#‘Pardon my French but go die.’
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Surprise Bag 2024 Story (Prologue)
The April Fool's story from 2024. This is only the prologue, as the continuations are sold as story sales that I will not be purchasing. I do still think it is very funny, though.
The premise is a bodyswap, Ellis <> Jude and Elbert <> Alfons
Ever since I became a Fairytale Keeper, I like to think that my tolerance for the extraordinary has increased.
However, this latest happening in Crown far surpassed anything I had ever experienced.
"Jude": Good morning, Miss Kate. I'll make you happy today too.
Kate: ...Jude, did you... hit your head on something?
"Jude": Hm? Nope, I'm perfectly fine. Haven't hit my head on anything.
Kate: What happened to your usual terrible attitude?! Did you catch a cold? Are you injured? We have to go to the hospital now--
"Ellis": Tch, the hell is this?
"Jude": Ah, Jude.
"Jude": Huh? Jude, why are you me?
"Ellis": I should be the one asking. Why the hell are you me?
Kate: Wha? Huh??
"Elbert": Ahha! Something terribly amusing seems to have happened, hasn't it?
Kate: Alf- Eh, Lord Elbert?
Kate: Wait, so then is that 'Alfons' standing behind you...?
"Alfons": ...When I looked in the mirror, I became Al.
"Elbert": Being able to look at oneself from the point of view of an outsider truly is fascinating.
"Elbert": Oh yes, El. Do speak more energetically. It's unsettling to hear myeslf sound so glum.
"Alfons": ...More energetically? ...I'll, try...
"Alfons": ........Ahha.
"Elbert": I suppose that's my mistake for asking you to be more energetic.
Kate: Wait, just hold on a second. So what's happened is...
Kate: ...Jude and Ellis, and then Lord Elbert and Alfons have swapped bodies!?
Kate: What kind of ridiculous situation is this...!?
"Ellis": It's that goddamn doctor bastard's fault. I'll kill him.
---
Gathering the remainder of Crown, we questioned Roger about the circumstances. He let out an unrestrained laugh.
Roger: My bad, my bad. Who'd ever think that the results would pay off this quickly? Aren't I a genius?
Victor: Now's not the time, Roger! What did you do to cause this adorable- excuse me, very troubling situation?
Liam: Victor, you're not hiding your true feelings very well. Your words and face don't match at all.
Roger: I had the thought of swapping a cursed person with a normal person. That could lead to the curse transferring, couldn't it? So I was doing some research.
William: Your unquenchable thirst for knowledge is admirable indeed. But if that were the case, shouldn't you be experimenting with a cursed person and a normal human?
Roger: It'd be pretty dangerous for us if something went wrong while I was experimenting on a normal person, wouldn't it? I thought I'd test things out on these guys first.
Harrison: Just what do you think we are? We die just as easy as normal people, you know.
"Elbert": Let's toss that musclehead four-eyes into the Thames.
"Ellis": Yeah. Fix some stone weights to him and it'll be over quick.
Kate: Stop, stop! Don't say things like that wearing Elbert and Ellis's faces!
"Jude": But that's pretty amazing, Roger. I never thought that medicine like this could exist.
Liam: ...Jude being all soft is- nope, that's just weird!
Roger: Don't worry so much. Once I've collected enough data from you lot, I'll whip up an antidote.
Roger: ........Once I've got an antidote, I can start testing on the others.
Harrison: ...You just said something awful, didn't you?
Roger: Don't know what you're talking about.
"Elbert": You're acting like you're in any position to bargain about turning us back? Pardon my French, but go die.
Harrison: Yikes... Uh, Liam? Hey, Liam, hey. Did he fall asleep?
"Jude": Sorry, I touched his head. I was curious about whether I could use Jude's power or not.
Roger: Huh, so the ability stays with the body. I really am a genius after all, aren't I?
(This isn't helping anymore...!)
Kate: A-anyway! Please make that antidote as soon as possible, Roger!
Kate: ...Geez. What are we going to do if Her Majesty hears about this?
Roger: Well, I might end up getting fired...
Roger: ...So it's up to you to watch over the lot of them to make sure nobody else finds out about this, little lady.
Kate: Huh? ...Roger? Wait!
"Ellis": Tch... Fuck it. Let him get kicked out.
"Jude": Ah, Jude, my body isn't used to--
"Ellis": *cough, cough*... Ellis. First thing we're doing is to start training so you can at least handle one cigar.
"Elbert": Hmm... with a face like this, I could get away with doing pretty much anything, don't you think?
"Alfons": ...Kate, is this spoon beautiful?
Kate: M-my poor sanity...!
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The Seamstress & The Sailor - Chapter Fourteen
[Masterlist]
Warnings: Language, Smut, World on Fire spoilers
Word Count: 4.3K
Notes: Angst and horniness, coming right up.
June 1940
No matter how hard he kicked, Tom couldn’t get his legs loose of the damn sheet.
“Calm down, calm down!” Tom had come round to find himself crammed into a corridor lined with other injured men, his shoulder bound with gauze strapped to his chest. The accent of the man shouting at him told him everything he needed to know. Still in bloody France. The man, a doctor judging by the white coat he wore, held Tom’s shoulders and pushed him down. Tom hissed as the touch aggravated his wound.
“Get your dirty, grubby hands off me now!” He kicked his leg and caught the man holding down his legs. “Let go of me and I’ll take my chance!”
“Listen! If you leave now, you will die!”
“Oh, so I just stay here and surrender like you lot?” Tom spat in the man’s face as another doctor and nurse arrived. “Paris has fallen. She just told me,” he indicated to the woman. “And not a shot fired. How’s a bunch of cowards going to keep me safe?”
“Pardon?” The doctor holding his shoulders lunged at Tom, who squared up to him from his position on the bed.
“Jacques,” the nurse grabbed him. “Jacques!”
The doctor at the end of the bed spoke. An American. “Before you say another word about French cowardice, just remember it was a French ambulance crew who rescued you.”
Tom relaxed his shoulders and pushed out his chin. “Christ. You think you rescued me?” His temper was rising. “Thanks to you I’m in a city crawling with Nazis. And where are my clothes?”
“Incinerated.” Said the nurse.
“You fucking what?” He panicked. The only thing keeping him sane was gone.
