Delirium
Pairing: Remus x Sirius
Rating: PG (smoking, mentions of hallucinogen)
Warnings: If you are uncomfortable with boys crossing very personal boundaries with each other (such as affectionate hugs/kiss on forehead etc.) I suggest you leave this fic. Nothing graphic here though.
Summary: It’s all in his mind, he thinks. It’s not real. This can’t be real.
Behind Grey Eyes.
Genre: Romance, friendship, humor, hurt/comfort, angst.
Pairing: Remus x Sirius
Warning: Contains elements of homosexuality – don’t like, don’t read.
Notes: Poem is called “How Do I Love Thee?” by Elizabeth Browning.
He could’ve done it by magic, use this chance to be heard…
the dark side.
something came up, and it made my blood boil.
i let it stew in my mind, and allowed my imagination to come up with various ways to execute my own form of punishment. all suggestions were cruel and ruthless.
and that made me realize.
for so long, i’ve never, never known just how vindictive i was, and coupling that with ruthlessness and a penchant for cruelty just makes it a very potent combination. poisonous.
i looked back into my past, to see if perhaps this sort of vindictiveness was evident from the beginning. it was. though at the time, i was unaware of it, and even if i was remotely aware of it, i reasoned that i was simply seeking justice. now, i understand that i am a dangerous vigilante.
i don’t put it past myself to use cruel and hurtful punishments, and often times exceeding the scope of the “crime” until i feel satisfied. there were certain times when i have been in this situation, where the anger courses through me and all i want is revenge, which i have subtly and subconsciously replaced with justice.
justice. sometimes i wonder why i’m a christian, or why God drew me to him. i’m obviously amoral, and dangerously so. i will not stop at any means to achieve my ends, and i have a thirst to prove my worth. in other words – Slytherin. my affections when given, are abundant. i am capable of forgiving so much, but when i am wronged, i will be the personal demon who tortures you until you can’t take it anymore.
it gets more dangerous when i get my hands on your weaknesses. they’re not just simple weaknesses, such as your cravings for certain food and such, but weaknesses that you just can’t afford to let anyone know. possibly weaknesses you just never realize were there, but it makes up for your stability, psychologically. i will be that predator, merciless and ruthless, who sniffs those weaknesses out, and seek to destroy you, unhinge you, until i feel satisfied.
and for now, i’m really angry. not just annoyed, but completely angry. i wanna hurt someone. i wanna cause someone pain. i wanna see someone bleed. and i want more and more and more of it.
sigh. i am trying my very best to change. why does this have to crop up at this time? sigh. dear God, please fix it. 
anyway.
I WANNA CRUSH YOU. I WANNA MAKE YOU CRY. I WANNA HURT YOU. I WANNA SEE YOU BLEED. I WANNA MAKE SURE YOU KNOW YOUR BOUNDARIES. I WANNA BREAK YOU. DESTROY YOU. AND I WONT STOP UNTIL YOU ADMIT DEFEAT. you want a challenge? you got one.
Cold Comfort
She strides gracefully, inching towards the window, her arms hanging loosely by her side and her eyes unfathomable.
It is a dreary day, she thinks, with sky as grey as the linoleum, and the rain pelting mercilessly against the windowpane. Yet, she knows, it is the perfect day.
She seats herself beside the window, one arm on the sill, and the other on her lap. She finds strange comfort in the cold, damp atmosphere outside her window. She hears footsteps – measured strides and rather soft footfalls – approaching her door. She turns expectantly, slowly, just as the door knob is turned cautiously, quietly.
She sees him, and he sees her. She offers a small, gentle smile, whilst he struggles with much difficulty to return the smile in kind. He hasn’t smiled in a long while, she knows, and this is as best as it could be, and she accepts.
She waits for him to speak, though just as he closes the door behind him and stares at her, she knows she has to start first. He waits, and by just their silence, the room grows warmer, and she starts to fidget.
He, on the other hand, remains motionless. She doesn’t know how long it is, this silence, nor when he would speak, but it is then just as she finishes her thoughts, he opens his mouth. There is no sound, no syllable, not a single word formed.
She decides it’s her turn, and speaks, “Is he alright?”
He hangs his head, staring at his feet, and picks at his fingers. “Almost,” he replies, at long last, and strides forward. He stops right in front of her, and she looks up, her eyes still withholding her emotions. Her pain.
“When will we know?” She asks quietly, her voice betraying the hope she carries so deeply in her.
“When two hours have passed,” He replies simply, stepping forward cautiously as he wraps his arm around her, clutching her tight as he kneels down, unable to bear the pain.
She doesn’t say another word, but frees her arms, holding him close as she strokes his hair soothingly.
She knows. She feels it too.
