#Prophet's face is how I feel about this situation

[izels-writing]

j. potter — how forever feels! [4/?]

Pairing: james potter x hopeless romantic!fem!reader

Summary: the stars have aligned and you and james’ futures have intertwined.

Warnings: fake dating!!!, backstory specific reader, mentions of DV!! (TW), mentions of violence, mentions of alcohol addiction, james potter is a sweetheart!! (Let me know if i miss anything!)

PART ONE — PART TWO — PART THREE — PART FOUR

a/n; i lowkey forgot abt the series until a few days ago 😓 but im graduating soon so i have an excuse!!

TAGLIST: @hisparentsgallerryy @ilovejamespottersomuch @eli-com @froggiedragon @butterflygxril @d1lf-loverrr

let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist!

the train ride from hogwarts was fun, but nerve wracking. you were afraid of meeting james' parents, even with everyone assuring you they were the sweetest people on the planet. what if they didn't like you? what if you intruded on their family time?

you bounced your leg anxiously as you flipped through the daily prophet, not actually reading anything. james, ever the observant boyfriend, put his hand on your thigh to stop it. he broke away from his conversation with remus, peter, sirius and b/f/n—who had taken to becoming friends with you all as well.

"you alright?" he whispered, squeezing your thigh gently. it almost grounded you.

you nodded. "yeah, yeah, why wouldn't i be?"

"well, you're vibrating," he pointed out.

you sighed, putting the newspaper down in your lap. "i'm utterly terrified, like i could throw up right now if i had had breakfast,"

"what're you nervous for?" james chuckled, turning to look directly at you. it was one of the many things you liked about him, whenever you spoke to him, he gave you his full attention.

you bit your lip. "well, i just thought we'd keep our parents out of this whole situation—i mean, what if your parents don't like me?" you asked quietly, low enough so that b/f/n, sirius, remus, and peter didn't hear you guys as they carried on their own conversation.

james gave a thoughtful look and smiled softly at you. "they're going to love you, if i like you, they'll love you too. as for the whole parents thing, i don't have to meet yours—i'd like to, but i won't force you,"

you frowned slightly and nodded. you didn't want james to meet them, not because of him—he was perfect and respectful—but because of them. you had a lot of issues at home, issues you didn't need anyone but b/f/n to know about. "yeah, it's probably best you don't meet them. but are you sure? you're sure they said it was alright for you to bring me around?"

james tried to not appear hurt that you didn't want your parents to meet him. and if your face was anything to go by, you hadn't realized it. instead he forced a smile.

"they were ecstatic to have you over," james assured, squeezing your thigh once more. you felt a jolt of heat through your body from his warm hand but said nothing.

"okay, okay," you let out a breath. "i'm good, i'm okay,"

he smiled at you, in that soft, comforting and gentle way he always did. he wrapped his arm around your waist and quickly returned to the conversation between your friends, ignoring the stinging in his heart at your rejection of him meeting your parents.

——

as you, remus, sirius, and james got out of the taxi—your heart was thrumming loudly in your chest. you went to grab your stuff to carry it inside, but james beat you to it, shouldering both your and his luggage gracefully.

"i can carry my own things, james," you chuckled nervously. you certainly didn't want his parents to think you demanded he do these things for you.

"yeah, no, my dad always says that a lady can carry her own things but it doesn't mean she should," james recited, doing an awful impression of his father. you, caught off-guard, laughed.

"well, ladies and remus," james added with a grin, satisfied that he'd made you laugh. he nodded over where sirius was carrying his and remus' luggage.

you rolled your eyes playfully as the four of you walked up to the front of the house. potter manor was huge, littered with windows all around the outside and gave a huge wooden fence to wrap around the backyard. from one window, you could see the library. a built-in library!

james and sirius walked up first, james opening the door with his key. he finally pushed the door open, all four of them stepping inside.

"we're home!" he yelled out to no one in particular. as you stepped inside, you could smell sugar-cookies being baked.

"oh! monty! they're here!" a beautiful voice exclaimed, walking quickly out of the kitchen. you four were met with a tall, tan woman with dark hair and hazel eyes. she smiled widely—and she almost looked like james when she did.

"mum!" james grinned, throwing his arms around his mom. remus and sirius went next, hugging her tightly. you stayed back, smiling at the display of affection they showed her. as they pulled away, her eyes landed on you and you chuckled.

"hello," you smiled softly.

"mum, this is y/n—my girlfriend," james smiled, putting his hand on the small of your back as he introduced you to his mother.

you stuck your hand out to shake it, but she shook her head. "oh, you're even more beautiful than the picture sirius sent me of you two! come here!" she smiled widely, bringing you in for a bone-crushing hug. you chuckled and hugged her back gently, feeling a sense of relief.

she pulled back. "fleamont potter! get over here now!" she yelled out. you all flinched at the woman's stern voice, but you were even more surprised when she turned back to you with a gentle smile.

"excuse my husband, he starts working in his study and it takes a village to bring him out," she chuckled.

"it does not!" a manly, kind voice called back. your eyes widened as you looked at james' father. he was the exact replica of james.

he was hot.

"boys!" he grinned, pulling all three of them into a hug. remus blushed, though not entirely noticeable as the attractive older man pulled him into a hug. you smirked subtly, hiding it as you pretended to wipe your  nose. remus glared at you playfully.

"dad, this is my girlfriend, y/n," james introduced, smiling between you and his father.

"it's nice to meet you," you smiled, shaking his hand.

"merlin's beard, mia's right! you are even more beautiful in person!" he chuckled, shaking your hand kindly.

you felt your cheeks flush a deep pink and this time it was remus' turn to laugh subtly at you. "thank you, sir. thank you both for allowing me to join you this holiday," you smiled.

"of course! we've been dying to meet you!" james' mother exclaimed happily. "now why don't you get settled into james' room while i finish baking these cookies?"

james looked at his mother. "don't you need any help, mum?" he asked politely. ever the gentleman he was.

"no, no! show y/n around! i'm almost done anyway, besides you are disastrous in a kitchen," she joked. she moved you all up the stairs, pushing you toward the bedrooms. you giggled at her comment and she smiled in response.

james led you up the stairs, a hand on your hip as you walked up first. sirius and remus followed suit, exchanging knowing glances as you approached the top of the stairs.

"your house is amazing!" you gasped quietly. "it's so nice—and it has two floors!"

"thank you, mum and dad are really proud of it," james replied.

"you're very special, y/n," sirius teased. "she only makes sugar cookies when it's a special occasion,"

you smiled. "well, they smell delicious,"

sirius grabbed remus' hand, leading him to his own room. "we'll be in my bedroom, settling in, don't come looking for us!" sirius smirked, dodging remus' smack of his head.

you and james turned to each other and laughed, walking into his bedroom. you felt your heart thrum again, you'd never really been into a boys bedroom before. you marveled at the room, seeing the various trophies and quidditch posters and...snow globes?

"snow globes?" you questioned before you could stop yourself.

james blushed lightly. "uh yeah, i like collecting them. have no idea how the muggles did it!"

you chuckled. "they're cute, i like them,"

james set your stuff down by his bed as you sat down in it. you lied back and groaned softly, feeling the softness of the mattress.

"god, your bed feels like heaven," you mumbled.

james grinned. "you do not want to know what i was thinking," he laughed.

you titled your head back, getting a view of him upside down. you laughed. "clearly, i don't,"

"so, i figured i can sleep on the floor?" you asked.

james gave you an incredulous look. "why would you do that?" he asked.

"well, it's your bed, y'know...? i figured it'd be in bad taste for me to sleep in it," you explained as though it were obvious.

he shook his head. "look, if remus or sirius come in here at night and see either of us sleeping on the floor, our cover will be blown! we have to sleep together!"

you bit back a smirk. "maybe you should reword that,"

he blushed lightly. "you know what i mean! we can have a clear boundary line if you want, but we're both sleeping on this bed," james cautioned you.

"alright! alright!" you gave in, a little easier than you should've.

"lovely, now let me show you around," he smirked. "wait until you see the library,"

you jumped up. "library?!"

——

the last few days, euphemia—who made you call her such—had tried her hardest to make you feel at home. she cooked a dish you'd mentioned only once, she allowed you to help her decorate the tree, and she baked you various baked goods. by the end of the holiday, you were sure your pants wouldn't fit anymore.

meanwhile, fleamont had a more calm approach to making you feel at home. he let you read the newspaper in the morning after you were done with it, given you were the only one interested in it, and even secretly let you use his coffee-maker—despite making it off-limits to the boys.

nonetheless, both of them made you feel right at home. you couldn't even remember why you had been so nervous in the first place.

over the past few days, the heat at night had also ceased to work. the potters liked to keep it cold in the house, and give you were easily cold, you shivered yourself to sleep each night—stealing most of the cover from james, who managed to sleep shirtless.

you had borrowed his hoodie and his sweatpants to sleep and even then you were freezing. you were practically vibrating under the covers. james, who could feel you shivering beside him, had yet to fall asleep.

"are you okay?" he whispered.

"how are you not freezing?!" you whisper-yelled. he looked down at his shirtless torso and shrugged.

"just warm-blooded, i suppose," he replied quietly.

"well, i'm not! what the hell!" you replied harshly.

he frowned. "anyone ever told you that you get cranky when you're cold?" he asked teasingly.

"anyone ever told you i'm going to shove my wand up your arse if you call me cranky again?" you spat back. he laughed quietly and you felt a smile grace your face for a moment.

you did get cranky.

"come on," he said suddenly, sitting up. "let's get you some warm tea,"

you nodded quickly and sat up, hesistant to throw the duvet off of your body. but james pulled it off, despite you pulling it away from his grasp. you curled into your body. he sighed and reached over, picking you up off the bed and setting you on the floor on your feet.

"you're such a baby," he whispered.

"and you're a meanie," you whispered back.

"are you five?" he snapped back. you frowned and shoved him gently, walking with your arms wrapped around his one arm. he was warm. really, really warm.

james lead you both into the kitchen and seeing you grimace at the cold floor, he lifted you onto the counter—you taking the opportunity to hold onto his biceps as he did so. he placed you on it and slid over to the stove, pouring water into the kettle before placing it on the stove.

he got out two mugs and grabbed your favorite tea, that was conveniently stocked at his house despite the fact that he had never heard of it before you mentioned it. he placed two bags into each mug.

"thank you again," you smiled softly.

he chuckled and looked at you, eyebrows furrowed slightly in confusion. "what for?"

"inviting me here for the holidays, making me feel at home, it was really kind of you. i didn't want to admit it, but i was afraid of spending christmas alone..." you explained, smiling lightly at him.

"of course," he grinned, shaking his head. "you don't have to thank me for that, no one should spend christmas alone. especially not my girlfriend..."

"fake girlfriend," you reminded joking even though you really hated making the distinction.

"right, fake girlfriend," he chuckled. he looked away and stared out the window.

"are you alright? i can tell something's been on your mind...what is it?" you asked gently. you studied his face, he looked conflicted and a little sad.

"it's nothing..." he replied softly. he tried his best to give you a reassuring look. but it really looked like he was a kicked puppy.

"james, come on. just tell me, i know you," you assured. "whatever it is, it's okay,"

he took a deep breath. the tea kettle began to hiss and he quickly walked over to take it off the stove, pouring the boiling water into each mug. you cursed the very specific coincidence and frowned. he handed you your cup and grabbed his own, leaning against the kitchen island across from you. there was about two feet of distance between you both.

"james..." you said.

"i know this is fake and all, and i never want to pressure you into anything, but...i just gotta ask...why don't you want me to meet your parents? you barely wanted me to meet your sibling," he blurted quietly, looking at you in the eyes.

you sighed and set the tea down beside you, leaning forward slightly to look him in the eyes. "it's not because of you, if that's what you think..."

"then what is it?" james asked quietly, placing his meg beside him as well.

you took a deep breath. "my parents are not like yours... my dad used to be a drunk, used to hit my mum, me, and my sibling. my mum for a time became a shell of a woman. but she stayed, because she loved him. because she wanted us to have a father,"

you cleared your throat, feeling a ball rise to your throat. "two years ago, he got into an accident—almost killed him and my mom," you explained. "he vowed to get sober and to his credit, he did."

"but i just can't see him as anything other than the angry man i grew up with. and he tries to fix it with me and my siblings, but the way i grew up? that's never going to change." you shook your head.

james' expression softened. "i'm sorry, i made it all about me..."

you smiled lightly and shook your head. "it's okay, you couldn't have known.."

"can i ask...?" he mumbled, losing his confidence before gaining it quickly again. "is this why? why you're scared of love?"

you swallowed thickly and nodded. "yeah, i suppose so... i never want to be stuck with a man who treats me like that because i love him..."

james shook his head. "well, thinking that's what love looks like isn't true. you should know, you read all of those romance books,”

“reading about love and experiencing love are two different things,” you countered. “besides, i wouldn’t know what love feels like.”

he pushed himself off the kitchen island, walking over to you and standing in between your legs that were hanging off the counter. he place his hands on either side of you.

“maybe i can show you?” he asked softly.

his face mere inches from you, you looked down at his lips for a second before looking up again. you took a deep breath and smiled softly.

“how do you propose you do that?” you asked quietly.

“like this.” he mumbled.

he leaned close you your face, his lips brushing yours. the second they did, it was like a fire ignited in both of you. you quickly pulled him close by his neck, crashing your lips down onto his. he slid his hands up your thighs, before settling them on your waist.

it was unlike any other feeling you’d felt before. your lips molded together like they were made for each other and you knew you were running out of breath—but you didn’t care. you could kiss james potter forever if this is what it felt like.

after a moment, he finally pulled away, his glasses askew slightly. james rested his forehead against yours and you grinned, fixing his glasses.

“if it wasn’t clear, i think i’d like that very much,” you smiled.

“oh it was clear, alright,” he grinned teasingly.

after a few minutes of sipping at your tea and talking like you hadn’t just kissed (breaking rule number one, mind you!), you both returned upstairs. you were still freezing, praying to all things holy that his room had warmed up a bit from the time you were downstairs.

it did not.

you carefully got under the duvet, james doing the same. nonetheless, you were freezing.

james wiped his eyes and began to yawn, closing his eyes for a second. he opened them again and peeked over at you as you started shivering again.

“c’mere,” he muttered sleepily.

he grabbed your waist and pulled your closer to him, wrapping his arms around your waist. your back was to him, so you turned around swiftly and placed your cold hands on his chest. he was hot and not just in the aesthetically pleasing way.

“thank you,” you muttered.

“anything,” he grinned through closed eyes, peeking down as a proud look dawned over his face as you curled into him.

within minutes—you were asleep.

——

“y/n, honey! do you want to help me make the christmas eve dinner?” euphemia potter asked, leaning into james’ doorway as you sat there. you looked up from your book and grinned, nodding quickly.

“i’d love to,” you replied. you quickly followed the woman down the stairs, tying your hair up.

“i’m making roasted ham plus some other vegetables and sides,” euphemia grinned. and eerily, she still looked so much like james—it almost freaked you out.

you could’ve sworn you drooled as she explained. “sounds delicious, euphemia,” you smiled.

“start by cutting those vegetables for me while i prep the ham,” she instructed kindly, settling beside you as she prepped the ham with all the seasonings.

you were quite skilled with a knife, so cutting the vegetables was an easy task for you.

“who usually helps you with this?” you asked curiously, though a little afraid you might’ve take someone else’s job.

“oh, just me, dear. i can’t trust those chaotic boys in the kitchen, no matter how much i love them,” she chuckled. “fleamont helps where he can, but the man could burn water somehow,”

you chuckled. “well, i’m glad im here then. to help you,”

she smiled widely. “i’m glad you’re here too and not just for your help. merlin, i’ve never seen james’ relax so much since that evans girl came over. i liked her, but you’re a breath of fresh air. he really cares for you, dear,”

you blushed. “thank you, i’m glad to be here with him. and you all. you’re all so kind and welcoming, nothing like how it is at my house. usually there’d be some fighting, holidays are a bit tense for my family,”

euphemia frowned. “well that’s no way to spend time with family,”

“tell me about it,” you agreed.

“you’re welcome here anytime, y/n. i know i’ve been a little overbearing these last few days, but i want you to feel welcome,” euphemia laughed.

“you’re not overbearing and thank you,” you smiled at her.

a rush of footsteps came down the stairs, all three boys in the house were dressed for the cold weather. they were going with fleamont to do some last minute shopping. james smiled widely at the sight of you and his mother bonding over cooking.

“dad! we’re ready!” sirius exclaimed. you smiled softly at the fact that sirius had been so welcoming into the family—especially given his biological family.

fleamont came out of his study, dressed for the cold weather as well. he grabbed the pouch of floo powder from the table and smiled at his wife. “well, we’re off, honey. is there anything you need while we’re out?”

euphemia thought for a second. “i don’t believe so, you four have fun,”

james looked at you. “do you need anything, y/n?”

you smiled and shook your head, cutting the last vegetable. “not at all, you have fun.”

“well, let’s go boys, to diagon alley!” fleamont announced, all four walking over to the fireplace. one by one, they used the floo network and disappeared in the green fire.

euphemia quickly finished the ham and put it in the over. she turned to you and smiled.

“well, we have a few hours before they’re back,” she smiled, almost mischievously. “now, i normally wouldn’t do this—but you’re almost of age,”

she walked over to a cabinet and pulled out two wine glasses along with a bottle of wine. your eyes widened a bit in surprise and you laughed. “mrs. potter, how scandalous!”

“oh, what they don’t know won’t hurt them,” she waved off. she poured you both a glass and you both settled on the couch.

within fifteen minutes, you’d both almost finished the bottle—and the wine drunk talking had ensued. it was a rare occurrence for you to get wine drunk, but you only live once.

you doubled over in laughter as euphemia continued to tell her story, holding onto the couch for support.

“and then, mr potter asked me to marry him!” she cried in laughter, joining you in your laughter.

you laughed. “after all of that? merlin, the man has balls,”

she laughed. “yes, well, i said yes anyway. i love him, he’s a good father and a good husband,”

“james is a good boyfriend,” you commented, smiling softly at your own mention of him. “he’s so kind and understanding. he always listens and i just don’t remember my life without him,”

euphemia grinned. “well, potter boys have that affect. i would know,”

you smiled sadly. “i just don’t want to lose him,” you added.

“believe me, dear, you won’t,” she assured.

but she didn’t know what you did. she didn’t know your arrangement would end once lily evans plucked up the courage to ask him out. and you couldn’t even tell her.

“yeah, you’re right,” you lied smoothly, taking another sip of wine.

[mayasaurusss]

Hi! New anon here (🦠). Won’t ask how you’re feeling because we’re all in mourning and in shambles, but what do you think Lottie would be like with a reader who’s an Antler Queen? Lowkey LottieNat-leaning, but reader was the one who got chosen, and now they’re in the spring, and Lottie is THE prophet while reader is THE queen.

Thank you!

Her queen

A/N: Hello my dears, I am back! (I think). This isn't the best of my works and my writing has some improvment to do after my hiatus, but I tried to make it make sense.

Also, let's all welcome dear🦠anon eveyone! I require a round of applause please. Enjoy!

Oh Lottie, the workshipper that you are.

That winter day, when the snow was raging outside and the cold seeped inside the wooden cabin, she consulted with It, asked It what they could do to survive the winter.

When she heard Its voice echo inside her ears, cold as the icy wind and hoarse as a murder of crows and as billions of ghosts’ whispers, she couldn't believe what It was asking, no, demanding of her. You, out of everyone?

That day, she questioned herself whether the Wilderness was real, or a figment of her own imagination. But an order it’s an order, and like the true devotee she is, she compiled. 

When she came into the room, everyone’s faces looked harsh, distant, barely holding it together. The dance of light and shadows the fire projected into the room and onto their faces only added more depth to the seriousness of the situation. Had she been good at art history, Lottie could have confidently said that she had been transported into a baroque’s painting world. Or Victorian gothic, or whatever.

She couldn’t see you at first, not behind the bloody pulp of meat that was left in place of her left eye, not with you away from the center of the room, hidden in the dark, protecting yourself from what was happening. From what was about to happen.

You always looked so precious to her.

Natalie was always It's favorite, but you were always hers.

You were too busy drawing imaginary doodles on the floor, trying to do anything to forget this place to see her walking towards you. Her and your friends’ faces morphed into confusion, anger and jealousy as she arrived at your feet. Only when the fireplace’s lights were gone from your eyes, did you look up. Standing above you, the light shone around her, creating a halo around her figure. She looked almost holy to you, had her face not been shrouded in darkness.

“It chose”.  

Adorned with an antler crown, you order, help and try your best to hold the group together.

You are a beacon of light, a hope inside the darkness. Someone she can count on, someone she knows will lead all of you to safety. 

Lottie is utterly obsessed with you, even more so after you became the Antler Queen. She treats you like a god.

She gives you her share of the food, stuff your clothes with fresh medicinal herbs, kisses you goodnight every day, when the sun goes down, right in the middle of camp, in front of everybody. She looks up at you with love in her eyes, as if you were a gift the Wilderness sent her, for how good of a devotee she was.

Speaking of kisses. Charlotte, previous to the crash, had never been too much into public displays of affection. And, more than that, she never confessed anything about her little crush for you. But after everything went to shit, it’s like a cloud obscures her judgment. She had always felt this need to tell you, to come and sit down next to you and whisper in your ear “I like you”, but never had the courage.

That’s until the Wilderness itself made you their queen, and from then on, all her fears and doubts melted away.

On one of those afternoons when the air gets warmer and the light shines longer, she comes to you. You were sitting down on a log, letting time pass while you carved a figure out of wood. It’s something that always made her smile, how you could still cling to humanity in a place like this. She couldn’t. They couldn’t.

Since the evening was nearing, everyone was finishing up their tasks, sitting by the fire or losing track of time. You looked up to see Lottie’s gaze fixated down on you. “Oh, Lottie. Wha-” you couldn’t finish your words, because the moment you stood up, she took your face in her hands and leaned down to kiss you.

The more time passed, the rougher she had become with you. Her teeth pulled at your bottom lip, her tongue exploring your mouth, her breath heavy against your skin. All of that, in front of every one of your friends. 