“I assume you are after this?” Jacques, the doctor, picked something up from Tom’s bedside table. Tom snatched the photograph from his grip and rolled onto his good shoulder, Bess safely tucked beneath his pillow.
“Now piss off and let me die in peace.” His voice was final, and the medics left him. Certain that they were gone, Tom took out Bess’ photograph and traced her face with his finger. The letters were surely gone, and there was no way that he could get one to her while Nazis lurked around every corner. He had to get home, and soon.
✼ ✼ ✼ ✼ ✼ ✼
Distantly, Bess heard the ring of the telephone in the ground floor hallway. Manchester was warming as sun gleamed off the stone buildings and rose into the smog strewn sky. Every door in Carver Mills was open. Other girls’ laughter fluttered through the stairwell and, occasionally, so too did the warble of a record being played. Bess was lounging on her bed, watching white bed linen flutter on the washing line beyond the window. A rare day off and a chance to relax. She was just closing her eyes when Mrs Russo’s voice called up to her.
“Bess! Phone for you, darling.”
No-one ever telephoned Bess. The only people who would were Cora, Dot and Dadda, and they’d have to borrow Mrs Mason’s telephone or else use the phone box on Plymouth Street. Trying to ease her rapidly rising nerves, Bess swung her legs from the bed and hurried barefoot down the cold stone steps. Mrs Russo was stood by the front door, apron on, phone tucked beneath her ear as she dusted the hallway cabinet. She smiled when she saw Bess coming down the stairs.
“Here she is, love,” she said to whoever was on the other end of the phone and passed the receiver to Bess. “Your sister,” she mouthed, before striding into the bright light of the day armed with a mop and can.
Bess held the receiver to her ear. “Hello?”
“Hi honey,” It was Cora, her voice unnaturally bright. “How’s the day off?”
“Yeah, it’s fine.” Cora never called. “What’s happened?” There was a sniffle on the other end of the line and Bess’ heart lurched.
“Oh, Bess,” Cora’s voice wobbled.
“What’s happened?” No reply. “Cora? Is it Dadda?”
“No, it’s not Dadda-” Her voice was small, defeated.
“Oh darling,” realisation dawned on Bess. “Has something happened to Roger? Do you want me to come ho-”
Cora spoke over her. “It’s not Roger.” Her voice was firming up, and before the words left her sister’s mouth, Bess swayed where she stood. This was the sound of someone readying themself to deliver bad news. Having heard their friend’s raised voice, Helen and Joan appeared on the stairs. Bess looked up at them wide-eyed as she waited for Cora to deliver the devastating blow.
“Bess, it’s Tom.”
“What about him?” Bess’ voice was sharp, steel walls rising to avoid any pain.
“Douglas got a telegram this morning. Darling, Tom’s missing.”
The soft flesh of her knees split as she hit the floor, though she didn’t feel it. A hand groped for the receiver, now dangling from its wire, and Bess vaguely saw that it wasn’t hers.
“Hello? Cora? Yes, it’s Helen-”
Bess’ body was pulled sideways and her arms trapped at her sides. Joan had wrapped her arms about her and was holding her tight. Bess lay there silently, pressed into Joan’s chest as Helen spoke lowly into the telephone. A minute later, she joined them on the floor and covered Bess’ body with her own. Joan whispered gently in her ear, though what she was saying, Bess couldn’t tell. When Helen reached out an arm to grip Bess’ hand, it was then that she realised she was shaking. Quaking with paroxysms of despair.
“Come on, little love,” Joan brushed some hair out of Bess’ face. “Let’s get you upstairs.” Together, Helen and Joan hauled Bess to her room, patched up her knees and laid her own the bed.
“Dry your eyes,” Helen passed Bess a tissue. She’d been crying? All Bess knew was that in the time Cora had telephoned, she had seen nothing but Tom. Tom, trapped in a prisoner of war camp. Tom, lost in the wilderness of battle-scarred Europe. Tom, lying unfound in ditch. Tom, in a shallow grave next to the rotting body of her brother.
She stared at her bedroom wall. The light turned from egg-yolk yellow to bitter plum, the only indication that the day had faded into evening. Helen and Joan left few hours ago. Or was in ten minutes? Bess was beyond the world of noticing. When a knock came at the door, she did nothing, only continued to stare at the cold wall and peeling wallpaper.
“Bess, love?” Mrs Russo stood at the door to Bess’ bedroom. “Some post came for you.” When Bess didn’t move, the older woman stepped into the room and placed the letters on the bedside table in front of where she lay. “You’ll catch your death lying here,” Mrs Russo leant over Bess’ lifeless form and shut the window. “Come down later, if you feel up to it. I’ve made soup.” She kissed Bess’ head and left, the click of the door and her retreating footsteps the only sound.
When all was quiet again, Bess sighed. Before the war, she had been content, and that was all a working-class girl from the north of England could hope for. She would never open her own fashion house. Never marry a rich man. Likely never leave Manchester. But Bess did have her work, her family, her pride. She’d heard Dot speak about her fear of never achieving anything. Looking back at her life when she is an old woman and seeing nothing but duty and boredom. When did greatness and notoriety become the measures of a good life? Bess always told her, is it not enough to be joyful and love and be loved? To be content and happy. What now, then, when contentment and happiness had gone from her life? Albie alone in France, buried God knows where. Tom with him, or soon to join him? An older sister who would never know first love without fear. A younger sister whose remaining years of childhood were defiled by war, and a father wounded by grief.
Bess’ eyes drifted the letters Mrs Russo left. Her name was smudged a little, and for a fleeting moment, she thought it was Tom’s handwriting. The address, however, proved her excitement wrong and she stilled. Who was left to write? She took the letter and ripped open the envelope.
“I know what you’re trying to do. Telling me all about your little date in the hopes it will make me jealous. Would it make you smile, love, if I told you it was working?”
Bess dropped the letter like hot coal. She ran to the bedroom door and slammed it shut. Leant against the doorframe, she clutched her heart and felt it hammer against her chest. Even missing, Tom Bennett could still make her weak. Tentatively, as though it would scold to touch it, Bess padded to the bed and picked up the letter once more.
“Does he know you like I do? Does he know that you collected feathers and eggshells when you were small, or that you write secret letters to a criminal like me?”
