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bush-viper-cutie · 4 years

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Messages || Part 1

(Part 4 of The Crystal Ball)

Pairing: Snape x fem!reader

Word count: 9,099

Rating: M for Mature

Plot: Severus experiences a major bump in his relationship that he’s never experienced before. It’s easy to be confident in a working relationship when being together is a daily habit, but when the relationship turns long distance after summer is over, he just doesn’t know how to keep himself afloat.

Warnings: Sex scene :o (mainly at the end), tiny bit angsty

A/N: Hello everyone! :D This is part one of a two part arc within the crystal ball series so I hope I make sense in saying that Messages part 1 and Messages part 2 will both count as part 4 and 5 of the crystal ball XD (this one is long and part 2 might be just as long so I hope that’s ok :D) (also also this is officially the first of the 500 next part request… so 1 down, 499 to go XD) I hope everyone’s holidays went great!

Posted: 12/31/20

Masterlist

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Severus stood in front of his shelves of books, looking for new titles to introduce into the curriculum but none caught his eye. He ran his finger along the spines, dust coming off each one in a long streak and collected under his nail. They were all worn, their binding fabric once rich in texture now flush and smooth as the hard cover underneath. Their once-golden names rubbed off from excessive obsessive use from years of studies during and after his time as a Hogwarts student. His eyes followed his finger as he tried reading the titles, hoping one would spark a memory of a passage easy enough for his students to grasp.

I should introduce the Odd-Stir Method to the fifth years after winter holidays. I think Rotus explains it best – though I doubt they’d be able to get over his outdated terminology… I’d have to give them translation sheets though… Perhaps E. K Nimgo uses more appropriate language… even the densest of dunderheads should be able to understand her phrasing.

He’d reached the very last shelf and stood, clutching only two books from his collection and sighed, not entirely certain that his efforts to make brewing easier would even be appreciated. He wiped his finger on the rough fabric of his black vest and sighed, realizing he’d just created a very visible grey streak across his chest.

He heard a soft giggle and looked up, blushing at the beautiful woman leaning on the doorframe to the kitchen, watching him intently. Severus smiled and shook his hair to cover his face. He tapped the books in his hand with his finger, trying to draw her attention away from him in embarrassment. “Should I even try this year?”

She pushed herself from the doorframe and walked over to him slowly with a finger tapping her chin as if in thought. She slid her hands under his arms and pushed her face into his shoulder blade. “No – In fact, maybe take a break from teaching and stay here with me this year.” She’d been begging him for several weeks now as their summer fun was coming to an end.

He wanted so badly to say yes… But Dumbledore won’t allow it. It’s still too soon after… He sighed. He ran his hand along her arm and pulled it away, freeing himself to face her. “Help me pack these?” Her smile dropped and he almost winced. “You know I’ll just throw them in,” he whispered.

She nodded and gave a slight smile. “You’re so awful at packing, Sev.” She took the books from his hands and planted a kiss on his unready lips. Her smile widened at his look of joyous surprise and laughed. “You act like a schoolboy receiving his first ever kiss every time I do that.”

He pressed his palm to his mouth until he felt his stupid smile fade and frowned at her, removing his hand. “I do not. Besides… it’s hardly my fault.” He placed his hands on her hips and pulled her in for a proper kiss. He let his lips linger on hers and made sure to speak low, just how she liked. “I can’t control what you do to me.”

She bit her lip and pulled her chin down, looking up at him with innocent eyes that sparkled wickedly at him. Merlin help me. He slid his hands down her sides and played with the hem of her skirt, loving the invisible sparks of lust and tension popping in the air.

The flames of the candles scattered around the room flickered under the influence of their accidental magic, brought on by their subconscious need to dim the lights and set their favorite evening mood. His living room had never held any romance to it until her. It was the one room in the house whose floors were maintained perfectly clean. It was the one room where they constantly found themselves on the floor of.

A soft tapping from the kitchen pulled his eyes away from hers. Merlin, I didn’t mean literally. He sighed. “I have to answer back.”

She dropped her arms that had snaked their way around his neck and folded them over her chest. “I’ll go pack these into your trunk.”

He watched her march out of the room and listened to her footfall on the stairs, heavy with anger. The door to their room slammed and he headed into the kitchen. A large brown owl sat on the rim of the empty potted plants outside and tapped its beak to the window again.

“Silence already!” Severus swung the window open and took the letter from the owl’s beak. “Tell that man if he wishes to be enraging he’s doing a fine job. Next time he hands you a letter, wait for the next one.”

He tore the envelope open and read the fourth letter sent to him that day. ‘I forgot to remind you the lists will be sent out next week, though if you have the required textbooks ready, the sooner the better this year.’ Severus pinched the bridge of his nose and walked back into the living room, scribbled the title of the textbook his students had been using for the last three years and folded it up, not bothering with a new envelope.

He marched back to the owl and held the note out for it to take. “Try not to come back – or better yet, get lost on the way.”

It hooted and took the note, tapping the window once more for the apparent pure satisfaction of seeing Severus scowl and fluttered away. He closed the window with a tight snap and pulled the curtains closed. He headed out of the kitchen and looked around.

Where is she? It was around this time he’d normally sit down to read at his chair, only to be interrupted and asked to join her on the small couch instead so she could lean on him while she entertained herself with her own books – or on busy days, her work.

Severus crossed the room and headed into the foyer, stopping at the bottom of the stairs. He called out her name and listened. Silence.

He looked down at the long rug covering the center of the staircase. She’d found it on sale a couple of weeks ago and bought it for ‘the house’ claiming she was tired of the loud clomping of shoes on the stairs. Looking at the rug – along with the new matching towels and pillows and cushions for the couch – had made his chest feel unpleasantly tight for the first few days… Now he always felt a slight smile coming on when he noticed them. It was her way of moving in, knowing full well he was too scared to ask her to live with him in his grotty hovel of a house.

He headed up the steps and opened the door to their bedroom. She was laying on his side of the bed, face down on his pillow, with his books left out on his cluttered night stand. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs. He closed the door behind him and stood awkwardly at the end of the bed for a few seconds.

This is all my fault. If I’d never… Merlin. I regret everything but you. “I’m sorry,” Severus whispered.

She pushed herself up onto her forearms and turned to him, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. “Oh Sev. Please don’t go… You’ll be gone for so long – ten months! I’m going to miss you so much! It’s going to be so hard not coming home to you every day… Everything’s going to be so much harder without you around.” She closed her eyes and fell back onto his pillow, shaking more violently than before. “Who’s going to make me soup after I finish ranting about how awful my boss is?”

He could barely make out her muffled attempt to lighten the mood and smirked, trying not to feel the growing hurt of seeing her so upset. Severus moved to the side of the bed, holding in tears that mirrored her pain, and kicked the open trunk away. He knelt on the bed and pushed her on to her side, holding her tight the moment she sat up for a hug.

He stroked her hair and bit his lip. “It only seems hard now.” He swallowed thickly. “Trust me, you’ll forget you even want me around.” He forced out a chuckle. “You might even forget I exist.”

Her hands clawed his back, pulling him closer. He let her pull him onto the bed, careful not to crush her with his weight, and allowed her arms to keep him in her sweet embrace. She was still crying into his neck and all he could do was kiss her head and press his hands into her back, pulling himself closer. As much as his heart broke when she cried, a small part of him warmed at the idea of being wanted so bad it hurt.

He was used to his brain turning on him, trying to convince him she didn’t actually care for him, despite checking to make sure he’d eaten when she got back from work, asking how he’d slept every morning, and every other little show of affection. It often times told him the small frown she wore was because of him, something he’d done wrong, despite her whole face brightening at the sight of him. All summer he’d felt like he was sitting on the edge of his seat, dreading the day she’d wake from her trance and leave him. It was hard to accept his luck when all his life he’d had anything but that.

And now here she was under him, crying over the pain she swears she’ll feel not seeing him every day… and he can’t help but want to cry over just being loved so openly and plainly. He felt guilty.

It won’t last. He closed his eyes and held her closer to him, attempting to focus on her rugged breaths of sorrow and not the cruel words ringing in his ears. We’ve only spent three months together, no one could ever feel this way for me in such a small amount of time… Not me… Not Snivellus… Not ever.

She’ll forget about me after the first month apart – less even. I’ll only cause her pain for a handful of weeks and then… then she’ll be perfectly fine without me. He pulled away as her sobs calmed and kissed her smooth salty lips with the same longing he knew he’d feel the whole almost ten long months without her. “Everything will seem normal in a matter of months. I promise you won’t feel this for long.”

She wiped her eyes and gently pushed him off her, curling up to his side and shook her head. “No. It’ll hurt this bad and worse.” She sniffed and draped her arm over his middle, pulling him closer. “Will you go over the plan again?”

He nodded. “We’ll write letters every day. You’ll visit me every weekend at the Three Broomsticks. And twice on as many weekends as I can.”

She lifted her head and kissed his chin. When she pulled away, she was finally smiling up to her eyes behind her glimmering tears. “Promise me?”

The way she looked at him, with love and hope and need, made him want to melt on the spot. I promise you anything. He swallowed. “Of course.”

She pulled away and she was no longer smiling, instead searching his eyes for something. “I really will miss you, Sev.”

He nodded and sat up, feeling the strange tightness in his chest again. He felt goosebumps on his arm despite feeling no chills, and his shirt seemed oddly restricting again. “I’ll make us dinner. Anything you wish.” He kissed her cheek and turned away, swinging his legs over the bed. He stood and crossed the room to the door, opened it, and left, giving her just enough time to mumble ‘something creamy’ before he closed the door with a snap.

~ * ~ * ~

Severus stood over his trunk and started unpacking his things. The chamber was quiet and cold with new shining webs decorating the corners and connecting rows upon rows of glass jars. The fireplace cracked in the corner, vaguely illuminating the cavity he called his office, filling the air with the scents of cherry firewood, thickly sweet.

I should thank her for the new wood. She’ll surely gloat about being right, though just imagining her smiling is enough to be worth it. Severus grinned to himself and took out a folded piece of parchment where he’d been keeping notes on what to send in his letters since he’d left her at Kings Cross station. He jotted down the ‘thank you for the new fire wood’ she’d snuck into his trunk to help him relax and slipped it back into his vest.

“Ah, Severus. Finally here I see,” McGonagall’s voice echoed in. She stood on the threshold with hands on her hips, looking around at the state of things. “You’re normally on the first train back – You will be dusting won’t you? I’d give you my spell, but as you so kindly pointed out last year, it’s inelegant wording might disorganize your… ‘systemized assortment of components’… or as I call it – clutter.”

Severus rolled his eyes and faced her. “I had business.”

She arched her brow. “I see. Well welcome back, and I suggest you get started with Poppy soon, unfortunately several vials went bad over the summer – something about cheap valerian and the Ministry’s fat pockets – she’s been raging about it since she arrived. Afterwards I think Pomona’s having trouble reviving her oleanders.”

Severus nodded and waited until the crisp clacking of her heels could no longer be heard before gathering what he needed and headed out to his usual pre-term duties as the school’s only Potions Master.

After a long night of replenishing the hospital’s stocks, an early morning brewing Come-’Round serum, and an annoying evening spent with Sprout and her plants, dinner rolled around and he hardly noticed the maddening levels of screaming and laughing and talking coming from the house tables full of old and new students.

“Severus,” McGonagall drew his sleepy attention to her. “Albus mentioned you expressed an interest in taking over monitoring the corridors at night.” She took a sip from her goblet.

Severus frowned. “I mentioned the need to double down on dawn and dusk hours. Not – ”

“That is a marvelous idea. I’m sure you will keep plenty of nosy students out of trouble this year.” She sipped her goblet again.

Severus blinked several times at her. “D-did you just hand over the entire position to me?”

She continued drinking as if he hadn’t spoken and turned back to her food, glancing over at him every so often to check if he was still glaring at her.

Severus grumbled to himself and turned back to his food. I miss ONE meeting and suddenly every tedious responsibility is handed off to me. Of course.

Soon the Great Hall was emptied of students as their prefects led them to their houses and Severus prepared himself for a short night’s rest. He spent three hours walking between corridors from one house entrance to the next, catching at least five students out after hours walking about the castle in the dead of night, and two in the early hours before the sun rose.

He sat back at the high table with a groan and stretched out his legs. The morning light filtered through the tessellated windows high above the tables and reflected off the maple-glazed sausages and glittering butter that melted over his toast.

A familiar wood owl soared down and landed on the top rail of his chair, hooting happily with an elegantly ribbon-wrapped note clutched tight in his foot. Severus suppressed a grin, keeping his usual scowl plastered over his face, and took the note, quickly unraveling it from its pink satin bindings.

2 September

My dearest Severus,

You have not replied to the letter I sent yesterday. How was the train ride and our first night apart in months? I missed you more than you could ever imagine. You said I’d be glad to have the bed to myself, but for the second night in a row I have missed your warmth and your embrace. I fear to even wash the sheets and erase your all too alluring scent… Although I will. When did we last wash them? A week ago? Please fake your death and come back to me.

Love,

Your already forgotten girlfriend.

‘Girlfriend’, his heart skipped as his eyes reread the word. He felt a strange forgotten ache deep in his core, of sleepless nights as a student wondering if he’d ever have someone to call his. It was within these very stone walls that he’d muttered curses under his breath at any student that pointed out the fact he was alone and would forever be alone. He’d been wrong, and it was a pain he wished he could go back and relieve from his younger self. He took out his quill, flipped the note over and smoothed it’s curves on the dark oak table.

2 September

My unforgettable girlfriend,

I’ve officially taken over monitoring the corridors at night. It seems McGonagall is trying to remedy my insomnia with hours of walking the halls like a soul-lost mummy in the deep caverns of Khufu’s temple. I caught seven just last night, and apparently my reprimands were deemed ‘unfair’ and ‘dumb’ by these pests we call students.

Severus

He paused.

Also, thank you for the logs. They were nice, but I will switch them out soon for something more menacing.

He folded the note and handed it back to her owl, who had been intently watching his quill feather jitter as he wrote. Her owl took the note in its beak and joined the dozens of other owls leaving through the windows.

Although the letter had suppressed his stress for a few minutes, it soon bubbled back up as the bells rang for the start of lessons. As he’d expected, none of the students had done an ounce of studying over the summer, resulting in the floors being covered in melted stirring rods, the high ceilings dripping with fluorescent watery syrup, and six cracked cauldrons from high-tempered concoctions.

But of course I’M the one writing to the ministry about replacing six cauldrons. If it were up to me, each one of those brats responsible would be writing apology letters begging for new cauldrons themselves. He started writing out the letter towards the Ministry’s Educational Mayhem Funds Committee explaining the need for new ones and how he would supposedly prevent the need for more. Perhaps suggesting teaching dogs instead is not a reasonable approach.

He skipped dinner and by the time it was a quarter to nine, he set out patrolling the corridor and this time checked every broom-closet twice. He slept, and by dawn was up again, pacing floors until the smell of eggs and citrus filled the passageways, wafting in from the kitchen vents.

Breakfast, he sighed. He made his way down and took his usual seat. At some point between his first and second poached egg-topped buttered crumpet the familiar aspen-feathered owl landed on his chair, delivering a newly ribboned note.

3 September

My hardworking boyfriend,

I do not envy those under your authority. I’m sure in the coming week, everyone will remember how strictly you rule the corridors and classrooms and will choose to stop breaking the rules. Perhaps slapping the desk harder while you yell will really make them quiver in their shoes. Speaking of heavy hands… will I see you at the end of this week? I miss visiting Hogsmeade and especially the butterbeer from the Three Broomsticks. This weekend will be a MUCH needed break from work and everything that reminds me of my boss’s red warty face. He’s driving me mad. Come down and hex him for me, won’t you Sev?

Yours always,

A previous pest.

Severus chuckled and replied immediately.

Do not tease, especially since the weekend is two days away – it feels like a lifetime when imprisoned within these walls. I shall see about a room at the Three Broomsticks. Regardless, Saturday for lunch. Noon exactly.

Severus

He handed the owl her note and stuffed the new ribbon in his pocket with the other. ‘Heavy hands’. He pressed his elbows to the table and his fists to his growing grin. He was sure Sprout would let him pick a few of her bluebonnets to take with him. It’d be a lovely surprise he was sure she’d more than appreciate.

He pushed away from the table and made his way out of the Great Hall towards the dungeons. His first lesson of the day was in a few hours. The first years are probably running Pomphrey dry on the Dreamless Sleep elixir. She’ll likely ask me about it this weekend… If I get started on it now –

The library doors opened and a shrill voice called out to him. “Oh! Professor Snape!” The new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher came marching up to him with a determined look about her. “I was told to seek your advice – Professor if you have the time.”

Severus kept from rubbing at his temples and breathed out in what almost sounded like a groan. “In what are you seeking council?”

The new professor shook her head, her large bun bobbing from side to side, and placed her hands on her hips. “The library does not stock extra copies of the books I have assigned as required textbooks. I was told you’d had this problem when you first began teaching?”

Do not remind me. “Ah… yes. The library will not stock books outside the Ministry’s recommended reading. You could try convincing… Dumbledore,” the word rolled off his tongue distastefully. “But the Headmaster prefers leaving it up to the professors to figure out.” Severus turned to leave.

The woman laughed. “Is that your advice? Figure it out myself?”

Severus turned back and narrowed his eyes. “If the books you are seeking… are not stocked. Then they are not from the list the Ministry has provided you – as I’m sure you know, as we receive updated lists every summer. That means either your book is considered too dangerous – ”

“It’s not! I would hardly call unicorns and counter-clockwise counting clocks dangerous when – ”

“Or,” Severus interrupted, lowering his voice to a dangerous whisper. “They are too expensive. If some students cannot afford the textbooks, then it is your job to provide them or incorporate them into a learning plan.” Severus turned on his heels and started walking briskly down the dungeon stairs.

“And am I supposed to make a learning plan after term has already begun!”

He kept walking without turning back. “That IS the situation you find yourself in. Yes,” he yelled back. How many more of these incompetent teachers will Hogwarts endure before Dumbledore allows me the position? Talk about maddening ‘bosses’.

Severus hadn’t even sat in his chair for more than a few minutes before his fireplace burned with flames alit with minor Floo powder.

“Severus.” McGonagall’s voice drawled from within the flames.

Severus pinched his eyes closed. “Minerva,” he hissed.

“As much as I enjoy watching new teachers flop around from task to task, it is not me that applies for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position every summer. Perhaps showing some initiative would propel Albus to take you more seriously next year.”

He could hear the amused smile in her voice. He seethed in his chair for a minute. “Last time I ‘showed initiative’ I was given the whole bloody task. I am NOT filling my schedule with her poor attempt at education.” He thought for a moment. “Unless.”

McGonagall sighed. “What do you want, Severus.”

“I will be gone this weekend. Saturday and Sunday… And sometimes other weekends as well.”

The bright green flames flickered over the cherry firewood and a log fell, sparking tinier flames for a few seconds before the larger ones engulfed them.

“Alright.”

The fire cracked and then died down to the normal short flames that he liked. Well that solves that.

~ * ~ * ~

Severus stared at the densely grown purple wildflowers that filled the smallest planter in the greenhouse. The cool blues and purples of the bonnet-shaped petals made his mouth turn up in a smile, mirroring the very same one he knew he’d receive if he showed up to his date with these in hand. He clipped diagonal cuts into the stems and wrapped them in the two ribbons he’d kept from her letters. The pure pink of the ribbons shined brightly among the mellow blues of the flowers. Perfect.

Severus carefully tucked the bouquet in his inner cloak pocket and headed out towards the gate. Not feet from the door of the greenhouse he heard Madam Pomphrey calling his name from the castle doors.

“Ah! Severus! Glad to catch you before you left.” She waited for Severus to approach her. “The first years have just about drained my supplies of Dreamless Sleep. Minerva suggested having some flown in from that new shop across from Zonkos but I refuse to give the students anything I wouldn’t just make myself.”

Then why have ME make it? Severus sighed. “Of course… I’ll have that for you Monday.”

“No sooner?”

Severus refrained from frowning. “No sooner.” He turned – noticing Pomphrey’s eyes glancing down at the purple pollen smudged on his black cloak – and headed towards the gate.

~ * ~ * ~

Hogsmeade was busier now than it was when Hogsmeade trips started for students. He guessed it was because there was only one month during the year where there were no loud and screaming children bumping into people out on the streets or taking up unnecessary room in shops. If he’d realized just how pact the day would be, he’d have suggested meeting in the room he had gotten instead of out on the street.

He sat on one of the benches near the Three Broomsticks and took out his small journal, hunching over to see his small writing. On Mondays and Wednesdays I can help plan defense lessons in the mornings, Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays will have to be in the evenings, so those days will have to be plans for the following day which means this Monday or Wednesday I’ll have to help plan two lessons… Sunday I can get back early… I’ll only be able to brew a fourth of the stock… I can catch up on it next Sunday if my visits with her are just Saturdays… at least for only a week or two. He quickly scribbled down his plans.

Two hands pulled his hair up out of his eyes, and he found himself staring at a pair of shiny heels. He trailed his eyes up her legs and looked up, squinting at her smiling face already diving down for a kiss on his forehead.

“Sorry I’m late.”

Severus quickly stood and took out the flowers he’d picked just for her.

She smiled so bright her eyes glowed with delight. “Sev!” She took them and jumped onto him, clinging onto his neck.

He felt his face go red and cleared his throat, acutely aware of just a few stares pointed their way. She didn’t let go of him, however. She held on tight and all he wanted was to breath her in so desperately. To pick her up and twirl her and never let go, but there were so many people. He forced a simple hug and pulled her away. The room! It should be available already.

“What’s that little smile on your face for?” She arched a brow, hugging her flowers tight.

Severus bent down and pushed her silky hair behind her ear, gently tracing his lips on the soft ridges of her ear. “Room? Now?” Am I a barbarian? I haven’t seen her all week and all I can muster are two single-syllable words? He pulled back and watched as her teeth bit down her plump lower lip.

“Take me away, Severus,” she whispered.

His brain had turned into dense fog and all he could think to do was nod and take her hand, leading her inside. He slinked past groups of people thunderously enjoying their early morning drinks and up the stairs, gripping her hand tight, making sure not to lose out on a single second of feeling her skin on his.

He pulled out his key and slipped it in the lock, turning it until it clicked, and opened the door. The room had a single bed and closed curtains, which was really all they would need tonight. What if she was expecting something better? He couldn’t afford any of the nicer, larger rooms available.

He turned and watched her saunter in, paying no attention to the room and only to him as he closed the door with his heel. Her intense sultry eyes eyed him up and down as she bit her lip, taking him in like a cold sweet treat left out for her to have on a hot summer’s day. His face went red again, and he could remember the feel of her hands all over him, begging him to give himself to her to do with at her whim.

Did she lick her lips? He swallowed.

“My Severus,” she whispered.

Mind blank, he lunged for her lips and they both fell onto the bed. His hands roamed over the fabric of her dress, outlining her figure with a yearning need. She moaned and squirmed under him, making his temperature rise with desire. In one swift move, she had him pinned down, her knees straddling his hips. Her lips teased light bruises onto his neck and a deep moan escaped his mouth.

Before the new hour had even struck, they were already under the covers in an embrace deeper than ever before. Physically, the positions were the same, needy and wild; emotionally, his soul couldn’t get enough. Her scent, her touch, every minute sound that escaped her lips, breathy or fierce, sent a fire down his body. He’d missed her so much.

“Severus!” she moaned in his ear, holding him down with a shaky grip. Her body tensed with pleasure and finally relaxed onto him, limp with euphoria.

He shivered and closed his eyes, keeping the same steady rhythm that had undone her. His hands gripped her hips and pushed her down as his heels dug into the mattress and his own hips pressed up. She was huffing in his ear, moaning, whimpering. And with the same sudden flowing energy, he followed in her pleasure. He wrapped his arms around her as the waves washed over him and hugged her tight as their breaths caught and their rhythmic movements ceased, fully satisfied.

He smiled and chuckled, laughing louder as her giggles bubbled out as well. “The room was a good idea.”

“I see you can form sentences once again.” She laughed and pushed herself up to kiss his face.

He blushed, wishing she hadn’t noticed how utterly speechless her presence had left him in only a single week of not seeing her. “Yes – well – ” Merlin, a sentence! Finish a sentence. He cleared his throat. “Lunch? Er – Would you like to send for some lunch to have in here?”

She bit her lip, poorly hiding a wide grin, and nodded. “You can go order for me. I’ll be right back.” She took her clothes and headed into the bathroom, leaving the door ajar like she always did before a shower.

He dressed quickly, headed down to the bar and ordered two meals and a few drinks. It only took a few minutes to receive his order despite the crowd of wizards and witches sitting at tables talking with friends. He flicked his wand and the meal led the way back up the stairs and into the room.

The rest of the day was spent eating and laughing on the bed, talking about mainly her work or things she’d added to his house – or ‘the’ house as they had been ‘sneakily’ calling it. He liked it, maybe this summer it could be ‘our’ house. After several drinks and hours spent in each other’s arms, they got ready for bed.

Severus wrapped his arms around her, squeezing them between the mattress and her back, and rested his head on her chest. He closed his eyes as she played with his long hair, curled it in her fingers, and smoothed it out with her palm. Within seconds sleep seeped into every corner of his mind.

~ * ~ * ~

Although breaking the news that he had to leave early that Sunday had soured their last hours together, Severus felt far more relaxed as the week went on. His memories of her warmth and softness were renewed and he could put more focus into his work, knowing what the ends of the weeks would more or less look like now.

Of course he had told her that the following weekend date would have to be canceled if only to ensure that the rest would remain free. He still had potions to restock in the hospital wing that took several days to brew single batches. And that lesson plan, he grumbled to himself.