You couldn’t let yourself be seen by anyone for a while, especially because Lottie had followed you to your tent. 

She follows you; no matter where you go, you've always got her eyes on you.

Resting inside your tent? Lottie peeks at you.

Hunting with Natalie? She gives you a protection token and prays for you while you are away.

Eating meat by the fire? She watches as your teeth sink into it.

You think it’s a little weird sometimes, but you know she means well. 

And don’t get me started on the rituals.

They are divided into two categories: the ones that are performed in front of everyone, and the ones that only you two share. Despite the height of the experience of a group ritual, it's the private ones that are her favorite. 

She wakes you in the middle of the night, when everyone is asleep and the air is cool. You follow her into the woods, away from the camp. She tells you that the Wilderness has asked her for a sacrifice tonight, and that that sacrifice is you. She tells you that It wants to hear you scream into the night, wants to feel you writhe above the ground it rules over. 

So you sit on an old tree stump, big enough to let you sit comfy on it. Lottie slowly descends down your body, until her face is nestled right where you need her the most. Thanks to her height, she has no problems in placing your legs on her shoulders; hell, you are even slightly curved upwards because of it.

She dives right down, taking you between her lips, workships you until her name echoes between the trees. Under the spring’s moon and stars only you and her exist.

Only with you she can still be human.

You are her god, and she’ll be your servant until she dies.

When you get back to camp, you’re greeted by a tired Taissa sitting by the fire, with deep eyebags, looking at you as if she could kill you with her gaze.

“You should really keep your voice down…”. 

[le-fruit-de-la-passion]

Not a request but imagine Viktor debating whether or not to augment his dick because on one hand fun sexy times and on the other it's his dick shit can go wrong and he doesn't want to affect his fertility if he decides he does want kids

You know, as a fandom, I feel like we don't discuss the dick situation as much as we should... like, I've given my opinion on what's up with the Arcane Herald Penis Predicament (go read more on that in my one-shot The Prophet spoke, and the faithful knelt 👀), but I can't imagine the Machine Herald Cock Conundrum is the exact same...

Here is my hypothesis:

So, Machine Herald replaces the parts of his body that he considers weaknesses or that could be augmented with technology and machinery.

Dick and balls are pretty inconvenient from a technical standpoint, they're an easy target to incapacitate someone in a fight ((fun fact, some animals actually know this and will attack the face or the genitalia of other animals/humans to inflict the most damage)). Plus, they are a strong testament to how much the human body is controlled by emotions and impulses, so it wouldn't be that far-fetched to assume MH!Viktor would have gotten rid of them.

HOWEVER

I believe that this theory would be missing an important aspect of MH!Viktor's philosophy and identity. What he craves is an evolution of the human species through the removal of weaknesses of the flesh, such as illness. And evolution REQUIRES the continued existence of a species through time, which means reproduction is still a key aspect in his vision. It would be counterproductive for him to want to get rid of reproductive organs: they're an essential part of making sure a long-term evolution is even possible.

Additionally, MH!Viktor has been shown through various parts of his lore to be exceptionally caring about children. In that same vein, season 1 Viktor often brings back the concept of having a personal legacy...

Considering both of these factors, I'd say that, yes, MH!Viktor still has his human penis. BUT, he would also definitely get rid of the flaws I mentioned earlier.

For example, he would likely be able to at least partially regulate blood flow to his cock, in order to be in control of his own bodily reactions (ie., when he wants to be hard or not). He would also probably add some sort of protective cover or coating over it, with a flexible but resistant material that would prevent genitalia from being used as a weak spot. Almost like a permanent, metal cocksleeve.

If he was to gain a lover along the way, perhaps the sleeve could be tweaked a little, to add some bonus features. A length enhancer, or some bumpy ridges... the possibilities are truly endless. But it would all be solely for the purpose of his goal, of course, not for something as trivial as pleasure. A lot of research seems to correlate female orgasm to higher chances of pregnancy; he's only doing what has to be done to strengthen the future of the Glorious Evolution. Any additional physical enjoyment is merely a side effect, nothing more.

IN CONCLUSION, according to my professional, scientific opinion, I believe MH!Viktor would keep his human penis, but remove all its conceptual weaknesses with technology. There is simply no version of Viktor in the multiverse that doesn't make use of his big, fat cock, and that's just the way things are 😌.

[zengguos]

this whole scene and dialogue is important for lottie's home life and teenage self as well.

when callie asks lottie for support with understanding and connecting with her mother, she is the worst person to ask about family love yet the best person because she understands that emptiness, that neglect — that feeling of everything is supposed to be together, but it is not.

they both can't live this life their parents created for them, perform in the role of the daughter and ignore what's going on around them.

both lottie and callie are daughters that have had the pain, denial and blame pushed onto them.

both lottie and callie are daughters that have tried so desperately to figure out what their parents want from them out of their own life.

but, ultimately both callie and lottie are daughters that their parents never wanted.

callie asks if her mom does love her... it breaks lottie out of her thought that the wilderness sent her here as a sign with a "oh", basing her in callie's perspective of reality for a second.

callie continues on saying she does normal mom stuff, she tells her she loves her, she tries to understand and rationalise the ptsd from the trauma her mom has gone through. it mirrors lottie's own teenage questions and experience that she had with her own home and family. her father and mother constantly fighting, their divorce making her move all the way to new jersey, both of her parents never really being there for her either, ignoring her, branding her the issue and making her feel like it all her life, giving her hollow materialistic items just to distract her from the truth of the situation and herself.

"but, then I look into her eyes and they're just so cold." and lottie finishes that sentence for her, "like they're looking straight into the earth."

she understands what callie means. the expression in her eyes shift from being wide and alert, to soft and understanding.

but, at the same time lottie is too far gone in her delusion.

again there's two thoughts, two ways, two reactions doing through lottie's mind — there's that blended battle within her as lottie and the prophet of the wilderness.

her support and understanding transforms once again as the wilderness is too great of threat in her mind. switching into a defensive understanding based in what she learnt in the wilderness to rationalise these emotions, these experiences she is feeling facing a familiar situation from her past... just like she did when she was venting her own emotions to the group about not wanting to leave.

it's really a sad moment.

and this is where both of their characters now clash. callie is the embodiment of what all the girls could have been if they lived a normal teenage life.

callie has the chance to challenge her parents, she has the voice to go against her discomfort and sadness of her situation... something lottie could never do.

callie's reaction to what lottie is doing, to what lottie is saying here — it scares her, she doesn't understand it, she does not see it as normal or a necessity to what is needed to be done, she doesn't understand what 'it' is, no further to understanding who she is in life.

but, callie's character is an embodiment of how they were before. she is technically the baby of that place, but not in the context of what lottie believes. callie is what they could have been, the life they should have had. callie is not this powerful entity, she is just a teenage girl wanting to know and understand her place in the world.

she can't be forced to descend like lottie, down those steps, into the madness, into the darkness of it. she is able to reject it, she rejects lottie.

lottie is too far gone to see the actuality of the situation within her own paranoid reality. but, this is how lottie has learnt to survive in life, has lived her life, always in the wilderness. the wilderness which gave her what she felt like was the answers to those questions she had as a child and that is still affecting her to this day here... answers that can't be the same for callie.

and that's why when the girls die they go back to their teenage selves before all of this. the people they were before in the civilization and society they knew before this wilderness. the people they should have been before all this changed them. their childhood selves face what they have tragically become... yet both of these lives, every moment they experienced was all real and still valid in shaping them into who they are as one.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

hello hello! you're writing tips have been so helpful and i wanted to ask for help on how to write hypocrite like characters. thank you!!

Writing Notes: Hypocrisy

Hypocrisy - a feigning to be what one is not or to believe what one does not; behavior that contradicts what one claims to believe or feel, especially: the false assumption of an appearance of virtue or religion

Hypocrisy is a special case of cognitive dissonance, produced when a person freely chooses to promote a behavior that they do not themselves practice.

Cognitive Dissonance Theory. Has a long and esteemed history in social psychology. As originally formulated (Festinger, 1957), cognitive dissonance is induced when a person holds two contradictory beliefs, or when a belief is incongruent with an action that the person had chosen freely to perform. Because this situation produces feelings of discomfort, the individual strives to change one of the beliefs or behaviors in order to avoid being inconsistent.

Hypocrite Trope

People — particularly those with authority, be it moral or political — are expected to act in accordance with the ideals they espouse. That is to say, they should practice what they preach. Those who don't are hypocrites.

The dichotomy here is that they may fervently and honestly believe what they say is right and good… they just don't have the moral strength or willpower to consistently live up to their own high standards. (Unless, of course, they're outright liars with no intention of living up to said standards.)

it's possible to be hypocritical and a good person at the same time, whether that would be a "Jerk with a Heart of Gold" or a full-blown "Nice Guy" character trope, and it depends on how severe the hypocrisy is (and the hypocrite's level of self-awareness). This, in return, is what makes hypocrisy mainly considered to be a minor form of jerkassery by default.

It depends on whether this is intentional or not.

One writer would do this intentionally so the character would go through a Jerkass Realization.

Hypocritical Humor is a minor degree of this, when Played for Laughs.

Another writer may make a character or do something but then forgot about it later on, then making them do things that contrast with earlier claims.

It usually takes fans or other writers to point them out, and it’s up to the writer to fix it or leave it like that.

Some Subtropes

Arbitrary Skepticism: Characters who deal with the strange and bizarre on a regular basis are skeptical when they run into something strange and bizarre.

A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing: A character pretends to be harmless or friendly to hide their actual self.

Broken Aesop: When a story itself doesn't mesh with the ideals it promotes.

Devil in Plain Sight: When someone who is Obviously Evil isn't seen as such by a general populace that is surrounded by other evils who are obvious, but only a minority can see it.

Doublethink: AKA cognitive dissonance; when one believes in two mutually exclusive ideas at the same time.

False Prophet: Someone claiming to be a messianic figure is actually deceiving their followers.

Knight Templar: A person who firmly believes their own cause to be just and righteous, even when it isn't.

Tautological Templar: Somebody who believes that they are good, and that makes everything they do good by default.

The Horseshoe Effect: The extremists on one side aren't that different from the extremists on the other side.

You Are What You Hate: People hating others for the same traits they themselves have or what they would eventually have.

Examples

Geryon, a monster from The Divine Comedy who guards Eighth Circle of Hell, is the biological manifestation of fraud. It may have the face of a beautiful man, but behind that face is the body of a massive winged serpent with a tail ripe with venom.

Gone with the Wind: Gerald O'Hara fled Ireland, where foreigners had taken over the country's lands and exploited an underclass to work them so the new landowners could become rich. He then immigrated to the United States and became a wealthy, plantation-owning slaver.

Merlin: A deliberate and fascinating example is King Uther. The reason he hates magic in the first place is that he made a deal with a sorceress to conceive a son with his barren wife. Furthermore, he describes his deceased wife as "my soul" and yet we later find out that he had an affair with his best friend's wife, and that (as he says to his son) "I know about the temptations of serving girls."

In Spirited Away, Yubaba refuses to accept Chihiro into her bathhouse because in her words, Chihiro is a "spoiled, lazy crybaby [with] no manners". Shortly afterwards, Yubaba is interrupted by her baby, who she immediately coddles and pampers, and who fits Yubaba's description of Chihiro perfectly. Furthermore, she criticizes her employees for being greedy and attracting the wrong customer when Greed is one of Yubaba's defining characteristics.

Tangled: Mother Gothel lectures Rapunzel about the dangerous selfish evil people of the outside world… when she's the one who kidnapped Rapunzel as a baby for her own selfish reasons. Rapunzel is quick to point this out when she discovers the truth.

Smerdyakov in The Brothers Karamazov is really just thought of as a scullion who has airs of intellectualism about him, and who carries blasphemous notions about religion. He's also thought of as pathetic to others because he suffers from epileptic seizures. The idea of him being the murderer is absurd to everyone in town for these reasons, yet he is. Only the protagonist seems to have any deep misgivings about him.

The Divine Comedy: According to Dante's Inferno, those guilty of hypocrisy are forced to march in monk-robes made of lead in the 8th Circle of Hell, the robes symbolic of the weight of their falsehoods. Special mention goes to Caiaphas, the High Priest of Israel under Pontius Pilate who advised him to crucify Jesus for "societal good", who is crucified to the ground and trodden upon by the other hypocrites like a literal doormat.

The Handmaid's Tale: In "Milk", Steven laments the fact that Handmaids are used as sex slaves, but he has no problem trying to extort sexual favors from Janine and June in order to let them stay.

The Last Supper: Judas is covered in shadows, actively leaning away from Jesus, and spilling salt (an evil omen) all over the table, yet no one else at the Last Supper even begins to recognize Judas as the traitor Jesus has just revealed is in their midst.

In The Lord of the Rings (as explained outright in Unfinished Tales of Númenor and Middle-earth), Saruman openly berates Gandalf for his use of tobacco, but in private, in an attempt to imitate Gandalf, becomes addicted to pipeweed himself. In the movie, Saruman says, "Your love of the halflings' leaf has clearly slowed your mind" but Merry and Pippin find several large barrels of tobacco in Saruman's home later on.

Sources: 1 2 3 ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

Hi, thanks so much, appreciate your kind words! Consider these references and choose which ones would work best to incorporate in your story. Do go through the sources as well for more subtropes and examples that might serve as inspiration.

[cosmic-ghost-hermit]

Pick a Card: Message from your Spirit Team

I love connecting with everyone's guides! Thank you to the collective and their spirit guides for your support in this reading. I love you! The universe loves you! and your guides love you!!! <3 Take what resonates and leave the rest behind but always be open to new perceptions.

Decks used are: Alchemy Oracles, Archetype Oracle, Necronomicon Tarot

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Drop any reading suggestions, request readings, or reading recommendations in my ask box! Can't wait to see what y'all wanna see!

_________

PILE ONE

Astrology: Virgo, Gemini, Scorpio

Song: Shooting Star by Owl City

Vibes: Black, white, green, blue, thunder, rain, prophetic dreams, illusion, secrets, finders-keepers, forests, 9999, corsets, darkness, frozen fruit, con artist, narcissistic, Hera

Cards: 6 of Swords, Eros, Destroyer, Quicksilver

My friend, you have bitten off more than you can chew while standing upon a really unsteady foundation. It will crumble eventually. It isn't a matter of "if". It will happen. It is a matter of "when". You can't go on like this. You can't play both sides. You are going to lose people who you dearly love if you keep it up. Your intentions are pure I know. You don't want to rock the boat. You don't want to make the wrong decision. The actions you took were driven by a good heart but you are stretching that good heart too thin to be able to continue like this. What you are doing was supposed to be temporary but you are treating it as if it is sustainable and permanent. Luckily, there is an escape from the desolation you could face. You must be honest about how you feel to yourself. You must be true. You can't just follow anymore to make everyone happy. Decide for yourself because there is no staying out of it anymore. If it takes you time to decide that's alright. If you need time to do research on whatever decision this is that is fine. Take your time deciding. But you MUST decide and if you don't decide then it will be decided for you.

This feels like a different decisions for different people reading this. I can see it might be about a situation-ship or familial/friend drama. It could be political as well. Either way you have spent most of your time in this situation sitting on the side lines and not making any moves. You believe if you ignore whatever is happening it will solve itself. It won't. I'm sorry. You are being tested and being indecisive is the only way you can fail. Not deciding will have the most cons and very little pros. I can definitely tell why it has taken you a bit to think about. Either decision you make there will be pros and cons to whatever it is you decide. You think you can escape the cons by not addressing it at all. However, being complacent is a decision, my dude. Not deciding is still a decision to do nothing.

When you do decide, you must stand firm on your decision. You MUST. Don't be wishy washy about it and change your mind once you have chosen. Even if you have regrets you MUST stand firm. Your guides will reward you after with many gifts of love. I also see gifts of knowledge. Later down the line you will see why you had to make the choice. You will be enlightened on what would have happened if you chose the other route. I can hear you sighing in relief when you learn this and not regretting your path. I wish you luck, my dear.

_____________

PILE TWO

Astrology: Sagittarius, Leo, Capricorn

Song: Gold on the Ceiling by The Black Keys

Vibes: Yellow, pink, red, crows, bats, crowbars, dirt, grave yards, 333, courtesan, aging, mushrooms, pine needles, sewing, weaving, looms, large dogs, Persephone, Hades

Cards: The Sun, The Poet, The Lover, Smoke

My dear, why are you so mean to yourself for attempting to be happy? What is the logical purpose of that? Listen, I get it. You have been through so messy messy stuff. It fucked up your head and it corrupted the way you think and talk about yourself. But seriously, can you think of any reason besides "it feels familiar to hurt which means it's safe." Dude. For real, stop being so mean to yourself. It doesn't get work done faster. It doesn't help you when you aren't working and you are trying to rest. It isn't doing you any good to put yourself down for what you enjoy. It just makes life harder than it already is. It doesn't have to be that hard. It SHOULDN'T be that hard. I know what you say to yourself, dude. You mimic those who have criticized you in the past. You are parroting the pain they caused you and repeating the cycles of abuse you faced. The people who hurt you before were looking in mirrors. They weren't truly looking at you. Their opinions of you don't resemble reality. They just wanted to bully someone besides themselves to feel better about themselves.

The insults you are repeating aren't how you truly feel. You are a so much more than a victim. First of all, you are an important person. Second, you are an artist. A very good artist, I might add. You can capture the emotion you are feeling perfectly when you create. When you write, you communicate what you wish to say so clearly that it touches the hearts of even the most emotionless people. That is power. That is magic. I am not going to say you are talented, my dear. Because I know your skill came from years of practice. Years of love drenched artwork and thoughtful choosing of words. You are more than talent, my dear. You are driven. You are intelligent. Any road block you faced you gracefully jumped over or powered through. Do not be mean to yourself. Do not. You deserve more recognition than that. Only you can do what you do. You are inimitable.

___________

PILE THREE

Astrology: Aries, Libra, Aquarius

Song: Charmer by Aimee Mann

Vibes: Rainbows, candles, moths, reading, pearl, gold bars, ripped clothes, 555, 88, garden, ghost trees, vampires, higher self, lions mane, alternative beliefs, collecting, coffee, Athena, Artemis, Apollo

Cards: 4 of Swords, The Self, The Cave, Mystical Sisters

I am so proud of you. You have locked away who you are for a long time. You recently started to do some self discovery after you left a person who wasn't good for you behind. I don't think you understand what a huge step you've made. I don't think you really see how what you have done is a huge fucking deal. You stood up for yourself. I think you really water down this accomplishment because you had an ally help you. My dude, even if they helped you. Do not forget you have free will. They did not force you to start exploring yourself and standing up for yourself. You could have ignored their offer of assistance. You totally could have said "Nope, I don't want to." Did you forget that? Please don't water down how well you have done. Acknowledge yourself, please.

You are realizing how wonderful you are. You are finally seeing how kind you are and how considerate you can be. I know leaving that person was painful and it is difficult to reopen the book of you without them in it. It is for the best for both you and them. Again, I am very proud of. Your guides congratulate you as well. It is okay to be guarded for a while. I encourage you to protect your peace while you are exploring more of yourself. I encourage you to ask for help if you need it. Especially because I can still feel your heartache from the loss of someone important to you. If it helps your feel better maybe put some energy to your spirituality. I know it might be tempting to look at old photos and dwell on the past connection. It is okay to do that a little bit while you heal but don't get too caught up in what could've been. It is time to focus on the present and keep your mind on where you want to be and not where you were. Your guides are backing you the whole way through.

__________

PILE FOUR

Astrology: Taurus, Cancer, Pisces

Song: Sunrise by More Plastic and Halvorsen

Vibes: Red, light blue, yellow, grey, white, cats, divine geometry, snakes, science, spills, reality tv, 1111, hearts, wine, falcon, dragon scales, astrology, grand square/trine, Hermes, Zues, Chronos

Cards: 8 of Cups, Kairos, Gnosis, Conjunction

Alright my dear, the time is going to be right soon. You know what to do and you know when to do it. Don't question it. Even if it makes zero sense logically, just trust that inner knowing. Trust that you know what to do and where to go. Trust. You will be leaving something soon. Perhaps a group, a relationship or a club. Again, you WILL know when and how, when the time comes. The stars are aligning for this escape route of yours. I know it is a bummer to leave because you have had such good times where you are at. You worked really hard on everything you built there. I know you are really anxious about hearing this because it is a bit vague but you knew this was coming, darling. You could see the signs way before any of the drama started. When shit hits the fan you need to be ready to dip out. Don't worry about preparation. Don't worry about details. The universe is going to take care of that for you. You just have to watch and listen to your heart.

Yes, you are in the right. No, you haven't done anything wrong. Spirit is sorry that it might be kind of sudden but I really believe you have already seen the red flags in the place you are leaving. The BIG drama that is about to take place isn't supposed to be part of your journey. It is meant for others to figure out on their own. You are not their teacher. You are meant to be their friend and companion and I think they have been parentifying you in a weird way. Spirit doesn't want you getting in the crossfire of everything that is about to hit. It wants you to listen closely to your intuition and trust yourself to know. This part of your journey is supposed to be mostly chill at the moment. Except for the sudden upheaval. That part is probably gonna be rushed. Everything will be just right for you, I promise. Keep your eyes narrowed and your perception high. Someone is sprinting in your direction and you will need to keep pace with them when they arrive. They will be your getaway driver. I believe in you. The universe will protect you. You will be rescued. Good luck, darling.

[venus-vault]

On Earth As It Is In Heaven

Mr.Reed x Fem! Reader (Mid 20s) (18+)

Synopsis: Pt. 3 - (y/n) is introduced to a new system of belief...

⚠️TW: Percieved Heresy, Catholicism Mentions, Condescension, Crude Language, Possible Vague and Obscure Spoilers for 'Heretic' (2024), Age Gap, Lectures, Blood, Violence, A Somewhat Graphic Depiction of Gore, Oral Sex (Male Recipient), Raw P in V Penetration, Terror & Tense Situations, General Smut.

When I come to I'm clothed, and my body is seemingly unharmed but I still feel fuzzy, disoriented.  The taste of the wine I shared with Mr. Reed remains on my tongue and I swallow, noticing a faint smell of perfume and... something else? Something coppery....

I breathe as deeply and quietly as I can and allow my eyes to open. A small room, dimly lit and painted green. It's lined with paintings of gods and prophets, shelves of books and records, and a vinyl player sits off to the side, similar to the bedroom. Looking down, I realize I'm seated in a pew, of which there are rows. Is this... a church?

Two doors line the wall ahead of me, one green and one purple, behind a large desk with a half-burned candlestick on it. From the green door, Mr. Reed emerges in the checkered cardigan I remember him in from when he first ushered me inside, and the pajamas he threw on after we...

I'm extremely confused.

"Well hello!! Look at you!! How're you feeling? Bit groggy, I'd imagine? You were just a *touch* over served, that's on me." He admits, stashing a bright green watering can under the desk and grabbing his notebook and pencil off of it to write something down.

"Seventeen Hours. Good." He looks back to me, an excited grin on his face.

"Mister Reed?" I ask softly.

"Ms. (y/n)?" He chuckles, taking a step closer.

"What happened? What is this? How did I get here?"

"You were drugged, this" he gestures around us "is an institution of learning, and you were carried here. Anything further? No? Good. Let's get cracking!" He claps, rubbing his hands together and I jump in my seat.

"Whu-" I'm more confused than I was initially after this brief, unhelpful explanation but he prattles on;

"A few miligrams of temazepam in the wine, nothing lethal." He narrows his eyes, pointing a finger at me "You were indoctrinated into catholicism from what age?"

"I was baptized at two...why d-"

"Two. Years. Old. TWO, (Y/N)!! Forgive me but that's fucking ridiculous. You had no information and no way of consenting to whatever 'soul-protecting' rituals catholics do to children at two years of age.

You have lived your entire life by the teachings of a cult, my dear. A popular cult with a good handle on architecture and design, but a cult all the same. With their gaudy, artsy buildings and their priests wrapped up in silk and you," he looks me over, his expression sympathetic "Full of all that eternal guilt and shame for your entirely natural feelings and urges. For what? A reward only recieved after death? Heaven is about as meaningful to the living as a gold star sticker on a child's spelling test and I believe, no I know, that you're aware of this, (y/n). "

He sits on the edge of the desk as he lectures me and I take a second to look myself over.

These.... are not my clothes. A long, dark grey wool skirt with... a short-sleeved black mock neck sweater tucked into it..., the inside of the right sleeve is caked in some dark, calcified stain... These are...  comfortable clothes, modest clothes, thank God, but they. Are not. Mine. I shudder. How did he get these? And where is this lecture going? He pulls a few different versions of monopoly and the landlord game from the nearby shelves and likens them to different religions, laying a holy book atop each and telling me about 'iterations' and I am not listening and the stain on the inside of my sleeve that isn't my sleeve is almost definitely someone's blood and now I'm scared and what is going on? There's an immense pressure in my head and I'm breathing too fast -- is this how I die?

In this decidedly unholy place, amongst all these artifacts I've been told would protect me, at the hands of a man who not only led me into temptation, but now purports to have the ability to deliver me from evil? Is he the evil? I'm overwhelmed and I cry.

I cry like I have never cried before. My face is wet and I'm sobbing and I'm hyperventilating and Mr. Reed finally stops talking so I look up, flushed, snivelling, unsure of his next move.

He seems shocked for a moment, eyes widening. Then his brow furrows again as he leaves his place at the desk to stand beside me. "Shhh, shhh, come now. That's a bit dramatic, eh? Catholic school lasts what, twelve years? You can stand to listen to an old man drone on for a minute."

He sheds his cardigan, draping it over my shoulders as they shake. He produces a tissue from one of his pockets and brings it to my face, dabbing away my tears. "You've been extraordinary for me so far, (y/n)." Mr. Reed scoots into the pew next to me, his eyes catch mine and he hums, reassuring "Such a virtuous, reasonable, obedient girl." I take a breath, resenting how much I lust after his blessing, his praise.  "See, I'm just introducing you to something new. Something different than that to which you're accustomed," He resumes, snaking an arm around my shoulder "When you walked in here, you weren't used to having your beliefs challenged. Only affirmed. It was scary, mm? But you let me in. You let me experience all of you, inside and out, because somehow, somewhere, deep inside, you know I'm right. You know this is right : what we do, who we are together. You taught me your doctrine, I owe it to you to teach mine."

"But you- you requested the- why...?" My voice cracks.

He squeezes my shoulder, speaking softly into the crook of my neck "Knowledge, (y/n), is power. Power is... what? Mm? What does power give to us?"

I shiver at the feeling of his breath on my neck and silently curse myself for welcoming it. "Uhm..." I look up at him, uncertain "Control?"

"Control! Exactly! Brilliant!"

I can't help the small smile that arrives on my face at knowing the correct answer to one of his questions.

"Control is the root of each of these doctrines." He gestures to the desk with the games and books laid out on it  "Think of your church. Sit, stand, kneel, listen to some old twat tell you you're unworthy of heaven, sit, stand kneel, stand, sing, kneel again, eat some crackers, go home. It's all programming.  They have you learn all that bovine choreography not because it amplifies your prayers to some all knowing benevolent being, but because it subdues you. It tires you out. Makes your body ache. You need something to do with your hands in those pews so you fold them in reverence because idle hands are the devil's playthings, are they not?"

"... Sure.... Mister Reed? Whose clothes are these?"

"Some things aren't for us to know, (y/n). And some are. Like how I know," he smiles "that you are going to continue to be keen for me, stop asking ridiculous questions, and do what I say. Because we're both thoroughly aware of the fact that I am your god now." His breath is hot on my neck as he chuckles, I can feel his grin, and I flinch.

He's in control. Older. Wiser. Stronger. Smarter. I look up into his eyes and he kisses me before I can even think to move away. His tongue tackles mine, fingers lacing into the hair at the nape of my neck, his other hand squeezes my thigh, my eyes roll back "mmh-" and maybe he is God. He breaks the kiss, looking me over.

His eyes undress me and I wish his hands would follow suit but they don't.

"Walk to the desk, stand in front of it."

I do as he says. There are 4 rows of pews on either side of the room and at the end of the aisle there is a door that seems to lead into a hallway. As I make note of this, Mr. Reed gets up from his place and begins stacking the books and board games, placing them on the floor beside the desk, and setting the needle on the vinyl player. He stands before me, bringing a hand up to stroke my cheek.

The song he's selected begins with a wavering guitar note, and I recognize it immediately. 'If, I could make a wish, I think I'd pass, can't think of anything I need-'

"Have you heard this song before, (y/n)?"

'No, cigarettes no sleep, no light, no sound...' the song plays on.

"Of course, Mr. Reed.  'The Air That I Breathe' by The Hollies? Everyone knows this song."

He closes the short distance between us, smirking down at me as his fingers trail the outside of my arms.

"Not. Everyone. And certainly not everyone your age. Your generation is a mess. All depression and 'memes' and vanity," he rolls his eyes "but it's obvious that you, my dear, are something totally different. You're a person of tradition, sure, but more importantly, one of great intellect. We share this trait. Because of it, people shy away from us. Ostracize us. Call us 'crazy' or 'obsessive' of our interests. Hence why no one's come here looking for you. To them," he takes my hands in his "We are alien in our entirety. But to Me, you are an angel. A lost lamb, searching for truth in every interaction, looking for a god in all things. You were destined to find me eventually, to be freed of your inhibitions and made new... "

His eyes are wide and I watch them flicker with something unidentifiably terrifying. The song ends and the record skips as the room's momentarily warm ambiance is replaced by silence again.

"Mis-mister Reed?" I blink "I won't lie, you're scaring me-"

"Enlightenment can be an entirely horrifying journey. Knowing our souls at a depth others might only see as aspirational...It is scary," he squeezes my hands and my palms are sweating but he doesn't let go, instead  lowering himself to whisper in my ear "but are you frightened more of the depth of knowledge you've acquired, in your short time here?... Or how much you've enjoyed yourself doing so? After all," he continues, "good girls aren't supposed to."

"Aren't supposed to...?"

He pushes his cardigan off my shoulders, letting it fall onto the desk behind me. He then tugs down the zipper on the side of my skirt that isnt my skirt and it slips off my hips, crumpling at my feet. He pushes the fabric of the sweater over my breasts, exposing me further, running a thumb lightly over one nipple, and I wince at the sensitivity of my own body, taking my lower lip between my teeth.

"Aren't supposed to let me do that. But you do. And good girls, (y/n)," he reaches his opposite hand between my legs, feeling how slick I've become over the course of his lecture "don't get wet in dangerous situations... with strange men..." He runs his fingers along my vulva, pressing up gently as he scans my flushed face for a reaction, which he gets easily, as my body responds before I can, bucking against his hand desperately. His fingers dip into me a few times and I moan, breath ragged as I melt for him.

"I-" I am defenseless. I know it and so does he. Mr. Reed knows I'll take anything he gives, give him anything he wants, that I'm addicted to the lightest touch of his hand or gentle word from his lips.

"You, (y/n), are not a good girl. They don't want it, need it, the way you do. Barnes would never behave for me the way you have..." He mutters, bringing his two fingers from one set of lips to the other and my core is tense with anticipation. I don't question him, though I want to. Barnes..?

"Open." I do. Mr. Reed watches my eyes and he doesn't need to tell me to suck because I am a good girl, and my face burns with white-hot shame as I reach for his already half-hardened cock, ready to prove it to him.

I squeeze his shaft gently and it twitches in my hand, stiffening for me as if on command. He takes his fingers from my mouth and watches me play with it through the thin pajama pants, intrigued. "Go on then."

That's all the permission I need and I sink to my knees, taking his boxers and pajama pants down with me as I watch his cock spring forward, throbbing.

I wrap a hand around it, looking up at Mr. Reed as I slowly stroke. I watch open-mouthed as a bead of precum dribbles from his tip. Snapping out of my trance, I lick the underside of his length from base to tip before taking him into my mouth as far back as I can, bobbing my head over him slowly

"Ohhh..." he groans "You are dirty, (y/n). One orgasm and you're on your knees, doing anything for more... you'll get it too..." his hands find my hair again and he thrusts himself deeper into my throat, tears immediately welling in my eyes and cascading down my cheeks as I gag on him "Mmmh, you'll get over that gag reflex eventually," he grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks me painfully upwards, spinning me around by the shoulders and bending me over the desk "but today is simply *not* that day, I'm afraid..."

He's inside me instantly, ramming forcefully against my cervix as he stretches me out again. I feel myself clench a couple times around him and he slows his pace, making me groan in annoyance as much as pleasure.

"Please, Mr. Reed," I whimper

"Not... yet..." he murmurs, affixing his hands to the front of my hips as he resumes his agonizing strokes.

"Mister Reed I can't-" I moan

"I said, Not. Yet." He gives a slow, hard thrust with each word and it's all I can do not to push back onto him. As the rhythm of his hips builds I feel an internal coil prime itself to snap, and right as Mr. Reed's fingers find my clit, it does.

"Ohh my gohddd, Mister Reeeed!!"

I see white as my body pulses around him, coming entirely undone in hot, flowing waves as I convulse, glazing his length.

He keeps fucking me, forcing soft, raspy moans from my lips.

"Whose are you?" He commands, a hand wrapping around my throat as he pistons into me, his grip firm.

"Yours!" I whine.

"And to whose. Fucking. Creed. Do you devote yourself? Quickly..."

"Yours Mister Reed! I take no others before you! Just you, only you..." the words fall from my mouth as a distressed whimper before I can process their meaning and I gasp as I feel him fill me with thick, hot ropes of semen.

He groans as he comes inside me, slowing pace gradually before pulling out.

He grabs the discarded skirt from the floor and cleans himself off with it, then holds it between my legs as my tender, limp body recovers. He waits a few seconds, tugging his pants and boxers back up his legs, then walks to the purple door with the skirt in hand, tossing it into whatever room waits beyond.

"Only. Me. Hm?" He chortles under his breath. "Only you Mister Reed!" He mocks in an exaggerated American accent, circling the desk and turning me over, scooping his arms under my legs and torso to lay me across it longways. He tugs the sweater he'd dressed me in the rest of the way off my body so I'm laid out bare before him, still attempting to catch my breath. "I take it youre not a practicioner of idolatry then. " He chuckles.

"Only... you...I promise...just you Mr. Reed." I breathe, opening my eyes, my gaze focused on the ceiling.

He hums, smirking down at me. I feel him run a finger down my torso.

"Gorgeous little zealot, and so easily converted... begs a question, did you ever really believe those things you preached to me?"

"Mostly?" I cringe at the admission, exhaling deeply.

"Mostly. From my understanding this is the typical experience of Catholicism, yes? You... grow up, being hammered over the head with flawed logic, you stop believing about halfway through middle school, feeling like a complete fraud at your confirmation into the faith, and some years later, just the way R.E.M. describes it, you lose your religion either to one that makes sense, or to one that roams so far from your parents' ideals that you feel like a rebellious teen in your twenties, having cracked the code. Hm? Sound correct?"

I feel understood, yet ashamed as his words sink in. "Y-yes, Mr. Reed, I'd say that's accurate.." I mumble.

His hands are warm as he pulls me up into a seated position on the desk, pressing a soft kiss into my forehead before letting his chin rest gently on top of my head. "It's so hard to be misunderstood the way you are, (y/n)," he mutters, arms wrapping around my shoulders, holding me tight against his chest "the way we have been..." Mr. Reed rubs gentle circles into my back, soothing me further, and I let my hands rest on his back, keeping him there. He goes on;

"But that's all over now, now that you've found the only true faith, my singular infallible doctrine. You do trust in my control of you, don't you, (y/n)?" He withdraws slightly, scanning my face.

A beat.

"Yes, Mr. Reed. I entrust myself to you fully. I know you'll guide me righteously,-"

"But you hesitated. I allowed you my blessing, my sacrament. I placed my seed within you, allowing our souls to entwine, and you hesitate when I ask you to verbally acknowledge your trust in me as your singular deity?"

"I'm just a little bit fatigued, from the-" I breathe, confused

"Oh, (y/n)... tsk... and you were doing so well..." a pitied expression colors his features as he stares down at me, taking a step back.

"Wait, wait, what do you me-"

"That just won't do, I'm afraid-"

I watch his arm hack an invisible line through the air and my ability to breathe is instantly diminished. My hands rush to my neck, and only when I feel a warm gush come forth does it dawn on me that he's holding a box cutter, with which he has just slit my throat open in one fluid swipe.

"Mister Reed-" I wheeze, barely a whisper "why?"

"Faith must be unwavering. There is no room here for hesitance. For ambivalence. For selfishness."

I choke out sputtering breaths in a desperate attempt to prolong my conciousness, but the edges of my vision start to tint in spite of my efforts. Tears run hot down my face as I silently plead with him, but Mr. Reed resumes his rant unaffected;

"Too innocent to prophecise, and setting you free, well that would never work... but don't worry dear, sweet angel. It's really not you... its me. I require a perfect convert with true, unwavering belief in my principles to aid in execution of these experiments...it is sad though, we really could've been something, mm?" He looks me over affectionately, even now, as fresh blood pours ceaselessly from the wound and down my chest, torso, and thighs.

I cough, tipping forward some and watch blood spatter his white cotton shirt. "Please-" I croak weakly, reaching for him. He steps back further, brows raised.

"If it's meant to be, (y/n), you'll resurrect for me, certain of your faith. And if not, well," he gives me an awkward grimace, "I bid you adieu then, and wish you comfort in the fact that you were of great use to me in your... " he checks his watch "Eight hours here." A fond smile.

I fall forward off the desk and onto the carpet, my head bouncing against the floor with an excruciating thud. I watch Mr. Reed take a seat in one of the pews as he watches me spasm in shock and struggle to breathe through a series of garbled croaks, gasps, and wheezes, stifled by the flow of my own blood coating my larynx.

My mouth opens and closes a few times, hands still weakly striving to stem the steady gush from my lacerated neck, but nothing comes out as my body goes rigid in shock, my eyes lose sight, and I lose conciousness for the last time.

There is no white light. There is no chorus of angels.

Only a profound darkness, and once I find myself wrapped in its undertoe, I've drowned completely.

[theonceandfuturequeenoftarts]

Harry is at a Quidditch game, and he’s having a dreadful time. There should be some universal rule that negates this possibility. It’s Quidditch, he’s Harry – it’s the perfect pairing. He should be watching the Wimbourne Wasps crush the Ballycastle Bats and munching on some delightful treacle Sugar Sweeps while enjoying his first date in months.

Except they only have the licorice-flavoured Sugar Sweeps.

Except his team is losing horrendously.

Except his date – Jeanine, or Jeannie; something with a J – is more interested in flirting with anyone other than him. She’d tried to catch the eye of the unfairly attractive man sitting on Harry’s other side for a good twenty minutes. When she made no progress, her attention shifted to orchestrating a threesome with her friend and Draco. Rude.

(And no matter how far they’ve come from the bitter rivalry of their youth, Harry still hates to lose to Mal– Draco. He’d feel worse about that if the other man didn’t feel the exact same way – and if the prat looked less bloody smug.)

This is the last time he lets the blond convince him to go on a blind double-date. Merlin, what was he thinking when he agreed to this?

The Wasps call a timeout to discuss strategy (not that it’s likely to help at this point) and that’s when the worst of it happens. Some genius decided Quidditch needed a kiss cam for the slower moments of a match. If Harry ever finds out who, he’s going to hex their toes off.

That’s the thought that runs through his mind as he sees himself and Jacqueline on each of the floating screens bobbing around the Quidditch stadium.

His eyes slide helplessly to the side, where Jasmine is already inching away from him. This is so bloody embarrassing. He can feel his cheeks redden in mortification and is sure his deer-in-the-headlights expression will be immortalised in tomorrow’s Daily Prophet.

He sure wishes he had a time turner – he’d go back to this morning and stay in bed the whole day.

He can hear laughter breaking out from the other spectators the longer the camera lingers on him. Why haven’t they moved on to another pair? Or at the very least shifted three feet to the right; Harry’s certain Jolene and her friend or Draco (or hell, all three, why not) would be happy to give the viewers a show.

And then he feels a tap on his left shoulder. 

It’s not that he’d forgotten about the extremely hot man sitting to his left. But the reminder of the human perfection to his side while this debacle unfolds kind of makes him want to stand up and leave. Or blow something up.

He turns to Mr. Sex-on-Legs and smiles weakly. The man returns his smile, and while it’s a little sharp, it’s not mocking. Hurray for small mercies.

“May I?” Unreasonably Handsome Stranger asks.

“Uh,” Harry replies eloquently. May he what? Harry swiftly decides he doesn’t need more details. This man could be asking for his kidney and as long as it makes this whole situation less painful, Harry’s on board. “Sure…?”

Unreasonably Handsome Stranger tilts Harry’s face up and swoops in. Harry can’t stop the confused squeak from leaving him – so much for less shameful – and then he’s being kissed within an inch of his life. Holy shite.

This is awesome.

Harry kind of forgets why this man is kissing him and what’s going on around him, because it doesn’t matter. The most gorgeous person he’s ever seen in real life is pressing his lips against Harry’s with intent, with skill – is that his tongue? All higher brain functions have ceased in order to enjoy this moment to the fullest.

When they finally pull back for air, Harry finds his hands are gripping the man’s collar and holding him close. He figures that’s fine, considering the man has one hand wound through Harry’s hair and the other is still cupping his jaw.

“Wow,” Harry breathes, brain still taking a break from thinking. The other man smirks knowingly at him, and Harry would probably take offence to that if the man’s perfectly formed cheekbones weren’t flushed pink, showing he’s not as unaffected as he might pretend to be.

“Er. I’m Harry.”

“Tom.”

“Nice to meet you, Tom.”

This makes Smokin' Hot Tom chuckle, which in turn makes his eyes crinkle up adorably. Oh bother – Harry might be in trouble.

He’s aware, peripherally, that someone behind him is aggressively clearing their throat. He only bothers to care about it when Tom shoots an unimpressed look at the source of the noise.

When Harry turns to follow Tom’s gaze, he comes face to face with an irate Julienne, her glaring friend, and Draco, who can’t seem to decide whether he’s impressed or pissed off.

He shrugs, grinning dopily. “It just isn’t going to work out, Josephine.”

She gives him a baleful look. “My name is Petra.”

Whoops. Not even close. “Sorry – Petra. Have fun with Draco and …your friend.”

He sends a teasing salute to Draco and starts dragging Tom towards the exit. Speaking of having fun – he’s sure they can find an alcove somewhere around here to continue what Tom started.

—

Harry’s picture is indeed in the Prophet the next day. But he supposes that’s only to be expected when he’s caught publicly snogging the visiting ambassador from the French Ministry of Magic.

[whereslynx]

Hey girl I love ur fics sm! Could you do one where reader is the older sister of Latrell and she’s secretly with Oscar and one day while she’s at his house Cesar finds them in bed together

a/n: THANK U LOVELY!!! ofc i can!

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Being Latrell’s older sister meant carrying the weight of expectations, especially as a member of the Prophets. You had always been good at staying under the radar, but keeping your relationship with Oscar Diaz—a Santo, and their leader at that—was another level of secrecy entirely.

It wasn’t just that Latrell would flip if he found out. The entire situation was a betrayal of the gang alliances, a risk neither of you could afford to take. But Oscar was different. With him, you weren’t “Latrell’s sister” or a Prophet. You were just.. you. And for that, you’d risk everything.

Oscar’s house had become a sanctuary, a place where the weight of your world lifted, even if just for a while. The afternoon sun filtered through his bedroom blinds, casting soft shadows as you lay sprawled across his bed, your head resting on his chest. His arm was draped around you lazily, fingers tracing idle patterns on your back.

“I still can’t believe I’m doing this,” you murmured, your tone a blend of disbelief and amusement as you traced lazy patterns on Oscar’s chest.

Oscar tilted his head to look down at you, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “What? Breaking the rules? Turning your back on the Prophets?”

You arched an eyebrow at him, the smallest smirk playing on your face. “Sleeping with the enemy, Diaz.”

