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[thehuxible-blog]

PET ⇢ BRISEIS

A lover of history and all things classical, it seemed only right that when Hux got a cat, he would name it appropriately. ‘Briseis’ was actually his sister’s suggestion - she collected interesting personalities and people, and though it’s likely the real Briseis never actually existed, the kitten conducted herself with the air of someone with both pride and a loaded backstory. The twins had rescued the kitten from a feral mother living in a neighbour’s basement, with most of the kids getting one and taking them home. The Huxley’s weren’t cat people - in fact, they weren’t pet people, but the twins couldn’t bear to let the kittens go without a home. An abstract calico, Briseis has a line down her face that separates her colouring - on one half, she’s black, and on the other, she’s a tawny ginger colour. Over the years, Briseis has grown into a cat who has an agenda of her own, known for walking in and out of dormitories through out the dungeons at whim. Friendly some days, snobbish the next, Briseis’ moods swing between loving and arrogant, and none are exempt. She prefers the Huxley home, but Hux doesn’t trust her there at the mercy of his mother, so she spends the majority of the year with him at school. No matter how she feels during the day, Briseis always ends the night at the foot of Hux’s bed, curled into a ball with her ears pricked for noise. 

Known for bringing dead mice to the Slytherin common room, looking for praise, Briseis is a familiar sight to the other snakes - and her weight swells during the year because of it. A lover of treats and anything edible, Briseis is easily blackmailed into a cuddle if there’s a promise of food in the cards.

[thehuxible-blog]

The change of position made the breath knock out of Hux in a rush, eyes immediately finding hers as he looked up at her. She was beautiful, and the sight of her fucking herself down onto his fingers, the roll of her hips and stretch of her spine, made Hux want so badly to have this for good. It was uncertain, slippery territory with Flora at times - Hux didn’t let himself lose sleep at night over it, but the boundaries between them had never really existed in the first place. “Fuck, Flo,” he murmured, hand sliding up her torso to her pierced nipple and watching as she came undone around him. She was so wet around his fingers, the glide of her hips barely any work at all as she rode through her orgasm. Hux was spellbound, the need within him to be inside her almost overwhelming when she kissed him. He wished he wasn’t built on longing and want - that he didn’t want to flip the two of them back over and press inside of her so that he could chase the sensation of being whole again. It was almost enough when they kissed, a side of tongue and hint of teeth that left Hux breathless against her, his fingers still buried inside of her. “Was it better with the potion in your system?” he mumbled against her lips, dragging his fingertips from inside along her clit, circling her slowly while his other hand curled around her thigh. Anticipation pulsed through him in waves - he wanted to know, he wanted to feel it - the twin high that could take him away from this plane of living for just a moment, Flora right there with him.

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[thehuxible-blog]

non-believers | lydia & hux

( @lydia-fairchild )

The fire in the heath was dying down by the time Hux looked up from what he was doing. The Slytherin common room had been full after dinner - students had been studying, talking, and playing games of chess, the sound of laughter occasionally filtering through Hux’s concentration. Now, and it appeared that it had been this way for quite some time, the common room was almost empty - save for the lone figure of Lydia Fairchild pouring over her books. It was a familiar sight, the brunette studying well into the evening and most of the others retiring before her. Hux knew he should be in bed - Professor Markle was almost impossible to stomach on no sleep - but his mind was elsewhere occupied. Perched as he was on the floor, legs stretched out beneath the coffee table, the divining arts were calling to him quite strongly tonight. Normally he could turn it on and off, decide when he wanted to tune in and ask some questions and get a feel for the state of things. Tonight it was as though he was plugged straight into some kind of cosmic computer - everything was humming, alive, frenetic, and Hux couldn’t deal the cards fast enough.

After staring at them for so long, testing multiple questions, Hux stretched his arms over his head before grabbing the bag of bones that he kept on him. They were sparrow bones, often more useful than normal chicken bones, and Hux cradled them in his palm for a moment, eyes closed. When he released the bones, they clattered to the table, the sound loud and harsh in the quiet, and Hux watched them fall with a frown. Unclear. He picked them up against, shaking the rattling bones in his palm for a moment before letting them clatter to the table’s hard wood once more, the sound loud and his eyes trained on the placement of each. Trouble. “Huh,” Hux said quietly, scraping the bones together once more before shaking them between his cupped palms. “Me?” he asked out loud before releasing the bones, the click click click of bone against wood filling the common room as he leaned forward to analyse them, tucking his long hair behind his ear.

[thehuxible-blog]

There stood June Fletcher, glorified book worm and walking poster child for the school curriculum at work. They were, at heart, two different people - June with her studious nature and drive to succeed, and Hux with his... well, his everything that seemed to work against those ideals. “Free? Not likely,” he laughed, shuffling the cards thoughtfully. “The last time I did a card reading for free was when a housemate came down with dragon pox and I was scared that taking his money would contaminate me and give me the pox, too,” Hux said, grinning up at June and squinting against the sun. “Do you have the pox, June Fletcher? Because if not, I’m sure your mummy and daddy make enough to let you have a few spare coins rattling around in your pocket - what’s a sickle compared to the rest of your life? You could walk away, but you might never know what it is your future holds - that possibility might haunt you forevermore from this day.”

        Once in a blue moon a Hogwarts student could see June walking the grounds without a book stuck to her nose. She would actually come out of hiding and take a breather. Today was one of those days. She quite didn’t know what she wanted to do. June knew it was tryout season for Quidditch. Not that she cared. The sport holding little interest to her. So, she weaved herself through the people until she spotted some rather interesting ( or maybe she was just bored out of her mind ). Nonetheless, she stopped and looked at the tarot cards being laid out by a familiar face, tilting her head in interest. She was skeptical about anything having to do with divination, but as always, she kept an open mind. The brunette, thinking the reading was for him, turn slightly red at being caught standing there. But, instead of acting all awkward, she smiled warmly. “Is that your indirect way of offering to read me my cards today for free?”

[thehuxible-blog]

It was strange to be a medium of sorts to the kids at Hogwarts, because inadvertently, he became something like a therapist, too. People just-- told him things, and though Hux kept all their secrets, all their bubbles of emotion and flushed cheeks and awkward squirms, he couldn’t help but sometimes wonder at how lonely many of them were. He was little but a stranger to most of them, and they said things they couldn’t tell others -- they confided in him, and though it could feel a little dehumanising, mostly Hux was just happy to help. “Right now means this general time, I think,” Hux explained, frowning. “Not this second, but... now. Not next month, not a year from now. Soon, when the time is right - maybe even when the time doesn’t feel right.” Hux looked at Smith, at how he asked if he could be the one blocking the flow of trust and communication between he and Lennox. Shrugging, Hux flipped the Ace of Cups again. “Maybe - if that speaks to you and holds some meaning, it’s certainly possible. Maybe you need to work on that; maybe that’s why the card was reversed.”

