after admitting my own disenchantment, I surrendered. Reeling from an overwhelming feeling of loss, I wrote him a heartfelt letter in Russian, one in which I explained the hurt his indifference was causing me. I poured a lot of benevolent energy into this letter. And then I said to him the saddest word I've learned in Russian, "Прощай", which is the type of goodbye you use when you think you are not likely to see someone again. It translates, literally, into "forgive me."

Here is the letter I wrote to him, translated into English:

***

"V_____, beautiful V____:

Okay. I give up.

Your silence gave me a very clear and very painful answer. You have been entrusted with something rare and beautiful, and you have shown that you do not want it. So now it's gone.

I'm sorry my heart bored you so much. I will no longer annoy you with my desires.

The love that I offered you ... pure and strong, given without demands or jealous limitations ... does not come often.

It pains me to realize that you do not appreciate what I have tried to give you. It is even more painful to realize that I may have aggravated the situation with my zeal. But the distance that you put between us is your choice, and I must respect that.

It seems that the epiphany you experienced in the car accident, the moment you thought of all the love in your life, did not include my love for you. Your priorities are yours, and I accept that. But you almost died yesterday, V_____. And instead of choosing to bond with a man who cares about you so much, your focus shifted to Scruff. Your indifference is so obvious now. Please do not say anything ugly or cruel in response. There is already enough sorrow on my island. I feel both grief and embarrassment, but not anger. I've always wanted the best for you, and it's still true.

I sincerely wish you a long and happy journey. I hope you enjoy many successes and find many pleasures. I hope you stay healthy. I hope the man you choose deserves your best gifts. I hope you find a better lighthouse. I must direct my light now to those who are really looking for it. So now I must tell you the saddest word that I have learned in your language.

Goodbye."

***

Please allow me now to rewind a few years, and tell a correlative story.

In the autumn of 2019, during a period of intense sadness and frustration, I fled from Anastasia Island and drove impulsively across the state to the Gulf Coast. I didn't have a clear destination, I didn't pack enough clothes or supplies, and I was so blinded with tears and unexpressed rage that I didn't know where I was, or even care much about where I might land. While getting lost somewhere in the vicinity of St. Petersburg, I glanced at a map, dragged my finger along the squiggly coastline, saw the name Treasure Island, and thought, "That's gotta be the place."

I don't know what I was expecting to find there. Something about the name sounded so exciting, so exotic. And as the evening wore on, my anticipation grew. I thought, in my desperation, that everything would be all right once I got to Treasure Island. Over the next few hours, I convinced myself that I'd finally feel good again in such a place, that my pain and confusion would certainly evaporate once I reached this safe haven. I'd check into a nice hotel room, preferably one with 300 thread-count sheets and a coffee maker, and I'd dream about pirate ships and gold doubloons, and when I opened my eyes and yawned and stretched against the sun-dappled pillows my life would basically feel like a commercial for some bougie brand of almond milk. When I arrived, however, I was deeply disappointed to see another narrow stretch of high-rise hotels, littered beaches, rank seaweed, and greyish-brown water. I found the cheapest hotel room around, one of the few remaining vacancies on the shore, and there I found neither crisp bedsheets nor good coffee. The view from my balcony, however, was utterly amazing: I could see not only a broad curving swath of the beach, but also a glow of distant resort hotels, some of them reflected in the waves. It was strangely romantic, seeing these twinkling lights ... red, gold, green, blue ... and their silent conversation with the stars, a dialogue of jewels above the warm churning waters of the Gulf. But it wasn't the salvation I had been hoping for.

When I got up the next morning, I was still facing the same problems, the same irritations, the same heavy sorrows. Treasure Island would not, could not, rescue me from myself. So I drove back home to my own island, back to my lighthouse, and was relieved to discover that it was in fact even more stirring than I had remembered. During my absence Anastasia Island had become a magical and restorative place, quite different than the one I had left only days before.

What I should have learned back then, but have only come to realize now, was this: I didn't need to travel to a distant island of treasure and twinkling stars, for my own island already had plenty of both. I didn't need to seek the incandescence of a handsome man to light my way, as my own inner flame was at last beginning to shine without the shutters of inhibition or profligacy.

I am now recalling my disappointment with Treasure Island, while concurrently considering my grief over the Russian. At first, I wanted to hate him for his carelessness, for how he squandered my gifts. But I don't hate him. Not really. There's no need to wring my hands any further over his callousness. I don't even mourn his absence anymore. My mood has shifted today, and I no longer choose to see this abortive liaison as being so devastating. For I know, deep down, that the failure here was not really mine. I am not a loser for investing myself unreservedly in someone who could not fully appreciate me, nor I am not the weaker man for feeling injured. I will not be permanently depleted for having offered all that kindness to an undeserving recipient, as my wellspring of love remains inexhaustible.

I tried to share my lighthouse with the Russian. But he did not recognize how special it really was, and he declined to follow its beacon to a rewarding harbor. And thus, our romance was destroyed, and his memory became just another broken boat littering the shallows.