With every word, her breath quickened and pulse raced.
“Can he read you like I can? That you only smoke as a means to avoid speaking?”
Her mouth went dry.
“That when your eyes darken and those perfect lips of yours part, when you blush and it spreads right across your nose, it means you desperately want fucking?”
Bess’ head hit the pillow.
“It means you desperately want fucking”
Despite her terror. Despite the grief of the day, Bess laughed. He wanted her. Until the moment he went missing, he wanted her. If he was alive, perhaps he still did. She reached for the photograph of Tom, propped against her lamp, and held it behind the letter. The other hand ran down the buttons of her loose shirt and ruched the hem of her skirt. Over the edge of the letter, Tom’s eyes watched her.
“Can he satisfy you like I can, Bess? Are his fingers long? Have they been inside you yet? I know I could do it, Bess, if you’d let me.”
Heat welled between her legs as she pressed a palm against her sex.
“If I try, I can hear you moaning my name. I can feel your cunt against me. If your family hadn’t come home I’d have ravished you, Bess. I’d have fucked you with my mouth, my fingers, my cock.”
Bess’ fingers dipped into the warmth of her folds, and with half-lidded eyes she committed Tom’s photograph to memory.
“Made love to you until your mind could think of nothing but me. Can this James boy do that for you? Can he satisfy you like I could?”
Over and over she read the letter, over and over her nimble fingers worked her arousal undone.
“I’m mad with wanting you, love. I’ll kill any man that gets in my way to you. You’re mine, Bess.”
With a shudder and moan of his name, Bess unravelled to the image of Tom on her tailor’s stand. Tom beating Walter Watson to a pulp. Tom between her legs. Weak from her release, the letter fluttered to the ground and for a few blissful moments Bess forgot her heartache. Tom Bennett still wanted her. She giggled and reached for the letter, desperate to read his words once more. As she leant over the bed, she saw the mess of paper on the ground. Tom’s photograph, his letter, and the second envelope. She must have knocked it to the ground in her haste to be rid of the first.
She froze. It was him. Again. The smudged scrawl. It was definitely him. Abandoning her attempt to retrieve the first letter, Bess once again ripped open the envelope. Would it be a repeat of the first? In a perverse way, she hoped it was.
“Your letters are the best thing that happens to me at sea, but I couldn’t bear being the cause of more pain.”
In direct opposition to his first letter, the second caused Bess’ heart to stop.
“We’re going into something big, Bess, and I’m scared I won’t come back.”
“Oh, Tom.” Bess stood from the bed and hurried her way through the tiny flat.
“If I don’t, know that I think of you every second of every day.”
She opened the door, eyes never leaving the page.
“I’ll spend the rest of my days regretting what I did to you but know this, I adore you.”
Tears were falling now, and she could feel them. Angry, heartbroken, elated, fearful tears.
“Think of me, as I’m forever thinking of you.”
Her feet brought her to a door on the second floor of the boarding house. She knocked twice and brushed some tears form her red cheeks. The door swung open, and Joan stood before her, cigarette in hand and hair in curlers.
“Bess?”
Bess could do nothing but hold up the letter and laugh sadly.
“He adored me.”
✼ ✼ ✼ ✼ ✼ ✼
Tom watched as Webster’s blood funnelled through the tube and into his veins. What with the pain in his shoulder, the city heat and his growing unease at the Nazis walking the halls of the hospital, the sight did nothing to settle his stomach and he looked to the ceiling.
Webster, while admiring Tom’s spirit, was himself growing annoyed at the man’s impatient recklessness. He understood as much as any other his desperation to be away from Paris with the one he loved, but the reality was not as easy as their imaginations would wish.
“What are you going to do with out help?” Webster whispered quietly. “All these men need my help. You’re prisoners of war now.”
“I’ll head for the coast.” Even agitated, Tom seemed a cocksure and certain man. If not for the war, Webster would have liked a drink with Tom Bennett.
“And which way is that, hm?”
Tom paused. “I’ll think of something.”
“Listen,” Webster sat up a little, careful not to disturb the needle in his arm. “I’ve talked to a couple of French guys who are setting up an escape route. They can help you.” Tom’s eyebrows rose and he waited for Webster to continue. “You can go across the Pyrenees into Spain, Spain to Gibraltar then home from there.”
Tom smirked. “I get lost walking home from Belle-Vue, mate.” Exasperated and having reached the end of his capacity to cope with the Mancunian, Webster rested his head against the bedframe with a sigh. “What? You’ve never heard of Belle-Vue? You don’t know what you’re missing.” Bright lights flashed before his eyes and he could see Bess on the carousel, head tipped back with laughter. Tom smiled.
“First, you need to get registered as an injured prisoner of war,” Webster’s voice was hurried, eager to test out his plan.
“Yeah, then what?”
“Then you die.”
Tom looked at Webster flatly. “Well I hate to be picky-” Webster ignored him.
“Once you’re declared dead it makes it easier for you to escape. They won’t be looking for you.”
Tom spotted a flaw in the plan. “Won’t they want to see a corpse?”
“We’ve got no shortages of corpses, buddy.”
“And this’ll work, will it?”
“You’ll know before I do.” Tom stared at Webster, disbelieving. “We’ve never actually tried it before.”
Tom scoffed nervously. “Great.”
“The sooner you leave, the sooner you’ll be reunited with your girl-”
“She’s not my girl anymore.” Tom snapped, and the two watched in silence as the dark blood ran between them.
✼ ✼ ✼ ✼ ✼ ✼
“And Bess, thank you for the clothes. Douglas brought them over on his last visit.”
Despite herself, Bess felt a pang of jealousy. Douglas has clearly made a new friend since her move to the city. She’d have to drop in soon.
“Of course, Albie would’ve been glad to see them go to a good home.”
Robina Chase nodded awkwardly, caught somewhere between giving thanks and condolences. She turned away and began to dress as Bess packed away her tools. Summer meant preparing for autumn fashions. Or, in wartime Britain, autumn tailoring.
The front door opened and shut with a thud, and Robina sighed. “Will you stay for a cup of tea, Bess? What’s one more person, hm?” Bess smiled and followed the woman downstairs, where she saw Harry, Jan and a man that could only be Demba; Mrs Chase had already told Bess all about the Senegalese soldier Harry had brought home.