Hux looked at the last card left to be turned over, and he touched it with two fingertips before looking up at Smith. “Ready?” and he paused just long enough for confirmation before flipping it. He didn’t really know what to expect - maybe some kind of dramatic ending,  a blaze of triumph or a twist of tragedy. Instead, there sat the Lovers card. In Hux’s deck, the card was depicted by two birds in flight against a rainbow background, somehow oddly fitting given everything. He cleared his throat. “The last card is the Lovers, representing the eventual outcome of you and-- Lennox,” Hux said, trying to remain straight faced and professional. “The Lovers trust and respect one another, and this gives them the ability to overcome all obstacles in life, but it can also mean being faced with a really big choice,and you need to make a decision that’ll potentially affect everything. Could be the, uh, status of your relationship - could be something on just a personal level,” Hux said, frowning as he looked at the card. “I think the cards are telling you a lot of things - trust, communication, decisions. You’ve got a lot to figure out, but I think this--” and Hux tapped the Lovers card, “-- is promising. Whatever it is you two are not talking about or over, resolve it and find common ground, because you’re stronger together.” The two birds flying in tandem at least gave that impression, and Hux sat back and waited for Smith’s reaction.

Smith heard Hux as though he was speaking to him from the other end of a very long tunnel. He saw the cards as they were turned, as though by sheer force of will he’d urged them into being drawn, and there, laid out before him was his perfect future. A healthy father and a boy who made his heart sing – all his, according to Hux. It seemed too good to be true, but Smith trusted the other boy. He didn’t know why, and he didn’t know when it had started, but he knew that, coming from anyone else, he wouldn’t have believed it, but coming from Hux? He still had questions, but every part of him practically ached to just ignore his doubts and let it be that simple. “Yeah,” he said quietly, eyes still trained on the Knight of Cups. You have an opportunity with this person, and now’s the time to act on it.

“Do you mean like– right now?” Smith asked, voice stilted, finally jerking his eyes away from the cards enough to look at Hux. Right now, he wasn’t the person who heckled Smith to no end about dark objects. Right now, he was – surprisingly – a friend. “Because…um. Things haven’t been. The best with me and him.” The admission felt like a sentencing, like now that someone else outside of Noah knew, it was real, and he had to deal with it now instead of pretending it didn’t exist. “Like. We’re not. We’re not talking very much? I don’t think he wants to see me. So. It, um, it doesn’t feel like I should do something right now.” A long pause, and then, finally, he spoke, his voice very small as he did so. “Am I the one blocking it? Is it my fault?”

[thehuxible-blog]

“You would be surprised by how often I get asked that - about the cards predicting your death,” Hux said, smiling kindly. “The cards don’t deal with that kind of stuff - if you did get the death card, it usually means the death of something else. Not you, but like-- the death of a relationship, an era in your life, or maybe a family member, in extreme cases,” he said, shrugging. At Astoria’s list of fears, Hux found himself listening carefully - she seemed quite worried; how had he never done a reading for her before? Someone this concerned should’ve been a regular years ago. “A sickle,” he said, shuffling the cards contemplatively. “But because it’s your first reading, I’ll do it for three knuts - mate’s rates, as they say. Hopefully you’ll get some use out of it and come back for another. Maybe a palm reading next time, hm?” Shuffling the cards a few more times to change their order up, Hux held them out to Astoria. “I need you to shuffle them,” he explained. “Once you’re happy they’re shuffled and you feel it’s right, ask your question to the cards. It can be... like, simple stuff. Will I be a journalist? Or maybe you want to know about romance, or a family member... ask something, ask for advice. Just don’t ask when you’re going to die, because I can’t really help with that,” he added, laughing lightly.

Card reading was fascinating, but Astoria was a skeptical person, she didn’t trust anything blindly, she had to know the facts about things before she decided that she believed it. But as much as she was skeptical, she was also open to learning, and if anyone could teach her about tarot card reading, it was Hux. “Yeah, I did not do well in Divination, too many variables, and all readings were guess-work. I don’t really do guess-work.” She pulled her shoulders up in a shrug. “But one of my favourite subjects is Arithmancy, so I am still kind of open to it all.” She smiled, glancing over the cards once. Hux probably would require payment if he were to do a reading for her, but that was okay. And now, she found she was rather curious about it. “So you won’t predict my death? Because that’s just one of my fears.” She laughed, as laughing was the easiest way to shrug off any kind of fear. Either that, or sarcasm, which she was also pretty good at. “Well… There are exams, I’m always worried about my grades… I worry that I might not make it as a journalist, I worry that-” She cut herself off before revealing too much. There was only so much that she was willing to share, after all. “How much for a reading? I might as well try it, and I can make a decision as to whether or not I believe it once I’ve tried it.”

[thehuxible-blog]

SELF PARA: FLASHBACK | (Age: 11)

Blood dripped from his fingertips in warm, wet droplets, soaking the material of his pyjamas. It looked almost comical, like something from a muggle movie – the way the cloth caught the blood and made it bloom big and dark, like ink spots or watercolours. Avett wiped his hands on his thighs, numbly watching as the blood merely smeared across his clothes and stained his hands red. It was hard to think with so much red – it was like his head was a record constantly skipping on the same thought, over and over again, vision blurred over in the dark hues.

But one thing was clear, even through the red haze: he’d just taken a life.

***

There had always only been three things in Avett’s life that he trusted:

Ardell, his twin sister.

Himself.

And the Oracles.

Avett could remember a time when he was six, waking up excited for his and his sister’s birthday. They’d shared a room back then – before his mother had deemed it inappropriate and potentially fatal for their family that they even be in the same general vicinity as each other. He’d clamboured from his bed to hers, shaking her awake with feverish, excited eyes and cold hands. Ardell – the mirror image of Avett in their early years – had woken up and immediately, recognition had dawned across her face.

They’d see their father today.

He hadn’t come, of course – he was up to his eyeballs in some drug den in Asia – but the hope had been there; Avett and Ardell looking out every window periodically, hoping to see the loping gait of their father up the drive. And though Avett’s faith in himself and Ardell’s predictions had been wasted – they’d been wrong, after all – the Oracles had warned him not to expect anything; they’d told him that his father would once again disappoint. That same day, his grandfather had sat him down on the worn leather sofa in the basement and gave him a tarot card reading. Each card, when turned over, had revealed dark imagery – hand-painted and mysterious, the images that his grandfather revealed left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Going to be a bad year, I’m afraid,” his pa had said, lined forehead creasing deeper as he looked from the cards up to Avett. People said his grandfather was crazy, but there was wisdom and knowing in his eyes. “Let me see your palm, boy.”

He placed his hand willingly in the older, broader one of his grandfather, watching the clash of contrasting skin: pure, white, unmarked against his pa’s old, weathered, hardened one. He could feel calluses against the back of his hand.

“Hm,” his grandfather hummed, bringing the candle closer to inspect the tracery of Avett’s hand. “Sickness – maybe injury. See this here?” and he pointed a crooked finger to the line that ran down the centre of Avett’s palm, “that’s your health and life line. You’re about here, and you’ve got a tiny splinter there. Means you’ll get sick, but see there?” and he indicated the way the line curved back around to join up to the rest of the line, as though it were a diversion on a map that eventually rejoined the main road. “You’ll get better.”

Cold, heady panic swept through Avett, making his hand curl protectively into a tight fist, still resting in his grandfather’s palm. Above, tapping across the wooden floorboards, Avett could hear the rest of the Huxley’s celebrating the twins’ birthday – he could hear Ardell being conjoled into doing twirls for distant aunts who all cooed and ahhed when the little girl eventually gave in to the pressure. She’d dressed that day in tulle and lace, unwilling and grumpy at how itchy the material was and how her mother had sighed adoringly at the sight of her. Ardell had always preferred shorts and boots to match Avett, and together they could tramp through the woods, kicking up dirt and mud wherever they went.

Down in the basement with his grandfather, listening to the sounds of his family above, Avett realised that life without him in the family spun on: he wasn’t the forgotten twin so much as he was simply forgettable. People could do without him – but not Ardell; she was the light of their family gatherings, the princess they adored and pampered and made twirl and sing and play music. Dark-eyed and dark-haired, Avett seemed to blend into the rest of the Huxley’s – another face in a crowd of faces that all watched Ardell and the way she shined. She was special.

Which was why the possibility of Avett getting sick worried him. What if he somehow got Ardell sick? What if his grandfather was wrong and he died? Avett knew that he was forgettable to the other Huxley’s, but to Ardell, he was important – he mattered to her. Without him, they were out of balance, out of alignment; they needed each other. Avett knew that without him, Ardell would fall apart like a hollow mannequin – all spare parts and rusted bolts. He needed to be there for her as she was always there for him.

“It’s alright, Ave,” his pa said, patting him on the hand and letting him go. “You’ll live. Trust the Oracles.”

And, though he didn’t trust the Oracles then, he did with time. After his grandfather’s prediction faded from his mind and all thoughts of dying left his young mind in favour of taking the days as they came, he fell. It was an accident – one branch too high, one second of misjudging the weight it could hold, and he’d fell. He couldn’t remember it well after the fact, but he’d shattered a shoulder, an arm, and a leg. St. Mungo’s had kept him there for a week, healing the bones and getting him moving again, and though he’d been in pain and away from his family, Avett had learned a valuable lesson: the Oracles were always looking out for him.

***

It happened again and again over the next few years – tarot readings and signs in the smoke, foretelling things that would come that, eventually, did come true. It went from being something that filled Avett with apprehension to something he understood and relied on; he dabbled in it himself, practising tarot readings by night and the light of a candle until he was sure that he could do it. There were hints and signs from the Oracles – little whispers of promise, of warnings, of clarity.

But there hadn’t been any sign of what was to come on his eleventh birthday – for that, Avett had well and truly been on his own.

***

“I’m so scared, Avett.”

“I know.”

“You can sense it?”

Smiling in the dark, Avett took hold of his sister’s cold hands. “You’re shaking.”

“Oh.”

It was well past midnight, the grandfather clock at the bottom of the stairs having chimed the hour not long ago. The house was silent as the grave – with their father perpetually missing, the house was always quite once night fell, since their mother always retreated to her room just as the sun was going down. Now, with the peak of night all around them, everything seemed suspended and quiet, as though to move would break the magic that kept it all pieced together. With everyone else asleep, it was the only time that the twins could see one another – Avett sneaking from his room to Ardell’s, socked feet light on the carpeted floors so as to not wake his mother.

Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered, what with his going away to Hogwarts in the morning; what punishment could he possible receive? A beating? Avett had been there before, bruised and sore and sorry, but it didn’t matter – not even an ocean or a country could keep him from Ardell.

“Please don’t leave me,” she begged, already on the verge of tears, tiny fingers tight as she clutched at his clothes. “Please don’t leave me here alone with mother.”

There was nothing Avett could deny her, but this was out of his control – he was away to Hogwarts, to become the wizard that Ardell would never be.

“It’s only for a few months – I’ll be home for Christmas,” he promised, squeezing her hands, trying to loosen her vice-like grip. “You’re going to be fine. And who knows, maybe your magic will come when I’m gone and you’ll get to go to school with me, eventually.”

Ardell was silent, though he could hear her sniffling quietly. Neither of them really believed it, but it was comforting to think about, the two of them going away together somewhere. No mother, no family, no worries – just them, a map, and the horizon.

“I’m to be a squib forever,” she said, voice flat. “I’ll never see Hogwarts, let alone step foot in it.”

“Don’t talk like that.”

She wrenched her hands from his. “It’s the truth, and the sooner you accept that, the sooner you will realise that you’re better off without me.”

Avett sat up, watching as his sister roughly pushed out of her bed, nightgown floating around her. She looked like an angel, dark hair wild around her head like some kind of avenging messenger from the muggle God himself.

“You’re the only reason I’m going to Hogwarts. You are my magic, Ardy,” he protested, frowning as he watched her pace, bare feet quiet on the floor. “I’ll probably be useless without you there.”

She didn’t look at him. “You’re a wizard, Avett – you’ll be fine.”

Her arms were locked tight across her body, and Avett could feel a little piece of himself shatter at the reminder that soon they wouldn’t have even this – he’d be thousands of miles away while she’d be stuck here. They’d spent most nights of the week curled up in one bed since they were babies: every photo of them as newborns pictures Avett and Ardell lying together, little legs kicking and arms waving. Even as they got older and they were given their own beds, they’d always find their way back to each other, as though whatever had happened in their mother’s womb before they were born had inexplicably tied them together for life.

“I need you,” Avett protested. “And if you’re not there, then I won’t be fine. And you won’t be either.”

Ardell looked at him, wisps of her dark hair falling over her eyes before she relented and crawled back into bed beside her brother. A tiny part of Avett eased.

“We need to be,” she whispered, voice dropping as she stared at Avett. They’d done this since they were small, pressing their foreheads together to really look into each other’s eyes, as though they were windows into each other’s brains. “We need to be fine, so that we can get away from here.”

That caught Avett’s attention. “Go where?”

“Away,” Ardell said, searching his face. “Anywhere. Somewhere where it doesn’t matter who we are. Somewhere that we can be together.”

Nodding, Avett frowned. “What if it’s too much? What if I—what if I miss you too much?”

His sister smiled sadly, pulling away to wrap him up in a hug, her chin digging into his shoulder. “Then take comfort in the fact that it won’t be nearly as much as I’m missing you.”

***

They fell asleep entwined, Ardell’s fingers slack and loose around his waist as they clung to each other, the clock ticking away the minutes until Avett would be forced to leave her.

But he couldn’t go until he was certain he’d come back – until there was some sign that his sister would get what she wished – and the only way he knew to get that assurance was from the Oracles. They’d been there for him at every turn, and now he needed them one last time – just to be sure.

Untangling himself from his sister, Avett crept out of his sister’s room and back into his own, pulling on a heavy coat, his boots, and grabbing his box of supplies. The house was still and silent, the grandfather clock still ticking away on the lower floor, and as Avett passed by, he realised that he had only a few hours before dawn – and before he’d have to go to the train. He picked up the pace, nudging open the door to the backyard and lugging the chest along under his arm.

There was a spot in the thicket of trees behind the house where he’d done a few readings before – tarot cards spread across the pine needles and a few experiments with smoke and fire omens. He wasn’t sure what he’d even read and seen were real; his grandfather always spoke of his readings with a confidence and knowledge that Avett never quite felt. His own experiences were jarring, like he was seeing flashes of things rather than being given the whole picture. What he’d seen in the fire and the smoke had been scenes of what he now knew to be his sister’s future in the coming years – shame, fear, despair. It’d made him dig his heels in and refused to go to Hogwarts all over again, only for his family to push harder.

The night was dark and silent, an owl hooting overhead somewhere in the distance being the only noise that Avett could hear. The air was cold and it stung his once-warm cheeks as he tip-toed into the woods, every snap of twig and crunch of leaf almost deafening in the stillness. But the clearing was free and empty, and, using a candle that he lit with a match, Avett began setting up.

On the ground he used a stick to draw a circle in the dirt, clearing away the forest’s debris until it was visible: a line dug into the earth that clearly defined a circle. Next, Avett placed the candles from his chest around the circle, lighting each wick carefully while trying to clear his head. He knew, from his grandfather’s instruction, that bringing in extra emotion to the reading wasn’t going to help – it would muddy the results. He needed to be clear and precise and what he wanted to know, and he had to always respect the art of divination.

Sitting cross-legged in the circle, Avett wiped his sweaty palms on his pyjama bottoms before he withdrew the last item from the chest – a spellbook. It was tattered and worn, and though it was outdated, Avett loved it. It had once been a Huxley’s Hogwarts notebook, he thought – there were notes about charms and transfiguration spells, like notes jotted down from a lecture. There were other spells in lists, sorted into categories – ‘for cleaning,’ ‘for healing,’ ‘for defense’ – but the section of the book that had always captured Avett’s attention was the bit at the back.

Added in, almost like an afterthought, was his ancestor’s attempts at divination – dabbles with tarot cards and bird patterns, they’d recorded several methods of divining the future and their varying success rates. Tarot cards and palm readings, it instructed, were generic and good for every day problems; ornithomancy was good for long-term readings, and fire omens – pyromancy – was good for the stubborn problems that refused to be revealed. At the very bottom of the list, after xylomancy and crystal gazing, after it listed all the ways you could use herbs and plants and the stars, was haruspex. It had fascinated Avett – divining the future from the entrails of an animal. It seemed barbaric, extreme, maybe even illegal – and indeed, whatever past Huxley had written this list had labelled it as a “last resort.”

Avett hoped it didn’t come to that.

Channelling his energy and clearing his mind, he laid out the tarot cards in the shape of an everyday problem solving spread, letting his inner Sight guide him rather than his eyes and his mind. With his eyes closed and the forest silent around him, it was easier than usual to find the right cards in the deck, his hand guided to them as though they were magnets. At his touch, the card felt warm, like a current was running through it. And so, card by card, Avett placed them face-down on the forest floor until he felt no more pull toward any of the cards.

When his eyes opened, the night was still dark and his hands were cold, but the cards were ready. He turned them over, one by one, frowning down at each as they were revealed. The story they told was simple, especially considering some of the cards were always the same when he tried to see the future of his sister. The Oracles were telling him that the future was uncertain – that his choices were his own to make, but make them he must.

That wasn’t good enough.

Avett stacked the cards back up and placed them in the chest, forcibly pushing his frustration aside.

Clear mind, clear heart. Trust in the Oracles.

Pulling the pouch of chicken bones from his pocket and tipping them into his palm, Avett closed his eyes and cupped both of his hands together, trapping the bones between his palms as he started to shake them, focusing.

What will happen to me and my sister? What must I do to keep us together?

He opened his hands and let the bones fall, eyes opening only when he was sure they’d all landed. The candles were flickering in the light breeze of the dark night when Avett used one to illuminate the positions that the bones had fallen. This wasn’t his specialty – not yet – but he knew the pattern of ‘confusion’ well enough; the bones, too, weren’t working.

Jaw tight, Avett threw them back in their pouch and back into the chest. Something had to be more informative – there had to be an answer. He couldn’t light a fire, lest he wake his mother up and arouse alarm, and the longer he sat there, the more frustrated he became. Avett had always been told by his grandfather not to let his emotions cloud his readings, but time was slipping through his fingers. What if he went to Hogwarts and never saw Ardell again? What if the things he’d seen for her future came true? He couldn’t leave her to the fate of a pureblood squib – one of scorn and shame that she had no part in.

Why had it been her? If it wasn’t damaging enough that she was a girl and he a boy, she’d been stripped of magic to go along with it. Nothing was fair; nothing was right.

Tears of anger and hopelessness streaked down Avett’s cold cheeks, making them sting at the warmth of the salty water. He just wanted her to come with him – was that too much to ask? For his sister to share in his gifts? Or, if he could not have that, to let her take his magic – he would take her place. Better he suffer than her.

As his hands wiped the tears from his chin, he heard something that sounded like whispering – like cloth dragging over dead leaves; like the trees were speaking through the brush of branches against others. Looking around, the darkness seemed to stretch on forever, and as Avett held up one of the candles from his circle, he saw something moving through the debris of the forest floor toward him. Squinting, his heart leapt into his throat as he watched the snake crawling toward him, black eyes catching the light of the candle’s flame.

Its scales were black and the tongue that periodically flickered out was black, too. And though Avett knew he should run – he was sure a distant uncle had been killed by a snake’s bite at some point – it was as though his limbs were too heavy to lift. As he sat there, watching the snake slither toward him, Avett felt… calm. This was supposed to happen.

The snake was deceptively long, and it moved around Avett, looping the circle that he’d drawn in the dirt until the snake was the circle, its serpentine head brushing its own tail as it looped around and around, never moving an inch closer or farther away.

Paralysed as Avett was, he knew that this wasn’t ordinary – it was divine. He’d heard of tales where animals came to witches or wizards, especially those with the Sight; guided by whatever hand gave him the images of the future, the snake had also been brought here for a reason. And that’s when he realised that there was one other item in the chest that he hadn’t used yet – a knife.

The snake didn’t startle when Avett moved, shifting forward to reach into the wooden box and retrieve the silver-handed knife. It had been his father’s – a thing passed from Huxley to Huxley over the years, probably pawned multiple times to bail family members out from a holding cell. The handle was ornate, carved with the Huxley family crest and all manner of creatures, both big and small. The place where his hand wrapped around was decorated with the curved body of a lion – fierce, loyal, brave. That’s what Avett needed to be now.

Because he knew what the Oracles were asking of him – he knew why the snake had been delivered to him.

Holding out his hand, Avett placed his shaking palm under the body of the snake. Its scales were cool and slippery, almost as if it were wet, but it went willingly, letting its body be guided into Avett’s arms. The head of the snake, dark and cold, curled around Avett’s arm and wrist until its delicate under belly was exposed along the length of Avett’s forearm.

Clear mind, clear heart.

Avett swallowed thickly and adjusted his grip on the knife in his hand as he looked down at the snake which had stopped moving – it lay still in his grip, as though offering itself as a willing sacrifice. The dagger felt immensely heavy in his hand.

Trust in the Oracles.

Avett brought the knife down.

***

Walking, boots crunching leaves and sticks, Avett realised that he couldn’t feel his hands.

He couldn’t remember standing up, he couldn’t remember dropping the knife, and he couldn’t remember when so much of the blood had gotten on his skin.

Blood dripped from his fingertips in warm, wet droplets, soaking the material of his pyjamas. It looked almost comical, like something from a muggle movie – the way the cloth caught the blood and made it bloom big and dark, like ink spots or watercolour. Avett wiped his hands on his thighs, numbly watching as the blood merely smeared across his clothes and stained his hands red. It was hard to think with so much red – it was like his head was a record constantly skipping on the same thought, over and over again.

He’d just taken a life.

Even that didn’t quite register, and numbly, Avett looked up at the house where he’d grown up and spent every day of his life, running around the halls and the woods, chasing his sister. The woods where he’d just—

Avett kept walking.

***

“Ardell.”

The room was dark, but already through the window, dawn’s grey light was beginning to rouse the birds in the garden and pierce the gloom that always settled on the house in the evening hours. Avett could see without the guidance of a candle, and had navigated his way from the forest by memory alone.

“Ardell, wake up,” he insisted, shaking his sister’s shoulder.

She grumbled, trying to bat his hand away, but he shook her again until he saw her eyes open to weary slits.

“Is it time?” she mumbled, voice slurred with sleep.

“Not yet,” Avett said, and he exhaled shakily. “But I needed to tell you what I found.”

Ardell blinked for a moment before she registered what was in front of her, and promptly screamed. The sound was piercing, full of grief and fear, and Avett quickly slapped a hand over her mouth so that she wouldn’t wake their mother up. But the noise seemed to echo in the old house, and her hands were pushing at the one of his against her face, so he let her go.

Blood smeared across her pale skin in its wake.

“Avett!” she cried, hands flying up to flutter around his body. “Oh Merlin – oh God, what’s happened? Are you alright?”

She couldn’t take her eyes off the blood, and Avett looked down, barely even remembering how or when it happened. Blood soaked his arms up to the elbow and had been splattered across his faded, plaid pyjamas – he looked like he’d been rolling with a freshly killed corpse.

“I’m fine – better than fine,” and Avett went to touch her again, but she recoiled, avoiding his bloody hand. “I spoke with the Oracles.”

His feverish voice – full of excitement and wonder and promise – made Ardell frown, her body drained of any previous weariness as she looked up at him. “What did you do?” she whispered, searching his face and dark hair, her eyes wide with fear.

“What they told me,” he said, smiling. “I did it for us – to know if we’d be alright. If we’d get away, like you said.”

“What I--? Oh Avett, oh Merlin,” she said, her eyes budding with tears as she looked at him – at the passive calm on his face that housed the wild eyes that’d been blown wide with excitement. “What did they say? What did you see?”

Avett smiled wider. “They promised me that—”

His words died at the sound of his mother’s footsteps on the landing outside the door, and neither of the twins had time to even move before it swung open to reveal their mother, holding her wand aloft with a light glowing at the end. She quickly aimed the light around the room, searching for something that wasn’t there, before her attention fell back on the twins.

Everything seemed to slow as she took in Ardell, lying frozen and scared in bed, blood staining her clothes and face, and Avett standing over her, soaked from head to toe in the same colour.

“Avett,” said his mother with a remarkably calm voice. “Come. Now.”

Looking from his mother to his sister, who shook her head just a fraction of an inch, Avett stood still. He wondered if he was being accused of something – if that icy cold feeling spreading through his body was panic for a punishment yet to come, or fear for his sister who had been innocent in the whole thing.

“Avett,” she hissed furiously, and without a word, came forward and grabbed his bloody wrist, yanking him out the door.

He had little time except to glance over his shoulder at Ardell, still staring after him wide-eyed, before he was pulled down the stairs and taken into the laundry room. They never came here – not even their mother, instead preferring to leave the housework to the house elf, Limon. The pipes here were exposed, the sink empty, and a hamper of clothes was piled on the floor.

His mother’s silence was worse than if she’d been yelling at him, and her grip on his wrist was brutal. Pushing him toward the sink, she dropped her wand on the shelf above so that the room was illuminated. She didn’t ask what he’d done or if the blood was his; she didn’t question if he’d hurt his sister or if he had hurt himself. Instead, she turned the tap on, picked up a scrubbing brush that Limon used for the stains in clothes, and set about scrubbing from his skin every trace of blood.

It hurt, and Avett bit back tears as his skin was rubbed raw from the brush’s harsh bristles – but he didn’t dare say anything. The blood was all up his arms, over his chest, his face, his hair. How had it gotten so far? Avett’s skin burned as his mother scrubbed him clean, turning him this way or that until she was sure it was all gone.

“You must never do this again, do you hear me?” she hissed, turning the tap off once she’d forced his head under it to wash his hair. The water had run red.

“Yes, mother.”

He stood, dripping and shirtless, on the laundry room floor while his mother took his bloodied clothes and, with a flick of her wand, set them on fire. They burned in the bottom of the sink, the smell acrid and sweet, until they were nothing but ashes.

“You’re messing with forces you don’t understand,” his mother continued, flicking her wand again so that the tap turned on and washed the ashes away. As though it had never happened. “There are things—practices, ways of doing magic – that are wrong.”

“But grandfather’s--”

“Your pa is a sick man, Avett,” she said, kneeling in front of him. “His curse is that he believes he sees the future. I don’t want that for you.”

The night had been long, and the realisation that Avett was leaving in a few hours was sinking back in. He didn’t prevent it from happening – in fact, he hadn’t changed anything. He would still go to Hogwarts and his sister would still be here; he would go months without seeing her, and life here, with his family, would go on without him.

“Avett, listen to me,” his mother said, voice softer. “I need you to be good at school – I need you to try your best to be a good boy.” She lifted a towel from the pile of clean laundry and rubbed at his wet and dripping hair that was beginning to make him shiver. “We need you to be the future of this family. Does that make sense? We need you to make us better.”

Avett didn’t understand, mostly because what made him better and good was his sister, but he’d been denied her company for weeks. He nodded though, not wanting his mother to work herself into a nervous frenzy like she did when the topic of his sister’s squib status was brought up.

“Doing things like that… like—what you did, that—that can’t happen, ever again. It’s not—it’s not proper. It’s not right,” she said, draping the towel around his shoulders and holding it tight. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” he said, voice small. “I will.”

His mother smiled, looking more like the woman from the photographs that Avett had seen from years ago, when his mother had gotten married beside his father. Now, her face was lined and pinched, as though she was permanently worried about something.

“C’mon, you should nap before you need to go – you’ve got a big day ahead of you.”

Steering him from the laundry room, Avett allowed his mother to put him to bed as though he were a little boy again, tucking him beneath the covers and smoothing them down. She even sat at his bedside, pushing his wet hair back from his forehead as his eyes started to feel heavy, the weight of everything he’d seen and done starting to press down on him.

“I’ll wake you up in a little while,” she whispered, fingers trailing over his cheek. “Sleep well.”

When she left and the dawn’s blue-grey was all that was left in the room with him, Avett turned over and closed his eyes, ready to let sleep take him. He was still worried about leaving, still scared of what would happen to him without Ardell by his side, but in the darkness of the world behind his eyelids, he saw things. Flickers of images he’d seen in the forest when the blood had soaked his hands and the snake’s entrails had been laid out before him.

A huge castle.

A dungeon and people clad in silver and green.

A field of wheat and nothing but the sky overhead.

Ardell, himself, and the free horizon.

[thehuxible-blog]

The cards felt warm with energy when Hux was handed them back, and he figured that was a good sign -- until Smith asked his question, and Hux’s heart stopped. “Lennox?” He knew him; knew him in a biblical sense, knew him through Flora, knew him to be like a brick wall walking through the hallways. Coughing awkwardly, Hux wondered for a moment how many cards he should draw - three didn’t seem quite sufficient. After a second’s hesitation, he drew three anyway, figuring he could add more later if he needed to explain more -- and the three cards spread before them made Hux let out a little bubble of nervous laughter. If only he could tell Flora. 

The first card made Hux smile, but he tried to smother it. “Knight of Cups -- a good card,” he said, fingertips poised over it, and he didn’t know how to go on. Glancing at Smith then back down, he ploughed through it without subtlety. “It usually means... courtship. Feelings. The knight is a man of creativity, light, power, energy. He’s also a messenger, bringing you an offer - I guess in your case it could quite literally be... him. Lennox, I mean -- you have an opportunity with this person, and now is the time to act on it.” Hux shifted a little. “This card means go for it, so nothing about ruining here.”

Hux moved onto the next card. “Ace of Cups,” Hux said, pointing to it. “But it’s reversed, see?” The card was reversed for Hux, upright for Smith, which might be nothing, but it was pretty uncommon to get a reversed card. “It means... someone is withholding their emotions - blocking the flow of creativity and emotion in your... uh, relationship. It usually means that they’re scared of getting hurt, and in order for things to move forward, trust and communication is needed.” Hux spun the card around so that it was upright. “You want this -- that giddy, new love feeling, that’s what the Ace of Cups is- what it’s supposed to be. And the card means you can, but right now the trust isn’t there. Something -- or someone’s -- blocking it.” Clearing his throat, Hux paused over the third card to look up at Smith. “Any uh-- questions before I continue? Is this sounding at all... applicable?”

As Smith took the cards and shuffled, he knew, with almost definitive certainty, that this was a mistake. He wasn’t ready to hear anything else, shouldn’t have even asked about his father in the first place, but here he was, asking for more like the glutton for pain and punishment he was. But he was tired of living in the dark, of spending his time wondering rather than knowing anything with any sort of certainty, especially considering his current situation with his best friend. This would be the last time he asked anything of Hux, he vowed to himself. He wasn’t going to turn into another one of Hux’s anxious, overly dependent customers. He just wasn’t. “Alright,” he said with a gruff exhale, placing the deck back in Hux’s hand. His heart pounded in his throat, and he was two seconds away from getting up and bolting before he had the chance to utter his question, but something inside him forced the words out. “Am I going to ruin things with Lennox?”

[thehuxible-blog]

It was strange to be questioned, Hux thought - it was intimidating, nor did it feel like an inquisition. Astoria was full of old fashioned curiosity, and it was honestly refreshing - most people either viewed Hux’s hobbies with plain doubt or rabid hope, and Astoria seemed to straddle the two. “I guess I just... understand, rather than know,” he said thoughtfully. “I don’t know before I see the card, and often even after I see the card I don’t know - it’s a process of interpretation. Other forms of divination requiring more knowing, as it were...” Hux finished shuffling and quickly drew three cards from the top of the deck, turning them over as he looked up at Astoria. “There are certain things the cards promise, like hard times or a big decision coming up. But they’ll never predict, like... death. That’s a pretty common fear, but honestly, the cards are here to give guidance, not send you into a panic, y’know?” Hux glanced at the cards laid before him, their meaning jumbled because he was drawing from both his and Astoria’s energy. He gathered them up and returned them to the deck. “Is there something in your future that you think is going to happen? Is that why you’re scared?”

Astoria would always be incredibly curious about all the things that she didn’t understand, but she knew that Seers were a real thing. Divination hadn’t exactly been one of her favourite classes back in her third year, but she loved Arithmancy. “I have no idea if Seer’s have anything to do with Divination, but I was horrible in tha class… Arithmancy is more right for me… So you just… Know?” Tori chewed at the inside of her cheek and moved to take a seat next to him. “So it doesn’t necessarily tell you your future, it tells you a possible future, so you have to decide whether or not you want to change it?” Her eyebrows were raised high up on her forehead as she looked over the cards as he shuffled them. “I’m nervous about a lot of things, to be honest. I’m not sure I’d want to know… What if I can’t change the outcome?” What if she was told of something horrible, and she had no way of changing it. The future was better left where it was.

[thehuxible-blog]

The sound of her praise made Hux smile, eyes looking up at her flushed face from between her legs, fingers curling inside of her as he watched her hips cant up, trying to get him to touch her exactly where she needed him to. Grinning, Hux brought his tongue back to her clit, fingers pumping harder now that he could feel the way she clenched around him, close to her orgasm. Her words were filthy, filling the dorm room and making Hux groan against her, his cock hard and begging for Flora to do as exactly as she promised. The potion was singing through his veins, and he could tell that Flora was reaping the full benefits, her body shivering as Hux pushed her closer and closer to the edge. But if she was going to come, he wanted to see it, and with one last kiss to the inside of her thigh, he moved back up her body, kissing her stomach, then the space right between her breasts, before he caught her pierced nipple between his teeth, tongue soothing the action a second later as he lifted his head and smiled. “If we took it all the time, it’d lose its high,” he told her breathlessly, fingers moving inside of her as he started to thrust inside of her a little faster, wanting to push her to climax and see it for himself. “Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he murmured, eyes watching her face and body come apart, and he dipped down to kiss her, their hair meeting in a dark fan. “Missed how you look when you feel the best.” 

Keep reading

[thehuxible-blog]

The appearance of Astoria was a welcome one - she fascinated Hux, always kept him thinking, even if he would much rather live more peacefully than she did. Always thinking, always questioning, Astoria’s mind never seemed to just -- quiet. Still, she was interesting enough that Hux was intrigued to indulge her curiosity further. “Personally, it’s all about opening yourself up to the influence of the world. Not a god, necessarily... a God would be too busy to guide a Seer’s hand to the right cards, but--  something. A force, maybe,” Hux shrugged. “I don’t know how to explain it, just that it’s there, and some people are better tapping into it than others.” Hux had been young when h’d realised he could do it, and he hadn’t really questioned it - never asked why, or how, or what for -- it just was. “Well, if you see something bad, then you change it - that’s the point,” he said, shuffling the cards again. “It’s not telling you what will happen, it’s telling you what could happen, and it’s up to you to work toward it or away from it. Have you got something on your mind that you’re nervous about, then?”

Reading Tarot cards was something that Astoria would never be able to understand. She did enjoy Arithmancy, which was the ability to read the future with numbers. Tarot cards was somewhat the same thing, reading the future, but Tori didn’t understand it, she never had. So of course, when Hux was sat shuffling the cards, she couldn’t help it when she started staring. She wasn’t expecting for him to speak to her though, it made her jump, and give an awkward laugh. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare… I’ve just never understood how tarot card readings work.” Mostly everyone knew Tori to be incredibly curious, so of course this had her wondering how it all worked. “And finding out your future too… Seems scary, what if there’s only sadness in the future, that would be horrible.”

[thehuxible-blog]

The next card was drawn, and without knowing much about Theo’s life, Hux knew he had to be vague before he could give a proper analysis. “Right, so-- the Three of Cups is like... friendships, relationships, though not necessarily romantic - often platonic or familial,” Hux said, frowning down at the card, which depicted three birds - ravens - sitting together. ”See how the birds are in a flock? It’s like family - your flock, and it usually is like... coming together. Reunion,” he explained. “It usually means socialising, so coming back together, getting to know one another either better or for the first time, and an end to-- I guess past problems. Finding a way to come together after a hardship, but that coming together being positive, at least in the long run.” Hux looked up at Theo, searching his face. “Does that make any sense to you? Any family or friends you are looking to reunite with?”

He didn’t know a lot about divination, only what two years of textbook schoolwork had done and it hadn’t interested him enough to keep going. A mix of superstition and skepticism steered Theodore away from those magical arts, he was much better with the runes and spells he could logically place. Avett seemed nice and patient enough so he forced himself to calm down as drawing the cards and seeing The World , knowing very little of it, all he could deem is that it was a beautiful drawing. He blinks at what the other boy says, about him working hard and merely nods. It’s nice hearing it even if it sounds obvious - judging by the four heavy books he’d been carrying around. “I suppose you’re not wrong.” He offers shyly with a small smile. He wasn’t so sure about not self-sabotaging but that wasn’t brought up and he wasn’t going to say anything. “Whichever card feels warm…” He mumbles, unsure about it and just fiddling a little more with the deck before picking one from the bottom, laying it faced up. “Three of Cups?” He asks unsure as if he could’ve possibly drawn the wrong card, it was more for the fact he had no idea what it meant but it felt funny. 

[thehuxible-blog]

The sight of Kit made Hux smile, easing a little after the long day of dodging the professors and assignments that he didn’t want to think about completing. Kit understood; Kit was family, and next to Flora, he was the only person that Hux felt that he could be himself around, not secrets hidden or information hanging like a noose. “You’ll make for a stunning headmaster,” Kit smiled, watching Kit dump his books and move into the room -- and producing the brown papered package that made Hux’s smile broaden. He’d placed an order at the start of term, upon realising he was missing a few things, and Kit had - of course - delivered timely. “It’s not sliced?” frowned Hux, opening the package carefully to find two sealed products. One in a jar, and the other was wrapped up - that must be the bursting mushroom, though Hux knew it had likely already burst or they wouldn’t be standing here talking about it. “They’re a real pain to cut up, you know,” he mumbled, a little annoyed that he’d have to do it himself. He reached for the jar and opened it. “At least the dragon claw is powdered,” he said, recapping it.

“How much do I owe you?” Hux asked, digging into his pocket for his coins. He was used to dealing with Kit at this point - the smooth exchange of goods for money, with some of the price skimmed off because they were friends (and family, though Hux wondered if they even shared any blood being as distant as they were). “I was thinking,” he continued as he pulled his money out and tipped it into Kit’s hands to take what he wanted, “you should let me give you a reading soon. Maybe a fire omen reading? Now that I’ve got the bursting mushroom, I have the ingredients I need, and it could be good to do one before you start-- you know, trading full time for the rest of the year. You might need to know if anyone’s got their eye on you or something.” Hux looked at Kit, wanting to be useful and make the other boy proud - it was always Kit doing favours for him and Kit looking out for him, and if Hux could give back, then he would.

Kit capped his ink well and tucked his books under his arm, bidding a farewell to Dawkins as he slipped out of the Ancient Studies classroom, the last of his peers to do so. The few questions he had for the professor proved helpful for his upcoming essay, but the delay meant he was late meeting Hux for their first business exchange of the year. He had the parcel, tucked away for most of the day under chairs and desks and far from prying eyes. An unassuming brown package never felt unassuming enough when he carried. Professors didn’t question it, but his fellow students did, eyeing him, the bolder of the lot asking what treasure he had today and who was the lucky buyer. He had waved them off, but it left him itching to dropping the parcel with its rightful owner.

Moving quickly, Kit made it down the dungeons in record time, unafraid of pushing a few slow moving fourth years in his journey down. He knew the path to their room by heart, a place out of the way, utterly abandoned, but Kit still glanced by his shoulder to make sure no one had followed him before heaving the door open and ducking inside. He pushed the door closed and turned to find Hux at a window seat, the Great Lake making a pretty backdrop. Even as Hux brought up his lateness, Kit did not feel it necessary to apologize. Instead, he dropped his books on one of the old wooden tables pushed against the wall, though he kept the parcel in hand. “Not quite - though Vauxhall did stop me to pat me on the back, invite me over for tea, and name me the new headmaster starting immediately.” Kit moved further into the room, nearing the large window and holding out the package. “As requested - almost. My guy promised the mushrooms were sliced, but I took a peek and the old git lied.”

[thehuxible-blog]

[ @kitbaudelaire ]

With classes done for the day - not that Hux attended all of them anyway - he shoved his wand in his pocket, hitched his backpack on his shoulder, and head down to the dungeons. The warmth from the upper floors faded as he entered, the chill of the dungeon now feeling more like home than the suffocating heat of the divination rooms. He had plans to meet Kit after class - he’d needed a few items that he relied on the other boy to retrieve for him, so there was supposed to be an exchange going down. They never did it in the Slytherin common room - too many eyes - nor was it wise to do it in a classroom or in the halls. Instead, there was a room that they had set aside - something abandoned but still pretty - that they went to, though the business always usually turned to pleasure before long. They were, after all, friends first. 

The heavy door squealed as Hux pushed it open, and after glancing inside, he saw that he was the first to arrive. He settled on a window seat which looked out into the dark waters of the Black Lake, and visibility today was minimal. Sometimes you could see the merpeople out there; other times, you could catch a glimpse of the Giant Squid’s tentacle before it disappeared into the depths. Today there was just the endless flow of water past the window, soothing Hux’s mind as he waited, though he was roused from his reverie by the squeal of the door and Kit appearing. “About time - thought you might’ve gotten the shake down by Vauxhall or something,” he said, though they both knew that Kit was too cunning to be caught by the Headmaster. 

[thehuxible-blog]

Hux probably should’ve been disappointed that he’d just been declined more business, but instead he felt relief - the other methods of divining were taxing, both mentally, physically, and emotionally - and judging by the look on Smith’s face, he couldn’t take much more either. Just as Hux was preparing to go - maybe escape back to the dungeons, find Flora, and do something a little bit reckless - Smith stopped him with another question for he cards. Hux’s eyebrows rose as the sickle was handed to him, and though he knew he should decline, the promise of money was too hard to pass up. “Alright,” he conceded, pocketing the sickle in exchanged for grabbing his cards again. “Shuffle, ask your question, hand them back,” he said, handing over the cards and wondering what Smith could possibly want to know more of -- school? Career? Romance? 

“Are you sure?” Smith asked, sickle in hand, ready to hand it over. “I don’t you to think I’m like – using you or something.” It surprised Smith how much he cared what Hux thought of him. He didn’t want to simply be someone who appeared when he needed something and disappeared when he didn’t. In all honesty, he’d rather not be a part of Hux’s life at all, but if he had to be, he’d be courteous at the very least. At the other’s offer, Smith hesitated, uncertain. He wanted answers, yes, but he wasn’t sure he was ready for them quite yet. “Thank you, Hux,” he said, his voice soft. “Um. It’s kind of you to offer. But for now, I think I’m just going to sort this out. Anything more would just be too overwhelming.” And, a tiny voice in the back of his mind said that he needed to talk to Lennox and Noah before he did anything rash. He swallowed, body still tense, and, before he could stop himself, he added, “There is– one more thing though. One more question. Um. It’s not about my dad. Just– I’ll pay you for this one, I just. If I’ve got you here, might as well, right?” His stab at humor was a lame one, and even he could feel how forced the joke was off the tip of his tongue. He took the sickle and pressed it into Hux’s hand. “I won’t ask for too much this time. I promise.”

[thehuxible-blog]

Her kiss was like fire and her hands the flame, and everywhere she touched, Hux wanted to burn. That was all the potion’s doing - Flora had good hands, but they weren’t like sparks across his skin on a regular day. Hux knew that whatever he felt, she did too, and after she pulled back from the kiss and gave the suggestion, he knew that he wanted that, too. “You keep bringing up your brother,” he said, sliding two fingers inside of her, curling them slightly as he started back up a rhythm while his thumb brushed across her clit. “Something you want to tell me? Or maybe you want me to tell you something,” he laughed, though it died in his throat when Flora’s hand wrapped around his cock, stroking him, and his arm that had been holding him up wavered dangerously. He hadn’t had sex all summer - forced celibacy, courtesy of his family’s possessiveness - and being back, here, with Flora was bone-shakingly good. “Fuck,” he murmured, exhaling uneasily, laughing a little at his own eagerness. “Still too many clothes - I want to see you, and, if I’m honest, take you up on your offer from earlier,” he said, slowing his fingers until he pulled out of her. Sitting back, he unzipped her skirt and eased it down over her thighs and the long length of her legs, her skin soft wherever he touched, chasing the material. “Haven’t gone down on you in what feels like forever,” Hux said, smiling as he pushed his school pants off and away, hands resting on her knees and fingers curling around her legs. “Do you mind?” he asked, but even as he said it, he laid down on his stomach between her legs, hands easing her thighs apart and spreading her before him, moving back to where he’d just left. Touching her again, the candles flickering over her skin, Hux let a shiver course down his back before he let his tongue find her clit and fingers to slide back into her, the pace slow before picking up to something faster - more desperate, full of need and the wealth of unspoken things that existed between them.

Keep reading

[thehuxible-blog]

“It’s alright,” Hux said, sliding the cards back into one pile for something to do. “He’s your father, and you want him to get better - that’s nothing to be sorry about.” The cards came together, feeling whole in Hux’s hands despite the hope that they’d just given to the other boy, and Hux knew that Smith probably wouldn’t sleep easy that night - or any other night until he’d either forgotten or seen a sign of the future the cards had told. “You don’t owe me anything,” Hux said, waving the money away before Smith had even produced it. “Pay me next time when I can hopefully give you something more, uh. Concrete,” he said, putting the cards away. “Did you want me to keep looking?” Hux looked at Smith, pulling his knees to his chest and clearing his throat. “I can-- there’s things I can do, they’re not... exactly in textbooks, but I can still do them. I can see things, usually with fire, that could... help.” Hux shifted slightly, feeling oddly vulnerable. “If you don’t want to, then that’s okay, but-- when you’re ready, I can help.”

Reunion. That’s what was in store for him – at least, according to Hux and his cards. Smith knew he should look at this with a grain of salt and a lens of pragmatism, but he couldn’t. This was his dad they were talking about, and Smith just couldn’t. He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to calm his racing heart. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to like – ask too much of you or anything, I just. I don’t know what’s going on, and he’s– he’s my dad.” He clamped his lips together, throat tight. Hux was right. He needed some clarity with this, and he couldn’t act rashly. He would have to owl his grandfather and maybe even owl St. Mungo’s, get a better scope of what was happening in real time rather than what the cards were telling Hux. It could be years before whatever they prophesied came into fruition. Or it could never happen at all. “Um. How much do I owe you? It’s a sickle for tarot card readings, right?” Distractedly, he reached into his bag, rummaging around for some change. He knew Hux had said he was offering, but he didn’t feel right just asking without giving something in return.