I have seen so many ruins in my years: bad relationships, lousy jobs, soured opportunities. My life story reads like a ledger of dashed hopes. It seems sometimes that both the island I occupy and the more elusive island I am eternally seeking are surrounded by shipwrecks. Yet the lighthouse of my spirit still stands, sturdier and stronger than ever. The waves may batter its bricks, salt may scour its surfaces, it may occasionally groan under its own weight ... but it will not crumble, it will not fail, and even in the darkest of hours this lamp of mine will continue to shine: bright, focused, undiminished.

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hobbitsetal · 4 years ago

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I can’t ever be saved, and what I mean is this: I love my spouse, the kids, a show or game with them, science, experiencing new things, tasting new foods, petting every dog, having a home and other things. Clearly the Bible says if you love the world or things in the world you do not love God and He does not love you. How do I reconcile? How do I hate that which I love and have been blessed with? (I’m aware of the entertainment debate among Christians here as well, and it’s worldly)

Do you imagine your love for God is what saves you? No. “We love because he first loved us.” (1 John 4:19)

“But to all who did receive him, who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God, who were born, not of blood nor of the will of the flesh nor of the will of man, but of God.” (emphasis mine.)

Let me make myself very clear: what you are saying is a form of an ancient heresy known as Gnosticism, and it was rejected categorically by the church within the first 200 years of Christianity. Indeed, one could argue the apostle John rejects Gnosticism with chapter 4 in declaring, “every spirit that confesses that Jesus Christ has come in the flesh is from God.“

What is Gnosticism? It’s the belief that anything flesh, anything physical, is sin, and anything spiritual is good. This ignores the theology that God created us to be bodies as well as souls and that God is concerned about our bodies. This ignores that when God created the world, He declared it “good” over and over and over. And it ignores that God doesn’t plan to do away with creation, He intends to remake creation.

I’m quoting John extensively, so let’s take a look at the passage to which you’re referring, 1 John 2:15-17: “Do not love the world or the things in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him. For all that is in the world—the desires of the flesh and the desires of the eyes and pride of life—is not from the Father but is from the world. And the world is passing away along with its desires, but whoever does the will of God abides forever.“

Hermeneutics! Big fancy Greek word meaning “how to study the Bible!” Who wrote it, to whom did he write it, when did he write, what was his purpose in writing it, what did he intend his audience to learn from it, and what does it mean to us today?

John (obviously) wrote 1 John, he wrote it to multiple Christian churches (probably in Asia Minor), he most likely wrote it no later than the 90s AD, he wrote to emphasize what Christ has done for us, I’d argue he wanted his audience to learn more about the love of God from it, and it means...heck, it means a lot to us today. It’s one of my favorite books.

So we know John wrote it. What else did John write? The Gospel of John, 2 and 3 John, and the book of Revelation are all historically/traditionally credited to the Apostle John. What’s a common theme for John? The world.

Here’s the thing: when John says “the world,” he refers to unregenerate mankind. He’s not referring to the created world. St. Augustine made the same divide when he referred to “the city of man vs the city of God.”

This is the only true divide in life: those who are redeemed by Christ and those are opposed to God.

Given this, I do not believe that John is condemning us for enjoying our spouses, entertainment, and children. I'd go further: we ought to praise God for these things!

James 1 says, "Do not be deceived, my beloved brothers. Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change. Of his own will he brought us forth by the word of truth, that we should be a kind of firstfruits of his creatures. Know this, my beloved brothers: let every person be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger; for the anger of man does not produce the righteousness of God. Therefore put away all filthiness and rampant wickedness and receive with meekness the implanted word, which is able to save your souls."

I'm quoting this passage at length for several reasons: first and foremost, to remind you that your spouse and children are good gifts. Psalms and Proverbs repeatedly speak of children as a good thing! Marriage itself, and your spouse by extension, is a picture of Christ's relationship with the church. It is not wrong to take joy in what God gives to us. Indeed, we are commanded to take joy in them!

I'm quoting it also because James goes on from "God gives us good things" to say "because God loves us and redeems us and gives us good things, be like God in these ways and put away these sins."

Galatians 5 is another example of this type of passage, and also brings me to my next argument for why you can and should enjoy science, shows and games, and time with your family.

"For the desires of the flesh are against the Spirit, and the desires of the Spirit are against the flesh, for these are opposed to each other, to keep you from doing the things you want to do. But if you are led by the Spirit, you are not under the law. Now the works of the flesh are evident: sexual immorality, impurity, sensuality, idolatry, sorcery, enmity, strife, jealousy, fits of anger, rivalries, dissensions, divisions, envy, drunkenness, orgies, and things like these. I warn you, as I warned you before, that those who do such things will not inherit the kingdom of God. But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self control; against such things there is no law. And those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires."

Let me highlight verse 18: "if you are led by the Spirit, you are not under the law." Our deeds do not save us. How much love we have for God does not save us. The Spirit of the Lord and the sacrifice of Christ and the love of God the Trinity saves us.

Does spending time with your family, exploring science, or playing a game lead you into immorality? Does it tempt you to fight or get drunk? Or does it promote love within your family, joy in God's creation, kindness toward your children, patience and self control with your family members?

God is an ever-creative God. He crafted our senses, He gave us the intellect to explore His universe, He made us in His image so that we are capable of love and relationship and joy and play and fun. Don't mistake enjoying His gifts to mean we automatically dismiss the Giver.