Harry kissed his mother’s cheek, and then Bess’. “I’m so sorry about Albie, Bess. We’ll miss his face at the dances.”
“And he’d miss the dancing!” Bess smiled to ease the sadness rapidly descending on the entrance hall. “You must be Demba.” She held out a hand to shake the stranger’s. His smile was warm when he shook her hand, and Bess could see why Harry liked him so.
“Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” He said.
“Miss!” Bess teased with mock offence.
“Pardon,” Demba held is hands to his heart and the three of them laughed. Mrs Chase clicked her tongue and hurried away to fetch the tea.
“Hello, Miss Bess,” A little voice said from behind Harry.
“Hello, Master Jan.” Bess held out a hand to him, which he took, and she led him into the sitting room where Robina was setting out the china. He perched himself on an armchair, and Bess took the seat next to Demba. Harry stood somewhat agitatedly behind them and watched as his mother picked up her newspaper.
PARIS HAS FALLEN
The headline was accompanied by an image of the Luftwaffe flying over Paris. Noticing the silence, Robina lowered the newspaper.
“Harry tells me you saved him.” She addressed Demba. He smiled graciously before replying.
“He saved a lot of men.” A true gentleman. Bess smiled before Robina could ruin the moment.
“How very reassuring,” she gave her son a pointed look.
“Like his mother and father perhaps?” Demba seemed unaware of the bump in the conversation. “His courage?”
“Harry’s father had many qualities, but it transpires that courage wasn’t one of them.”
“Can we talk about something else?” Harry’s tone was terse.
Robina bristled and picked up her newspaper. Bess wanted the plush settee to swallow her whole. She took a sip of her tea.
“The Germans didn’t bomb Paris,” Robina’s voice was hopeful. The three young people opposite stared at her. “That surely is a good sign.”
“Of what exactly?” Bess could hear Harry trying to restrain is frustration.
“That when all is said and done, at least they are a civilised people-”
“Je suis désolée,” Demba and Bess turned to look at Harry as he spoke. “Ma mère ne sait pas de quoi elle parle.”
KNOCK KNOCK KOCK
Thank Christ. Bess and Demba relaxed in their seats. Jan saw and giggled. The same could not be said of Robina, who sighed and threw her newspaper on the couch. “Surely this week can’t get any more surprising.” She strode towards the front door. The four left in the sitting room said nothing, and Bess stuck her tongue out at Jan to make him smile.
When Robina returned with Lois Bennett, Harry jolted forwards and, struck by a similar awkwardness to his mother, abruptly stopped whatever motion his body had been about to enact.
“Lois!”
“Bess?”
“Bess has been tailoring some clothes for me.” Lois sat next to Robina, and Harry plonked himself next to Bess, causing her to shuffle sideways into Demba. Silence reigned once more, until little Jan spoke up.
“Is Douglas coming?”
Robina laughed.
“No, sorry. But he sent you this,” Lois leant over her now enormous bump and picked up a package wrapped in brown paper. “It isn’t brand new. It’s the same one Tom had when he was your age.” She locked eyes with Bess, who suddenly found a loose thread on her trousers to fuss with. “Dad says next time you play, you can wear it.” Jan smiled, unaware of Lois and Bess’ sorrow.
“I feel rather as though I’ve arrived late at the theatre and need someone to explain the plot to me.” Robina look to Bess and Demba for agreement.
“I am sorry,” Lois said sincerely. “I had no idea you had so many people here.” She stood up and Harry did the same so suddenly it nearly caused Bess to spill her tea. He was pleading with Lois.
“Lois, wait. I…”
Sensing that she was intruding on familial politics far more complicated than she first assumed to know, Bess jumped from her seat. “Come on Jan, let’s see if Tom’s shirt improves your aim.” The little boy laughed and followed her into the garden, the red football jersey trailing behind him.
“She’s an odd girl, Demba.” Robina said as the four remaining in the house watched Bess and Jan play. “Would be ever so charming if she only sorted her hair and wore rouge. There’s a spinster in the making.”
“Mother, please.”
From the garden, Bess kept one eye on Jan and one on the people in the sitting room. When Demba was the only person left sitting, she ran inside.
“Harry?” She was a little out of breath. “Do you have a camera? I want to get a photo of Jan in his jersey.”
“Just a minute.” Clearly glad of an excuse to leave, Harry left the room. No-one spoke, and Bess saw Robina’s eyes follow the path of Harry’s footsteps on the ceiling above. He returned a minute later with a camera and handed it to Bess. “Keep it,” Robina opened her mouth to protest but Harry silenced her with a look. “I never used it.”
“Thank you,” Bess squeezed his hand and ran back outside.
“Jan!” The boy stopped kicking the football against the wall and looked at her. She held up the camera. “Give us your best pose.” The little boy placed his arms against his hips and foot atop the ball. Bess laughed and clicked the camera. “Very good!”
Lois put her head into the garden. “Harry is taking me home, Bess. Do you want a lift?”
“No, you’re alright, I’m going to stay with Jan for a bit.” She beamed at the boy and he smiled back, thinking of his older sister as he did. “And if you need help, when the time comes,” Bess nodded to Lois’ bump. “You let me know.”
“Thanks, love.” Bess and Jan watched as she retreated into the house.
“Right then, young man,” Bess clapped the little boy on the shoulder. “Show us what you’ve got.” She ran into the makeshift goal and Jan lined up the football.
✼ ✼ ✼ ✼ ✼ ✼
That night, after her dinner with Mrs Russo and the other girls, Bess made her way to her room. Switching on the wireless, she tuned it to some music and covered her windows with the blackouts. From her bedside table, she retrieved the stack of Tom’s letters she had gathered over the nine months since the war began. All but one, which she left tucked beneath her pillow. Rereading it had become a common occurrence in her night-time routine. And morning routine, come to think of it.
Sat at the kitchen table, under the soft lamplight, Bess twiddled a pen between her fingers as she read over his last letter.
“I adore you.”
Tom was right, he knew her better than anyone. All those years of stolen conversations and silent glances. And just as Bess had found her voice, found herself opening her heart to him in her letters he was gone. Tom might never come back, but Bess wasn’t ready to let go of him yet. Contentment and love could still be hers if she tried.