He let out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling under your cheek like a comforting vibration. “Enemy? I don’t remember it feeling like that last night.”

Your grin widened, and you swatted his chest playfully. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“And you’re lucky I don’t scare easy,” he shot back, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your temple.

The warmth of the moment settled between you, as easy as breathing. With Oscar, the constant tension of gang loyalty and dangerous allegiances faded into the background, replaced by something rare: peace.

But peace doesn’t last long in your world.

The sharp slam of the front door echoed through the house, snapping the quiet intimacy like a rubber band. A familiar voice followed, loud and clear. “Oscar, you here?”

You froze, your body tensing as Oscar let out a low sigh, his calm demeanor unshaken.

“Of all the times…” he muttered, sitting up slowly.

Before you could even process your next move, the bedroom door burst open, revealing Cesar standing in the doorway. His eyes immediately landed on you, tangled in the sheets beside his brother.

“What the—” Cesar’s voice faltered as he took in the scene, his expression twisting with a mixture of disbelief and anger.

“Cesar,” you began, clutching the blanket tighter around yourself as you sat up, your pulse pounding in your ears.

“No. Nope. Don’t even try to explain,” he cut you off, jabbing a finger in your direction before turning his glare on Oscar. “What the hell, mano? She’s a Prophet. Latrell’s sister. You know how bad this is, right?”

Oscar didn’t flinch. He leaned back against the headboard, arms crossed, his calm gaze locked on Cesar. “Relax,” he said, his tone so steady it was almost maddening.

“Relax?” Cesar echoed, his voice rising in disbelief. “Do you even hear yourself? Do you have any idea what would happen if Latrell—or the Prophets—found out about this? You’re risking everything. For what?”

“For her,” Oscar said simply, his voice low but firm, a quiet declaration that left no room for argument.

Cesar blinked, momentarily stunned by the weight of Oscar’s words. “You’re serious,” he said, his voice quieter now, tinged with incredulity.

Oscar’s gaze didn’t waver. “Dead serious.”

Cesar dragged a hand down his face, pacing a few steps before stopping to glare at both of you again. “Do you know what kind of war you’re starting? You think Latrell’s just gonna let this slide? Fuck, forget Latrell—what about the rest of the Santos?”

Your voice finally broke through, steady despite the storm brewing in Cesar’s expression. “We’ll deal with it. Together.”

Cesar turned his attention back to you, his brow furrowed in frustration. “You’re insane. Both of you.”

“Maybe,” Oscar said with a shrug. “But I don’t scare easy. And I’m not walking away from her.”

Cesar shook his head, letting out a heavy sigh. “You’re both gonna regret this.”

“Maybe,” you said softly, meeting his gaze. “But that’s for us to deal with.”

For a moment, Cesar just stared at you both, his jaw tight with unspoken words.

Cesar looked between the two of you, his frustration palpable. “You’re crazy, mano,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face.

“I know what I’m doing,” Oscar said firmly, standing and stepping toward his brother. “This isn’t some fling. It’s serious.”

Cesar stared at him for a long moment, then turned back to you. “You do realize Latrell would lose it, right? And not just at him—at you.”

You nodded, your throat tight. “I know. But I’m not scared of him.”

“Maybe you should be,” Cesar said darkly. “Because if this gets out, it won’t just be a family issue. It’ll be a war.”

Oscar stepped between you and Cesar, his stance protective. “We’ll deal with it if it comes to that. But this stays between us, understand?”

Cesar hesitated, his jaw tightening. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” With one last look at you both, he turned and left, the sound of the door slamming again echoing through the house.

As silence settled over the room, you exhaled slowly, sinking back onto the bed. “That could’ve gone worse.”

Oscar turned back to you, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “Could’ve gone better, too.”

Despite everything, you couldn’t help but smile as he sat down beside you, his hand finding yours. “You think he’ll keep quiet?”

“He will,” Oscar said confidently. “He might be pissed, but he won’t sell us out. Not to Latrell, not to anyone.”

You nodded, leaning against him as his arm wrapped around your shoulders. “I guess we’ll see.”

Oscar pressed a kiss to your hair, his voice low and steady. “No matter what happens, we’ll figure it out. You and me, alright?”

“Alright,” you murmured, letting yourself believe it—because with Oscar, it didn’t matter what the world thought. As long as you had each other, you’d find a way.

[burnednotburied]

Chapter 7: Lost Haven

AO3 Link | Masterlist

Pairing: Abby Anderson x fem!reader

Fic Synopsis: Abby goes looking for Owen and ends up on the wrong end of your knife.

Tags/CWs: angst; slowburn; mutual pining; enemies to friends to lovers; talks of purity culture/ideals and “sin”; internalized homophobia and some comp-het feelings (they’re both so gay but so dumb about it); animosity between WLF and Seraphites; blood/gore; descriptions of being hanged; religious/cult-like ideas; character deaths (canon AND non-canon)

Note: The last chapter was short and (mostly) sweet. This one... not so much.

Enjoy!

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

This was your fault.

You knew Lev was upset. You knew Yara was having trouble getting through to him. But instead of talking to him – making sure he understood exactly why none of you could go back to the island, handling the situation that was yours to handle – you’d been too busy worrying about your clothes and almost kissing Wolves.

As you raced after Yara through the dimly lit hallways of the aquarium, you silently berated yourself for getting so distracted. For losing sight of what was important. For failing to predict that Lev would do something reckless if you didn’t keep him in your sight. 

If anything happened to him, you would never forgive yourself. 

A strong gust of wind hit your face as you made it into open air, looking out on the makeshift dock where Owen’s boat floated idly. He was already out there, standing near Mel as the two of them looked out at the open water. 

Ominous dark clouds and another punishing current of air told you a storm was coming.

“Are we sure he’s heading to the island? Maybe he’s just blowing off steam,” Abby offered, attempting a comforting tone.

“No,” Yara said. The three of you joined the two others, and Yara pointed out in the same direction Owen and Mel had been looking. “That’s him. He’s definitely going to the island.”

You could just barely make out a small boat in the distance. 

“Shit,” Abby breathed out.

“What’s he doing?” Mel asked.

“He’s going after her.” Yara’s hand grasped onto the metal fence in front of her desperately.

“After who?”

“His mom,” Abby supplied.

“She’s going to kill him, Prophet! You know that,” Yara turned to you, looking devastated. Your fingers curled into tight fists, nails digging into your palms. It was true. You would have to go after him.

“Woah, wait. What? Prophet?” And then it occurred to you that that was something Owen and Mel were not aware of.

But that didn’t matter right now. 

“Your boat.” You turned to meet Owen’s wide eyes. “Does it work?”

There was a brief moment where he seemed to battle with whether or not to push about the Prophet thing, but he chose to let it go. He shook his head. “Not yet.”

“How much time do you need?” Abby asked.

“Uhhh,” he looked away, thinking. “A few hours. At least.”

“Fuck.” Abby turned to you. You were about to ask if there was somewhere else you could get a boat – and you had begun to wonder if you shouldn’t just run off by yourself and hope you came across one quickly by chance – but Abby was already thinking the same thing, already moving, already prepared to jump back into danger for you and your friends. “We’ll head him off. We’ll grab a boat from the marina–”

“Hey! She just had surgery.” Mel threw an arm out in front of Yara, who had begun to follow you, Abby, and Owen.

“I’m fine,” Yara insisted, pushing past the woman.

You paused, reaching blindly behind you to pull Abby back. 

“No, she’s right,” you said. You needed to stop and think about this before you went forward. There was no good way to go about this, but one option was definitely better than the rest. You found Abby’s eyes and realized that you had somehow gone from pulling her by her wrist to holding her hand.

You didn’t let go.

“I could use your help to find a boat, but then I need to do the rest by myself.”

Abby pulled away in shock, and her and Yara’s responses came immediately and simultaneously.

“Fuck that!”

“What? No! You can’t!”

You nodded, doubling down. This was the right thing to do. You were sure of it. “Going to the island would be deadly for anyone here except me.” Again they both tried to protest as you went on. “I know the island better than almost anyone else. On my own, there’s a good chance I could stay undetected. And even if they were to catch me, it would be fine. They don’t know that I deserted. And even if they suspected as much, I’m confident that I can convince them otherwise. Worst case scenario, they won’t kill me immediately like they would the rest of you.”

“You’re not going by yourself,” Abby said, and it was your turn to protest, but she cut you off. “Yara should stay here, but I’m going with you.”

“I’m coming too,” Owen stated matter-of-factly, just as Yara said, “I am going!”

Mel and Abby both jumped to argue with Owen. You left them to figure that out and pulled your friend to the side to talk privately.

“Yara,” you began, “stay here. Please. Help them get ready to leave for Santa Barabara. I promise I’ll bring Lev back.”

“I just–”

“Lev wouldn’t want you to get hurt. Especially not because of him.” 

Yara’s eyes went back out to the water, as if she could make him come back through sheer force of will. You wished the same. You didn’t want to go back to the island, and you really didn’t want Lev to be in danger. 

“I’ll get him. I won’t let anything happen to him.”

Yara was silent for a moment as the first rolls of thunder rumbled loudly.

“I’ll stay,” she said. “But you have to agree to take Abby with you.”

“You already trust her more than me, don’t you?” Your words took on a lightly teasing tone.

“Of course not.” She gave you a small smile as, you assumed, her eyes found Abby somewhere behind you. “But you need someone to watch your back. Lev wouldn’t want you to get hurt either. And neither do I.” She stepped forward and hugged you. It was a bit awkward on your end – with you having to be careful to avoid her healing wound – but it was the first time anyone had embraced you in years. In fact, you were pretty sure the last time had been when Yara hugged you on the morning of your scarring ceremony. 

You cleared your throat. Even if emotions hadn’t already been running high, you would’ve had to swallow down some tears in that moment.

“Yara?” you said, still holding her.

“Yes?”

“When we get back, I’m really going to need you and Lev to stop calling me Prophet.” 

She let out a little laugh at that as you parted. “Deal.”

When you looked back at the other three, you found them standing in the same place you’d left them, watching you and Yara, apparently having already come to an agreement themselves. By the look on Owen’s face, it hadn’t gone the way he wanted it to.

So it would be just the two of you then.

You looked to Abby.

“Ready?”

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

The process of getting a boat wasn’t nearly as straightforward as Abby thought it would be. And it had taken a lot longer than she would’ve liked.

At the marina, the two of you were greeted by the sound of gunshots. She asked you to stay there, hidden near the dock, while she grabbed a boat. 

If there were WLF soldiers nearby, being spotted with you would be a problem. Your lack of facial scars meant you weren’t recognizable as a Seraphite at a glance, but you were still a stranger. She didn’t know how to explain you being with her in a way that wouldn’t bring up too many questions. All in all, it would be easier and faster for her to go alone.

You surprisingly didn’t argue with her, willing to hang back for a bit if it meant getting to the island – getting to Lev – quicker.

Abby almost immediately ran into Manny and found that the gunshots were coming from one of the trespassers who’d come out of nowhere and been hitting WLF hard the last few days. 

She didn’t get the chance to ask Manny what he meant by that. 

The trespasser shot him in the head.

But she got close enough to see him. Close enough to fight with him hand-to-hand.

It was Tommy Miller, Joel’s brother – a realization that made her worry about what these trespassers were here for and what they meant to do.

But Abby was great at setting things aside for later for the sake of focusing on one problem at a time.

And right now, she needed to get you and get to Lev. 

By that point, you’d already caught up to her – because of course you hadn’t actually stayed very far behind at all – but you still needed a boat. 

Abby found a small motorboat tied to one of the docks that proved to be in working order. She got it going, sat behind the wheel, and headed out toward the island, quickly reaching the boat’s top speed, trying to make up for lost time.

You had been silent since you got on the boat, looking out at the water. She cleared her throat, speaking loudly over the combined roar of the motor, the wind, and the water. “So how do we get to that village in one piece?”

Your eyes remained focused ahead. “There are blind spots along the coast we can boat into. From there, we’ll follow back roads.”

“They’re safe?”

“It’s the safest option we have.”

You wore the same expression you’d had since you found out Lev had run off, eyebrows drawn together, a storm in your eyes just as strong as the one in the sky. You were worried, but it was more than that. 

Abby had to call your name twice before you turned to her, reluctant to meet her eyes. “This isn’t your fault, you know.”

You shook your head once and looked back out towards the island, pointing as you began to direct her to the best entrypoint.

The island was weirdly exactly what Abby expected, given what she knew about the Seraphites, and yet seeing it with her own eyes was still shocking.  

The Washington Liberation Front used existing buildings from the Old World. SoundView Stadium and the Lakehill Seattle Hospital. Schools and office buildings. They didn’t build so much as clean, repair, and repurpose.

The Seraphites had built a whole new world on the island. Wooden structures, villages, homes, farmlands. 

It was honestly impressive.

As promised, you had been leading the way through the woods, using backroads. You had yet to run into any other people, but Lev and Yara’s village was further inland, and it was only a matter of time before it became unavoidable.

Abby wondered if you were prepared to kill your own people. And if you would hold it against her when she did, to keep you safe and to get to Lev.

You had been quiet for a while, deftly navigating through a thick stretch of forest with her following close behind. If you didn’t want to talk, she wasn’t going to force the issue.

It had begun raining a while ago, although the worst of the storm hadn’t hit yet. The outfit Mel gave you hadn’t included a jacket, and you’d left your cloak behind with the dress.

Would you be offended if she offered you her jacket? Abby wasn’t sure, but you didn’t seem to be bothered by the rain or the cold. 

At a point of higher elevation, you came to a stop, looking out onto a huge settlement in the distance along the western coast.

“Woah. Is that the village?” she asked, using one hand to shield her eyes from the rain to get a better look.

“No,” you said. “That’s Haven, our capital. And that–” You stepped closer to Abby, placing a hand on her shoulder as you shifted your weight to the tips of your toes so your eyelines were level. She leaned into the touch, bringing your faces even closer, cheeks nearly brushing. You pointed to a specific building just north of the large town. It was bigger than the rest and even from that distance, Abby could tell that it was nicer. More carefully and intentionally made and maintained.  “–That is Sanctuary. It was the first Prophet’s home and a sacred place of worship. And it’s where I lived after my scarring ceremony.”

You let several moments pass before your hand fell and you dropped back down to your heels, taking a step to the side.

Sometimes it seemed that you touched her without realizing, without meaning to. And then there’d be a moment when you’d become aware of your actions and pull away. 

She wished you wouldn’t. But now wasn’t the time for that conversation.

“The village is further east.” You turned to go, continuing back into the forest. Abby stood there for a second longer, looking out at the place you’d spent much of your life, being literally worshiped and yet entirely controlled, and she wondered how strange it must feel for you to come back now. 

“Don’t linger,” you said, turning back to find that she hadn’t moved. “They have scouts. They might see you.”

She glanced back one more time before following.

“Are you sure the Wolves are attacking tonight?” you asked, breaking several minutes of silence, both of you having been lost in thought.

She cleared her throat. “Yeah, that’s what my friend told me. They’ll use this storm as a cover for the attack. Unless Isaac changes his mind.”

“Will he change his mind?”

Abby’s gaze was locked onto the ground in front of her. “...I doubt it.”

You stopped abruptly, a gasp leaving your throat. Her eyes shot up, hand flying to her gun at her side.

“Fuck,” she breathed. 

Two WLF soldiers were dead, disemboweled in typical Seraphite fashion, one hanging from an old road sign and the other discarded on the ground like trash. They had clearly been dead for several days, but Abby pulled the gun from the holster on her right thigh anyway. Just in case.

“Did you know them?” you asked, turning to her.

“I’ve seen them around.” Abby brushed it off and kept walking, taking the lead.

“I’m sorry,” you said, running to catch up, voice sincere despite the fact that you hadn’t been the one to do it.

It’s not your fault, she wanted to say.

“It is what it is,” she said instead. And then, because she was curious, “Have you ever–?”

“No,” you said quickly and definitively. “You were supposed to be my first.” Abby felt her cheeks warm. You hadn’t meant it that way at all of course, but that’s where her mind went. She let out a weird, strangled, kind-of-coughing noise that only aided in deepening her blush. 

You went on, unaware, “It was supposed to be a big deal. They were calling it my first kill.” You sounded put off by the whole thing, like very nearly killing Abby had been so beneath you. “That’s why they were letting me off the island for the first time. Things… obviously didn’t go as the Elders planned.”

“Well I feel… weirdly honored,” she said, an attempt at lightening the mood.

“Honored that you were chosen to be my first kill? Or honored that I didn’t actually kill you?” you asked, brows slightly raised but playing along.

“Both I guess.” She shrugged as you sped up a bit so you could walk side-by-side instead of one after the other.

“Yeah well.” You bumped her gently with your shoulder. “I’m glad I didn’t kill you.”

Abby scoffed. “You were never actually going to do it.”

“Yes I was!”

She scoffed again. “Sure. If you say so, princess.”

“I absolutely was going to kill you,” you said, feigning offense. “Abby, if Lev and Yara hadn’t shown up exactly when they did, you would be so dead right now.”

She laughed lightly, shaking her head. To anyone else, this might’ve been a weird thing to joke about, but between the two of you it worked.

“You really don’t think I could’ve done it.” Your eyes were wide in realization, and now you looked like maybe you were truly offended.

“All I’m saying is,” Abby said, smiling to herself, “there seemed to be a whole lot of hesitation on your end of things.”

“Well I’m not saying that I wanted to do it,” you insisted, watching her as you walked. “I’m just saying that I could’ve.”

“Uh huh. Whatever you say.” She knew she was goading you, but it was the first time she’d seen you get anywhere close to a smile since you left the aquarium. 

“Shut up,” you mumbled harshly, whipping your head back around to face forward. 

That made Abby really laugh. She’d never heard you say anything like that before.

You were biting your tongue, trying to suppress a smile of your own.

A loud, low groaning alarm sounded out over the island, and your face instantly fell.

“What is that?”

“It’s our warning signal,” you said, pulling Lev’s bow over your shoulder and grabbing an arrow. “Your people are here. The whole island will be on alert now.”

“God damn it, Isaac,” Abby muttered to herself.

“We’ll cut through the logging camp. This way,” you took a left, leaving the path you’d been on. “We no longer have the luxury of taking the long way to stay hidden. We need to hurry.”

Abby nodded, even though you weren’t looking at her. “How many people live here?”

“Around a thousand.”

“How many soldiers?”

“More than half are trained in combat.”

“What are the other half going to do when my people get here?”

“Some will hide. Most will fight,” you said, leading the way into the nearest village.

It was empty. No one around, ready to attack.

“Where is everyone?”

“The children will have been taken to shelters as soon as the signal went off. Everyone else is probably moving towards the coast to face the Wolves.” 

The second small village you passed through was still being evacuated. As expected, when they caught sight of Abby, they attacked. In the chaos, no one seemed to get a close enough look at you to recognize who you were.

Abby fought. And killed.

You fired more than a few arrows.

And then you moved on to the next village, making a near-straight shot to where you knew Lev would be.

Abby paused just within the treeline.

In the trunk of a tree, someone had painstakingly sculpted a life-sized, hyper-realistic statue of you. Just above your head, the words “May Her light guide us” were carved. 

You stopped next to Abby, regarding the figure in your likeness for a moment.

“‘When you’re lost in the darkness, look for the light,’” she said quietly. 

“What’s that?”

“Just… something my dad used to say.”

You hummed in acknowledgment, glancing down to where the trunk met the earth.

“Those are new,” you said, referring to the mass of flowers that were carefully placed around the tree.

It reminded Abby of the flowers people put near the graves and memorials of their dead loved ones. 

“It’s like they’re mourning you,” she said.

“They think I’m dead?” you asked, knowing she couldn’t have an answer. 

Abby pulled her eyes away from the intricate carving to look at the real, living, breathing version of you beside her. “Where are we going?”

Without looking away from the flowers, you said, “See that tall tower?”

“The Space Needle?”

“The what?”

“The – never mind. Yeah. I see it.”

“Head towards it.”

You knelt down, letting the fingers of your left hand graze over some of the flowers. When they landed on a daisy, you picked it up, stood, and carefully pushed it into your pocket.

She waited patiently before following you onward.

You had to get through a few more villages – and the few Scars who had been left behind to defend them – before you got to the right one.

At least Abby thought it must be the right one. Because you had come to a full stop and were staring at one specific house.

“Is that it?” she asked, putting a hand on your shoulder to bring you back down to earth.

“No,” you whispered absentmindedly. “It’s this one.” You walked towards the house across from the one you’d been staring at, bow drawn, arrow nocked.

Abby moved ahead of you and slid the door open. 

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

A lit fire pit in the center of the large, open room illuminated the space in an orange glow. You stepped inside, letting your weapon fall when you saw the lifeless body in front of the fire.

It was Lev and Yara’s mother.

Blood ran from a wound in her skull, pooling on the floor beneath her.

You let out a shaky breath.

And whipped around when you heard your name uttered from an even shakier voice coming from the corner of the room.

“Lev!” He was sitting, knees up, arms wrapped around them, curled in on himself, eyes locked on his mom. “Oh thank god,” you breathed out, rushing over. You were on your knees in front of him before you saw the damage that had been done. Cuts all across his face and arms. Your heart sank even deeper. “Did she do this to you?”

Lev let out a few hiccupping breaths, still staring past you at the body. “I just tried talking to her. I tried to make her understand, but she… she just kept yelling. She started chasing me. I tried to make her stop. I was just pushing her off of me…” His volume grew, voice becoming more desperate as he tried to explain.

“Hey hey hey,” you whispered, trying to soothe, wanting to fix.

“–Then she hit the table,” he sobbed.

“Listen to me.” Your hand was on his elbow, thumb gently circling. “You were defending yourself. You did nothing wrong.” When he finally met your eyes, you wrapped your arms around him and held him as he cried, grasping onto you so tightly it took your breath away. “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

You stayed there for several minutes, holding him against you, rubbing his back as he kept his face buried where your shoulder met your neck. You held him until his sobbing subsided and his breathing slowed. You remembered how Yara used to hug you when you were kids, never being the first to let go, and you hugged her little brother – your little brother – in just the same way.

You pressed a kiss to the side of his head and squeezed a little tighter.