As a final thought, I encourage you to look up Brad Bigney's "Gospel Treason," either book or sermon series. He explores the concept of idolatry and right worship clearly and well, and I think that would be helpful to you in considering this.

I have strong opinions on the entertainment debate, too, if you're ever interested in hearing those.

#theology #faith #Christianity #long post #i ran this by my dad #who is a doctor of Biblical counseling #so i'm very confident in my arguments

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ltc-henry-blake · 5 years ago

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What resources would you recommend for someone who wants to learn more about Catholicism/possibly joining the Catholic Church given that churches are closed right now due to quarantine?

Hi, Anon! I can recommend some resources and things that I found helpful when I was learning about the faith, and I invite my followers to share their input as well!

I don’t know your religious background at all, but the first thing I’d recommend would be a Bible if you don’t have one already. If you wanted to get a Catholic Bible, the New American Bible is the one we use at Mass. My favorite translation is the Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition.

After the Bible, the next thing I’d recommend is that you get a Cathechism of the Catholic Church. The Cathechism contains pretty much everything you need to know about what the Church believes. If you don’t want to buy one, it’s free online here.

I would highly recommend anything and everything that Bishop Robert Barron has ever done. He has a lot of great videos on YouTube on a variety of topics. I would especially recommend his “Catholicism” series which you can find here. Unfortunately you have to pay for it, but I think it’s well worth it.

I’d also recommend Fr. Mike Schmitz on YouTube. He has a lot of good content especially his video on the Eucharist.

I’ve never read it myself but I’ve had several people tell me that Rediscover Catholicism by Matthew Kelly is great book for people who want to learn the basics of the faith.

Dr. Scott Hahn also has a lot of great books that I’d recommend you look into depending on your interests. He’s written about everything from the Mass to Mary and his books are super readable. Rome Sweet Home tells the story of his conversion and might be of interest to you.

Speaking of conversion stories, I can never get through a Catholic post without mentioning my confirmation saint Augustine. I read his Confessions during my own conversion and I really can’t overstate the impact that book had on me. While it’s not necessarily the first place I’d direct you if you’re just looking to learn the basics of Church teaching, if you’re looking into converting I’d highly recommend reading at least parts of it at some point.

Here’s a basic explanation of the structure and meaning of the Mass.

I would also recommend learning to pray the Rosary. Here’s a guide on how to do so. It seems a bit intimidating at first, but it’s a great way to immerse yourself in the mysteries of the faith.

New Advent and Catholic Answers (beware, the forum discussions don’t always accurately represent Church teaching) are also great free resources for you to explore.

It’s unfortunate that churches are closed right now, but once they open up again I’d recommend attending the Mass if you haven’t already. Until then, you could watch livestreamed Masses on YouTube to start to get a feel for it. There are plenty of livestreamed and televised Masses right now but I’ve personally been watching Mass with Word on Fire (Bishop Robert Barron’s channel) on YouTube.

Once churches are open again I’d also highly recommend that you go to Eucharistic Adoration at some point if you feel comfortable doing so. Here are some resources on the Eucharist and Adoration. I haven’t clicked through every link on this site but it looks like there’s a lot of info on here that could be helpful.

Well, this post ended up being a lot longer than I anticipated, but hopefully some of these resources will be helpful for you! Don’t hesitate to reach out either on or off anon if you want to talk more or if you have any questions!

#anon #anonymous #ask #answered #catholic resources

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undermounts · 5 years ago

Text

Bound—Chapter 14: New

AO3 | Masterlist

Summary: Ah, the honeymoon phase.

Pairing: Gaius Augustine/Diana Leigh (BB MC)

Warnings: nsfw

Zermatt, Switzerland, 2042

Two days later

Kissing him was as easy as breathing.

The sheets whispered against Diana’s skin as their bodies moved together, syrupy slow, the last dregs of sleep fading. She slid her fingers through Gaius’s hair, sighing contentedly as his hand swept over the curve of her spine, his bare skin delightfully warm against hers.

Everything about this was gentle, relaxed, exploratory. This was uncharted territory—being able to touch each other without restraint, to share a gaze unburdened by agony, to speak without having to navigate a minefield of lies. They were still becoming familiar with each other on this new level of intimacy, and Diana had to admit that it was every bit terrifying as it was liberating to have someone know her the way Gaius did. She had opened her mind to him a long time ago but if she was being honest, every second she spent with him now made her want to fold like a weak hand of cards and share everything she could give.

Diana knew that Gaius was in a similar boat. She had seen the way his expression would shift in the slightest of ways whenever their conversations veered towards thoughts of the future. She felt his uncertainty, his longing, and even an odd undercurrent of sadness she didn’t understand whenever they breached the topic of life beyond these wooden walls, beyond the next few days.

Diana didn’t know what any of this stuff between them meant, only that it meant something, and for now, that was enough. The rest of it, they could get to in time.

But this? Touching him, letting him touch her—this was easy. This was good. And Gaius, bless him, was personally committed to learning every inch of her body. The things that made her toes curl, her lips part, her legs tremble.