Retrieving a leaf of paper, Bess unscrewed the cap of her pen and began to write.
Tom,
Your letter arrived the same day I found out you are missing, and you broke my heart for the third time. Your letters could never hurt me, and I only wish I could look forward to more.
She stopped to hastily wipe away a tear. Looking at Tom’s letter, she answered each of his admission in turn.
If I never see you again, I hope you are resting now in the knowledge that I too, think of you every single day and will never stop.
If, by some miracle, you come back home to us, know that I will spend the rest of my life regretting the night we fought and that day at the train station. I’ll never stop telling you how much I adore you.
Dream of me, wherever you are, as I am forever dreaming of you.
Yours, as I always have been,
Bess.
She placed the sheet of paper in an envelope, writing Tom’s name and date on the fore. With nowhere to send it, nowhere to send her love, Bess rested her head against the table and wept.
Notes: Jan and Demba deserve the world! I changed the order of some of the TV scenes just to make it flow a little better. We’re with Tom more for the next chapter, which will probably be up sometime mid-next week as I’m heading home for a hen do. Will try to get some writing done on the dismally long journey. Want to really get inside his head and his feelings!
Tags: @aemonds-wifey @multiple-fandoms-girl @jessssica1234 @babyblue711 '@exitpursuedbyavulcan @myfandomprompts @anditsmywholeheart @allthefandomtherapy @valerie977 @bookwyrmsblog @phantomontheinternet @chainsawsangel @greenowlfactif @thelittleswanao3 @yentroucnagol @beiigegalx @skikikikiikhhjuuh @just-emmaaaa @mefools @aquakaris @its-actually-minicika @whoknows333 @arcielee @honeymaltgelato @girlwith-thepearlearring
#ewan mitchell#tom bennett#tom bennett x ofc#ewan mitchell x reader#world on fire#the seamstress & the sailor
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𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖎𝖓𝖘𝖕𝖎𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓.
𝖒𝖚𝖘𝖎𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖓𝖘 / 𝖇𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖘
system of a down ⛧ tool ⛧ the clash ⛧ metallica ⛧ bruce springsteen ⛧ billy talent ⛧ pixies ⛧ nine inch nails ⛧ disturbed ⛧ deftones ⛧ rage against the machine
𝖘𝖔𝖓𝖌𝖘
the grudge (tool) ⛧ here comes revenge (metallica) ⛧ i did what i did for maria (tony christie) ⛧ revenga (soad) ⛧ cigaro (soad) ⛧ running the world (jarvis cocker) ⛧ i'm a wanted man (royal deluxe) ⛧ oats in the water (ben howard) ⛧ hurt (nine inch nails) ⛧ karma police (radiohead) ⛧ freak on a leash (korn)
𝖖𝖚𝖔𝖙𝖊𝖘 / 𝖑𝖞𝖗𝖎𝖈𝖘
wear the grudge like a crown ⛧ eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth, a life for a life, it's my burden of proof ⛧ cunts are still running the world ⛧ my sweet revenge will be yours for the taking, it's in the making ⛧ well, that is a matter of opinion and I do not give a fuck about yours ⛧ blast off, it's party time, and where the fuck are you? ⛧ hello darkness, my old friend, i've come to talk to you again ⛧ there'll be things you never asked her, oh how they tear at you now ⛧ you’re an insane, degenerate piece of filth, and you deserve to die ⛧ pardon my french, fuck those fuckers ⛧ it's a day that i'll never miss, the most loneliest day of my life ⛧ this isn't a democracy anymore ⛧ you're all fucking welcome ⛧ worth dying for, worth killing for, worth going to hell for
𝖋𝖎𝖑𝖒𝖘 / 𝖘𝖍𝖔𝖜𝖘
the boys ⛧ the punisher ⛧ kill bill ⛧ i saw the devil ⛧ oldboy ⛧ taxi driver ⛧ dredd ⛧ the crow (1994) ⛧ the hateful eight ⛧ django unchained ⛧ v for vendetta ⛧sin city ⛧ mad max (2015) ⛧ road to perdition ⛧ john wick ⛧ from dusk till dawn ⛧ pulp fiction
𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖘
the man himself - billy butcher (the boys) ⛧ frank castle (the punisher) ⛧ marv (sin city) ⛧ seth gecko (from dusk till dawn) ⛧ vincent vega (pulp fiction) ⛧ tyler durden (fight club) ⛧ walter white (breaking bad) ⛧ rick grimes (the walking dead) ⛧ wolverine (logan)
tagged by: @chaoticjoke (ty!)
tagging: @h-a-unted (maeve and/or any muse of your choice!) @vikasgarden @heartofglass-mindofstone @thesmartassdetective @dear-diary-of-disaster @exsecrabar @arasanwar @gottesgrauen @ravishingnemesis @verflcht @vasted & whoever wants to
#omg i had fun with this one#just made a few slight changes#e.g. left out the true crime section due to some of our community guidelines#i'll catch up with some other tag games soon they're all drafted#gamesfakevz#「𝟶𝟼」⸻ 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝖽𝗂𝖾𝗌. ⊣⊢#「𝟷𝟺」⸻ 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍. ⊣⊢
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Also just as an aside I hate when an obviously villainous character with a clear agenda counter to the protagonists' happiness says something and people just. Accept it as true despite all evidence to the contrary.
That is to say, I get why Stede buys it, but there's no reason whatsoever why we should put any stock in Ned Low's taunting about the act of his murder being what will make Stede a "real pirate."
Was he not a real pirate when he held two British naval officers hostage for days? How about when he bested Izzy (the first time)? Or when he infiltrated a French party boat, instigated a violent riot, and left everyone aboard to die? How about when he accompanied Ed and his crew on all their raids? Bested Izzy again in a duel (sorry to my poor little meow meow, but he did)?
How about when he violated the terms of his pardon? Faked his own death? Orchestrated the theft of valuable loot from Jackie, which would have gone off flawlessly without Ricky's interference? Escaped Zheng Yi Sao with her prisoners, several of her newest crew members, and her wheel in tow? Raided an adrift vessel? Led the capture of another vessel, without Ed this time? Freed himself during an attempted takeover of his own vessel and negotiated with fellow pirates for a peaceful end to the conflict and the surrender of their captain?
