#this post was brought to you courtesy of The Book of Hope and Ministry for the Future

[flystill]

can someone explain something to me? how can you be interested in wildlife and nature in general and also only experience pessimism regarding Earth's future? if you care for creatures, ecosystems, natural beauty, then is there any option but to fight and hope for their best outcome?

I just ... maybe I've consumed too much pop sci and positive speculative fiction re:climate change, maybe i am too comfortable with the idea of change not being bad in and of itself. Of course I think oil companies are bad and need to close up shop asap, and of course there is and will be a lot of ugliness in the world. there will be species we lose due to climate change, and there will be death in general. the entire economic system will need to change, and it will be rough.

we need to mitigate loss of life and habitat and focus on sustainable resource use strategies. but without hope that any mitigation is possible, how can you claim to care about the natural world at all? ecosystems are pretty good at adapting. humans can adapt pretty well too.

it just makes me sad that people who are intelligent and claim to care about the Earth can simultaneously shrug their shoulders and say "yep, it's going to shit". I used to think this way to some extent, but maybe this is part of that 'hope/optimism takes maturity' thing. anyway, i just found my recent conversation with a 'pessimist' disconcerting. thinking that way is not useful or personally fulfilling, even though I know it can be easy to fall into it. there already is and there will continue to be much to grieve regarding the state of the natural world and human society, but if the majority of us believe there is no reason to fight for our planet's future, then that degrades the quality of life in that future even further.

[kogo-dogo]

i like your skyrim stuff and i wanna know more about the funky little dudes you posted in those “sentences” lol. instead of asking for more snips

You have made a mistake. Prepare for an essay.

But, joking aside, they’re Morrowind characters. I do like Skyrim, but Morrowind is my favorite game of all time and the entire reason I got into the TES fandom years ago. I don’t talk about it much on here because everyone is here for Half-Life and HRV, but... you know what? I’mma take this opportunity. To yell.

About The Guys(tm).

So, basically, in my Personal Canon, I don’t just have a Nerevarine (i.e. Protagonist) character. I have an entire crew of people who help him get through things because it just seems... more realistic for my Extremely Flawed and Terrible Nerevarine. Also, I just had a lot of characters conjured up as a teenager and it was fun to evolve it over time so they’re all friends.

They are, as follows:

- Jo’Karsa (a.k.a. “Karsaga”). Battlemage born under the Atronach. Afflicted with Wombburn. Also the Nerevarine. He’s an abnormally large Cathay-raht who has had an unusual upbringing. He was originally an orphan plucked off the streets in Corinthe and trafficked to Morrowind where he was sold as a slave. As fate would have it, a houseman under his owner took a shine to him and stole him away when they fled to Cyrodiil to avoid political assassination. Karsaga has been raised Telvanni in Imperial territory so, despite being a mighty brute of a Khajiit, he has an extreme affinity for magic and an equally extreme disconnect from his Khajiiti roots.

He speaks like a Dunmer, carries himself like a Dunmer, and has very Telvanni sensibilities. He also has an extensive criminal record from his time spent as a bandit outside of Cheydinhal, and that is eventually how he ends up on the prison boat that sends him to Morrowind. He has a bunch of aliases and an unhealthy penchant for drink and smoke. Not a fan of skooma, though. As gruff and sarcastic as he is, he has a very silver tongue and a way of winning people over and talking himself out of trouble.

Also, “youth born under a certain sign?” Nah, this bitch is 34. And smells like a wet dog.

- Dasrazel. Altmer Nightblade and Quarra vampire. He contracted his vampiric curse while trying to save his lover from the clutches of an undead menace during the Second Era, after a life working various quasilegal oddjobs that brought shame on his noble family. In life, he was a likeable but lowkey individual, and in undeath he’s still very lowkey... but perhaps not as likeable. He has to take a low dose of a calming potion to keep the inherent, violent bloodlust of his Quarra curse at bay, and it does a lot to deaden his emotions. Combine that with hundreds of years to learn how to not give a fuck, and you have a very blunt, stoic, matter-of-fact creature who only very occasionally makes quips and usually just wants to be left alone.

He is Karsaga’s closest ally, right hand man, and platonic soulmate. They met after Karsaga robbed him blind at a bar (thinking him to just be some weird, frail elf), and Dasrazel took pity on him after Karsaga ran him through with an iron saber and panicked when it... did nothing. Their bond is one of a mutual distaste for most people and Dasrazel’s desire to have companionship again.

They’re very much bros, even if Dasrazel spends most of his time not understanding why Karsaga is the way he is.

-  Neira Brenur. Dunmer Witchhunter and low-ranking member of House Redoran. She’s the daughter of a Camonna Tong member and an Ashlander woman, though her mother is dead and she spends a lot of time trying to distance herself from her racist father. She joined Redoran in hopes of atoning for the crime of just being born into a bad family, but has a really difficult time fitting in. She’s very meek and empathetic and does better in controlled duels than actual combat. The idea of actually hurting an opponent makes her sick to her stomach.

She kind of just happened to Karsaga one day, courtesy of him running afoul of her not-so-popular friend, Vandrith (we’ll get to that trainwreck later). She mainly acts as a translator for Vandrith and tries to play mediator when Karsaga starts getting too aggressive with others. She’s in good with some odd folks in Redoran and a very aggressive supporter of the Tribunal Temple, which makes it hard for her to wrap her mind around Karsaga’s existence as the Nerevarine.

Also, the fact she’s an absolute pushover means she just accepts the less-than-savory people Karsaga pals around with. She’s got a big heart and feels actual pity for his blasphemous, undead, and criminal friends. They’re good people on the inside (probably).

- Vandrith Valen. Dunmer Ordinator and conglomeration of a lot of factors coming together in the worst way possible. He is naturally “blessed by Azura” and has some degree of prophetic power, though he’s choked it down after a life of being raised Indoril. He also came to the unfortunate realization after being stationed on Vvardenfell, that he is also a descendant of House Dagoth and is haunted by the Poison Song, a “song” sent out by Dagoth Ur that warps the minds of those who are of his blood and turns them into Sleepers and Dreamers.

These two traits do not mesh well and make Vandrith more than a little unstable.

Vandrith is... prone to erratic behavior and violent outbursts and is largely under the care of his paternal uncle, Tuls Valen, the head priest of the Ald’ruhn Temple. Vandrith is also a clever and tricky bastard who has been trying to figure out how to discern Dagoth Ur’s plans from the Poison Song in order to prevent bad things from happening. Usually, he can keep things under control, but extremely bad visions, close proximity to items/places corrupted by House Dagoth, and stress can cause him to be difficult.

Beyond this, though, he’s not what you’d expect from an Ordinator. He’s very witty with a somewhat bawdy sense of humor, a very devil-may-care attitude, and he’s a huge fan of causing mischief. He forced his way into Karsaga’s social circle due to his absolute certainty that Karsaga could bring down Dagoth Ur, and Neira is his closest (and for a long time only) friend, who has figured out what all of his weird ramblings mean.

- Bashinga. Sorceress and Aundae vampire. She is an old acquaintance of Dasrazel’s who has ties to Telvanni, the Mage’s Guild, and several circles of warlocks and witches. She’s very much a self-serving sort, more interested in the acquisition of power than the wellbeing of Morrowind, but she is fiercely protective of the people she deems worthy (and she has a soft spot for Neira she can’t really explain).

Once upon a time, she was a dancer and performer with a traveling circus, and her fall into undeath and wizardry was a happy accident after being taken as cattle by rogue Aundae. She’s got a good set of vocal cords and can move with grace and ease, but she speaks very bitterly a lot of the time and is difficult to get along with.

She’s one of those people who Karsaga immediately took a shine to because they both like to sit around and bitch about people. Dasrazel and Bashinga mostly get along by the time-honored tradition of “two very gay individuals being catty at each other as a sign of affection, though outsiders would think they hate one another.”

- Jai Swift-Fly. Cathay assassin and member of the Morag Tong. She was born and raised in Elsweyr in a more tribal environment, and is an old friend of Vandrith’s (odd, considering they met because she took a grey writ to knock him off and, instead, he knocked her out). She mostly comes into the fold because Karsaga needed somebody to break into the Ministry of Truth to free Mehra Milo, and she came highly recommended (by Vandrith; Vandrith recommended her). 

She’s a married mother of two, is big and strong and very proud of being big and strong, and a crack shot with a bow. She’s also deaf as hell and communicates through a series of homebrew gestures. Her decision to stick around and help Karsaga after completing the job she was hired to do stems primarily from her extreme curiosity. She has no stake in the Nerevarine Prophecy or this group of losers, but by god does she want to see what it looks like when a god dies.

Fun fact: Jai is dead by the events of Skyrim, but two of her descendants remain. Shevah and J’Rakka. They’re a brother-and-sister duo. Shevah is as much of a curious, troublemaking adventurer as her so-many-greats grandmother. J’Rakka is a werewolf who mostly hunts bounties to make a living.

- Dravyn Telvayn (no picture of him, sorry D:). Dunmer assassin and member of the Morag Tong. Former highwayman and current Berne vampire. Husband of Jai and perpetually confused, mainly over the fact he has kids with Jai and... well, every book he’s read has indicated that that should be impossible for a variety of reasons. He lives in the sewers of the Arena canton in Vivec City and is allowed work in the Morag Tong due to his efficacy at eliminating very high risk targets, though he’s basically “on his own” if he ever gets caught. They’re sure as fuck not giving him writs of execution to present to guards when the Tong could end up fucked over if their relationship with a vampire gets out.

He’s mostly in the background and tags along due to his extreme dedication to Jai. He doesn’t get along with hardly anyone but her, though he is the one who coined the term “Council of Accidents” in relation to him, Dasrazel, and Bashinga. He feels a loose kinship with them in that they’re all members of different vampire clans, but all members whose sires want nothing to do with them, rendering them outcasts. Even after the events of Morrowind, he keeps in infrequent contact with the others. 

After Jai’s death, he acts as a weird “ancestral guardian” to his own descendants. As of the time of Skyrim, he spends most of his time trying to keep Shevah from getting killed. He is very tired. She is a lot.

[bestillandremember]

I am Israel.

May 13th, 2019

I’m a day late, and I have no British phrase of the week. Apologies to my readers. I hope all two of you will be able to extend some grace, as I have very good reasons. Sunday was sunny! That’s my only excuse actually. If you’ve spend any time in England though, you know a day of sunshine can’t go by unappreciated. So I was outside, soaking and breathing it all in. I wish I could describe the freedom this place brings, just by existing. The dichotomy found in hills that are so peaceful but also so alive. The unparalleled serenity in such open fields, with tiny flowers crowding the hills and fighting for rays of the frequently hidden sun. Lakes that move in the wind that picks up the sounds of birds and sheep, content in their routine of chirping and grazing.

I wish I could describe it in a way that would allow anyone reading to feel it. I wish I could take pictures that captured everything I was seeing so others could too. Sadly, most of the shots I take fall very short, as they often do in places this beautiful. I also wish I could convey the sheer massiveness of swans. I took a sharp left for one of the benches that border the lake here, only to find myself face to face with one of the most immense birds I’ve ever seen. They have two things that contribute to their size- height and width. These birds are tall. This one had to at least be 4 feet high and have a considerable amount of weight on it. No judgement, just saying I probably wouldn’t be able to carry it or take it on alone. Unlikely that I would ever need to, but these are the things you think about when you have one staring you down.

Disclaimer for the next part: I’m going to attempt to dive into my spiritual journey a little bit here. If you’re at all curious about how the Lord is speaking to me and how I am healing, read on! If not, I understand, but I am open to questions if you’re not familiar with a lot of the things I’m going to be sharing next. It’s complicated, and I don’t have nearly as much figured out as I would like to, so my answers may be biased or limited. This is also going pretty far back in time, and uncovering some pretty serious wounds. I am just one person, one opinion, and one experience. Everything will be subjective, and none of it is an absolute truth about people or ministry as a whole. But writing has always been a way of processing the constant overload of things in my brain and heart so- buckle up!  

I have spent half the day writing and rewriting this post. I went head first into the deep end, going back to high school hurt and forward to recent aches that still sting. It’s difficult to tell your story. Especially when God is peeling away layer after layer from the very beginning and showing you new things that are more than ten years in your past. I’ve seen a lot of hurt because of my own actions, and I’ve allowed a lot of hurt in my life at the hands of others. I’ve pursued people and the world so hard that I have lost sight of myself and the Lord in the process. Gaining that perspective is hard to put to words.

In the last week, in just regular conversation, I’ve been asked to re-examine two pieces of my past, and found I am seeing them with new eyes. I was asked about the loss of a friend in high school, Will Wardrip, and spoke to the difficulties of dealing with death at that age, especially in the wake of so many other things going on at the time. I gave almost a rehearsed explanation of an experience I felt far outside of now, and was hit with an emotional sledgehammer when I realized that I had probably one of the purest, most consistent friendships I have known because of this tragedy. A companionship I have not only taken for granted, but completely abused the last 10 years of having it. 

Today I was asked about my connection with Young Life and was made acutely aware of the bitterness and resentment I still hold towards many people in that organization, and maybe even the ministry as a whole. From volunteering as a leader in college, to Summer Staff and interning at Woodleaf, to working with Capernaum after college. A ministry I grew up in, a camp I adored and called home at one point, and a message I believed in- all abused by humans mistaking their opinion and perception for truth. A safe place near and dear to my heart, destroyed by straight up deceptive and deeply disturbed humans. Or worse, rigid and prejudiced people who weren’t able to look outside of themselves and do what we are called to do as Christians in and outside of ministry: love people for who they are, where they are at. A courtesy many people failed to extend to me during my time serving. Strong language, I know- but it’s my truth. 

I’ve shared other parts of my most recent past, and haven’t experienced this depth of emotion that I did with the last two examples. I’ve been trying to understand why these ancient hurts, some of which honestly feel petty at this point, are being unearthed and resurfacing. The only explanation I have is a new understanding. In the last four weeks, I’ve been looking at one of the most historically well preserved texts in great detail. Learning about the Dead Sea Scrolls and the 800+ copies that are quoted and referenced in the over 5,000 copies of the New Testament that all date mere centuries after the events were meant to have taken place. I’ve been learning about the translation of words, and the reliability and consistency of these documents as they point to the inspiration behind them.

All lead back to the same source: God. Just like my story. All my pain, every disappointment, every loss, every mistake and horrible choice I’ve made has brought me back to one person: Jesus. Deuteronomy, an Old Testament book I have underestimated and yawned at in the past, has become arguably one of the most important books in my life. Years ago, it painted an image of a God I couldn’t comprehend, much less relate to. He was a wrathful, even petty God who wanted it His way or the highway (or in this case, the wilderness). But what I didn’t understand at the time was that I was Israel. His chosen people, liberated and brought out of slavery, blinded by their own humanity and weakness. They were completely unable to see the provision and mercy gifted to them.

I’ve been wandering the wilderness for the last 10+ years, and I’ve walked through the doors opened for me with no awareness of who went before me. I’ve made my own choices, ignoring the voice inside of me warning me of the mistake I was making, and actively denied what I thought was just my conscience. I’ve been offered blessings that I’ve rejected outright and pursued every sinful inclination I could, rationalizing it along the way with good intention. Each time, I’ve hit the ‘woe is me’ stage of regret and wondered what I did to deserve such suffering. The veil that was lifted revealed something frustratingly simple- the Lord was not absent. I was not abandoned in my hurt. I chose not to see Him. I ran repeatedly from His presence and towards my own destruction, just like Israel. It was my fault.

Granted, thanks to Adam and Eve, I come by it honestly. But can I continue to blame my sinful nature if I’m aware of it? Because Deuteronomy 7:6 “The Lord your God has chosen you out of all the peoples on the face of the earth to be his people, his treasured possession.” God is still God whether I accept it or not. And His choice is not negated by my unwillingness to choose Him in return, and does not make Him any less intentionally present in my life. Just like my acknowledgement of my mother doesn’t change the fact that she gave birth to me. It comes down to the relationship, because in both cases, we are connected by blood. So my total acceptance of the Lord in every aspect of my life is the only way to see Him, not just here and now at Bible School, but in my past and in my future.

Since realizing that, I have felt the strongest release of weight, fear, and anxiety that years of therapy couldn’t even touch. I have been white knuckling my past, unable to let go of even the things I wanted so badly to escape, including and especially my part in it. Every day a new part of the years that have shaped me is excavated, brushed off, and examined through the lens of a persistent, faithful God and His Son who died to save me from wearing this banner of sin and shame where ever I go. Each time, the same conclusion is reached: it’s covered, and I am loved and chosen. Every day, He chooses and fights for me.

Anyone that knows me well, knows that last sentence is a big one for me. For years, I have been letting close people that have used, abused, and left me out to dry. Time after time, I give myself away hoping it will be an exchange, or at least reciprocated, instead of a “Finders Keepers” situation. Instead, I have been told I was a waste of time, or I was not the right fit (both actual verbatim quotes).  In the wake of my mistake, caught up in my brokenness, I would make the same request: That someone I loved would choose me. Just once, so I could know what it felt like to be hand-picked and selected above the rest. I’ve been kicking myself since I read Deuteronomy 7:6 and discovering that while I was running away, He was patiently waiting. Reminding me in ways I refused to say that I was His treasured possession, and that He chooses me daily.

I’m still processing things. Considering there’s a decade of work to be done, I don’t suspect that I will ever “arrive” as future events tend to build upon the past. I suppose that’s the point of a relationship though, walking beside someone through every season in life. I’m excited to break down the walls that have kept me from seeing and experiencing the love of my Father in my life. If I was blind to most obvious evidence of God in my life, who knows what else I missed? I know the road won’t be straight or easy, and I’m nowhere close to complete even in the aftermath of Jesus’ sacrifice. But He is all and is in all, and I am grateful for that. And for endless second chances to return to the only safe place I’ll never see destroyed.

[moonlight-escapade]

“Have you ever heard of the term, Obscurus?” (Newt Imagine) Pt. 1

Hello there! So… concept: imagine your parents are some of the darkest most horrible wizards out there. You were abandoned by them as a child, but the past is quickly catching up to come destroy the life you’ve found peace in around you.

I have no idea where this story came from, I just grabbed my computer and was like “okay, write,” and this is what came of it haha! It’s not quite conventional I think, for a Newt imagine, but I enjoyed writing it so I thought, what the hay? :) It’s quite long so I’m going to post it in different “parts.” There is definitely going to be a lot more Newt being cutesy as the story rolls along, but there’s a lot of things leading up to it that I wanted to play with so hopefully you find some enjoyment out of it!

(*disclaimer- I’ve kind of created my own ideas regarding some of the machinations of the Obscurus and other aspects of the Wizarding world. I was just playing around so just an F.Y.I, it’s not completely perfect in the J.K. Rowling design of the Wizarding World.)

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N),” a voice echoed throughout the stone classroom. The sound bounced wildly off the walls, adding harshly to the effect of the already aggravated tone it took. You quickly shot around, looking towards the back of the room at the tall dark man that stared chillingly towards you as he waited in the doorway.

“What’s going on?” Newt whispered uneasily from his seat next to you. You glanced over at him for a moment, unsure yourself what that answer held.

“Come along we don’t have all day,” the man behind you snapped as his voice boomed throughout the space around you once again. Hands shaking, you stood uneasily… you knew who that man was, but you couldn’t tell Newt. No. You couldn’t.. he’d never look at you the same way again. You would never survive if the one person you cared about more than anything… more than anyone… the only person you had really, stopped being your friend.

As you reached to gather your books after slinging your bag over your shoulder, you found Newt  already holding them steadily before you, his brilliant eyes shaded deep with fear and concern. You knew he was trying to get some signal of assurance from you… but you could offer nothing. Grabbing the books from him, you left your desk, unable to meet his eye. As the sound of your clicking footsteps painfully shot throughout the room, it wasn’t until then that you noticed the rest of your classmates… the way they seemed to have frozen in time. You felt your chest tighten… feeling as though the air had completely escaped the room.

Once reaching the man who’d come to collect you, he immediately gripped the sleeve of your gown with such unexpected aggression, you couldn’t help the gasp of terror that escaped your lips. As you peered up at him, you felt a chill run down your spin. His eyes were an intensely unsettling shade of electric blue that, you thought, promised to petrify anyone who dared stare back into them. The sound of a chair scratching on the stone ground suddenly rang throughout the deafening silence, breaking you away from the mans threatening stare. You looked back quickly to find Newt standing, wand in hand, in the middle of the classroom. Your heart leaped into your throat as you shot him a pleading glance, urging him to stay away, to go back to his seat. To put his wand away.

Please. You begged him.

Seeming to notice your plea, his wand fell behind him. His eyes meeting yours in desperation as you achingly turned away from him, unable to meet his gaze. “On then,” the man spat down at you, pushing you in front of him towards a group of three other equally menacing members, who dragged you away from Hogwarts… from Newt… to God only knew where.

“Don’t you lie to me you bitch,” the electric eyed man yelled, spitting over your face as he did. His arms suddenly came down on either side of you. Your heart raced as you frantically tried to pull your hands free from the interrogation chair you had been strapped into. Your eyes welled with tears as you screamed to them the same answer you’d given a thousand times since arriving. “I don’t know!”

Feeling heavy sobs begin to edge their way into your chest, you scolded yourself for being unable to hold back your tears in anger. They thought you weak. They thought you useless. They thought you naïve. Dumb, stupid, idiotic-

“If I knew… If I knew- do you think I would even be with them? They abandoned me. They didn’t care about me. My parents haven’t even bothered to speak to me in over ten years- how in the hell do you suppose I know what their plans are?” You screamed at them. Spitting angrily as you finished your sentence.

“Oh but you do know their plans. Your parent’s plan to ruin the ministry- their plan to ruin our entire world. And what better pawn- what better a piece de resistance but their darling daughter? So full of rage and vengeance… so full of untapped potential. All it takes is the perfect snap for those dark fires to burst,” he poked your chest.

“What the hell are you talking about?” You fired back at him violently. His frightening eyes bore straight back into yours. You fought the fear that threatened to rip through your angered body. Slowly then, his hand came close to your head, his fingers reaching gently toward a single strand of hair that fell over your face.

“You really don’t know, do you?” he chuckled darkly as he pushed the strand back. You would have recoiled in disgust had you not been so trapped.

“Know what?” You spat at him. Though you had no intention in believing the slightest word that left his filthy mouth.

He chuckled… and chuckled, then stood up, pacing the small floor surrounding you in a slow, predatory circle.

“Dear Miss. (Y/L/N), have you ever heard of the term, ‘Obscurus?’”

Making your way as back quickly as possible to Slitheryn hall, you had to literally force yourself to not collapse and start hyperventilating right in the middle of the pitch black courtyard- at least until you got into your dormitory. Your head felt light, and your stomach felt knotted. You could barely breathe through your nose and began to wonder if you would be able to make it the seemingly millions of steps left to go to get to your hall.

It wasn’t possible. It wasn’t possible. You kept repeating in your head. No… you shook your head, as if that would rid your mind of the truth unveiled upon you today. No! You walked faster, books falling from your hands which you made no effort to turn and retrieve.

It doesn’t make sense. You were a witch. A practicing witch. You couldn’t… No! It wasn’t possible.

“The dark magic inside you- don’t you feel it?” The memory of his hot breath whispered into your ear made your breath hitch in your throat. You shook your head roughly, nearly tripping on your boots as you ran towards your dorm.

“Mrs. (Y/L/N)?” The familiar voice of Professor Viridian sounded down the hall as you ran past the classroom you’d left from this morning. This morning. It felt like years ago.

You quickly wiped your eyes as her footsteps brought her to the doorway. Stepping forward, you nodded politely at your professor. “I’m sorry Professor, I know I shouldn’t run in the halls,” you mumbled hoping it was loud enough for her to hear. You could barely trust your voice at this moment. Least of all your sense of courtesy.

“No, dear…” She began nervously, her hands fidgeting as she stood in the doorway of the potions room. A gesture you’d never seen her do before. She was a very strong, somewhat serious woman… to see her so nervous?…

Your heart suddenly felt to your throat. She knows.

“Professor-“ you began nervously, but were cut short by her hand raising in the air. “I am glad you are back with us,” she spoke gently, her grey eyes searching you carefully. As if a single look in your direction would cause you to break… though in which context you found yourself uncertain. Your chest tightened as you nodded towards her, then turned back to continue running towards your dorm.

“Your’s is a special case,” the words rang acoustically through your head refusing to leave any space in peace.

“Once in a million,” his sneer echoed.

You ran faster. The image of a file resting in his pale white hand came up, burning your minds eye.

“Ever wondered why you’ve never been quite so good at defense against the dark arts?”

“Shut up!” You yelled, covering your ears with your hands.

“Because you feel it inside of you… begging to be released.”

You held yourself, falling onto the ground as you cried into the pitch black hall. Your arms wrapped around your head as you pressed your palms onto your ears, shaking your head back and forth as you begged the memories to go away.

“You can’t defend yourself against what feels right.”

Suddenly, shocking you momentarily, a pair of arms wrapped themselves around you. Your heaving body being lifted into their chest as you gripped onto their shirt. Your mind was so full of noise you barely had time to process the gesture. Forcing yourself to breathe deeply from your nose then, you inhaled the familiar mossy scent of none other than your Newt. Your breathing hitched as your face shot up, your eyes meeting his deeply worried expression as he carried you down the stairs of the Slytherin common room. Once reaching the familiar emerald glowing fire, he set you down on one of the large black sofas before curling you up in a blanket and enveloping you once more in his arms.

You sat with him for a long time. Long enough for time to completely lose meaning as the fire burned brightly before you, licking flames keeping you in a trance along with the feel of Newt’s breathing. You pressed the side of your head to his chest, feeling your body relax as you tried to focus on the sound of his heart. The melodic rise and fall of his chest putting you to sleep as you curled yourself almost completely into your sweet Hufflepuff. And then night left.