“Good evening,” Diana murmured against the shell of his ear as he pressed tender kisses to her jaw, working his way down.

“Sleep well?” Gaius mumbled against her neck and Diana shivered as the low timbre of his voice, still husky with sleep, sent little vibrations across her skin.

“Like a baby,” she grinned, pushing his hair back to see him better as he crawled over her, kissing her sternum, fingers framing her ribs. “I had the most wonderful dream.”

Gaius raised a brow at her, running a stray hand down her side to gently hold her knee against his waist. “Tell me about it.”

“Well,” Diana began, her lips curving as she stretched, arching her back and pushing her chest into his touch. Gaius’s mouth drew into a smirk and he followed her cue, mouthing along her breast. She sighed, resting her hand on his shoulder and rubbing small circles into the tense muscle as she continued on. “There was you. And me.”

“Mmhm.” Gaius hummed in wordless encouragement to go on and Diana’s toes curled, her thighs pressing together.

“Alone,” she added, wrapping one of his dark curls around her finger.

“I like the sound of that,” he chuckled, tongue swiping over her nipple. “What else?”

“Oh, I think you can imagine what transpired,” Diana teased although her voice quivered a little, her focus wavering. “It went a little bit like this, actually.”

“Is that so?”

“It is.”

“Then I suppose it’s in our best interest to make those dreams come true,” Gaius said innocently, shifting the leg he had held against her hip to rest atop his shoulder. There was a mischievous gleam in his eye that Diana had recently come accustomed to as he retreated down the bed that told her exactly what he planned to do to make her sing.

She was about to let him, too, when she let her head fall back against the pillow, gaze falling on the window to her left. Beyond, she could see the golden lights of Zermatt, sparkling in the night. The sight of it reminded her of a promise she made to herself last night, that she would take some time to explore and appreciate being in this incredible alpine village while she was here. Although Diana supposed that she couldn’t exactly do that if she was committed to spending the entire night in bed with Gaius, again. Sighing internally, Diana realized that if she didn’t stop this now, she never would.

Before Gaius could taste her, Diana squeezed his shoulder, drawing him up with a suffering sigh. As he settled onto the bed beside her, he raised an eyebrow. She knew he could feel her desire as acutely as she could feel his, but he didn’t push the matter.

Diana pushed herself up to her elbow, trailing her fingers over his chest. “As much as I want to stay here all night with you—and believe me, I do—I want to enjoy Switzerland while we’re here and do it without having to walk 60 miles.”

Gaius huffed a laugh, covering her hand with his. “I suppose that’s fair.”

Diana looked down at him, her gaze softening. “You’ll come out with me tonight, right?”

For him, it wasn’t even a question. “Of course.”

Diana smiled, nodding. “Perfect. I’m going to go take a bath. I want to check out the tub.”

She dragged herself out of bed, fingers combing through her tangled hair as she grabbed her bathrobe and a few clothes she had purchased from the hotel’s boutique when they slipped out of the room in the early hours of the morning the day before to cash in on the lodge’s complimentary continental breakfast.

As she rounded the corner to the bathroom, she paused, glancing back at him over her shoulder. Maybe she could kill two birds with one stone. “You could… join me, if you want.”

Something in her stomach clenched at the way his eyes darkened ever so slightly with lust, his brow raising in amusement. Before he could respond, Diana slipped into the bathroom, tossing her pile of clothes on the counter and turning on the bath’s faucet.

Bath wasn’t really the right word. This was more of a hot tub, with seats along the walls, small jets embedded in the sides. Diana was in the middle of studying the array of oils and bath salts the hotel provided when Gaius appeared behind her, looking over her shoulder at the collection. Reaching around her, he plucked a small tin of salt and flipped the lid open, sniffing it once before he pressed it into her palm and scouted out a small bottle of oil.

Those should go nicely together, he supplied, kissing her shoulder as he set his clothes, neatly folded, beside her pile.

How do you know that? she questioned, although she didn’t bother looking beyond what he had picked out. She scattered salts among the water, adding in the scented oil. Before long, the delicate, night-filled scent of jasmine wafted through the room, tendrils of steam caressing her body.

He gave her a lopsided smile. I know a thing or two about luxury, diviana.

I don’t doubt that. She gave him a knowing smirk, then gently placed her hand on his shoulder to steady herself. Gaius held her elbow as she put one leg over the edge of the tub, gingerly testing the water’s temperature before stepping in.

Oh, that was divine. Diana groaned as she sat against the wall, the water going all the way up to her neck, sore muscles sighing in relief. Gaius chuckled and settled in across from her, ducking his head beneath the water’s fragrant surface.

Diana simply observed him, draping her arms over the lip of the tub, chewing her lip as he resurfaced, dark hair slicked back, little rivulets of water trailing down his sculpted cheekbones, falling into the hollows of his neck. Diana watched one droplet roll down his chest, lower, lower…

I thought you wanted to go out tonight, Gaius mused in her head and Diana snapped her head up, catching his knowing expression. She felt her blood rush to her face but forced her features to relax into a mask of neutrality.

I do. She shrugged, trailing her fingers across the water. I was just admiring the view.

Gaius’s lip curved and he turned, grabbing a small bottle of shampoo. “Come here.”