He did all of that in his own delightfully weird Stede way with his own delightfully weird Stede goals, and we're going to take Ned fucking Low's word for it that until he killed the bastard, he wasn't a real pirate?
If piracy is anything in this show, it's a multi-use metaphor. For freedom, for belonging, for masculinity, for queerness. In this instance it's pretty clear which thing it's a metaphor for: Ned is insinuating that killing him will make Stede a "real man."
And I get why Stede buys that. I do. But I do NOT get why I keep reading takes and metas that just accept that as truth and build whole readings of Stede's character on it when it so very clearly isn't true at all.
#ofmd#ofmd s2#ofmd spoilers#ofmd s2 spoilers#stede bonnet#ned low#calypso's birthday#i also think it's significant that ned interrupts a celebration of all the OTHER piracy metaphors: freedom queerness belonging#and asserts this particular meaning and draws this clear line for stede#puts this box around him when all the other metaphors are about demolishing boxes
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I'm pretty sure there's meant to be an embargo on press discussing Ripley until the 4th, but this Danish reviewer appears to have jumped the gun a bit.
Aesthetically pleasing series with chilling Andrew Scott is a welcome alternative to the summer vacation-ready movie adaptation of Highsmith's thriller.
(English translation below the cut)
By Kristian Ditlev Jensen
Ripley is the title of Steven Zaillian's adaptation of Patricia Highsmith's recurring character Tom Ripley, who is the protagonist in five of her psychological thrillers.
The first book is the magnum opus The Talented Mr. Ripley, which has been adapted into several films. Most famously, the 1999 version starred Matt Damon and Jude Law.
The story is about a young conman, Tom Ripley, who hustles his way through life, but one day gets mistaken for someone else. He seizes the opportunity and gets the offer of a lifetime from Mr. Greenleaf, an elderly shipyard owner.
"Go to the stunning Amalfi Coast in Italy and find my son Richard Greenleaf. Persuade him to come home!"
In Italy, Tom quickly finds Dickie, as he is simply called. But instead of bringing him home, he murders the man and assumes his identity.
In a formidable double-cross, he fools everyone by pretending to be both Tom and Dickie when it suits him. All goes well until a police inspector from Rome starts to smell a rat. And soon the hunt is on for the perpetrator.
The journey takes them via Sanremo, Palermo in Sicily, Rome and Venice. But the the criminal is always gone, even though the policeman is actually sitting and talking to him!
Anthony Minghella's feature film is good, but it's also a legitimately summer-holiday-ready, box office-targeted take on the story of a con artist and low-life con man. Now this version finally gets competition from a far more uncompromising, over-aestheticized and visually astonishingly harmonious work, starring Andrew Scott (All of Us Strangers) with warm charm and icy creepiness.
It's not every day you see such a well-designed series, where everything from the dramatic choice to shoot in black and white, to the typography, to the production design of interiors and costumes is thought out down to the last detail.
"The light. Always the light."
The line comes from a Catholic priest standing just behind Tom Ripley, who is looking at a Caravaggio painting.
Michelangelo Merisi, as the Italian painter was originally known, took his artist name from the village of Caravaggio near Bergamo. And it was he who coined the art term chiaroscuro - or clairobscur in French - in the years around 1600.
The term refers to a painting technique where dark and light are contrasted so that the images almost appear as black and white paintings.
Steven Zaillan - who wrote the screenplays for Schindler's List, Awakenings and Gangs of New York - has just modeled Ripley on the painter Caravaggio, who lived a dramatic life to say the least.
In 1606, Caravaggio stabbed pimp Ranuccio Tomassoni in the thigh with a small sword, causing him to die from the blood loss. The painter lived on the run for years before being pardoned by the Pope, but died immediately afterwards of a fever at the age of 38.
This story is on every level behind the series.
Ripley is shot in black and white, i.e. modern clairobscur, just like Caravaggio's own works. It's also about a criminal on the run and a murderer.
The story goes on and on.
In a key scene, there is a cross-cut between the historical Caravaggio sitting at a table with the murder weapon, a short dagger, and Tom Ripley sitting with a fountain pen in front of him.
In the twentieth century, you could kill with a pen. Today, you'd probably do it over the internet.
The whole analog universe that Steven Zaillian revels in - the series is set in the 1960s, while the novel was published in 1955 - is a stroke of genius. It allows him to work sensually with a wide range of things that seem to have disappeared today.
There are phone booths and people write notes to each other with pens. The typography is almost a tribute to the printed media in the form of newspapers, books, writings, signs, stamps, letterheads, patches of text, forms, checks and so on.
Similarly, shoes are a little story in themselves. And drinks. And ashtrays. At the same time, the declaration of love for the Amalfi Coast is so authentic it makes you dizzy.
The fact that the series is shot as something of an homage to the black-and-white king of them all, director Orson Welles, doesn't make it any less impressive. With a wealth of indirect and direct quotes from, for example, The Third Man, where the play of light and shadows on the walls of the stairwells play a major role.
Ripley is a rare true work of art on Netflix.
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Black Beats Black - 3. Butterfly Weed
Chapter 1.
Chapter 2.
Read on AO3
“Tu es complétement cinglé,” Sirius blurts out as his mind reels through what he just heard from his brother’s mouth, who isn’t impressed by his disbelieved tone. “We need to get magically bonded?” He repeats with a mocking voice that only deepens Regulus’ scoff.
“Do you often think in French? I lost the habit once we got to Hogwarts,” he mentions without caring much about Sirius’ point. “It sounds weird.”
“Pardon ? Mon accent est parfait. Crétin .”
Regulus rolls his eyes and flatly glares at him. “Est-ce que tu vas m’écouter ou m’insulter dans une autre langue que je comprends parfaitement ?”
“No I’m not going to listen to you,” Sirius replies, storming across the room and coming back with the idea to grab him but the word ‘nuptial bond’ hits him again. “ Married ?!”
“There is a perfectly understandable reason for it. And I didn’t say married,” he snaps. “I’m not doing this by pleasure either but it will give us time.”
“Time?! Time for what? To prolong our fucked up family tradition of inbreeding?”
“Incest will never be my thing and neither will this be,” Regulus dryly says with a shrill sigh through his nose. “If you actually remembered the point of Pureblood bonds then you would understand what I’m going at.”
Sirius glares at him and considers swatting him before storming away closer to the fireplace. The room, which perfectly sheltered him over the last days without any worries about intrusion, has allowed Regulus in without Sirius having any say which would not bother him any other time than now. He is happy to see his brother but now he considers holding back Regulus’ visiting rights if it’s to parade in with the decision to get bonded. He rubs his eyes after looking away from the fire.
“Tu es fou.”
“Pour l’amour de Merlin,” Regulus snaps and leaves the bed to walk closer. “Sirius, will you please stop and listen to me? It’s only for the Hanahaki and trust me I wish I didn’t have to take a part of it.”
He snorts with a glance at him. “How so?”
“Think.”
Sirius scowls at him but he doesn’t spare any more attention as he goes to sit in the plush seat, lacking the mirror that was in front of it as it disappeared days ago. He has no complaints about it since he hasn’t been able to stomach his own reflection for a time now.
A sigh scratches its way out before he can think and furious coughs follow the rustling of the petals in his body. It’s painful, clearly noticeable by the way Regulus’ eyes are fixed into him, but he manages. It’s liberating to be able to wheeze without worrying about anyone catching up. In class, especially in Transfiguration where Sirius had the brilliant idea to sit next to Remus as it’s the only class where they aren’t allowed to swap seats for the whole year except if McGonagall deems so. She will never change his seat especially now that Sirius doesn’t chat and dolefully focuses on the lessons now.
He throws handfuls of petals in the fire and wipes his mouth with his thumb. Regulus is either throwing him a distraction to focus on rather than his own thoughts or wants to rile him up on the crazy idea of marriage with his own brother. They have both followed strict education on Pureblood’s culture, heritage and traditions by their parents but Sirius has never cared much for it. Most were long, hypocritical and meaningless, which has never worked well with him. Though he is a romantic and the promise of a true ever-lasting love has always appealed to him - but everything is twisted whenever it’s Pureblood’s affairs.
“The nuptial bond is supposed to enhance feelings, tying the knot over love to never let it die,” he recalls and glances at Regulus to judge his reaction, “but the way to do so is by sealing their fate together meaning that neither spouse can try to escape by any means.”
“Anything that happens to one will happen to the other.”
Sirius widens his eyes as he recalls the warning of ignoring such a bond or finding another love. There is no escape when you are linked to your own jail without bringing your own death.
“A curse would be reciprocated,” Sirius realises as his eyes widen on the composed face of his brother. “Merlin’s balls. You really are insane.”
Regulus shrugs and focuses back on playing with the make-up pencil he found on his seat. “Tradition familial.”
He snorts before properly laughing at the hint of amusement on his brother’s lips at the mention of a family tradition. The only one they are actively keeping up alive, though only recently because apparently the habit is still lurking and just needs the right person around, is speaking French here and there; it’s their family first language despite living in Britain for centuries.
Their parents loved to loudly complain, never anything positive at least, in french in any sort of public setting; if someone understood and talked back then they would swap the situation around by saying it’s a private conversation, though it has rarely happened. Sirius and Regulus only used to speak in French to reply whenever spoken to or between themselves like a secret code. Their parents would obviously understand but Sirius liked the idea of being secretive with Regulus, as much as they could in this pressuring house. It was only the case whenever Kreacher was around to keep an eye on the young heirs but the house-elf probably understood what they said. Regulus could have easily taught him a bit of French if he didn’t already know. These two always played favourites with each other which Sirius always resented.
“Alright so you want to bring back incest up to our days,” he snarks and turns to face him properly with crossed arms. “How is being bonded any help for me? You will only get the Hanahaki.”
“Not exactly,” he argues. “It will try to develop, yes but it won’t manage to.”
“Why not? These nuptial bonds are intense. There is no time difference or strength to be sure that both spouses are affected in the same way.”
“Because the Hanahaki relies on the host’s feelings to grow and develop,” Regulus points out with a nefarious raised eyebrow. “I do not have any feelings for Lupin which will make the Hanahaki helpless to grow in me but the bond will force it to focus on me even with that difficulty. Hopefully it will leave you alone for a while.”
He really thought this through, which surprises Sirius as many implications come to his mind that he can’t deal with at the moment.
“You can’t be sure of that.”
“I am,” Regulus counters with no shame as he leaves his seat. “I will still be affected but it will take time if it ever manages to work on me which gets us more time. As the bond intends to, any curse will develop at the same speed to be sure that both spouses are affected at the same time.”
“I hear you but you are still mad Reggie.”
“Sirius,” he harshly cuts and takes a deep breath. “You don’t have much time. I have been looking through a lot but your curse is definitely evolving too fast for only three weeks and I doubt that I have seen the worst of it when I found you in the toilet.”
There has been worse it’s true but Sirius won’t share about it. If he is honest, Regulus caught him in a very bad time where his thoughts couldn’t stop spiralling. The flowers are delighted whenever he gets too lost in his mind because it always gravitates around Remus. He coughs and turns back near the fire to discard the single flower escaping him with a spit of blood. They have been more frequent, ready to be gifted if you ignore the blood here and there.
The most difficult part is whenever he is in class because he will feel that Remus is just right here. Every single flower tries to reach out, all the time, as if they could figure out a way to embrace him and they might have if he listens to the feeling in his guts which scares him. Sirius doesn’t know if they are only trying to carve a way out or plan to drag Remus in there to snuggle him up forever and ever. He wouldn’t mind but the pain makes it difficult to appear normal and focus on hiding all of this.
He looks sick, dreadfully so, despite the potions he has started to prepare for himself to cover it up. One is perfect to hold back the flowers despite the uncomfortable feeling of his guts being locked up. As long as he can speak it’s alright for class but the sensation are awful and the flowers always try to riot through it. Being kicked out of the Quidditch team turns out to be a blessing because he wouldn’t be able to fly and play with this seal over his lungs - he can perfectly breathe in, though the flowers clog it up and he is starting to feel it. What he is doing is ultimately dangerous; Sirius feels like he is dying every time he leaves classes and runs to this room to cough everything out and he has already lost consciousness more times than he can count for it. Except that it’s better than people figuring out what is happening to him.
“I’m not doing it.”
“Why?”