“I wanna leave,” he said, voice muffled against you.

“Yeah, me too.” When he lifted his head, you stood, offering him a hand up. He took it and kept holding on, even once he was standing too. “Come on,” you said, motioning to the door.

Abby was there – she had been there the whole time – and her eyes looked soft and sad when they met yours.

“Hey, kid,” she said to Lev, offering him one of her handguns. You squeezed his hand one last time before letting it go so he could grab it, glad that Abby had the forethought to make sure he was armed.

He wiped his face with his shirt sleeve before taking the weapon from her. “I’m sorry. I never should’ve–”

“It’s okay,” she said. “I’m just glad we found you. Let’s go.”

He nodded as she turned to push the door back open. The three of you stepped back out into the rain.

“What’s happening? Wolves?” Lev asked.

“Yeah,” you said, taking the lead. “All over the island.” Your eyes caught again on the house across the way, making you pause. 

Lev stopped next to you, immediately understanding. “She’s not there.”

“I figured.”

“Do you want to go in?” he asked.

“We don’t have time,” you said, but you couldn’t turn away.

“We’re never coming back here, right?”

“God, I hope not.”

“Then let’s make time,” he said, making the decision for you as he walked over and opened the door. You followed behind him, and Abby followed behind you, not asking any questions.

The inside of your mother’s house was much the same as Lev’s and Yara’s. One large, open room on the first floor. Fire pit in the center. A ladder leading up to a loft.

It looked nearly the same as you remembered it, though you hadn’t stepped foot in there in eight years. There was the stool in front of the mirror where you’d tried not to cry while your mom fixed your hair over and over again until she deemed it ‘as close to perfect as imperfect people can be’ on your last morning here. There was the table where you did your lessons and learned to read the scripture, and where you’d sit and have meals as a family, back before your dad died. The little wooden animals your dad used to carve in his rare, precious spare time. The bed where your mother slept.

Everything was the same. Except for the far wall. 

Where there was once a painting of the first Prophet, your own face now stared back at you. And next to the painting, in neat lettering:

“The world is not in balance,

But I have done my part to right it.

You have led me through the storm.

May the current be calm.

May you guide me home.”

“What’s that?” Abby asked, speaking for the first time since you entered the house.

“The Prophet’s prayer,” you said quietly, turning away from the wall entirely. 

“She prays to it,” Lev said matter-of-factly. “The painting,” he clarified. 

“I could’ve gone without knowing that, Lev,” you said, sounding cross despite your efforts not to.

“Your mom?” Abby asked. “This is her house, right?”

“Yep,” Lev answered for you.

You felt sick to your stomach.

“It’s like the Elders decided you were the new Prophet and then everyone lost their minds,” he went on as you made your way over to the ladder and climbed up to the loft. “Your mom stopped calling you her daughter. Suddenly your face was everywhere, but we weren’t allowed to go see you or talk to you. We weren’t even supposed to talk about you, you know, before. Someone overheard Yara using your real name, and they… The punishment was severe.”

You listened as you stood alone in the loft, looking around at what used to be your bedroom. This, your mother had left completely untouched. It seemed like no one had even been up here in the eight years you’d been gone. “I’m listening,” you reassured Lev as you began searching for something. The one thing you wanted to take with you before you left forever. 

“After that, it was hard to even think of you as the same person we knew. The girl who used to braid little flowers into crowns for us. Who came up with the best games and told the wildest stories and broke the rules but only in ways that didn’t really matter and only when you knew you wouldn’t get caught… The girl who carried me back home, all the way across the island, when I fell and broke my foot, singing the whole way because you knew it would make me feel better.” He paused for a second before continuing, “You were the first person who I told I didn’t like my name – I didn’t like the way it made me feel – so, without asking me a single question, without asking me to explain myself or justify anything, you just… never called me that name again.” Lev’s voice broke just a little, and you wiped away a few of your own tears as you continued looking. You knew this was everything he’d needed to get off his chest, probably since long before you were reunited a few days ago, and you didn’t want to interrupt. “You were our sister and then one day they took you away from us. And no one but me and Yara seemed upset about it. Our mom was weird. Your mom was even weirder. Everyone acted like you were a god. The God. Not even a person. And like everything else, everything before, didn’t matter. Like it wasn’t real. They made us believe it.”

You finally found what you’d been looking for, and you could sense that Lev had run out of things to say, at least for the time being, so you shoved it in your pocket with the daisy, climbed back down the ladder, walked over to him, and hugged him tightly again.

“They’re good at that,” you said quietly. “At making us forget… But it’s okay. We’re together now. Let’s get out of here.” He sniffled and nodded as you pulled away. “I’m surprised you remember all of that. You were so young.”

He said your name, eyebrows drawing together like he shouldn’t have to say this, “You were my favorite person. Of course I remember.”

“Really?” you asked, smiling. “Not Yara?”

“Don’t feel bad for her,” he said, heading to the door. “You were her favorite too.”

Abby brushed past you as she followed Lev out, letting her hand brush against yours as she went. You met her eyes and smiled apologetically, grateful to her for being here. For helping with this.

You took up the back of the line, taking one final look around before shutting that door behind you forever. 

Outside, the rain had picked up and daylight was slipping away. By the sounds of it, the fighting had grown closer on all sides, although it hadn’t yet reached the village you were in.

“This way,” you said, taking the lead again.

“Shouldn’t we head back for our boat?” Abby asked when you didn’t start going back the way you’d come.

“No, I hear fighting back there.” 

“I hear fighting everywhere,” Abby argued.

Lev stopped next to you. “There are lots of boats in Haven.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” you said. “We’re closer to Haven now than to where we came from anyway. We can cut through Old Town. Avoid the main roads.”

Abby looked unsure, but relented to the two who knew the island. “Alright, princess. Lead the way.”

Your group managed to avoid conflict for a while, from both the Wolves and the Seraphites, staying hidden in the trees and avoiding areas where the fighting was the loudest.

You moved in near silence, keeping the talking to a minimum.

Old Town referred to an area of old buildings, left completely unused by the anti-Old World Seraphites. The thing that had surprised you the most about the mainland was that it looked like Old Town, only much much bigger. The Wolves hadn’t carved out their own place in the world in the same way the Seraphites did. 

You wondered if the rest of the world was like that. Just people making the best of what already was instead of building something new.

The three of you moved carefully and quickly through the streets of Old Town, cutting through alleyways and relying mostly on side streets. 

“We’re leaving so many people behind,” Lev said as you passed by a few dead Seraphites on the road.

“We can’t help them,” you said. That’s what you had to tell yourself.

“I know.”

“Stay close to me,” you whispered.

“Okay.”

“We need to get off the street,” Abby said, leading you into one of the nearby buildings as the sound of gunshots grew closer.

You lost count of how many buildings you passed through, each of them equally derelict and damp. It took longer, traveling that way, but it meant you were much less likely to be seen.

“This way,” Lev said, pulling himself up and out of a large window that appeared to lead out to a side road. His feet hit the street before either you or Abby had even made it to the window. She was the first to follow after him. 

From inside, you couldn’t see what was happening, but you heard a struggle. Someone yelled, “I got one!” And then there was a gunshot.

Your heart lurched.

Abby yelled – no, screamed – Lev’s name.

You pulled yourself up as fast as you could.

But you were too late.

Lev was already on the ground.

He was already gone.

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“Abby?” The WLF soldier gasped as she knocked him out with his own gun.

The one he’d used to kill Lev.

By the time she had taken the man out, you were out the window and on your knees next to Lev. Silent. Staring. Your hands frozen, shaking, hovering just above his body like you wanted to touch him but didn’t know if you should.

Your whole body shook with a sob.

“Gunshots! Over here!” More Wolves were just down the street. You were seconds away from being within their sights.

Abby rushed to you, grabbing your arm. “Hey, we need to move.” She wished more than anything that this wasn’t happening right now. She wanted to give you time, wanted to sit beside you and cry too, but that wasn’t an option right now.

“No!” You pushed her away. Abby didn’t have a choice. If you didn’t move now, you’d be dead too. She hooked her arms under yours and lifted you, trying to carry you away. “No!” you cried out, grabbing for Lev, fighting against her. “I can’t leave him here!”

“We have to!” she insisted, not letting you go.

The Wolves were closing in. “I see someone!”

There was no point. You wouldn’t be able to get away in time. Abby put you down and pushed you behind her, raising her gun. “Stay back!” she shouted as the soldiers came into view.

“Drop it! Now!” one of them demanded while two others said, “Holy shit!” and “It’s Abby!”

“I said stay back!” She held firm, ready to fire at any one of them at a moment's notice.

“Stand down,” came another voice. One Abby recognized.

The man stepped out of the treeline and into view. 

“Isaac,” she said.

When he came upon Lev’s body on the ground, he regarded it for a moment before shaking his head and slowly stepping over it.

Abby held her gun to the side, not putting it away but showing that she wasn’t aiming at him. She was, like he’d instructed, standing down.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked.

She slowly bent down, fingers raised away from the trigger, as she dropped her gun on the ground a few feet in front of her. “I need you to hear me out.”

Isaac took a beat before he responded. “What’s that behind you?”

Abby held a hand up and kept her voice calm, like she was trying to reason with a wild animal instead of a man and a handful of his soldiers. She took a couple steps back, bumping into you, making sure you were close without ever looking away from him. “She saved my life, Isaac.”

“Move out of the way. We’ll deal with you back home.”

He wasn’t listening.

“She’s not one of them. Please,” Abby said, desperation in her voice. 

“Abby, move.” He was firm and expected to be obeyed, just as he always did.

But she couldn’t obey this time. She knew what would happen to you if she did. “No. She’s–”

“–The Prophet,” he finished. And then his gaze slid from hers to yours. “Yeah. I recognize you. They’ve got your face plastered all over this island.”

You said nothing, and Abby wanted his attention back on her, away from you. She tried again. “Isaac–”

He cut her off again, this time with a sudden laugh. “I tried to warn you, Abby. Didn’t I?” And then he turned dramatically, to the surrounding Wolves, gesticulating theatrically in her direction. “BEHOLD the power of the Great Scar Prophet!” His eyes landed back on her. “Able to pull my best soldier right out from under me. Make her turn her back on everything she believes in. And everyone she cares about.”

“That’s not– She’s not–” Abby didn’t know how to make him understand. “She’s not part of this.”

“That is correct. She’s not a part of this,” Isaac seethed. “She. Is. This.”

“What–”

“Every time they attack us – every time they slaughter one of our people – it is done in her name. Every new martyr of theirs dies with her face at the forefront of their mind. Every life lost here today is because of her, along with every life that has been lost in the last decade of this war. All of this death and destruction – all of the blood — is on her hands.”

“Isaac, you can’t seriously think–”

And then, for the first time, Isaac pointed his gun directly at Abby, leveling it at her face. “You have three seconds to get away from that Scar,” he said. “One.”

“You’re really gonna shoot me?” Abby reached a hand out behind her, finding you, making sure you were still behind her, still shielded.

“Two.”

“I’m not fucking moving.”

Isaac paused. And Abby thought, for just a second, that he might’ve changed his mind. That he might back down.

And then there was a gunshot. 

She flinched, but it wasn’t her who had been shot.

It was Isaac. Shot by–

“Lev!” you shouted, surging forward.

“No!” “What the fuck?” “Shoot him!” The soldiers all turned their guns on Lev and fired.

You screamed.

Abby grabbed your hand and booked it to the nearest building, taking advantage of the chaos. You were too shocked to fight her this time, so you allowed yourself to be pulled away.

“Shit!” “Stop them!” “Don’t let them get away!”

Abby slammed the door closed behind you and pushed a filing cabinet in front of it, grabbing your hand and dragging you further into the building, through another door. Once that one was secure, she reached for you again. If she had to drag you all the way back to the aquarium, she would.

But this time, you ripped your hand away. That’s when you seemed to notice the blood on your hands. 

Lev’s blood.

“We need to move.” She wanted you to have time, for you to be able to fully react and process this, but it needed to be later. When you were safe.

You didn’t hear her. Or didn’t care. “He’s gone. Oh my god. He’s gone.”

She said your name, forcefully, trying to draw your eyes to her. “Come on.” She reached for you again, but you yanked your whole body in the opposite direction.

“Those were your fucking people!” you lashed out, much angrier than she’d ever seen you, and for good reason.

“Hey! You’re my people!” she said, matching your volume and intensity. Abby didn’t know where that came from, but she knew that it was true. She took a breath, stepped closer, and tried to touch you again, this time putting her hands on your shoulders. You let her, looking up at her with wide eyes. “Listen to me. We’re gonna have to fight to get out of this, okay? And then I need you to show us to those boats.” You nodded, and she moved her hands from your shoulders to either side of your face, holding your gaze. “We won’t let anybody stop us, yeah?”

“Okay,” you said, barely a whisper.

“Okay.” She stepped back, letting her hands fall to her sides. “Follow me.”

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Haven was burning.

You were on a boat, floating off to safety, while your whole island went up in flames.

Lev was there. Your mother was there. Everything and everyone you knew was there.

But you were here.

In a rowboat.

And you weren’t even helping to row it.

You hadn’t even thought to offer. 

The phantom heat of the now distant fires that consumed Haven seemed to lick at the back of your skull as you finally pulled your eyes away, turning to face Abby.

She was rowing slowly, now that you weren’t in imminent danger, her strong arms engaged, face focused. She had to be tired. She’d done so much.

You were only alive because of her.

“I can row,” you said, voice weaker than you meant for it to be. 

Abby slowed a bit more, looking you over. “You’re shaking.”

You hadn’t noticed. You clenched your fists tightly, trying to stop the tremors. But it wasn’t just your hands that were shaking. It was your whole body. 

Were you cold? 

For how long?

You steeled yourself. “I can help.” 

She stopped rowing entirely and started to shift. You prepared yourself to switch seats with her, but she wasn’t actually moving. She was only taking off her jacket.

You felt like you should protest, that you should insist you were fine and that she should keep her jacket, but you didn’t have it in you. 

When she went to drape it over your shoulders, you let her. 

The jacket was soaked, just like everything else in Seattle, but it helped.

You put your arms in the sleeves properly and pulled it tighter around yourself, staring at the floor of the boat. 

What you wanted was for your mind to go blank. Thinking about anything was dangerous. You didn’t want to spiral, not right now. You couldn’t create more problems for Abby to deal with. You needed to just get back to the aquarium, get dry, and then–

Yara.

You had to tell Yara what happened. 

How could you tell Yara about this? You promised her you’d bring Lev back safe.

Lev.

Images came rushing back to you. You tried to blink them away, but they were stubborn. They lingered.

You swallowed back tears and let your head fall into your hands, trying desperately to focus on your breathing and nothing else. Nothing else. Nothing. Else.

Abby brought the boat right up to a small dock right next to the aquarium. She got out first and tied it off with deft fingers. Then she offered you a hand and pulled you out, stabilizing you as you found balance on embarrassingly shaky legs.

“Got it?” she asked, a hand pressed to your mid-back.

“Yeah.”

She stepped away. “Let’s get out of the rain.”

Someone had barricaded the aquarium door from the inside.

That was the first indication that something was wrong.

The second came soon after, when you found the dog – Alice – dead. 

You and Abby were both on high alert, moving through the dark hallways with your weapons drawn.

Then there was the blood. So much of it that there was a pool of it gathering on the other side of the door. Whatever happened – whatever went so terribly wrong here in the time that you were gone today – was through that doorway.

You forgot to breathe.

Abby pressed on. 

You really didn’t want to, but you followed.

Into the room with whales on the ceiling and Mel, Owen, and Yara lifeless and bleeding on the floor.

You went numb in a way that had nothing at all to do with the cold. You felt the switch flipping inside of you, the failsafe going into effect. You detached. Walls went up in your mind. 

This was good. It meant that maybe, just maybe, you’d make it through this day. 

You were somewhat aware of Abby, to your left, as she let out a terrible sound. You thought she was saying “oh,” but no. That didn’t make sense. She was saying “no.” Over and over again as she crumpled to her knees near Owen.

Your eyes locked onto something on the floor by your feet. To get it, you had to step through a pool of blood that had certainly come from one of the three bodies.

But it was just blood, you told yourself. And these were just bodies. Nothing to be done. Nothing to worry about.

Numbly, you bent to pick up what you now realized was a map of Seattle. Someone had written on it, covering it in notes and shapes and names.

After studying it for a minute, your eyes went to Abby. She was on her hands and knees, heaving after having been sick.

You’d give her a moment more if you thought it would help, but you knew it wouldn’t.

This. This map. That would help.

“Abby…” You approached her slowly, letting her make an attempt at pulling herself together. When you were close enough, you held out the map.

She took it, and then she stood slowly, examining it.

When she turned to you, you could tell. She knew the same thing you did.

Someone had been tracking Abby – hunting her – for a while.

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

“The trespassers,” she said.

They killed Manny. 

They killed Owen and Mel.

And, according to the map, they’d gotten to Nora, Jordan, Leah, and Nick too.

All in pursuit of Abby. 

Because of something she had done.

But they fucked up.

They left the map.

And now she knew exactly where to find them.

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Note: As always, thank you for reading! I'm not the best at responding to comments, but I want you to know that I love and cherish them more than words can say! So if you're leaving them, thank you <3

I'm really excited about the turn the story takes in the next chapter, and I think it'll be really enjoyable to read for anyone who's rooting for Abby and the Prophet! (which is, I assume, everyone who reads this fic lol)

Taglist: @4-atsu @h0meb0dyi @lmaoo-spiderman @quinnsadilla @rew1nds @sapphicontherun @stickynachomaker

[treacletartlett]

vulnerability

for the struggling girlies with anxiety♡

there's no one who you can really open up to, who you can talk about the most personal things with, but harry, he seems to be able to read you like an open book. he shows you how to make yourself feel good without guilt, he shows you how to be vulnerable with yourself and other people.

sorry guys this ended up being much longer than anticipated, I enjoyed writing this so much!

includes sexual content!

You and Harry are not actually friends, but sharing a friend group and house forced you to be friendly acquaintances, and when passing each other in the halls you greet each other with a simple greeting.

secretly, there has always been a kind of attraction you held for him, his charm, his good looks, but you never spoke about it with anyone since it didn't seem like anything past friendly attraction. unfortunately, that quickly grew into something you’d rather not speak about.

you didn't experience such feelings often, but when you did, they weren't as intense as you felt with him, which was something you struggled with a lot. you didn't enjoy the things your friends loved, or when someone tried to get it on with you your body didn't react as you wanted it to, even if it's just for wanting to know that you could feel the same as the others.

during breakfast time, you were sitting with your friends as usual. though what were unusual was that you had joined them a bit later than the rest.

you were that type of person who arrives earlier than the rest and is always on time.

your friend, neville, who was as oblivious as they come and nicely sitting next to hermione granger, who was Harry's best friend, looked at you with confusion while asking "where were you at? you're never this late to breakfast, I was almost worried."

the rough start of the morning did nothing to ease this situation.

trying to act casual, you scooped some egg and other foods on your plate, not paying attention to what you were piling your plate with. a faint pinkish tint rising on your cheeks.

“nothing, just slept late.” You mumbled loud enough for them to hear.

“I dont think that’s true,” Hermione spoke softly, that look on her face indicating she knows something suspicious was going. “you slept and woke up at the same time as me.”

hermione really knew how to put someone on the spot. while uneasily trying to make something up, Harry, who was sitting two places to Hermione's right, spoke up while holding the morning edition of The Daily Prophet.

“that doesn't matter, more importantly, Ginny, you're going to the quidditch tryouts, aren't you?” successfully steering the conversation away from you, you felt grateful for the minor save. you looked at him for a second, smiling slightly before focussing on something else.

“Yes, I'm trying out for chaser, then I have an excuse to push people.” Ginny said, but you weren’t really listening, your mind wandering.

"I'm sure you'll do great, alongside Ron of course, anyone else going? are you?" he asked you, suddenly interested. you weren't actually sure if you wanted to try out, never having been on the team yourself, but you loved quidditch, and did want to be, but with Harry as captain this year, you weren't sure how focussed you could be.

"oh well, I'm not sure. I've thought about it, but I don't know." you replied sheepishly. the lack of confidence in your voice has always had a way to embarrass you, even after such a long time. you were never able to grow into your own skin much, even after having seen all your friends grow up and get that self-confidence you lacked.

"I've seen you fly, y/n, you really should try-out! you're an amazing flyer." Ron said, which shocked you slightly, unknowing to his seeing you fly before-which you did with your friends often, late in the night- and the fact that he just praised your skills, has plastered a smile on your face and lifted some of your self-consciousness.

Harry nodded, seemingly agreeing with Ron. "yea, you definitely should, Ron and I were impressed with you! we're surprised you haven't tried out before."

your face reddened even more, and you hoped you weren't the same shade as a tomato, being put on the spot. you were really bad at getting compliments, scared you would come off as rude or arrogant by how you reply to them, so you did what you thought you should and smiled, and told them a small thank you to which they both smiled back at before resuming their conversation with Ginny, and the rest of the Gryffindors.

after breakfast, you and your friends left for classes, but the way Harry complimented you hasn't been able to leave your mind, making you lose focus for the majority of the day.

when classes ended you decided to split off from your friends a walk your own way, needing some space to clear your mind. your footsteps echoed and you grazed the wall, slightly leaning right against it. there was such a peaceful silence that it made you doze off. you weren’t paying attention to anything or anyone around, but it wasn’t needed since there weren’t anyone but you in the corridor.

Or so you thought. a small grunt escaped your mouth, the impact of walking into a wall hit you hard. but, as it turns out it wasn’t a wall. it was a someone. steadying yourself you looked up at the person you just walked into.

Harry Potter turned around and chuckled when he saw you. “You okay?" he asked, while he tried to hold in his laugh

it wasn't a hard hit as it would've been if you walked into an actual wall, but it still shocked you slightly. because of quidditch, he’s grown quite muscular, not too much, but just enough to make his back feel firm to the touch.

“Oh, right, yea sorry about that, wasn’t paying attention.” You mumbled, a faintly blushing.

“I noticed,” he chuckled. "don't worry about it, I didn't pay attention either. where were you off to?" his quick change in subject startled you, but when you collected your thoughts you croaked out your answer. "just walking around, wasn't thinking of a specific place."

He nodded, in thought, as if he carefully constructed his next question in his mind. "why were you actually late this morning? it didn't seem like anything particular, but when I saw Hermione's face, I knew she was suspicious, and most of her suspicions are justified."

this was the last thing you expected him to ask you, after he led the conversation this morning elsewhere. your face heated up in a second, reliving the memories of you this morning. you weren't sure how to reply, knowing you weren't the best of liars, and harry seemed to catch on to this rather quickly. was this the time to be honest? to tell the person you've experienced a different feeling with than the handful others you thought more than once about? it would be weird, and damn random. you and Harry weren't even real friends, this was something you wouldn't even tell your closest friends.

"well, uh, nothing. it was nothing. I was only late once, it happens. anyway I should get going." you tried to hurry off, staying casual, but it didn't work. as you walked past him, he followed you, and it seemed like he was going to stop at any given moment.

"you know, I'm not trying to embarrass you or anything, I'm just curious since your face reddened a bit when neville asked, and we haven't really spoken before, so because you're going to be on the quidditch team I thought we should try and maybe get to know each other, even if it's just a bit? anyway, whatever it is, I know it isn't nothing, and while I'm mostly someone who doesn't push, I'm also very curious, also to know you a bit, so whatever it is, don't worry, I won't find it weird or anything."

after he stopped rambling, silence filled the hall while you tried to articulate a convincing excuse. you weren't sure what he would think, and after his speech, you tried to focus on anything but his remark that you'll be on the team, when you haven't even clarified if you're trying-out. after pondering, and dragging it out for as long as you can, you stumbled a bit over your words before you managed to just throw everything out, for some reason forgetting all the reasons why you didn't want to tell him anything in the first place. he looked at you with such a look that for some reason made you think he wouldn't be caught off guard by what you were about to say.

you flushed bright red, your body having a hobby of showing your embarrassment which you've always cursed your genes for. "well, I'm not sure. so I- I think there is something wrong, or I don't know, with me. This is probably really weird, so yea," he shook his head in disagreement. "I was just- you know, I was, I don't know. I've never experienced those feelings before, even though everyone around me has, and well, you know, I also haven't had intense feelings for anyone until recently and it's really weird, I'm not sure what to do with them, so I did what everyone does and woke up early after I- after I had a-," you stopped talking for a second. "a dream, about, well, someone I think, and I thought 'I just have to try' because I wanted my body to react normally like everyone talks about, but I felt really weird and I hate discussing stuff like this, so it didn't really work out and after I felt really uncomfortable and dirty, or something, that I did that. I don't know why I won't just enjoy it like everybody else, but I guess my body just won't change or turn normal or something."

after you finished your sentence and caught your breath, you realised you rambled on to Harry for a solid second. embarrassment and disbelieve clouded your head, but Harry just listened to you talk and seemed interested in what you had to say. you could almost see the wheels turn in his head, forming a reply to your story. nerves settled low in your stomach and doubt clouded your thoughts, afraid you overshared or made him feel weird, but when he spoke, he spoke with such interest and care you suddenly forgot every worry you had.

"y/n, just because you don't experience things like others doesn't mean you can't give love to yourself. there is nothing wrong with you, or your body. just because it's deemed 'the ordinary' doesn't tell you that you have to experience it the same way as others." he stepped closer, "you don't have to 'overcome' it, because there is nothing strange about those mental barriers you set, you just have to understand what your body is telling you, without feeling disgusted. it's nature." his words felt like a caress against your back, the soft tone of his whisper a hug around you. they reassured you, settled the doubts you've had for so long a fraction, which is a fraction more than anyone has ever.

you weren't sure how to reply, this whole conversation feeling weird to you, but when you looked at him he seemed at ease. it wasn't new though, your friends loved to talk about it, and even though you didn't, you didn't want anyone to know about your 'abnormality'.

"so who's the person anyway, the one you were talking about." he asked. you looked at him, confused, not expecting him to ask that either.

"what?" you asked, absentmindedly. "you know, the person you had feelings for." you tensed. he obviously didn't know it was him, and you weren't about to tell him. "well, I-, I don't know." it was a feeble attempt, but it didn't work, obvious by Harry who started laughing.

"that was a really sad excuse, sorry." he said when he caught his breath. "it's okay, I promise I won't tell anyone." he looked eager to know, to know which person managed to activate your sex drive for the first, and probably last, time in your life. having spilled so much, you were at a loss for words. slight panic overtook you as you stayed silent, trying to come up with something.

Harry kept looking at you patiently. it was visible he really wanted to know, but he tried to hide it while you looked for something to say. the corridor almost came to an end, giving way for the grounds outside. it wasn't cold per se, but it wasn't pure sunshine either.

it was perfect.

you gave up trying to find an excuse to say that would convince him otherwise, and kept silence, hoping he'll magically forget he's asked you anything. it was pathetic, but maybe it would work.

"it isn't going to work." he spoke.

well, it was worth trying.

"you can't ignore me, or your feelings. maybe I can help you. whoever it is, I won't judge, I won't even reply, if you don't want me to." he stopped walking, standing in front of you when you two just passed a large tree. he had this puppy dog eye look, and silently begged to know the answer.

you weren't really sure why he wanted to know so bad, but for some reason it felt good knowing he wanted to know something like that, so personal. nevertheless, it was hard trying to maintain secrecy while he's looking at you like that.

"what if it were someone you knew really well?" you asked softly, slightly hinting at who it could be. you felt anxious as you avoided looking at him, your head bowed to the ground, suddenly interested in the green of the grass.

it was quiet, there seemed to be no one outside except for you two, which was highly unusual, since it's always packing with this weather, but you guessed the universe was at your side, granting you full privacy with Harry.

"then that would be just fine." he answered. his voice was calm and gentle, unlike your hoarse whisper. you wanted him to suddenly know without having to tell him, it would be much easier.

"someone you wouldn't expect, that you knew better than anyone else?" your eyes met his, awkwardly. you hoped he would just get the hint, you'll both ignore this conversation, and act like nothing happened while still being on good terms.

that seemed like the perfect scenario, right?

he stepped closer, not close enough to kiss your shoes, but enough to see the green of his eyes and feel his body heat warm you up like a fire.

"then I wouldn't mind at at," he smiled slightly, melting your heart immediately. "y/n, let me help you."

what did that mean? help you? did he understand, and choose to ignore, or he just didn't, and was pushing you to tell him? you didn't know how to reply, the silence was loud in your head.

"it's okay, I promise. just trust me, it's gonna be okay." he said when you kept silent. it seemed as if he mistook your confusion for dread of what he meant, but this was awkward enough, so you kept silent, praying in your head for this conversation to end, or for the earth to swallow you and never spit you out. they both seemed like good solutions for now.

you realised you probably looked stupid, or rude, just staying silent and ignoring Harry like this, but it was difficult trying to come up with a good reply. but you tried, needing the misery to end.

"can we just forget all this?" mid-whisper, you heard how cliche and pathetic you sounded, feeling betrayed by your inner mind voice, which sounded perfectly fine saying this line in your head.

about to turn away, your head down, Harry seemed to understand how you feel. how, when you two didn't even talk on a daily basis, did he seem to understand you so deeply when even the people closest to you can't? you get it, maybe because you've told him things you haven't told anyone else, or because his eyes are so bright it feels like they are seeing through your mind. or because to him, you're such an open book, you're feelings are just so normal, he understands more than he's ever understood before, which interests him.

"you don't have to walk away, y/n. you don't have to understand everything at once. let me help you this time, and after you can figure it out, okay? just, come with me, and I'll be there, and I won't forget, because I want to show you I understand." he took your hand in his, signalling for you to follow.

though you are grateful he didn't make you have to answer, even though his words settled in your stomach, wrapped around your head and blinded you with something you can't put a name to.

but you did, you did follow him all the way to his bed, in silence, where it was empty and just the two of you.

you felt trepidation about what was going to happen. it clicked in your head, all the talk about loving yourself and helping you. it was scary, just because you weren't sure how you and your body would react to his hands all over your skin, when you so desperately wanted to enjoy it.

the door closed, the walls radiated silence, which bounced off of every solid thing right into your eardrum, deafening you with the loudness of it. your heartbeat felt faster than before, the skin of your hand scorching hot where he held it. his eyes burned to the back of your head, seemingly unmasking everything under the veil constructed to keep your thoughts and emotions at bay.

you tried to hide it all, the subtle excitement, the dread, worry, all the fear, the inexperience. you hoped what he planned wasn't to unmask all of it, because that means being even more vulnerable with him than you've already been.

"y/n," he called softly, your name coming from his mouth like a sweet melody, it awakened something inside of you only the soft voice of him could. it was gentle, but reassuring.

you looked at him, your full attention turned to him and this moment.

"tell me when it's too much." he caressed your cheek softly, instantly creating a hot flush on my skin. "okay?" he pushed.

you nodded, your mind too lost to form legible sentences. you couldn't think, couldn't speak, even if you wanted to. you couldn't move, unless he helped you. you didn't want it to be too much, you hoped it would be just enough.

you knew Harry, you knew he knew what you needed.

"tell me what you're feeling," he leaned his forehead against yours, pulling you even closer.

the soft heat radiating off of him was different than your friends explained, everything was so much different than your friends explained.

"tell me what you want," his lips were so close, almost close enough to feel, to taste. he pulled you even closer, you were inches apart. one hand holding your face, the other feather light on your back, almost as if he's scared to hurt you by holding you too firmly. his lips got closer, and closer, until they made the lightest contact with yours.

they were soft, and tender, and even though it was only a second, a second of his lips on yours, you felt every touch of him, you felt something that made you need him even more, that made you want his lips for even just a second longer.

then, he backed you against the bed, making you lay down and pulling him on top of you, maintaining eye contact. his hands found their way to your shirt, pausing before pulling it up.

"tell me everything." his gentle tone pulled at your heart. reason left you completely, and there was no way you would ever want to stop this moment.

"may I take this off?" he questioned, so serious, but patient, and so gentle. it made you feel so safe and cared for, so comfortable in a way you didn't think possible with anyone else.

you nodded. "yes," breathless, exhilarated, assured.

you didn't think about your insecurities anymore, or your friends, or even why and how this happened. nothing is flying around in your mind anymore except for Harry, and his bright green eyes, looking adoringly at you, while his gentle hands lifted your shirt, slowly pulling it off of you.

then, his fingers went to your pants, unbuttoning, and pulling down the zipper, taking them off of you completely.

you were left in your panties, almost completely naked in contrary to Harry, who was still fully, clothed. it was unnerving, but also exciting. knowing you were actually anticipating him taking off his clothes made you feel good.

"Harry," you called.

"yes, baby?" baby. one word. four letters. the absolute most ordinary and widely used nickname for a significant other, but still, when he called you that, in that tone, it made you want him to repeat it alongside your name for hours on end.

"aren't you going to take it off?" you asked, softly.

"I will, baby. right now." he took your hand, leading it to the hem of his shirt, helping you lift it off him. slowly, his torso was exposed. light abs began peeking from underneath, soft, roughened, pale skin, scars that littered all over his body. he was truly beautiful.

you knew he had endured a lot since he was a little boy, but for some reason you didn't think it would stay with him permanently in physical form. still, for some reason you find his scars and stories beautiful.

he was perfect in an imperfect way. his ribs were sticking out slightly, his nipples were a gorgeous pink, his neck tight and leading to a sharp and hot jawline.

you weren't sure if Harry was anxious about his appearance, but either way, you were grateful that he trusted you with this.

he, his knees on either side of you, sat upright, looking at you as if expecting a comment. a speck of dread mixed with curiosity in his eyes. with every second you stayed silent, his anxiousness worsened, probably thinking you don't find him beautiful, but in truth, you just didn't know how to express your thoughts and emotions.

"harry," you sat upright, resting on your hands. "you're even more beautiful than I imagined you'd be."

a blush spread on his cheeks, looking down. it looked like he wasn't someone who is used to getting compliments, but you hoped he knew how many people saw his beauty.

"t-thank you." he managed to reply, his face pink, looking grateful and sincerely grateful.

your hands found the button of his pants, unbuttoning them while looking at him, smiling. he took your hands in his while helping you get him out of his trousers. when his zipper was undone, you pulled them down a bit before he stood up to take it off completely, leaving you both in only your underwear.

he climbed back on top of you, brushing the hair out of your face, while his hand took yours and travelled down, and down, over your breasts and nipples until they were at your panties.

they were wet already, a huge spot of moisture visible, but for some reason you weren't embarrassed, you only felt more and more turned on.

"y/n," he breathed, looking at your panties with approval, and longing. he led your fingers inside your underwear, holding your fingers against your clit, eliciting a soft moan to escape.

"God, I love hearing those sounds, you sound angelic." he said, while moving your fingers up and down your slit, the first time you actually enjoyed touching yourself.

he let go of your hand. "keep going," he said, when you stopped moving them. he pulled your panties to the side and admired you completely. "baby, you're so beautiful." and in one second he attached his lips to your nipples, sucking and licking and teasing them until they were red peaks, switching from the one to the other.

"oh, Harry." sounds you've never heard yourself make were coming out of you in strings. Harry knew how to work your body so well, it almost felt he was made for you.

"keep touching yourself," he paused teasing your breasts, and left wet trails of kisses up your neck up until he reached your lips, where he hovered above them. "I want to hear you coming by fingering yourself."

his words shocked you slightly, expecting him to do it for you, but the you remembered him telling you he would help you, now getting the full meaning of the message.

"Harry, I can't..." you trailed off, and stopped moving your fingers, even though it felt great.

he lifted you slightly by your hips to make you sit against the headboard, spreading your knees, exposing you to him completely, the ruined wet piece of cloth pushed to the side. you were breathing heavily, anticipating anything.

"I know you can, I'll help, show me baby." he replied, whispering the last part, which only felt fitting.

so you did, you circled your clit while keeping your eyes on harry. he took your hand in his and guided you towards your release. he was on his knees in front of you, close enough you could almost taste him, which you craved in this moment of vulnerability.

you pushed your middle finger in your entrance, going deeper and deeper until your finger is completely buried. at first it felt uncomfortable, but after adjusting, it was something not like any other feeling. your slickness lessened the friction, heightening the pleasure. Harry's hand brushed your hair away from your face, holding it while moving his thumb in a gentle manner.

"I know, you can do this baby, you're doing so good." he kept whispering praises to you while watching you finger yourself, his hand releasing yours to play with your clit.

the pleasure was immense, being extra sensitive because of the time passed not having been turned on while touching. Harry wasn't even inside of you and you already understood what all your friends were gassed about.

you increased your pace, desperately chasing that release. harry watched so intently how you pleasured yourself, his fingers working your clit so well. you felt close to the edge, the tension inside of you building up quickly, coming and going in fast waves.

Harry noticed, and began kissing you intently, and when his hand went down to your nipple and began pinching it slightly, your first ever orgasm crashed into you with the force of a bomb, making your jaw drop as you cried out for Harry.

your legs were trembling, and that feeling deep in your stomach kept intensifying by every motion of Harry's finger on your clit.

you stopped moving your finger, needing a break from the intensity. arching your back slightly as you came down, Harry laid you down completely. "you were so good y/n, so good." spreading you open further, lowering his boxers and tossing them off completely.

"I know, take your time baby, I'll wait. you were so so good." he kept whispering praises to you while rubbing your face in an endearing matter.

for a second you felt disgust by what you just did climb up your throat and cloud your mind, feeling shocked by how you acted, but soon all those thoughts got crushed by the man in front of you.

being hit with the aftershocks from what you just endured, you didn't fully comprehend the situation. it was mind blowing, and you couldn't wait to discover what committing fully was going to feel like.

when he was holding himself up by his hands that were beside your head, it hit you all of a sudden, Harry was completely naked. when you looked down your breath got caught, and you needed a second to comprehend the sight in front of you.

you didn't think it was possible, but he was even more beautiful. he was so hard it almost looked painful. veins travelled the length until it reached his sensitive pink tip that had a leak of precum spilling out. he seemed nervous for your reaction, but he hadn't need to be. he was perfect.

"please, Harry." you moaned, desperate to feel him inside of you, despite knowing it will hurt.

Harry got the hint and lined himself up by your entrance. "Are you sure?" he asked before entering you.

you nodded immediately "jus- just be gentle okay?" you replied, nerves starting to gather in your stomach. his endearing look soothed them a bit though.

"of course baby, don't worry, I know it will hurt but only a bit okay?" he kissed the top of your head, then your lips, his hands, which were holding him up, now running down the length of your body, over your breasts, all the way to your thighs, rubbing up and down them. he was almost completely on top of you, saving his weight while he was on his knees, making sure not to crush you.

he held himself against you, watching you intently for you reaction while he was pushing himself in slowly, making sure to take the time for you to adjust every few inches.

it was no doubt Harry was big, especially for his built. he was long and thick, and despite him being tall and lanky, he managed to get himself a magnificent physique a lot of girls swoon over.

you loved that you got to see him like this.

at the halfway mark, you had to take a couple of seconds to adjust, subconsciously clenching and unclenching around him. pain and pleasure mixed together in a perfect fusion.

"oh, Harry." your back arched slightly, your nipples getting the friction from Harry's chest above you, his hands everywhere on your body, it was great, all of it, even if the pain overrode the pleasure in some instances, at the end it felt greater than anything you've ever felt before.

Harry's moans were something like you've never heard before. he groaned and whispered you praises, his words and sounds settling deep in your core and heart.

when you managed to relax, he began moving. at first slowly, but gradually quickening his pace.

the bed creaked, the headboard banging against the wall, but at this moment you didn't care if someone could hear, in this moment it was only you and Harry.

he moaned less, and definitely quieter than you, but somehow they were still the only thing you heard. the way his face scrunched everytime he bottomed out, or the way his hair fell in his face or the beads of sweat that was trickling down his forehead. everything about him in this moment was like nothing ever before. his hands held your hips down, flexing with every thrust. he bit his lip, seemingly trying to control himself.

"Oh God, y/n-" he kept repeating your name over and over again, and the way it sounded in that voice made your melt every time he said it. his lips found your neck and started kissing and biting and teasing the skin until you were a crying mess more than you already were.

you were screaming, crying, moaning so loud you were sure people could hear you, but you didn't care. no one made you feel like him, you deserved complete freedom during your first time.

the feel of him sliding in and out of you with least amount of friction caused by your slickness was otherworldly. the sounds of his thrusts and your wetness were definitely something you didn't expect to love to hear so much.

"you're so wet baby, you feel that- you hear that? is that what I do to you?" he kept rambling, right next to your ear.

it was hard to hear him talk so softly when the sounds of him pounding into you were so loud, but you loved hearing him talk to you like that, as if he's trying to connect with you while fucking you mercilessly.

"Harry, I- I'm close, I think." it was feeble, at best.

this was different than fingering yourself. a giant wave of pleasure rocked through you so intensely you cried out. it was too much and not enough all at once.

"let go baby, come on. it's okay, I want to hear you falling apart on my dick." his words raised goosebumps all over your skin, making butterflies flutter all around in your stomach.

his pace increased considerably, pulling out completely then thrusting into you with great force. tears sped down your face, looking completely ruined, accurate to what you're feeling.

it hurt, but in such a good way you didn't want it to end. you gripped his back hard enough to leave marks, but that seemed to drive him even more, holding you down hard enough to bruise, he drove into you with such force you were sure to hit your head if he wasn't holding you. your legs were spread widely, heightening the feeling even more, he let go of your hips, grabbing your knees and holding them up, exposing you completely, making him hit a whole different spot that left your jaw hanging.

it all happened so fast, your orgasm hit into you so violently you shook and screamed so loud Harry held his hand on your mouth.

"Baby, you're so good, you're doing so good, keep screaming, I love hearing you like this." he kept praising, holding one of your knees up while his other hand was on your mouth.

"Harry, oh, please," you kept moaning, for everything and nothing at all. it felt extraordinary, you understood the hype around sex completely, and never wanted this to end.

"I'm so close y/n, please let me come. so, so close." he said, even though you didn't ask for permission, he did, and for some reason, that turned you on even more.

"come Harry, go on." you kissed him, and in a second he came undone. you clenched around him, holding him tightly to you while he cried out, riding out his high as his pace became sloppy and his breathing uneven.

he held onto you while driving in and out of you messily. his cum filled you entirely, warming up your insides. it felt like it would never end, this endless pleasure you were both stuck in, Harry, still spilling inside of you, holding you so close waiting to be finished before he could hold you.

eventually he did, and collapsed lightly on top of you, cuddling you while you both caught your breaths and came down.

he pulled out and rested his hands on your sides, turning you so you were laying on his chest, he kissed the top of your head and pulled the covers on top of you, holding you tightly against him.

you stayed like this for a while, just sitting in a comfortable silence, basking in the endearing feeling of him against you. it felt surreal, everything about this felt surreal, and you wanted to cherish the moment for as long as possible.

after a while of comforting silence Harry spoke up, breaking the spell. "how was that?" he asked, rubbing the hair from your face so you could look up at him. "was I any good?" he blushed slightly while asking.

"Harry, I don't think I know how to explain it," you paused, trying to think of something that would be close to what you felt. "you were beyond amazing, and I don't know how to show you how grateful I am to you."

Harry seemed speechless for a couple second before he recovered and gathered his thoughts. "that's really, n-nice, I'm glad, thank you, really.I'm so proud of you. you were great, baby." and he kissed you again, then you both sat in comfortable silence again.

and for the first time you were able to feel like any other, and being vulnerable with Harry was better than anything would have been in a different situation. you loved it.

a/n: hey guys, it's been a while. I've been busy but now since it's summer break I'll *hopefully* be able to update more frequently. this may be a bit rusty, but I hoped you enjoyed it nonetheless!

I also want to say, I definitely know my previous work isn't that great, considering I'm not an actual studied author and English isn't my first language, but I write for fun and all, so I hope you will still like my work despite the many flaws! if anyone has requests/ something to say, don't be scared! I love reading you guys' messages:).

check out my Wattpad...

[elizabethrobertajones]

"Ah, Jane, a word with thee," Urianger called, stopping her attempt to sidle past unnoticed.

"W-what do you want?" she asked, as always somewhere on the nervous-to-panicked scale when presented with the sinister false prophet.

"Now that my deception hath been unveiled, there is much I must ask thee about the holes you claim twisteth like knots in the thread of your memory, for I have learned answers to questions you know not to ask."

"Um. S-sure." She glanced back and forth between Thancred, who was impassive but seemingly unconcerned with swooping in and rescuing her from this particular fate, and Papalymo, who smiled encouragingly and gave her a little nod. She was left with no one to save her from being lead to a quiet table in the corner of the Rising Stones.

She balled her fists on her knees to stop her shaking hands from betraying her, and studied the flame of the candle between them; the familiar whisper of fire brought some comfort even if Y'shtola and Krile had tactfully withdrawn for their privacy at a nod from Urianger, and left Jane utterly abandoned of friendly faces.

He didn't say anything, but stared, inscrutable, until she couldn't take it any more. "What?!" she demanded.

"Perhaps it would be best if you were to once more regale me with thy tale of thy flight from Ishgard, and the last things you remember of that night."

Her eyes widened even more than their normal darting state. "Umm, why? The Warriors of Darkness weren't there, were they? Were they?"

"Nay, I believe they arrived but recently. It... it is Elidibus's comments that have left me pondering."

She stared at him. Behind his goggles, he presumably stared back.

"And?!" Jane finally demanded.

"'Twould seem he had more than passing knowledge of thy situation, and called thee not Warrior of Light, but 'The Runaway' more than once. Indeed, I was not sure you were one and the same until thy path did cross with mine own schemes."

"I... I guess I did run away from Ishgard. Why would he care about that?"

"And that is why I bid thee recount thy tale once more."

She sighed, and sunk deeper into the chair, eyes once more darting to the warm candle flame. So much had happened since that night; so much of her perspective on the world had been changed, by force, by others and by scenarios she never could have dreamed of while selling potions from her parents' stall in the Jewelled Crozier.

Were the words she'd use now be the same as how she had first told it in shaky terms to Minfilia, lured by Thancred's assurance that she knew everything. That she could give all the answers to why Jane's dreams manifested the visions they did. And Minfilia had known almost nothing, told her only of the Echo but not of her own history, and left her to fend for herself. Left them all, now. And Urianger, mysterious and cryptic at the best of times, had pulled all those strings... And seemed at last to be someone who maybe did know more than they let on.

She swallowed.

"They were buying poisons from us. The heretics. I - I didn't know that. I just sold the ingredients. B-but they showed up when my parents weren't there. Left me in charge. A-and they made me feel like I was friends with them all. I thought some of them was highborns from the way they dressed, and some of them was knights from the way they walked, but they were fashionable, and charming, and... and I was just enjoying their attention. And they'd hang around for a bell chinwagging and scaring off boring customers, and when Temple Knights came by they'd buy something off the stall right quick and melt away laughing. I wanted nothing more than to go with them, but I - I didn't want to disappoint my parents."

"I'm sorry, Jane," Urianger said, startling her out of her reverie. He seemed to mean it, his hand falling back to his side like he had reached for her and thought better of it before she had looked up.

She shook her head. "What's done is done. They're at the bottom of Witchdrop and I'm here. I got Aymeric to look to see what happened to them, you know. And he couldn't even look at me. I know it was bad." She shrugged. "They got framed for poisoning the old Lord Commander and the Inquisition moves fast. There's a leatherworker in our old stall, now. I went and looked but I was too scared to see if the first coins were still under the loose cobble under the stall. If I got seen sneaking back at midnight to the scene of the crime, I don't know if even Aymeric would have seen fit to listen and pardon me."

"First coins?"

"You know, when you start a business and the first thing someone buys, you put the coins somewhere safe, for luck." She sniffed, and rubbed the back of her hand over her eyes. "Don't know why I'd want them anyway, come to think of it."

He nodded. "An ill omen to carry with thee, indeed."

She glanced up and gave him a strangled kind of smile, before returning to examination of the candle. "So that night. When the Lord Commander died. I think they knew they framed us; they wanted to ruin my family. I'm sure of it. They came right to me as I was folding up the stall, and told me to come with them, and I didn't even see how scared they were, I was so chuffed to be invited anywhere. I just followed them right down into the Brume."

"And then?" Urianger prompted.

She started, glancing around once more. "I don't know if telling you this is going to make me in even more trouble, but there's more than one way out of Ishgard. A couple of paths to the Highlands and all right sketchy tunnels. Smugglers and such use them, as well as the heretics. But you know when you get down there, nothing's safe anyway. Vilekin everywhere, caves full of bats. And all frozen over and infested with elementals since the Calamity to boot.

"I didn't know where we were going, thought they had a hideout or something when they opened a hatch under a barrel at the back of a house. But it was a tunnel and they were pushing me along it. And I realised how freaked out they were. The highborn one, the mage, he was really shoving my shoulder to make me walk even when my boots were slipping on the ice that was all over the ground. And then I think I heard the Temple Knights, and they made us run. I weren't the only one who slipped, I stopped to help one of them up, and we got behind the rest of the group.

"And then there was a dead end where the rock had collapsed, and they were all shouting, and making us go back, and then the Temple Knights were right behind us, so we got to some real steep stairs, over the Abyss. Even afore you got to it you could hear the winds sucking you towards it. And the highborn mage stopped, right there at the top of the stairs, and said, I'll hold them off. And - and his face. He... I didn't know what it was then, I was so scared. I'd never seen it before, you know. It was the Ascian glyph, and he was doing a summoning. I was trying not to slip on the stairs but I looked back because I felt the dark magick and I knew he was doing something really bad, and I was right where it was so slippy, and I looked at him and made eye contact and I know he was summoning a voidsent, but - that's the last thing I remember. I think I slipped; I think one of them must have carried me.

"It was three days later in Fallgourd Float when I next knew anything. An Ul'dahn merchant found me on the side of the road, unconscious; he thought the Dullahans had got me but I'd been lying there a while and they hadn't hurt me, so I don't think they cared to be quite honest. Anyway, he took me to the inn, and when I woke up I was so scared that we were anywhere near Coerthas when he offered to take me home I paid him all I had to take me to Thanalan instead. A-and that's where I was when Thancred found me and I ended up meeting swivin' Ascians everywhere."

"Did you recognise the Ascian who was amongst this heretic group?"

She shook her head. "One of those low level ones with the boring glyphs. I never saw one of that gang when we met all those heretics when we were investigating Iceheart, or since I went back to Ishgard. I was too scared to ask Ysayle if she knew them. Or. Or I didn't want to know. In case she said she didn't. But the more we learn the less I think she would've."

Urianger nodded thoughtfully. "I suspect they knew not who you were either, but sensed your latent Echo or some other sense of your destiny, and attempted to protect you for later use. I know not what other schemes Elidibus has, for I was allowed only to know the scantest details beyond that which I was charged for mine own deceptions. But between his manipulation of the Warriors of Darkness, and that which Unukalhai unfolded of his history as Elidibus's apprentice, I suspect he may have many other agents as yet unknown to us; many that he cultivateth for purposes as yet unknown even to himself, for their schemes speak both of long planning and sudden, spontaneous meddling. Perhaps thy presence in this long-planned poisoning scheme to throw Ishgard into disarray led to a desire to cultivate thee as well; in losing you they drove you to the bosom of the Scions instead, and thus does Elidibus muse on your presence, nay, even ask if I am aware of thy heresy in Ishgard."

"Aymeric did drop the charges and issue a full apology to my family," she said, pouting.

Urianger laughed softly. "And we are glad to have thee amongst us as a free agent, and many of thy fears allayed."

"But you still don't know what happened to me. Those three days between Ishgard and Fallgourd Float?"

He shook his head. "I wonder if the summoning did more to unsettle thee than thou thinkest; that you did not slip, but some other dark force came upon thee, given the affinity of thy magicks to the umbral and destructive, and the comfort with which you commune with voidsent. But as you had never chanced to see one until that day, there is no way to know if this is an innate ability, or one that has come upon thee as a result of thy travails."

She scrunched her nose, and looked away. "Well then. I guess I still know nothing. Wish I could just ask Elidibus if he did something to me, you know? I don't want to be cultivated."

"Mayhap a time will come when you may ask him for the answers you seek. If it reassureth you even a small measure, it seemed to me that he was both unsettled and somewhat scared of thee."

"Good." She pushed herself up out of the chair, and stretched. "Well, thank you, Urianger. I need to go... elsewhere now. But. Thank you."

He smiled at her, and for the first time he didn't completely terrify her down to the core. Unfortunately, his words had done that instead, and she felt nigh on close to crawling out of her own skin to remove herself from his presence regardless of it were his fault or his words.

Maybe it was time to return to Ishgard for a spell and enjoy her new freedom.

[radical-revolution]

In Memory

After I got the call that Ram Dass had died yesterday, I closed my eyes.

He is still here.

I could feel the vast field of love that was shining from Ram Dass when Trudy and I taught with him just a couple of weeks ago. And I always will.

On the final day of this last retreat, called “Open Your Heart in Paradise,” Ram Dass was frail and didn’t have access to many words. But he was there in the most powerful way. He swam delightedly with the group in the ocean, chanting “Oh Joy, Oh Joy.”

And on the retreat’s last morning, he put his hands on a basket of 350 wrist malas, each tied with a thread of his guru’s blanket, to tenderly bless them. Then, as participants came by slowly to receive their malas, he silently looked into each face, offering to all what is sometimes called “the glance of mercy,” a gaze so full of love that it left many of us speechless and weeping, drunk with blessing.

I have known Ram Dass for 48 years, as master teacher and inspiration and role model, as a dear friend and benefactor who helped me begin to teach, as a companion on the path, as a truth teller and prankster, as a profound healer and whisperer of souls, as a kind of prophet for a generation. Out in public with him across the years, over and over people would come up to him and speak lovingly, tentatively, urgently, offering thanks, “Ram Dass, I just want to let you know you changed my life!” And he did… for so many of us.

Yes, his book “Be Here Now” changed countless lives. Yes, his work with Seva Foundation cured 5 million people of blindness. Yes, he taught almost nonstop for 50 years, spreading wisdom and humor, wild devotion and love and a vast timeless mystical perspective across the world. His obituaries will be filled with his many other accomplishments.

For me he is family and Sangha, even now still spreading his playful, tough, delicious love everywhere, connecting with our hearts. “Yum, yum,” as he would say.

He was so ready to leave the wheelchair and skinny and broken body, to go home.

Home is not somewhere else.

It is here, in life and death, in the eternal dance of consciousness, weaving together form and the formless mystery from which it all comes.

Ram Dass is the vastness reminding us that in the end, there is only love.

~ Jack Kornfield, two years ago🙏

Be Here Now

Please read aloud, pause in-between, and listen to the poetic heart-words of a Great Teacher...a Beloved Guru, and a true inspiration for so many of us throughout this life.

_________________________________________

We're fascinated by the words--but where we meet is in the silence behind them.

The quieter you become, the more you can hear.

It is important to expect nothing, to take every experience, including the negative ones, as merely steps on the path, and to proceed.

The most exquisite paradox… as soon as you give it all up, you can have it all. As long as you want power, you can't have it. The minute you don't want power, you'll have more than you ever dreamed possible.

I would like my life to be a statement of love and compassion - and where it isn't, that's where my work lies.

In most of our human relationships, we spend much of our time reassuring one another that our costumes of identity are on straight.

The heart surrenders everything to the moment. The mind judges and holds back.

Your problem is you are too busy holding on to your unworthiness.

As long as you have certain desires about how it ought to be you can't see how it is.

Treat everyone you meet like God in drag.

The most important aspect of love is not in giving or the receiving: it's in the being. When I need love from others, or need to give love to others, I'm caught in an unstable situation. Being in love, rather than giving or taking love, is the only thing that provides stability. Being in love means seeing the Beloved all around me.

Suffering is part of our training program for becoming wise.

What you meet in another being is the projection of your own level of evolution.

The spiritual journey is individual, highly personal. It can't be organized or regulated. It isn't true that everyone should follow one path. Listen to your own truth.

Let's trade in all our judging for appreciating. Let's lay down our righteousness and just be together.

Only that in you which is me can hear what I'm saying.

Everything changes once we identify with being the witness to the story, instead of the actor in it.

We are all affecting the world every moment, whether we mean to or not. Our actions and states of mind matter, because we are so deeply interconnected with one another.

A feeling of aversion or attachment toward something is your clue that there's work to be done.

The next message you need is always right where you are.

I would say that the thrust of my life has been initially about getting free, and then realizing that my freedom is not independent of everybody else. Then I am arriving at that circle where one works on oneself as a gift to other people so that one doesn't create more suffering. I help people as a work on myself and I work on myself to help people.

I'm not interested in being a "lover." I'm interested in only being love.

The game is not about becoming somebody, it's about becoming nobody.

Learn to watch your drama unfold while at the same time knowing you are more than your drama.

If you think you're free, there's no escape possible.

Every religion is the product of the conceptual mind attempting to describe the mystery.

It's only when caterpillarness is done that one becomes a butterfly. That again is part of this paradox. You cannot rip away caterpillarness. The whole trip occurs in an unfolding process of which we have no control.

We're here to awaken from the illusion of separateness

We're all just walking each other home.

~ Ram Dass now, just as before,

at home with Divinity

[mybutcheredtongue]

I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

post azkaban sirius black x fem!reader

CHAPTER TWENTY (see full series list here)

1993

On the 22nd of November you sit on the floor of your office late at night, watching the flames of your fireplace crackle and pop. Beside you, sits Harry, eyes focused on the fire as well. Sirius had asked him to wait in front of the fire in your office at one o'clock and for you to be there too. You can't say your heart isn't beating faster than the steady tick of the clock on the wall, worried and giddy at the same time.

"I'm sorry about this whole situation, Harry," you say with a sigh, reaching out to stroke Dubh's fur idly as she clambers into your lap. "I know this isn't what you want. I tried everything to get them to change the rules but nothing worked."

"Thanks," he says blankly, like he's used to being disappointed.

"And that article in the paper — "

"I didn't say anything of that. It's a lie," Harry responds quickly.

You nod. "I'm well aware. Rita Skeeter is...difficult." As soon as the words have left your mouth, you grimace, shaking your head. "Actually, she doesn't deserve that nicety. She's a bitch, Harry. A nasty old hag that has nothing better to do with her life than spread rumours and sensationalise everything in sight."

Harry seems slightly taken aback by your words but nods in fierce agreement nonetheless.

"My best advice to you, Harry, is to run for the hills every time you see her — or just wave me over if I'm near. I am well accustomed to small talk with people like her — the trick is to just get them talking about themselves."

He nods. "I don't plan on going anywhere near her ever again."

"Smart decision," you say, sighing. "And look — I know I'm not supposed to get involved but if you need any help whatsoever, just ask. There's plenty of useful spells I can teach you and tips I can give — anything at all."

Just then, the flames move in a peculiar fashion and Sirius' head appears in the fire. Both you and Harry let out a small gasp, and when you look at Harry, his face has broken into the biggest smile you've seen him wear in weeks.

"Sirius!" Harry exclaims immediately.

He looks different from the last time you seen him. His face had looked gaunt and sunken, but now he looks far healthier and his hair, which was long, matted and greasy, is now clean and neat. You're glad to see that though he's trimmed it a tad, he's kept the beard. He looks younger.

"Hello, Harry," he says, before he turns to you, smiling, "and hello to you too, love."

You bring your hand up and give him a tiny little wave, unable to stop the giddy smile taking over your face at the sight of him.

"How're you doing?" Harry asks.

"Never mind me, how are you?" Sirius asks firmly, returning his attention to his godson.

"I'm — " Harry stops himself suddenly, holding himself back. Just when you're about to check if he's alright, he spills. He tells the two of you everything: about how no one believes that he hasn't entered himself into the tournament, how Rita Skeeter had lied about him in the Daily Prophet, how he can't walk down a corridor without getting sneered at, and about the toll it's all taken on his friendship with Ron.

You feel your heart ache for him. He deserves absolutely none of this and you wish you could do more to help.

"Hagrid's just shown me what's coming in the first task, and it's dragons — I'm a goner," he finishes desperately.

Sirius is looking at Harry with deep concern as he says, "Dragons we can deal with, Harry, but we'll get to that in a minute — I haven't got long here...I've broken into a wizarding house to use the fire, but they could be back at any time. There are things I need to warn you about."

"What do you need to warn me about?" Harry asks.

"Karkaroff," Sirius says. "Harry, he was a Death Eater. You know what Death Eaters are, don't you?"

"He's a Death Eater?" You're shocked. Just this morning you picked his fork off the ground for him at breakfast!

"He was caught, he was in Azkaban with me, but he got released. I'd bet that's why Dumbledore wanted an Auror at Hogwarts this year — to keep an eye on him. Moody caught Karkaroff. Put him into Azkaban in the first place."

There already is an Auror at Hogwarts, you think. Or did Dumbly-dorr just forget about you?

"Karkaroff got released?" Harry says slowly. "Why did they release him?"

"He did a deal with the Ministry of Magic," Sirius replies bitterly. "He said he'd seen the error of his ways, and then named names...he put a load of other people into Azkaban in his place...he's not very popular there, I can tell you. And since he got out, from what I can tell, he's been teaching the Dark Arts to every student who passes through that school of his. So watch out for the Durmstrang champion as well."

How do you not remember any of this? Surely you'd have seen this all mentioned in the papers around that time?

"Okay..." Harry says. "But...are you saying that Karkaroff put my name in the goblet? Because if he did, he's a really good actor. He seemed furious about it. He wanted to stop me from competing."

"We know he's a good actor," says Sirius, "because he convinced the Ministry of Magic to set him free, didn't he? Now, I've been keeping an eye on the Daily Prophet, Harry — "

"You and the rest of the world," he says bitterly.

"— and reading between the lines of that Skeeter woman's article last month, Moody was attacked the night before he started at Hogwarts. Yes, I know she says it was another false alarm," Sirius says hastily, seeing Harry about to speak, "but I don't think so somehow. I think someone tried to stop him from getting to Hogwarts. I think someone knew their job would be a lot more difficult with him around. And no one's going to look into it too closely; Mad-Eye's heard intruders a bit too often. But that doesn't mean he still can't spot the real thing. Moody was the best Auror the Ministry ever had."

"So...what are you saying? Karkaroff's trying to kill me? But — why?"

Sirius hesitates.

"I've been hearing some very strange things," he says apprehensively. "The Death Eaters seem to be a bit more active than usual lately. They showed themselves at the Quidditch World Cup, didn't they? Someone cast the Dark Mark...and then — did you hear about that Ministry witch who's gone missing?"

"Bertha Jorkins?" You say. You recall reading that article about her disappearance not too long ago.

"Exactly...she disappeared to Albania, and that's definitely where Voldemort was rumoured to be last...and she would have known the Triwizard Tournament was coming up, wouldn't she?"

"Yeah, but...it's not very likely she'd have walked straight into Voldemort, is it?" says Harry.

"I wouldn't be too sure about that," Sirius says grimly, glancing at you. "Do you remember her at school?"

You nod your head. "She was at Hogwarts when we were, a few years above us," you explain to Harry. "As thick as a board, she was. Very nosey, too. Awful combination."

"Makes her easy to lure into a trap," Sirius finishes.

"So...so Voldemort could have found out about the tournament?" says Harry. "Is that what you mean? You think Karkaroff might be here on his orders?"

"I don’t know," Sirius says with a shake of his head, "I just don’t know...Karkaroff doesn’t strike me as the type who’d go back to Voldemort unless he knew Voldemort was powerful enough to protect him. But whoever put your name in that goblet did it for a reason, and I can’t help thinking the tournament would be a very good way to attack you and make it look like an accident."

"Looks like a really good plan from where I’m standing." Harry grins bleakly. "They'll just have to stand back and let the dragons do their stuff."

"You'll be fine," you reassure firmly, though you're not sure if it's for Harry's sake or your own. "I'll be there, all the rest of the teachers will be there, and there'll be that group of dragon keepers there too."

"Look, about these dragons," Sirius says, speaking quickly now, glancing around him furtively, "There's a way, Harry. Don't be tempted to try a simple Stunning Spell — dragons are too strong and powerfully magical to be knocked out by a single stunner, you need about half a dozen wizards at a time to overcome a dragon — "

"Yeah, I know, I just saw," Harry says.

"But you can do it alone," Sirius tells him, looking him straight in the eye. "There is a way, a simple spell's all you need — "

Knock-knock.

At once, all three of you go dead silent and whip your heads to the closed door.

"Go, Sirius, quickly!" You hiss at him urgently.

You scramble to your feet, grabbing Harry's invisibilty cloak off the desk and launching it at him.

"Quick!"

Harry frantically pulls the cloak over his head and ducks behind your desk as you make you way over to the door, glancing back at the fireplace to see that Sirius' head has disappeared and the flames have returned to normal. You feel a small pang in your heart.

Who could possibly be knocking at your door at one o'clock in the morning? Surely everyone is asleep by now?

You pull the door open and are met with nothing but the quiet, dark corridor.

"Must've been Peeves," you mutter angrily, moving to close the door. Of course that poltergeist would find a way to cut your time with Sirius short.

"Oh, no, mistress, it is Bitsy!"

You look down in search of the voice and sure enough, at the foot of your door, is Bitsy, grinning up widely at you with her ginormous eyes reflecting the flickering light of the candles on the wall. You notice that she's holding a tray of scones in her tiny hands.

"Bitsy?" You say in shock and confusion. "What are you doing here? Is everything alright?"

"Bitsy was cleaning this corridor, mistress, and heard talking coming from mistress's office! And Bitsy thinks 'why is mistress up so late talking?' Perhaps she has a guest and is very hungry! Mistress was not at breakfast this morning, and I isn't seeing mistress in the kitchens either!"

While part of you feels angry and cheated that she's just interrupted your seldom chance to talk to your husband, you can't be mad at Bitsy and her big kind heart.

You chuckle softly. "Oh, Bitsy. You are far too kind to me. You're right, I didn't attend breakfast this morning nor did I go to the kitchens in the afternoon — I had breakfast with a friend of mine in Hogsmeade today. I should have told you."

Bitsy beams at you and holds the tray out for you to take. "Bitsy is glad to know you did not go hungry this morning. For you, mistress!"

You accept the tray with a smile. "Thank you, Bitsy. You are very kind — let me go fetch something to give you as a thank you."

"Oh, no, mistress! I cannot accept anything from you, I is just doing my duty!"

You leave her momentarily, placing the tray of scones down, grabbing a box off your desk and returning to hand it to her. "Film for your camera, Bitsy. So you can take more pictures. "

You don't miss the gleeful smile that spreads over Bitsy's face as she looks at the box in wonder. "Mistress, I must not — "

"I insist, Bitsy. Actually — I order you to accept the film. I know how much you love your camera," you tell her, pushing it into her hands.

"Thank you, mistress," she says gratefully, bowing to you. "I must return to my work now, unless mistress requires Bitsy for anything?"

You shake your head, smiling. "No, but thank you, Bitsy. I think it's time for mistress to get some rest."

Bitsy leaves, clutching the film tightly in her hands and bowing out of your view before Disapparating. You close the door behind you, letting out a sigh as Harry stands up slowly, pulling the cloak off.

"I'm sorry about that, Harry," you say. "I really wish we could have more time with Sirius."

"Yeah, me too. Was that a house elf?"

You nod, chuckling. "Sure was. That's Bitsy. You see, I stay up much later than everyone else — I'm usually up in the tower because of course, the best time to view the stars is at night, so I sleep in the next day and miss breakfast a lot of the time. And when I do, I can go down to the kitchens and Bitsy and all the other house elves will give me something to eat — have done since I was in school myself and did the exact same thing. Bitsy is my saviour, honestly. She's an absolute gem."

"You're able to get into the Hogwarts kitchens?" Harry says curiously.

"Yep. There's a painting of a bowl of fruit down by the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room — just tickle the pear and the door'll open right up for you."

You know that as a teacher you probably shouldn't be telling him this, but you don't really care. You went there countless times as a student so why shouldn't he?

Harry nods thoughtfully before asking, "That spell Sirius mentioned, that could defeat a dragon...have you any idea what it is?"

You bite your lip, drumming your fingers against your hip as you search your brain for anything like that. "I don't, Harry, I'm sorry. Perhaps you could try confundus, and confuse it? I can't say I'm too familiar with dragons...now, you should go to bed, Harry. A good night's sleep for the next few days is what you need before the first task. And in the meantime, I'll have a look and see if I can figure something out for you."

"Thanks, but I doubt I'll find it easy to sleep," Harry remarks, throwing the cloak back over his head.

"Well, if you do find that you can't sleep, come up the Tower," you tell him with a smile, pulling the door open for his invisible figure. "I find stargazing is the best way to relieve stress and solve problems."

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

You feel like you're about to get sick. You stare at the Hungarian Horntail, huge and terrifying as she crouches protectively over her eggs, huffing great hot breaths out of her large nostrils. And there, standing across from this fearsome beast as though rooted to the spot, is Harry. The crowd roars around you but you can barely hear them as your stomach knots and twists and flips with sickening worry.

"Accio Firebolt!" Harry yells, raising his wand.

You wait. The crowd waits. Harry waits.

And then you see it. Harry's broomstick, his Firebolt, hurtles towards him and stops in mid-air beside him, waiting for him to mount it. You vaguely register Ludo Bagman roaring something over the crowd in response to this, but you're too focused on praying to whatever great deities you can to protect your godson. You're just so relieved that he managed to figure something out — and something so clever, too! Why hadn't you thought of a Summoning Spell? It's so simple. Sirius will be so proud of Harry when he finds out.

Harry rises into the air, the wind rushing through his hair, surveying the dragon not far below him. A sort of resolve seems to come over him and then he dives, forcing you to bring your hands up to cover your eyes in fear.

"Oh, I can't watch," you breathe. Beside you, Minerva gives you an understanding look as she watches on. You hear the rush of fire, the crowd cheering and screaming, and then —

"Great Scott, he can fly!" Bagman roars. "Are you watching this, Mr Krum?"

You open your eyes just in time to see Harry plummet to the ground once more, just missing the burst of flames that flies from the Horntail's open maw — but not quick enough to completely avoid the whip of her tail and to your horror, one of the long spikes grazes Harry's shoulder, ripping his robes.

"Harry!" You shriek, practically about to chew your finger off with the alarming rate you're biting the tips of your nails as you reluctantly watch on, wishing for it to be over.

He begins to fly this way, then that, not near enough to make the dragon breathe fire at him to stave him off, but still posing a sufficient enough threat to make her keep her eyes focused on him, tracking his every move.

The dragon's head sways with his movements, her eyes unwavering as she followed him, gruesome fangs bared. You can feel your heart palpitating in your chest. Harry rises even higher, the Horntail's head rising with him, her neck now stretched out to its fullest extent.

You jump as the Horntail lets out a deafening roar, her tail thrashing threateningly as she blows another burst of fire at him, which he thankfully dodges.

She opens her mouth and then she finally rears, spreading her great, black, leathery wings at last and Harry seizes the opportunity to dive at an incredible speed. You can barely keep your eyes on him with the rate he's whistling through the air, hurtling towards the nest of eggs.

"Come on, come on, come on..." you breathe, hands tapping frantically at the tops of your thighs as you sit on the edge of your seat, watching impatiently.

Harry takes his hands off his broom, seizes the golden egg, and with another huge burst of speed, he's off and soaring out over the stands. He tucks the egg safely under his uninjured arm, and looks out over the stands.

You can't help but jump out your seat, cheering yourself hoarse as you voice your praise and feel relief wash over your body like a tsunami. The noise around you is monumental, drumming in your ears like a jackhammer.

"Look at that!" Bagman yells. "Will you look at that! Our youngest champion is the quickest to get his egg! Well, this is going to shorten the odds on Mr Potter!"

The dragon keepers rush forward to subdue the Horntail and you hurry out of your seat, practically sprinting to the entrance of the enclosure. Minerva is hot on your heels and Moody and Hagrid have already beaten you, waiting with wide smiles for Harry to land.

"That was excellent, Potter!" Minerva cries as the boy hops off his broomstick. She points a shaky hand to his shoulder. "You'll need to see Madam Pomfrey before the judges give out your score...Over there, she's had to mop up Diggory already..."

"Harry, you were brilliant!" You exclaim excitedly, eagerly pulling him in for a hug and beaming at him. Normally, you'd worry about other students thinking you have a favourite — which you do, of course you do — but today you couldn't care less, you're so overwhelmed with relief and swelling with pride for your godson. "Absolutely brilliant, Harry! Just — fantastic, honestly, I can't believe it, I was so worried — I'm so proud — "

"Thanks," Harry says, unable to keep the large smile on his face down, his face red.

"Yeh' did it, Harry!" says Hagrid hoarsely. "Yeh did it! An' agains' the Horntail an' all, an' yeh know Charlie said that was the wors' — "

"Thanks, Hagrid," Harry says loudly, so that Hagrid doesn't blather on about how he had shown Harry the dragons beforehand. You give a light chuckle.

Even Moody looks very pleased, the slightest of smiles tugging at his cracked lips. "Nice and easy does the trick, Potter."

"Right then, Potter, the first aid tent, please..." Minerva says, gesturing to the tent with her hand.

He leaves, giving you all a grin before heading into the tent and you just smile proudly after him, rolling on the balls of your feet.

"Oh, he was just excellent, wasn't he?" Minerva says to you, smiling. "The best out of the all the champions, by far!"

You nod enthusiastically. "Easily! Oh, Merlin, I am just so glad he came out alright, I thought I was going to chew my own hand off with worry..."

"He was migh'y," Hagrid says loudly, a sob racking his body as he reaches into his pocket to pull out a large handkerchief, bigger than your face, and blows into it. "Jus' migh'y."

"Oh, Hagrid," you say softly, reaching up to place a comforting hand on his back, smiling sympathetically.

Across the enclosure, the five judges are sitting at the end in raised seats draped in gold. The first judge, Madame Maxime, raises her wand in the air and what looks like a long silver ribbon shoots out of the end of it — forming the shape of a large figure eight.

"Not bad," you remark, clapping along with the crowd. "Must've been the injury that lost him marks..."

Crouch comes next, shooting a number nine into the air.

"Excellent!" Minerva exclaims.

Next, Dumbledore puts up a nine and the crowd yells louder than ever.

Ludo Bagman — ten.

You turn to Minerva in disbelief, matching looks of shock with each other before you eagerly applaud.

Now, Karkaroff raises his wand. He pauses for a moment, and then a number shoots out of his wand — four.

"What?" You yell indignantly, blinking several times to make sure your eyes aren't tricking you. "A four?"

"How shameful, he gave his own student a ten!" Minerva remarks angrily.

Several members of the crowd seem to agree with you, bellowing angrily and booing at Karkaroff's biased marking.

Suddenly, Sirius' words ring in your head.

He's a Death Eater.

You feel your spine chill as you look across the enclosure at Karkaroff's steely expression, steadfast in his decision to reward Harry four marks.

Scumbag.

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

"A toast!" Dumbledore announces, raising his glass. "To the completion of the first task of the Triwizard Tournament!"

You grin, raising your glass in tandem. "Cheers!" You clink it against Minerva's, then with Professor Sprout's on your other side.

All the staff have gathered in that small room right of the Great Hall for a little staff-only party, the fire blazing in its place and radiating a pleasant warmth around the room. The house elves have prepared a small spread of finger foods for the lot of you — and you've gone straight for the cupcakes, decorated humorously with little edible dragons. They're delicious — you make a mental note to voice your thanks to Bitsy the next time you see her.

Despite the happiness that's settled in you since Harry's successful task, when your eyes land on Karkaroff, sitting on the opposite side of the room to you, talking with Snape, unease gnaws at your gut.

You're sitting in a room with a Death Eater.

You've been in this situation countless times, of course, back when you were an Auror. But then, you knew what was going on. You knew what you were in for. Here, you don't. At parent-teacher meetings, you don't doubt you've been in the company of some Death Eaters, or former Death Eaters, rather. Some of your Slytherins' parents certainly seem to have a fondness for opaque, long-sleeved shirts...

You can't help but remember that night at the Quidditch World Cup, and your brain starts to picture one of those cruel Death Eaters pulling off his mask and revealing Karkaroff's sharp face.

You grip your champagne glass tightly, downing the contents and taking a deep breath. You should go mingle, the time for investigating Karkaroff can come tomorrow.

It's this little staff party that you finally get acquainted with Madame Maxime properly, trying your hand at your conversational-level French. She seems very impressed at this, delighted that you know at least a little bit of her own language — she says something about the 'arrogance of native English speakers', which you don't disagree with.

"Oh, and look at this pretty diamond on your finger!" Madame Maxime exclaims suddenly, catching sight of your engagement ring, sitting pretty above your wedding band on your left ring finger. She takes your hand in her much larger one so she can inspect it closer. "You are married?"

You look at the sparkling ring, glinting in the candlelight, smiling softly. "Yes, I am."

"How sweet," she remarks, dropping your hand gently. "I was married once."

You raise your eyebrows imploringly and she leans closer, waving her large hand theatrically as she says, "But he was a bastard."

She laughs fiendishly, and you just sort of watch, unsure whether you should laugh or not.

"You can laugh!" she assures when she sees your unsure expression. "Good riddance, is what I say. He thought he could keep the company of some girl while I was at working at Beauxbatons — so I said to him, 'fuck you and the whore you rode in on!'"

You nearly choke on your champagne, shocked at what you've heard come out of Madame Maxime's mouth. She grins proudly, showing rows of pearly white teeth. She seems to be finding your shock very amusing as she laughs again.

"His loss," you tell her, chuckling.

"Absolument." She shrugs nonchalantly, as though it was nothing to her but a stone in the bottom of her shoe. "Et toi? Where is your husband?"

You don't answer her for a moment, sucking on your teeth. "Well, I don't know, actually."

"How do you not know?"

"Oh, because he's just escaped from prison," you answer simply. You don't know what makes you tell her that. It would have been so easy to lie, but you don't. Perhaps it's the two too many glasses of champagne you've had, or perhaps it's the way Madame Maxime doesn't seem to care about anything, really, other than Fleur Delacour and the tournament.

Her mouth drops for a second, before she laughs. "Ah, well, c'est la vie. Marriage is never easy."

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. It feels weirdly relieving to you that she couldn't care less about your personal life. You find a new respect for the woman in front of you. "Certainly not."

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

→⁠→ read chapter twenty-one here!

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[is-on-its-way]

My very definitely insane but perhaps accurate theory on Samuel (né William) Mulder's paternity.

(sorry but william scully doesnt have the same ring to it lalala)

okay so we know from the first ep in s6 that humanity has some latent alien DNA, and some people have that DNA activated? turned on? idk ykwim. Think gibson and that stigmata boy from air bud. My theory on mulder and scully is as follows:

Mulder has latent alien dna stronger than most people.

Scully (and her family possibly just the female members) has latent alien dna stronger than most people and also mulder.

Mulder's symptoms: he has a BA in psych from Oxford but his intuition on the causes of cases and perp motivations and [] are almost certainly due to the fact he has a connection with them, in some way mind reading adjacent. Like he gets a feeling in his stomach about what the situation is and goes with what he and scully would call intuition. there are plenty of funny as hell memes on this site about this. So it follows easily that when his DNA gets activated he is overwhelmed by everyones thoughts, Buffy Summers in Earshot style.

Scully's symptoms: she sees dead people... lol but honestly she sees her dad in season 1, she sees the dead multiple times in Elegy and it's not an omen of death bc she lived. She sees her daughter multiple times. She also sees a legit angel, and a demon or devil however you want to look at it, and I would argue an alien spirit? (old dude in amor fati) who maybe has been on earth waiting for the "chosen one" since his space ship landed in the garden of eden... (lol thats my most favorite of all my unhinged head canons)

Im gonna add the other scully's too

Maggie: she has prophetic dreams or feelings about things that are going wrong

Missy: girl is straight up tied into other realities and knows it and embraces it. I find it such good characterisation how her family treats this, that scully is shown to be scared of this and completely ignores the fact she is also tied into this ability.

----

onto the paternity...

My unorthodox theory is that CSM had nothing to do with healing scully. Or magically giving her ovum out of nothing. En ami could technically be lifted right out, bc ew assault, or just disregard or believe csm was lying about the extra stuff cc retconned in the revival.

Enter the alien spaceship in cote d'ivore from the amor fati trilogy...

so Mulder touched an etching of a part of the ship and had his shit rocked (alien DNA activated) which begs the question, what would happen to Scully being that she actually touched the actual ship?

my theory? The ship has some sort of mystical power. If I was super spiritual or Melissa Scully id argue the ship gives what you deserve. In amor fati we see it bring back to life a bag of shrimps, zombify a dead man, and boil people like ocean soup.

Why then would we not assume scully touching the ship didn’t activate her very obvious not really latent, alien DNA? And what did she deserve? oh the world, but also to be healed. of cancer, and whatever those men did to her reproductive system.

Now you might say well mulder got superpowers but scully didnt? you said she was more powerful than mulder... and to that dear reader, I submit she did get an extra alien ability. We see the alien bounty hunter have all kinds of abilities, including healing mulders mother on her deathbed. I think Scully got that ability in addition to her old seeing ghosts thing.

The evidence? So, mulder on his deathbed, metal halo of faux thorns is dying of overactive alien abilities, his brain juices or something were transferred into that weird old man, but even I, a layman has trouble understanding how this would cure him of his overactive alien abilities. unless every bit of his Cerebrospinal fluid had been drained, which he'd actually probably just die, there is no way that surgery cured him of anything.

Enter Scully and the literal fairytale-esque tear on his face that wakes him from his sleeping-beauty slumber, and seemingly cures him all in one go. I posit Scully is now a healer on top of her ghostly abilities. but being terrified of the paranormal within her and possibly not knowing how to work them mulder is her only one, thus far.

So yeah, the ship cured her infertility and activated more latent alien abilities in her DNA, and she's so highly evolved she doesn't have the poor reaction to it that mulder does. Samuel Mulder or whatever you want to call him was their biological child with alien superpowers because both of them had activated alien abilities when they conceived him.

Anyway CSM has never been anything but pathetically inconsequential to me. So much so I think hes the one who is infertile. I could probably rant about it, but will spare you that for now... all I'll say is senator matheson is who mulders dad will always be to me. They look SO similar, the jawlines? Hello?

And so i rest my case.

[whorediaries-09]

dancing with our hands tied;

pairing- sirius black x reader warning(s)- hurt/comfort, injuries, blood, potential part two. (let me know if i should add more) a/n- it's not the best but yeah.

the slut club

i'd kiss you as the lights went out

the death eaters had been berserk ever since sirius had been declared a free man. the daily prophet who had sung cruel, heinous ballads about his criminal record was singing beautiful lullabies about him, praising him, and his 'heroic acts'. he'd burned every single one of the newspapers, being profusely aggressive at the 'two-faced bastards'.

it was even more harsh upon you since you'd been the interrogator, the one who had helped him be free during his trial.

clutching the pain caused by your broken ribs and a broken limb, you tried to clear your head, trying to numb the pain. you tried to clear the numb sleepiness that was caused due to the pain, clearing the fog as you apparated to your house. you fell on the floor, the cold wood biting into your skin. it was a cruel flow of blood and dizziness, but you still managed to send a message to the order, even if you were unsure it would reach the order.

slowly feeing your breaths pass through your nasal cavity, you felt your eyelids close, laying numb upon your own blood as you gave into the darkness succumbed around you.

*****

it was a excruciating grasp upon your arm that woke you up. it was followed by a jab on your abdomen and chest, a result of your own panic. you lay under your sheets, your blood soaked clothes replaced by new, fresh ones. you could feel the bandage upon your numb skin.

you looked around the unfamiliar room, with dark gloomy walls. they weren't a contrast to the pair of gray stormy eyes yours met. his fingers lay intertwined with yours, as he looked down upon you with an utmost worry that hurt your poor heart.

's-sirius? where am i?' his voice was barely a whisper you caught onto when he replied,

'the order's headquarters,'

'w-why?'

'dumbledore got your message. he said it wouldn't be safe to put you in your own house. you're a prime nemesis of the death eaters,'

'so i've to be alone? here?'

the air seemed to be thick with exhaustion and indecision. your question seemed to be an imposition.

'no, i'll be here.' he answered, though at a loss of words himself. 'if you want me to be?'

even though the pain deafened your thinking capabilities, you weren't sure how you got here. you weren't sure how long you'd been passed out. you weren't sure how long the pain would've weighed down upon you, leaving an excruciating amount of questions you left unvoiced.

so under the dimlight, you observed his face. it was gray, but you knew he wouldn't admit he was sick. he knew the death eaters were after you because he was free because of you. he knew it made the death eaters drive into the edge of insanity, to torture you before they could end you. it felt as if he were bruised like violets, the throbbing blue of his nerves underneath his porcelain skin.

he squeezed your fingers, not brave enough to meet your eyes. perhaps it was survivor's guilt that punished him from inside, you squeezed his fingers back, trying to reassure him, that he didn't need to fall into a trap of guilt, he wasn't at fault.

'have you slept?' you asked, even though you knew the answer.

'a few naps here and there,' he answered. 'listen i-i'm sorry, you're in this situation because of me. if you hadn't gone out to defend me and interrogated me then you wouldn't be here-'

you clapped your palm over his mouth. it was as if watching wisteria grow right over your bare feet, as if you hadn't moved in years.

'i fight for justice sirius, not you. can you please sleep?'

'i-i can't leave you alone,' he answered, muffled through your palm.

you patted the space beside you. he looked at you, his eyes reflecting an unanswered question.

'you look warm,'

*****

it was as if a red rose grew out of an icy cold ground. the time didn't seem to stop, as the insurmountable pain was long forgotten. the scent of pancakes hung in the air, the hot tea placed before you as you nibbled on your toast. you were busy staring at sirius' back muscles under his linen shirt, as the light reflected through the sheer fabric.

through the days sirius had taken care of you, you had developed a connection with him, a deep provoking one. it was far from being friends, when in a drunk haze he'd cried to you, opening about himself, his past and his insecurities. he'd pressed his forehead against yours, stroking your cheek, expressing his desire to kiss you, at least once. he told you how he'd been so scared when he'd found you barely breathing in your apartment. you remember stroking his hair, thinking he'd spit out those words out of guilt.

'here's your pancake,' he said, serving it hot on a plate, topped with butter and honey. you took a sip of your tea before thanking him. he sat beside you, cutting into his pancake, which he'd topped with whipped cream and honey.

'that's a weird combo,' you commented. he shrugged his shoulders, biting into his food.

'sirius,'

'hm?'

'thank you.' he stared at you flabbergasted.

'what for?'

'for taking care of me. i-i'd probably be dead by now if it weren't for you-'

he slapped his palm over your mouth. he stared into your eyes, an intense hotness pooling into his stomach as he neared your face. he scanned your eyes, an abyss of unreadable emotions he wanted to decipher, the curve of your nose and your tangled hair tied in a bun. even in a morning haste, he thought you looked beautiful. you brought out so much in him, it made him afraid. of what exactly he didn't know. he felt like something when you made him laugh, when you listened to him, when you were around. you were the only one who didn't look at him with eyes of pity, someone who'd escaped the hands of unjustified law.

'don't ever fucking say that. i did all this because i love you,' he grazed his temple with yours. it was a momentary bliss he supposed. in his head, you'd move away, go back to your house after you'd processed his words.

instead, you stroked your hand over his cheek. he felt your breathing palpitate, your heartbeat matching his when you neared his lips.

'i know,'

his breathing intensified. he gazed at your lips, his fingers stroking your cheek. he tucked stray hairs behind your ear, his lips almost brushing yours.

'we shouldn't,'

'i know,'

'fuck it,'

fireworks. it was as if red white and blue painted the sky, when he submitted into his desire, getting lost in your lips. his stomach erupted into a thousand butterflies as you melted under his touch. because god forbid you were made just for him. you were his drug, and what wouldn't he do to overdose.