Diana submerged herself, soaking her hair and gliding over to him. Gaius’s hand settled on her hip, guiding her to sit between his knees. He placed a quick kiss to the edge of her jaw, then swept her dark hair over her shoulders to rest against her back, fingertips brushing the sides of her neck as he did.

“What do you want to do tonight?” he asked, pouring soap into his hand and gently lathering it into her hair, fingers massaging her scalp. Diana let out a sigh, relaxing beneath his touch.

“Find a restaurant,” she hummed, eyes drifting closed as she tilted her head back. “Order some appetizers. Order drinks. Order dinner. Order dessert. Find a bakery. By some pastries.”

“It sounds like you just want to eat.” Diana could tell by the sound of his voice that Gaius was smiling. She wanted to see it. She turned, sitting sideways across his lap and he tsked. “I wasn’t done yet.”

“You can still do it like this,” she shrugged, plucking the shampoo bottle from his hands. “Now I can wash you, too.”

Gaius didn’t object as she dumped some of the soap into his hair and combed it through his locks. When he leaned in to resume his progress, Diana pecked the corner of his mouth; his smile deepened and she did it again.

“Sit still,” he mumbled, rolling his eyes. “I’m going to get soap in your eyes.”

“A small price to pay,” retorted, but focused on washing his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp.

This was… nice. Diana was struck by how easy being here with Gaius was, sitting in silence, just washing each other. This was yet another example of how well they coexisted together, fit together, worked together. She couldn’t help but wish that things could have always been this simple between them and found herself wondering if they could have had this sooner. But there was no use in going down that rabbit hole. They were here now, and that was all that mattered.

A few minutes later, after they had washed their hair out, Gaius poured body wash into his palm and motioned for her to turn around. “I’ll get your back.”

Diana didn’t argue and he set to work scrubbing her shoulders, her neck, fingers expertly kneading her tense muscles. She jolted, biting down hard on her cheek as she fought down what would have been an embarrassing moan in response to a mixture of a pleasant sort of pain mixed and relief that rolled through her, inadvertently lighting a fire low in her belly. Diana gritted her teeth as his thumbs pressed into the ridges of her spine.

This was going to be a test of restraint then.

After several agonizing minutes, Gaius finally washed the soap from her skin with water and Diana turned, trying in vain not to show how flustered she was, although color was high in her cheeks. Gaius’s face was neutral as he regarded her, more soap ready in his hands.

Right. Because there was still so much left of her to clean. Diana’s toes curled. If just washing her back had been that enticing…

Diana shifted, framing Gaius’s thighs with her knees to face him better and grabbed a bar of soap, clenching it hard in her fist to stop her fingers from trembling. She held it to his chest just as he began at her collarbone. He lifted a brow.

Diana swallowed but didn’t back down. I can control myself. Can you?

Gaius huffed, his breath warming her skin. Of course I can.

Then this shouldn’t be a problem. Before he could respond, Diana ran the soap across his tan skin, trying to focus on washing him rather than the feel of his hands on her. Subconsciously, her legs tensed around his as he cupped her breasts, thumbs swiping over her nipples, lathered in body wash.

Self-restraint, Diana told herself even as her breath hitched. Self-restraint.

She dragged the bar of soap lower, scrubbing the hard planes of his stomach while his attention was still on her breasts, his touch tantalizing. Diana clenched her jaw. “I think they’re clean, Gaius.”

His eyes flicked up to hers. “I am being thorough.”

Thorough my ass, she thought, biting so hard on the inside of her lip, she drew blood. When he rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, a small whimper sounded from the back of her throat and she glared at him.

I thought you could control yourself, he teased, eyes sparkling in amusement, and Diana scowled.

You’re hardly playing fair, she snapped back, fingers tightening on the bar of soap.

Gaius tilted his head slyly, lips curving. I wasn’t aware we were playing.

Oh, so that was how he was going to be then. Diana ground her teeth, steeling her resolve. Fine. If he was going to act up, she could return the favor. She dipped her hands below the water, swiping the soap along his lower stomach as she used her other hand to scrape her nails along the inside of his thigh. She watched his pupils blow wide, spots of color blooming across his cheeks.

Good, she hummed to herself.

Gaius drew back, dumping more soap into his hands, a muscle feathering in his jaw. He held her gaze, a hint of a challenge gleaming in his eyes as he skated one palm down the flat of her stomach and the other slipped between her legs.

Diana’s hips jerked as his fingers worked against her and she snarled in his mind, Bastard.

He innocently raised his eyebrows at her as if to say, Who, me?

Without prelude, she took him into her hand, delighted to find that he was already half-hard just from touching her, and ran the soap along his length, applying just enough pressure to make up for the lack of friction.

Gaius sucked in a sharp breath, his brows lowering as he gripped her hip with her free hand. Now who’s not playing fair?

Still you, she countered, not trusting herself to speak aloud as her body heated, practically burning in the warm water. The pads of his fingers circled her clit, his touch slick with soap and her own need, and Diana bit back a groan. She refused to sing until he did.

Diana fit the bar into the palm of her hand before wrapping her fingers, stroking without giving him the friction he needed. She watched in triumph, swiping her thumb over the head of him as his eyes fluttered shut and he tilted his face back, the curves of his throat standing out in stark relief as he let an unsteady moan.

“Now we’re even,” she cooed, a little breathless both from his ministrations and just the sight of him, so vulnerable and god damned beautiful under her touch. He belonged in a Renaissance painting, one with clouds and cherubs and whatever heavenly bullshit usually appeared in those works of art that she couldn’t remember for the life of her. After all, how could she? When he was touching her like this and her name sounded like a prayer on his lips?

All Diana knew was that he looked like an angel, absolutely ethereal. The sight of him like this, holy but so debauched, left her both entranced and feeling as if she were intruding on something private. If this was one of the Roman myths Gaius had recently told her about, then she was Actaeon, stumbling upon the sight of a god in their naked, full glory and—damn it, if she was Acteon, that made him the goddess Diana. The absurdity of that allusion almost made her bark with laughter as her mind hazed with the pleasure he freely gave her.

Diana moaned at last as he easily slid two fingers inside, curling them against her walls. She ground down on his hand, involuntarily clenching, feeling at once full but still left wanting more.

Before her mind could spiral even further, Diana withdrew her touch, casting the soap aside. It splashed somewhere behind her as she leaned forward, gripping the back of Gaius’s neck and pulling him in for a searing kiss. He moaned against her as she swiped her tongue against his lip, ravenous.

Gaius drew back, breathing hard. “I thought you said—”

“I know what I said. I take it back.” Diana crushed her lips against his and his fingers slipped out, causing a whine to build in the back of her throat. He gripped the underside of her thigh, pulling her over him and they both swore as Diana ground herself against him at last.

Zermatt and dinner could wait a little while longer, Diana decided as she rose on her knees, took him in her hand once more, and sheathed him in one move. Gaius swore in some language Diana didn’t recognize as she rolled her hips against him, draping one arm over his shoulder and cupping his cheek with her other hand, bringing their foreheads together. She wanted to see him, to see how his eyelashes fluttered and lips parted as she bore down on him, setting a steady but sensual pace.

Gaius’s hands roamed down her spine, settling on her backside and helping her along as he thrust up to meet each roll of her hips. It didn’t take long for the pleasure to build up in Diana, not with all of the wanting and (poor) self-restraint that had led up to this. She rocked against him, her stomach tightening as she breathed into the space between them, “Gaius, I’m not going to last.”

He had been watching, transfixed, all of the places they met. At her admission, his eyes flicked up to hers and she saw the hunger in them, the desire to please. He removed one hand from her back and set his fingers against the apex of her thighs and she shuddered, clenching hard around him. Every muscle in her body—her thighs, her stomach, her arms—felt coiled so tight, and every snap of her hips and rub of his fingers set her closer to the edge.

It was everything, the savage pace she had adopted, the desperate grip he kept on her back, and the look of complete and total surrender that crossed his face that urged her faster, harder, until it was too much and she went tumbling, hurtling herself over the edge of that cliff. She pulled Gaius tighter to her, gasping his name against his lips as she came, not slowing her pace until he groaned and she felt him stiffen and spill inside her, sated.

They stayed like that for a long while, breathing hard and still reeling. Diana’s head fell to his shoulder and Gaius ran a soothing hand down her back as he pressed his lips to her temple. In response, she kissed his neck and swiped her thumb across his shoulder.

When Diana finally caught her breath, she said, “I still want to get dinner.”

Gaius huffed, his breath ghosting over her forehead. “I’d expect nothing less of you.”

Diana lifted her head, glancing around the tub and wrinkled her nose. “I think we’re going to have to shower after this.”

Gaius hummed in agreement and shifted them so he had one arm beneath her shoulders and another at her knees. He stood, carrying her out of the tub and to the shower stall. He set her on her feet and stepped in beside her, shutting the glass door.

“We’re just showering,” Diana declared, pointing a finger at him as she turned on the faucet. “I mean it.”

Gaius smirked at her, eyes dancing. “Of course.”

“This is a nice shirt on you,” Diana noted, leaning across the table to tug on the cuff of Gaius’s shirt, a white cotton button-up. “You should wear more like it.”

They sat in a low lit restaurant, somewhere off of the main street in Zermatt, having just finished their main dinner course and ordered dessert. Fragrant spices and the din of conversation whirled around them. It was perhaps, the first time in weeks that they had been surrounded by so many people, and not had to hide.

“It’s not very practical for fighting,” Gaius frowned down at it as he drank from a glass of red wine. “Or camping. Or hiking.”

“And a doublet and a cape ever was?” Diana rolled her eyes, brushing her fingers over the back of his hand as she sat back, setting her elbow on the table and fitting her chin in her palm. “Adrian and Kamilah fought in pantsuits all the time.”

“Fine. It’s not very easy to clean,” Gaius rephrased, with a sigh. “Adrian and Kamilah have closets full of identical suits. “I have a backpack. Had a backpack.”

“We’ll get you a new one. A bigger one.” Diana ran her finger over the rim of her wine glass as she added, “One with lots of space for button-ups.”

His lip curved and he leaned back as their server reappeared with two plates in hand, decadent desserts topped on each. An elegant roll of sponge cake, cream, and strawberries for Diana and some sort of tart piled on with glazed fruits for Gaius. He thanked the server and picked up a small fork before turning back to her. “You spoil me.”

“I would be a liar if I told you that I wasn’t partially acting in my best interest.” Diana mirrored him, reaching for her own utensil and using the side of it to cut into her roll. “Besides, a backpack is nothing,” Diana clicked her tongue and tapped her foot against his below the table. She lowered her voice, looking at him through her lashes. “You have yet to learn what it is to be spoiled by me.”

Diana watched as color rose in his neck, just above the collar of his shirt. Interesting.

She ran her foot along the length of his calf and he shot her a look that was both amused and scolding, well aware of what she was up to. Diana took a bite of her roll, reveling in its creamy texture and sweet taste before she went on. “What else shall we get for you? A new coat,” she wondered aloud, “something warm and soft. New shoes…” She took another bite, noticing that Gaius still had not touched his dessert. “What would you like?”

“I have all that I need, diviana.” Gaius shook his head, his fork still hovering in the air. “You have already given me enough. I don’t need anything else.”

“Want and need aren’t the same thing, Gaius,” she chided and he averted his gaze, finally digging into the tart on his plate.

Diana was about to return her focus to her own food when he mumbled, “I want you.”

Her lips curved at the sentiment, heart softening. There was nothing charged or suggestive about that statement this time. Just an honest admission.

Sometimes it caught her off guard, his more obvious expressions of affection. As they broke down these walls between them Diana had picked up on the subtle ways he showed he cared: delicate brushes of his fingers against her skin, reaffirming his confidence in her, carrying her bags when her arms got sore. Many of these things, she noted, he had shown from the beginning. In the last two days, Diana had come to the realization that he had always been giving to her, whether it be advice, encouragement, snacks, or even pieces of himself.

Gaius leaned across the table, drawing Diana out of her thoughts. She watched as he set what appeared to be some sort of glazed fruit on her plate. When she looked closer, she realized they were sliced peaches.

Diana fought down a smile. Even now…

She ran the notch of her ankle down his leg before pulling back, the gesture one of gratitude this time rather than provocative. But his words, his behaviors… they had her thinking.

So you are more than happy to treat me, but you balk at the prospect of receiving, she mused through their bond, What is it? Do you think you are still undeserving of the things you want? Then she paused, running her tongue over her teeth in hesitation before she added gently, Of me?

She didn’t need the bond to see the answer in his eyes. Yes.

Something in her chest twinged painfully at that.

Diana reached across the table, took his hand, and pressed her lips to his knuckles. She squeezed his fingers, forcing him to meet her gaze. You are deserving of this, whatever it is. You are deserving of happiness, even if you don’t believe it.

The look he gave her was agonized, as if her words were too much to bear. This was not the time for this conversation, Diana knew. She could not convince him to abandon his own skewed view of himself in one night or like this. So for now, she would leave it.

But before she returned her attention to her dessert she added, With me, Gaius, you’re going to get as well as you give. She shoveled more of the spongy roll into her mouth, lips dragging along the fork as she shot him a searing look. And I know how well you do that.

Diana thought he looked quite lovely when he blushed.

Tagging: @somin-yin, @memetrashing, @bigmemesplz, @mkamra2355, @xbobbatea, @bachelorettebound14, @dorkylittleweirdo, @choicesplayer101, @mindlesschicca, @vesselsynths, @mikewawazoski

#gonna keep raving about how pretty gaius is until the day i die #gaius augustine #gaius x mc #my writing #bloodbound #choices #pixelberry #adrian raines #kamilah sayeed #jax matsuo #lily spencer #rheya apostolous

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dorkylittleweirdo · 5 years ago

Text

Just One Night (part 5)

Here’s part 5 y’all ^-^ things are gonna start heating up again in the next chapter or so, so get ready for that. If anyone has any suggestions/requests, hmu bc I always need ideas lmao. Anyways, hope y’all enjoy

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Gaius x Mc, don’t like, don’t read

It had been well over a year since you and Gaius had parted ways in the park. To say you had moved on would be a lie. You thought of him constantly, wondering how he was doing, if he was still alive. If he missed you. You flicked through different channels on your TV, when you heard a knock at the door. You let out a groan as you stood from the couch, making your way to your door. You didn’t even stop to think who could possibly be knocking this late in the evening when you unlocked your door and pulled it open, taking a startled step back when you saw who was at the door. “It’s you!”

Gaius looked himself up and down, then at you. “I should hope so,” he quipped, a slight smirk on his face. Though he tried to keep a neutral expression, he couldn’t contain the joy that sparkled in his eyes when he looked at you.

“But you- aren’t you supposed to be in Europe?” You asked, confusion evident in your voice.

"I can go back," he offered, taking a step back and watching how your eyes widened.

"Wait, no, I-" You struggled to string a somewhat coherent sentence together, your face burning as you opened your door wider. "Do you.. wanna come in?"

Gaius nodded, stepping into your apartment. Not much had changed since he had last been here. A few decorations had been added, sure, but everything remained in the same place.

The shock of Gaius's unannounced visit was wearing off, though questions still whirled through your mind. You shut your door and locked it again, causing Gaius to quirk a brow.

"Trying to trap me in here, I see," he teased, earning an eye roll from you.

"You wish," you replied, walking to your couch and motioning for him to follow. You sat down on one end of the couch, while Gaius seated himself on the other side. "So, how's Europe been?"

"It's.. nice. You'd like it there," he told you with a soft smile. "I still haven't exactly settled down, it's been mostly just traveling around."

You nodded. "Sounds exciting," you commented, returning the smile he gave you. Admittedly, you were a bit jealous that Gaius had been exploring Europe while you were stuck in New York. Your life went from action-filled and spontaneous, to mundane and predictable. You longed for a new adventure, something different.

He simply shrugged. "What's new around here?" Gaius inquired, looking at you expectantly. God, how he missed being able to see you while he was away. His days were spent filled with thoughts of you, though he would never admit it. He almost couldn't believe that he was sitting on your couch, face-to-face with you again.

"Oh, you know. The same," you answered, giving him a small chuckle. "Not much changes in the city. But I'm sure you have exciting stories about where you've been the past year." You gave him a hopeful look.

"It hasn't been that exciting," he told you, shaking his head.

"I live in the city, Augustine," you deadpanned. "Anything is more interesting than that."

Gaius chuckled. "I doubt it's as exciting as you think it is," he responded. "I just go around helping people who need it. That's all."

"I can't believe you're being so modest about it," you groaned, shooting him a playful smile as you inched closer to him.

"And I can't believe you're making such a big deal out of it," he retorted, rolling his eyes.

You gazed at him, noticing how much more at ease he looked than the last time you had seen him. You smiled. "I'm happy for you. You know that, right?"

Gaius looked almost startled. "Come again?"

"I'm happy for you," you repeated. "You found something you like doing. And by the sound of it, you're doing good at it, too. You've come a long way, that's something to be proud of."

He stared at you for a moment, unsure if you were being truthful or not. Just by the look on your face, he knew you were being honest. "Have I made you proud..?"

You gave him a funny look. "Of course you have," you said with a soft laugh. "But why does that matter?"

"Because I'm doing this for you," Gaius admitted, unable to meet your curious gaze. "The whole redemption thing, I'm doing it for you."

"For me?" You echoed, tilting your head at him. "What do you mean?"

Nervously, Gaius looked up, his eyes meeting yours. "I want to become a man worthy of you," he confessed.

Your eyes widened. Was that the reason he'd left for Europe in the first place? "You already are," you breathed, your eyes locked on his. "You were before you even left."

"I know that, my dear," he responded, closing the distance between you and reaching out to brush a hand against your cheek. "But I needed to prove that to myself. You're too good for this world, so kind and forgiving. Not everyone is like you."

"So… have you proved yourself worthy by your standards yet..?" You asked, giving Gaius a hopeful smile.

"Let's test it, shall we?" He cupped your cheek and leaned in to gently press his lips against yours, feeling you kiss back almost instantly. He pulled away a moment later, a slight blush creeping onto his cheeks.

“Well?”

Gaius pretended to ponder for a moment. “I couldn’t tell.”

You smiled, then shrugged. “Guess we’ll have to try again.” You quickly captured his lips with yours again, feeling Gaius move his hand to the small of your back, pulling you against him. You draped your arms over his shoulders. You’d forgotten just how much you missed this in the past year, pulling away with a satisfied smile.

“Maybe one day, I’ll be worthy of your lips,” he stated, moving his thumb to lightly brush over your bottom lip. Gaius had missed you terribly, but despite how you reacted, he still felt like he didn’t even deserve to be in the same room as you. He didn’t deserve you.

“I’ll be here when you decide you are,” you answered, gazing longingly into his eyes. You never realized just how beautiful his pale blue eyes really were until you couldn’t see them anymore. Now that you had his eyes back in your life, you never wanted them to leave.

Gaius moved away from you, giving you a guilty, apologetic look. “I can’t stay. There’s still so much I have to do, and I can’t do it here.” He was expecting yelling, maybe tears. What he wasn’t expecting was what you did next.

“Take me with you,” you urged, your eyes pleading. You were more than willing to leave everything behind. You desperately needed a change of pace, a reason to leave this city that only served to remind you of all you had lost.

“Are you sure..?” Gaius questioned, earning a nod from you. “Then I’ll be more than happy to have your company.”

“How long until we leave?”

“A few days, a few weeks. Whenever we want, Your Highness.”

You grinned, flinging yourself against him, your lips colliding with his. You didn’t care what happened next, you just wanted to live in this moment with Gaius. You had the rest of eternity to figure everything out.

Tag list (let me know if you wanna be added or taken off):

@somin-yin @freya-blanco @opheliadawnwalker3 @galaxy-of-rosess @an-urban-witch-ig @noboundariesplease @edgiestwinter @you-maniac @madaboutchoices @tea-effect @theclownandtheflame @bloodbound-writes @luciemiddleford @cryinginthebackseat @mrs-gaius-augustine @infinitiestones @crazyyfaaangirl @thirteenis-myluckynumber

#bloodbound #gaius augustine #gaius augustine x mc #gaius x mc #my writing

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