The full week that followed had felt like one long trek up a mountain, only to reach the peak and see more mountain to climb. The weekend was spent slumped over one of his brewing tables with an elbow dug into the wood and his head glued to his palm. He stirred and stirred for hours, waited for the potion to turn purple, and then stirred for longer.

He ran his hands through his hair, trying to replicate the feel of her fingers brushing through his greasy tendrils, and sighed, wiping his hand on his trousers. The room was quiet except for the slow pop of bubbles and he knew if she’d been in the room he’d have had to demand she leave, unable to brew under the tight squeeze of her hugs. He lifted his head off his palm and wrapped his arm around his middle, hugging himself close as his other hand stirred.

Once the tall jars were filled and stoppered, he walked them down to Madam Pomphrey’s office and headed to dinner. His eyes narrowed on a group of students suspiciously whispering to each other. Hufflepuffs. It was no coincidence dessert tonight was the Hufflepuff favorite, honey-stuffed bear biscuits. Their house door was only a corridor away from the kitchens and there was always left overs of this particular dessert for some reason. Sprout denied having anything to do with it, Of course.

He waited in his office watching the clock and smiled as the hands marked the start of After Hours. He stood and smoothed out his teaching robe, preparing for an eventful night of patrolling. He started with the other houses first, going from top floors to the bottom, and allowing the Hufflepuffs plenty of time.

He finished his dungeon rounds and headed up to the main corridor. He crossed it with a light stroll, and turned the few corners into the Hufflepuff and kitchen passageway. The kitchen door was left ajar, and a creamy warm light seeped into the shadows. Severus stalked through the dark and pushed the heavy kitchen door wider, observing the chaos in secret.

Six Hufflepuffs stuffed the cookies into sheer golden bags and tied them around their hips by the stings like valued coin. Two were reaching for the jars of deep golden syrup placed high above cabinets while the others overloaded the biscuits with slices of grilled pear chunks.

He stepped into the kitchen and held his hands behind his back, glaring at the back of their heads. He could see their shoulders tense one by one until they all stopped their movements and turned around ever so slowly.

Severus licked his lips and lowered his voice to a growl. “Detentions. Scrubbing cauldrons and boiling devilpods.” Severus flicked his wand and every last treat disappeared from their sticky hands. He marched them to their house door and slammed it hard behind them.

He was half way to his office when it suddenly dawned on him. Six detentions? Where in Merlin’s shiny bald head would he fit six hours of detention supervision in his schedule? His hands fisted at his sides and an angry growl roared out of him into the darkness.

“Shhh!” A portrait hushed from up the nearest stairs.

Potions. Severus stalked down the dungeons stairs. Lesson Plans. He threw his office door open. Detentions! He slammed the door shut and glared as a jar threatened to topple off his shelf. “When does it end!” he snarled.

It was two weeks into the first term and his patience had already run dry. If he wasn’t going to see her this weekend either, then there was no reason to hold out on punishments for misbehaving brats. There was no more scraping the bottom of the barrel for mercy for any student or coworker.

His words dripped with venom, his actions were sharp, and what little restraint he had shriveled and died. Everywhere he went the whispers followed, ‘Careful, Professor Snape is coming this way.’

~ * ~ * ~

20 September

Of course. Next weekend it is then. I miss you, Sev.

Yours Always

Severus sighed and pinched his eyes closed. The guilt in his gut had clawed its way into his veins and was now circulating his whole body, making him cold with worry. This was the second weekend he canceled on her and after expecting anger, she’d delivered a short but loving message showing how much patience she had for him.

20 September

I’m sorry. I miss you too. I’m sorry, truly.

Yours, Severus

He handed his reply to one of the school owls in the owlry and watched it fly off into the greying sky. The wind was chilly as it brushed passed his nose and hair, sending goosebumps down his arms. He stuck his hands in his pockets and squeezed his eyes shut as more guilt shivered up his core. She hadn’t yet mentioned the fact he wasn’t replying every day to her letters anymore, and that made him all the more scared. Was that her way of telling him she had expected he wouldn’t keep up with his promise?

Merlin, I’m an awful boyfriend. He forced a trembling laugh. Couples were supposed to hug and kiss and lay in each other’s arms and talk often weren’t they? He didn’t know anymore. It had seemed so easy over the summer. He’d felt so proud when she called him her boyfriend, especially when he knew he was doing everything right. Bringing her flowers, helping her with work, complimenting her every morning and night before and after work. He’d felt he earned the title.

But I don’t deserve it now. He barely talked to her, had broken all his promises, kept canceling on her, I keep disappointing her. He began walking down the spiraling stairs down the owlry, hardly taking in his surroundings, mind haunted by his past. Words floated in his head, voices that made him tense with rage. ‘Stop lookin’ Snivellus. You’ll never find a girl who’ll ever want you.’ The walk from the owlry to the dungeons was a tormented blur.

His office glowed green as the fireplace flames waved on an old burnt log, an inch high and ready to fizzle out. He wiped his nose on his sleeve and picked up one of the cherry wood cuts. He wrapped his arms around it and carried it into his room, placed it in the fireplace, and shot red sparks from his wand into it.

It caught fire instantly and soon a thick sweet scent filled the air. He wrapped his cloak around himself, still feeling the cold chill from the outside, and fell onto his mattress, pressing his face into his pillow. He welcomed the summer memories, allowing them to fill every crevice of his mind.

He missed the way she looked at him. Missed the way his heart skipped every time she did. He closed his eyes tighter and started to sob into his pillow. I miss her hugs. I miss her warmth. He couldn’t even explain to himself how much he missed just rambling to her about small unimportant things and blushing when she actually paid attention to him. It was hard to experience the fullness of their relationship over letters and two-day visits alone. And even harder now that he couldn’t even keep up with that.

He wiped his face and huffed roughly, turning onto his back. He felt exhausted and depleted and it didn’t take any effort at all to close his eyes. He gave one final sigh and – Fuck. I have essays to grade.

~ * ~ * ~

28 September

I’ll see you soon! Same room, order dinner, bring it up, and close your eyes! No peeking and no barging in! I’ve got a little surprise…

Severus smiled and put the letter in his pocket. He picked up the bronze key that she’d slipped into the envelope and ran his finger over the smooth edges. She’d picked the same room he had gotten them. Either she was as broke as he, Or that room actually meant something to her now. He leaned back in his office chair and crossed his arms, holding the key close to his heart.

There was a knock at the door and he quickly slipped the key in his pocket and sat forward. “Enter.”

McGonagall pushed the door open. She stepped in and sighed happily, looking around at his dusted shelves and turned, quickly erasing her look of satisfaction. “Well, Severus. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I must. Your requests to hold the meetings for week days next month have been denied. There are too many teachers and everyone is busy most class days.”

Severus gave her no response and stared at his hands as they began to tremble. He squeezed them into fists and pressed them to his knees.

She looked him over from across the room and frowned. “However, like always, Hogsmeade visits will be kept free… The meetings will be held on the weekends between Hogsmeade visits, and there are only two…” She stood for a few seconds, still looking at him, as if having expected some note of frustration from him, or any sort of disgruntled response. “You’ll only be missing two weekends…”

“I’ll have missed four in total by next month,” he whispered.

McGonagall crossed the room and waved her hand over the empty space in front of his desk, summoning one of her office chairs to sit in. “Might I ask what it is you’re missing out on?”

Severus leaned away and kept his eyes down, his hair falling over his face like protective curtains. McGonagall and him had never talked about anything other than lessons, Hogwarts, or the Ministry. She hardly knew anything about him and he had never asked a thing about her.

“Does it have something to do with whoever you gave those flowers to?” She smiled when he scowled at her. “Poppy might have mentioned…”

Severus looked away again, deciding to fix his energy on glaring at his burnt fire log and the bit of charred entrails he’d accidently dropped last time he prepared a potion in here.

McGonagall stood up and waved her hand over her chair. “I’ll see to it that after October, you get the weekends free, as you requested.” She looked around at his unswept floor and tisked. “Let me know if you need that spell I mentioned.” She fixed her emerald green hat and left his office.

Severus stared at the door and nodded. He had no doubt she’d keep her word. Some bad news… but mainly good? Maybe I won’t entirely ruin tonight with this.

~ * ~ * ~

The Three Broomsticks was just as crowded as before, except the wizards all looked like they’d stopped bothering to take any sort of sobering tonics. Severus ordered their dinner, sparing no expense. Cheesy onion rings, three types of dips, a lettuce salad, fruit salad, battered fish with onion gravy and mash, toad in the hole, two drinks, and garlic chips to share. It was a feast of everything she loved and anything she could be in the mood for tonight and anything they wouldn’t eat he was sure she’d be glad to take back with her.

He waved his wand and followed the trays up the stairs, hissing at rowdy wizards that almost bumped into the food as he went, and stood outside the door. He closed his eyes and knocked. He heard it open and a surprised gasp.

“Are we dining with the Queen?”

Severus’ lips pulled up into a coy grin. “I’m dining with a queen.”

She giggled and pulled him in by his cloak and shut the door behind him. She slid her arms around him from behind and pressed her chin into his shoulder, holding him close. Her breath fanned over the ridges of his ear as she spoke low and quiet. “Then you are my king.”

Severus bit his lips and opened his eyes. There were a few candles hovering around the room and red sparkling petals on the floor. He could feel himself shaking with anticipation and before he could tempt himself, he moved forward and placed the trays of food on the table by the closed curtains.

“Turn around, Sev.”

He let out a shaky breath. Whatever the surprise. I don’t deserve this. He swallowed and spun on his heel slowly, dragging his sight along the floor and stopped at her silver heels. His eyes trailed up her legs, her curves, her glowing face, and flowing hair. She wore silver lace that sparkled with her eyes and a sheer flowing green night gown with feathers at the cuffs and hem of the wide trail.

A heat started burning at his core, and his face flushed red with color. She was wearing his house colors again and an immediate rush of greed flowed through his veins. Since he was young it had been instilled in him what those colors meant. Silver and green were a Slytherin’s pride, a Slytherin’s territory, it meant it was Slytherin owned.

He trailed his gaze all over her body. “Mine,” he growled.

She bit her lip and slowly let the sheer gown drop and pool at her feet. He crossed to her and let his hands roam over her soft skin and plump curves, squeezing and gripping with need and want. She pressed herself closer, putting pressure on his hardened member and looked up at him. He met her eyes and whimpered; her eyes sparkled with a wildness that sent shivers down his spine.

“I need you,” he huffed, his voice low. He reached down and squeezed her curves, pressing her closer into him, feeling the pressure on him mount and the tense heat between them rise.

“I need you too, my wonderful boyfriend,” she whispered.

His breath caught in his throat. ‘Wonderful boyfriend.’ He looked at the deep red petals on the bed and pulled away. He squeezed his hands together, trying to stop the shaking but all it did was make it spread down his whole body.

She frowned with concern. “Severus?”

His breath came out in huffs and he squeezed his eyes shut, feeling hot stinging tears run down his icy cheeks, cold with dread. I have to tell her now. I can’t wait ‘till after. I can’t… I can’t –

“Severus?” she repeated more urgently and pressed her palms to his jaw. She ran her thumbs over his cheeks and wiped away the river of tears. “Tell me,” she whispered.

He sniffed and sat on the edge of the bed, bending his head low enough for his hair to fall forward, shielding him from the world. “I’m not a good boyfriend,” he sobbed. “I haven’t been responding to your letters… I’ve been canceling our dates… And – I have to cancel two more. I can only see you during Hogsmeade visits next month and – ”

She sat next to him on the bed and pulled him into her, rubbing her hand up and down his back gently. “I know you’re busy, Sev. That doesn’t make you a bad boyfriend. Your job as a professor keeps you in the castle… and that’s ok…”

“It’s not ok…” He wrapped his arm around her waist and pressed his nose into the crook of her neck. “You were crying all summer and I promised you – ”

“I was just scared, Sev. I’m so sorry. I was so upset and I missed you so much already that I made you promise me something you couldn’t keep, just to make myself feel better…”

He nuzzled closer and ran his hand down her arm.

“You’ve done nothing wrong, Sev. I should have asked you to send me notes and messages only when you had time… I shouldn’t have put you in a position to cancel dates we’d planned before the school year even started… You’re everything I want. I promise… Dates on Hogsmeade visits sound wonderful.”

He sobbed once more, taking in her words. He didn’t feel she had any hate or loathing, only understanding and care for him. He wasn’t used to this. I don’t deserve her. And yet here she was, giving herself to him, accepting him, caring for him, even after he’d broken his promise and disappointed her countless times. He let his nose trail up her neck and pressed his lips to her warm skin. She tilted her head in response, exposing more of her neck for him and all he could think to do was kiss her tender skin harder.

She giggled and pushed him away with a wink. She moved herself up the bed and laid back against the pillows, moving her finger to motion him over. He followed her, kicking off his shoes and kissed her lips, exploring her mouth with his tongue. He crouched over her, cornering her, and moaned when her legs wrapped around his waist. Her hands ran up and down his thighs as his own hands tore at the delicate lace she wore, unwrapping her like a gift.

He leaned down and began marking her with needy kisses, leaving red marks all over her chest and replacing the ones that disappeared with newer ones. She held him close, encouraging more as her hands played with his long hair. He let his tongue slide out and licked over sensitive areas with hunger. With every moan she gave he grew harder, finally needing to undo the buttons of his constricting trousers.

Her hands found him, and released him from his pants. He groaned and pressed himself against her while her fingers got to work on the buttons of his jacket, vest, and shirt. He slid himself between her lips only, rocking himself, groaning as their bodies began to grind with eagerness.

He tore his mouth away from hers and shrugged off his clothes quickly, sliding off his trousers and pants and threw everything out of his way, unable to keep from her any longer. He closed his eyes and moaned as he slid in slowly, enjoying himself fully. He looked down and pulled back out just as slow and made sure he was fully slicked and glistening before pushing back in all the way and cuddling into her open arms.

“I love you Sev,” she moaned.

He moved his hips slow as he held her, savoring every sensation. He was warm and secure in her arms, like he often felt when they cuddled in bed after long days. He hugged her close and closed his eyes, moaning into her neck with every push he gave. He felt close to her, confident in their shared affection for each other and he realized there was never anything to fear. He moaned and trembled in her embrace as he built up their pleasure slow and steady, knowing soon the romantic mood would dissolve into pure lust and need. He needed to show her how much he loved her with every pleasurable push he gave.

She’s getting wetter, he couldn’t help but notice. Nor could he help the sudden throb he gave at that thought. I need her. He pushed his hips harder and whimpered at her moan. Her hands tangled in his hair and pulled, sending a jolt of electricity down his spine. The slow give and take of his movements turned into hard pounds sending more vivid waves of pleasure throughout his body and hers.

Severus pressed into her, holding her tighter, pounding faster, making sure every wave was immediately replaced by the next. He groaned and held her locked in place as every ripple of pleasure was followed by his name moaned in his ear. He breathed out shakily as her legs wrapped around his waist squeezed tighter and her back arched. Her nails raked across his back as he pounded harder, faster, until her breath caught and her muscles stiffened.

He throbbed as she tightened around him and pushed harder as she relaxed under his weight, letting him press his body back into her inviting curves that cushioned him so perfectly. His breathing was rugged, gasping, trying hard to hold out longer, feeling the pleasure begin to boil over. He dug his face into her neck as the final tidal wave crashed over him and the perfect rhythm he had going broke with every throb he gave deep inside her.

“You’re made for me,” he gasped, shuddering as the wave washed over every nerve in his body. He relaxed completely and her arms held him tighter as she rubbed slow circles on his back.

She pushed his chin up with her finger and kissed his nose. “We’re made for each other. Soulmates.” She whispered.

The message from fate couldn’t be any clearer as they caught their breathes and breathed each other in. They had thoroughly enjoyed not only each other’s bodies, but their hearts and souls as well in this blissful evening.

~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

Masterlist

(Part 4 of The Crystal Ball)

—–

@wow-life-love4

@x-avantgarde-x

@dandyrua

----

General taglist:

@setsuna-meiou31

@severuslovebot

@bionic-otp

—–

Thank you to those who requested a fourth part and for all the lovely comments on part three and messages in my ask box (which I will answer in the coming days :D )!

#severus snape #pro snape #severus #snape #severus snape x reader #severus snape x you #severus x reader #severus x you #snape x reader #snape x you #snape fanfic #snape one shot #snape x fem!reader #severus snape one shot #snape fanfiction #one shot #fanfic #fan fiction #snapedom

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halothenthehorns · 3 years

Text

PROFESSOR TRELAWNEY'S PREDICTION

Harry was in such a giddy mood after the last chapter that it took him a little longer than usual to settle down and try to read, putting all of his delays on this one feeling, and refusing to admit that now that school was coming to an end, he knew he should remember something that he'd been ignoring all year.

Harry's euphoria at finally winning the Quidditch Cup lasted at least a week.

"Can't believe it didn't last for months," James beamed, still unable to knock the pride out of his voice, not that he was trying.

The rest of the school was in exactly the same mood, the beautiful weather out every window leaving all the students with fantasies of lounging around.

"But of course that's the time exams are set," Sirius muttered in disgust.

They couldn't though, as student exams began, and they were forced to make their brains concentrate,

"You're starting to give me flashbacks," Remus sighed, rubbing his forehead in that remembered pain.

despite the summer fast approaching. Even the Weasley twins had been caught studying,

James spazzed and then pretended to faint in shock, while Sirius 'broke down' crying about how he was so disappointed in them.

Lily and Harry couldn't help giggling along at the pair of them, while Remus looked about ready to join in except he couldn't do anything to theatrical with the baby in his lap.

which was fair considering they were about to take their O. W. L. s.

"Alright, I'll give them a pass for that," James nodded, coming out of it.

"Yes fine, just this once," Sirius nodded in agreement as he wiped his eyes.

Percy was getting ready to take his N.E.W.T.s (Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests),

"Really wish that was a joking title," Lily muttered in remembered disdain of how accurate it was.

and was now prone to telling off anyone and everyone who so much as made a peep disturbing him.

"Whelp, there goes that good mood of his, that he had for five seconds," Remus rolled his eyes.

He still wasn't as bad as Hermione.

"Oh bloody hell," James winced, remembering all over again the amount of tests that girl had to cope with.

Harry and Ron had long since given up asking how she was going to all of her classes,

"Still don't comprehend how you could give up on that," Sirius asked, knowing he'd pester the girl to no end until he got his answer.

"Don't I know it," Remus sighed, Sirius having pestered him to no end when he realized he'd been hiding something, and not having let up until he figured it out.

but they couldn't help but ask when they saw her schedule, which had two exams being taken place at once.

Lily went cross-eyed at the thought of one exam in the morning and one that evening, let alone double it!

Ron began the conversation very carefully, since she was known to explode when anyone spoke to her.

"Well can you blame her?" Harry asked with a bit of an edge, remembering those moments a little too well.

He asked if she was sure of these times, and Hermione had a mini freak out as she double checked them and said yes of course they were right.

"Right," Sirius said with a frown, drawing out the word past its normal syllable count. He wasn't questioning that part any more than before, just how she was bleeding doing it.

Harry asked if there was a point in asking how she was going to pull that off, and she told them no.

"That's when you ask again," James pointed out.

"And again," Sirius seconded.

"Until she's told you after the millionth time you ask," James concluded.

"Trust them on this," Remus said with a suffering sigh, "they have way too much experience on that front."

Then she asked if they'd seen her Arithmancy book, and Ron admitted he'd borrowed it for some fun,

"It's good he's branching out into subjects he isn't taking," Lily muttered, thinking he was quite brave to poke fun at her at a time like this.

though quietly enough she couldn't have heard. Harry got distracted by a note arriving via Hedwig from Hagrid.

They all perked up again, though without much hope. They all knew what was coming, as nothing had changed.

He read out that Buckbeak's appeal had been set for the last day of their exams.

"Guess that's kind of a good thing, you might could sneak out and see him," James muttered without any enthusiasm, knowing if they could they would have done it already.

Harry was still reading though, as the note said the Ministry was coming up here to do it,

"Ugh," Lily muttered in disdain, thinking that wasn't any kind of professional at all.

and they were bringing an executioner.

"Why, would Hagrid know that?" Remus asked, going just that little bit paler from shock at this blatant disregard of Hagrid's rights for his appeal.

"Maybe he does have a friend at the Ministry that warned him," Sirius said listlessly, the reason didn't matter, it still made him see red with anger.

"But, but that means," Lily tried to splutter, but she was so angry she couldn't get the words out. None of them needed her to, they all knew what this meant. The Ministry had set its mind, and that appeal had just turned into a literal execution, making it all the more ghastly that this was being done in Hagrid's house!

Ron was furious as he snapped they couldn't do that, just ignore all that reading he'd done for this appeal!

"You tell them that when they arrive," James nodded seriously, knowing this wouldn't be the only things he'd like to say to every one of those pompous, arrogant, gah he was so angry he was running out of insults in his own head!

Harry though had the strong feeling that they could, and would, as the Committee had already proven they'd do exactly as Lucius wanted.

"Sounds about right yeah," Sirius hissed, his hand starting to twitch like he wanted to curse Malfoy into oblivion right then. If Malfoy could get away with doing these types of things, what else did he have running for him at that Ministry!?

The younger Malfoy, who hadn't been nearly as public since that last game,

"Wish he'd stay that way forever," Remus snarled.

gained back some of his old attitude for this news.

"How, could, he, be, pleased, with, this!" Lily said slowly and carefully to stop herself from screaming at the top of her lungs, not with her infant still in the room anyways. It just blew her mind that he hadn't learned a damned thing, even after his cruel acts to Harry all year and her son had still won fairly, even after Hermione had taught him right how words could hurt and he'd gone right back to it! What would it take to make this boy see this wasn't okay?

He made it plenty obvious from his comments that he felt personally responsible for what was going to happen to the hippogriff, and couldn't be more pleased about it.

"I cannot begin to say just how wrong that is." James scowled, hoping against hope something could still be done, anything that would get this animal out of this putrid situation he didn't belong in. All this for a couple of scratches on his arm, when Malfoy had deserved that in the first place!

It was all Harry could do to stop himself imitating Hermione and hitting Malfoy in the face on these occasions.

"You have much more restraint than any of us," Remus nodded seriously.

"It vaguely helped he would most often do this with Snape around," Harry said morosely, his face making it clear that probably might not stop him again the next time he saw him.

The worst part of all was that because of the strict security still around, they had no chance to go see Hagrid, and couldn't sneak out because his cloak was still in the secret passage.

"You just going to leave that down there forever then?" James sighed, randomly wondering if the twins had come across it and perhaps taken it or anyone really, they couldn't be the only kids to know about it.

Harry did look like he was regretting this decision as well, he'd just been so upset and paranoid about being caught around that statue so many times that if anyone, Snape or at the time Lupin, caught him there again, he might lose something far more valuable to him then that Map, he couldn't have stood it if someone took his cloak away next. He still might have risked it though just to see Hagrid, but there was also the matter that he had no way of getting out of the castle with all of those securities, so it was a moot point in the end. Once he explained this to the others, they looked like they understood more, though as unhappy about it as Harry. Remus especially, though Harry had left his name out, Remus guessed it all the same.

Exams began and Harry's first was Transfiguration,

James couldn't help but perk up just a bit, wanting to know how his son had done in his old favorite class.

which didn't seem to go that well as the students came shuffling out comparing progress, asking if points were taken away for this or that.

"It didn't say what you did," James said swiftly.

Harry grimaced as he muttered, "mine had been the one to blow steam."

"Well that's not so bad," Sirius said bracingly, "if it had just waited another few seconds, no one would have even known and you'd have gotten full marks."

Harry gave him a friendly smile for the attempt, but his thoughts had been much like his fathers, and he'd been hoping that by now with his magic he may have gotten some sort of hint at what he might be best in. It certainly wasn't his father's old branch, which wasn't improving his mood.

Then there was Charms, where Harry put a bit too much oomph into his magic and accidentally used his Cheering Charm too strong on Ron, who had to be escorted out while he laughed himself silly and had to be calmed down to try his own.

Lily couldn't help a giggle herself, saying, "honestly I can't see you getting too bad off for that, at least you've shown you can do it."

Harry gave the expected laugh back, though still right on being annoyed that it clearly wasn't his mother's either. Despite how often they kept saying how much he was like them, he was still looking for some sort of connection to them back then even through these feeble means rather than possessions they'd once owned or even people. He had vividly remembered Ollivanders words about their strengths in magic, and the longer he didn't excel in one of these two the more it annoyed him.

Then it was off to study for Care of Magical Creatures,

"Well that one should be easy enough," Remus said lightly, noting like the others Harry's bad mood, but unclear why it was there. Since he wasn't saying it they assumed it had something to do with his memories, so he was still trying to keep things light as he finished, "all you did was study flobberworms all year, plus that one class where the fire salamanders came."

Harry nodded in agreement, forcing himself to shake away his problem which was probably just a stupid want, and focus on the here and now, where he could make plenty of connections to his parents.

which Hagrid made an ease of during the exam, since he was clearly preoccupied.

"Guess you can't rightly blame him," Sirius said in honest sympathy.

Their goal was to make sure their flobberworm was alive after an hour.

"Easiest exam ever!" Remus said with just a touch of envy, they'd never gotten off so easy in that class with Kettleburn, though upon reflection that may have been a good thing.

Since this creature survived fine when left alone,

"See, you did learn something in that class," James pointed out with chipper.

they had no problems with this and instead tried to comfort Hagrid. He was barely keeping himself together as he admitted that Buckbeak was starting to get restless from being tied down too long.

"That'll happen with any animal," Remus nodded sadly.

They didn't get long to think on it though as they had Potions next, which was a disaster.

"Can't even rightly blame you," Lily sighed. Harry couldn't help feeling disappointed in himself all over again, knowing that was his Mum's favorite subject now and wishing he could be better in it, not much he could do though with the teacher he had.

Harry's Confusing Concoction was far too runny,

"Does Snape make all of his exams an unintended joke?" Sirius couldn't help but demand, slightly amused as he remembered Harry's first year and his Forgetfulness Potion qualification.

and when Snape inspected it he wrote down what looked to be a zero.

"It's a bleeding miracle Harry hasn't failed every year with that kind of biased," James growled.

Then they had History of Magic, where Harry wrote as much as he could on all the information Florean Fortescue had given him on those witch-hunts,

"Always a good strategy," Lily nodded, "do the most with what you can, bullshit your way through what you don't."

Harry couldn't help a startled laugh, finding it more amusing as time went on his Mum was clearly relaxing and not being so uptight.

all the while wishing he could have some ice cream now in the boiling room.

"I wish they'd serve ice-cream with every exam," Sirius sighed, "it would certainly make me more willing to show up."

Their second to last exam was DADA.

That caused mixed emotions in all of them. They all still couldn't help but perk up whenever Remus was mentioned, he was clearly doing such a good job with the class and he had gone out of his way to take an interest in Harry's dementor problem. Then of course that lead to his more odd behaviors, and it left them confused all over again what on earth had happened to him this whole time. Had growing up alone and away from his friends really changed him that much? Twelve years was a long time, and none of them really felt like they had a right to judge if he had.

Remus was the only one who didn't agree with that last assessment, thinking that all the time in the world shouldn't have changed how he felt about Harry, wouldn't have done anything for his conviction of protecting and helping Sirius, but as they still had no new information on it, no one really said anything.

Lupin set up an interesting test for them, an obstacle course outside,

"You always did come up with the best ways to make that class fun," Harry told him fondly, his conviction that Professor Lupin was his favorite DADA teacher he ever had still holding true no matter what he learned of his personality on the side.

Remus offered him a wane smile for the compliment, before morosely turning back to the baby and half hoping he'd fade back out again soon, while still somehow trying to hold onto the flicker of hope that his future actions would properly be explained.

which Harry breezed through as he properly remembered every way to deal with every creature they'd learned about.

"Least I aced that one," Harry beamed, remembering his annoyance at his Potions, Charms, and Transfiguration grades again. So he hadn't blossomed in his parents best subjects, but he had in another. Their obvious praise at him now, as he'd clearly done that without Remus having given him any extra help, made them as proud as anything.

Ron had a little less luck, getting sidetracked by the hinkypunk,

"He got out alright though," he said unnecessarily, since Remus had still been around and had to get him out before he finished, "and he fought off the boggart just fine, so he still got really good marks."

and Hermione nearly got a perfect score as well, if it wasn't for her boggart.

Lily remembered back to when the boggart had first come up, and the girl's ire that she hadn't had a go. Lily had laughed then because this student didn't seem to need such practice.

She ran out screaming,

Then she blanched in shock along with everyone else at that reaction.

as she sobbed that McGonagall had been in there telling her that she'd failed every class.

They couldn't help it, all of the boys cracked up laughing. Lily tried to scowl at them, but then she remembered Ron's joke that this would actually be her boggart, and she couldn't help a light giggle of her own at how right he'd been. It still wasn't right to tease her, since she was stressed beyond all reason this year, but the fact that she really thought this still was laughable. Even with the extra workload, they'd still been under the impression she was top of her class in now literally every class.

Ron clearly wanted to laugh,

"Don't blame him," Sirius couldn't help but snicker one last time.

but he never got the chance as they left and went back around to the front of the school to find Cornelius Fudge.

"What's he doing there?" James grumbled, his despise of the Ministry nearly having reached the same level as Sirius'. First what had been done to his best mate, his brother, and now everything with Hagrid had put the justice system he'd been hoping to join at an all-time low.

He caught sight of Harry and greeted him, who responded back in kind while Hermione and Ron stayed hovering back, never having been on speaking terms with the Minister of Magic.

"Guess I can't blame them," Remus said with a wince, his own thoughts at the Minister being on the school grounds giving him his own spike of fear. He remembered back chapters ago about his worry of what he was getting let out, and possible retribution for his being around children. Would it reach all the way to the Minister of Magic, and Harry just hadn't heard about it because it had been handled quietly? He tried to keep himself calm by making a face at the baby, which worked effectively in making them both laugh, the others wondering why Remus' sounded so strained all of a sudden.

Fudge then explained to Harry that he was here as a witness for the Committee since apparently they were set to kill some hippogriff,

They may have already worked this out, but it didn't lessen their hatred of the situation any.

Sirius looked disgusted as he leaned back into the seat, grumbling, "I'm not even surprised at this point, bet they were all paid off to just skip that appeal."

Harry didn't want to believe it, but couldn't think of anything to argue the point either. No one even wanted to ask what the Minister was supposedly doing dealing with this low level type thing, the answer wouldn't make the act any better.

and since he'd had to come to Hogwarts anyways to check in on the Black situation, he offered.

And that didn't make anyone feel any better either.

Ron jumped in to ask if the appeal had happened, and Fudge looked confused as he told Ron it wasn't until later.

"Confused as to why anyone would question him," James said through clenched teeth, "or confused at how his own system is working!"

Ron pointed out that the hippogriff might not need a witness for an execution then, he could go free.

"I honestly want to cry at how sincere he's being," Lily ground out, looking the opposite of tears she was so frustrated by this wrongdoing.

Fudge didn't have a chance to respond as he was joined on the steps by an old wizard and a man fingering an axe.

"Merlin could they be any crueler about this!" Lily howled in outrage. Showing up to Hagrid's front door with that! At this point she wouldn't even be surprised if they didn't do this the humane way, and just simply lopped off the creature's head while Hagrid was watching and then walk away like that was okay!

"Can't believe the Minister himself is there, they're so blatantly-" James had to click his jaw shut to stop his own voice from rising in pure frustration of this continued mess.

Ron tried to say something, but Hermione cut him off by giving him a subtle kick.

"Please tell me Hermione isn't really going to stick up for this," Sirius asked with something remarkably close to hatred.

"No," Harry snapped back at once, "she'll tell in a second, but she'd never after all she did to try and stop it."

Sirius backed down at once, he'd still been unable to stop himself from drawing a lot of parallels to that hippogriffs situation and what he was envisioning as his own, but now when he replayed that, it had been crueler than he meant.

What really bothered him was that Harry kept watching him with a frown in place, and Sirius wasn't really sure why. Harry had been looking at him a lot like that through the whole book, it was that same plagued face that meant he really wanted to remember something. The fact that Sirius still feared for his own futures sanity and Harry couldn't answer that wasn't helping anything.

When the three had left, Ron demanded to know why she'd stopped him, and Hermione explained that as his Dad worked for Fudge, it wasn't a good idea for him to go yelling at his boss.

"Well, damn," Lily finally got out after chewing on that for a moment, "guess she's got a point."

"Guess it wouldn't have been worth it," James agreed with a suffering sigh.

Hermione tried to say that so long as Hagrid kept his cool, there wouldn't be a need for an execution.

Harry's tone as he read that made it clear that Hermione hadn't meant that any more than they did.

She didn't sound any more sure of it then they felt.

"Why does this crap keep happening to you at the worst of times?" Remus grumbled to no one.

Harry's and Ron's last exam was Divination,

"Least this should be another cakewalk," Sirius offered, anything to keep Harry from shooting him looks. Was it just him, or were those going up in frequency every time Buckbeak was mentioned?

and they made their way unhappily to her tower to find the other students trying to do some last minute reviewing.

"What are they even studying?" Lily asked in wonder. "All we've heard in that class is make it up as you go along."

Harry just shrugged, he'd tried his hardest not to take that class seriously after his first lesson, it hadn't always worked, but he didn't think that was going to change.

They found Neville looking down in confusion at his own book at the section for crystal balls and asked them if they'd ever seen anything in that class?

"Think I found a fly trapped in there once," Harry muttered without any enthusiasm, his skin starting to itch all over. Something, it was definitely that feeling rising up in him again. Something was about to happen...

Ron said no while constantly glancing at his watch, counting down the time to Buckbeak's appeal.

"If she's going in alphabetic order, the boys might not even make it down there in time even if they were going to sneak," James moaned, thinking Trelawney was probably going to take forever.

She was calling the students up one by one, and when Neville came back down from his turn and Harry asked what had happened, Neville refused to tell as Trelawney had told him if he did he'd have an accident.

"Oh for the love of," Lily huffed, more than at her wits end between the fate of Buckbeak and now this teacher on top of it was putting her in quite the foul mood. Now she was still picking on Neville on top of everything!

Ron scoffed that was convenient, and admitted that he was starting to think Hermione was probably right about their teacher,

"Starting to?" Remus rolled his eyes, even with the proof that he did know she was a Seer, she still annoyed him to no end, and didn't really think she should be indulged.

she was a fake. Harry agreed without any real care, still watching his own watch, now set at two.

"Least it's going faster than I thought," James muttered, Harry and Ron's actions clearly meant that this time they may really go for it and be with Hagrid right then, which was surely needed.

Parvati came down next, telling the boys that her's had gone wonderfully as Trelawney had told her she could be a real Seer,

"Don't," Sirius told Lily, taking great pleasure in cutting her off for once. "Leave the kid be."

She huffed but held her tongue, to his surprise.

then waltzed off to join her friend. Ron was called next,

They noticed that obviously this wasn't in any order, so they kind of wondered how she was picking, but it didn't really matter, she could have just been doing it randomly to keep them on their toes.

and Ron made a face as he left, leaving Harry alone.

"Why do I get a bad feeling about leaving him for last?" Lily sighed, thinking Harry may well spend an entire hour now trying to be convinced there was some death dog after him.

When he did come back down, Ron finally told Harry that all he'd had to do was look in a crystal ball, but he hadn't seen a thing so he'd just made something up on the spot, though he didn't know if she'd believed it.

"Well clearly you need some help from Lavender," Sirius smirked, now he clearly wasn't the only one watching Harry, whom the longer he read the more strained his voice was getting.

Harry couldn't help it though, he just knew something was about to happen, and it was making his headache like no other.

Harry said he'd meet him back in their dorm as he went up for his turn, going upstairs to find Ron's described setup.

"Well Ron had the right idea," James sighed, "I'm pretty sure all you've got to do is make something up on the spot and you might get away with it."

"Still can't believe you didn't drop when you had the chance," Lily muttered.

She greeted Harry and had him take a seat, telling him to take his time for something to come to him. Harry watched the white swirls within the glass, but nothing was happening.

"I think I'd be a little more worried if it did," Remus said honestly with a twitch of his lips, then frowned when Harry hardly reacted. He hadn't been this stressed in a while now, so for him to be acting like this meant something really big was about to happen...in Trelawney's room...

When the silence continued, she prompted him,

"Thought she said he could take his time," Lily rolled her eyes.

and Harry began describing the first thing that came to mind, Buckbeak. Trelawney was very interested, asking if this hippogriff still had its head?

Sirius couldn't help a little gag, what a horrid thing to ask him! They'd all said all they could on this matter though, so it really wouldn't do any good to keep at it now.

Harry said yes at once, and Trelawney tried to coax a different answer out of him, asking if perhaps an axe was hovering above him?

"Bloody hell I think she's enjoying herself." James groaned, starting to look a little green from that description, coupled with how much the teacher seemed to be enjoying herself trying to get Harry to picture this gruesome sight.

Harry snapped no, and instead wistfully said it was flying away.

Harry dearly wished this had been what was bothering him, it certainly gave him a seconds moment of relief which could possibly mean that he was right, but he got about as long to think on it before his headache returned with such a force he could hardly read the words, meaning he hadn't yet gotten to the part that needed saying to make this go away.

Trelawney was disappointed as she told him that would have to be all and excused him. Harry got up and turned to leave, when he heard from behind him a deep rasping voice say 'it will happen tonight.' Harry spun back on the spot to find his teacher sagged over in her chair, her eyes open but gazing on nothing, her mouth half hinged open.

"Is, she having a fit or something?" Lily couldn't help but ask with genuine worry, but Harry paid her no mind as the moment had come, and he read in a hurried breath.

Harry wondered if she was having a fit, she was twitching all over and growing color in her cheeks, but before he could think to do anything she said again in the same heavy voice she'd never used before:

"THE DARK LORD LIES ALONE AND FRIENDLESS, ABANDONED BY HIS FOLLOWERS. HIS SERVANT HAS BEEN CHAINED THESE TWELVE YEARS. TONIGHT, BEFORE MIDNIGHT... THE SERVANT WILL BREAK FREE AND SET OUT TO REJOIN HIS MASTER. THE DARK LORD WILL RISE AGAIN WITH HIS SERVANT'S AID, GREATER AND MORE TERRIBLE THAN EVER HE WAS. TONIGHT... BEFORE MIDNIGHT... THE SERVANT... WILL SET OUT... TO REJOIN... HIS MASTER..."

The instant relief of pressure Harry finally got as he sighed at that memory being restored to him was ruined the second he heard the noise.

Sirius felt himself blackout for the span of a few seconds before he lunged off of the couch and looked like he was going to sprint out the door. James wasn't giving him a chance, lashing hold of his arm so tight Sirius yelped in pain, but it clearly didn't register as he sobbed, "oh god, oh bloody hell, oh Merlin, what did I do-"

Remus smacked him then, hard. It didn't seem to do anything though, Sirius was shaking so hard he was likely to bite his tongue off, and it wasn't too hard to picture what his eyes might look like in twelve years, they were just slightly tinged with madness now as he stuttered out, "twelve years! Who, who else could that mean, oh please just kill me now, I don't want to know what I did!"

He made such a horrid noise, like an animal slowly dying, as he tried to wrench his arm free and cover his ears, starting to curl in on himself. The one thing he'd ever cared about most in his life, and he had done something to get his family killed! He'd gotten James and Lily killed, he'd caused Peter to die, he'd been the cause of Harry's whole life turning into a raging shit storm every other month, all because he'd done something that he didn't think he could bear finding out about anymore. Whatever it was would never justify what that Seer had just called him. A servant, someone who had clearly made all of this possible!

How long he stayed out of it as his life literally felt like it was crashing in around him he didn't know. So many things he'd been trying to repress since he'd heard his bleeding name in that paper were drowning him all over again, and he didn't even care about how he'd been framed for murdering those people because he clearly deserved that sentence in Azkaban, it didn't matter why he left because he shouldn't have, he deserved every last second of it.

He'd thought it had been himself crying at first, but then something inside of him twitched as a new noise entered. Harry was wailing at the top of his lungs, and that same instinct that had driven him to comfort James and Remus through all of these horrid things they kept hearing about reawoke, drowning out whatever he was feeling and helping him to bottle it up and shove it far away as he looked around in confusion to the howling child who was being uneasily held in the arms of his future self.

That thought would give anyone's head a whirl, but that's what was happening. Harry stood tall and proud as his father, cradling his own infant self with clear unease, but that may have been because he kept throwing fearful looks over in his direction. Harry kept walking towards the stairs and back, like he wanted to leave and get the baby out of the room, but couldn't bring himself to do it because he kept circling back and watching Sirius with wide and fear filled eyes.

It took several thick swallows before the rest of the room came back into focus. James nearly had him smothered into his chest he was hugging him so hard, muttering over and over again that he could never blame him, while clearly trying to talk Remus and Lily out of putting some sort of spell on him that would force him to relax.

Both were shaking so hard it was a miracle they were on their feet, but they were watching him with such wide eyed concern it nearly shamed him as much as the aching hatred for himself had.

Here he was, making this all about him, when clearly there were more important things to worry about.

He tried to pull away, but James's arms only tightened all the more, so Sirius tried to muffle out, "I can't breathe," whereas in reality he was only really sucking in air because of the reassurance that through all of this, James still couldn't find it in himself to hate him. James had gotten everything he wanted out of life through the girl of his dreams and his baby, and still when it was shoved in his face that Sirius had been the cause of taking it all away his brother had refused to show him anything but insistence that he'd never believe it for a second.

It nearly reduced him to tears all over again, but he was being persistent now as he tried to wiggle free, now more determined than ever to save these lives no matter the cost to him. He'd find out what he'd done and take his punishment happily if it meant saving their lives. He finally got himself free only to meet the darkest of hazel eyes, making it clear Sirius had nearly scared the living daylights out of him, literally, but the moment he was out of those arms Lily had marched over and sat down beside him.

She grabbed his face and made sure he was looking into those ever green eyes as she told him with the utmost conviction, "it's going to be alright. We'll never let that happen to you." Personally she was still a little stunned herself, as she'd never seen him break down before. Sirius had always held himself as a proud man who only let the world see just how good he knew he was. While in the years that she'd fallen for James and gotten to know Sirius more properly as the brother he'd become, she still couldn't ever have believed he was capable of this severe a reaction to something he must know just wasn't possible.

He gave a sullen nod as she released him, gave him a quick kiss on the brow, then scampered over to her son/ sons and did her best to soothe both of them who were equally freaking out, one just more vocally than the other.

Remus flopped down in her empty seat and looked torn between wanting to kill Sirius for giving him a heart attack or hugging him and never letting him go like James had been trying. He settled on all of their fallback, making a joke. "Please give us a warning next time before you go into shock."

Sirius desperately tried for a smile he just didn't feel, because on the inside he was still a shriveled up mess. He may have gotten his emotions under control enough to save face, but he now knew without a shadow of a doubt that dead little part of him wouldn't come back. This was more proof than any he'd ever had before, and still he couldn't do anything about it. Feeling like a lost child, he unfurled himself but couldn't bring himself to lean away from James who still had his shoulder pressed into his. Remus copied that a moment later by leaning into him as well, and though feeling squished, it was pretty much all that was keeping him in place.

Lily and Harry walked properly back in then, Lily cradling her now much more complacent charge. She looked for a moment like she was going to hand him over to his Godfather, but Sirius couldn't help but turn his face away, feeling like he should never have the right to hold that baby again.

Lily would have vehemently disagreed and told him in alphabetical order how stupid that was, but while being squashed like he was he couldn't have carried on the act if he wanted to, so she relented, for now.

Harry looked the most sheepish of all, like he wanted to apologize for this whole mess and go give Sirius a hug himself to reassure him all would be okay, but the words failed him even before he could put them together. The more this carried on, the more he knew this day was the most important of his young life. Something happened on the day of Buckbeak's supposed execution, it involved Trelawney's prediction, and it involved Sirius Black. Whatever it was though would not sit in his mind for any length of time for him to understand how it all fit together, so he was sure if he began to start and try to do anything about it he'd pay dearly and the last thing his family needed was another episode.

Still he hesitated before picking up the book, like he was waiting for permission from someone to say it really was all going to be okay which came from Sirius himself, without any of his usual warmth. "Go on, get it over with."

Harry couldn't help a frown, he still sounded so desolate like at any moment an executioner was going to show up for him, but his friends on either side of him looked so fierce like they'd murder Voldemort himself before they let that happen, Harry didn't argue the point.

Before Harry could even think on that, Trelawney came back to herself with a start, muttering about how she must have dozed off for a moment.

Harry really didn't think at this point he could be any more surprised, the harsh reaction from his Godfather because of that mess left him with only an inkling of shock that she clearly had no idea what she'd just done, unless she was faking it, which Harry really doubted.

When Harry remained frozen in shock, and Trelawney asked what was wrong, Harry tried to tell her what she'd just told him about the servant of the Dark Lord.

Lily grimaced, to be perfectly honest when Harry had read out the return of the Dark Lord bit, that had been what she'd been caught on, until her brother began having a panic attack. Now no one even dared to venture what that could mean for their Harry. None of them knew how Seers actually worked, was it possible this was all wrong, or could somehow be stopped?

With Sirius' eyes closed and his head flopped back against the couch like he was still wishing he could start his gravestone, no one was going to linger on it.

Trelawney told Harry he was being ridiculous, she would never begin to try and predict such a thing.

Remus felt something twitch in his mouth, like he wanted to make a joke at her expense that she held that kind of restraint, but considering he was far more worried on making sure Sirius kept breathing it just wasn't coming out.

Harry stumbled away, his mind winding like the staircase, trying to figure out if his teacher had just made a real prediction.

'Oh, of that we've no doubts' James sighed, his mind still flying in every direction possible, and he wasn't going to stop until he landed on the proper meaning for that prediction which did not involve his best friend.

He tried to think of something else, like she'd been faking it for an end of year trick.

'Could explain why the other students were so freaked out and wouldn't talk' Harry couldn't help but think, trying desperately to put his mind on any more pleasant topic, but the horrible silence that still lingered wasn't leaving a lot of room, and Harry couldn't bring himself to be the one to break it. Plus he knew deep down that wasn't true, or he was sure he wouldn't have reacted so strongly to it.

When he did get back to the main castle he hardly noticed the people walking past him for the outside, laughing and joking about school finally being over.

'Once, just once, can't Harry have some peace in that place' was Sirius' first real coherent thought as he zoned in and out of the story lifelessly, still considering it a viable option to slink out of the house when no one was watching, which didn't seem to be happening any time soon.

He found his two friends in their normal place in Gryffindor tower, but before he could tell them what Trelawney had said, the words died at the look on their faces.

'How can something else have happened in the fifteen minutes since the last bomb?' Lily wanted to snap, feeling like her nerves were about to be frayed right out of her body as she cradled her son all the closer.

Ron explained that Buckbeak had lost.

"Oh," was softly echoed through the room with one glaring left out. It's not like they'd forgotten per say, but Sirius' plight had sort of made it fade back into their mind. Now that it was back in the foreground, they just didn't know what to say. What could they say? What had been done was wrong, and the government doing this wasn't encouraging. It started with the unfair trial of the hippogriff, but the corruption could possibly keep going up until someday someone else got an unfair trial and a beheading because the right bribe was paid off to get rid of a person. Harry hadn't thought it was possible to feel worse, and realized he was wrong as he forced himself to keep going.

Hagrid had sent another letter, explaining that the execution would take place at sunset, but he didn't want them coming down to see it happen.

"I don't want Hagrid to see it," Lily grumbled softly under her breath, the first real time someone had spoken up making them all give a little start, but the baby seemed to enjoy the voice again as he made a gurgling noise watching his mother's face.

Harry said he still wanted to go, he wouldn't just let his friend sit around on his own waiting for this to happen.

James made sure Harry could see his pride filled smile, knowing he'd do and say the same thing in a heartbeat. Screw the rules, his friend needed support. Since his own friend was acting vaguely comatose, James leaned into his shoulder with a little more pressure.

Ron pointed out they had no way to get there, and Hermione asked where he'd hidden away his cloak. Harry told her, then said he didn't dare go and get it because if Snape caught him there he'd be in serious trouble.

Harry paused expectantly, never having been more grateful for his choice of words, but there was no comeback. They were all growing more worried the longer this carried on, Remus even reaching over and pressing his hand into Sirius' nose just to make sure air was still coming out.

Sirius did respond by pushing the hand away, but he still wouldn't meet anyone's eyes.

Hermione asked for the spell that would activate the witch hump, and Harry told her but then tried to protest, which she ignored by walking out.

"What were you even going to say?" Lily asked, starting to feel a little jittery. She'd grown so used to the boys interrupting near constantly that the prolonged silence was starting to give her the creeps.

"But you shouldn't be caught there either," Harry responded, his own worry at the situation still at hand. Of course they both knew Remus and James were just at a loss for words, in no mood to be playful, teasing, or anything when their friend was acting the way he was, so until Sirius snapped out of it this could last for a bit.

Ron asked if she'd really gone to get it?

'Be a little worried if she went to the kitchens' James wanted to mock, though kept his mouth shut and still half hoping Sirius would say that instead.

Indeed she had, returning some time later with the cloak tucked down her front. Ron was in awe, saying first with Malfoy then Trelawney, now this, what had gotten into her?

'She's making sure no one messes with her friends without her doing something about it' Sirius realized, wanting to smile and praise the girl aloud, but the words got lost somewhere on the way out. He was torn between wanting to get the attention off of him, a foreign concept itself, and the beginnings of bubbling warmth that his family really was standing by him even through this foulest of revelations. If the way he could return the favor was getting the mood back to where it should be, then so be it. He now determined he'd have to work this out of himself at the next chance. He tried to sit up more properly but still being sandwiched all he really accomplished was giving the two half cautious looks as they eyed him hopefully for finally giving a real sign of life, but Harry may not have noticed as he'd kept going.

Hermione looked pleased at the praise as they went downstairs, hid themselves away in a room and waited for the last set of footsteps to scurry away and a door slammed before they were all clear.

Harry couldn't help a startled little blink, the smallest of feelings inside his gut telling him to pay attention to that, but he was far more focused on ignoring another mounting feeling. It wasn't fair it was happening so soon after the last one, but he never did get to decide when this happened, and as the sun continued sinking down, he was absolutely positive this night was an important one in his life.

They all tucked up under the cloak and made their way unseen down to Hagrid's, who let them in despite saying they shouldn't have come.

"I'll weep the day he does close the door in your face."

Maybe Sirius said that a little too loudly, maybe his voice cracked and he still looked more wretched than he had in his life, but the attempt finally gave all of them the release they'd so sorely needed that the vile escaping the room was nearly visible.

Hagrid was somehow acting even worse than before, though this time he wasn't crying, he looked so lost the tears had been easier.

Lily couldn't help her lip trembling a bit like she was fixing to cry for him. It just wasn't right, no matter how many times she said it or thought it she could never say it enough that what was happening to him shouldn't be. Between Hagrid and Sirius her maternal instincts were going haywire in wanting to comfort her friends, but unable to do anything she instead settled on smoothing out her sons hair and never growing tired of the way it stuck right back up.

He tried to offer to make them some tea while explaining that Buckbeak was getting in his last sunlight out in his pumpkin patch, then he dropped the milk jug which broke on the floor.

The others all thought that the strain coloring Harry's voice was because of his stress for Hagrid, which was a part, but they didn't know Harry was forcefully fighting back another memory blast already. How was this possible, happening twice in the span of a few minutes, but he had no control as a tempo began at his temple from the pain of a sharp memory fixing to be returned.

Hermione instead began to clean it up and replace it, while Harry asked if Dumbledore could do anything to fix this? Hagrid explained that Malfoy had set it up despite the headmasters try, and as Macnair was an old friend of Malfoy's no one could do anything.

'Macnair was a Death Eater,' that thought trickled through all of the Order members, as they tried their best to keep a roster and suspicions had been going on for ages about him implicated in several deaths. Well that didn't improve anyone's mood, as it only confirmed yet another Death Eater was still out and about in those times, working for the Ministry.

Dumbledore was coming down to be with Hagrid though when it happened.

"Aww," Lily coed, she was willing to put her suspicions and annoyances at the headmaster's actions aside momentarily when it came to her son and Sirius just for that moment that Dumbledore truly was trying to be there for his friend like Harry.

Harry promised they'd stay to, but Hagrid wouldn't allow it, saying Harry didn't need to be in anymore trouble.

Sirius was so sick of hearing that he was yet another cause of problem in his Godson's life, he considered trying to get up and leave again, but since he was basically a sandwich between his two friends who didn't look like they were moving any time soon, he just tallied that up to another thing he could use as his excuse later when he really did leave for good. He was already planning it out in his mind, the moment he got the chance he'd make a break for the door and he'd disappear before he caused this blight of events for his family. They may try to stop him, why he wasn't sure at this point, but he could throw these types of things at them and make a break for it while he was sure they'd be hesitating.

Hermione was crying over in the kitchen as she found another jug of milk, but then she screeched in shock and nearly dropped that one to as she exclaimed she'd found Scabbers.

"What?"

That was the most random thing that could have been said right then, that it actually distracted everyone in that moment from anything else. Harry forced himself to keep reading, to confirm Hermione was right, though everything in him told him she was.

They all stopped to stare at her, and she came over to the table and had to fight for a moment before the rodent came sliding out.

Harry made a funny rasping noise of disgust as James lit up with equal amounts of confusion and laughter as he praised, "oh that's great. Can't imagine what on earth happened-"

"Don't," Harry moaned, cutting him off and shocking as he clutched at his head, tears nearly streaming down his eyes as he pleaded, "don't say that, it's not right."

Lily turned concerned at once, wrapping an arm around him protectively as she asked, "Harry what's the matter?"

Remus couldn't help giving him an odd look mixed with the beginnings of fear for Harry, worried he was dealing with too much having such another painful memory returning so soon, as he asked, "yeah, you should be happy Ron's rat-" but then his own voice failed him, and he started blinking when something clicked. Since the very first time Scabbers had been mentioned, Harry got this odd little act around him about his best friends pet, frowning or something similar though he'd never been properly able to explain why. The description of that particular rat, bloody hell it did match the same one he looked at more than any other rat in his life, and Scabbers had a missing finger, just like...

"Oi, Moony," James was waving his hand in front of his friends face, saying, "yoo-hoo, blanked out on us mate. You figured out Harry's problem. Quite the show that Crookshanks never did, eh?"

Remus had to clear his throat hard for a moment before forcing a goofy smile onto his face, he was being ridiculous of course, it was a coincidence. Which, which he didn't believe in... shaking his head hard he said, "err, right, no sorry, ah, let's keep going."

Lily looked utterly annoyed at that, as she felt they were brushing this pain off a little too lightly, but then she took a good look at Remus' lined features, and how the momentary news had already worn off and Sirius was right back to being lackluster, and she also knew better that Harry couldn't have explained what was really bothering him anyways without suffering for it, so she didn't argue the matter, only increased her hold on her son as he flickered through a few pages as he'd lost his place. He seemed less eager than anyone to go on though, because while that had been the memory return his brain had been warning him about, the pressure still hadn't fully left! What about this day could be causing him more pain from this one afternoon then he'd felt any times previously? Now he knew it had something to do with Scabbers...and Buckbeak, and Trelawney's prediction, and Sirius, but the puzzle pieces refused to fit together, and he had no more of an idea for the ending then anyone.

Ron was just as shocked as anyone as he asked his rat what he was doing here?

"That's a very good question," Lily grumbled, finding this more unbelievable the longer she heard about it. Scabbers was alive this whole time! That fight between Ron and Hermione should never have even happened! It was odd though, that the little pet had pulled something like this off, since he was sick and usually was never mentioned anywhere but in Ron's pockets. How had he wound up in Hagrid's of all places?

He snatched up the squirming rodent, who looked terrible. He was thin as could go, with very large bald spots,

Remus couldn't help but wince, having heard a few tales about animals looking for somewhere to burrow up to die, had Scabbers just been doing that? His physical description clearly meant he was living towards the end of his life, obviously he was just being paranoid, it was just fate being all the cruller to him that he had tried to see his absent friend in a common garden rat.

and still he was trying to fight away from Ron, who held tight trying to convince his pet there were no cats around.

They all frowned at that, finding Scabbers bound of energy kind of sad, like maybe he was trying to put up one last fight before his old body gave out. It was rather odd he seemed so insistent in being away from Ron of all people, shouldn't he recognize his owner's voice?

They didn't get any time to think on it when Hagrid glanced out the window and saw the others approaching, and he told them they had to leave now. He opened up the back door and led them out to where Buckbeak was clearly on edge as he watched them all and flapped his wings in agitation.

That caused a shiver in all corners of the room, it wasn't too hard to imagine that the poor beast did get a feeling for what was coming for him, as intelligent as he was.

The three tried to give one last protest, saying they'd tell what had really happened, but Hagrid wouldn't have it and told them to go.

The combination of Hagrid doing his damndest to keep them out of trouble even while his beloved pet was about to be murdered in front of his eyes gave all of them a ball sitting tight in their throat, wanting to argue on the side of the kids and say this couldn't be true, more grateful than ever Harry at least had someone like Hagrid who wouldn't let them stick around to see it.

There was nothing more they could do, and despite it being the last thing they wanted, they all tucked back under the cloak and began to leave, Ron slowing them down slightly. Hermione begged him to hurry, she couldn't stand to watch this.

"You and me both," Lily nodded, bringing her son up to lay up on her shoulder like she was going to burp him, but really just keeping him as close to her as possible. He soon began amusing himself by grabbing hold of her thick red hair instead, and Lily almost enjoyed the momentary distraction of untangling his good grip while forcing herself to keep listening.

Ron though was having some issues, they were only halfway back to the castle but his rat was still forcing its way with all of its might out of his pocket, now trying to bite the hand Ron was using to keep him in place.

This was so random that no one could really think what could be going on anymore. The emotional turmoil of the group felt like they'd been going chapter after chapter about Harry nearly dying all day again, when really they were all just exhausted mentally from hearing about all of these bad things happening around Harry.

Below them they heard the sound of men talking, and despite Scabbers loud squeaking protest, they heard quite clearly the thud of an axe.

Harry didn't really get that out without nearly stuttering himself into silence, closing his eyes hard for a moment and trying to process what he'd just read, while something else in him told him to keep going. Sucking in a deep breath, he looked around to find the others looked just as shocked as he did, the build up to that unfair act having finally been carried through not making it any easier to hear. Unwilling to let himself freeze up now though, Harry finished.

Hermione's knees began shaking as she whispered she just couldn't believe they'd done it.

Then he closed the book and put it aside, indicating the chapter was done, but needing a moment before he could keep hearing anything. He wasn't the only one.

#Harry Potter #fanfiction #reading the books #James Potter #Lily Potter #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #PoA #Marauders

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nmjd1234isazombie · 5 years

Text

Wish Upon A Star

This story is for @starr-fall-knight-rise and his Humans are space orcs stories.

Adam Vir, Jim Vir, Sunny, Ramirez, and Maverick all belong to him.

I love your work and the characters you have developed, I have not seen a story like this so I took the liberty of touching on the subject. I hope it is to your liking and my apologies if any character appears to be OOC.

-----------------------[STORY]---------------------

It started like any other day for Adam Vir; he got up, brushed his teeth, got dressed, and headed to the mess hall for breakfast, running into Sunny along the way the pair struck up a conversation about a topic relevant to them. They entered to find the area usually packed, “Commander over here,” a woman’s voice rang out, arm-waving through the air, “we saved you two a seat,” she added as the duo skirted around the room.

“What is going on?” Sunny asked from Vir’s side.

“It’s Thompson’s birthday,” Vir said, “you wait here with Maverick and Ramirez. I’ll be back with food,” he said, disappearing into the crowd.

“What is a birthday?” Sunny asked, sitting.

“It’s a way to mark the passage of time,” Maverick said, “its the day you were born, everyone has a birthday even if they celebrate it or not.

“That sounds like fun,” Sunny said.

“Do the Drev have anything like a birthday?” Ramirez asked.

“I have food,” Adam called placing a big bowl of green and golden colored flowers in front of Sunny and a plate of pancakes in front of his place, “round one is served.”

“How many helpings do you think you’ll make it this time?” Maverick asked with a smirk.

“I say three this time,” Ramirez said, standing, “off to get more, back in a sec.”

“Bet you a week of latrine duty, I can make it to four,” Vir said between bites.

“I’ll take it.”

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

An hour later, Sunny left the mess hall caring Vir in her arm’s as he held his stomach, “you should have stopped at six,” Sunny chided.

“It was worth it,” Vir moaned before he belched, his face turned bright red, “my God Sunny, I’m so sorry!”

“It’s fine; Maverick makes worse noises when it’s just us girls.”

“I don’t want to know, sorry, though. Thanks for the lift.”

“Don’t worry about it and no problem, I don’t think you would have made it to the bridge without...what is the saying ‘tossing a cookie’ or something.”

Vir laughed as she lowered him to the floor, “it’s ‘tossing one’s cookies’ but close enough, thanks again.”

The pair walked on to the command deck, he and the crew enjoyed a peaceful morning and early afternoon when a call came from earth on a privet line.

“Patch it through,” Vir said, thinking it had to be some politician calling again for him to make an appearance, “This is Commander Vir of the Harbaginer who may I ask is calling?”

“Hello, Commander,” the silky voice of a woman greeted, “my name is Abagale Hexing. I am from the ‘Make-A-Wish’ foundation. I am sending authentication to you now.”

Vir looked to his communications officer, “it’s good, sir,” they said.

“Well, Mrs. Hexing, what can I do for you?” he asked, curious what they had to say.

“Please call me Hex; I am calling on behalf of one Nataly Ross, a 13-year-old with leukemia, which is a big fan of yours. Her wish is to meet you, Commander Vir.”

“Me!? Are you sure it’s me and not…

“It’s you; she wanted to be a scientist when she grew up and to go out into the stars to explore but didn’t think that was posable because she is missing both her legs. When she saw an interview with you from when the movie was coming out, well, she, in a sense, fell in love with what you represent. A chance to do what you want with nothing holding you back, but nature is a cruel mistress and cancer hit. She’s a trooper, but with everything, her body can’t keep up, and her final wish is to meet you.”

Silence ran through the bridge before Vir spoke up, “I don’t know what I can do for you; we are far out from the earth.”

“I know, it took two months to be able to call you, and I did explain to her that a face to face meeting would be almost imposable, but I was thinking about a conference call so you can talk with her.”

“You know what let me make a few calls...give me two hours,” he said, hanging up with the agent.

“Are you alright, Adam?” Sunny asked, seeing a single tear roll down his face.

“I’ll...I’ll be fine.”

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

Two weeks later Vir found himself packing a suitcase for the final leg of his trip to Chicago, his father had picked him up at the airport an hour ago, and now he was settling into his old room.

“Where’s mom?” he asked, coming into the kitchen to see pizza boxes.

“At the gala in New York,” Jim said, taking a glass from the cabinet.

“Oh, right forgot that was coming up, thanks again for letting me stay.”

“You’re always welcome home. Now eat your mother cant know I had a pie well she was gone she would have my hide.”

The Vir men laughed and had a long night of catching up before Jim shooed his son to the bedroom, the following morning Vir took to the air in a civilian transport that he found noisy and overcrowded. He landed three hours later in one of the older cities of the country. It still held such beauty despite how small it is.

Making his way to the hospital he met Hex in the main lobby, “I can’t believe you came, thank you so much, Nataly will love this,” Hex said as they moved towards the elevator.

“It’s the least I can do; I’m still having a hard time believing someone wants to meet me, and not someone of the dozen spices we’ve meet.”

“That would have been far easier like I said it took two months to get in contact with you and another month before that to find the right department. They kept messing with me, what are the odds of calling six departments and getting someone named Adam every time.”

Vir snorted at that, “yes, what are the odds,” he said.

They arrived, and Hex entered first, “hey Nataly, do you remember me?” she asked.

“Ya, your that ‘Make-A-Wish person,” came the quiet voice.

Vir’s breath caught he’s heard voices like that before, ones laden with regret, pain, and hope all in one, “well we managed to get in contact with Commander Vir, but…

“He’s a busy man and can’t make it; I know my dad said it was a stupid idea to ask…

Vir stepped into the room, “well your dad is wrong, kid,” he said enjoying the shocked look on the parent’s faces from the other side of the hospital bed, but not as much a seeing the light in the girl’s eyes, they were bright green like his, he noticed.

“Oh. My. God, it’s...it’s...it’s…”

“Your name is Nataly, right?”

“He knows my name,” the girl squealed, “Commander Vir knows my name!!!”

“Call me Adam; Hex here said your a big fan, and...well, you have me for the whole day.”

Hours flew by for the Commander, he enjoyed every minute of his time with Nataly, she’s smart, funny, a bit crazy basically a mini him, he could see her becoming a brilliant and well-respected scientist.

He forgot why he had been called and why the child had been in the hospital in the first place, “you know I could see you working on my ship one-day, you’d fit right in,” he said over dinner.

Nataly’s face fell at his words, “unfortunately, ‘one-day’ won’t come for me,” she said, “sorry I didn’t mean to kill the mood…”

“It’s alright, I should be the one to apologize, mouth meets foot,” Vir chuckled.

“It’s time for bed, Nat,” Nataly’s father said, “thank you, Commander, for today, I haven’t seen my little girl so happy,” he added, walking Vir out of the room.

“I’m glad she had fun.”

“Have a safe trip home.”

“I will thank you.”

Three more weeks pass before Vir returned to the Harbangier and back on duty, those weeks had been a blur for him as he thought long and hard on the situation he had been in with Nataly.

He decided before walking on to the bridge; he would do it again in a heartbeat.

-------------------------[~FIN~]---------------------

Note: Thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed.

Story two: https://nmjd1234isazombie.tumblr.com/post/613680391235289088/the-reunion-tour

#humans are space orcs #earth is space australia #human #are #weird #humans are weird #fanfic #starr-fall-knight-rise

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we-live-in-a--society · 4 years

Text

El Nacimiento del un Hombre Nuevo

The Downfall of Humanity – obtusely poetic phrase, prolixity, without a direct meaning, without a place, without a purpose, only a forage for youth, blatant lies; in other words – not fitting his taste. Each time someone pours it onto his lithe frame, a flame is ignited, a flash of disgust running down his body, since he believes that being an idealist gets you nowhere, at least nowhere significant, only to the Place of Eternal Disappointment.

Where you suffer.

Making sure you shatter.

And then begin your slaughter.

As the years go by, the circle completes itself, from the Dawn of Humanity and the Killing Monkeys to the Absolute Disorder and the Rise of Rats, filthy, sinewy rats that pop out of their hideouts just to rip you apart, piece by piece. Rip or be ripped – a motto of the New Order – and those who are unable to comprehend it are meant to extinct – natural selection in its most advanced form, leaving only the strongest specimens.

The Survivors.

The ones that are left to roam the earth in search for hell knows what, with endurance being their main principle, their drive towards inevitable, towards the place of unknown. Years ago it would terrify him, but today he doubts whether this world has anything grisly for him to offer, anything that would shatter him once more.

He was born in the first year of Clinton’s presidency, death of Audrey Hepburn, soaked in his mother’s tears, and that Buddha album, full title lost within the depths of his mind. It seems so far away now, not because of the twelvemonths but the variety of events following his graduation – a new, foolishly hopeful, beginning, and oh, what a fierce one in his case, carrying an incomprehensible disaster that has shaped the post-apocalyptic world. All it took was a ridiculously minuscule creature, cause of the outbreak – a single word, carrying such a powerful meaning – albeit leading to more than half of the population biting dust within the first few years.

Unbelievable, huh?

However, as the time went by, so did the slaughters, with people taking matters into their own hands, and now, depraved from any actual data, he can only assume the number of deceased, not that it bothers him much anymore, since according to one famous dictator’s words: “A single death is a tragedy; a million deaths is a statistic.”

When has he become this bitter?

Or more importantly, what is the point of asking a question if you already know the answer?

* * *

She feels numb, aching, detached from her body, yet present within, floating on a passage where she is capable of sustaining every single sensation, though unable to move, caught in a trap, too stunned and terrified to attempt any escape. At the very beginning she has made the following promise: I will not fall on my knees and beg, but the reliability of said assumption is not so zero-one anymore as she eyes her oppressors, standing tall and broad, with all the inglorious possibilities flashing through their minds, staring at her with full-blown pupils. The intensity of their gazes has her wanting to curl into a ball, hide somewhere deep within her soul, hoping it would ensure her safeness, take her back to a place where she would be floating free, deprived of all the unpleasant notions: trepidation, cruelty, and misery.

There were times when she did nothing else but wonder what it feels like to lose control over one’s body, forget how to fight, instead give in and accept one’s fate. She used to consider it as absurd, absolutely and utterly nonsensical

(“what if I slept a little more and forgot about all this nonsense”),

wafting on a whimsical cloud called Faith, like a thoroughbred hypocrite would, pretending that choosing to believe in certain absolutes is not, by any means, a form of enslavement, a prison with silk-upholstered walls.

And so, she has become the thrall of her own convictions – another hopeless idealist within this cruel world, idealists that are meant to extinct.

“Will you cry for me, sweet girl?” One of them asks all of sudden – the person she used to call Clay back in the better days – with a mocking laughter that sends a jarring shiver down her spine. Instead of bothering to form a verbal reply, she keeps staring at the dusty concrete, the tiny patches of grass now ridiculously absorbing; everything to not look him in the eye.

“Answer him, bitch!” Jarring voice that has her flinching in disgust, or fear maybe, frame shaking like a leaf in the dusty fall breeze. The ability to form words has abandoned her long ago, presumably at the time when they tugged her away in the alley, hence the lack of ideas what she is supposed to say under such circumstances.

He, however, is pretty far from deciding that it would be a way more sensible to let it go, and so grasps her by the neck, pushing her up against the brick wall. She chokes on her breath, head bumping into the hard surface with a loud thud that sends a reverberating ache through her body, dark spots marking her vision. With an innate reflex, she grips his wrist, trying to yank him away, but he appears to be stronger as he slams her head back, this time on purpose, to stun the girl and so put a halt to her pitiful escape attempts.

“Just don’t fucking kill her, dude,” Clay warns, his voice breaking at the end, as if his consciousness managed to spoke through the thick barrier of borne animalism. Her eyes prick with tears threatening to run down her cheeks, awoken by the icy cold tone of his voice, cumulating with the uneasiness in the pit of her stomach.

“Relax,” he chides, although lets her go, so she is able to stand back at her feet instead of the tippy-toes, “I’ve got it all under control. Won’t be any use of her if she is dead.”

“You’re right, it won’t,” he nods, as if attempting to convince himself, which is at least how she wants to perceive the whole situation, to think that Clay has been forced to participate in it, that all he is doing consists of blatant, sharp-edged lies, that he already regrets even considering it in the first place.

(I sincerely doubt he does).

“Fucking told you so,” he huffs – a mannerism of yet another expert in the infamous field of manhandling people – however still quick to dart attention back to her – tensed, albeit passive. His gaze remains focused solely on the girl in front of him as if he possessed an ability to drill into her soul, and so uncover all the layers of horror and hatred, break her down and scatter the pieces on the dusty concrete for the benefit of all the watchers.

To be honest, she would rather die than let it happen.

(You are wasting time, Fabienne.)

And so, accordingly to guidance of her inner consciousness, she aims for the only spot she could think of in such a state – crotch, obviously – not very ingenious, either way efficiently enough. As if on some comical command, he lets her go, groaning in pain as he curls into a ball

(oh how the tables have turned),

and she is left with nothing else than make a run for desired freedom, her rip from the pavement surprisingly graceful, deprived of any unfavorable tripping. However, Clay is quick to steady that matter with a harsh tug of her leg that knocks the girl over onto the ground, forcing a scream out of her throat, a never-ending cry of Banshee, in hopes that it will alert someone who cares enough to help her.

(… and other lies people keep telling themselves)

She attempts to wriggle away from his grip, crawling on the dirty ground akin to some grotesque snake, with a tunnel vision that allows it to strive only for the ally’s intel, gravel pricking the exposed parts of its skin. For a brief moment, she does nothing else but wail, like some wounded animal, as if she went completely mad, kicking anything within her reach, but actually aiming for Clay, or rather for sweeping him off his feet. Although it all appears as success-oriented pursuit, her attempts are soon to be rectified with a sharp jerk and crushing weight brought upon her shoulders, stealing another breath from the terrified lass who is now forced to face the predators as one of them flips her onto the back as if she was nothing more than a dainty ragdoll.

(Just close your eyes and you will be alright.)

(… and other lies people keep telling themselves)

* * *

Through his life, he has gotten a chance to discover that certain things never change, which might as well be yet another lie that has been made up to protect the weakest among from the crushing weight of truth. Either way, he has noticed that forming habits somehow helps us in the darkest times, when we are unable to focus on anything but the negatives: grief, longing, and abandonment; allowing us to complete essential activities, even if caught in some sinister trance where we are barely able to acknowledge what is happening around us. He has always considered it as some unconventional form of a blessing, a route to headway, an acquiescence for pursuit, and much, much more but unfortunately he has never been good with words, and accordingly so – incapable of verbal expression.

Aside from habits, he has discovered the existence of routines, something that helps him to lead a day to day life in spite of unfavorable environment, and so keep himself attached to reality – a factor that becomes rather important during survival struggles. One of them appears to be a peaceful meal consumption, picked up from home and still relevant today despite all eventual threats, something that brings back memories of the better past and faces that somehow manage to hunt him even these days.

Nonetheless, as the years pass by, he finds it harder and harder to look at himself in the mirror, knowing that he is getting older, that death is creeping closer and closer until it captures him with its icy claws, draining any remains of life out of him. If he believed in any holy spirits, it would feel relieving to think of it as a reunion with everyone that had been left behind, but he sincerely doubts it, expecting nothing but the End, la Grande Finale as his mother would say, the Downfall of His Existence – a peace-bringing denouement.

But what is it worth?

Certainly more than an interrupted meal, whereas the harshness of such severance still leaves a caustic taste upon his tongue, the one that will not last long, albeit enough to be acknowledged, and so remembered.

His ears prick up at the tearing noise: a scream, a wail, a whine of a wounded animal; loud enough to awoke a will to come up to the source and silence the person himself, but instead he wonders whether such altruistic jeopardy is indeed necessary in this case. These are not even coherent words, just a croaky, unrelenting shriek that cumulates with the pile of growing irritation, but also wakes up some contradictory inkling that he should come down and help.

Therefore, he is quick to raise from the seat, soon stepping through the doorway and down the staircase, cautious steps echoing through the empty space. Having casted an eye on the street, he walks out of the building, heading towards the now dulling sound in face of all inhuman amount of screeching, eyes following every of a few turns, immediate to reach his destination.

Peeping from around the corner, he witnesses an odd scene playing in front of him, as if meant to be regarded – two chaps, even if of relatively average build, failing to subdue no one else than a dainty girl. While waiting for her to quiet down, he wonders what would be the most beneficial way to handle the oppressors, since of course shooting them would do the trick, but the real question is whether they are worth wasting any bullets.

Ergo, he picks up a brick, testing its weight in his hand with a few careless tosses, before he hides inside the nearest building, and throws it somewhere aside, hoping that the sound itself would be enough to alert them, nevertheless remaining in doubt about its efficiency. However, and much to his surprise, their movements halt while taking a moment to inspect the surroundings, as if trying to determine whether they simply misheard something, or whether the noise was real, eyes meeting in the end.

“The fuck was that?” The taller one curses angrily, not quite managing to hide the hint of trepidation within his voice.

“Infected?” His friend dwells with a tensed frown marking his forehead, a word that never fails to settle an ominous notion in the pit of his stomach, even despite all those years.

“Fuck infected!” He exclaims in exasperation, backing up a couple of steps. “And fuck this, man! You convinced me to do all of it, and if I get to die because of you I swear I’ll-”

“Hush,” he silences the unstable lad, the one that appears as more confident and trenchant, maybe also the one that will get to live longer, who knows, “I’m trying to fucking listen, okay?”

“Fuck you, man!” He bawls, keeping up with the irresponsible person attire, much to the watcher’s interest, “I’m outta here and outta this. If you wanna take her, be my fucking guest but I don’t fancy getting eaten by any of those fucking beasts.”

His friend just shakes his head with ironic disbelief, hissing a bunch of incoherent words to the girl below him, before he lets her go and calls out to the already retreating one. “Wait!” He whisper-shouts, quite an odd speech manner if he was being honest, and springs up from the ground, quick to follow the taller one’s traces, and so disappear around the final corner.

Having waited for their voices to mold into silence, he jumps through the empty window frame, landing on the concrete with a loud thud that alerts the confused lass. In an attempt to get up and most likely run away, she somehow manages to drag her body up, but regardless of the effort trips once more and falls down on her knees, an act that is accompanied by a pained moan. He watches her with an odd concoction of pity and amusement playing upon his face until she looks up to him, scared and perplexed, eyeing him with a mistrustful gaze.

The initial notion that hits her in time with the first glance is simple – he looks older, probably on the cusp between thirties and forties, exactly like a rugged survivor would, with toned forearms and prickly beard. But what eventually captures her attentions is a jarring straight-shaped scar across his eyebrow and cheek, which gives her the impression that the past assaulter must have failed to slash his eye for less than an inch or so. Under any other circumstances it would whip up certain uneasiness within her, however this time she is swept away with a relief towards this stranger, fighting the innate urge to express her gratitude in a more intimate way, a hug maybe, since that would be rather irresponsible and quite childish if she was being honest.

“Thank you,” she croaks instead, barely managing to get the words out of her constricted windpipe, either way accepts the offering hand that he holds for her to help the young woman rise from dusty ground. An involuntary shiver runs down her spine due to the close contact, his pleasantly warm in contrast with the frigid coldness of her flesh, callous texture scraping over her skin – a notion that she finds oddly distracting.

“You’re welcome,” he replies, voice all gravel and sandpaper, letting go of her hand as soon as she stands up on her feet again, watching her wipe the dust from her clothes.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say,” she chuckles nervously, refusing to look him in the eye now, her gaze sweeping over the surrounding in an annoyingly swift manner, before she finally meets his browns, much to his relief.

“Then don’t say anything,” he shrugs, not a relatively nice phrase, but either way he has got a point and she feels obligated to bear with it. Being honest here, he appears to be one of those harsh, unpleasant people to spend time with, but she, in turn, seems to be deprived of any decent alternative, certain that she has to convince the stranger into taking her in, at least for a couple of weeks until they reach another city where new opportunities will drop, allowing her to depart eventually.

“Um, okay,” she hums in agreement, still visibly tensed around him, which does not manage to slip past his attention. “Can we at least go somewhere less exposed?”

“We?” His eyebrow perks up – a display of partial incredulity. “I hate to disappoint you, but I’m going back alone.”

“What? Why?” She utters, anxious as ever, since he must be overreacting at least for a tiny bit. “I won’t bother you, I promise. It’s just- I’ll probably be dead by tomorrow if you leave me here, and it all would be for nothing.”

“No,” he refuses with blatant simplicity, another ugly, harsh word that almost causes her to burst into tears due to all the pent-up emotions.

“Even if I promised I would leave you alone in the morning?” She tries once again, barely managing to swallow the thick lump down her throat – a telling sign of an approaching cry.

(She won’t.)

“No,” he repeats, already annoyed and anticipating their separation.

“But-” she begins – a fact that remains seemingly unnoticed by the harsh man as he walks past her, aiming for the ally’s intel. “Oh, great.”

He leaves her no other choice than follow him, despite his surly attitude and moderate approach, in face of the inevitable death that awaits her somewhere in the creeping night’s shadows. She is well-aware of the fact that he was the one who threw the brick, and the action itself wakes up something within her – an emotion so intoxicating that it feels crushing upon her chest – unable to be named

(calm down),

but worryingly influencing.

Throughout all these years, spent in strangling solitude, she has felt some foreign urge to mate with someone, and thus create at least a makeshift substitute for so-called family, unable to resist another opportunity – genesis of her personal damnation, nail in the coffin, but oh so terribly desired. In certain moments she finds herself unable to resist the sudden temptations, driven by a distinct, innate urge to carry on, in search for the necessary fulfilment, safety, and peace, while other times she is swept away with a lancing wave of anxiousness, an inkling that it would be foolish to pursuit, harmful even, that she would regret it later on, albeit not today.

Today she wishes to make it all happen.

Therefore, she follows him, jogging by his side to match the strides, seemingly exaggerated in length but either way bearable, despite his unpleasant tendencies to ignore her, as if pretending he has gone for a pondering, lonesome walk. Being honest here, the assumption fits him perfectly – a forlorn wolf amongst many, the one that rarely bothers to utter a decent sentence, not to mention his disability to see her as a human being, a sensitive creature, instead of a harmful nemesis.

According to her observations, people these days seem numb, depraved of any actual feelings, focused and alert for any dangers awaiting in the dark, or just around the corner, hid in the depths of their weeping souls, begging for redemption, for mercy. Many times before, she has heard that world is a cruel, empty place, lacking in the aforementioned qualities, and so offering damnation only – a burden that comes with blood stains on their hands, with sleepless nights, delirious wandering, no purpose, no place.

And what for?

Lost in her own thoughts, she barely notices that he has halted in front of one of abandoned buildings, slightly lower than the rest, entrance unblocked, as if inviting the passerby with a promise of a satisfactory loot

(am I one of them?),

or right the opposite – yet another threat lurking in the shadows, waiting for its prey. A dreadful shiver runs down her spine at the sinister thought, an inkling existing only to be confirmed or denied, whereas the ingenuous parts of her are putting emphasis on the former – a trait that is determined to abandon her somewhere in the future.

“We depart now, kid,” he announces bluntly, pointing in the opposite direction. “If you head west, you’ll leave the city and reach the nearby woods. Analogically, if you go opposite, it’ll lead you to the center area, but I wouldn’t go there if I were you.”

“And why is that?” She inquires, frowning in confusion.

“The area is already occupied,” he explains, quick to add a brief, “not negotiable,” as if to clarify her visible doubts.

“Who lives there?” Another question leaves her lips, as if to prolong their hopefully brief encounter.

“Curiosity killed the cat,” he spats involuntary, another bitter manner to catch her off guard, not attentive enough to care about possible misunderstandings.

“I still don’t get it,” she shrugs, staring at him with silent anticipation, as if she indeed expected an answer, like it would astonish him.

“It’s from the Old World,” he attempts to cuts the matter short, but she is not yet to disappoint him even this time, another query following his lack of explanation.

“What does it mean then?”

“It means that in certain situations inquisitiveness might lead to a scrape,” he sighs in defeat, but bestows her with the simplest gloss either way.

“If you say so,” she huffs, clearly annoyed with his lacking answers, but is immediate to pursuit with the plot that has been left hanging for a brief moment. “Can’t spend a night here, though? Not negotiable too? Just keep in mind that by forcing me to leave you’re practically digging up my grave.”

Manipulating is a filthy practice, according to what his mother used to tell him on multiple occasions, that he is supposed to be a decent man, living a candid life of a meticulous and conscientious person, amongst other lies, with moral behavior on the very peak of her own Pyramid of Absurd. The rules might have applied to the Old World, but the New Order most certainly does not allow any nostalgia to blossom, a penchant for recreation, for rebirth, nipping it all in the bud, drowning their wicked souls in the tears of those who were perished.

Ironic.

“You think I’m some fucking charity, don’t you?” He chuckles bitterly, a nasty manner that sends a shiver down her spine in time with the newfound realization – of course he would want her to pay, what was she even thinking?

“What kind of payment are you interested in?” She gulps, instinctively backing a few step away from him, ready to run in case it will be necessary. “Sex?”

“Your dignity must have abandoned you long ago if that’s the first offer you pop out with,” he comments harshly, a hint of a mocking smirk playing upon his lips, which might as well be only a matter of her perception.

“Does it mean I can stay then?” She ascertains, not quite managing to hide the tremor within her voice, resolves running thin in face of his judgmental attitude.

“I guess so,” he nods, as if finally willing to admit that she is rather improbable to ditch said matter, “but conditions first,” he shushes her with a dismissive gesture. “I’m rather meticulous when it comes to my stuff, which means no touching, no snooping. What’s mine is mine, don’t forget that. If I catch you breaking the rules, you’re out. Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” she confirms, opting for the simplest possible answer, since it appears as the most sensible too, a technique that would most likely talk some reason into him.

“We’ll see about that,” he remarks at last, and without waiting for her answer, he disappears inside the building, steps echoing in the empty space, which leaves her with no other choice than to follow him. She matches his pace, although remains a few stairs behind him, running her hand past the railing, as she climbs up to face the inevitable, with bits of dust covering her fingertips.

Moments later, they march through the door, only to be greeted by the sight of something that must have been an office installation back in the days, with a row of desks and a coach by the window, a furniture that is already occupied as if to line up with her expectations that concern the matter of being forced to spend the following night on the floor. In the meantime, he manages to barricade the door with a book shelf, now lacking in the better parts of its prior contents– void and deplorable – a flawless fit for the New World, waking up that peculiar longing for something she has never got a chance to experience but either way misses it – another exemplary paradox. She perches on the sofa, her spine awkwardly straightened as her eyes remain glued to him, a notion that he does not fail to notice, but ignores it either way, satisfied with the result of put effort.

They stick to the silence for quite a while, a time needed for her to relax on the seat, and him to eat in the corner, back supported by the wall – an action that does not slip past her attention, smell of food redirecting her focus to own discomfort. Nevertheless, she feels like it would be off top to come up and ask for a share, considering that he is more likely to refuse, not that she finds it hard to believe, but on the other hand at some point filling up her stomach would become an obligation rather than just an option.

“Hungry?” He asks, creeping in between her thoughts, much to her relief actually, in face of undisputable lack of ideas when it comes to figuring out the most efficient approach.

“Starving,” she affirms with a tiny smile tugging at the corners of her lips – a sign of nonverbal alleviation.

“C’mere,” he motions her towards with a universal wrist flick, and despite the innate uneasiness, she obeys, stomach acting as the eventual decision maker. She plops down on the empty space in front of him, good few feet away in case he might want to touch her for no actual reason, leaving him with no other choice than throw whatever he is having at her, partly impressed that she manages to catch it.

“Enjoy your meal,” he adds, a promise of something darker that is yet to come, “it might be the last.”

* * *

Over the course of time, he has managed to notice something distinctive about her personality, something that he is incapable of addressing, frustrating but ever present in the least convenient form possible, itching akin to an insect bite that calls for a scratch ever so often. In addition, the aspect itself is considered as something he was not fully aware of in the following years, but the Change has brought yet another conspicuous realization upon him.

He might be not as talented at reading people as he perceived himself to be.

At first, it appeared as a rather galling factor, a bookish example of noting more than a splendid mistake, but then it transferred into something else, something of entirely different nature – an awakening, utterly clarifying in its simple form. Swept with augmenting realizations, as sensible as any other person would be in a middle of a mental turmoil, he felt obligated to switch his lifestyle for obvious reasons.

Having someone else around is unerring to shift someone’s perspective, forcing him to adjust – a primeval tactic that comes with evolution, or natural selection, call it however you want. Nonetheless, in his case the whole process has formed some bizarre juxtaposition of two almost opposite factors – company and serenity, depraving each from the other, clawing until the bone peaks through the paper-thin epithelium. In one hand he can barely stand her presence, the fact that she is lurking behind him like a shadow, capable of remaining dead silent throughout the day, while in other hand she keeps asking questions, sometimes completely out of context, but he suspects each of them might lead to a greater goal.

Tonight has also been chosen for the former purpose, and while they are hidden safely

(more or less)

under the roof, the storm is raging around the motel, heavy droplets beating out a rhythm on the tiles – a melody of primordiality. It brings him certain solitude, a pensive longing for what he left behind – demons of the past that hunt him no matter where he is harboring, no matter where he is hiking, no matter where he is heading; always beset, caught in a trap. There are times when he craves for nothing else than hush their excruciating wails, strangle and watch them suffer for a change, switch the strict roles – a prelude for another thought to occur – if so, it would all be for nothing, all he has gone through, all he has done just to stand here today, bathed in the metaphorical sun.

All as simple as that.

“You’re quiet today,” he notes out of thin air, nevertheless drawing her attention, eyes flicking up to glance at him. She does not bother to answer, instead her gaze adverts to the side, focusing on the peeling wallpaper that for some reasons seems more bearable than the sight of him. “Are you even listening?” He repeats, a hint of annoyance lacing his voice, shaped by the blatant lack of reaction. “Fabienne!”

“I’m sorry,” she mutters under her breath, eyes meeting his for a brief moment, “I was just… you know, thinking.”

“About anything particular?” He asks as if only to carry on with the conversation – a meaningless pursuit, a silly trace picked up from society. For a brief moment, she dares to consider that he might, indeed, be interested in her pointless babbling, pursuit to reveal the answers, reasons why she is still here.

“Am I supposed to think about anything particular?” She retorts, voice distant and dreamy, detached from reality – a trait that is certain to get her killed one day. “I found some notes here while you were out, scavenging the store, and I… I can’t believe it. It all seems so absurd, like some tale that parents would tell their children, naïve and artless, unable to find a different meaning.”

“You can always just tell me what was in the notes,” he sighs, somehow fed up with her far-fetched responses as the one who rather stands for retrieving less complicated solutions, or simply forming an essential statement.

“Just a poem, but it’s so beautifully expressive,” she sighs, smiling to herself – probably without realizing it – an otherworldly, evanescent visage, “and some diary writing. Maybe it’s silly, but browsing through the Old World stuff always makes me better, like I’m capable of somehow sharing my life with them, transferring to their reality, and so become the person that I’ve always wanted to.”

“And why is that? Why become another person?” He queries bluntly, and even though she had a decent amount of time to get used to his mannerisms, he is still capable of throwing her off guard in certain moments.

“I don’t really know how to talk about it,” she admits, accompanied by a nervous chuckle. “To be honest, each time it makes me feel so empty, as if my whole life was lacking in something essential.”

Without a clue what to say, he only hums in response, a notion that he is all too familiar with, unable to depart, leave it somewhere behind, and gain that fluent speech manners that prompt suitable words when needed. He is partly aware that it is, indeed, the cause why she perceives him as a rude person, the one who does not give a fig about what she is willing to communicate, which might as well mean that her judgment is not as flawless as it appears to be in her eyes.

Why does it have to amuse him so much?

While they were talking, the heavy drumming of rain – a signature of the fall season – seemed to subside a bit, and now he can only imagine the fresh scent of concrete – one of few life’s aspects that he has always found quite pleasing. However, his attention is quick to switch back to her, now facing the opposite wall, back turned to him, curled into a ball, as it helps her to fall asleep – probably some sort of innate wont, or maybe trust issues that deter her from taking more comfortable position.

(You would want that, wouldn’t you?)

Maybe laying down next to her will be inappropriate, but in all honesty he has grown fed up with sleeping on the floor or armchairs anytime they doss in a place with only one bed, and since his doubts considering whether she will oppose are rather strong, he settles next to her, mattress dipping due to extra weight. She flinches as soon as she senses the shift, subconsciously dragging her body away from his arm range, but does not bother to object, right according to his suspicions. While his head is resting on the pillow, eyes close on their own, enjoying the serenity of late evening, along with the subtle moonlight peeking through the thin gap between the heavy curtains, oddly unprepared for what is about to come.

“How did you get these scars?” She asks out of nowhere, a question that hangs in the air for a longer while, as if waiting to be consumed, thick akin to a morning mist.

“Fell down the stairs once,” he evades, flashing her a brief glance, attracted by the sideways movement, which allows her to face him.

“You didn’t,” she chuckles, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“I did,” he counters somehow impishly, such an unusual occurrence when it comes to him, considering he has never struck her as a particularly easygoing man.

“I’m sorry if that was too interfering,” she elucidates, apologetic smile lacing her lips. “I didn’t mean to sound rude or anything. I was just curious, that’s it, and I perfectly understand if you don’t want to tell me the whole story, it’s just-”

“I think I was around sixteen when I got it,” he interrupts, rectifying her rushed explanation that, for some reasons, was considered as adequate in such case. “The thing is, at that time I used to ride a bike quite a lot, and by saying ‘a lot’ I mean every day on the route to high school and back. It was all peachy keen, until I got drunk one day.”

“Sorry to interrupt, but I’ve always wondered what it means to get drunk in the first place,” she admits, a shy smile, finely subtle, blossoming upon her face. “Actually I think it’s a perfect example of one of those things that you hear someone mentioning from time to time, but at the same time have no idea how it’s supposed to feel like.”

“Dizzy but in a fine way, and as you might know, people’s responses tend to differ,” he explains, a clarification that she surely does not find neither detailed nor specific enough. “I don’t think I have the capacity to expound it well, since-”

“Yeah, I know,” she shrugs it off, seemingly tired with his habit of developing quite a decent amount of exaggerated explications, “it’s one of those things you have to experience to know for sure.”

“Something like that,” he agrees, nevertheless immediate to get back on the formerly abandoned track. “Anyway, while I was trying to somehow make it back home, I… let’s say… crashed into a bus stop, the glass part to be specific, and as you might already surmise, some of the fragments cut my face, while others pricked other parts of my skin, forearms for instance.”

“What happened with you afterwards?” She asks, voice laced with some odd kind of compassion, the one that she is not supposed to feel towards him, as her gaze remains glued to his profile, while he, in turn, opts for the celling.

“Well, they patched me up, that’s all,” he shrugs, casting Fabienne a brief glance that has her own elude to the side, cheeks flushed with embarrassment each time he catches her stare by accident. He would be lying if he said it never amused him to see her in such a state – caught hand in a cookie jar – while the real question is how deep she has managed to dive, whether it is still enough to retreat or not really.

He will never truly know.

“I’m sorry,” she indicates, a worried frown making an appearance upon her face.

“For what? That I was a stupid kid who did nothing else than bring it down on himself?” He huffs, sometimes caught in doubt whether it is only a matter of compassion, or whether she seeks some gain within it. “I don’t think there is anything to feel sorry for.”

“Why do you always have to such a jerk?” She accuses, a little too blatant for his own taste, nevertheless immediate to catch his attention, especially when she shoots up straight, maybe in order to get the height predominance.

“Calling me names won’t be beneficial,” he states, so matter-of-factly and much to her upset, “considering I could walk away any time.”

“You’re-”

“Yeah, do go on,” he encourages, voice completely flat, deprived of anything that might be labelled as an emotional layer, something that never failed to amaze, or rather unsettle her. She sometimes doubts he is a human after all. “I ain’t stopping you.”

“What are you so afraid of?” She practically cries out, a turmoil of contradict emotions raging inside her, only to be fueled by his lack of answer – nothing more than a constraint to make her blunder more, dig up her own grave. “That you’d let someone too close and lose him afterwards? So it all would be for nothing?” Not a word. “Everything happens for a reason, why can’t you see it? Why do you have to be so blind?”

“Less effort means more effort,” he adds, a sentence that she has heard him utter on multiple occasions in the past, something that never fails to agitate her, and so desert of the possibility to comprehend its virtual meaning.

“So that’s all you have to say?” She spats, bitter venom lingering on the tip of her tongue, nevertheless not meant to surpass his.

Silence speaks a thousand words.

She feels like it might as well be his motto, words of wisdom that he keeps telling himself instead of forming a decent, verbal reply that would please the interlocutor – yet another futile pursuit in the eyes of this odd man lying next to her. She often dwells upon what life factors he actually perceives as important, meaningful, more or less significant, the ones that are probable to make a real difference, not a mere shift like removing a stain from a fabric. Therefore, at some point of their relationship she has managed to realize that the odd savior complex, combined with his reconditeness entices her more than she cares to admit.

Shame.

Since his eyelids remain shut, she gains a chance to watch him, at least briefly, caught in such a vulnerable state – not a day-to-day occurrence by any means – a single forearm draped over his face, blocking every mere gleam of moonlight – the guide of those who got lost within the dusky depths of night. His chest is raising and falling in time with each steady inhale, making her wonder whether it is nothing more than a false façade, a serenity that is meant to hide the turmoil inside, raging storm just below the surface.

Probably not.

She sighs heavily, a sound that is loud enough to draw his attention, one hazel eye falling open to meet her gaze once more that night. He keeps them locked for a brief moment, until she involuntarily adverts, escaping the privilege to maintain the contact for a little longer, and he only snorts in response – nasal substitute for a proper laugh. He is partly aware of the thoughts hidden underneath, but has never taken a chance to absorb them in any way, rather than pretend that they are non-existent, whereas this time seems different.

This time he decides to acknowledge that the girl is, indeed, ‘in love’ with him.

(Well, that’s too bad.)

Ironically, even a person like him – unable to comprehend the diversity of emotions, considering they do not classify as anything interesting

(we see what we wat to see) –

has managed to notice the variety of her acts, including the subtle ones, from the occasional, bashful glances to the unusual concoctions of words that carry one and one association only. Somehow, he pities her, although there is nothing to be done here, despite so many aspects that are scattered around until fixed, rather than wait for it to subside, or leave her hanging one day – an action that would lead to bilateral loneliness, something that he is not quite certain he is willing to restore. Maybe traveling with someone else is nothing more than yet another developing habit, paired with an urge to spend time with certain person, seemingly unable to switch back to the Life Before.

(People get used to everything.)

“I’m going to sleep,” the exclamation that slices through the mist of silence, thick, and laced with something that he cannot quite place, a hint of expectance maybe, so he remains speechless, allowing her to continue.

But it never comes, so instead he opts for the simplest, old-fashioned, “sleep tight,” immediate to turn around on the side, curling into a ball, more or less, since it helps to maintain body heat – something that he had a questionable pleasure of testing on the course of multiple freezing nights – eyes closing on their own.

(You know what they say, Craig...)

Silence speaks a thousand words.

* * *

A mere brush upon his shoulder, a faint shuffling sound, dim moonlight shining through the thin gap, or rather the concoction of three factors is what appears to be the cause of his abrupt awakening. He springs up in alarm – another habit developed throughout all these years – eyes scanning the room with meticulous precision, at least as much as the circumstances allow him to, in search for a factor that appears to exist apart of usual room components.

Unable to perceive anything significant, his gaze eventually lands on a silhouette beside him - a girl lying on her side, hand tossed carelessly on the spot previously occupied by him. He sighs in relief as soon as the newfound realization sweeps upon him, the one that brings final denouement – her accidental slap had to be the cause of said awakening.

With cleared out mind, he focuses more distinctly on Fabienne, lying on the side, face turned towards him - an unmissable opportunity to study her visage, since such behavior would not be tolerated on daily bases. At the current blink, she appears as otherworldly, lost within the depths of her own mind, somewhere far, far away, not that he finds it hard to believe, since it forms quite a common association – dreaming equals traveling.

Ironic.

At first, he considers, quite strongly, waking her up, but then another thought occurs, an inkling, driven by intuition, or rather opportunistic nature, that he might, in fact, abandon her now if he really wanted. She will not even notice his departure, remaining asleep, safe in her on dreamscape, left to uncover the truth in the morning as light paints her face, taking away all false beliefs.

Why does it have to be so tough then?

Stepping out if the door is almost effortless in physical matter, walking down the stairs also, heading down the streets joins the gathering, now of three. It is almost absurd, how incapable of admitting certain actualities he is, a grown-up man and still afraid of words – lines of letters on the newsprint. He is a blind man, a liar, lost within his own illusion, simplifications, an expert in covering up the verity, but what for?

Suffering?

No.

A feeling that is foreign, without a proper word to address it, impossible to be described, but ever present in his life, marking him like the glass once did.

(I don't want to die without any scars.)

(Sardonic, cynical, caustic…)

Ironic.

As if with a mind of its own, his hand hovers over her body, muscles twitching with anticipative tension, clueless about what he is willing to do, without a plan for a change. After a few haywire moments, filled with offbeat anticipation, his fingers twirl through her hair, carefully brushing out a few stray tangles. She flinches in response to the touch, and for one fatal moment he is certain she is just about to wake up, frozen on the spot, hand still in between her strands, nevertheless she is quick to relax, which prompts him to resume.

Truth to be told, he has always found her enticing – petite girl with delicate nose and nimble fingers – so innocent and even prettier, oddly fitting in his tastes. Over the course of time, he has learned to admire her as a woman, or rather not silence the encouraging whispers, whereas the desire to perceive himself in terms of a decent man, full of unspoken virtues, righteous and worthy, never made it less challenging. ‘Twisted morality’ is what some people like to call it – remaining pure yet flawed, endless attempts, frustrating pursuits, sleepless nights – and while it might be considered interesting, he has never been able to comprehend why. It carries the truth about him – he has failed and he has failed spectacularly, squandering many years of self-improvement and abnegations just to look twice at the wrong person that has never supposed to attract his attention in the first place.

Who would have told she would be the one to drag him down?

“First time?” A voice that slices through silence, exclamation in a quiet room, in the gloomy night, uttered for him and him only, and as any sane man in his place would, he almost jumps out of his skin, caught hand in a cookie jar. Without a clue about what he is supposed to say, he only stares at her as if he could not believe she was real, awake, and speaking – a passerby from a parallel reality.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” ah yes, back on track and as believable as always.

“Whatever, Craig,” she tosses him a careless glance, “you might as well keep lying to yourself, as you presumably have done your whole life, or admit what’s been on your mind all this time so we could have the ‘adult’s talk’.”

“Is that what you want?” He huffs, voice laced with a blossoming hint of impatience. “Are you even aware of what does it mean?”

“What means what?” She raises to his level, eyes locked, not the one to look away for a change.

“Doesn’t matter,” he sighs heavily, all of sudden reminding her of an old man, tired with temporal life, too yellow to end it albeit too exhausted to keep it up.

“No,” she shakes her head in disbelief, an ugly furrow marking her forehead; for some reasons he has never liked when girls frown, “it does, believe me.”

“That’s not a determinant,” he retorts drily, voice flat akin to his judgments, “since apparently everything matters to you. But if you-”

Before he gets a chance to finish his sentence, her lips are on his, kissing him with some unplaceable, fierce passion, all while he is too stunned to react, caught in delirious unawareness. Time seems to halt for a moment – parallel lines that collide – where impossible becomes possible, where everything melts together just to come into being as a formless… pulp.

Sounds lovely.

However, in reality it takes nothing more than a few brief seconds for her to pull away, leaving him in bewilderment , mouth agape as if he forgot shutting it lies within his abilities. He stares at her in disbelief, and she cannot help but look away, flushed in embarrassment

(what have I done?)

hands folded on her lap, akin to a child waiting for a reprimand. Whatever that display was, it is already gone, the confidence, the exasperation, the vehemence, and she is back to her old self – the rapid downfall following every climax.

“Why did you kiss me?” He manages to utter after a few longer moments of silence, no accusation, no vexation, just plain, old formlessness.

She gulps.

“No reason?” He reiterates, this time with a hint of annoyance lacing his voice, unusually expecting more than yet another evasive answer.

(We desire what we cannot provide.)

“What is it?” He repeats, bitter, impatient, awaiting. “Cat’s got your tongue?”

“I’m sorry,” she mutters under her breath, glancing at him as if to ascertain that he is still eyeing her with the same displeased expression, “I shouldn’t have. It was kinda inappropriate to say the least, and I’m just… sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he holds her gaze for a brief moment, a hint of what might as well be a smile lacing his lips, “you probably won’t like it, but we can always pretend like it never happened.”

“You’re right,” she agrees, “I won’t like it.”

“So what do you expect me to do about it instead?” He inquires – a question with determined answer – locking eyes with her, and this time she does not attempt an escape. There is something offbeat hidden within her gaze, something that he has never seen on her, feminine but fatale in consequences, and part of him lives for it, soaks it up like a sponge. Thirst and longing is what speaks through him, takes control over his mind – the steering wheel – in order to crash the car if given half a chance – regret-bringing attempts, vain abnegations.

“I want you to…” she halts, as if pondering her next words, picky and never meant to be satisfied, “to, um… consummate our relationship.”

Euphemisms are useless.

“Foolish girl,” he jeers, but she opts for ignoring it, aiming for the long-awaited denouement rather than yet another argument, “you have no idea what you’re asking for, do you.”

Not a question by any means.

“Let’s just give it a try and see where it’ll take us, ‘kay?” She proposes, scooting a little closer to him, knees touching – the simplest of contacts that sends a subtle shiver down his spine. “Say something, please.”

“Okay,” he agrees carefully, slowly uttering the given word, “but I ain’t gonna fuck you, and you won’t ask for that.” Being honest here, she is not sure whether she likes the authoritarian order. “Am I making myself clear?”

“Crystal,” she nods, throat parched and mind foggy all of sudden – unable to come up with a more descriptive answer.

“Come here then,” he bids, patting his thigh – a non-verbal encouragement that might be required sooner than later – as he leans back to rest comfortably against the wall. She follows his command, inching closer and closer towards him until he is able to direct her the rest of the way, settling her on his lap with a bit of help from the girl.

He troubles with recalling the last time he had someone in such position, months maybe, her body heat prominent despite two layers of clothing, fueling him up more than he cares to admit. He should not have even considered it in the first place, agreeing to her proposition, laying down on the bed, letting her join his voyage – mistakes and misjudgments, piling up until he is incapable of seeing the very top one.

(You won’t see anything afterwards, we’ll take care of it.)

“How far are you willing to go?”

(Ha! How diplomatic.)

“I don’t know, really,” she chuckles quietly, or rather nervously, her gaze adverting to the side, “and honestly, I have no idea what ‘far’ means.”

“Fine then,” he brushes off, voice distant, as if the information was yet to reach his comprehension, while his fingers seem preoccupied with her hair again, combing it gently to the side. “Let’s try it differently. Will taking off your clothes be an issue for you?”

“Partly yes,” she admits, nevertheless immediate to rectify her words, just as he suspected, “but not entirely. You know what I mean, right?”

“Perfectly,” he ascertains, with a barely noticeable smirk playing upon his lips – a factor that changes everything about his visage, almost everything to be exact, the glint in his eye that she is unable to place, seemingly mere nuance, yet perspective-shifting. At this point Fabienne is positive she will never forget said countenance – a hunter within a dream, prayer of the night, craver of oblivion, wayfarer without a guide, guide of a wayfarer – one and one man only.

Craig.

The man that currently takes away her privilege to respond, kissing her once again, tasting her lips with cautious precision, as if he had every intention to memorize all those unfamiliar

(not for long)

parts of her, yet to be discovered. As the caress is deepening, his hands slide lower until they settle on her waist, squeezing the soft flesh with enough pressure to receive a breathless, feminine gasp that awakes something within him, a part that has been meticulously buried down, not meant to be dug out, at least not by her.

Despite being barely able to perceive what is happening around him, he still manages to sense how her hands glide smoothly through his longish hair, tugging at the strands for the slightest bit, most likely fueled by carnal frustrations, eliciting a muffled groan from him. The gesture, even if innate and quite hackneyed, is the cause of his abrupt lounge backwards, leaving her in bewilderment, caught off guard, as she keeps their gazes locked, ignoring the fiery blush marking her cheeks.

“Can I touch you?” he rasps, voice huskier than usual, a mundane change that appears to be enough for an almost foreign sensation to blossom in the pit of her stomach, something that rarely invades her body. At this peculiar moment he looks akin to a lunatic – delirious and mind-swept – with restless eyes, heavy breaths, mussed hair – a personification of lust-ridden instabilities that billow in the confinement of his soul, retreating his ability to think straight, to perceive the reality in the way he once used to.

He is a broken man.

(Was, is, and will be.)

She only nods her head, considering the ability of forming words to have abandoned her lately, to which he responds, or rather his body does, as if having a mind on its own, with one of his hands slipping underneath the beige sweater, eliciting a wave of goosebumps, as the pads of his fingers tease the bare flesh. He traces the protruding lines of her ribs, entranced with how they expand in time with each shallow pant, following the path up until he meets with one if her breasts, dragging the very pad of his fingers over the pert nub. She flinches at the contact, attempting to scoot away from him in the first reflex, but he holds her steady with a firm grip of her hip, drawing a breathy gasp from the lass that is immediate to transmute into a quiet, feminine moan.

“Do that again,” she begs softly, her voice small in the empty room, echoing through the long-lived walls akin to a promise of something fresh to perceive, something from the Old Days. ”Please.”

Mere word, breathless promise, bashful request – minuscule nuances that transfigure the whole concept, a potency of mysterious and misunderstood, never meant to be explained – something that remarks certain aspects of his life. She seems to agree with him on this one, idealism be damned, and in face of his lacking responses, she opts for taking the matter in her own hands, covering his own and squeezing afterwards, her eyes falling shut for a moment. Much to her relief, he decides to go along with her, showering her with variety of contradictory sensations, from gentle brushes to harsh tugs that have her squirming in his lap, as her hands ball into fists, clutching on his t-shirt.

She appears as desperate, beyond such to be exact, doe eyes staring at him, now filled with carnal admixtures, foreign in its salacious nature, irking him to pursuit, to break the promise, to take her as soon as possible, before she turns to dust; to relish the moment, and so finally be able to achieve the long-craved gratification. It takes a shorter amount of time than ever implied or expected for all inhibitions to leave his mind, to slip away through the thin gap that separates the door from dusty floor, float into the night.

(She is the devil.)

Gradually, he lifts up her sweater, exposing the sliver of flat stomach, pale skin contrasting with dim moonlight, while the other hands still teases the plush flesh of her breasts. She arches towards his touch, as if in an attempt to minimalize the distance, insatiable and aching for more – mercy that he is willing to deliver.

In accordance with the prior assumptions, he tugs the garment up, coaxing her to remove it the rest of the way, to which she complies, unusually so, tossing it aside on the mattress briefly afterwards. In a reflex that outruns anything else within the dazed man’s mind, his had traces the creamy skin, painting it with invisible strokes that only increase the burning in her core. Truth to be told, she is still a bit too skinny, nevertheless appearing healthier than at the very beginning of their

(damnation)

journey, with more flesh than bones to hold onto. She remains silent throughout the process, with mouth slightly agape and eyes half-closed, until his lips attach to the tender skin below her ear and suck, not enough to leave marks

(yet)

but to redirect her attention, to the point where she utters a soft gasp, tangling her fingers within his hair as if urging him to do pursue.

“I’ve always dreamed of something like this,” she admits, her voice distant, lost between the traces of past, somewhere far away yet ever present. Maybe she is expecting an actual answer this time, however he feels like it would be crude to break the silence, to wash away the calmness, to disrupt the night’s creatures, so he only hums in response, acknowledging that he is, indeed, paying attention. “Craig?”

(He’s not much attentive, isn’t he?)

“Any particular requests you have in mind?” He purrs against her skin, gruff, sending a shiver down her spine.

“Yes,” she nods, retreating a dash from him to meet his eyes, foreheads bumping as she leans into him, free and unrestrained, nipples brushing against his t-shirt distinctly enough to fuel the restless throbbing between his legs.

“Such as…?” He almost groans, all of sudden finding it harder to focus, caught off guard by a mere scrape – details that shift the whole perception.

“Fuck me,” she purrs against his lips, tongue darting out to taste the plush flesh – an act that he would consider ostentatiously vulgar under any other circumstances, however this time he catches himself wishing to experience it once again.

“No,” he counters despite the aforementioned impulse, left to watch how the alluring expression drain from her face, making a place for newfound frustrations and disappointments to blossom.

“Why?” She snorts, not bothering to hide the blunt disappointment as she departs from him, albeit remains settled on his lap for obvious reasons. “Because all of sudden you have some moral values?” No answer. “You think I’m some tart without a taste and self-respect that would jump into any opportunity to fuck someone?”

“That’s not the case and I think we both know that,” he evades, as smoothly as always, his hand brushing her hip in a manner that might be almost considered as gentle, or even sweet, distracting her for a brief moment.

“Then what’s the case?” She inquires, a hint of desperation lacing her voice, carrying all of her inhibitions, all resentments – the evidence of her frailness.

“I think it’s too soon for you,” he explains, all while his thumb is rubbing tiny circles on her skin, leaving a tingling trait behind that somehow manages to break the train of thoughts once more. “I’m not trying to say we can’t fool around from time to time, only that you should wait for someone else, someone more… meaningful to you.”

“You’re such a hypocrite,” she huffs in annoyance, swatting his hands away as she speaks. “Do you even believe in any of it? Honestly.”

“My beliefs aren’t important,” he sighs, suddenly giving her the same impression as before – tired and old, rugged and seasoned, already on his way to reach the inevitable.

“Then why you-”

Depraving her of any chances to finish the sentence, he joins their lips for what was supposed to be nothing more than a chaste kiss, but she manages to break his resolve once again that night, tongue darting out to get a proper taste. It is electrifying, rich, dazing, combined with the manner that she flicks her tongue over his, branding his mind more efficiently than any incandescent rod, a memory never to be wiped. He almost groans in relief when she throws herself into his arms once more, molding her body into his, breasts pressed against his chest in a way that must be painful for such a petite, tender girl, with only the thin cotton of his tee separating their heated skins.

Neither of them exchange a word

(they can only do harm)

after they break apart, and instead, his arms fly up to remove the troublesome barrier that is his t-shirt, exposing his flesh to the judgmental moonlight that only emphasizes the firm physique. Surely not the sublime built man, albeit slim, with nicely shaped muscles, enough to appear as fit and masculine in her eyes, creating an image of something that is certain to hunt her in the few following nights.

She wants to lick him all over.

But yet, she opts for running her hand down the freshly exposed flesh, enjoying the simplicity of said gesture, the smoothness of his skin, sparse hair slipping through her fingers as she rakes them down, scratching his skin as she goes. What bothers her more is the linear pattern of various scars, paining him like an inferior artist would, their texture coarse beneath her fingertips. She cannot help but wonder what kind of story they hold, laced with obnoxious dramatism, or maybe unobtrusive suffering – an answer that he is unable to provide.

(“Better keep our histories to ourselves.”)

Preoccupied with exploring what he has to offer, she fails to notice how his hands shift from the innocent place around her waist to the crease between her thighs, undoing the zipper of her trousers with a graceful flick of his wrist. Without giving her a chance to realize what is happening, as if caught in some lustful trance, he pushes past the fabric barrier, and she jerks at the contact, even if not direct, nevertheless not protesting.

Instead her arms fly up to grip his shoulders for more stable position, her hips raising up – a wordless command for him to push her jeans down the rest of the way. He complies without a word of protest, quick to toss the garment on the mattress, eyes glued to the smooth skin, the contrast it creates in comparison with the dark material of his pants.

“I know it’s ridiculous,” she interrupts herself with a flurried chuckle, “but I’ve never been this nervous.”

“Not much surprising, isn’t it?” He mutters into her hair, holding the trembling body in his arms, fingers grazing her sides in a leisure manner, until she departs from him on her own, doe eyes staring right into his own as if in an attempt to gaze into his soul, to uncover all the impure thoughts he had about her. “But we don’t have to do it if you’re not ready.”

“That doesn’t sound convincing,” she giggles – a reminiscence of all those silly, unstable girls he had a dubious pleasure to interact with multiple times in the past, “and I also think you know what my answer will be.”

“Should I take it as ‘yes’ then?” Nod. “Say it.”

“Yes,” she gulps, invaded with a notion that her declarations appears overly terminal for her own tastes, arising a wave of sudden uneasiness that never fails to sweep Fabienne of her feet.

“Then roll over,” he prompts with a subtle bow – an implication for her to move in a right direction, an inkling that she will feel more comfortable without looking directly into his eyes.

“What?” She shakes her head for the slightest, probably to meet with reality once again, to wipe out the hazy smile currently lacing her lips, unusually confused.

“Just face the wall,” he reiterates, to which she complies, following the path he has set from her, finally laying back to rest against his chest. His arms raise to encircle her waist, one hand settling on her hip, tips of his fingers dipping just below the waistband to tease the sensitive skin there, while she ignores the urge to jerk away from his grip.

She has never been this aware of her body, in a fragmental sense of course, perceiving each part individually, as if her skeleton was not a construction of two hundred and six bones, but instead each one of them was a separate organism. Probably the last aspect that sex is referred to on daily basis, but she has grown to embrace the occasional weirdness that is carried within her thoughts, pushing the unpleasantness in the back of her mind, burring it among other displeasures.

(Reality is a prison.)

While she is maneuvering between the cogitations, his fingers skim past the fabric until they reach the soft crease between her thighs, warm wetness that covers the very tips. She gasps at the alien sensation, fighting the foreign urge to jerk her hips, and instead opts for gripping his forearm, unnecessary tight, but the notion is yet to reach any of their minds, occupied with the Things of Greater Matter.

He is the one to come to senses first, woken up by an irritant stab of pain, caused by her nails, beginning with the simplest of touches, a mere brush over her clit that sends a jolt of electricity up her spine, a tingling sensation that spreads all the way to her toes. A quiet moan slips past her lips in addition, hips raising on their own, already asking for more, more that he is willing to deliver, evident in a way his strokes become firmer, albeit not much yet, since overwhelming her from the very first shot is not his intension by any means.

It feels odd to say the least, considering her lack of experience in said department, excluding those few incidents when she was lying late at night, devoting into aspects she barely had an insight into, out of plain curiosity, not to mention that they were nothing more than a child’s play comparing to this in so, so many aspects.

Begging with the reference towards his fingertips, or rather how much rougher, much more calloused they are than hers, providing a pleasant friction that surprisingly manages to surpass the disturbing embarrassment that blossoms somewhere within her mind. Then her focus shifts to the leisure pace that he has chosen for some reasons, a factor that is rather quick to appear as frustrating, meant to be rewritten – an idea he seems opposed to as soon as her hips begin to grind experimentally against his hand, smearing the wetness over the palm, something that he is supposed to find disgusting, at least according to common decency.

But not this time.

She, in turn, finds herself in a desperate need to speak, to verbalize her cravings, and so speed up the process, yet for some reasons troubles with doing so, throat too tight to let out any words. While he can undoubtedly sense the need, he decides against giving her the relief that comes with acknowledging it, much to her despair, lust-filled frustrations that lace her being into some grotesque knot, impossible to unravel. Not even once before she has felt something in such an intense way, resonating all the way to her toes, abounded in carnalities – the incontestable cause of said concentration issues.

While neither of them is willing to exchange a word, he allows himself to focus more on the girl atop him: her breathy sighs, quiet mewls, and urgent moans – attention that she does not seem to mind at the moment – a factor not as surprising as it may seem. Over the course of various sexual encounters, he has come to one, rather distinctive, conclusion: every woman driven past the very specific point is meant to forget all those make-believe assumptions, along with all of the shame, all of the worry that is carried within.

All in due course, of course.

(Patience is a virtue.)

“Craig,” she gaps in such a wanton manner, his name rolling out of her tongue, as if she was barely capable of uttering a different word, with a tunnel vision that shifts her entire perspective, “I need more.”

“Addictive, isn’t it?” He rasps into her ear, warm breath tickling the tender skin, as his fingers simultaneously pick up the pace, along with the pressure, hips pushing up on their own to meet his movements. “Christ, you’re so wet.”

For what has to be nothing more than just a split second, his exclamation reverberates underneath her skull, resonating all the way to her soul,

(bold to assume you have one)

painting it with wicked, sinful things that block the way back, never again meant to remain unchanged, pure, without flaws – yet another part of the ever-decaying matter. It may sound depressing if put this way, and yet appears as such a perfect match for this world – empty, morose, and dusty.

What has she become?

Apart from the sidetrack of thoughts, she can tell something is just about to happen, teetering on the edge, while bracing for a jump that is yet to come, presumably sooner than expected, insides coiling in anticipation. Vaguely aware of what is awaiting for her at the end of the rainbow, she arches into his touch, willing to speed up the process – innate trait that is carried within every carnal creature, rooted deep within the simplest of structures.

And then it comes, rapid rainfall, tidal wave that hits the shore, arching her back to the point where it becomes truly painful, and yet she is unable to care at the moment, her attention shifted solely to the burning between her legs. Nevertheless, the foreign feeling, impressive in its intensity, is quick to subside, so quick that for a split second she is invaded by an inkling that it was not even real, another creation of a person’s questionable mind, whereas the leftover tingling proves it wrong.

Lost in the delirious aftermath, she shifts in his embrace, locking his hand between her legs, as if to keep him connected, reassuring that he will not be able to leave her hanging there, caught in one of the most vulnerable states possible. Her mouth falls agape a couple of times, before she actually manages to utter a word, still high in the clouds, while the downfall is rather gradual for a change.

“That was,” she murmurs under her breath, barely distinctly enough for him to catch, “quite something.”

(No, it wasn’t. You just fingered a seventeen year old girl until she came. There’s nothing impressive about it.)

(Such a pathetic excuse for a male pride.)

“Wanna do it again?” He purrs, the hoarseness of his voice sending a rapid shiver down her spine, depraving her of any leftover sagacity, but she seems too delirious to care, or even realize.

Either way, she nods her head, spreading her legs again to give him a decent motion range, and as if on a command, he picks up where he left, fingers back to gliding over the swollen folds. This time, however, he reaches past the familiar area, the very tips getting introduced with the clenched entrance. She spasms promptly with the teasing touch, legs shifting in evident impatience, eyes glued to the peeling wallpaper, as if she was afraid to look at what he seems so preoccupied with.

Men are so predictable.

Truth to be told, as her height is gradually subsiding, she experiences some odd composition of contradict emotions that cascades down her, parallel lines that break the law, life-defining paradox. Deprived of any sensible analysis, she faces yet another profound challenge that requires creating at least a reconnection, something that will decrease the sharp juxtaposition, that will smooth out the edges, knock down the wall that separates all disturbing shame from the carnal craving.

Impossible?

Well, maybe.

“Wait,” she interrupts, hand flying to grip his wrist as a simplest move prevention, a tingle of urgency lacing her voice.

“What is it?” He asks, fingers stroking her inner thigh in a tender manner that is so unlike him, as if in an attempt to soothe her ragging nerves.

“I don’t know. I just… I feel so dirty, but at the same want more,” she sighs, her gaze dropping to the hand on her leg, observing how it glides smoothly over her skin. “Honestly, I had no idea it’d be this complicated.”

“Told you so,” he signifies, a dash insensitively, but it would be a lie to deny that over the course of time she has managed to grow accustom with more-than-occasional harsh manners. “But more importantly, do you want me to stop?”

“That’s not the case,” she counters, quick to roll over – a movement that catches him off guard for a split second, jade green meeting hazel. In order to gain some necessary stability, her hands settle atop his shoulders once again, while his, in turn take a steady grasp on her hips. As their eyes remain locked, a realization sweeps upon her, blunt implication that she has been aware of seemingly since ever, hidden in the depths of her soul.

“I like when you touch me,” she admits, her gaze dropping to his chest for a mere second, preoccupied with its rhythmical raises and falls.

“Do you now,” he replies teasingly, a hint of a smirk playing upon his lips – such an unusual sight to behold. “And what are you willing to do with it?”

“Bold to assume I have the slightest idea,” she murmurs against his lips, foreheads bumping into one another as she leans in, brushing his chest almost unnoticeably, and yet the skin-to-skin contact sets his core on fire. Depraved of an ability to speak, as her nipples graze his flesh – dance of death, sinful, macabre image, branded within his mind – a promise of something yet to come – he is only left to watch as she departs from him, longing burning deep within his soul, unusually quick to shred the remaining layer of clothing, tossing it aside carelessly.

Thud.

Although the noise is relatively silent, it snaps something within him – a frail reed – something that forces him to rearrange the grip around her hips to a more convenient one, reversing their positions, her back now pressed to the mattress. She squeals in response to the unexpected shift, then giggles – a girlish sound that he hates so badly, but somehow manages to tolerate under these circumstances.

(You are such a pathetic liar.)

“What are you doing?” She asks, amusement dancing behind her gaze, as she presses a whisper of a kiss at the corner of his lips, knowing well enough what it does to him, and most likely enjoying seeing him in such a state – hair tousled, breathing heavy, so hard it physically hurts. “Thought you said that you ain’t gonna fuck me.”

“Mmm… fuck,” he groans, dropping his head to her shoulder in some display of teenage-related helplessness, a heavy sigh billowing upon her flushed skin.

“Please,” she whines, wriggling below him in an attempt to grind against him. A heavy sigh slips past her lips as her clit catches the rough denim of his jeans, uneven nails digging into his shoulder blades in response to the intense stimulation. “Don’t you feel how wet I am?”

(I do, perfectly.)

“I’m sorry, honey, but the answer is no,” he demurs, with intents to sound apologetic rather than hypocritical, nevertheless managing to fail on every front possible. In face of a clear ability to sense his inner turmoil, her hands slips into his hair, dragging him down until their lips collide, hips grinding in slow, sensual circles, moaning into his mouth, as he responds to the kiss, tongue flicking against hers. Blushing at the thought that concerns what she is about to do, her hand reaches between her legs, tapping his hip on a way to redirect his attention, until her fingers glide over the swollen folds, eliciting a breathless sigh as an innate response to the gentle stroke.

Distracted enough, he breaks away, gaze adverting down, only to be greeted by the sight of her subtle caresses, something that sends a violent shiver down his spine, nevertheless subsided as soon as another thought occurs.

Cheap eroticism is what she indicates.

And he loathes cheap eroticism.

(Such a pathetic liar…)

She whimpers softly as his eyes skim over her form in a scrutinizing manner that she finds oddly arousing, ticking her nerves akin to grass while strolling through a lush lea, evoking an ephemeral shiver – dubious in its existence. What eventually forms an unsolvable conundrum is the expression marking his face – a countenance of contradictories – whereas his eyes burn with something that is supposed to be called ‘lust’ – a word that lays quite far from how she perceives it, hopeless idealist within her decaying habitat.

“Fuck,” he groans, a disclamation of fatigue that is gradually untying the strings of his being, “stop it.”

“What if I don’t want to?” She teases, vibrating with unusual confidence, most likely fueled by youthful greed that has every fiber of her body screaming for completion – a crack within his resolve.

“Won’t drop it, will you?” he huffs, lacing it with a hint of exasperation – an obvious attempt to sound steady and terminal, nonetheless entirely futile, considering the betrayal of his own voice: rough like a sandpaper, breathy at the end. “Fine then. I’ll give you what you’ve been bargaining for oh so desperately, but under one condition,” no answer, “You won’t pull that shit on me ever again. I’m genuinely fed up with your manipulative tendencies.”

“Anything, Craig,”

(Who is lying now, huh?)

she sighs, hands dropping on her stomach akin to some limp ragdoll, eyes piercing through his in a manner that almost causes him to snap back, considering all the entertaining features of the wall above.

Not wasting any more time, his hands reach the belt, fumbling with the tricky buckle for a few longer moments, until it falls apart with a soft click, soon to be abandoned on the floor. He has always considered such an act in terms of something terminal , how the clothes fall on said surface with a dull thud – transition between two phases.

Then come the jeans, all while he is standing up, especially for aforementioned act, watching her like a predator would observe his prey, gaze dark and heavy, burning into her flesh. She squirms slightly, in need to release some of the tension that he has brought upon her, as her legs close on their own, all of sudden bashful in face of inevitable. Lured by the shift, he glances at her figure, now propped on the elbows, quick to remove the remaining barrier, baring his body for her eyes to peek.

In the past he would considered exposure as a line-up for vulnerability, two equal functions, overlapping on the coordinate system, joined for eternity. However, due to the un-going process of so called growing up, or aging as some people might call it, he discovered that as every truth, it holds a subliminal lie.

(Exception proves the rule.)

Undoubtedly, some situations require a different way of thinking, specific approach, at times working out for one and one instance only – a factor that becomes a flawless example, not leaving any space for hesitancies that blossom within the insecure minds, invading them akin to excess weed on the rye field.

Whereas he is too old to hesitate.

“Spread your legs, Fabienne,” he prompts, hands resting on bended knees, the trembling of her frame now palpable on his fingertips. He gives her flesh a brief squeeze – an attempt of reassurance to which she complies, limbs tilting to the sides, inviting him in – a proposition that he gladly accepts, settling between the outstretched limbs. Her calves wrap around his waist, since she feels like keeping herself spread in such way is both awkward and rather inconvenient, the subtle flex of his muscles palpable upon her skin from now on, as he leans in more, nudging her folds in process. She is oddly afraid to look down, considering it is safe to assume that the sight alone is more than probable to scare her away – an opponent for the need to change something in her life, something significant, special even

(every snowflake consists of its unique pattern),

which might as well be yet another example of what the word ‘exaggerate’ really means.

“Don’t look so scared,” he adds, a ghost of a soothing smile passing his countenance, or maybe the result of yet another make-believed creation of her mind. “I don’t intend to hurt you.”

“But it is going to hurt anyway, right?” She ascertains, her lips sewed in a thin line, cheeks flushed, nails digging into his sides in anticipation.

“It varies how much,” an explanation that clouds her brain with even more unsolved matters, rather than satisfy her, but she takes it anyway, deprived of a better alternative.

One last glance is thrown over her, one eyebrow perked up in query – all it takes for her to give a brief nod of reaffirmation, followed by an even softer “yes,” slipped past her trembling lips. To say she felt nervous would be a mere euphemism, her stomach doing somersaults, anticipating the inevitable – yet another paradox, to be afraid of what one wants.

Absurd.

Seemingly out of nowhere, his hips snap up, forcing a choked cry out of her throat, nails clutching at his sides, hips withdrawing from his in a reflexive reaction to the sudden intrusion, nevertheless the sting appears as not quite willing to subside, at least as willing as she would like it to be.

“’M sorry,” he groans, gravel and sandpaper, rough and guttural. “Too fast?”

“Yeah,” she agrees, troubling to catch her breath, lungs seemingly unable to fit all the required air inside, so she gladly accepts the merciful halt – an opportunity to enjoy the moment, or rather examine all the merest sensations that come along: a scrape over her inner walls, fluttering pain that follows, and the pulsing fulfillment, so foreign in its nature.

To say she wants more would be a mere euphemism.

“Craig,” she gasps, engraving his name in a manner that sends yet another electrifying shiver down his spine, caught in a breathless anticipation, “do something, please.”

And who is he to deny her anything?

His hips rock forward, experimentally still, intending to check her reaction, to ascertain she is, indeed, ready to pursuit, to which she responds with a movement so innate, flawless in its borne simplicity – a push towards his body. The whole act seems so surreal to him – a throwback to the teenage years – as if he could not believe it was real, as if it was yet another dream, supposed to end up in no time – sharp, blinding finale – while he is wishing for right the opposite. Nevertheless, the conclusion is evident, maybe off-top but still obvious: the damned lass has a vice tight grip, so unfitting to the fragile exterior – a threat to blow it all up embarrassingly quickly, something that he is determined not to let happen.

“You gotta relax, darling,” he hisses through the gritted teeth, failing to contain the trembling of his own muscles – an evidence of his efforts.

(Easier said than done.)

She only manages to utter a soft hum in response, eyes shutting tight, as if it was supposed to help her focus, ribcage rhythmically expanding with each cautious exhale. Briefly afterwards, she regains the partial control over her own body, dubious in its effectiveness, however lacking in a better alternative. Still and all, her muscles relax around him, as if coaxing him to move, and he complies without further objections, hips snapping forward with a relieved groan, forcing a feminine squeal from the woman below.

The sensation is odd to say the least, revoking contradict reactions; in one hand her body welcomes it, relieved and thankful for the long-craved stimulation, while in the other she cannot help but wonder how close is the correlation between this and being ripped in half – the neighboring house or just the room? In spite of that she somehow grows accustomed with the unusual stretch, still in genuine hope that what now is just a dubiously comfortable fullness will transform into the so-called pleasure sooner than later, or more straightforward – that her suppositions are meant to be confirmed.

One thing for certain – Craig seems to enjoy it more than she does, in fact his countenance speaks for itself: eyes half-closed, not quite meeting hers, mouth slightly agape, labored breaths audible in the empty room. Nevertheless, he utters almost no sound as he rocks into her, not that she finds his manner surprising, rather predictable, that he will not outstand the day-to-day lack of words, if not for the occasional grunts she would suspect the deafness. The previously so-called ‘soft baritone’ has managed to transform into something gravelly, guttural – a change that is gradual, yet evident with every following groan, scratching her ears in one of the most pleasant way.

However, as the time passes and her focus shift more towards the commencements of something that might as well be the pristine bliss, so fussed-about, her insides coiling in a telling way, relish flicking over her nerves. She arches toward him now, determined for an increase, whether in pace, or depth – a gesture that he takes for granted, relieved to hear her subconscious purr.

“Mmm… give me more, I want more, please,” she chants, voice betraying her akin to a pack of cigarettes hidden insides teenager’s wardrobe, tremulous and desperate. Urging him to react, her nails dig into his sides, drawing a pained hiss from the man above, who is quick to grasp her by the calf and drape one of her legs over his shoulder, forcing a surprised cry from the brunette below.

As if on some grotesque command, all of the purpose air leaves her lungs, refusing to get back inside, insides clenching around him uncontrollably, to the point where he suspects he might have overestimated her for quite a bit – a matter that she is quick to rectify with the simplest of acknowledgments – a kiss, a slow, sensual kiss. Another mellow, feminine mewl slips past her lips, as if meant for him to swallow, something that still lies beyond her self-control field, and being honest here, she has been wishing to make it happen for quite a while – allow herself to be vulnerable.

The last liberty that this world tolerates.

While with him it all seems possible, at hand, licit when accompanied by him – foolish, silly lies, a factor that remains unnoticed for her own good. By any means, it is not sub rosa that she often find herself stuck within a constant dream, dream that considers aspect beyond her reach, aspects that do not fit the New Order by any means, but lead an ever-present life rooted deep within her consciousness.

Someone to love.

(Long live the idealists!)

Back in the temporal world, his lips detach from hers softly, drawing her back from the alien reverie, as they linger for a bit longer, brushing the plush bottom lip with such tenderness that it catches her off-guard for a brief moment. However, he is immediate to strive for the contrast, picking up the pace seemingly out of nowhere, eliciting a reedy whine from her that, in turn, makes him twitch in anticipation for more – a craving not willing to subside just yet.

While she writhes below him, attempting to match his pace, he takes his time to eye her once more that night, gaze fixated on the subtle swings of her breasts, desire-awoken flush covering her neck, all the way up to the glassy eyes, staring right at him. He maintains the contact, tongue flicking out to moisten his lips – a gesture that she subliminally repeats – as his grip around her thigh perceptibly tightens, fingers digging into the flesh, muscles flexing with effort.

She is able to sense the change lingering in the air – a prove that something is lurking in the shadows, just around the corner, waiting to be discovered, prearranged for her and her only – a notion that has never supposed to be awoken in the first place. Another shiver runs down her spine, as his pupils dilate even further – two pools of pitch black, surrounded by the thin rim of hazel – mesmerizing, yet malevolent – crossed by the protruding scar that has never appeared as more ominous before.

His vicious tendencies has always been quite obvious to her – nothing more than survivor’s traits that are incrementally developing as they descend further into madness, or as some prefer to address it – pursue with life. Nevertheless, the raging ardor, shadowing his gaze, evokes a wave of goosebumps upon her skin, to the point when she barely manages to fight the urge to look away, and it creeps her more than she cares to admit. The thought itself sends an excessive shiver down her spine, and while she is expecting the shift sooner than later, she sincerely doubts he is meaning to hurt her in a severe way, although is well aware that whatever is slinking within the deeps his soul lies beyond her comprehension.

However, the aspect itself might as well be labeled as two-faced, consisting of twain seemingly contradict components: trepidation that has never supposed to be a turn-on. It is ironic, indeed, but at the same time factual, more than she cares to admit, partly wishing it have never occurred in the first place.

(Some things are better left unsaid.)

(Craig?)

She would have to be blind to miss it – the glimmer hidden behind his gaze, sinister, ominous, maybe also be the closest to his true form she will ever get, the intimidating, dark, and mysterious alter-ego that might be just another prove of her dramatic tendencies.

She almost screams when he pushes her leg away and his hands settle on the junction where her neck meets the shoulder, more than certain that he is just about to crash her windpipe, and yet nothing like this happens. Instead, his mouth falls open, incoherent words rolling down his tongue, some barely audible, outshadowed with delirious passion, one of a kind and only for her to catch, to irk her ears in the most sinful way – a promise of what is just about to come.

He wishes he would be able to determine for how long he has been wanting to make it happen – another immoral craving within this rotten world – and truth to be told, he is barely capable of containing his rapacity, not only in the physical sense but also spiritual, excitement evident within his movements. Aside from that, he can sense how close she is, clenching around him rhythmically, hips raising on their own to meet his thrusts, and when their mouths collide, she utters a relieved moan, her insides spasming for the second time that night, seemingly more violently than before, which might as well be yet another exaggeration. Sadly, this is not the right moment to get lost in the sensation, since impregnating

(such a loathsome word)

her is the last thing he aims for, and accordingly so, he pulls out, painting her chest with a splash of whitish liquid.

Still lost in the delirious, post-orgasmic bliss, she barely acknowledges the change, lying boneless and spent on the old mattress, mind numb for the first time in quite a while, which might be the real reason why people are so attracted to anything sex-related – a moment of obliviousness – willing to pay even the most ridiculous, sky-high price for the shortest of intervals.

“Pretty auspicious bargain, isn’t it honey?”

* * *

A letter is all she left, a promise of a better world, carried within a fragile sheet of paper, last promise she wanted to verbalize – harsh words for such a tender lass. Ironically, she seemed secure for the first time in her life, blunt edges of defined characters burning into his skull, whispers of life that she had left behind.

They held no pain.

No, they were soaked in it, ‘hold’ is a mere euphemism.

For years he thought he could felt nothing, not a mere scrape of sorrow, fear, desperation, but also some distant felicity, distant calmness – something that she has brought upon him, priceless gift for all their years together. Still in the Old World, she used to claim ice-cream truck music was her favorite sound, always the one to stand first in the queue, while he never had that particular fondness towards the cooling treat, nevertheless accompanied her every single time in case she would hurt herself.

She was always so clumsy.

Not a fit for this world.

So similar – an explanation point,

Reason why he is fond of Fabienne.

Melodic voice, jade green eyes.

“What are you thinking about, Craig?”

The Downfall of Humanity.

Created: 07/26/20

Completed: 11/01/20

Edited: 11/03/20

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lollercakesff · 5 years

Text

Happiest Place

Pt 2 of 3 (pt 1 here) for @katia-dreamer

“I've just got us a Fastpass for Flight of Passage - wanna go now?" Diana says over the roar of the coaster taking off in the other direction.

"After, yes. We're almost at the front," I reply, shifting my gaze around the room and seeing that mop of messy curls again.

I couldn't believe, out of everywhere in this huge park, he'd managed to end up in the same place as us. Again. And not for the first time since the pool - I was starting to think he and his family were following us, even though that was as ridiculous as the sun rising in the west. I just couldn't shake the feeling that every time he was around it felt like a tickle at the back of my neck, a hint of recognition sparkling within me.

"Anne, stop staring already," Diana sighs from beside me, lifting her hand to tap my cheek and draw my attention away from where I'm watching him advance forward in the line. "You'd think you were spellbound by the way you look at him," Diana continues teasing with a laugh.

"Am not!" I cry, wrapping my arms across my chest as I scuff the floor with my shoe.

"Oh, come on! You keep looking at him with daggers in your eyes. But like, attractive daggers," she continues playfully.

"He called me 'Carrots', Di," I moan.

"Yeah, but - "

"One with them," the ride staff interrupts, pointing Diana off after a group of riders. She goes and I'm left alone to watch as she buckles in and shoots me a bright thumbs up.

It's only another few moments before I'm tapped forward and following behind someone who snakes around and switches with a group in front, his hand pointing me towards a corral near the front. I round the final bars and stop short, eyes wide as I look up towards my shadow.

"Carrots!" He greets brightly as I scowl.

"You!" I grumble and push by as the barrier opens. Dropping into the seat I cross my arms over my chest and look off ahead, avoiding his attempts at interacting as I try to freeze him out of my existence.

"What are the chances of seeing you here?" He says as he settles in beside me.

"It's a small place and the world is cruel," I grumble in return.

"Come on, it's the happiest place on earth! How can you be so upset?"

"Upset?" I bark, looking at him as he pulls the security bar down on our laps. "You come out of nowhere, insult me, and then continue to stalk me while I'm trying too enjoy myself and - "

"Well, wait just a minute there - I'm not stalking you. At all. And how did I insult you? I've barely said - "

"You keep calling me 'carrots'! Even though you know my first name is Anne! With an ‘E’! And - "

"Oh, I didn't - I'm sorry, I won't call you that again - "

"- you haven't even introduced yourself either - "

"Easy, I'm Gilbert Blythe - "

"Ready? On three," the ride worker calls and counts down, the car jerking forward abruptly as my argument dies in my lips. My hands grapple for the safety bar as we turn around the bend up ahead.

"Now that you know my name, why don't you tell me the rest of yours?" Gilbert continues as though the ride wasn't creeping up a mock Mount Everest and making my heart hammer in my chest.

"Please dear Providence, save me from myself and the - Oh god…" I moan and close my eyes as we reach the peak. The front of the car tilts over the edge and I swear aloud, gripping the bar and letting loose a feral scream as the ride takes off down the track.

We're twisted this way and that, through a dark tunnel where we're blasted with cold air before bursting back out into the bright Florida sun. I barely know what's happening - the conversation long forgotten - as we climb up another rise and see the tracks twisted overhead.

"But where…?" I gasp and look around for what's coming next, panic rushing through me as I see no exit. I hated sudden drops. I hated them with a passion that burned like a tar fire. "Oh no, oh dear, oh no," I mutter and sit back with my eyes closed, terrified of what comes next.

The fall backwards is abrupt and unexpected and the only thing tethering me to my seat is Gilbert's hand wrapped around mine, his matching shouts of exclamation ringing in my ear.

When we finally come to a stop I release my held breath, looking around me with wide eyes as I unclench my fist and straighten my mess of red hair in an attempt to hide my moment of fluster.

"You're an excellent roller coaster buddy, Anne…?" Gilbert says as the train pulls into the loading area. The bar lifts and for a second he just stares at me, his lips slightly open and his eyes searching mine.

"Sir, we need you to disembark," the operator calls and Gilbert seems to come back to himself, getting to his feet with a shot and reaching his hand down to help me out.

"Well, this was nice," he says as he holds open the door to the gift shop for me. I enter the space and gasp as the air conditioning sends a shiver down my spine. "Perhaps I'll see you around again," he adds before looking over his shoulder at the man I'd seen him with at the pool.

"Maybe you will," I answer and scan the room for Diana, quickly finding her absorbed in the pins section.

"Bye Anne with an E," Gilbert says one last time and after a second of waiting for my lack of response, he turns and heads towards his group.

"Hey Gil," I call out, finding my voice as he stills and looks back towards me. "It's Shirley - Anne Shirley."

"Much better than a vegetable," he chuckles and smiles, my heart skipping as I grin back at him.

Maybe it wasn't so bad to keep seeing him around.

-----------

"So where do you hail from, ladies?" Bash Lacroix asks as he looks up from where he's crouched over his stroller. Little Delphine coos and Diana sighs, looking over at Mary Lacroix and smiling widely.

"She is just so precious," Diana remarks, looking between the group we'd met on the bus this morning.

"We're from PEI but have been studying in Nova Scotia for the past few years. Diana is interested in Early Childhood Education so forgive her if she gets distracted by Dellie here," I add, watching with a wide smile as Diana plays peekaboo with the baby.

"Really? I have family out there. Almost moved back too when I wasn't sure if I was going to school in Toronto or not," Gilbert replies.

"He still would, if he finished med school early and got a placement out there," Mary adds with a warm smile. I take to the woman's warmth easily, finding the first hints of a kindred spirit in her the more we talk.

From what we'd learned already in the line this morning, the trio were on their first trip to Disney to celebrate Gilbert's first year of school and Dellie's second birthday, the small mixed family having come together after bonding over hard times in the city. Mary and Bash had taken Gilbert in after his father died, giving him a place to call home until he could go off to school and in return Gilbert had been an uncle to the little girl, bringing her up like his own whenever they needed a helping hand. They were a tight knit group and I envied the family togetherness when Marilla and Matthew were still back home and so far away.

"How about you? What do you do in school?" Mary asks, leaning towards me.

"I'm studying English is all," I respond simply as Diana scoffs and stands up fully.

"Please! Anne is the smartest person in our class. She's starting her master's next year and is head of our student union. Plus she founded a local improvement society back home and is an advocate for better children's aid services. She won a major scholarship to fund her graduate program which is why we're here to celebrate," Diana finishes, out of breath as she sings my praises. I elbow her gently in the ribs, silently urging her to slow her accolades so I didn’t sound too impossible to exist.

"Uncle Gilly here sure knows how to shoot for the stars, doesn't he?" Bash chides playfully, holding his daughter's hand and smiling up at us.

I catch Gilbert's eye across the group and feel my cheeks heat, his smile only widening as he mouths 'sorry' my way.

When it's time to board the Millennium Falcon, Gilbert takes up the handles of the stroller and spins it on its wheels, heading out the exit as we're handed cards with our roles printed on them.

"Where's he going?" I ask as I look up from my card to watch him go.

"Gilbert doesn't take well to motion sickness," Mary says with a chuckle, looking at each of our cards. Both hers and mine read 'pilot' and she grins up at me, raising her hand for a high five. "Looks like we're steering this ship!"

"Great," I answer, though it's anything but. I didn't do well with motion sickness either… and now I was doubting my ability to survive this ride if others were bailing. Maybe I should too.

Ten minutes later and I'm crashing the ship into the ground, nauseous and dizzy as I hobble out of the room. Pushing past everyone I make for the fresh air, falling against a droid garbage can and relinquishing my breakfast inside it.

"Woah, easy there killer," Gilbert says from behind me, his large hand resting between my shoulder blades as I groan in embarrassment. "Guess the visuals were a bit intense?"

"I thought I was going to puke on the ride," I mumble as I finally stand up. Gilbert is already standing with a bottle of water open for me, a package of Gravol in his palm.

"I can see that. Take this and let's sit down," he instructs, placing the items in my palm and steering me towards where the stroller sits and the rest of the group has settled in the morning sun.

"You gonna be alright, Annie?" Bash asks, concern in his brow as he looks between us.

"I regret everything," I admit as Mary sighs and settles me down beside her. Diana joins me on my other side and pulls my hair back from my face and off my neck.

"It'll pass. The world is steady. Just remember how bad you felt on the ferry that one - "

She barely gets her words out before I'm pushing away and clutching at the trashcan again, the memory hitting me like a tonne of bricks. The water that day had been particularly rough, in my defense.

By the time I'm finished and able to sit up straight again, the group has already disappeared in search of food, leaving me alone with Gilbert at my side. He continues to ply me with water, his gaze skating over me as I brush sweaty hair back from my face.

"Feel free to go get something to eat too," I grumble eventually, rubbing at my face and unable to meet his gaze.

"Funny enough, I don't have much of an appetite," he jokes and squeezes my shoulder.

"I'm sorry for that."

"Oh no, it's not you. While you guys were in there I got this ronto wrap thing and it had like two different kinds of meat and this spicy - "

"Nope, no," I interrupt, lifting my hand and grappling at him, my palm connecting with his face and tripping over his lips before he pulls it away. Where I expect him to drop my hands as soon as I'm clear of his space, he doesn't, instead linking his fingers with mine and turning towards me.

"Don't worry. It'll pass and you'll be back to eating every delicacy this side of the moon," he says with a chuckle, watching me with a steady gaze.

"Thanks for this - for not being a dick while I'm sick, even after how rude I was to you before," I add with a smile, secretly enjoying the heat of his hands around mine.

"No problem. I figured it was only fair since I did compare you to a root vegetable," he replies softly.

We slip into a comfortable silence then, his thumb rubbing circles across the back of my hand as his body leans towards mine. My tongue darts out to wet my lips and I don't know what I'm thinking about doing when Diana clears her throat from beside me.

Was I really leaning in for a kiss? After puking for most of the morning? Who was this version of me and why did she lack the ability to think clearly when one Gilbert Blythe was in her presence?

"I see you're feeling better," Diana chides, settling down beside me as I pull my hands from where they’ve settled in Gilbert’s lap. I shoot him an apologetic look and lean my head against my friend’s shoulder to curry favour with her and try to hide the growing closeness between Airport Man and myself. The last thing I needed was to fall for someone from another province in another country when I should be having the best time of my life.

#awae secret santa #secret s-anne-ta #@kindredspiritssecretsanta #awae fanfic #@katia-dreamer #anne with an e #anne of green gables #anne x gilbert

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kurtty-drabbles · 5 years

Note

King of Anything (EW!verse)

N/A: LOLITA AU

@djinmer4

The bed with white and blue sheets cover most of the young woman´s silhouette, yet, the man in the bed does not seem to mind. "You look pretty with your hair down, why you don´t use this style more?" the man even goes as bold as he can and touches the free lock of her chestnut hair.

Doe eyes regard the man with a bemused expression. "Because that´s bed hair and father wouldn´t like to know why my hair is like that, Kylun" Kitty Pryde declares as she starts to dress herself up.

"Yeah, he would not like his student and daughter" there´s an implication in the word daughter that Kitty knows very well "together in bed"

"Which is rich coming from a manslut like him," she said and then adds "Are you regretting this deal?"

"Not really, I was surprised someone with such angelical face as you would want just sex, but, hey, I´m not complaining"

"You better leave, father, is coming back...now, get out, if he catches you here..." she says and Kylun does not need to be told twice to know how Kurt is insanely protective of Kitty.

In fact, Kylun and many others notice how Kurt is too protective of Kitty and rumours are spreading. As Kylun is dressing himself up, Kitty hands him his red cape, but, he shakes his head. "You can have it"

"Why? Is your cape?"

"But, is similar to your father and...I think you will like the cape much more" Kylun said politely and there´s no goodbye kiss or love confession, it was pure sex. Kitty watches the man leave thanks to a spell and Kitty is holding the cape.

The necromancer has one scarlet cape just like that, in fact, Kylun was wearing this cape when Kitty notices him...it was so similar to her dear father.

"Oh god, what the hell is happening with me?"

___________________________________________

The necromancer is back and his castle and everyone waits eagerly to see him, some wait for fear of what he will do if they didn´t show the proper reaction he wants, while some are genuinely happy to see him.

Barbara and Lucy are the blue daughters that first greet the necromancer. They are blue, they have golden eyes and Barbara have a copy of Kurt´s tail.

Kurt can shower them with such paternal love. As much he is evil and loves it, Kurt loves his family and has no problem in spoiling them. Barbara and Lucy are talking excitedly about the time they spend in the school. Terrorizing the teachers and students Kurt is sure(and never get caught, he´s so proud)

But, there´s a difference now, trying to not smile too much Kurt asks for one person that never truly left his mind. "Katzchen, aren´t you going to greet your dear ...father?"

Kitty goes and hugs him, hoping with all her heart, that the hug is just like Barbara and Lucy. It isn´t and she knows it. She can feel him smelling her hair and neck gentle as his hand ghostly touches her neck, well, actually touching the lock of hair that was in her neck. He wants to see more of her skin.

"You are wearing your hair down?" Kurt asked and Kitty notices how now her hair is down(didn´t she pull on a bun? then she looks at his tail toying with her hairpin and she can see what´s happened) "You look beautiful with your hair down"

Kitty´s heart is beating way too faster. "Well, is just hair," she said as Kurt refuses to leave her not that Kitty is even moving an inch.

"And...you´re using the perfume I gave you?"

"Is...just perfume," she said and Kurt comes closer than he was before and Kitty thinks he would do something more and even so, Kitty does not move.

"You put in all parts of your body? You are smelling even better" Kurt said and this makes Kitty blush, but, she acts grumpy to cover up.

"As I said, it is just perfume"

_________________________________

A huge party is being prepared for the necromancer, who conquer another country, the man was reading a book, well, Kylun was summoned to his office and can´t see for sure what book is this.

The bamfs? Kylun gives up on trying to understand them as they are being hostile with him.

"Ah, Kylun, there are you!" Kurt said with a faux happy voice " Did you heard about my latest victory?"

"Yes, master, I did," Kylun said and the bamfs still send him cruel stares.

"Good, you did help me a lot in that campaign even if you...didn´t seem to want to be there" Kurt said still with that book, "but, you help me, and I do think I should reward you. How about go to Eldora?"

Kylun can´t deny that this was his greatest wish. Sadly, he never got the money to travel to Eldora.

"I know about your money issues and I think after all this time you help me, I can help you, I book a passage to you to Eldora" Kurt now has the ticket and that faux smile "I know, I know very well that this is your dream, to return to your ancestry home and stay there, so, why not help? A good deed never hurt anyone"

Kylun takes the ticket checking to see if is true. It is.

"Master, I ...don´t know what to say, I always want to go to Eldora..." kylun is babbling and Kurt still keeps that faux good mood.

"Glad you like, but, there´s a catch...if you want to go to Eldora...you must go now"

Kylun didn´t even stop to thought about this. "Of course, I will do my package right away, thank you, master"

And Kurt sees Kylun leave. Now, the smile is gone. The man gives the book, a slightly salmon hue to one of the bamfs. "Barbara and Lucy are still talking with Kitty in the library, I know them, they will talk about each detail of this party...return the diary where you found" and the bamf did just that.

Kurt remains with the others trying to mull what he just read and looks to his real scarlet cape. "and she still goes to that poor imitation? what bad taste she has"

___________________________________________

The party is being held. Ororo and Hank, the resident couple, are more than happy to have something to celebrate and Kitty likes to see them dancing happily, even if the party is not ready yet, and saying romantic stuff about the past...Kitty is a bit jealous because she can´t have that.

The woman goes to take a bath and tries to think of non-erotic stuff, she wants to be a good daughter, she needs to be one, otherwise, what will happen to her?

As she is about to take her blue dress, her father enters her room, Kitty throws a pillow at him hard. "Knock!" she said a bit anger, what if she was naked? What if he really didn't care?

"Sorry" his eyes spot for a moment that cape and pretend to not notice "I´m here to talk with you" and gesture Kitty to sit next to him in the bed, Kitty´s dress is still open while she is fully clothed.

"First, Kylun moved to Eldora," Kurt said and Kitty nods, everyone knows is his greatest dream to go back to his homeland. "it was a reward for him, the man helps me too much"

"I see, well, that was a nice thing you did, Kurt," she said and Kurt watches her face for a moment until he smiles happily.

"And the second thing...You didn´t ask for a present, Katzchen"

And she can feel his finger travel on her naked back and Kitty is trying to hide her blushing face behind a grumpy attitude. "Well, can I save for a raining day?" the finger stop travelling and Kitty can feel how cold his finger is and...how she shouldn´t enjoy the sensation.

"No, I want to give you a present...do you want my cape?" Kurt asked and Kitty looks away for a moment. "Lucy told me you always like that cape"

"Lucy always talk too much, besides, is your cape...that´s what makes special" and adds looking into his eyes "if you...if you want to give me a present why not a blue rose?"

His tail wrapped around her waist and gentle rose her. Kurt hugs her as he materializes the blue rose with ease. Kitty is impressed, she reads too much tales about blue roses and even in her adventurers(a secret her father can´t know), many magic users tell how rare and hard is to find a blue rose.

Kurt puts the rose, free of thorn, and puts the flower in her hair as improvised hairclip all thanks to magic.

"Now, you own me favour!"

"Of course" she rolls her eyes.

"Don´t be like that, you know, I don´t do things for free, even to my favourite" cue to Kitty rolls her eyes again.

"What do you want?"

"That you dance with me! only with me"

Kitty blushes and nods.

"Fine, now, go, I must take a shower" he smiles at her and Kitty will ignore the smile as Kurt will try to not imagine her naked. Both fail.

___________________________________________

The party was a success as everyone hoped for. Kurt, while having many women giving attention to him, only dance with Kitty. Again, people do talk about the necromancer. Rumours fly so easily.

As the party is over and Kitty ended up falling sleeping in his room, still with her new dress on, Kurt admires her with a dreamy look on his face. Kitty Pryde is a sight that only he should have the privilege to see. The man gives her a kiss and knows is not paternal in the slightest...nothing he feels for Kitty is paternal or platonic.

Someone knocks on his door and Kitty almost wakes up, almost.

"What?" Kurt asked in a foul mood, is one of his messager who delivers the documents he requests and the messenger is smart enough to run for his life.

Is an envelope saying that Kitty Pryde was never his biological daughter. As if Kurt the necromancer didn´t know that already.

"It does not matter, she´s mine and mine alone"

#ew verse au #lolita au #evil wizard kurt #kitty pryde #pseudo incest #kurt is evil here and pervy #kitty is falling for it #the blue daughters know what´s up?

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haledamage · 5 years

Link

Pairing: Female Cousland/Nathaniel Howe

Story Summary: Cathain Cousland had been in love with Nathaniel Howe for as long as she can remember. It doesn’t take long after they reunite in Amaranthine to realize she still is.

Chapter Summary: The party makes it to Blackmarsh and regret it almost immediately.

Hey, so I posted this on Friday as a text post, but for some reason tumblr decided to hide it from everyone and make it not show up in the tags. So I’m posting it again like this in the hopes that it won’t be invisible. Text under the cut if you’d prefer to read here instead of ao3

Cait was awoken the next morning by Byron’s sloppy puppy kisses on his triumphant return to camp. He climbed all over her, tail wagging furiously, until she was able to push him away enough to sit up.

She rubbed his ears as he nuzzled at the poultice on her forehead. “Hey, buddy. Did you finish your mission from Nathaniel?” He barked happily and she laughed. “Good boy. Who’s my fierce Grey Warden? Who’s the best pup in Ferelden?” Byron rolled over on his back so she could pet his belly. “That’s right! It’s you!”

He wouldn’t leave her side all morning. She had to eat breakfast, change into clean clothes, and buckle her armor back on with Byron’s shoulder pressed hard against her hip. He didn’t back off until they were on the road again, and even then only far enough that they wouldn’t trip over each other.

They walked at a slower pace today than the day before, wary of another ambush, but the conversation flowed easily enough. It wasn’t much different than her travels before; different faces (except Oghren), but the camaraderie was familiar. Last time she’d traveled in a group this small, though, had been after Lothering, and she missed the comparative safety of a larger group. At least this time her friends mostly got along. Compared to trying to travel with Alistair and Morrigan at each other’s throats, being Commander of the Grey was a walk in the park.

“You know, Oghren,” said Anders cheerfully, “maybe we should get you a shield. While it’s only the four of us, you might be more useful as a meat shield than… whatever you call it that you normally do.”

“You know, Anders,” Oghren said, less cheerfully, “maybe we should get you a set of armor so you won’t fall apart like a wet paper bag if a darkspawn walks too close to you.”

“Maybe we should get Nate a sword,” Anders added.

Oghren giggled. “Heh heh, do you think he knows which end to hold?”

“Would you like to find out?” Nathaniel growled.

“Nah,” Oghren was laughing so hard now he stumbled, almost collapsing to the road. “Wouldn’t want to make the Commander jealous.”

They were still a day out from the Blackmarsh, and even though it was early afternoon the sky grew darker with every step. It felt heavy, like a storm was coming, but the darkening sky remained cloudless. The ground started to feel softer, springy under Cathain’s boots, and the air smelled of still water and rotting vegetation and something sour that stood out from the normal marsh scents.

Cait stepped up to the front of the group, where Nathaniel had taken the lead. He had his bow in hand, sharp eyes on the thickening woodland for anything amiss. She waited until he glanced her way until she said anything; he looked liable to jump at the slightest provocation.

“What do you remember of Blackmarsh?” She asked quietly. Something in the air made her want to whisper.

“Ghost stories,” he replied in the same hushed tone. “Tales Adria and your Nan used to tell us to keep us out of it. I never really thought there was anything to them until now.”

“Is that why I could never convince you or Thomas to come exploring with me? You were scared of ghosts?” A bird exploded out from a nearby bush, startled out of hiding by their passage. Cait gasped and reached for her blades, her heart hammering against her ribs.

Nathaniel steadied her with a hand on her shoulder. His laughter was warm in her ear. “Yes, how silly of us, to be scared of ghosts. Would that we all had your fortitude.”

“I’m just saying,” Cait said. She stepped away from him reluctantly, trying to ignore the prickle of Oghren’s and Anders’ stares on the back of her neck. “Going to explore a spooky swamp would have been an excellent excuse to have two or three days alone.”

“Then you should have led with that then,” Nathaniel practically purred at her, “or left your friends at home now.”

Cait stared at him slack-jawed. “You are a cruel and wicked tease and I hate you,” she told him with no real heat behind it.

His laugh pushed back the encroaching darkness a little.

——-

It was two hours past full dark when they finally stopped to rest, though it had been dark long before the sun had set. The gibbous moon hung large and nearly full in the sky, but none of its light seemed to make it down to their little fire.

They set up camp in silence, the shroud over Blackmarsh stifling conversation as quickly as it started. Cathain hoped they wouldn’t be there long, that they wouldn’t need to spend a night in the swamp itself. The shadow of the marsh felt like a living thing, like icy fingers on her neck. She found herself twitching at the smallest breeze, as if even the air and trees were her enemies, and saw the same niggling fear in her companions’ eyes.

Once the stew was started, Cait turned to find a place to sit down and nearly ran right into Anders. He grabbed her shoulders to keep her from falling into the fire, looking startled for only a moment before his face rearranged itself into a familiar sly grin. “Throwing yourself at me already, Cait? What will the others think?”

When she didn’t push him away immediately, still trying to regain her balance, Anders stepped a little closer. He grabbed her chin in one long-fingered hand and gently but firmly forced her eyes to his. Those eyes didn’t hold any of the smile still painted across his face, and he studied her shrewdly, almost clinically.

“Are you going to kiss me, mage?” Cait whispered, because it’s what she knew he wanted her to say.

“Only if you beg for it, Commander.” He stared at her for another long moment before abruptly releasing her as if it had never happened. “Looks like you’re mostly recovered from your incident yesterday. How’s your head?”

“Attached. Bit of a headache, but I can function through it.” She stood where he had released her for a second, getting her bearings. Just when she thought she had a handle on who Anders was, he did something like that. She shook herself and sat down on the nearest seat by the fire. “You could’ve just asked, you know. You didn’t have to get all handsy.”

“You’d just lie. You’re lying about it right now, in fact. Besides, how could I miss out on the look on his face?” Anders nodded behind her. Cait followed his gaze to Nathaniel, who was past the edge of camp gathering firewood. He was too far away to hear them talking, most likely, and he was frozen just outside the light from the fire. The look on his face was… complicated. “Your boyfriend looks like he’s about to have an aneurysm.”

“He’s not my–” Cait started, an old habit, but Anders interrupted with a scoff.

“He wants to be. You want him to be. I’m not stupid, Cait, despite appearances.”

“It’s not like that. It’s never been anything… official.” She thought back to summers past, sneaking into his room after everyone was asleep and back to her own bed before dawn, stealing moments in shadowed alcoves.

Cait pried her eyes away from Nate back to the fire. She wrung her hands in her lap, suddenly restless. “His father would never have approved.”

“His father isn’t around anymore, if I recall.” He popped a piece of dried fruit into his mouth. “Just something to think about.”

“What’s something to think about?” Nathaniel asked gruffly as he joined them by the fire.

“I’m trying to convince our stubborn and illustrious leader to take tonight off,” Anders lied easily. He threw a piece of fruit at Nathaniel, who plucked it out of the air and threw it back. It hit Anders in the forehead. “Ow!”

Nate sat down across the fire from them. “Is your head still bothering you, Caitie?”

“It’s tolerable. Really. You all worry too much.” It was worse than she let on, a sharp spiking pain that increased in the bright glow of the fire, but she could tune it out enough to do her job so she wasn’t quite lying. Still, she was happy to latch onto the lie Anders offered. “And I already told you, Anders, I am not a child, and I don’t appreciate being treated like one.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” he sighed as if they actually had been having this argument for a while. He was a frighteningly good actor. “I’ll let you take a shift tonight, under the condition that you take first watch with Nathaniel instead of a watch on your own. You still get to be useful and I don’t have to worry that the concussion you still have - and I can see it in your eyes no matter how pig-headed you try to be - will cause you to lose focus while you’re alone.”

Oh. So that was his game. Cait felt backed into a corner. “I… deal,” she said through clenched teeth. “But for the record, I am fine.”

Dinner that night was a somber affair, the darkness so thick Cathain couldn’t see anything past their little circle of tents. Even Oghren was remarkably sober and silent, two things she’d never seen from him before. He went to bed immediately after he was done eating and, after more waggled eyebrows and pointed looks, so did Anders. Bryon settled at her feet with a weary boof.

As soon as they were gone, Nathaniel came around the fire to sit next to her. Byron put his head in his lap and he absently scratched the dog’s ears. “What is with him tonight?” He asked quietly, nodding toward Anders’ tent.

“He fancies himself as a matchmaker, apparently.” Cait sighed, too tired to try and come up with a convincing lie. “I guess they don’t teach subtlety in the Circle tower.”

“He’s about thirteen years late on that,” he chuckled. “I was under the impression that he knew that.”

Cait ignored the accusation in his tone, and said, “I think he’s read too many of those romance books Delilah liked to read. He’s disappointed I haven’t fallen helplessly into your arms.”

“I think I remember those books,” Nathaniel murmured, smile warm in the deep darkness. His voice shook with barely contained laughter. “Aren’t I supposed to be wearing a billowy shirt with the breeze fluttering through the hair on my chest? Perhaps while reciting poetry or staring longingly at the ocean?”

“You have chest hair now? Mmm, that’s new.” Cait pushed that image out of her head, lovely as it was. “I think the billowing shirt is supposed to be under your armor, which I remove with my dainty and trembling fingers. Probably while wearing a clinging silk dress.”

“Hmm, dainty, trembling, and helpless. If I had to pick three words to describe you…”

Cait covered her face with her hands to stifle her giggles. “I’ve never been very good at playing the damsel.”

“Aye,” Nathaniel chuckled, caught up in her laughter, “but I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Cathain felt her face flush, pleased and embarrassed in equal measure. She started to undo her braid so she wouldn’t fidget, unplaiting it and combing it straight with her fingers. “Your accent’s gone a bit Marcher,” she said, to change the subject a little and fill the oppressive quiet.

“Has it? I suppose it makes sense, but I never noticed.” He scratched at his jaw, running his fingers over the layer of stubble accumulated from two days on the road. It seemed like the same nervous not-fidgeting that she was doing, and drew a fond smile to her lips.

“I like it. It's…” it helps remind me of how much time has passed, it makes you sound less like your father, it does interesting things to the butterflies in my stomach when you say my name “nice.”

He didn’t say anything in response. Instead, he just stared at her in the flickering firelight, looking like he was trying to solve a puzzle and the answer was written somewhere on her face.

Cait tried to stare back for a while, but the intensity and curiosity in his gaze left her flustered, so she turned back to the fire instead, trying and failing to see past it into the woods around them. The night may as well have been a wall of black stone; neither light nor sound nor wind penetrated it at all.

She gasped as Nathaniel’s warm, calloused fingers touched her cheek. Her hair had fallen into her face now that it was freed from its plait, and he pushed it gently back behind her ear.

“I’ve never seen your hair this long before,” he said softly. Cait could barely hear him over the pounding of her heart.

“I… haven’t had much opportunity to cut it.” Her face felt hot again and she had trouble meeting his eyes.

“I like it.” Nathaniel traced his finger along her jaw, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. “It’s nice.”

“You stop that,” Cait said, flustered. She pushed his hand away resolutely, but he didn’t let her back away entirely, catching her hand between his. He still had his archery gloves on and she still had her fingerless ones. The contrast between cool leather and warm skin was… intriguing.

“‘Shy’ isn’t a word I’d use to describe you either,” he said with a sweet smile.

“We are supposed to be working.” Cathain couldn’t look at him, but she didn’t try to pull her hand back. “I have enough trouble concentrating with this blighted headache, I don’t need you being…” she couldn’t think of a word, so she just waved her free hand in his direction, where he sat too close and entirely too pleased with himself, her mabari asleep halfway in his lap.

“Okay, okay. No more flirting tonight.” Nathaniel still sounded far too amused with himself. He released her hand, but didn’t stop staring. “It seems I’m a bit rusty anyway.”

Cait crossed her arms over her chest. “Right. I’m sure you didn’t have Marcher girls throwing themselves at you,” she said, and was surprised at the amount of bitterness she heard in her own voice.

Nate started to say something and she cut him off. She stood up abruptly and put a few steps of space between them. She said in a rush, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… I’m just being grumpy. It’s none of my business anyway. I’m going to go walk perimeter for a bit, make sure nothing’s trying to sneak up on us.”

She stepped out of the light of the fire and into the solid night before he had a chance to reply.

——-

Cathain was awake just before dawn. It was a pretty normal occurrence for her - especially out on the road - and she was dressed and ready in time to join Anders in silence as the sun rose at the end of his watch shift. It didn’t do much to brighten the gloom of the Blackmarsh; even with the sun fully up, their camp was surrounded by deep twilight, but it at least pushed back some of the oppressiveness of the night.

Her headache hadn’t gone away. It settled as a dull throbbing behind her right eye. Anders gave her another once over, thankfully less hands-on without an audience, but couldn’t find any evidence of lingering injury. Most likely, it was an adverse reaction to the Blackmarsh itself; with luck, their business there would be done today and her head would clear as they left it behind.

She managed to do a passable job of avoiding Nathaniel for the most part, keeping conversation strictly on professional terms. The darkness helped; none of them had much energy to spend on conversation with the weight of the marsh pressing them down.

It gave her a lot of time to think. Too much time to think. She hadn’t really thought much about what Nate might have gotten up to in the Free Marches outside of training. He’d always been very serious, even as a boy, preferring quiet and solitude over the taverns his brother Thomas frequented or the balls and parties Delilah enjoyed.

But… well, 8 years was a long time. They had agreed not to wait for each other; they hadn’t known if or when he’d ever return to Ferelden, if she’d ever get the opportunity to join him up north. He hadn’t wanted to leave her with just 'someday’.

But she had waited. She was still waiting. Had he?

Cait’s feeling on the matter shifted wildly as they walked. Sometimes she was resigned: it didn’t matter what had happened before, it was in the past. Sometimes she felt possessive; she wanted to shove him against a tree and put her mouth and hands on him until he couldn’t remember any touch but hers. Sometimes, more than she would care to admit, she felt self-conscious. She wondered what kind of women he would have met in the Free Marches. Women like in the romance books they’d talked about, fair and dainty, with long flowing hair and soft hands that had never touched a sword.

She wore her hair down instead of braiding it back up. She hoped he’d comment, but he didn’t. All he did was stare; every time she looked his way, she found that he’d already been looking at her.

Around midday, they reached the swamp proper and progress slowed to a crawl. The mud sucked at their boots, the trees clawed at their hair and clothes, and every instinct Cait had screamed Run! Leave! Get out while you can!

She wished she was surprised when they found the first Fade tear.

“I hate the Fade,” she muttered vehemently. She crossed her arms defensively across her chest, tense for trouble as Anders did the Mage Thing, inspecting and hopefully repairing the rip in reality.

“What should we expect?” Nathaniel asked softly. He walked up to stand next to her as they watched Anders.

Cathain felt the weight of his hand on her back, one small point of connection. She didn’t move away. “If we’re lucky, just demons. If we’re unlucky, demons and weird shit. If we’re really unlucky, we get knocked unconscious and our spirits are sent into the Fade, where we have to deal with weird shit at the whims of a demon.”

“I feel like there’s a story there. Maybe you can tell it to me over drinks sometime.” His voice was very close, but she refused to look and see just how close he was. Distraction could be fatal right now, and Nathaniel Howe was nothing if not a tall, blue-eyed distraction.

She did feel warm and a bit giddy at the suggestion, though. She found her voice enough to say, “Okay. I’d like that.”

——-

Their second attempt at working together in combat went better. It helped that blighted werewolves were not subtle creatures. It helped also that they had expected to be attacked for days, since the darkness set in.

Cait and Oghren made a point to stay apart, harrowing the same enemy from opposing sides so one of them was always flanking. It gave room for Nathaniel and Anders to sling arrows and spells with impunity, and Bryon stood back to stop anything that tried to approach them.

“Did they bite or scratch any of you?” Cait asked once the last werewolf fell. She inspected the bodies as if they held a clue to the Blackmarsh’s mystery. They remained enigmatic. “We’re immune to the taint, but not the werewolf curse.”

“We’re all fine, Caitie,” Nathaniel said, tense and alert for more enemies. “I don’t think we should dally here.”

He was right, of course, and they moved on as quickly as they could. Cait really hoped Kristoff hadn’t actually come here. She’d really like to find a living person at the end of one of these wild goose chases for a change.

She wasn’t so lucky. Kristoff’s camp was only recently abandoned. A few days, maybe a week at most. Long enough for dust and debris to settle in his cot, for the embers of his fire to burn out, but his tent still stood and the things within it - notes, a chest with a few simple belongings, a couple days’ worth of food - hadn’t been reclaimed by nature or predator.

Cait tucked his notes carefully into her bag and sighed. “I’m sorry, Kristoff.”

Nathaniel’s hand found her shoulder again, gave her a warm squeeze. “We might still find him.”

“Yeah,” said Anders, sounding much less optimistic than Nate. “Maybe he found what he was looking for and left. Maybe he’s back at Vigil’s Keep right now wondering where you are.”

She touched Nate’s hand briefly before she stepped out of his reach. “Your optimism is noted and appreciated. I hope it serves you for a very long time.”

The town that had once been here was clearly abandoned, the buildings long since rotted away to skeletons and husks. It did not, however, feel empty. It felt as alive as if the entire population had just stepped out for lunch. Which, Cait supposed, was what the ghost stories said. That they all disappeared one day but their spirits still lingered.

She kept looking over her shoulder as they walked, catching flashes of light and movement in the corner of her eye. She tried to convince herself it was the trees or the sun glinting off the water, but there was no wind to blow through the bare branches of the trees, and the sun was hidden behind deep clouds and didn’t reach the still lakes.

Everything in this marsh was creepier than the last. A huge, mostly intact dragon skull. An ominous ring of tall stones with a pedestal in the center, untouched by the ravages of time. A scavenger hunt leading to a proposal, a glimpse into the lives and love of people long gone.

Cait held the ring in the palm of her hand. The gold was still untarnished, the green stone set in it clear and bright. “I wonder if she would have said yes,” she mused.

Nathaniel’s voice was soft, contemplative. “Maybe they’re still together, wherever they are.”

“You are such a romantic,” Cait murmured, much more fondly than she’d intended.

“One of us has to be.”

Cait slipped the ring on her finger. It fit. She stared at it, fascinated. It made her feel strange in a way she couldn’t quite understand. Like catching a glimpse of herself in another life.

She caught Nate watching her and removed the ring and shoved it in her pocket, embarrassed.

Not much farther along the trail, they found a body of a Grey Warden - and something much, much worse. They were like giant grubs or maggots with almost human-like faces. If humans had mandibles like a spider and too many malicious, beady black eyes. They were in her blood, clearly darkspawn, but the pitch was wrong. Not the warm hum of her fellow Wardens or the buzzing undercurrent of normal darkspawn, but a high pitched whine that sent chills across her skin.

One of them tackled her, much faster than they should be. She got a dagger up into its mouth, stopping its mandibles from clamping down on her arm. Oghren brought his axe down on it, bisecting it in one blow and only barely stopping short of getting her as well.

In the wake of these… monsters came something even worse, because that was apparently the kind of day Cait was going to have. A hurlock approached them and, like the one that had almost killed Varel, introduced himself. The First.

He spoke haltingly, with a mouth not made for human languages. Of a Mother, of The Children, of big problems about to fall on the heads of those Cait had sworn to protect.

She drew her blades and The First raised his hands and Cait discovered that her day could actually still get worse.

She stared up at the hazy, grey-brown sky, at the Black City always in the distance, and said with every ounce of rage in her soul, “I. Hate. The Fade.”

“Are you sure you’re not a mage?” Anders asked, looking more comfortable than any of the rest of them. Maybe mages were more used to traveling the Fade outside of dreams. He leaned against a barrel that appeared to be floating a foot off the ground. “Because you must have some sort of psychic powers.”

“Yeah, it’s called 'deja vu,’ Cait grumbled. She put a hand on Oghren’s shoulder to steady him as he silently freaked out. She wondered if the Fade looked different to dwarves, since they couldn’t come here in dreams like others could. She wondered if he was the first dwarf to ever walk in the Fade. She’d ask him about it later, once they had stone under their feet again.

"So we just… need to find the demon at the center of this and kill it?” Nathaniel asked, wary but surprisingly composed all things considered. “Or find The First?”

“There’s usually a trick to it,” Anders said. “Something like… the exit’s through a small hole and you need to turn into a mouse to escape. Or you have to find the demon and convince them that sending you home is their idea.”

“Or we can just go join that mob over there,” Cait pointed toward a gathering of spirit villagers, torches and pitchforks at the ready. “The demon’s probably keeping them there too.”

They walked through the town of Blackmarsh-That-Was, the buildings tall and clean, chickens and townsfolk alike ignoring their passage. No children, that was weird. Down an alley, Cait saw a man being dragged off by unseen hands; that was weirder.

And weirdest of all, the one inciting the mob was a Fade spirit.

That’s what he had to be. Cait remembered Wynne’s tales of the spirit of Faith that had saved her life and of other spirits that represented positive traits - charity, valor, compassion. As this spirit clearly was not human and also didn’t resemble any demon she’d ever met, she felt comfortable with the assumption.

She hoped he was what he appeared to be, but… well, worst case scenario they were still trapped here. Best case, they made a new friend and they all got out of here alive. She’d take her chances.

#nathaniel howe #cousland/nathaniel howe #dragon age #dragon age awakening #dragon age fic #cait cousland #cait/nate #rhi writes #cait and nate have the opposite problem of kai and aloth #in that they keep wanting to blurt out FEELINGS and have to remind themselves they've only been reunited a month #I hope people can see this one #I thought it very strange that literally no one even acknowledged it before #shoulda known it was tumblr bs

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