Sirius sighs, throwing him a pissed look. “Because if you listened to yourself you would realize that it’s mad. You will get the Hanahaki too and if I die from it then you will die too .”
Regulus is getting frustrated by how his eyebrows plummet like thunder. “Which won’t happen. This is to get more time for us to find a solution but you’re already advanced and I’m worried— I fear that time is running out and that I might find the cure when it’s too late. Once I have it, we break the bond without a problem.”
“There is no cure for it-”
“That’s what you think.”
Sirius groans out and strides toward his bed to sit down. “I’m not marrying you.”
“You’re just being difficult,” he scowls and storms to face him. “I never said anything about marrying-”
“Because nuptial bond are not for-”
“La ferme !” Regulus shouts with a strident, exasperated, hiss. “Sirius, this is the only way I could find to get you more time. There is no other option and I’m certain you can understand why too. I wouldn’t do it if I could help it but I doubt you could find someone else willing to do this bond with you right now.”
Prongs would. It comes before his mind can stop it - James’ reaction if he knew and how he might come up with something as crazy as a nuptial bond even if it means getting himself sick to help Sirius.
“Still-”
“Potter? He probably would,” Regulus agrees as if his thoughts were shared. “But I doubt you want him to know about the Hanahaki and the cause of it.”
Sirius glares at him. “He would but I still wouldn’t ask.”
His brother coolly eyes him but the edge flickers to worries and almost softness. “You truly aren’t speaking to him anymore?”
“Why do we care?”
“Not even about your plan to run away?”
He can feel himself throwing all manners and any sort of sympathy he might have had before for his brother.
“Regulus.”
The warning is loud and clear. His brother doesn’t back down despite understanding him perfectly by the slight shift in his posture. Sirius is bitten by guilt right away. His own body is ready to adopt the tense stance that was hammered into them in their youth; proper and tall, everything that screams strength and a strong-will, nothing about softness or understanding.
“I’m only concerned,” he admits and many things go through his mind by how his eyes fly with a surprising sharpness. “I just… I’m here, Sirius… Je suis là pour toi.”
Sirius takes a deep but fragile breath with a shake of his head. “Reggie-”
“I have realised that we were never really brothers, were we?” He recalls without much emotion albeit the frown. “We have the same parents, live in the same house, same lessons, same rules and competitive ambitions. The only moment when we actually came together as somewhat brothers was because we had nothing else but each other. No friends and not any distraction without the risk of our parents sending us back to our rooms, away from their sight to not be bothered.”
“Oh this better not be in your vows at our wedding,” Sirius venomously spits, “just say we are cousins and we probably have the same twisted love of dear precious Walburga and Orion.”
Regulus scoffs. “What I mean is that now I’m choosing to be here and I want— I want to be your brother, Sirius,” he gasps out. “I want us to be real brothers before it’s too late.”
It’s difficult to meet his eyes which leave them both with a stifling silence. Regulus doesn’t waver, which Sirius can’t quite proceed how he manages to do so. He feels utterly broken and all of this leaves him feverish when he hasn’t even spoken.
In a way, it’s true. They are related but to be real brothers, siblings, loving ones, is something entirely different. Sirius would wander to Regulus only when he felt too alone or the current ordeal at home left him alienated and pushed him to hold on to something familiar. They never exactly played together. Regulus liked to read a lot and sometimes Sirius had nothing else to do than the same but preferred to look above his shoulder— now he realises it was to share something even if neither talked or commented on the book.
Sirius clears his throat and shifts on the bed to make a clear space for Regulus to sit down. “Did you realise it before or only now?”
“I wish I did before,” he quietly confesses and joins him without much space between their thighs. “Have you?”
He shrugs and tilts his head as his lips painfully purse. “If I’m honest, not quite. I just never— to me you never needed me and I thought we simply don’t get along. Just like the rest of our family.”
“You’re not wrong. We’re very different.”
Sirius nods, hands gripping and relaxing on the blanket as a thought keeps nudging him. “Pr—James was never your replacement.” Regulus rolls his eyes but he doesn’t take it as an interruption. “You will always be my brother Reggie. I never compared you two.”
“It’s fine,” he says despite not sounding like it.
“No,” he cuts, biting on his bottom lip before relaxing. “You are my brother. James is too but it’s different, it’s— like a soulmate.”
“Soulmate?” Regulus’ nose wrinkles with a glance. “What about..?”
“Not romantically, ew. It’s incest,” he quickly blabbers out to distract the flowers who tingles with the thought of Remus Soulmate . “When we met, I don’t know why but I didn’t need to think? I don’t know if I can make sense of it. But it’s not romantic which also confused me a bit because it’s always supposed to be romantic, isn’t it? We kissed once for a game at the dorm and I couldn’t have been more dead inside-”
“You kissed him?! When you just said how it would be incest ?” Regulus cuts with his voice almost shrilling in incredulity.
Sirius blinks at how traumatising and tragic it seems to be for his brother.
“What? You never kissed a friend for a game? No tongue of course, that would have been disgusting.”
Regulus stares at him with his nose wrinkled as the rest of his face slips into an upset resignation.
“Explain the rest to me. Nothing else disgusting like that.”
Sirius checks if he is making fun of him but his brother looks back at him with a soft intensity, as if eager to hear more. He shifts and rolls his shoulders when there is a twinge there.
“It’s not like we are separated pieces of a puzzle. We’re not the same person either but there is no need to think,” Sirius trails off. “I was scared at first because it was so strange compared to— the other Purebloods around our age we met or you. It was so easy to talk to him and I never had to worry about being just me around him. Sometimes I would get stuck in my head and he would bring me back which he probably noticed. I could blabber and James would understand without making me feel bad about it.”
Regulus takes his time to think his words over, scrutinising him but without any sign whether it’s good or bad. He will probably cut his hair during the break as he likes to keep them not too long; most of the time his ears are free of hair because he is quite ticklish there despite never admitting it. Sirius used to wake him up by tickling them with a feather and Regulus would roll and cry of laughter while begging him to stop.
His hair is perfectly divided but the curls soften the edge, breaking the thorns of their upbringing, and crowning Regulus like a delicate child. Sirius knows enough to not assume that it’s the truth; the familiar spot above his left hip aches just at the thought of how many times his brother pinched, scratched, punched and rudely poked at it during their childhood. