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theasstour · 4 years ago

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𝐍𝐞𝐰𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟏𝟒𝐤 𝐍𝐁: 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭

A/N: Now that we’re at the end of year 1, there will be a lil pause in updates for the time being, just fyi! Next update will be on Sunday 23rd May and then every Sunday until the end of the second year again, which is a tag bit longer and MUCH more eventful than the first year aiajfiegj ✨ Anyway !!! Enjoy chapter 11, it’s a Lot 🏛️🦅

December 2013

Though Y/N was used to her sister doing things when she wanted to and not really having a care in the world for what anyone else would think, it still took her a little by surprise when she walked in the direction of the woods. The sisters had helped their parents carry all the luggage indoors, not doing so would result in Lottie scolding them for being lazy. Neither wanted the Christmas cabin trip to start on a bad note.

“You coming?!” Marcela called to her sister, stopping by a tree and resting her hand against it.

“Coming…” Y/N said to herself, looking over at the cabin door that still stood open before glancing in Marcela’s direction again. “Coming where?!”

“Let’s take a walk!”

It was just about to get dark, the sky above them white like a cotton blanket was draped lazily over the south of Wales, but greying with an oncoming storm. The last time Y/N had been to Newport was a weekend in October, but it had been raining constantly, so she had not taken the time to walk around the forest or stroll down to the ocean a mere 10-minute walk from the cabin. She had just been indoors, reading The Picture of Dorian Gray and not feeling any sort of need to leave the cabin’s four warm walls. Marcela had been in Manchester then, busy with uni work, and planning on spending the weekend studying in the library. She had an article that needed to be written for the UoM’s monthly academic journal, she said she wanted to finish it as quickly as possible, so Y/N had not asked her sister to drop it and come regardless. Though she had very much wanted to do just that.

“Y/N!”

Y/N walked over to her sister instantly, jogging a little to reach her before Marcela just turned around and started walking on before they were side by side. Though the trees around them weren’t many, they were big. Huge beech trunks rose up from the ground around them sporadically, their massive branches stretching out around them like the long, slithering limbs of many insects. Different coloured leaves covered most of the forest floor, though some brown and yellow still lingered in the dark, old trees. In summertime, most of the forest was left in shade, covered up by the thick layer of leaves that rose high above them, preventing actual sunbeams from touching the ground.

“Any idea what you’re gonna be wearing for New Year’s Eve?” Marcela asked once the two of them had walked a minute in silence.

New Year’s Eve was just a few days away, and the family planned on spending it alone in Newport. Marcela usually spent it with Kit and friends in Manchester, but it had been a while since she had celebrated a proper Brazilian New Year’s Eve. Though the Montes family usually spent it in Nottingham with the rest of their big family, Davi and Lottie wanted to try and spend this one with just the four of them. Neither one of the sisters were opposed to the idea, it just meant they wouldn’t have to watch their primos, Edgar at 7, Valentim at 5, and Raimundo at 2, while tia Gilma and tio Jaren ate their Véspera de Ano Novo dinner undisturbed. They loved their primos dearly, but it often left both of them massaging their temples to get rid of a throbbing headache afterwards.

“I brought a white tee shirt and some white joggers,” Y/N said, wrinkling her nose. “I hate wearing white.”

“Why, it doesn’t go with your gothic-black-clothing type of lifestyle?” Marcela laughed, reaching up and picking a yellow leaf off a branch.

Y/N did not feel like telling Marcela why she hated wearing white. And in turn therefore hated part of New Year’s Eve. Only that one part.

Davi always started off every Réveillon, or every new year, by knocking on his daughters’ doors and exclaiming, “Ano novo, vida nova!” New Year, new life. Brazilians are extremely superstitious when it comes to New Year’s Eve. What you do, eat, and wear on New Year’s Eve, will draw certain energies and wishes for the upcoming year. New Year’s Eve in Rio de Janeiro is a massive beach party from Copacabana Beach to Ipanema and beyond. Millions upon millions of people gather at their nearest beach to celebrate, starting early in the evening and going all night, Y/N had always dreamed of one day experiencing that herself. She had been to Brazil, but never on New Year’s Eve.

One of the Brazilian traditions for New Year’s is to wear all-white. Y/N was told by Davi years ago that the tradition came from African religions as an homage to the God Oxalá. It was then adopted by Roman Catholics and Evangelists alike, and though their family wasn’t religious, they practiced this regardless. Another tradition that you did alongside the all-white, was that you have to wear coloured underwear on New Year’s, and it all depended on what you want you want the new year to bring.

“I brought a white dress,” Marcela explained. “What colour?”

“Hmm, I brought a few colours. Think I might go with laranja.”

“Orange,” Marcela smiled. “Professional success. Good choice.”

“And you?”

“Amarelo.”

Y/N blinked. “Yellow.”

“Luck,” Marcela said. “What do you think everyone that sees us at the beach on New Year’s Eve are gonna think? They’ll see us jumping into the water and into seven ondas.” Marcela laughed. “Unless they know of Brazilian culture, they won’t understand what’s going on.”

Y/N smiled.

“Let’s confuse them.”

“Going into the ocean at midnight and jumping into seven waves for good luck, is nice.” Y/N wrinkled her nose. “If the water just hadn’t been so cold.”

“And we need to jump into the ice-cold waves head-on.”

“But you can make one wish for each wave.” She shrugged her shoulders. “It’s been a while since we got to do that, not a lot of ocean in Notts.”

Marcela smiled. “If only we were in Copacabana.”

“I want to watch the fireworks there so baaad!”

“Instead we’re stuck in Newport.”

“Well,” Y/N said, cocking her head to the side as she caressed a tree when they walked past it. “You decided to come here yourself, I was forced. I’m stuck, you can leave.”

Marcela only bumped Y/N’s shoulder with her own, shaking her head at her before she jogged a bit away. Y/N just continued on walking, thinking that her sister had just found a rock or something else that she wanted to pick up, but after a few metres, she was still not back. Turning around, she saw her sister hunched over something further away than she had seen her last, wiping at something on the ground as if to reveal something hidden beneath the layer of leaves and dirt there. Y/N walked over, feeling as if the forest around them had just gone deadly quiet. Marcela stood as Y/N approached, pointing at something on the ground.

A small cellar hatch. Made out of old wood and painted a ghastly brown colour to blend in with the nature around it. In the 10 or so years the Montes family had owned the Newport cabin, never had Y/N stumbled upon this hatch. It looked aged, as if it had been there for way longer than the cabin had. Or maybe it had been made in a hurry and left just like this, with no one to care for it. Y/N looked over at Marcela who was studying the hatch, bending down again to check it out more closely.

“Do you think anyone lives here?” she asked. The question made Y/N feel oddly cold.

“Would hope not. It’s right next to our cabin.”

“Why would it be here otherwise?”

“Dunno.” Y/N looked around them, the forest looked darker now. “Mari, let’s go back.”

“Y/N, we can’t just leave. We need to check this out,” Marcela said, reaching for the metal handle. “I thought you liked exploring.”

“I do, but… this is creepy.”

“No, it’s not.”

Without warning, Marcela opened the hatch, flipping it over so it rested on the other side, leaving the contents of the cellar visible to them both. Y/N took a small step back, but then took one forward again, wanting to be quick to her sister’s aid in case someone or something jumped out at her. But nothing did.

Instead of seeing a cellar exposed to them right under the hatch, a rather narrow and long tunnel straight downwards showed itself to them instead. A metal ladder ran along one of the walls, reaching a long way down, but the destination was left completely in darkness, making it hard to make out anything but the rotting wooden panels around the ladder and the rusting metal of said ladder. Marcela got her phone out, turning on the flashlight and shining it down the tunnel.

“There’s a room down there,” she said, moving closer, squinting down at the cellar.

“Mari, let’s go.”

“Must be here from the second World War or something.”

Y/N looked around, anticipating someone running up on them.

“I’m going down.”

“What-“ Y/N’s head whipped in her sister’s direction, but before she could even try and stop her, Marcela’s feet were on the rusting ladder. “Marcela, what the fuck are you doing?!”

“I just want to see what’s down here.”

“Which is a terrible idea. Get up.”

However, Marcela had never been one to listen to anyone but herself. She merely rolled her eyes at Y/N before she started her descent, keeping her phone in her mouth so it would shine downward and onto whatever she was about to see. Y/N felt herself both worried stupid and curious. She too wanted to know what was down there as well, but her concern for her sister and what she was doing championed over any curiosity she might have felt.

“Mari, I don’t like this,” Y/N called down, sitting on her knees by the cellar opening, not caring that her trousers would get dirty.

Marcela said something, though Y/N could not hear properly through the phone in her sister’s mouth.

“What?!”

Marcela struggled to get her phone out of her mouth, gaze turned downward as she examined the room underneath her. “I’m down!”

“What is it?”

“A shelter room of sorts.” Marcela let go of the ladder, jumping down into the dirt floor. “There’s a bed, some cabinets.”

“Great, you’ve had a peek,” Y/N called down. “Now get up.”

Marcela stood still for a second, turning around 360 degrees to take in the whole room. She suddenly stopped, eyes landing on something at the other end of the room. She walked toward it, disappearing from Y/N’s view.

“Marcela!” Y/N shouted, but Marcela did not reply, not even when she shouted a second time. “Mari, where are you-“

“-Y/N, oh my days,” Marcela groaned. “Chill out.”

“What was I supposed to do?! You disappeared!”

“I was okay,” Marcela said, grinning up at her sister. Y/N could almost just make out her sister’s teeth. “This is the best hiding place by our cabin, I think.”

“Can you get up here now? I think it’s starting to rain.”

“Fine,” Marcela said, putting her phone back in her mouth as she reached for the lowest rung of the ladder. Wrapping her fingers around the rusting metal, she was ready to pull herself up when she yelped. Next thing Y/N knew, metal clanged against the soil of the cellar and Marcela gasped for air, the flashlight of her phone cast at the ground, drenching the cellar in an unremitting darkness.

“Mari?!”

The only thing Y/N heard was Marcela heaving for dry breaths and shuffling, as if she was trying to find her phone on the floor of the cellar. With shaking hands, Y/N reached for her own phone, and though she was unsure of how much her phone would help, she shone her own flashlight down in the cellar. It gave Marcela just enough light to finally find her phone and shine a light around her. The rusty rung had fallen completely off the ladder, now laying somewhere Y/N could not see.

Marcela stood back up, dusting the dirt off her black tights.

“You okay?!” Y/N shouted.

“Fine.”

But she did not sound fine, and she looked worse as she walked up the ladder, finally making it to the surface. Y/N took a grip of her sister’s jacket, helping her out the last metre.

“You’re fucking mad,” Y/N hissed. “Never do that again.”

“Calm down.” Marcela stood up, Y/N joining her not even a second later. “I’m fine.”

“That cellar is old, Marcela, what were you thinking?! It could’ve collapsed, it-“

“-But I’m fine. It didn’t collapse.” Marcela took a grip of Y/N’s shoulders. “I’ve seen that hatch before, but only when I was on walks alone, I didn’t dare open it up and check what was down there without someone here. Now you were, and I didn’t feel so afraid anymore.”

Y/N clenched her teeth, her heart still hammering awfully fast.

“You make me brave, meu docinho de côco.”

My coconut sweet. The pet name made Y/N halt a bit. It had been years since Marcela had called her that. It’s an old-fashioned Brazilian pet name, one Marcela had started calling Y/N when she was just a baby because she had overheard their avó calling someone that, and so she had adopted it herself. They had countless of home movies filmed on rubbish cameras where five-year-old Marcela sat with baby Y/N in her lap, giving her a kiss to the forehead and repeating “meu docinho de côco” over and over again.

“Let’s go back to the cabin,” Marcela said. “Mum is probably angry we haven’t made our beds yet,” Marcela laughed, but Y/N only managed to smile a tine bit. “Aw, Y/N, I’m fine, really,” she assured her. “If I had died down there, I would’ve let you kill me.”

“Good.”

Marcela only laughed before she turned around and closed the hatch.

Friday, 27 April 2018

Y/N didn’t like being in central London. Though there were people everywhere in the capital, there was something about the never-ending crowds of the City of London that made Y/N detest being there. Tourists would walk in and out of shops, clogging up the streets to look at Google Maps on their phones, and not have a single care in the world for those who lived there and just wanted to get to their final destination.

April was definitely not the worst month, there had been and probably would be far worse months with tourists everywhere, but London was a natural and easy weekend trip for anyone living in Europe, and a nice place to visit for anyone else in the world as well, which resulted in it being a busy city at all times. It was not enough that over 12 million lived in or close to the capital, it sometimes felt like there were just as many tourists visiting the city as there were inhabitants. Today, Y/N ended up walking behind a particularly slow group of Dutch people, she recognised it immediately as they spoke, having heard Annalise speak just like them before. Regardless of that, Y/N just wanted to enter a shop without mowing her way through them. It took her a few minutes until she was able to navigate her way around them, by sprinting past them on the street beside them, making it back onto the pavement in time for a double decker to zoom by.

Finally reaching New Look on Gracechurch Street, Y/N walked on inside, feeling in the humid air outside that it was just about to start raining. With Communion playing in her ears and the voice of Olly Alexander singing about being confused about whether to want love or desire from someone, Y/N took a right as she entered the massive New Look, excited to treat herself to some new clothes.

She had been sitting in the Mile End Library on campus all day. The three essays she needed to finish along with revision for her exam in May was all catching up to her, almost making it impossible to fall asleep at night. She would lay awake, thinking about what she had to do the next day, what she should’ve done today, and the five-hundred things that needed to be done at one time or another. It had been a while since she had spent her time overthinking as much as she was right now. Now that almost none of her mates were in London yet, she spent most of her time by herself, either sitting in the library or a café, always doing uni work and always zoning out when she remembered something else she needed to research or another argument to bring up in another one of her essays. She didn’t like studying all by herself in her room. It felt too quiet. She needed people around her, some kind of sounds, even if that was just a student coughing a few tables down from hers. Even though she was by herself in the flat, at least she wasn’t completely by herself all the time.

Her thinking about uni hadn’t been the only reason it had been hard for her to sleep at night. Even though part of her detested herself for it, she still felt relieved at the thought of Harry arriving later that day. Finally she wouldn’t be alone in the flat, someone else was there with her. Even though she had heard their neighbours talking and moving around in their own flats before, she always woke up or stopped whatever she was doing at the smallest sound, even though part of her knew it was just one of their neighbours. She had never slept in a house completely by herself before. Whenever her parents were away, Marcela would come stay with her, and if she couldn’t, then Nathan would sleep over. Y/N had never been so alone like she was now ever before. It scared her.

Even though she knew nothing would actually happen to her, she knew how to throw a punch and knee someone in the groin so it hurt a little extra, it still felt good knowing Harry would be there now.

Suddenly, she stumbled upon something that had her stopping rather abruptly. A white tee shirt with a black X on it, a pink dragon slithering its way in and around the letter. Y/N absolutely loved it. She could see it going super well with her black pleated skirt, some fishnets, and her Docs. She took it off the rack, studying it a bit closer, she turned the head and hung it over the rack again, pulling it out to check the size of it. It was rather small. She checked the sizing, seeing that it was a medium. Putting it back properly on the rack, Y/N started filtering through the different tee shirts, trying to find one large or X large. After all, she could not deal with it being a slim fit. But she found nothing, they only had it in 2X small, X small, or medium.

“Excuse me,” she said, walking up to someone who looked like they worked in New Look. The employee smiled at Y/N as she approached. “Do you by any chance have this one in extra-large?”

“I’ll go check,” the employee said, walking off rather quickly so she could check and get back as quickly as possible. A few minutes later, Y/N still stood where the employee had left her, but she came back, a little out of breath, shaking her head.

“I’m sorry, we only have it in large or anything under, not extra-large.”

Y/N felt her heart sink, she smiled at the employee anyway. “Thank you for checking.”

“No problem,” she smiled back. “Also… uhm-“ She pointed over her shoulder at the escalator. “-If you’re looking for plus sized items, they’ll be upstairs. We don’t have many extra-large alternatives downstairs.”

Not only had Y/N’s heart sunk to the very bottom of her stomach, now it had just fallen out of her arse and down to the bottom of the universe. Telling herself that the employee only meant well, Y/N nodded, thanking her, and put the tee shirt back on the rack. She walked to the escalator, taking it up and looking at the board for the overview of the different sections of the store. Downstairs was woman’s clothing, first storey was more women’s clothing, men’s clothing, and plus size, while the second storey was shoes, accessories, and changing rooms. That put Y/N off. How come there were more shoes and accessories being offered than plus sized clothing?

She started walking around the first storey, looking for the plus size section. It took a while for her to find it, but when she finally located it, she understood why and didn’t understand at the same time. The section was just as big, if not smaller, than the men’s clothing section, and how could she have not seen it when all the clothes looked the same? Everything looked at something her 50-year-old mother would wear, and though some of the items would look cute on her mother, nothing stood out to Y/N. None of the items were cute. In fact, they rather looked like bin bags with a bit of cleavage and zero tailoring to accentuate a woman’s figure. It just looked like clothes for the sake of wearing clothes, nothing that would stand out in a crowd or make the wearer look cute.

Y/N found a blouse that she was sure her mother would have loved, burgundy with blue flowers on it. However, she stopped dead in her tracks as she saw what was written at the very top of the blouse. Maternity. Quickly, Y/N put it back, looking around her to see if the maternity section was anywhere close to the plus size one. However, upon closer inspection, she realised that the maternity section was just combined with the plus size section. There was no difference. After all, it was all just bigger clothes. Plus size, maternity; did it matter.

Balling her hands into fists, Y/N left the store. She willed herself not to cry, not to lose it, until she reached a less crowded area. As she walked, it was hard for her to formulate how she was feeling. It was hard to put words to what she was going through. Even though she could’ve taken the tube or the bus, Y/N walked home. And in the 40 minutes it took her to reach the flat, she had not come to a conclusion to understand why she was so sad. The words were there, she could read them and see them, but as soon as she reached for them, to admit them to herself and to fully grasp them, they evaporated into grey vapour. She could not say it.

Sunday, 29 April 2018

“You’ve been quiet.”

Y/N tore her eyes away from the raindrops racing down one another on the window beside her. She glanced at Harry behind the steering wheel, his eyes on the road ahead of him, but he must have looked at her to understand that something was wrong. Or… well, he didn’t really have to. Y/N liked to talk, if she was quiet, then something was most likely wrong.

“Have I?” she asked, looking at her hands resting in her lap.

“Yeah, you alright?”

“No, I…” Y/N bit her lips together, feeling something in her throat clog up, as if the words refused to leave her mouth. She didn’t know what those words would even be if she were to speak them. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know what’s wrong?”

She leaned her head back against the headrest. “Still working on it.”

“Alright,” Harry said, shifting his grip on the wheel. “Wanna talk? To get your mind off whatever’s bothering you?”

Y/N could feel herself smiling a tad at that. “Yeah.”

“I got the dagger tattoo.”

She looked at Harry. “You did?”

“Yeah, did some of it myself, but some angles were hard to do properly, so Wes helped me out.”

If Harry had only told Y/N earlier, he could have shown her the tattoo while they were still at the flat. Now, instead, they were in Harry’s car, driving down a tiny road that led to the cabin on the outskirts of Newport, Wales. They had been quiet most of the way, Y/N suspected Harry had given her silence so she could think. After all, they were going back to the cabin where her sister had been murdered, if she wanted to stay silent and reflect upon that then she should be allowed to. So, Harry let her be, only occasionally asking questions and making conversation, but for the most part, he just kept quiet, thinking and knowing that was what she really needed.

“You’ll have to show me later,” she said, smiling over at him.

Harry kept his eyes on the road as it went from gravel to dirt, making the drive bumpier than it already had been. Those same big trees rose above them that Y/N remembered from her childhood, keeping the best hiding places and all the world’s secrets. Leaves occupied the trees now working like an impenetrable roof for the forest floor beneath, which explained why the grounds were so brown and not a lush green colour.

“Down here,” Y/N said, her voice sounding faraway. Distant, even.

Harry must have noticed too, but he did not say anything, instead keeping his eyes on the road as it grew narrower. It did not even take a minute for the wooden cabin to show itself. An old Swedish couple had built it in the late 1980s, making it look very Scandinavian and half finished with its brown colour and small square windows. Y/N had not brought a key, knowing that she did not have the guts to enter the cabin just yet. She just needed a look, just needed to check something.

Harry cut the engine as they reached the parking spot Y/N’s papai always used. It was less of a marked-up parking spot and more of a convenient place to park your car. The ground showed of where a car had once stood many times over, and so Harry did the same as Y/N’s papai did. The window into the living room was just to Y/N’s left, and though you could barely make anything out without coming up close to look through it, she kept her eyes trained on the forest in front of her, not daring to even look in the direction of the cabin.

She closed her eyes, finding something that could resemble courage, and let it take over her. As long as she just did this without thinking too much, then she could get through it. She could reflect on what had just happened at a later time. Now, she just needed to get out of the car, and do what she came here to do.

She opened the car door and stepped outside, walking away from the cabin right away to create as much distance between her and the darkest place on planet Earth. Y/N heard her panicked breathing, and realised that if she looked at the cabin one more time, then that courage she had found bottled up inside her would not be enough to keep her on her feet when a panic attack came over her. She heard footsteps behind her and felt Harry’s presence at her side seconds later, his hands in his coat pocket as he looked up at the grey sky above them. It had been hot enough for them to wear tee shirts only yesterday, but now they had to wear jackets in order not to freeze. That was the weather in the United Kingdom for you in a nutshell.

“You alright?” Harry asked, his voice reassuring, but the hand he put at her back eased her more.

She nodded her head.

Harry looked around them at the dark forest that stretched out in all different kinds of directions, then scanning the sky above again. “This looks just as creepy as I would’ve imagined.”

Y/N swallowed, closing her eyes as she tried to calm her racing heart. The mere fact that the cabin was behind her made her want to throw up right then and there. “You think?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “You loved it here when you were little?”

“I did. It was a safe haven,” Y/N explained, opening her eyes again, facing the exact part of the forest that she wanted to walk down. “It wasn’t this dark before.”

Harry only looked at her, but the next second, Y/N walked away from the cabin, continuing down the path her sister had taken her all those years ago. Harry followed suit, studying the woods around them the trees they walked by, the thick layer of green leaves above them. A crease appeared between his brows, indicating that he was incredibly uncomfortable being here. Somehow, that comforted Y/N.

The two of them walked for a few minutes, Harry not once asking where they were headed or what Y/N wanted to do out here in the forest, only following and trusting that she knew what she was doing. These woods had been her playground when she was little, she knew parts of them as well as she knew the inside of her room home in Nottingham.

Finally, they reached what Y/N had wanted to come to Newport for. When she stopped and bent down, Harry almost fell over his own feet, for some reason not having seen this one coming. He only watched as she dusted dried and dead leaves off the forest floor, revealing the old and wooden hatch. Touching the handle felt strange, as if she were touching part of history. She slowly opened the hatch, revealing the ladder beyond and the darkness of the cellar. Seeing it again brought back the memory of her and Marcela being her together all those years ago, of seeing her sister lose grip of the last rung. Hearing her meet the floor of the cellar with a thud.

Y/N reached for the phone in her pocket, bringing it out and getting her flashlight out, pointing it down at the pitch-black hole. It was just as she remembered.

“What’s that?” Harry asked, taking a careful step towards the hole to get a closer look.

“A cellar of sorts,” Y/N said. “My sister once told me this was the best hiding place near our cabin.”

Harry glanced at Y/N then, knowing what was happening next. Y/N put her phone in her mouth like her sister had done, and then let her feet dangle off the edge of the hole. She gripped the topmost step and planted her feet on one further down.

“Y/N, that’s pure fucking madness,” Harry said. “Get up.”

She took her phone out of her mouth. “Harry, I need to check to see what’s down there. It might be nothing, but this has eaten me alive recently. I need to check.”

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, but let me go down there first.”

Y/N blinked. However, she did not protest, merely removed her feet from where they were already firmly placed on a step, and let Harry get his own phone out.

“Fuck, it’s dark,” Harry mumbled as he shone a light down in the cellar. “Have you been down there before?”

“No,” Y/N said. “But Marcela has. I suspect she’s been there multiple times.”

“Did the police ever find this place?”

Y/N thought for a second before she raised a shoulder in a shrug. “Dunno. I’ll have to ask mum and pai.”

Harry nodded, putting his phone in his mouth like she had just done. He sat down by the hole and took a grip of the ladder, a curl falling into his forehead as he started on his descent. Y/N watched him as he climbed all the way down, jumping off the ladder and onto the cellar floor with ease. He looked around, scanning the room slowly with his flashlight while Y/N sat by the top, watching like she had watched Marcela.

“The last steps are gone,” Harry called up.

“I know,” Y/N called back before putting her phone in her mouth, telling herself to just fucking do this. She had to do this. For Marcela. Y/N gripped the ladder and started climbing down like she had just watched Harry do, like she had watched Marcela do four years ago. The ladder felt old and rusty under her fingers, making her entire body tense up. She was ready to fall to her death any second, to be the sole reason why her and Harry starved to death in a cellar no one but them knew existed.

Finally, with sweat dotting her forehead and cupid’s bow, she reached the last whole step. But as she was about to put her foot there, she met nothing put air. She squealed a little, holding a little tighter onto the ladder with her hands and other foot.

“Oi,” Harry said, moving closer and putting a hand up. “Easy. I told you the last few steps had fallen off.”

Y/N furrowed her brows.

“Just jump, I’m here,” he said, voice so reassuring and warm that everything felt okay for a single second.

She did as he said, jumping from where she stood. Her feet hit the ground a little to hard, making her wince, but Harry was right there, one hand gripping her arm while the other arm snaked around her waist, holding her upright.

“There we go,” he mumbled, only just then realising that his phone’s flashlight was shining into Y/N’s jacket, making it harder to see the cellar. He took a small step away, letting her regain her footing as she glanced around. It was emptier than she thought it was. A simple wooden bed stood there, but no mattress occupied it, and some cupboards were on the other side of the tiny cellar, though some of the doors hung off their hinges, others looked fine, and some were removed. The walls and floor consisted of compact dirt, and the whole place smelled of rusted iron. Y/N hated it.

“Cosy place, innit,” Harry said, sounding like he meant the quite opposite. “Throw in a disco ball and you could host a rave.”

Y/N almost chuckled, but then her eyes landed on something on the floor beside some of the cupboards. A blue dog bowl. Whether it had been used for water or food, Y/N did not know, but it looked very out of place in such an old and dirty cellar. It had some dirt on it, probably having fallen from the ceiling and down into it over time, but the rather modern, blue dog bowl looked completely out of place. Y/N was certain this had not been here when Marcela was down there, or she would have told Y/N about it right away, even picked it up to show her.

What kind of sick human being had left a dog down in this cellar to die? Though it was dirty, the bowl did not seem to have been used. Maybe the dog had been given a last bowl of water before the owner just left it there to rot.

“What’s that doing here?” Harry asked, looking at the bowl over Y/N’s shoulder. He took it from her hands to examine it further, turning it over in his hand. “Strathy.”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

“Strathy.” He turned the bowl, showing Y/N the name that was written on it in neat handwriting. “The dog’s name.”

“Strathy,” she mumbled under her breath, feeling an immense sort of sadness take over her. She might not like animals much, but even she saw how wrong this was.

Harry grimaced, clearly feeling absolutely disgusted with this as well. After all, his dad took care of dogs at a dog hotel in Buckinghamshire. He had a rather special bond with the animal, Y/N supposed.

“Who just leaves a dog bowl down here?” she asked aloud, not expecting Harry to answer.

He frowned at it, giving it back to her so she could look at it. “Doesn’t make sense.”

Y/N turned around, looking at the ladder. And it was as Harry had said, the last two steps were gone, laying in pieces on the floor beneath the hole. “No, it doesn’t.”

Harry glanced over at where Y/N was looking, furrowing his brows. “Your sister said this was the best hiding place by your cabin?”

“Yeah, in December before the year she was killed,” Y/N said. “No one would find you if you hid here.”

Harry looked at Y/N as she looked at him. “Then why did someone else, someone who clearly came here after you and your sister did in December, know about this cellar?”

Y/N felt sick. “They must have known the grounds pretty well to know this was here.”

Harry only nodded, eyes falling to the dog bowl in Y/N’s hand. She glanced at the ladder again, feeling confused and furious at the same time. Who had been here after her and her sister had?

Wednesday, 2 May 2018

Even though Y/N’s door was open, Harry still knocked on the doorframe, looking in through the small slit in the door to check if it was alright with her if he entered.

“Disturbing my peace and quiet,” she said jokingly, putting a few folded tops in her suitcase to bring with her home for the summer.

“Thought you would appreciate the sight of the biggest hunk on the British Isles,” Harry grinned, opening the door and leaning a shoulder against the doorframe. “Give you some inspiration. Some motivation, even.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, Harry chuckling at the sigh as she put some more clothes in her suitcase. The room fell back into silence as Harry gave her some breathing space, obviously thinking that she did not appreciate him blocking her in any way when she was packing. She was not packing her entire room, after all she was coming back in September, but most of her clothes were in London and she wanted to take them home with her so she could wear them there. They were of no use just laying in her dresser in Hackney.

“How’d the exam go?” Harry asked.

She looked up at him, taking in his simple outfit. A loose buttoned-up shirt in a nice cream colour was tucked into dark brown trousers, his feet bare and his skin already glowing with an oncoming tan. So, he had spent most of the day outside. The tan would look nice against his tattoos. Y/N’s eyes fell to Harry’s tattoos, the ones on his knuckles in Greek that she still did not know the meaning behind, and then the barbed wire, making him look more badass than Y/N knew him to be. He now had a fern just below the dagger he had taken in April and a leaf on his pinky finger just below the barbed wire. At this rate, Harry would be covered in tattoos by the end of the year.

“New ink,” Y/N noted.

The right side of his lips tipped upward as he looked down at his arms and hands. “Yes.”

“You’re just taking advantage of the fact that you know how to use a tattoo gun.”

Harry chuckled. “Someone should take it away from me.”

“Truly.”

“I’m scared that I’ll, like, come up with cooler tattoo ideas later on, but then I’ve already filled up the spot where it’d look best.”

Y/N tilted her head at him. “Then you should slow down the tattooing.”

“Nah, can’t do that, love.”

She only rolled her eyes again, sitting down on top of the suitcase so she could close it and pull the zipper shut properly.

“You didn’t answer me earlier,” Harry asked, walking inside and sitting down on Y/N’s bed. “How’d your exam go?”

Y/N sighed, resting her chin in her hand as she glanced over at him. “Alright. We had an hour to, like, answer the two questions, one short answer and then a short essay. I was about halfway through my essay when I realised I only had ten minutes left.”

Harry grimaced.

“So, I just had to write until my wrist and hand ached, and was about to start writing the conclusion when we had to hand the papers over. I think Isla wrote way more than I did, dunno how she managed that.”

“How many pages did you get in?”

“About 12.”

Harry just stared at her. “And Isla got more down?”

“I think closer to 20.”

“20 handwritten pages in an hour?!” Harry said, sounding absolutely bewildered.

“She’s a machine that one.”

“Obviously.”

Y/N nodded, getting up from her suitcase and walking across her bed to get to the windows. She closed them both firmly, pulling the white heart pointelle cami top further down her torso, though it was supposed to just reach her belly button. Thankfully, her black tights reached just a little bit further up, keeping any more of Y/N’s skin to be exposed than what she wanted.

“Okay,” she said, sitting down beside him in bed again. “I want to be sure you’ve actually gotten better.”

“Understandable,” Harry retorted, nodding slightly.

“So, I don’t want to do too much just yet.”

He stopped for a second. “What does that mean?”

“That I want to just make out and get a feel of where you’re at. I think sex comes when we’re both turning each other on to the point where it’s actually going to be enjoyable. When I’m wet enough and you’re hard enough.”

Harry tried not to smile, but Y/N could tell he wanted to flash her a smirk. “I can assure you, you can make me do anything, and I’d be hard on the fucking spot.”

Y/N’s chest felt warm, and within seconds, her cheeks were approximately around the same temperature as the sun’s surface. There was something so very sweet about that, yet incredibly hot. She looked away from him, trying to act unbothered as she tried to find her words again, but by the slight chuckle emanating from Harry’s lips, Y/N knew he saw right through her act.

“What I’m trying to say is that I just want us to get familiar with the other’s body. Foreplay isn’t just about touching someone; it’s about touching someone. Feel their crotch, slide your hand under their clothes, grinding against them to the point of torture sometimes. That’s when the best sex happens.”

Harry nodded. “Take it you’re a big fan of foreplay.”

“The biggest.”

“Feel like I’m in good hands, then.”

“Figuratively and literally.”

He smiled.

“If you matched me on Tinder, and we were about to shag-“

“-I actually don’t think I’ve ever been on Tinder.”

Y/N blinked. “That’s not a flex.”

“Have you?”

“Yes,” she said. “I’ve got the app on my phone.”

“Wicked, you’ve got to show me then.”

She smiled, inhaling slowly. “I will. But first, let’s-“

However, fantastically, Harry took Y/N’s face in his hands and brought her to him. Before Y/N managed to finish her statement, they were kissing. The familiar feeling of Harry’s lips on hers made her previously tense shoulders relax considerably, making her involuntarily moan onto his lips. Harry kissed her more fiercely at the sound, moving closer so it would be easier for him to wrap his arms around her. She fell back onto the bed, crawling backward, and Harry crawled after her, settling himself so easily between her legs that it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

The ease at which they were doing this felt reassuring, like a good hug after a stressful day. She trusted that Harry knew what he was supposed to do, that he remembered from last time. And oh, did he remember.

She felt his hand slide down her front, laying the smallest amount of pressure on her breast, and Y/N realised with a suddenness that almost made her gasp; Harry was trying to tease her. His fingers slid over her, never laying his entire palm down against besides that grip of her boob, but besides that, he was touching her as lightly as possible, leaving Y/N’s body aching in its waking.

“Where’d you learn that?” she asked between kisses.

“What?”

“The teasing.”

She felt him grin against her. “Do you really want me to tell you?”

“Surprisingly enough.”

He chuckled. “Well,” he trailed off, looking down at the duvet beside her face. “The internet.”

Y/N felt herself halt a bit, looking at Harry as he refused to still meet her eyes. “You’ve been searching around?”

“About sex, yes.”

The corners of her mouth lifted. “Really?”

“How many times do you want me to admit it?”

She giggled. “Harry, it’s not something to be embarrassed about.”

“I think it is.”

“No, it just shows how dedicated you are to this. Which is anything but embarrassing.” She tried to catch his eyes. “It’s actually rather sweet.”

He met her gaze then, staring at her for a long while as if he could not quite believe what she had just told him. “You think?”

“You think I would’ve said it if I thought otherwise?”

Harry chuckled. “True.”

She smiled, arching her back a little so her tits were pressed against his chest. Harry bit his bottom lip, looking down at her front as she lowered herself down onto the mattress again. Raising her eyebrows, she watched as Harry took in her tits again, looking over at her with anticipation etched into his irises.

“I’m trying to silently tell you to kiss me again,” she said.

“Oh!” Harry exclaimed, bending down over her again. “Right.”

“Other’s might not do that, they might tell you, or maybe even expect you to do so. So, try and decipher what that person needs, what they want.” She settled herself into her duvet cover, Harry sinking further in between her legs as she wriggled her hips ever so slightly. His lips parted, both plump and swollen from kissing.

“What do I do if they don’t say anything?” Harry asked, lips hovering above hers. God, how she just wanted him to kiss her.

“Communicate. You can’t expect someone to know you and your needs right off the bat, people are different.”

“Right,” Harry said, sliding his nose against hers.

“And now I would really like it if you kissed me,” Y/N whispered against Harry’s lips, making Harry grip onto the duvet cover above Y/N’s head. Fiercely, he pressed his lips against her, slowly sliding his tongue into her mouth, making all kinds of shivers run up and down her body. Even after just one time, Harry knew certain buttons of hers that he had to push in order to get a reaction out of her. She wondered how long Harry had gone out with his previous partners for them to give up on him so quickly. If they had just shown him what they liked, if they had just explored, then Harry would have been a decent lover. He was so incredibly willing to learn new things that it was almost ridiculous. How had they just broken things off like that? If they had just been a little more patient, then Harry would have genuinely surprised them.

On the other hand, he had not actually showed her how bad he was in bed, like he was making it out to be, which could truly be the game changer.

Regardless, in that second, Y/N did not care about Harry’s skills in bed, instead she focused on how they worked outside the context of sex. They were just making out now, just checking each other out, trying to think about various ways to touch the other in order to turn them on.

One of Harry’s hands rested at Y/N’s knee, bringing it further up her chest so he could get a bit better access. She moaned as she felt his already hardening erection against her, instant wetness pooling between her legs. Her grip on his shirt tightened and she felt her nails dig into his skin under his shirt, urging him to continue doing what he was doing. Just like she had shown him last time, Harry grinded against her, doing it slowly and rubbing himself very deliberately against her for his own pleasure, but also trying to make sure she enjoyed it. The desire that ran up her spine was undeniable, making all hair on her body stand on end. His hardness grinded against her wetness again, the both of them moaning at the same time, losing themselves completely in one another.

Harry’s hand ran down Y/N’s thigh, coming to rest at her belly, slowly making its way to her very centre. She felt a yearning so intense it had to radiate off of her, engulfing her and Harry. Halting a bit, Harry’s fingers seemed to retract a bit, unsure if this was somewhere Y/N did not want him to venture or it if was encouraged. Instead of asking her, like she emboldened him to do multiple times, he traced the same path back up her belly, going to grab her breast again.

Y/N made a noise of protest, taking Harry’s wrist in her hand. She could feel Harry’s eyelashes flutter open against her own, and she opened her own eyes, detaching their lips. Slowly, she slid his hand down the way it had just come, making him lay as little pressure on her as he slid his hand down in order to tease as much as possible. Personally, she hated when someone would tease her because it only made her want sex even more than she already did, making her hungrier and more desperate than she would like, but it also made for the best shags. Teasing and dragging out, being needy for one another, was what created the best action when you finally had sex.

As they were just above her centre, she led his hand to her inner thigh, urging his fingers to trace along the skin of one of her most delicate places. Harry looked down between them, eager to follow along with what she did in any way he could. With care and maybe a little too much roughness, she made him grab her, at once showing how he would cherish her but at the same time make her squirm for more when the time came. Though Y/N was doing it herself, it was Harry’s hand that touched her, that made her entire body vibrate with expectancy. She bit her bottom lip, eyes not wavering from his face.

Slowly, his pinky came into contact with her centre, then his ring finger, middle, index, and lastly, his thumb. Each felt like a firework, reverberating through Y/N’s body and lighting her core on fire. It had been a while since someone had touched her with so much consideration, so patiently. Harry’s eagerness to please her, even though she was the one that showed him how to touch her, made her even hotter for him, if that was possible. With ease, she put her hand over his, putting extra pressure on his hand now and a little extra on his middle finger, she dragged his hand over her covered up cunt. A small gasp left her lips, eyelashes fluttering slightly. Harry looked up at her instantly, lips parting as his eyes scanned her face, ready to take in each one of her features when she laid under him like this. She did it again, this time putting a little more pressure at the very top of her centre, making a spark flood from her clit and out to the very tips of her fingers. This made her moan, involuntarily arching her back just a little at the sudden flash.

“Now you go,” she whispered, their eyes not wavering from one another.

Harry nodded, looking down between them at where his hand rested in her like that and then her removing his hand, letting him either mimic her moves or do something different. He watched his hand at first as it slid over her, putting that extra amount of pressure at her bud, making her gasp for breath. His eyes landed on her face again, eyes intent on her as he did it again, this time inhaling sharply as she moaned under him, of his doing.

“Just like that,” she encouraged, voice half moan and half mumble.

Harry did it again, earning the same reaction from her, his breath coming out all shaky, as if he could not quite believe he had this effect on her.

“You look bewildered,” Y/N said, trying not to laugh.

“I always thought that touching someone like that would be a little much too soon. Would you not rather I touched your cunt when we’re naked and about to have sex?”

“Yes, of course,” Y/N said, regaining her breath. “But you’re showing me what you’ll do to me when we actually get naked. Teasing can be pure torture, but it’s what makes the reward so much better when we actually fuck.”

Harry nodded, his already red cheeks reddening considerably. “Alright.”

Y/N smiled. “What?”

“I guess I… I’m not used to being…” Harry sighed, looking away from her and at his hand fisted in the sheets. “It’s vulgar.”

“What?” She raised her eyebrows at him. “Touching me?”

“No, touching like that. Grabbing someone through their clothes, touching your cunt like that.”

Y/N smiled again. “I can tell by the way you’re whispering the word that you’re uncomfortable.”

“I’m not uncomfortable, it’s just a new way of having sex, I guess.” Harry blinked. “Also, what word do I whisper?”

“Cunt.”

“Oh.” Harry met her eyes again. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

“It’s… vulgar.”

“It’s dirty,” Y/N said. “Not my cunt,-“ Harry laughed at that. “-but the word. Saying it, especially in this setting, is hot.”

“You like dirty talk?”

“When it’s done right. When it’s not, it can really ruin whatever’s going on.”

“Oh, right,” Harry said, nodding slightly. “There’s a balance.”

“Exactly,” Y/N smiled. “Annalise told me about this time she had sex with an American, like proper southern American.”

Harry chuckled a little at just that.

“And they were in doggy, so she asked him to grab her hair, and-“

“-Do you like that?” Harry asked rather quickly, as if the question had occurred to him on the spot and he had been unable to stop himself from asking.

“What, having my hair pulled?”

Harry nodded.

“Dunno, haven’t really tried it.”

Harry smirked, and Y/N could already see what he was thinking. She only rolled her eyes and continued on with the story, the bulge of Harry’s trousers pressing against Y/N’s centre.

“Anyway, she asked him to pull her hair, and if you, like, grab it with one hand, that’s hot and feels good, but if you grab it with two, if feels more like you’re trying to ride a horse.”

Harry chuckled.

“And while this man was holding Annalise’s hair with both hands, he just said ‘Easy, girl’ and this southern accent, and it sounded fully like he was trying to calm a horse down.” Y/N suspected that Harry was laughing more at Y/N’s attempt at a southern American accent than the actual story, but seeing him howling on top of her, burying his face in her neck to laugh some more there, made it impossible for her to even finish the story. They laid like that for a little while, just laughing and bathing in each other’s presence. It took a while for them to look at one another again, smiling when they remembered how ridiculous Y/N had sounded and how this all happened in the middle of a rather heated moment.

“Okay, let’s move on,” she said, making Harry chuckle some more.

“Right, what’s next?”

Y/N pushed him off her and down onto the bed beside her, quickly straddling him. She leaned down, kissing him hard, having missed the feel of his lips in the few seconds they hadn’t been touching hers. Harry’s hands fell to her bum, pushing her down onto his hard cock, Y/N instantly reacting by letting go of a small groan. He knew what to do now, how to handle her with care, but also make sure to let her know who was in control. Well, kind of, anyway. She was certainly the one with the most control out of the two of them.

She started grinding against him, sliding her hot core over his erection, a shock of pleasure running up to her chest, heating up her entire body. Harry must have felt something similar because he moaned into her mouth, his grip on her arse hardening along with his cock. She did just that again and again, feeling him become more desperate under her, grabbing onto her thighs and arse, one hand holding onto her neck to keep her lips on him. She felt herself get more needy as well, suddenly wanting to feel that release she had told the both of them that they would not be chasing today. However, when she was this wet and he was this hard, both of them clawing, gripping, and moaning at each other, it was very hard to remember what they had agreed upon earlier.

“Do you want to be in control?” she mumbled against his lips, a shaky breath leaving Harry’s lips.

“Show me how,” he said, panting just like she was.

She took his hands, putting them above Harry’s head. “Keep them there,” she said. “Don’t move.”

“What happens if I do?”

“I’ll have to punish you.”

A breath left Harry’s lips; his eyes filled with lust as he looked up at her. He only nodded, looking absolutely entranced by her. Y/N pressed a kiss to Harry’s jaw, then another one to his neck, then the front of his collarbone, feeling him squirm beneath her as she did. The need to have his hands on her, to make her grind against him to feel something, was clearly an instinct that was hard for him to fight.

“Lay still,” she urged him as her hands found the collar of his shirt, fingers sliding over his exposed skin until they came into contact with the button that kept his beautiful chest from being bare.

Slowly, she unbuttoned his shirt. She kissed down his now exposed chest, making her way down his torso until she was by his navel. Untucking the shirt, she undid the last button before pushing the fabric to each side, baring his chest to her. The red dragon on his right back and the black on his left were finally right there. The tattoos she had been thinking about for so long now, finally right in front of her. She made her way up to them, tracing her finger from the head of the red dragon that almost reached Harry’s collarbone and down in a circle and some waves before reaching the tail that ended up right beside his nipple. The black one did only slither to create one wave along its long and slim figure, but its wings were bigger, almost reaching Harry’s left shoulder, while the pointy tail came to rest just beside his nipple. Y/N could not explain how attractive she found his tattoos, especially these ones. Harry must have the exact same taste in tattoos as her, something that made her very happy about their little deal.

When she settled over his crotch again, his erection was even more prominent than before, the hardness feeling absolutely fantastic against her warm cunt. She put her hands on his knees behind her, slowly beginning to grind against Harry again. He craned his neck, lips parting as some slight release washed over the both of them. Dutifully, his hands still laid above his head where she had left them, where she hard ordered him to keep them. The sight of him displayed like that, all hers and trembling underneath her while she teased him, was maybe one of the hottest sights she had ever laid her eyes upon.

He looked up at her, eyes wild and bottom lip all dark pink from him having bitten it so hard while she had kissed her way down his chest. Their eyes locked, and Y/N could tell Harry wanted to grab her, to hold her to some extent. She recognised now that Harry liked holding her when they were like this. If they were getting things going, it seemed out of the question if he was not touching her to some extent.

Which must have been why he finally snapped, sitting up and taking a grip of her waist. Y/N exhaled sharply when Harry turned them around, making her back come into contact with the mattress again. Harry held onto her knee again before letting his hand trail up her side, the other one taking her hand in his, resting their intwined fingers above Y/N’s head as they started kissing again. Finally between her legs again, Harry started sliding over her again, this time his movements had a little more force behind them. She felt it in her toes, the heat in her core growing with each stroke. Bloody hell, she just wanted to fuck him right then. Harry had truly proven to her that he knew how foreplay worked, how incredibly important it was. Though he was the most impatient person she knew, he truly seemed to be enjoying himself when they teased each other like this.

Maybe, like her, he enjoyed the power it brought. You truly felt so powerful, so potent, so paramount, when you could make someone tremble at your touch.

Harry’s movements grew more frantic, his hands grabbing at her harder, and she felt her own nails dig into his flesh, begging him for more. Suddenly, without much warning, Harry got up from between her legs, and then made her turn over so she was on her stomach. This took Y/N completely off guard, but she welcomed the change, welcomed him trying something new and taking control. After all, that was what he wanted to learn how to do, how to become confident enough to order someone around in bed without thinking he was disrespecting them and their bodies.

Harry came to rest on top of her, his hand sliding from the rolls at her sides and up to her shoulder where he slowly traced his way to her neck. There, he took a light grip of her, bending down so that they could both feel his erection between her arse cheeks. Y/N closed her eyes at the sensation, feeling a very welcome chill run up her spine out of pure excitement. He stayed there, kissing her shoulder, her neck, breathing against her skin and making Y/N hyper aware of each one of his movements.

Because he remained immobile, she arched her back and lifted her bum ever so slightly off the bed. She pushed herself against him, then move her arse against him, wanting to feel some kind of friction even though it was barely existent on her part. Harry drew in a sharp breath and moaned instantly, holding onto Y/N’s neck with one hand while the other held him upright on the mattress. She continued to move over him and Harry grinded against her. Harry’s breaths came out quicker, slight whimpers leaving his swollen lips, vibrating against Y/N’s skin. It had certainly not been the point, but as Y/N understood what was going to happen, she just continued to rub herself against him, and Harry did the same.

His grip on her loosened and he put his hands on either side of her hips, moaning and panting and whimpering as he grinded against her. Suddenly, he jerked, and he gripped Y/N’s hips tight, trying to move against her, but he only managed to move in jagged motions. He came as Y/N slid her bum over him, feeling his cock move with each squirt inside his boxer, pulsating against the fabric; against her. Harry stayed like that over Y/N, and when she looked over her shoulder, it looked like he did not know what has just happened. After all, they weren’t supposed to do anything, really. They were just supposed to make out. And yet…

“In an ideal situation,” Y/N said. “You start having sex before that happens.”

Harry met her eyes, laughing loudly along with her. He fell down onto the bed beside her and she turned to lay on her back as well, both just looking up at the ceiling of Y/N’s bedroom.

“Note to self,” Harry said, still coming down from what had just happened, panting slightly. “Don’t come during foreplay.”

Y/N laughed, and Harry looked at her with the biggest grin on his face. “Add that to the list of everything else I’ve taught you, and you’ll be good for when we have sex.”

Harry chuckled, looking up at the ceiling again. “Tattoo appointment when we get back in September, then?”

She nodded, sitting up in bed. “Yeah, it’ll give me enough time to think about what I want tattooed.”

Harry sat up as well. “Imagine I’ll have a few more tattoos as well.”

“You’ll be working at Asgard this summer?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “I’ll just either live here or at my mum’s, visit my dad a bit.” He shrugged. “But I have a tattoo gun so I’ll just do it at home, don’t need to be there unless I want some ink a place I can’t reach properly myself.”

Y/N’s heart stopped a little. “You have a tattoo machine here?”

Harry studied her face, a small grin appearing over his face. “Yeah. Your fanny fluttering at the thought?”

She slapped him across his still exposed chest; Harry laughed. “You know what, just leave. I need to finish packing.”

Harry grinned, getting up from the bed as he started buttoning up his shirt again, looking around Y/N’s room as he made his way for the door. “Will you miss London while you’re away?”

Y/N glanced around at her room, taking in the four walls she had spent so much time within during her first year of University. It did not seem real that she would be in Nottingham over the next four months, that she would go back to living with her parents for the time being until uni started back up again in September. Her first year had gone by so quickly, it did not seem real that it was coming to a close. She could not believe that it had almost been a year since she moved to London, since she med Chloe, Thian, Hayden, and Annalise, since she started working at Domino’s. It at once felt like ages ago, yet it also felt like it all happened last month. She remembered everything in vivid detail, and knew she would probably remember her uni years that clearly for eternity. So far, it had been the best time of her life.

She nodded her head, looking back over at Harry again. “I’ll miss it. But I’ll be back in September to pester you another year.”

Harry grinned. “Good, almost thought you would stop bullying me by the time we get back.”

“No, don’t you worry,” she said, smiling. “The bullying won’t stop for the world.”

Harry tucked his hands into his trouser pockets, whipping a curl out of his face as he said, “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Friday, 17 May 2018

“Happy birthday!” Hayden screamed when Y/N answered their FaceTime call, their hands over their head and their short hair an absolute mess. They dropped their phone onto their bed, only to appear a second later with a red party hat on their head, waving it in front of the camera.

Y/N laughed. “Thanks, mate.”

“What’re you up to today?” Hayden asked, leaning back against their headrest.

“Well, since I’ve already been awake three hours, I have been up to quite a lot, actually.”

It was Hayden’s turn to laugh now. “What’s that then?”

“Pai and I made some pão na chapa, which is essentially skillet toasted French bread rolls, for breakfast, nothing extravagant. Then we went to pick up a cake that mum’s had made for the occasion, and then mum took me shopping for some new clothes. Just got home,” Y/N explained. “But we’re having a big lunch later with our entire family and we’ll serve a big dinner then.”

“Sounds like a very you birthday.”

“Good thing it’s my birthday, then.”

Hayden laughed, leaning their head back against the wall and forgetting about their birthday hat, making the string snap off their chin and the hat fall off their head. Y/N chuckled as she sat down in her bed as well, looking over at her window to see if it was closed or not. Her papai must have opened it while her and her mum were out shopping. Y/N quickly walked over to close it, but then a breeze came in through the small slit, cooling her down in what had already been the starts to a very hot mid-May day. She left it open.

“I wanted to ask you about something,” Hayden said, throwing the party hat away somewhere in their room.

“Yeah?”

“What do you want for your birthday? Like, is there a specific birthday present you’d want from say…” They shrugged. “Me, Thian, Annalise, and Chloe.”

Y/N smiled. “You’re getting me a birthday present, are you?”

“Of course!” Hayden said, sounding shocked. “You’re our mate! Now, what do you want? It can be anything.”

“Anything?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.” Y/N thought for a second, sitting back down on her bed. “Maybe like concert tickets, but not expensive ones for like a popular band. Maybe for a more lowkey one, one where tickets aren’t super expensive, and we can all go.”

Hayden nodded. “That sounds like so much fun, though. Just the gang, and your flat, of course.”

Y/N smiled. Someone shouted something in the back of Hayden’s end of the call, making them groan loudly before rolling their eyes.

“Right, my mum needs me to come downstairs. But,” Hayden said, getting out of bed, stepping on the party hat and crushing it under their weight. A stream of curse words left their lips before they bent down to retrieve it, showing it to Y/N before throwing it away in the bin. “We’ll bake a cake when we see each other this summer, okay?”

Y/N’s smile widened. “I’d love that.”

“Good, ‘cause we’re baking a cake when we see each other this summer.”

Y/N giggled. “Your mum gonna kill you or something?”

“Think she’s just realised I’ve raided the cupboard of Digestives.”

Y/N laughed.

“I’ll talk to you later, yeah?” Hayden smiled, waving at the screen.

“Yeah, yeah,” Y/N said. “Hope you survive your mum’s wrath.”

“Doubt it.”

Y/N smiled, waving at the screen before they both hung up. A knock sounded at Y/N’s door a second later and then her mother walked into her room, smiling at her. She held a white envelope in her hand, holding it out for Y/N to take.

“You’ve got post, my dove.”

Y/N halted a little, unsure of who could possibly want to contact her through post. Lottie walked back out the door, leaving it open as she walked back downstairs, Davi’s singing sounding from the kitchen as he prepared everything for lunch. Y/N sat back down in her bed, studying the envelope in her hands closely. She thought she recognised the handwriting at the front of the envelope that spelled out her full name and her Nottingham address under it rather perfectly. As she turned the letter around to see the return address on the flap of the envelope, she realised why.

13 Dovecote Close, Princes Risborough, Buckinghamshire, HP27 9JU. Harry E. Styles.

She bit her lips together, already feeling the oncoming grin tugging at the edges of her lips. She should not have put it past Harry to do something for her birthday, this was just like him, to go out of his way and send her something in the post rather than just give it to her while they were both still under the same roof the week previous. Y/N opened it, peeking inside to see two different notes, reminding her an awful lot of the ones she slid under his door to set up a time for their little sessions. She reached in, pulling one of the two out.

Happy birthday, Y/N. Turn this around to see what I think your next tattoo should be.

She did, only to find herself laughing instantly. A heart was drawn on the other side, ‘Harry’ written in magnificent handwriting inside it. She let her finger trace the letters, imagining how smug Harry would have looked drawing this, knowing exactly the kind of reaction he would conjure up out of her. Chuckling still, she reached into the envelope and pulled out the second and last note.

And here’s something I actually think you would like.

Turning this one around, she found a drawing that took her breath away instantly. With black wings spread wide, almost glittering in the light that was supposed to shine on them, a crow was drawn in vivid detail on the other side. It looked strong, terrifying, even, staring straight back at her with an intensity and intellect only crows managed, as if they knew all your secrets and weren’t afraid to tell them to the wind, letting them carry through the world. Y/N ran a finger over the crow, feeling very overwhelmed all of a sudden. She had not expected him to draw something for her that he thought she would like tattooed on her body forever, yet here he was. It was the most beautiful thing Y/N had ever seen, and she wondered what had made him draw it.

Y/N awoke gradually, suddenly realising with slow efficiency that she was awake. Her room was draped in complete darkness, the streetlamp outside her window having been turned off for the night. Her eyes focused on her door for no particular reason, zoning in and out of what was going on, part of her thinking it was a dream while the other told her she was awake. Once she realised this was indeed reality, she tried closing her eyes again, readjusting the placement of her head against her pillow, tucking the duvet up to her skin.

A car drove by. Y/N’s eyes shot open. The car sounded closer, as if she had just stood outside, and she quickly realised why that was. Y/N had not slept with her window open since before Marcela disappeared, not in this house. Preferring to keep it closed, it felt safer that way. No spirits, no people, nothing, could sneak in through a closed window.

But as she heard footsteps outside, as if someone was walking hurriedly by her house, Y/N knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that her window was open. Wide open. It had not been that open since the night before Marcela was declared murdered. Grabbing onto her duvet, Y/N looked in the direction of the window only to confirm what she had been thinking. There her window was, the blinds open, open to let all the air, everything, inside. She wanted to get out of bed and close it, but her legs were locked to her bed, her limbs felt too heavy, too unsteady, for her to walk on right now. She had to calm down, blame it on her not closing her window earlier that day after talking to Hayden. That was it. It was the draught.

If she could just reach for her phone, she could call her mother and ask her to come into her room and close the door. Maybe she could check under her bed as well to make sure no one had gotten into her room in the time the window had been wide open. Y/N’s room was on the first storey, so it would be difficult to get in through her window, but she was also paranoid beyond belief.

Out of the corner of her eye, Y/N saw movement. A stupid sense of relief washed over Y/N, thinking that maybe Lottie had come to check up on her. But no, it was not her mum. Averting her eyes from the window, Y/N looked to the end of her bed, feeling her heart stop beating. Her body lay still for a few seconds until she suddenly started shaking. It was not violently, but uncontrollable. She gripped into her duvet even harder, telling herself over and over again that this was not real.

Not real. Not real. Not real. This is just a dream; you are just having a nightmare. Close your eyes. Go back to sleep.

And Y/N tried. She closed her eyes, telling herself that this was just a figment of her idiotic imagination. Whatever she had just seen was not real, it couldn’t be. However, falling asleep when you had just seen your dead sister standing at the foot of your bed was hard.

Y/N opened her eyes, feeling a small whimper leave her lips out of pure fear. Even though she could barely see without her glasses, she still saw that. Marcela looked at Y/N with an eerie sort of passiveness, eyes resting emotionlessly on her younger sister as she shook with fear in her bed. The only way Y/N could tell it was her sister was by the slight light that came naturally from the night beyond, only illuminating half of her dead sister’s form. She did not look dead. In fact, her sister had to be a hallucination. She looked like Marcela, yet she did not. It was strange, almost devilish. She wore the exact same outfit as the last time Y/N had seen her, a floral dress and her denim jacket. A tiny smile rested on her lips, but not one Y/N had ever seen before. There was absolutely zero joy behind it. It rather looked like she was smiling for the sake of smiling. As if to ease the nerves of a terrified deer before she attacked to devour every last bit of her prey.

“M-Mari?” Y/N croaked, still unable to move.

Marcela only cocked her head to the side, still smiling that bizarre smile, making her face appear uncanny. Slowly, she raised her left hand. Y/N felt herself shrink behind her duvet. Marcela’s eyes fell onto her wrist, and when Y/N looked, she felt herself draw in a shaky breath. Marcela looked up at Y/N again, that uncanny smile still lingering on her lips as her hand fall to her side again. Slowly, Marcela walked backward towards Y/N’s door, opening it just barely. Moving out of the light of the open window, Marcela looked like a ghost. Black like complete darkness, moving unseen and transparent towards the door. Keeping her eyes on Y/N the entire way, she stepped outside. The door closed just as gradually as Marcela had walked, barely audible as it clicked into place.

Though she was trembling, Y/N removed her duvet, put her glasses on, and shakily made her way towards her door. She walked around the spot the hallucination of Marcela had just been standing, refusing to be near it. Carefully, she laid a hand on her door handle, it felt cool to the touch. As if no one had touched it a mere minute ago. Or that person had been very cold. Slowly, she opened the door, looking out into the hallway beyond. No one was there. Not a trace, not a sound.

Y/N had a hard time falling asleep, and when she woke up at 6 the next morning, it barely felt like she had gotten any rest at all. However, she wasted no time. She got dressed as quickly as she could, put some contacts in, and sent a text to her parents that she was out and about. With some breakfast in hand, Y/N drove as fast as she could. There weren’t too many out driving now, but she knew that she would be spending a lot of times in queues the closer she got to the capital. She zoomed down the motorway, not paying any attention to anything but the road ahead. Whenever she went on drives like this, she would need to have some of her own music playing in the background so she could jam out. Music could wait right now, because there was something she needed to check. Something that could simply not wait.

Once she reached the outskirts of London, the traffic was horrendous, making Y/N bite her nails as anxiety and stress started eating at every single one of her limbs. Though it took a decent amount of time to get into London by normal standards, Y/N still felt like that hour and some was the longest of her life. When she finally reached Hackney, Y/N felt her anxiety ebb just slight away. Driving in London was ridiculous, but at least she knew the streets near her well and could take some small and less busy shortcuts.

On Orsman Road, Y/N jumped out of her car and ran for the flat building’s front door. Then, after unlocking it, ran for her flat, and unlocked that front door too before sprinting for her room. The entire flat was empty, no one but her were there, which almost made it wrong for her to be there, it felt like. This was supposed to be a place she shared with Harry, Nathan, and Mason. Not someplace to run through, anxiety high, pulse higher, to get to her room as fast as possible.

She burst through her door and looked at her desk, trying to calm her breathing down as the sight in front of her dawned on her. With clammy hands, she rubbed at her eyes, maybe that would help her see more clearly. But it made no difference. She walked over to her desk then, throwing the books on her bed and putting the mug filled with pens on her dresser as she searched everywhere. But it was of no use. None at all. The watch was gone.

This is what I imagine Harry’s crow painting to look like btw!

NEXT UPDATE: Sunday, 23rd May, 9PM GMT!

Huge thanks to my AMAZING beta readers! 🏛️ @aileenacoustic 🏛️ @devil-in-bw-the-sheets 🏛️ @fromyourstrulyh 🏛️

FIC PAGE | COME TALK !!!

READ TWO CHAPTERS AHEAD ON PATREON | CHECK OUT THE OTHER FIVE EXCLUSIVE PATREON STORIES HERE!

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #:DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

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paula-of-christ · 3 years ago

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Why do Catholics "recognize" saints more than most other religions?

So I am going to assume you mean recognize in two senses, one that we admit what Saints are: holy men and women who are in heaven with God, which is arguably a very straightforward answer; as well as the harder question of why we believe it is a good thing and in many cases recommended to celebrate them, ask for their intercession, that sort of thing. As well, thanks to @ajeckaea answer a question "behind" this one, which is why religion is more than just a personal relationship, like many Protestant Christians claim is the only thing necessary for salvation.

Obviously I answered the first, surface level version of this question, but from here I'm actually going to start backwards in my explanation. I anticipate this to get rather long so I have put it under a cut to save space on people's dashboards.

Many Christians will posit that the only necessity for salvation is belief in Christ and allowing Him to enter your heart. While this isn't altogether the wrong idea, it denies the fact that Christ did not come to abolish religious practices. A lot of times I don't see people quote scripture for why structured religious practices should be abolished but just to name Romans as proof that it shouldn't be, just that when it comes to personal devotions we shouldn't judge another, for even if it is out of weakness they are doing it for the Lord.

Not to mention, in the Old Testament books, God says that what He prescribes as the sacrifice that the High Priest must do at the Temple, will be done forever, and says that He will remain always with us. This is where Catholic theology gets tricky, as many nonCatholics will take this to mean that the Eucharist is taking a NEW sacrifice of Christ's every day when Mass is celebrated. However, in the OT, this wasn't a "new" sacrifice, it was meant to represent the one sacrifice God will fulfill for His people, and is taking part in it. We continue to take part in this sacrifice by celebrating the Eucharist at Mass. God also says that it is a reflection of the sacrifice happening in Heaven, which happens at every hour. This is why there is always a Mass being celebrated around the world, at every hour, and it is sharing in that perpetual Sacrifice of Christ in Heaven. (All of this can be found throughout the OT but especially in Ezekiel, hence why I am not quoting any specific verse because it is just..... the entire book of the prophet.)

So that brings me to the actual Saints, for one thing the Saints aren't dead. As Christians, they have eternal life within them for living as Christ proclaimed and as the Gospels prescribed. Since this Sacrifice of Christ is perpetual in Heaven, the Saints are perpetually worshipping in God's presence. Because they are very much alive, they can hear us. We know thought the Gospels, that asking the Apostles or Mary for help, because of their closeness with Christ, that they intercede for us in our wants. They, being in Heaven, are made perfect in Christ and so do not ask for anything that is not the will of the Father, but nonetheless they bring our petitions to Christ should we ask for their help. Not that Christ cannot hear us, but, in not knowing Christ as intimately, we ask those that know Him intimately more than us to pray and worship God with and for us. The same that you would ask someone you perceive here on Earth as being holier than yourself, to pray for you.

As an aside, because this is already getting pretty long and there are better people you can learn this from: the saints are in communion with the Church on Earth. Catholic means "universal" and to receive the Eucharist (which means "give thanks" in Kione Greek) is called the act of Communion. We are in communion not only with Christ but in His whole Body, which is the Church, especially "those who have gone before us." (part of the Eucharistic Prayer of Consecration at the Mass)

There is some level of worship of the Saints, but this is not the worship of them as fallible people, it is a worship of the light of Christ that has shown through their lives. And, as a result how their lives affect the people they lived with as well as how their stories affect us. They have no power except that Christ has given it to them through Faith and their devotion to Him.

God bless, nonnie.

Ad Iesu per Miriam.

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purplesurveys · 3 years ago

Text

1279

Are you and the last person you kissed in a relationship or just friends? I don’t keep contact.

Has anyone ever pointed out that your laugh was unusual? Hmmmm, I don’t think so. I feel like that would be the type of comment that would get to me so I definitely would’ve remembered it.

Would you get a lip piercing? I don’t plan on getting any piercings.

Nose piercing? Nopes.

What are you currently waiting for? For this fucking day to end so I can be closer to Thursday and to the weekend.

Do you have feelings for anyone? Nah.

Have you ever run over an animal? Nope. I’ve had extremely close calls with animals who suddenly dart into the road, but fortunately these have all been situations wherein I got to hit the brakes with nobody behind me.

Have you chewed gum after someone else already has? That’s disgusting, no.

When people sneeze do you say ‘bless you’? Sure, out of habit and just to be polite.

When was the last time you were on a bouncy castle? I don’t think I’ve ever been on a bouncy castle, but I’ve been on a lot of bouncy other things haha, like inflatable slides, soccer balls, Anpanmans, etc. The last time would probably be a nearly a decade ago; I definitely haven’t been near one in a while.

Have you ever went on a bouncy castle whilst drunk? Well no, because the ones I’ve been on were situated in school fairs, which is the last place I would want to be drunk in.

Have you ever entered an art competition? No, I have no justification to join one haha.

What is one thing you will never do? Try hardcore drugs. < Same.

What is one food that you detest? Pineapples.

Did you have a rebellious phase growing up? Yeah I was a bit of a handful to raise, but I’m in firm in my stance that it had a lot to do with the way I was raised. I grew up mostly without a father figure because my dad worked abroad and I felt neglected by my mom who had her own shit to deal with. There was no stable support system to lean on, so I ended up lashing out a lot in my puberty years. Unfortunately everyone else just saw a rebellious child and not a plea for help.

These days when I show off my achievements on social media, I’ll see congratulatory comments from my mom’s friends and she’ll usually go on about some “late bloomers grow with time” narrative and it pisses me off because nobody knows how much I’ve had to grow and mature and learn how to be happier all by myself, all from scratch. If I had just received the proper care and attention early on, I wouldn’t have had to do any catching up to begin with.

What religion were you brought up with? Roman Catholic.

Are you still that religion? Jesus no. I darted out of there as soon as I gained the consciousness to think about these sorts of things.

Do you often find yourself questioning your future? Sometimes, but I do my best to not let it get to me.

How many friends do you have on Facebook? Over 670.

What sort of music did you listen to when you were in high school? I started with punk rock in the first half of high school, so I had my Rancids, H2Os, Against Me!s, Cro-Mags, etc on my iPod. It evolved a little bit towards more indie, folksy sounds towards the latter half - Banks, alt-J, Hozier, Twenty One Pilots - which I largely attribute to the crowd I was part of at the time.

What pet names do you use with your significant other? I’m pretty straightforward so baby works out for me. Other, more specific pet names just grow naturally with the relationship, I think.

What’s the name of the store you usually get your groceries? S&R.

Have you ever seen a theatre show? Yeah. Most of them have been required.

What’s your favourite vegetable? Broccoli or bell peppers.

Have you ever missed a flight? Never. I’ve experienced several delayed flights, though, which is always such a hassle especially if the delays happen in provincial airports since they never have any recreational offers to keep passengers from getting bored other than TVs that run the same damn five ads.

Do your neighbours have any pets? Have you ever met them? Yeah, a lot of have dogs. I’ve met some.

What color is your bedroom door? Brown.

If you were ever to become famous, would you grow annoyed at fans? Only towards obsessive ones who wouldn’t give me time to breathe or would go so far so as to stalk me or my loved ones. But I am a fan too, so I imagine I would actually be understanding of those who would ask for pictures or whatever as long as they were polite and not at all intrusive.

Have you ever met your favourite band/singer? Nah. I am terrified of meeting celebrities HAHA so I’ve always shut down the chance. I’m pretty sure I would actually turn down the chance to meet BTS if I hypothetically suddenly got the magic keys to that door.

Are you embarrassed by any of the songs/singers/bands you like? No. I feel like that sort of thing just happens in like high school, when your friends are still a bit judgmental. Nowadays I don’t see why I should be embarrassed of anything I like, especially if it’s not hurting anyone.

Have you ever written a story? I’ve made attempts but was always terrible.

Think of the last poem you wrote: What inspired you to write it? My homework that required me to write said poem hahaha.

Do you have a chance with the person you like right now?

What’s the weirdest thing you were scared of as a child? Watching commercials at night. It’s still a slight fear of mine but it’s mostly dissipated now.

Are there any embarrassing stories your family tells about you? About me? No. I don’t have a lot of those since I was a really shy kid who barely moved a finger anyway.

In your opinion, what is the funniest TV show? I have a *really* soft spot for Perfect Strangers, which I actually revisited yesterday :) The show was never super popular so it’s near impossible to find clips online, but when I checked YouTube I did see a slight increase in short snippets from the show so I had a really fun time binge-watching yesterday.

What is the maximum number of children you’d ever have? Three, but that’s pushing it. Ideally, I’d have two so my first would have company.

Have you ever been concerned you had a serious illness? Mental ones, yes.

Are you comfortable with who you are? For the most part, yes.

Would you date someone even if you knew you’d get made fun of for it? No. Why would it be any of their business?

Does popularity matter to you at all? I mean, yeah in the sense that I honestly aspire to be well-liked by as many people as possible. But I don’t necessarily want to rub shoulders with popular kids.

Would you ever consider homeschooling your children? Continued from sometime this week ider. No. I don’t think I’m capable of teaching, and generally I’d want them to be able to learn in a more open environment where they can have regular contact with different kinds of people.

Who told you about the band/singer you are currently listening to? Well Angela got into them first and since we’re best friends, there was a certain point where she just decided to loop me into conversations that involved them. I was impossible to sway for a long time, but then one day a video compilation of them showed up on my feed, and for some reason I actually watched it, and I watched all the way through, and I was immediately intrigued – particularly by J-Hope haha. I then asked Angela to tell me more about them and the rest was...financially irresponsible history HAHAHAHA

Do you ever read fanfiction? OMG yes. Funny you should mention that because my favorite author uploaded a brand new fic this morning, which I obviously couldn’t get to all day because I had to go to work. I’ll be reading it in all its 44,000-word glory tonight :D

Would you rather die in a plane crash, ship wreck or fire? Plane crash. Instant and mostly painless.

What are your top five favourite TV shows? Breaking Bad, BoJack Horseman, Friends, The Crown even though I was never able to continue it since...andddd that’s all I got.

What is your favorite superhero movie? Not a fan of superhero movies.

If you died next week, what would be the cause of death? Stress from overworking. I’ve FINALLY started to consider taking a leave for the first time this year because I’ve just realized just how fucking exhausted, burned out, and overwhelmed I actually already am from having no rest at all in the last 13 months.

Have you ever taken a break from Facebook or other social media? Why? Yes, I do mass deactivations when I’m severely depressed. These days I can’t really afford to that anymore, though, since my work is closely tied to social media.

Who is the most talented person you know? Probably Andi.

Are you currently platonic friends with anyone you’ve had sex with? No.

Where did you and your current interest go on your first date?

Have you ever experienced two people fighting over you (physically or mentally)? What happened? Nah. I’ve had two people like me at the same time, but there was never any tension to watch out for since they mostly didn’t know each other.

Have your parents ever thought you were gay? What happened? I think they know I dated Gabie and that we broke up because they’ve stopped asking about her. Everyone knew we were best friends, so the fact that they’ve avoided her as a topic for a whole year is able to tell me something.

Are your parents more liberal or conservative? Dad’s on the liberal side, mom dances around on the spectrum a little bit. I know she’s fine with things like tattoos and having LGBTQ+ co-workers, but she’s also conservative especially towards matters like religion.

What year are you going into at the beginning of the next academic year? No longer in school.

How far away does your closest family member live? A few footsteps away.

If you’ve seen both, did you prefer the Disney version or the Tim Burton version of Alice in Wonderland? It’s not my type of movie/genre to begin with.

Would you have sex before marriage? Why or why not? Yes. I don’t see the big deal; I’ve already done it anyway.

Are you more liberal or conservative? Liberal.

Who is your favorite Harry Potter character? Ooh not sure. I haven’t gone back to the books in a while, so I don’t remember if there was anyone I had an attachment to.

What’s the worst that could come out of letting gays marry? Nothing.

What’s the most sexual thing you’ve done? Had sex...I guess? And a bunch of stuff that comes with it.

Name something that you are against. Racial discrimination.

Why are you against it? Because it is infuriating to see, and it shows me the very same treatment can happen to me or my family as well and that scares me, especially since some people turn particularly violent towards people of color.

Have you ever played the Tomb Raider games? No.

Do you like it or hate it when your partner is clingy? I imagine I wouldn’t enjoy it if I’m not as into whoever my next partner would be.

Beatles or Rolling Stones? I don’t listen to either.

When was the last time you changed your opinion on somebody? Not so sure about a whole change in opinion because that hasn’t happened in a while, but I grew more grateful for my manager today because I finally mustered the strength to tell her that I’m begin to struggle mentally with work and she not only encouraged (read: begged) me to file a damn leave for once, but she also got sushi delivered to my place.

What was the last thing that made you feel proud and why? Andi was telling me about their day today and how they handled being misgendered by a prof, who then proceeded to throw a fit when he got corrected, and how they, again, maturely handled said fit. I was proud of them because there are a million ways that incident could’ve turned out, but they dealt with it in an extremely mature and calm manner considering they were the one who was wronged.

Do you feel uncomfortable when people you hardly know confide in you? If it was about an extremely personal problem I would probably be taken aback at first, but I still would definitely make some time for them and help in however way I can, since they apparently trust me enough to confide.

What was the last thing to fascinate you? The music video for My Universe! Super cool to watch and I love that they made a short film out of it too.

Is there a certain noise/sound which scares you? Doors being slammed shut, because that’s what my mom does when she’s furious. She did that when I was a kid and she does it to this day, so I get extremely nervous when I hear the sound, even if it happens by accident.

Do you have a favourite microorganism? Nope.

Out of the people you know, whose birthday is next? My cousin Bree.

If you have pet fish do you bother to name them? I did when I had them as a kid.

Do you keep your eggs in the fridge? Yes?

Have you ever owned chickens? Nope.

When did you last listen to music? Like five minutes ago. I tried to have a jazz playlist on but I realized I wasn’t in the mood for music so I changed my background noise to have a random VLive on instead.

#surveys #survey

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years ago

Text

Survey #455

“but you didn’t have to cut me off / make it like it never happened and that we were nothing”

Are you and the last person you kissed in a relationship or just friends? We're besties! :') Has anyone ever pointed out that your laugh was unusual? No. Would you get a lip piercing? I already have a vertical labret. I've considered getting spiked snakebites (they might be called devil bites?) too, though. With a vertical labret, it looks sick as FUCK. It might be a bit much too close together for me, though, idk. Nose piercing? I want my right nostril re-pierced. What are you currently waiting for? Girt to message me back. I've decided what I want out of our relationship and just want to see him. Do you have feelings for anyone? Hit me pretty hard through a lot of examination of my feelings that yeah, I do. Have you ever run over an animal? Oh my god no, I would be DESTROYED. Have you chewed gum after someone else already has? bro what the fuck When people sneeze do you say ‘bless you’? I do only out of expectation. I don't want someone to think I'm an ass or something for not saying it. When was the last time you were on a bouncy castle? A few years ago for my niece's birthday. She was scared of how loud it was and was very reluctant to get near it, so my fat ass got in there with everyone else to show her it was fine lol. I can't remember if she eventually got in. She loves them now, though. :') Have you ever went on a bouncy castle whilst drunk? No, but thanks for the idea, ha ha. Have you ever entered an art competition? Yes. What is one thing you will never do? Try hardcore drugs. What is one food that you detest? Asparagus. Did you have a rebellious phase growing up? Not really. What religion were you brought up with? Roman Catholic. Are you still that religion? GOD NO. Do you often find yourself questioning your future? That's my full-time job. How many friends do you have on Facebook? 124. What sort of music did you listen to when you were in high school? The same I listen to now. What pet names do you use with your significant other? I'm single rn, but usually, I go for "sweetie/sweetheart," "hunny," "love," "dear," stuff like that. What’s the name of the store you usually get your groceries? Wal-Mart. Have you ever seen a theatre show? Yes. What’s your favourite vegetable? Broccoli. Have you ever missed a flight? Yes. I was SO fuckin upset because it was on Sara's birthday and planned in secret, and I was supposed to wake her up. It still wound up being a big surprise to her when she walked into her room and I was chillin' at her desk, ha ha, but I still wish it coulda gone as originally planned. Do your neighbours have any pets? Have you ever met them? Yes; they have a yappy-ass dog that doesn't shut up. I haven't met them. What color is your bedroom door? White. If you were ever to become famous, would you grow annoyed at fans? This may sound very ungrateful, but I have heard A LOT of celebrities say it: it would get old, being stopped constantly in public for signatures, pictures, etc. Like yes, I still WOULD be grateful, but I'd miss just being off the radar and able to go outside carrying out chores and stuff like a normal person. Have you ever met your favourite band/singer? No. :( Are you embarrassed by any of the songs/singers/bands you like? Nah, not nowadays. Have you ever written a story? Yes, a kinda short one when I was little. Think of the last poem you wrote: What inspired you to write it? The breakup with Jason and the fact we're just strangers again. It was really short, but I like it a lot, honestly. Do you have a chance with the person you like right now? I think so. What’s the weirdest thing you were scared of as a child? A skeleton in my closet, lol. Literally. Are there any embarrassing stories your family tells about you? alkdsjflakjwle yes In your opinion, what is the funniest TV show? That '70s Show. 3rd Rock From the Sun is high up there, too. What is the maximum number of children you’d ever have? HYPOTHETICALLY, two, but I'm pretty damn serious about having none. I just always feel kinda bad for children without a sibling, but three would make me pull my hair out. Have you ever been concerned you had a serious illness? Yes. I overreact to even minor symptoms to ANYTHING. Are you comfortable with who you are? No. Pretty much everything about myself embarrasses me, even if it shouldn't. Would you date someone even if you knew you’d get made fun of for it? Yes? Others' opinions don't affect how I feel about someone. Does popularity matter to you at all? No, outside of trying to be a successful photographer. Would you ever consider homeschooling your children? If they really wanted that and it would benefit them, yes. Who told you about the band/singer you are currently listening to? I discovered them myself. Do you ever read fanfiction? Nah. Would you rather die in a plane crash, ship wreck or fire? Jesus. A plane crash, I guess, because in a lot of cases, it would be an immediate death. What are your top five favourite TV shows? Meerkat Manor, Fullmetal Alchemist (and Brotherhood; shut up, they go together), That '70s Show, Ginga Densetsu Weed, and Deadman Wonderland. What is your favorite superhero movie? Logan. If you died next week, what would be the cause of death? Uhhhh idk... I guess maybe a heart attack? Judging by doctor appointments, my heart is just fine, but the fact still remains that I'm technically obese, so that's always a risk. Have you ever taken a break from Facebook or other social media? Why? Facebook, yes. It was just depressing me. I was playing the comparison game REAL hard. Who is the most talented person you know? I dunno. I know many people talented in a lot of areas. Are you currently platonic friends with anyone you’ve had sex with? No. Where did you and your current interest go on your first date? Bowling. Have you ever experienced two people fighting over you (physically or mentally)? What happened? Jason and Juan pursued me at the same time. They'd known each other in the past, and Juan hated him for "winning" his ex-girlfriend. Then when Jason and I got together, Juan wasn't the happiest for sure. Have your parents ever thought you were gay? What happened? Before I actually came out as bisexual, I don't think so? Are your parents more liberal or conservative? Conservative. Mom is more open, but still conservative. I think. What year are you going into at the beginning of the next academic year? I'm not in school. How far away does your closest family member live? I live with Mom. If you’ve seen both, did you prefer the Disney version or the Tim Burton version of Alice in Wonderland? I actually strongly prefer Tim Burton's. Would you have sex before marriage? Why or why not? Yeah. I just want to be in a long-term, serious, healthy relationship to reach that point and be as safe as possible about it. Are you more liberal or conservative? Liberal, but I do have some conservative beliefs, too. Who is your favorite Harry Potter character? I don't have one, given I never got into that franchise. What’s the worst that could come out of letting gays marry? Not a goddamn thing. What’s the most sexual thing you’ve done? Done "the thing." Name something that you are against. I'll go with an unconventional one that's a problem as of the late: making owning reptiles illegal. Why are you against it? Because reptiles are perfectly capable of being brilliant pets and, most importantly, can tame people's fears of them. I think that it's very important to see the worth and beauty in all animals, and reptiles are one of the most unappreciated families out there. :/ Have you ever played the Tomb Raider games? I played some of either the first or second one. I could never beat it. Old games are hard, man. Do you like it or hate it when your partner is clingy? I absolutely believe that it can get to an extreme that I don't like, but for the most part, I don't mind a clingy partner because hey, I am too. Beatles or Rolling Stones? Stonessss. When was the last time you changed your opinion on somebody? It'd been on my mind for a while, but I *officially* realized that I really do like-like Girt a couple days ago. And since then it's gotten a bit hardcore and all I wanna do is talk to him bc fuck me and how attached to people I get. What was the last thing that made you feel proud and why? Every single time I go to the gym, I feel proud of myself because it REALLY takes a lot out of me. Do you feel uncomfortable when people you hardly know confide in you? Nope. I'm willing to be a shoulder to cry on for like... anyone. If you're hurting, talk to someone. I'll be there as an easy option. What was the last thing to fascinate you? It was... INCREDIBLY disturbing and almost nauseating even for me, but I saw a video of a dead whale explode. It was GRUESOME. Guts just kept coming and coming and coming and :x Is there a certain noise/sound which scares you? Hmmm... I'm sure there is, but what, it's not coming to me. Sudden, loud noises are an obvious answer. Do you have a favourite microorganism? ... No, I can't say I do. Out of the people you know, whose birthday is next? Girt's, actually. It's in October. If you have pet fish do you bother to name them? I did when I actually had them as a kid. Do you keep your eggs in the fridge? Ye. Have you ever owned chickens? No, but that'd be cool. Fresh eggs from a properly cared for chicken taste SO much better. When did you last listen to music? Currently. NOW I'm obsessed with Melodicka Bros & Violet Orlandi's cover of "Somebody That I Used to Know." It's done in a gothic metal style and is amaaaazing.

#survey #surveys #random questions #lyrics: ''somebody that i used to know'' by gotye

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ordinaryfander · 5 years ago

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The new video sure was something, uh

So, as usual I'm here to brag about the newest video. This time, I'm going to analyze "Dealing with INTRUSIVE THOUGHTS", and it's a long analysis/theory, so be patient with me.

This will majorly center around Remus and "the Others", so beware! (I'm so happy I don't have to call them Dark Sides anymore, it was never fair)

I wrote many points to consider, and each one will take quite a bit. With that, let's begin!

1) So:

[ 1) Remus: Who he is, what he does, why he's there ]

I think we can all agree that his debut was a surprise, especially because most of us were expecting the "Green Side" to be associated with something like Envy, or Greed, since dark green is sometimes associated with money.

However, we got Remus, aka Intrusive Thoughts, which I think is, in my opinion, the best option they could face.

So: he is Thomas' nasty thoughts, the evil, twisted fantasies, and he keeps Thomas' awake at night with dark ideas, he gives him the worst thoughts to deal with, things Thomas is deeply troubled to think of, because as Logan said, his catholic beliefs instilled in him that thought is the precursor of action.

Remus is there, and why is he there?

The fun thing is: I don't think he's there to be "useful". Later I'll explain where I think his Character Arc is going to go, but Remus really doesn't have any reason to be there except that intrusive thoughts are something absolutely everyone deals with. You all have to consider that, even if those are Thomas' Sides, they're also everyone's Sides. We all have Logic, Creativity, Morality, Anxiety, and we all lie (I'll return to that).

And this traits help us live with eveyday life?

But intrusive thoughts? They just majorly upset us, and worsen our view of ourselves, but we all still have them.

However, I'm really happy with this choice, because Thomas is starting to really show what I've been screaming since Deceit's debut: things are not black and white, and he is NOT a completely good person, because NO ONE is, not 100%. We can act like good people and sincerely mean to do good, but we're still gonna have dark, horrible thoughts. And, as Thomas' said, that's ok. Those thoughts don't make you a bad person if you don't act on them, but you should consider a therapist/psychiatrist if they bother you too much. There's no shame in that, too: please, reach out for help, if needed.

[ 2) Remus' relationships with: Roman, Deceit, and Virgil ]

- Remus' relationship with Roman

At 35:50, it's officially and definitely confirmed that Remus and Roman are brothers, probably even twins.

A moment after the Duke disappears, Roman says "I don't like him".

Thomas goes, at Roman: "So, you have a brother?"

And Roman clearly is uncomfortable with it: "Yeah... It's a little like looking into a fun-house mirror. But instead of a giant head, or, like, long legs or a tiny torso... It shows you everything you don't want to be."

Thomas answers: "That doesn't sound like a very funny house"

And Roman: "Yeah... Uhh, whatever, y'know-? (...)"

Roman and Remus obviously don't get along, but we understood that the moment Remus knocked out Roman with that weapon I don't know the name of (sorry rip, don't focus on this :'))

Roman considers himself a dashing Disney Prince, a knight in shining armor, an example of bravery and justice, while Remus is pure chaotic evil. He doesn't care what other people think and his idea of fun and fantasy is twisted, and he isn't afraid of Roman and his sword in the slightest. They're opposites.

Unluckily we didn't get much brotherly interactions or interactions at all, so there's no much to say, but those two have a whole damn lot to work through.

The question that many have been asking is: do Roman and Remus share a room?

The answer is: I honestly don't know. It would be a complete and utter mess that Roman would hate to have to share. Time will tell.

- Remus' relationship with Deceit

We haven't even seen them interacting on screen, but we already know so damn much about it.

WAY BACK in "Can LYING Be Good?", this was said about Deceit:

Roman: "If you really don't want to know something, he (Deceit) can keep our moutjs shut."

And Logan immediately goes "You don't want to believe it. That's where his (Deceit's) power comes from. Things that you want to believe. Things that you wish were true. And things that you wish weren't."

And later:

Deceit is able to shut up the Sides, but he's also able to hide them. That's what he did with Remus, he kept him locked away.

I've always been rooting for morally gray/sympathetic Deceit, but I'll try to stay neutral on this: though, I really believe that Deceit was trying to protect Thomas.

Remus is... A lot, to say the least. He's pure chaos, and isn't useful or helpful (for now) and doesn't even care to be. Deceit, on the other side, really cares about Thomas, and he showed that in many ways: he just cares about Thomas in his own way. Missing the callback of SVS still hurts Thomas after all this time, and I already explained why Deceit tried his best to do what was good for Thomas in court (https://ordinaryfander.tumblr.com/post/183871155711/thomas-shouldve-gone-to-do-the-callback-he).

I also said, tho, that in SVS Deceit was frustrated to no end because the other Sides weren't listening to him.

Look how confused he is at Patton's words.

You know why? Because Thomas thinks what he says. Thomas lies, and Deceit is there to prove it.

But they didn't listen to Deceit, but Deceit isn't like Virgil: Virgil waited lots of episodes to be listened to until he finally ducked out.

Deceit straight up released Thomas' worst thoughts because Thomas had to face in the most hard way that he is n o t a completely honest person. Deceit just got really pissed and went: "You know what? I'm useful, you need me and I'll prove it."

And he just did that. He straight up released Remus, Thomas' worst thoughts, on them. Deceit is the only one who could do that, and you know why he did?

Remus: "Thomas, speaking of knowledge; recently a snake offered me a morsel from the tree of knowledge. He said you're wanting to be more honest and be direct dealing with your issues, no longer will you deceive yourself about the ugliness within you, me!"

Deceit smacked in the face Thomas with Remus, so Thomas could get the point. I think he did. "If you don't want to lie to yourself, at least face who you really are"

About Remus and Deceit alone...

I don't think Deceit really likes Remus. Deceit is kinda goofy, but he's also sophisticated, charming, a silver-tongue. Remus is a stinky garbage man.

Deceit wants to protect Thomas' reputation, Remus would destroy it. Probably Remus likes Deceit (I think he likes everyone, he doesn't care), but Deceit doesn't really reciprocate the feeling. I could surely be proven wrong, those are just my points.

- Remus' relationship with Virgil

Boy oh boy.

Well, the video already said what I could'be said: Virgil dislikes Remus, he doesn't trust him, but he's also not as scared of him anymore like he used to be.

Virgil, at Remus (32:27): "I thought you were some... Horrible illness. Now I can see that you're just a common cold, a mild inconvenience that's gone before you know it."

And Remus looks at him like this:

That's not a evil look. He's soft, almost proud.

He isn't even offended. He just goes "Eheh, you tickle me, emo."

And Virgil has one blink-and-you-miss-it-moment when he genuinely smiles.

I think he did somehow used to like (platonically y'all) Remus, even if he was scared of him. They were still... Friends, maybe, at some point. Deceit and Virgil never had such a kind-of-sweet moment, even if just a few seconds long, and even if the Duke and Virgil still are not likely to get along in general and for the time being. The Duke's phrase about Old Times wasn't a welcomed one by Virgil.

I don't wanna dig in too much else, we already know that Virgil doesn't still trust the Duke. That was just some looks I noticed that stuck with me.

Also, I won't ignore the fragment revelead his name and said: "Of course (I told you, Thomas), I would never hide anything to you." And it cuts right off to Virgil. Eh. Busted.

- How Will His Character Arc Go?

That one is the most important question.

Everyone is gonna believe what they will, but I don't think he'll get... Sympathetic, even? He's just pure chaos.

Maybe his Arc will entangle with a Roman new one, maybe his Arc will entangle with Deceit's. I do hope that Thomas and co. will now value Deceit better, he really isn't that bad... At least, not compared to Remus.

Deceit shut up Logan guys, but Remus straight up murdered him. Even if they can't literally die, y'all really can't close a whole eye on that.

So I just think he's gonna stay around and do mischief, but will surely get some sort of development related to other characters. I'm almost sure he won't get a Solo Arc, surely not for now. However, I'm pretty sure they'll get back to talk how to manage him, and how he can become more useful.

- Conclusions and predictions for the next video

Honestly, sorry this was messier than my normal analysis/theory posts, but I don't fully know how to take Remus yet.

Y'all see, the moment I knew Deceit I made my mind up: he's morally gray, he has a purpose, he has to get credit for it.

Remus confused me in every possible way. He's chaos. I'm sure we won't see him in the next video, but I predict maybe Deceit will be in it, just to look how good of a job he's done.

And that's pretty much it. I hope you all have a good time :>

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theoi-crow · 5 years ago

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hey there!! i work with hermes and apollo (mostly hermes), but lately i've been feeling this,,, emotional pull?? towards ares. i haven't noticed any physical signs, but part of me has just become super interested in him lately. he seems rad, but i'm,, anxious,, to work with him. i know he's far more than his stereotypes, but i'm nervous about upsetting him or not being tough enough for him or saying 'hey i'll work with you' and then backing out. long story short, i am Spooked

Hi!

I completely understand being spooked because Ares is purposefully scary since he's the embodiment of protection.

Not only is he the god of War, he's also the god of courage, civil order, fighting social injustice, and a body guard. He's the enbodiment of rage and is designed to look intimidating in order to keep others from harming you.

Because I want to answer to the best of my ability I'm going to grab this phrase from your ask: "but i'm nervous about upsetting him or not being tough enough for him or saying 'hey i'll work with you' and then backing out." So I can better reply. But before I do that, I would like to give a bit more information on Ares.

The media has been very insistent on portraying Ares as akin to Christianity's Satan because in every portrayel he is the "evil" that the "good" must overcome. For example: Wonder Woman (2017)

but the world isn't morally black and white, light vs dark, good vs evil etc. It's complex as well as the gods and there are unfair laws that protect guns amid school shooting, rapists, racists, mysoginy, those against the LGBT community, etc.

This is where Ares steps in. He encourages revolutions, fighting unjust laws, he is always angry because the world is messed up and he's furious on behalf of his children.

In his myths: he loved Sparta because they treated the women more fairly than most of the Greek World, he taught the Amazons how to defend themselves because he wanted them to have a safe space away from the sexism everyone else was facing. He kills his daughter's rapist who happened to be the son of Poseidon. Poseidon even took him to court. In some myths the judgement is in his favor, but in others, he is sent to Tartarus. But he never regrets it because his daughter was wronged and this is how actual Ares is.

Not only does he protect his followers but he helps with trauma because a lot of problems people face cause trauma. Ares also helps those who have problems getting along with their parents especially if they are being abused.

He won't just protect you, he will teach you how to value and defend yourself.

--------------------

"...but i'm nervous about upsetting him..."

Ares may seem like a very scary god but he's very careful not to scare or yell at his followers especially those who have experienced trauma. (However, He can be this way to followers who WANT him to do that because they prefer the boot camp version of Ares) the most he will be is disappointed but will pat you on the back tell you to dust your shoulders off and try again.

He is always giving me or quoting inspirational quotes:

Ares is only agressive towards those who are being unfair to you. Those who are trying to take advantage of you.

He's a survivor so he'll teach you how to get out of a very dangerous situation as safely as possible. He's close with Eris (Chaos) which means he knows how to manuver chaos and get you out safely, especially with emergencies.

"...or not being tough enough for him..."

Ares likes helping his followers grow tougher. He doesn't expect you to be "tough enough" for him and will even say that a lot of followers are what people would have originally label as "weaklings" because he goes for those who are being treated unfairly, being bullied, abused, innocent children living in a dangerous environment (this is how I first met Ares), etc.

He grabs those who are lost or treated like doormats and teaches them to value and defend themselves, even if it means having to defend themselves against self-hatred. To quote @thepastelpriestess :"Every battle is valid in the eyes of Ares." (LINK)

"...or saying 'hey i'll work with you' and then backing out."

Consent means so much to Ares so if you say you'll work with him and then change your mind, he'll understand and I'm not just saying this because I like him as a god but I've experienced it myself.

I met Ares in the rainy kinderground playground when I was five. I grew up in a gang warzone filled with so many dry by shootings and kidnappings that even at the age of five, I wondered if I was next when he showed up. He told me my ancestors knew him as Mars and I called him my imaginary friend.

Because my parents were very religious and my school was underfunded, I didn't learn anything about the Greek Gods until I was 12 so anything referencing Ancient Greece went over my head all while I wondered why this "Roman soldier" looked weird ( There are a lot of Romans in the Catholic religion but I had never seen a Greek Soldier because I was too busy with Bible studies and trying to survive)

When I was 12, I started studying Wicca (I'm not Wiccan but in the 90s, it was the only witchy thing one could study) when I came across the Greek Pantheon. That's when I learned about Ares. The book I was reading made him seem like such a horrible god that I told him I never wanted to see him again.

That was 15+ years ago.

I didn't talk to him for 15+ years even though he kept defending me without my knowing. Aphrodite was the one who encouraged me to work with Ares again and it was so easy. I wrote about our reconciliation here if you're curious: (LINK)

Ares not only accepted me back but he knew I was an afraid young girl with very limited information because the love for Ares is a lot more recent and not a lot of people realize that. He works hard to protect his followers and he has a soft spot for those who try.

Ares will be okay if you change your mind because that's part of his respect for consent. He won't mind that you're not "tough enough" for him because his job is to make you're tough enough for yourself. Ares wants to work with you because he wants to turn you into the type of warrior you want protecting you or wish to be.

But only if you are 100% comfortable with it. For now, I suggest you follow other Ares devotees and talk to Ares in passing. You don't have to be a devotee or even a follower just yet but say something to him or thank him for something you feel he's causing. And do as much research as you can about him: (LINK)

I hope this helps!

May Ares grant you the strength to be courages and the heart to tame your inner demons.

#ares devotion #ares #ares god of war #ares deity #ares devotee

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italian-sides · 5 years ago

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“Ombre e Bastoni”, ch. 3

Hello again! As usual, thank you so much to @misslilidelaney for writing this and @watcher-from-the-heights for being my awesome beta all the time. I also tag @ts-italian-gang, because I can and I want to. If you want, you can support the fic on AO3 too! Imma post the third chapter as soon as I finish posting it here on Tumblr. Anyway, enjoy! Whenever Emilio Picani walked into the Dolce&Remì, all heads turned. Even if he lived in Bologna on a permanent basis for three years by now, he didn't know why everybody there, especially the usual people, laid eyes on him as they didn't for other customers. And yet he wasn’t that flashy or even fashionable. Sure, he was tall, he had fine features and an enjoyable physique, but he wasn't that special. He was just a nice guy, with his passion for colorful ties and pastel cardigans. Of course, he knew very well that he had been in the sights of a couple of them for a long time: he well remembered Romolo's ruthless flirting and Virgil's stuttering when he asked him to be his tutor on the subjects that he himself studied before opening his own therapy office in Bologna. And no one, not even his roommate Remo, knew how he opened Luca's eyes to his cousin Patrizio, whom Emilio loved with all his heart. All three boys were undoubtedly beautiful, charismatic and, in their own way, interesting. Yet he couldn't accept their court. Because 30-year-old Emilio Picani hadn’t decided to come out yet. Partially due to his parents, fervent Catholics unlike him, but mostly because surprise surprise... Emilio Picani was shy. And before the bar, the usual places where he felt at home were his office and his room, where he surrounded himself with memorabilia from cartoons and anime, things that fascinated him since adolescence. In short his shyness, mixed with the stereotype of the glittery, feather-filled homosexuals he was accustomed to by his parents, always kept him away from the whole LGBT world, which the psychologist didn't feel a part of. He envied his little Emilian cousin when he came out as pansexual, and he knew very well that sooner or later, hanging out with Patrizio's clique, he had to decide, too, to get out of the closet. So he declined Romolo's declaration for that very reason. Although it wasn’t the only reason. The second reason was... slightly taller than him. His shoulders were wide, although he often slouched, making himself about ten centimetres shorter in height. He had bright green eyes, almost to an unnatural extent. He had his hair shaved on the sides but with a thick quiff on top, which he held back with a yellow headband, clearly his favorite color. He rarely laughed, but when he did, it was a low, deep laugh, able to literally shake the Veronese's stomach. And he was from Veneto, like him. His second piece of home, after Patrizio. Emilio Picani, thirty years old, a therapist and still in the closet. But completely gay for Giuda Schiavon. He was convinced of that by now. He tried to deny it, to say that it was just his imagination. Everyone at the bar loved him, they laughed with him, they confided in him, sometimes for sentimental nonsense, sometimes for more serious consultations. Tommaso became one of his patients from the first day that he finally opened his office, and the two were now pretty close, almost like brothers. He was the first to whom Emilio confessed his sexual orientation. Tommaso embraced him and murmured: "Don’t worry, nobody figured it out." They laughed, and the Veronese immediately called his cousin, who promised not to say anything, for the time being, to anyone, not even his significant other, Luca. Unfortunately, not even Tommaso could dispel Emilio’s doubts. Those doubts that by now became certainties, in those three years, and devastated the psychologist. Giuda, his beautiful, silent, mysterious and fascinating Giuda, couldn't even bear the sight of the Veronese. He never treated him badly, but Emilio couldn't help but notice how he changed his attitude whenever he walked in.

He often looked at him from the bar's window. He looked at him for a long time, laughing and joking with everyone, even with Virgilio, and by now he could read his expressions without hearing him speak, just by observing him. So he knew that the coldness he showed him was real. As his eyes became slits, as his words became cold hisses, rarely addressed to Emilio. Never openly unsympathetic, but incredibly icy. And apparently, whatever he had to do in the kitchen, he always had to do it when he walked in. But no one knew about his crush, except for Patrizio, who after all read him like an open book. And not even Patrizio could understand the change of mood of the Venetian, in the presence of his cousin. The young Bolognese tried to convince his cousin to surrender, or at least to talk to him, and this was precisely the reason why Emilio pushed himself, thanks to a nice glass of Millesimato di Conegliano, to speak, perhaps for the third time in three years, to Giuda in the bar. And that made the dishwasher guy so nervous that he dropped the glasses' tray in his hand. "You're welcome.", the Venetian hissed, looking at him, for the first time in three years, in the eyes.

A rush ran through Emilio’s body. An electric shock like he never experienced before. Joined by an endless lump in his throat for what just happened. As soon as Giuda wandered off to take the broom to sweep up the floor, followed by Remo, Emilio stood up and tried to go around the counter to pick up the glass pieces but Tommas ostopped him right away. "You're gonna hurt yourself. You get paper cuts all the time, can you imagine what would happen with glass?"

"But... Giuda..." Tommaso sighed and perhaps understood: "Giuda will be fine. It's not the first time he’s spilled glasses. Maybe he should calm down a bit; if he hadn't been so tense he wouldn’t have dropped them. Don’t even think it’s your fault." Emilio sighed, taking off his glasses and shaking his head: "But it is my fault." Patrizio approached him, and put his hand on his shoulder again. Luca was behind them and suggested, matter-of-factly: "Emilio, do you want to get some air?" The Veronese nodded carelessly and they went outside. Despite Patrizio's dirty look, the Veronese automatically extracted his pack of cigarillos and lit one. As he blew out the smoke from the miniature cigar, he kept looking inside the bar. And he saw Giuda, with his yellow gloves, going up on the counter and looking around. He'd been... crying? His eyes, particularly the left one, were tremendously red. The sigh, undoubtedly of relief, emitted by the young Venetian followed by the hand on Remo’s shoulder, definitely devastated the 30-year-old. Patrizio was watching the scene next to him, and he murmured: "He acts like he’s the victim when he actually did it all by himself. What a two-faced snake..." "Patrizio, please...", begged the Veronese. "Please what? He dropped the glasses, not you. You just thanked him, Emi. I don’t know how you can like someone like t..." Patrizio opened his eyes wide and shut his mouth with one hand. But the damage had been already done. Luca was looking at both of them with his eyes wide open like a deer in front of headlights. He looked at them both with shock, Emilio who by now had given up and begun to silently cry, pulling from the cigarillo like a madman, and Patrizio who continued to whisper his apologies. And he cleared his voice pretty nicely before asking, with kindness, despite the hard accent typical of his region: "Do you want to come to our house for some hot tea? I’m sure we can raid some of Romolo's nicest cookies." Emilio nodded, and his cousin’s boyfriend took them both under his arm, taking them away from the Dolce&Remì. The boy giggled when, while stepping into the living room, they surprised Virgilio and Romolo sitting on the couch and hugging each other, watching Mulan on Blu-ray, claiming to have fallen asleep, not noticing the compromising position. He silently watched Luca hugging Patrizio from behind, whispering something in his ear while the young Emilian was preparing tea for all of them. And he widened his eyes in terror when both the Molisan and the Roman confessed that they had noticed his crush on Giuda probably before Emilio admitted it to himself. The evening passed quickly, almost too quickly, between the teasing towards Emilio for his questionable choice - Romolo was still so mad at him, for obvious reasons - and when it was time to go home, Emilio thought of staying in his cousin’s apartment with his three lovely roommates. But he knew that in that same building, his roommate Remo was coming home. So he kissed his cousin on the forehead and hugged the other three, and took the elevator home. Once the door was open, he found Remo looking at something on the computer, in the dark of the dining room: "Oh, hey, Emì. You ran off to your cousin? Giuda wanted to apologize for treating you so badly." Right. He had such a sorry face. "Actually, I'm the one who should be apologizing. I made him destroy the glasses and I ran away. Holy crap, I've been a jerk. I hope he doesn’t throw a chair at me the next time I walk into the bar." "C'moooon. Giuda smashes glasses, and not only those, more than he could ever admit!", laughed the Roman, before yawning loudly and getting out of the chair: "Listen... I wanted to do something nice at the bar... Something that can involve young people but traditional at the same time. If we had a briscola tournament [1], would you like to play?" "Holy crap! Are you seriously asking me? I love briscola!" "Alright, bruh. C'mon then, I’ll talk to Tommy tomorrow and see what we can do about it. If you don’t come to play, I’ll never talk to you again!" Emilio nodded and Remo went to his room, a little diabolical smile on his face.

[1]: according to Wikipedia, "Briscola is one of Italy's most popular games, a Mediterranean trick-taking, Ace-Ten card game for two to six players played with a standard Italian 40-card deck. With three or six players, twos are removed from the deck to ensure the number of cards in the deck is a multiple of the number of players; a single two for three players and all four twos for six players. The four- and six-player versions of the game are played as a partnership game of two teams, with players seated such that every player is adjacent to two opponents."

1 - 2 - 3 - ?

hope you enjoyed, ciao!

Quando Emilio Picani entrava al Dolce&Remì, tutte le teste si giravano. Anche se ormai viveva a Bologna in pianta stabile da 3 anni e poco più, non sapeva perché tutti i presenti, specialmente i soliti noti, posavano lo sguardo su di lui come non facevano per gli altri clienti del bar. Eppure non era così appariscente o alla moda. Certo, era alto, aveva dei bei lineamenti ed un bel fisico, ma non era così speciale. Era semplicemente un bel ragazzo, con la sua passione per le cravatte colorate ed i cardigan color pastello. Certo, sapeva benissimo di essere stato nelle mire di un paio di loro per un lungo periodo, ricordava bene la corte spietata di Romolo e il balbettare di Virgilio quando gli aveva proposto di dargli ripetizioni sulle materie che lui stesso aveva studiato prima di aprire il suo studio a Bologna. E nessuno, nemmeno il suo coinquilino Remo, sapeva di come avesse aperto, con le cattive, gli occhi di Luca nei confronti di suo cugino Patrizio, che Emilio adorava con tutto il cuore. Tutti e tre i ragazzi erano indubbiamente bellissimi, carismatici e comunque, a loro modo, interessanti. Eppure non poteva accettare la loro corte. Perché Emilio Picani, trent'anni, ancora non si era deciso a fare coming out. Un po' per i genitori, ferventi cattolici al contrario di lui, ma soprattutto perché sorpresa sorpresa... Emilio Picani era timido. E prima del bar, i soli posti dove si sentiva a casa erano il suo studio e la sua camera, dove si circondava di memorabilia a tema cartoon ed anime, cose che lo appassionavano sin dall'adolescenza. Ed insomma, la sua timidezza, mista allo stereotipo degli omosessuali glitterati e pieni di piume a cui lo avevano abituato, lo avevano sempre tenuto in disparte da tutto il mondo legato ai gay, del quale lo psicologo non si sentiva parte. Aveva invidiato il suo piccolo cuginetto emiliano quando aveva ammesso di essere pansessuale, e sapeva benissimo che prima o poi, frequentando la compagnia di Patrizio, si sarebbe dovuto decidere anche lui, ad uscire dall'armadio. Quindi aveva declinato la dichiarazione di Romolo, proprio per quel motivo. Anche se non era proprio l'unico. Il secondo motivo era... poco più alto di lui. Aveva le spalle larghe, anche se spesso le teneva ricurve, togliendosi una decina di centimetri buoni. Aveva gli occhi di un verde intenso, quasi innaturale. Aveva i capelli rasati attorno alla testa ma un folto ciuffo al di sopra, che teneva indietro con un cerchietto giallo, palesemente il suo colore preferito. Rideva raramente, ma quando lo faceva, era una risata bassa, profonda, capace di scuotere lo stomaco del veronese.

Ed era veneto, come lui. Il suo secondo pezzo di casa, dopo Patrizio.

Emilio Picani, trent'anni, psicologo, omosessuale ancora nell'armadio. Ma completamente gay per Giuda Schiavon.

Ormai ne era convinto. Aveva cercato di negarlo, di dirsi che era solo una sua impressione, la sua immaginazione. Tutti, in quel bar, lo adoravano, ridevano con lui, si confidavano con lui, a volte per sciocchezze sentimentali, a volte per dei consulti più seri. Tommaso era suo paziente dal primo giorno che aveva aperto, finalmente, il suo studio, ed i due erano ormai uniti come fratelli. Era stato il primo a cui Emilio aveva confessato il suo orientamento sessuale. Tommaso lo aveva abbracciato e aveva mormorato: "Tranquillo che non lo ha capito nessuno." Avevano riso, ed il veronese aveva chiamato subito il cugino, che aveva promesso di non dirlo, per il momento, neanche alla sua dolce metà, Luca. Sfortunatamente, nemmeno Tommaso era riuscito a dissipare i dubbi di Emilio. Quei dubbi che ormai erano diventati certezze, in quei tre anni, ed avevano devastato lo psicologo. Giuda, il suo bellissimo, silenzioso, misterioso ed affascinante Giuda, non riusciva nemmeno a sopportare la vista del veronese. Non lo aveva mai trattato male, ma Emilio non poteva non notare come cambiava atteggiamento quando lui arrivava. Spesso lo guardava dalla vetrata del bar. Lo guardava per un bel pezzo, ridere e scherzare con tutti, persino con Virgilio, ed ormai riusciva a leggerne l'espressione senza sentirlo parlare, solo osservandolo. Quindi sapeva bene che era vera, la freddezza che dimostrava nei suoi confronti. Come i suoi occhi diventavano fessure, come le parole diventavano freddi sibili, raramente rivolti ad Emilio. Mai apertamente antipatico, ma incredibilmente glaciale. Ed a quanto pare, qualsiasi cosa dovesse fare in cucina, doveva sempre farla quando arrivava lui. Nessuno però sapeva di questa sua cotta, ad esclusione di Patrizio, che dopotutto lo leggeva come un libro aperto. E nemmeno Patrizio riusciva a comprendere il cambio di umore del veneziano, in presenza del cugino. Il giovane bolognese aveva cercato di convincere il cugino ad arrendersi, o almeno a parlare con lui, ed era proprio questo il motivo aveva spinto Emilio a ringraziare, complice un bicchiere di buon Millesimato di Conegliano, a parlare, forse per la terza volta in tre anni, Giuda ad alta voce nel bar. E questo aveva snervato talmente tanto il lavapiatti, che aveva fatto cadere il vassoio di bicchieri che aveva tra le mani. "Prego." Aveva sibilato il veneziano guardandolo, per la prima volta in tre anni, negli occhi. Ed un brivido aveva percorso il corpo di Emilio. Una scarica elettrica come non ne aveva mai provate prima. Accompagnata da un magone infinito per quanto era successo. Appena Giuda si era allontanato per prendere la scopa per spazzare, seguito a ruota da Remo, Emilio si era alzato in piedi ed aveva cercato di aggirare il bancone per tirare su i cocci, ma Tommaso lo aveva fermato. "Ti farai male. Ti tagli anche con la carta, cosa vuoi fare coi bicchieri?" "Ma... Giuda..." Tommaso aveva sospirato, e forse aveva compreso: "Giuda se la caverà. Non è mica la prima volta che fa piovere bicchieri. Forse dovrebbe calmarsi un po', non fosse stato così teso non li avrebbe fatti cadere. Non provarci nemmeno a pensare che sia colpa tua." Emilio aveva sospirato, togliendosi gli occhiali e scuotendo la testa. "Ma è colpa mia." Patrizio si era avvicinato, e gli aveva messo di nuovo la mano sulla spalla. Luca era dietro di loro, ed aveva proposto, pragmatico. "Emilio, vuoi uscire a prendere un po' d'aria?" Il veronese aveva annuito distrattamente, ed erano usciti. Nonostante l'occhiataccia di Patrizio, il veronese aveva in automatico estratto il suo pacchetto di cigarilli, e se ne era acceso uno. Mentre tirava dal sigaro in miniatura, aveva continuato a guardare dentro il bar. Ed aveva viso Giuda coi suoi guanti gialli, salire sul bancone e guardarsi attorno. Aveva... pianto? I suoi occhi, in particolare quello sinistro, erano tremendamente rossi. Il sospiro, indubbiamente di sollievo, emesso dal giovane veneziano seguito dalla mano sulla spalla di Remo, aveva devastato definitivamente il trentenne. Patrizio stava guardando la scena accanto a lui, ed aveva mormorato: "Sembra quasi che sia lui la vittima. Quando invece ha fatto tutto da solo. Che razza di falso..." "Patrizio, per favore...", aveva implorato il veronese. "Per favore cosa? È lui che ha fatto cadere i bicchieri, non tu. Tu lo hai solo ringraziato, Emi. Non capisco come fa a piacerti uno c...." Patrizio aveva spalancato gli occhi e si era tappato la bocca con una mano. Ma ormai il danno era fatto. Luca stava guardando entrambi con gli occhi spalancati come un cervo davanti a dei fari. Aveva guardato entrambi con fare sconvolto, Emilio che ormai si era arreso ed aveva iniziato a piangere silenziosamente, tirando dal cigarillo come un ossesso, Patrizio che continuava a sussurrare le sue scuse.

E si era schiarito ben bene la voce prima di chiedere, gentilmente nonostante l'accento duro tipico della sua regione: "Vuoi venire a casa nostra a bere un thè? Sono sicuro che riusciamo a saccheggiarne di quelli buoni di Romolo." Emilio aveva annuito, ed il ragazzo del cugino aveva preso entrambi sottobraccio, portandoli via dal Dolce&Remì. Il ragazzo aveva ridacchiato quando entrando, avevano sorpreso Virgilio e Romolo seduti sul divano uno addosso all'altro, a guardare Mulan in Bluray, asserendo di essersi addormentati e di non essersi accorti della posizione compromettente. Aveva osservato in silenzio Luca abbracciare Patrizio alle spalle, sussurrandogli qualcosa mentre il giovane emiliano preparava il thè per tutti. Ed aveva spalancato gli occhi terrorizzato quando sia il molisano che il romano, avevano confessato che si erano accorti della sua cotta per Giuda da probabilmente prima di quando Emilio lo aveva ammesso a sé stesso. La serata era passata in fretta, troppo in fretta, tra prese per i fondelli ad Emilio per la sua scelta discutibile (Romolo ce l'aveva particolarmente a morte, per ovvi motivi), e quando era stato il momento di tornare a casa, Emilio aveva pensato di restare a dormire nell'appartamento del cugino e dei suoi tre adorabili coinquilini. Ma sapeva bene che, in quello stesso palazzo, il suo coinquilino Remo stava rientrando. Quindi aveva baciato sulla fronte il cugino ed abbracciato forte gli altri tre, ed aveva preso l'ascensore per tornare a casa. Una volta aperta la porta, aveva trovato Remo guardare qualcosa al pc, al buio della sala da pranzo. "A Emì. Te ne sei scappato da tuo cugino? Giuda se voleva scusà per avette trattato come l'ultimo deji stronzi." Come no. Aveva proprio la faccia dispiaciuta. "Ma mi dovrei scusare io. Gli ho fatto distruggere i bicchieri e sono scappato. Porco can, mi sono comportato di merda. Spero non mi tiri addosso una sedia la prima volta che entro in bar." "Ma vaaaa. Giuda spacca i bicchieri, e non solo, più di quanto potrebbe mai ammettere!", aveva riso il romano, prima di sbadigliare rumorosamente ed alzarsi dalla sedia. "Ascolta... Volevo fare un qualcosa di carino al bar... Qualcosa che possa coinvolgere sia i giovani ma sia qualcosa di tipico. Se facessi un torneo di briscola, tu giocheresti?" "Porco can! Ma me lo chiedi? Adoro la briscola!" "Bella zì. Allora dai, che domani parlo con Tommy e vediamo il da farci. Guarda che se nun vieni a giocà te tolgo er saluto!" Emilio aveva annuito e Remo si era diretto in camera, un sorrisetto diabolico in faccia.

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samwisethewitch · 5 years ago

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✨🏳️‍🌈 Deities, Saints, Crystals, and Herbs For All Your Gay Magick Needs 🏳️‍🌈✨

Note: This was originally posted on my blog, themysticbitch.wordpress.com.

Happy Pride Month, my loves! June is upon us, which means it’s all gay, all the time for the next few weeks. Being queer is a big part of my life and my identity, so I wanted to do something special for Pride. The end result was my most recent video, which you can watch here.

In that video, I try to get through a ton of information in as little time as possible, so I decided to post a written version here for anyone who wants a more solid starting point for incorporating these deities, saints, herbs, and crystals into their own practice. I’ve tried to be as inclusive as possible here — if I’ve missed something that seems obvious to you, please let me know in a comment so I can update the list!

Spiritual Patrons For LGBTQ+ Folks

Patrons For WLW:

Artemis (Greek goddess): Artemis is considered a “virgin” goddess, but it’s important to note that the word “virgin” had a different meaning in Ancient Greek culture. The one thing we know about Artemis for sure is that she was not romantically interested in men, for whatever reason. Artemis swore never to marry or have sex with a man, and she lead the Hunters of Artemis, a group of all-women warriors who spent their days hunting and roaming the forest. She is associated with the moon, archery, the forest, and the hunt. Some of her common symbols are bows and arrows, stags, hunting dogs, and the moon. She was worshiped by the Romans as Diana.

Freyja (Norse goddess): Freyja is a Scandinavian goddess of sex and sexuality, as well as sorcery, wealth, war, and death. I decided to include Freyja in this list because she is associated with sex and sexuality, especially of women, but is not associated with pregnancy or motherhood like many other sex goddesses are — her children are rarely mentioned in the surviving myths. All we know about her husband is that he was lost, leaving Freyja single for all intents and purposes. She is noted for being bold in her sexual pursuits, sleeping with whoever she pleased. She is a goddess for any woman who wants to get in touch with her femininity and sexual power, regardless of sexuality. Some of Freyja’s common symbols are gold, amber, cats, and falcons.

Saints Perpetua and Felicity (Catholic saints): Perpetua and Felicity were African Christians who were persecuted by the occupying Roman government for their faith. Perpetua was a noblewoman — Felicity was one of her slaves. The two women were arrested together and sentenced to prison — eventually they were publicly executed. Some of Perpetua’s letters to family and friends survived, so we actually have a firsthand account of her imprisonments. From these letters it is clear that Perpetua and Felicity were very close, and historians have long speculated that they may have been romantically involved. Today they are considered unofficial patron saints of same-sex couples, especially women. You can buy medals and prayer cards for both of these saints from online Catholic stores. Like all Catholic saints, they can be honored with a white candle and/or Three Kings incense (this is the incense blend used by churches).

Patrons For MLM:

Apollo (Greek god): Apollo was the twin brother of Artemis, and has a similar history with the LGBTQ+ community. The Ancient Greeks had a very fluid attitude towards sexuality, but today we would probably classify Apollo as either bisexual or pansexual. There are myths that explicitly mention him having male lovers. Apollo was very close with his sister, Artemis — perhaps an early example of MLM/WLW solidarity? Apollo is associated with the sun, prophecy, healing, and the arts, especially music and poetry. Some of his symbols include the lyre, a laurel wreath, a bow and arrow, and a python. He was also worshiped by the Romans.

Freyr (Norse god): Funnily enough, we have another brother/sister pair. Freyr was the brother of Freyja, and he shared her association with sex and abundance. Freyr was a primarily agricultural god, and was believed to bring spring rains to nourish the growing crops. One of his strongest associations was with male sexuality — in fact, he was often depicted in art with a giant, erect penis! Like his sister, Freyr was more associated with the act of sex itself than when what comes after. Freyr is an excellent god for any man looking to get in touch with his own masculine power, regardless of sexuality. Some of his symbols are a boar, a ship, and a phallus.

Saint Sebastian (Catholic saint): Saint Sebastian has long been considered an unofficial patron of gay men, and the story behind this association is a wild ride. Unlike Saints Perpetua and Felicity, there is no historical evidence that Sebastian was queer. He was a martyr, and according to legend he was executed by being bound to a tree and shot with arrows. When the Plague hit Europe, Sebastian was often called upon for protection — this was the beginning of his popularity as a saint. Baroque artists created a lot (like, A LOT) of paintings of Sebastian that depicted him as a beautiful, muscular young man, clad in a loin cloth, gazing passionately up at Heaven as he was pierced with arrows. As you might imagine, he became something of a sex symbol. In fact, Sebastian became so popular with the gay men of Italy that he had his own cult! You can buy medals, prayer cards, and candles dedicated to Saint Sebastian, and again, he can be honored with a white candle and/or Three Kings incense.

Nonbinary and Genderfluid Patrons

Loki (Norse god): Technically, Loki is a jötunn (a frost giant), not a god, although he was formerly allied with the Aesir and lived in Asgard. Loki was a shapeshifter, and was known to take female forms as well as male. In fact, he once took the form of a female horse and gave birth to a foal! Loki is probably one of the most explicit examples of a genderfluid deity in European mythology. However, some pagans choose not to work with Loki. He is sometimes considered a “negative” god because of his association with mischief and chaos, and because he ultimately betrayed the Aesir. It is up to you whether to work with him or not, although I would definitely advise you not to bring Loki into a circle with any of the Aesir.

Odin (Norse god): The common image of Odin in pop culture is of a fierce warrior-king, but this is not historically accurate. Odin was often depicted as an old man in traveler’s clothes, and he was associated with several cultural taboos. Though he is definitely identified as masculine, Odin ruled magick, which was considered feminine in Scandinavian culture — it was dishonorable for a man to practice such “woman’s work.” Odin knew that some things transcend gender, and he is a wonderful patron for anyone looking to break away from traditional gender roles. Besides magick, he rules war, strategy, death, astral travel, and knowledge. Some of Odin’s symbols are ravens, wolves, his spear, and his armband. I personally burn mugwort incense when working with Odin. He was also worshiped by Germanic and Anglo-Saxon peoples as Wodan.

Archangel Gabriel (an angel honored in Christianity, Judaism, and Islam): Gabriel is usually identified with masculine pronouns, and “Gabriel” has became a common man’s name in many countries — but in art, Archangel Gabriel is often depicted with feminine features, and sometimes even with a clearly feminine body. This is because Gabriel is strongly associated with the Divine Feminine and with feminine energy in general. Gabriel rules pregnancy and female reproductive disorders, and is responsible for the care of children. He is also associated with the moon, a common symbol of goddess energy. Angels have no true gender, so they are all androgynous in nature, but Gabriel is especially so. Because of this, he is an excellent patron for nonbinary people. Some of Gabriel’s common symbols are a trumpet, a white lily, the moon, and water. Incenses associated with him are frankincense and camphor.

Honorable Mention: Santa Muerte (Mexican deity/folk saint): Santa Muerte may not be trans, nonbinary, or genderfluid herself, but she’s a fascinating figure and deserves a place on this list. Nuestra Señora de la Santa Muerte (“Our Lady of the Holy Death”) is a personification of death, and is called on for healing and protection by her followers. What is especially interesting is that Santa Muerte is considered a protector of all outcasts from society, including all LGBTQ+ people and especially transgender people. She is even invoked in same-sex marriage ceremonies in some parts of Mexico! Her worship has recently spread to the United States, with churches dedicated to her in California and New Orleans. You can buy statues and altar candles in her image. Common incenses for honoring Santa Muerte include copal, myrrh, and rose.

UPDATE: I’ve been told that worship of Santa Muerte is part of a closed cultural tradition, and is therefore not open to people outside of Mexican and Mexican American culture. I’m leaving her in this post because I still find her story uplifting, but I do ask all of my followers to please be respectful of this beautiful goddess and her cultural roots. I think we can find hope in her role as a pro-LGBTQ+ deity, while respecting that she is not ours to worship or work with.

Correspondences For LGBTQ+ Issues in Meditation and Spellwork

As I mentioned in one of my previous YouTube videos, magick is the act of manipulating the spiritual energy that permeates the universe. Every part of the natural world, including plants and minerals, has a different type of energy associated with it. If you want to connect with a certain energy (like the energy of romance, for example), you can surround yourself with things that correspond to that energy to make the connection easier.

A lot of the love spells that I’ve been able to find online use correspondences that have a strong association with straight romance. Obviously, some symbols are universal, but I wanted to find some correspondences that can specifically be used for manifesting same-sex romantic relationships. Here’s what my research turned up:

Correspondences For Love Between Two Women:

Rose Quartz: Rose quartz is considered the stone of unconditional love, and it can be used universally to attract love of all kinds, not just romantic. I think this crystal could be especially useful for women seeking a feminine partner, because it has a very strong feminine energy. Rose quartz is also strongly associated with self-love, and teaches us the important lesson that the best way to attract love is to start by loving ourselves. You could incorporate it into a love spell, wear it as jewelry, or meditate with it to align yourself with its loving energy.

Moonstone: Sometime’s called “the woman’s stone,” moonstone is very strongly associated with womanhood and with feminine sexuality. It is said to attract love and to increase passion in existing relationships. Unlike many other crystals associated with sex, moonstone has a very peaceful energy and can be used to calm anxiety or to soothe tense situations. Moonstone is a great stone for any woman looking to reconnect with her feminine power, or for increasing passion in an existing relationship between two women.

Violets: Violets have been associated with romantic love between women since the Ancient Greek poet Sappho of Lesbos (from whom we get the words “lesbian” and ‘sapphic”) used them as a symbol in poems dedicated to her female lover. In the Victorian era, queer women would give their lovers bouquets of violets instead of roses. (In the Victorian “language of flowers,” violets represent faithfulness.) In magick, violets are used to attract love and to increase luck in romantic endeavors. They are also edible — why not brew a violet tea and drink it as a love potion?

Correspondences For Love Between Men

Malachite: In many ways, malachite is the masculine counterpart to rose quartz. Despite its strongly masculine energy, malachite is deeply healing and works to open and unblock our heart chakra, as well as to heal any heartbreaks we may not quite have gotten over. Malachite is also considered the “salesman’s stone,” and can be used for situations where you are trying to “sell yourself” to a potential lover by giving a good first impression. Some people are afraid to use malachite because it is “toxic” — although it does contain copper, which can cause health problems if consumed in high amounts, wearing malachite or holding it against the skin is definitely not enough exposure to cause an issue. As long as you don’t eat your malachite or dissolve it in water, you will be fine.

Red Jasper: This is a wonderful stone for men looking to recharge their sexual energy, or to spice up an existing relationship. Jasper in general is associated with courage and charm, and for this reason it is often recommended to people involved in the performing arts, like actors and singers. Red jasper has a strong masculine energy, and is associated with the root chakra and our connection to the earth. Red jasper is an excellent stone to work with if you are dealing with sexual anxiety, or anxiety over being open about your sexuality. Meditate with it to feel more grounded, courageous, and stable.

Green Carnation: Although the connection between green carnation and queer men is not as ancient as the connection between violets and queer women, it is still well established. Oscar Wilde, who was openly gay, is said to have begun the trend of wearing a green carnation as a signal that he was seeking a man as a lover. Other men in Victorian England began to follow the trend, and the association still stands. In magick, carnation is said to enhance creativity and magickal power. Since it acts as an amplifier for other magickal energies, a green carnation can make any love spell more effective, especially for men seeking men.

Crystals and Herbs For Trans and Nonbinary Folks

Note: I said this in my video, but I feel like it bears repeating here — magick is not a replacement for mental healthcare. If you are struggling with gender dysphoria, I strongly encourage you to seek professional counseling if at all possible. None of the herbs, crystals, or spells mentioned below (or anywhere in this post) are intended as a replacement for medical or psychiatric treatment. If you are already taking medication of any kind, be sure to research potential interactions before ingesting any herb for magic or holistic purposes.

Chrysocolla (for trans and nb women): I first learned about chrysocolla from an episode of the Fat Feminist Witch podcast called “Not Every Goddess Has a Sacred Womb.” That episode discussed issues with equating womanhood to motherhood (or even just to having a uterus), and chrysocolla was brought up as a crystal with strong feminine energy that wasn’t tied to uterine health. This is a great stone to meditate with to get in touch with your own goddess energy, without any biological associations. Chrysocolla is also strongly associated with new beginnings, which may make it a useful spiritual tool for anyone who is just coming out of the closet.

Green Tourmaline (for trans and nb men): Much like malachite, green tourmaline is strongly associated both with masculine energy and with the heart chakra. It is a stone of masculine authority, and can be used either to get in touch with your own power or to help in overcoming emotional issues related to a father figure in your past. Tourmaline in general is said to convert negative energy into positive, which makes it ideal for overcoming any difficult situation.

Damiana (for trans and nb men AND women): Known by the scientific name Turnera diffusa, damiana is currently being clinically studied for its ability to balance hormones in all sexes. In holistic healing, damiana is commonly used to treat sexual problems — this is another one that may be useful for increasing sexual confidence. It is also said to help relieve anxiety and to decrease stress. Damiana is available both as herbal supplements and as a tea.

Angelica or Dong Quai (for trans and nb women): These are two different names for Angelica sinensis, which has been used in folk medicine for hundreds of years. It is often used to relieve symptoms of menopause because it increases estrogen levels when taken regularly. Angelica is also a powerful magickal herb, and is popular in American folk magick. It is sometimes associated with Archangel Gabriel, who I mentioned earlier, and is used for protection and healing. Angelica is available in teas and supplements, though it is usually marketed as “dong quai” in these forms.

Ginger (for trans and nb men): Lab studies found that ginger significantly increased testosterone levels in male rats. Human studies are still underway, but the research that has been done indicates similar benefits for humans. In magick, ginger is considered a magickal “power up” of sorts, and is often added to spells to add power or to speed up results. You can use ginger to increase your own masculine power, and to infuse yourself with a little bit of its sweet and spicy energy. Ginger is available both as a supplement and in teas, and of course it can be used in cooking.

This ended up being a way bigger project than I originally planned, but my research turned up so much good information that I wanted to share. I hope that some of this is helpful to all of my fellow gay witches out there, and I hope that you all have a magickal and blessed Pride Month.

P.S. I’ve actually written three different love spells based on this research. One is for men seeking men, one is for women seeking women, and one is for people who either don’t associate strongly with any one gender or don’t care about the gender of their partner. I was going to include those spells in this post but after seeing just how much info I had to cram in, I decided to give them their own post. You can find those spells here.

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kuriquinn · 4 years ago

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Hi! I’ve been a fan of yours for a while and I was thinking you might be the best person to ask about this...but if you don’t have the energy I understand completely. I’ve been seriously questioning my sexuality and I was wondering if you also questioned a lot before figuring out you’re bi?

First of all, thanks for reaching out to me! It can be difficult to talk to anyone about this if you’re not sure, even if it’s just someone on the internet.

As for questioning...no and yes? I would put it more as an evolving conversation with myself as I got older than a lot of questioning. (Though, I watched my cousin and a friend go through a lot of questioning about whether they were bi or not, before they figured out they were a lesbian and trans respectively, so I know it’s definitely something that happens).

If there was any questioning for me, it happened later in life, and was more related to the particularities of my orientation rather than whether I was or wasn’t bisexual.

I was lucky enough to grow up in a pretty supportive household when it came to most social issues, and was always encouraged to think/figure things out for myself and keep an open mind. Around the time I was starting to think about this sort of thing, my mom was figuring out that pretty much everything she’d grown up told about LGBTQ people was wrong and my dad’s the most laissez-faire person in the world... So I was so, so lucky and privileged that I never had to worry about if my parents would still love me if I weren’t 100% straight, and we were never close to my extended family to give a shit what they think.

I think I started thinking about it in Grade 5 or 6 when it stopped making sense when I listened to classmates mocking gay people for who and how they loved someone else. I pretty much just told myself I wouldn’t care about that sort of thing, that I pretty much only liked boys, but if I met a girl I liked like that, then what did it matter if she was another girl? So I guess I started off just allowing myself to be open-minded or at-least open, long before I even realized that bisexuality was a thing.

And then, high school in an all-girls school happened, and I started realizing that okay, yes, girls were totally in my wheelhouse too. I had a huge crush on a girl some years ahead of me who was really popular (to the point she’s now actually a fairly well-known actress) and thus seriously intimidating, so I never said anything about it. I probably wouldn’t have even if there’d been a chance of her also liking girls because we probably would have been expelled for it or something (see Roman Catholic girls’ schools...).

I never had an actual “coming out” moment with my friend circle, I just was pretty open about “hey, I would love the person not the sex, so yes, girls are a thing for me”, and none of my friends ever made me feel like there was anything wrong with that. Which was great, because as I said, my school was not very up and coming with things like sexuality (again, see Roman Catholic girls’ schools...) We actually had this religion teacher who kind of derided the whole concept of girls who came out after graduation, and of course my classmates could be catty little jerks that spread rumours and harass anyone who was different, so I decided it was never anyone’s business my preferences?

In the years since high school I’ve spent some time wondering about myself and doubting my preferences, mostly because I have had one relationship which you could call long-term, and it’s been with a guy. I tried putting myself out there with the ladies, but every time I met someone, our personalities completely clashed and it just didn’t work out.

And I started wondering if I was actually bisexual? I thought, can you still be bisexual if you’ve never dated a woman? Which is part of that whole anxiety thing that comes with bisexuality. You’re never entirely sure you fit because everyone else is so keen to put a label on you. Lesbians think you’re a fake lesbian, guys think you’re a lesbian or a tease playing hard to get, if you have only dated/end up in a long-term relationship with one or the other, you get labelled with the respective sexual orientation...

I feel like part of being bisexual is you are constantly questioning yourself because everyone else is questioning you, or erasing your identity.

And then, in recent years I’ve been considering the whole thing again, and find I lean more towards pansexuality (because gender is not binary, and I really do believe in loving the person and not the little box people like to shove them into) and demisexuality (which explains not being able to have a relationship with someone unless I have an actual connection with them...)

Who knows what I’ll identify as in another ten years?

TL;DR: The thing is, sexuality is not always set in stone, and just because you identify one way at some point in your life doesn’t mean your orientation and identity can’t evolve as you get older and move through your life stages and circumstances, and start questioning if that’s really who you are. And your circumstances and privilege (or lack thereof) definitely affect your comfort level when figuring out that identity.

Questioning and figuring yourself out is healthy and part of an ongoing conversation. And if you go through a questioning phase and find that, hey, after all that you are completely straight? That’s okay too. Coming full circle doesn’t erase the fact there was a journey of self-discovery involved. And it doesn’t mean you might not feel differently about it in ten year or if the right person comes along.

Thanks for reaching out, anon, and I wish you well in figuring out who you are and what you want. <3

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wiccawisdom · 5 years ago

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The Gods of Witchcraft

When I got involved in Wicca, I found that most of my teachers emphasized the Goddess. Many people have been raised with traditions that emphasized the male aspect of divinity. These same people often come to nature-based religions with a desire to reconnect their spirit to the divine feminine, the Mother principle. I know I did. I came from a strict Catholic background, so I found the idea of the Goddess both intriguing and comforting. I always liked the Virgin Mary, and found the multifaceted images of the Goddess quite a wonderful challenge. It was hard to look at the feminine as not only virgin mother, but also sexual mother, warrior, crone, witch, healer, and reaper. Though it was a challenge, I found a building a relationship with the God to be an altogether a different experience.

Though many people think Wicca and Witchcraft are only about the Goddess, the God plays a pivotal role in most traditions. Most groups celebrate the union of Goddess and God. And while many emphasize the Goddess, and some exclude the God all together, most will look to both the Goddess and God of Witchcraft. Wicca and Witchcraft are traditions of balance, of both masculine and feminine energies. Practitioners are encouraged to recognize and develop both.

I had always had the image of God being a bearded man in the sky—distant and remote, ready to punish us at anytime. I read a lot of the Old Testament in Catholic School. Intellectually, I understood that God as a creative force, but this image was what I had for a personification. When I learned about the Witch's God, I got some very different images. Sometimes they were frightening, other times fatherly. Some were remote sky figures, others were earthly and sexual.

The God can be seen with three faces, much like the Goddess, but he has two dominant aspects. In fact, the God, is often strictly described as a dual god—a god of light and of darkness. The light god rules the waxing half of the year from Winter Solstice to Summer Solstice. The light god is sometimes called the Oak King. The dark god rules the waning half of the year from Summer to Winter Solstice. In Celtic traditions, the dark god is the Holly King. The Oak King and Holly King are said to fight at each solstice for control of the year. The Green and Red Knight legends, in which one battles the other, can be seen as a variation on this myth.

Light Gods

Sun King: The Sun king starts as a small child at the Winter Solstice, but is associated with a mature man by Summer Solstice. Most Pagan traditions look to the Sun as male while the Moon is female, and associate the growing light with waxing God.

Green Man: During spring, the God takes on an emerald hue, as the light of the Sun is photosynthesized in the green of the land. This God is one of vegetation, of the forest and the plants. Many believe the Green Man faces depicted in European churches were part of an effort by Pagan craftsman to keep Pagan traditions alive while the Church was in control.

Sacrificed God: The Green God or Solar God is brought to a peak of power and then sacrificed on or after the solstice. This God is associated with the harvest of either grains or fruits such as grapes. When the harvest is cut, the waxing god is done and yields his power to the dark half. The sacrificed god is the light god with the darkest aspects because he represents the transition from one side to the next.

Sky Father: The Sky Father image is one of either the benevolent father, or the distant patriarch. The figure of Zeus is probably the most well-known Sky Father from Pagan mythology. The Sky Father doesn’t partake in the light/dark cycle in the same way as the gods described above, but rather is the father figure who gives birth to the Sun God/Sacrificed God.

Dark Gods

Horned God: The Horned God, from the Greek Pan to the Celtic Cernunnos, is the most beloved and misunderstood image of the Witch's God. He is the animal lord—a fertility god and the guardian of the gates between life and death. The Horned God was long ago corrupted into a fearsome image, but gods of horn were well loved throughout the world before the advent of Christianity.

Underworld King: The Underworld King or Lord of the Dead is found in many mythologies, ruling over the unseen kingdom of the ancestors. Some, like Pluto, are also gods who rule over the riches of the underworld, making them patrons of wealth as well.

Sea King: Many traditions look to the ocean as the underworld, or one gateway to it. The Sea King is not necessarily a dark figure. But, esoterically, water deals with the emotional realm. So does the underworld. This creates the link between these two kingly archetypes. In Roman mythology, Pluto and Neptune, Gods of the Seas, are brothers.

War God: The Warrior Gods are not necessarily dark or underworld gods, but they are associated with some of the darker emotions we feel—including fear and anger. The true warrior path is one of discipline and courage, and some of these gods can teach the skills necessary to become a spiritual warrior.

Many gods don’t fit either the light or dark aspect. They are neither waxing nor waning forces. These gods are the male archetypal beings of the places in between. They are the bridge between the light and the dark. They are connective force. In myths, they often act as either guides to the gods, or instigators of their problems. They are the gods who are magicians and tricksters. Figures such as Hermes, Mercury, Thoth, Anubis, Odin, Loki, Gwydion, and Merlin would find their home in the places in between.

Meditation on the God

Get comfortable and set the mood for this meditation. Light some candles and incense. Sit in a comfortable position. Think of your intention to connect with the energy of the God, in whatever form he takes. Take a moment and ask for guidance and aid from your spirit guides and higher self. If feel connected to a particular form of the God, ask that aspect of the God to be present with you.

Close your eyes and count backwards from twelve to one. Twelve is a solar number, and associated with the god force. Imagine yourself before a tall hill or small mountain. See, feel, sense, and know that the hill is there. It's OK if you can't visualize things clearly. Just imagine it and go with your impressions. Sense that the hill of the Gods is there, and it will be.

Its height is a challenge, but not insurmountable. There is a pathway that guides you up, winding around the hill. Follow the pathway up. Climb higher and higher, taking notice of any rocks, plants, or animals that you encounter on your way. Each can be a sign for your journey. Certain stones can act as future talismans for you to work with this god. Plants may be in harmony with his energy, and help you reconnect. Animals can act as a guide or totem for you to return, and symbolize your connection to the God.

When you get to the top, you might find the God waiting for you on the summit. If you are meeting with a light god, or even an in-between god, he will usually meet you on the top of the hill and have a conversation with you, or guide you on a journey. Use your intuition and have confidence in your first impressions. Trust yourself, and trust your experience with the God. Let his words and pictures enter your consciousness effortlessly.

Or you might find a barrow, an opening that leads inside the hill, as if the hill was secretly a cavern, with a winding tunnel leading to its heart. There waiting for you in the center will be the dark god, in one of his many forms. He will speak with you and share his inner-world mysteries. Again, use your intuition and follow your first impressions. Open your heart to feel his message, in addition to processing it mentally. The dark god teaches on many levels.

When done, thank the God for whatever the experience was. Sometimes it is loving and gentle. Other times, it might force us to see things that we don't wish to, but need to witness for our own growth. (I know the God has been both for me.)

Return down the path and come back the way you entered. Retrace your footsteps. Do you see any of the same stones, plants, or animals? Take note of the ones that feature prominently in your perception. When you reach your starting point, count up from one to twelve and ground yourself. Open our eyes, stretch, and eat a little something if you need to. Write down your experience in a journal.

Many think the Goddess is always loving and gentle while the God is a stern taskmaster. But many times I've found the reverse is true. Simply let go of your expectations and know that the God is equally available to you in your path of spiritual development. He is simply waiting to be asked into your life.

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from All Wicca Store Magickal Supplies http://www.allwicca.com/index.php?route=news/article&news_id=114

#wiccawisdom #All Wicca Store Magickal Supplies

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terriblelifechoices · 6 years ago

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How about Graves and Credence with prompt 103? Or 113

Sorry, @tora42 This one kind of got away from me.

From the send me a pairing and a number and I’ll write you a drabble thing. To the surprise of probably no one, I fail at drabbles. What is brevity, anyway.

103. “Does this happen to you a lot? Because ‘not again’ isn’t the response I’d expect from someone I just found unconscious in my garden.”

“Is this really necessary?” Graves asked, trying – and failing, if Tina’s unimpressed expression was anything to go by – not to sound desperate.

“Well,” Newt began, in what Graves felt was a promisingly reasonable tone of voice. Graves had hired Newt as a favor to Theseus, but he’d always had a soft spot for the younger Scamander. “I suppose –”

“Yes,” said Tina, over anything else Newt might have said.

“Right,” Newt said, changing course with the split second rapidity that made him such a menace in the field. There were days when Graves deeply regretted hiring Newt. “It’s absolutely necessary.”

“Of course it is,” Graves muttered.

“Besides, it all works out rather nicely, doesn’t it?” Tina inquired. “Newt and I need a pet sitter, and you need something that will keep you out of trouble while you’re convalescing –”

“On administrative leave!” Graves interjected, affronted.

Tina had the audacity to roll her eyes at him. “While you’re convalescing on administrative leave,” she amended.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” said Graves. “Why is everyone acting like I’ve never been shot before? I’m fine.”

Granted, it had been a lot easier to shake this sort of thing off when he’d been Tina’s age, but he was hardly on death’s doorstep. It had been a simple through and through GSW, with minimal muscle damage. Graves didn’t even really need the sling that everyone was (somewhat melodramatically, in his opinion) insisting that he wear; so far the fucking thing had hindered more than it had helped. Graves would never have fallen off of that damned ladder if he hadn’t been wearing it.

Unfortunately, no one else saw the ladder incident quite as reasonably as he did. Which was why his protege was now lecturing him as if she were his Great Aunt Ethel, and not young enough to be his daughter.

Tina nodded. “Right,” she said. “You’re Special Agent Percival fucking Graves: the man, the myth, the legend –” Each ridiculous epithet was accompanied with an equally ridiculous gesture. Graves had never seen anyone make jazz hands look sarcastic before. He was a little impressed in spite of himself.

“Is this level of sarcasm really necessary?” Graves asked.

Tina ignored him in favor of adding, “And you’re fine. You absolutely did not show up to my wedding six hours late with a GSW and faint during the reception!”

“I was not late!” Graves protested. “I showed up in time to walk you down the aisle, didn’t I?”

“You showed up thirty seconds before it was time to walk me down the aisle,” Tina shot back. “You were a member of my damned bridal party. You were supposed to be there at seven, and you went off and got yourself shot instead.”

Graves wanted to argue that point, and couldn’t. It was all true.

“I’m sorry,” he said, for the thousandth time. He meant it, every time. But he couldn’t erase the hurt he’d caused just because he meant it. Tina knew he meant it, and she’d forgive him when she was ready to. That was enough.

And, in the meantime, Graves would prove that he meant it by babysitting Tina and Newt’s menagerie of adopted strays.

Tina sighed. “You were there for the important part,” she conceded.

“And he’s looking after everyone while we’re gone,” Newt added. He made it sound like this was something Graves had volunteered to do, rather than something Seraphina and Tina had blackmailed him into. Newt was kind like that. Newt was always kind.

Graves had always liked that about him; had liked what it meant for Tina, who needed someone kind whether she would admit it or not. Graves could still remember the girl she’d been when they’d first met – the one who’d worn her reckless crusader’s heart on her sleeve and dared the world to try and break it. Twenty years old and fresh out of the Academy, Tina had been brilliant and sharp as mirror-glass – blinding when the light caught her just right, but terribly breakable, too. She’d needed someone kind to shelter her heart, although she never would have admitted it.

At twenty-six, Tina’s sharpness and brilliance were diamond, not glass. Anyone else would have let their heart go diamond hard to match, but not Tina. She was kind, too. Graves was glad that she and Newt had each other. They could shelter each other’s hearts, and keep the world from breaking them.

Graves held up the terrifyingly thick binder of care instructions Newt had shoved into his good arm. Someone – Graves strongly suspected Newt, who was prone to doodling during meetings he found too boring to pay attention to, which was pretty much all of them as far as Newt was concerned – had drawn most of Newt’s menagerie as mythological creatures on the front cover and titled it Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.

“They won’t even know you’re gone,” he promised.

Tina smirked at him. “I’m going to remind you that you said that when we check in tomorrow.”

“I’m sure you’ll have better things to do on your honeymoon,” Graves said blandly.

Tina’s answering smile had teeth in it this time. “I’m going to remind you that you said that, too.”

“I’m sure everything will be fine,” said Newt. “But just in case, maybe don’t leave anything valuable that you absolutely don’t want stolen where Cecil can get to it. And don’t be offended if Pickett doesn’t want anything to do with you. He’s gotten rather attached to me and –”

“You wrote all of that down,” Tina reminded him. “In sixteen point Times New Roman.”

“Sixteen, really?” Graves asked. He despaired of Newt’s approach to paperwork, he really did.

“I wanted to make it twenty-four, but Newt thought it was a bit insulting,” said Tina. “I did bold certain items for emphasis, though.”

“Keep giving me attitude, Goldstein. I outrank you.”

“Not while you’re on administrative leave, you don’t,” Tina said.

“We should head to the airport, Tina,” Newt said, obviously trying to head off another argument. “We don’t want to miss our flight.”

Graves gave him an unimpressed look, because that particular attempt at a distraction had been extremely unsubtle. Newt was a professional spy, for God’s sake. That was just embarrassing.

He was somewhat amused to find that Tina was giving her husband an identical unimpressed look.

Newt shrugged, not particularly bothered by their censure. “It worked, didn’t it?” he asked with a grin.

“I suppose it did,” Tina allowed. She let Newt tug her towards their front door, but couldn’t resist a few last minute instructions of her own. “Please try not to do anything stupid while we’re gone,” she said. “The number for the hotel is in the binder, and on the fridge next to the phone. And if you run into trouble, Credence can help you.”

“I’m sure Graves will be fine,” Newt said. “But if you need help feeding everyone, Credence did volunteer to help.”

“Leave, before I call in a favor and have your flight grounded out of spite,” Graves commanded, in lieu of saying that he’d rather lose a finger to one of Frank’s fits of temper than bother the only human member of Newt and Tina’s menagerie of adopted strays. Credence Barebone had suffered enough at the hands of someone wearing Graves’ face, and Graves could not bring himself to add to the harm that had already been done.

Tina and Newt both insisted that Credence bore Graves no ill-will for what Grindelwald had done. Graves appreciated their well-intentioned sugar-coating of the situation, but he was well aware of the fact that the mere sight of him still spooked the boy.

Credence had been part of the bridal party, too. Someone – Tina or Tina’s younger sister Queenie or maybe Credence himself – had managed to keep his interactions with Graves to the bare minimum. Graves had not actually had all that much to do with the wedding, outside of walking Tina down the aisle. He’d surreptitiously paid for as much of it as he could get away with, as was his right as Tina’s adopted older brother/surrogate father figure, but that was more or less the extent of his involvement. Credence had been very much in the thick of things. He’d been Queenie’s unofficial assistant for all wedding planning related duties. Graves had seen plenty of Queenie in the weeks leading up to the wedding, but he hadn’t interacted with Credence at all. It took real effort to avoid someone like that.

Graves had been a professional spy for longer than Credence had been alive, and he was not kind. Not the way that Tina and Newt were: a conscious choice made so consistently and so often that it became the default. Graves had closed the door on kindness long ago, trying to protect what was left of his heart. But even he had enough kindness left in him to recognize that the kindest thing he could do for Credence was to leave the boy alone.

“You are not actually a corvid,” Graves told Cecil, attempting to wrest his one of his cufflinks from the guinea pig’s greedy little paws without hurting him. “I know Newt raised you with the ravens, but you are a guinea pig and your obsession with shiny things makes no sense.”

Newt’s binder – which had actually been written in sixteen point Times New Roman, thank you so much, Tina – had expressly forbidden shaming Cecil for his terrible behavior, but as far as Graves was concerned, the furry little con artist had earned a healthy dose of Irish Catholic guilt. Cecil had managed to steal one of Graves’ cufflinks while Graves was still wearing it. Graves had met professional pickpockets who couldn’t manage the same feat, and it pissed him off that Cecil could.

Cecil made a pitiful crying noise, his dark eyes going liquid and pleading.

“No,” Graves said sternly, in the tone of voice that brought junior Agents to heel.

The pleading look intensified.

“No,” Graves said again, determined to hold his ground.

Cecil gave a little heartbroken chirp and relinquished his hold on Graves’ cufflink. His entire body radiated dejection.

“Oh, for –” Graves bit back a curse. He had gone toe to toe with Vinda Rosier, who had learned emotional manipulation at her father’s knee and perfected it under Grindelwald’s tutelage. Rosier hadn’t been able to break him, so Graves was absolutely not falling prey to the machinations of a guinea pig.

Cecil made another heartbroken little chirp, almost as if he were crying.

Could guinea pigs cry? Nothing in Newt’s ridiculous binder had indicated that they could, but Graves wouldn’t put it past this one.

“Look,” he said, feeling more than a little absurd. “Cufflinks are a choking hazard. You can have my tie bar instead if you leave my cufflinks alone. Does that sound fair?”

Cecil actually seemed to be considering that.

“You’re a fuzzy con artist,” Graves told him. He set Cecil back in his habitat and passed over his tie bar. Graves was a man of his word, even when dealing with guinea pigs. Cecil seemed pleased with this tribute, and scampered off to hide it.

Graves snorted in amusement, glad that none of his subordinates – or worse, Seraphina – could see him now. He dragged his tie off over his head and hung it on the corner of Cecil’s habitat. He told himself it was because it wouldn’t hang right without the tie bar, and not so the tiny grifter could use the shiny fabric as a victory flag.

The rest of Newt’s menagerie were fed and petted and – Jesus Christ, Newt, seriously? – sung to in short order. If footage of Graves singing to the lorikeets surfaced at the next Christmas party, Graves would know who to blame.

He saved Pickett for last, in case Pickett was still pissed about being left behind.

Graves actually liked Newt’s tiny demon cat. He had a weakness for anything with more fight in it than common sense. (See Exhibit A: Tina Goldstein.) Pickett was basically five and a half pounds of pure attitude. Graves had given up on trying to force Newt to leave the exploding ball of fluff at home after he’d seen the little cat savage a rogue operative on Newt’s behalf. Pickett always turned up in Newt’s pockets, anyway.

The earlier battle to evict Pickett from Newt’s coat pocket had been brief and very bloody, which was why Graves had donned a pair of oven mitts as a precautionary measure. The oven mitts were an eye-searing shade of pink with polka dotted ruffles. The right one advised Graves to “rock out with his crock out” and the left one featured an embroidered crock pot, just in case Graves failed to grasp the pun.

“Pickett?” Graves called. There was no answering growl from the cat carrier, which Graves did not think was a good sign. “Are you –” He cut himself off when he noticed that the door to the cat carrier was ever so slightly ajar.

Graves pulled one of the ridiculous oven mitts off and picked up the cat carrier, tilting it slightly so that the door swung completely open. Pickett failed to explode out of it like a miniature Tasmanian devil, which was his usual response to captivity. The cat carrier was empty.

“Well, fuck,” said Graves.

Two goddamn hours of fruitless searching proved that Pickett was nowhere to be found inside the house, and that Graves ought to gift the Goldstein-Scamander’s with the name of his cleaning service as a wedding present.

Graves had never really believed Newt when Newt said that Pickett could pick locks. Pickett was a cat, for fuck’s sake. Cats couldn’t pick locks. He still didn’t believe that, but he was fairly certain that Pickett, at least, understood how locks worked. Because Graves sure as hell hadn’t left the back door unlocked, much less open just wide enough for an undersized demon cat to escape out of.

If anything happened to Pickett while he was under Graves’ care, Tina would murder him. It would make the grudge she was carrying over his late arrival to and disruption of her wedding look like a walk in the park by a tranquil spring lake. No one held grudges like Tina Goldstein, except maybe her sister Queenie.

Graves grabbed a bag of cat treats and went to look for Pickett. He searched the yard methodically, working in a grid the way he would if he’d been looking for a missing person or a body.

“Pickett?” he called, shaking the bag of cat treats. Pickett could occasionally be bribed with treats, and he was hoping that the little cat would recognize the sound and come running. “Here, kitty, kitty.”

Newt and Tina lived on a two and a half acre plot that butted up against a nearby nature preserve. A lot of Newt’s strays came from the preserve; they seemed to show up outside the house whenever they were sick and in need of healing. Graves had no idea how Newt kept the wild animals from eating his (comparatively) more domesticated ones, but he’d seen Frank the bald eagle sunning himself in the windows with Cecil curled up on his back like Frank was a feather mattress and not a feathery predator more than once. It was adorable. He might have taken a picture, but he’d be damned if he admitted to doing so, even under torture. Special Agent Graves did not have unlikely animal friendship photos on his phone.

Credence Barebone lived in the little gamekeeper’s cottage on the back of the property. It was leftover from when the property and at least two of the surrounding homes had all been part of the same estate. It was the perfect size for a traumatized young man who simply needed time and space and a little peace and quiet to heal.

Graves didn’t realize how close he was to the cottage until he was practically standing in the front garden. Stained glass windchimes hung under the eaves, making a pleasant tinkling sound in the faint breeze. They threw colored flecks of light all over the cottage walls, blending nicely with the riot of color emerging from the flowerbeds. It looked nice, Graves thought. Peaceful.

He turned away, not wanting to bother the little cottage or it’s occupant. Except he still hadn’t found Pickett, and he could hardly say he had done his due diligence and looked everywhere if he didn’t at least ask Credence if he’d seen Pickett.

“Fuck,” Graves muttered.

Well. There was no help for it. He’d just have to ask.

Something above his head meowed.

Graves paused. Then he tipped his head back and looked up into the branches of the oak tree next to the cottage. Newt’s tiny demon cat stared down at him. Graves was no expert in feline body language, but he was pretty sure that Pickett was laughing at him.

“Pickett,” he said sternly. “Come down here.”

Pickett was definitely laughing at him now. He meowed again. Graves was pretty sure Pickett had just said, Why don’t you come up here and make me, human.

“Fine,” said Graves, toeing off his shoes and socks. “Be that way. You think you’re the only one who can climb trees? Because newsflash: I can climb trees too.” He took the stupid sling off and dropped it next to his shoes and socks, using his good arm to boost himself in the tree.

His suit pants had definitely not been made with climbing trees in mind. Graves gritted his teeth and concentrated on getting closer to Pickett, who had retreated farther up the tree just to be a dick.

“Please come down,” Graves tried. “Newt will be upset if something happens to you.”

Pickett growled at the mention of Newt. It sounded a lot like the little cat had just blown a raspberry at him.

“Okay, fine. How about bribery? Would bribing you with wet food work?” Graves inquired.

Pickett turned and climbed higher. Graves swore under his breath and did his best to follow. He was not prepared for a large feathery creatures to suddenly fly at his face.

“Jesus fuck!” said Graves, jerking backwards. His left heel slid off the branch he’d been standing on and Graves flailed. He tried to catch his balance, but his injured arm wouldn’t support his weight.

Graves’ last thought before he fell out of the fucking tree was that this was going to be a really embarrassing way to die.

Frank tapped at Credence’s window, trying to get his attention.

Credence unlatched the window in front of his desk and let it swing open. Frank landed on the windowsill, which was scratched and worn from frequent visits.

“Hi, Frank,” Credence said. He reached a hand out carefully, waiting to see if Frank wanted to be petted.

Frank blinked one large golden eye at him and bowed his head. He let Credence stroke his head and scratch gently for just a second, and then he took a half step back and fluffed his feathers up.

“What’s up?” Credence asked.

There was something magical about interacting with Newt’s creatures. It was like one of the stories he’d read, once he was free of Ma’s influence and allowed to read stories that weren’t in the Bible. Newt was probably not actually magic the way that Daine Sarrasri was, but he talked to his creatures like they were people and tried to protect everyone the way that Daine did, which Credence figured made him the closest thing the real world had to a Wildmage. Newt’s creatures always seemed smarter than other animals, the way the ones who’d been exposed to Daine did. Credence couldn’t understand them as intuitively as Newt could, but there were days when he swore Frank was trying to communicate with him. He was just too dumb to understand him.

Frank considered Credence for a long moment. Then he hopped forward and screeched in Credence’s face.

Credence yelped in surprise and almost fell out of his desk chair. “Frank!” he said, channeling Newt as best he could. “That was rude! What are you yelling at me for?”

Frank hopped on Credence’s desk. He raised his wings like he was trying to make himself bigger, shifting his weight back and forth in agitation.

“What?” Credence asked. “What’s wrong? Do you miss Newt?”

Frank screeched again.

“I am not playing twenty questions with you if all you’re going to do is yell at me!” Credence yelled back.

Frank took off out the window, knocking books and knicknacks off of Credence’s desk as he went. Then he swooped back and landed on the windowsill and screamed again.

“What?” Credence asked again. “Do you want me to follow you?”

Frank bobbed his head.

“Did you just nod?” Credence asked.

Frank flapped his wings impatiently, as if to say, Yes, I did. Keep up, would you?

“Right,” Credence said. “Okay. I’ll just … follow you outside, I guess.”

Newt made communicating with his creatures look so much easier than this. Credence wondered what his secret was. He felt stupid for not asking before now, but Newt always seemed so magical that Credence hadn’t wanted to risk breaking the spell just in case it broke everything else along with it. Credence had been free of Ma’s influence for over a year now, and sometimes he still woke up thinking that he’d dreamed the whole thing up; that it was just an illusion he’d built in his mind to shield himself from the pain while she beat him. Real life could not possibly be this magical.

Frank took off as soon as Credence opened his front door, heading straight for the oak tree in the front garden. He didn’t land in the branches the way Credence expected him to, though. He landed on the ground instead.

There was a man lying unconscious at Frank’s feet. Or at least, Credence hoped he was just unconscious.

“You didn’t kill him, did you?” he asked Frank.

Frank fluffed his feathers up again and looked guilty.

“Holy Mary, Mother of God, you did,” Credence breathed.

Frank made an indignant sound.

“Or … not?” Credence asked.

Frank opened his wings and flapped them impatiently at Credence.

“Right,” said Credence. “I guess you want me to check, huh? Okay. I can do that.” He stared at the hopefully unconscious man for another minute. “Maybe,” he admitted.

If the man needed medical attention, Newt and Tina and Queenie and Jacob would have helped him without a second thought.

Credence had plenty of second thoughts. What if the man was an enemy agent, looking for Newt or Tina? What if he wanted to hurt Credence? What if he wanted to hurt Frank? Or one of Newt’s other creatures?

Credence also wanted to be good, like Newt and Tina and Queenie and Jacob were. He wanted to help people the way that they’d helped him.

“Okay,” he said again. He approached the man cautiously, just in case he was an enemy agent and only pretending to be unconscious. There was something strangely familiar about the man’s broad shoulders and the faint touch of silver threading through his dark hair. Credence didn’t realize who he was until he’d pressed two shaking fingers to the man’s throat looking for a pulse and got a good look at his profile.

He knew that profile. He knew the face it belonged to – both the real one and the fake.

Credence turned the man’s face gently to the side, running his fingers along the stubborn jawline to behind his ear, where the control chip for a Protean mask would rest. He couldn’t feel any kind of telltale bump or incision scar. This wasn’t a clever holographic illusion.

This was the real Mr. Graves.

Credence couldn’t decide if that made him feel better or worse. He had never apologized to the real Mr. Graves for all the things he’d wanted from the fake one, but he was shamefully certain that the real Mr. Graves knew about them anyway. There was rather a lot of surveillance footage, after all.

Thinking about the surveillance footage made Credence want to dig a hole in the garden and bury himself in it. Grindelwald hadn’t needed to work very hard to make Credence do what he wanted. All it had taken was a handsome face and the odd caress to go along with his liar’s tongue. Credence should have known better than to think that someone like Mr. Graves would ever want someone like him.

Credence knew from long experience that if he continued down that line of thought he’d wind up having a panic attack in his bedroom closet again. He shoved the knot of confusion and residual shame down and made himself focus on Mr. Graves.

He pressed his fingers to Mr. Graves’ throat again, resolutely not thinking about what it had been like to tuck his face against the curve of the fake Mr. Graves’ throat – Grindelwald had smelled of blood beneath Mr. Graves’ stolen cologne, but Credence hadn’t cared because he’d thought that Mr. Graves – that Grindelwald – would keep him safe.

He’d never dared to touch the real Mr. Graves before this.

The heartbeat under his fingertips was strong and steady and strangely ordinary on such an extraordinary man.

“Thank God,” Credence breathed. He sat back on his heels, trying to think of what to do next. His first instinct was to call Newt and Tina, because Newt and Tina were professional spies and terrifyingly competent at everything they did, albeit in different ways.

Newt and Tina were on their honeymoon, though. They had both assured him that he could call them at any time, but Credence would rather have cut off his own arm than actually do it. He would have to handle this himself.

Mr. Graves made a faint noise and stirred slightly.

“Oh no,” Credence said. He had a vague notion that you weren’t supposed to move unconscious people in case they had spinal damage or brain injuries. He was less clear on whether or not you should allow the recently unconscious to move for the same reasons, but he didn’t want Mr. Graves to add potential spinal damage on top of his recent gunshot wound. He reached out and grasped Mr. Graves’ shoulder, trying to keep him from moving.

Mr. Graves twisted, moving faster than a striking snake. He grabbed Credence’s wrist and used it to roll them both so that Credence was pinned beneath him.

Frank screeched in surprise and took off for the safety of the oak tree, yelling abuse down at both of them.

Credence yelped in surprise and said something blasphemous, looking up at Mr. Graves in stunned incomprehension.

“Credence?” asked Mr. Graves, sounding just as baffled as Credence felt.

“Um. Yes,” said Credence. “Sorry. I was trying to keep you from moving, in case you had a spinal injury or something, but I guess you’re okay?”

“Why would I have a spinal injury?” Mr. Graves asked, still sounding baffled. He let Credence up.

“I – you were unconscious,” Credence told him.

“I was – Fuck,” said Mr. Graves. “Not again.”

Credence stared at him. That was … not really the response he was expecting, honestly.

“What?” asked Mr. Graves.

“Nothing,” Credence said quickly. “It’s just … Does this happen to you a lot? Because ‘not again’ isn’t the response I’d expect from someone I just found unconscious in my garden.”

“Not a lot, no,” said Mr.Graves, wincing as he reached up to brush leaves out of his hair. “There may have been an incident with a ladder earlier this week.”

“An incident,” Credence repeated. He was aware of the fact that he was still staring at Mr. Graves and that it was rude, but he couldn’t seem to make himself stop.

Mr. Graves raised an eyebrow at him. “Tina didn’t tell you?”

“Not exactly,” Credence said, in lieu of admitting that what Tina had actually said was that Mr. Graves had the survival instincts of a squirrel on methamphetamines and couldn’t be trusted to stay out of trouble without a babysitter.

“Ah,” said Mr. Graves. “Well. I may have slipped.” He gestured to the sling lying abandoned on the ground next to his socks and shoes. “The damn thing got in my way.”

Credence ran that sentence through his ‘spy to normal people’ filter and suspected that what Mr. Graves meant was that he had slipped off the ladder and hit his head. If he’d done that while he was wearing the sling, that made this the second time in under a week he had fallen off of something and knocked himself unconscious. Mr. Graves’ exasperated not again supported that theory.

“Right,” he said, standing up. “We need to go to Medical.”

“What? Why?” Mr. Graves asked, getting up. He didn’t move like someone who was recovering from a gunshot wound, but he was favoring his right arm just a little. He reached for Credence, cupping Credence’s face in his left hand and peering into his eyes. “Are you hurt?”

“Not for me,” Credence said, stepping back so that he wouldn’t lean pathetically into Mr. Graves’ touch the way he used to lean into Grindelwald’s. “For you.”

“For me?” Mr. Graves repeated, sounding baffled again.

Credence put his hands on his hips and tried to channel the Goldstein sisters. “I found you unconscious on the ground after you fell out of a tree,” he said, taking a guess at what had happened. “I’m guessing you also fell off a ladder at some point, which means that this is the second time this week you’ve knocked yourself unconscious. You need to go to Medical so they can check you for a concussion.”

“I don’t have a concussion,” said Mr. Graves. “Trust me. I’ve had enough of them to recognize the symptoms. I appreciate your concern, Credence, but I’m fine.”

Credence folded his arms across his chest. “You were unconscious,” he said.

“I was unconscious for what, not even five minutes? That doesn’t even count. It’s more like being momentarily stunned,” Mr. Graves said, dismissive.

Credence was starting to understand why Tina thought that Mr. Graves couldn’t be left to his own devices. He’d never met anyone with such blatant disregard for their own health. It was a little infuriating. Credence had ignored his hurts because he had to. Because he couldn’t afford to go to a hospital and he’d been too afraid to even he could have afforded it. Ma had forbidden them to go to the doctor. She hadn’t wanted any record of the things she’d done.

Mr. Graves had access to the best medical care the Agency could pay for, which meant that it was good enough to almost qualify as a divine miracle. If he chose not to make use of those services, well. He was a grown man and he could make his own decisions.

Mr. Graves peered up at the tree. He did a little running leap and caught one of the branches, hanging from it by his good arm in a way Credence would have found brain-meltingly attractive if he had not been completely furious.

“Are you stupid?” he demanded, grabbing hold of Mr. Graves’ belt when Mr. Graves twisted to haul himself back into the tree he’d literally just fallen out of. “Or brain damaged?”

Mr. Graves dropped out of the tree and gently pried Credence’s hand off of his belt. “I beg your pardon?”

“You just fell out of that tree,” Credence said. “Was once not enough? Are you trying to give yourself brain damage? Because you could just let Queenie hit you over the head with one of her frying pans if that’s what you want. It’d be faster and less traumatic.”

Mr. Graves stared at him. Credence suspected that he was not exactly making a good first impression on the real Mr. Graves and decided that he didn’t really care. If Mr. Graves wanted to foolishly risk his own life and upset the people who cared about him, he could do it somewhere else.

“Pickett,” said Mr. Graves.

“What?”

Mr. Graves pointed. “Pickett’s in that tree. I was trying to get him down. Frank startled me.”

“Oh,” said Credence. “Why didn’t you just tell Pickett to come down?”

“Pickett’s a cat. They don’t exactly do things on command.”

Credence tilted his head back, peering into the leaves until he spotted Pickett’s surprisingly well camouflaged tabby stripes. “Pickett,” he said sternly.

“Mrow,” said Pickett, defiant.

“Pickett, you get out of that tree right now,” Credence said.

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to – son of a bitch,” said Mr. Graves.

Pickett wound his way through the branches and down the tree trunk. The bells on his collar jingled cheerfully as he landed on the ground between them.

Credence bent down and picked the little cat up. He didn’t have a convenient jacket pocket to tuck Pickett into, so he settled for putting Pickett on his shoulder instead. “You and I are going to have a long talk about this,” he warned. “And I’m going to tell Newt on you. Just you see if I don’t.”

Pickett gave a very innocent sounding meow. Credence did not believe it for a second, but he scratched Pickett’s ears anyway.

“And you,” Credence said to Mr. Graves, “are coming with me to get your head checked out.” He took off towards the house, not waiting to see if Mr. Graves would follow. He couldn’t make Mr. Graves come with him – Mr. Graves was stronger and better trained than he was – but Pickett needed to be brushed and fed and someone had to be on hand to dial 911 just in case Mr. Graves decided to do something stupid.

“Do you know,” Mr. Graves said, sounding amused. “I thought you were afraid of me.”

“I’m not,” said Credence. It would have been better if he’d been afraid, but he wasn’t.

“Yes, I can see that,” said Mr. Graves. He was quiet for a moment. “I owe you an apology.”

Credence stopped. “What?”

Mr. Graves looked him in the eye. Grindelwald had never bothered to do that, not that he’d needed to. Credence wouldn’t have dared to meet his gaze back then. It sent a weird flutter through Credence’s stomach now. He liked that Mr. Graves treated him like a man – like an equal.

“I’m sorry,” said Mr. Graves. “Grindelwald wronged you, but he did it with my face and my name, and I owe you an apology for that. I should have spoken to you sooner, but I thought it would be kinder to leave you be. You didn’t seem to like the sight of me.”

Credence had rather the opposite problem, but it didn’t seem like a good idea to admit that.

“You don’t owe me anything,” Credence said. “If anything, I’m the one who owes you an apology. I wanted –” He made a faint gesture in Mr. Graves’ direction, trying to communicate all the shameful things he’d wanted, back when he thought that Grindelwald was Mr. Graves. He had lusted after Mr. Graves’ body, and that seemed disrespectful now that he knew the real man.

“Well,” said Mr. Graves. “Either we both owe each other an apology, or neither of us do. Perhaps we can start over. Percival Graves,” he said, holding out his hand.

Credence shook it. “Credence Barebone,” he said.

Mr. Graves smiled. It was a brief, fleeting thing that made Credence’s insides feel like there was a swarm of butterflies inside of them.

“There’s an Italian restaurant near headquarters,” Mr. Graves said. “What do you say we go there for dinner after Medical clears me of imaginary head injuries?”

“I’m starting to see why Tina says that there’s nothing in your head to injure,” Credence said, and then the rest of what Mr. Graves said hit him. “Wait, dinner?”

Mr. Graves shrugged. “We have some friends in common,” he said. “If we’re starting over, perhaps we can be friends as well. Dinner seems like a good place to start.”

The swarm of butterflies were doing the butterfly equivalent of the Agency’s obstacle course with his internal organs.

This is not a date, Credence told himself. Mr. Graves was just being nice.

“I’d like that,” he said.

#my fic #graves/credence #fbawtft #tora42 #ask me anything

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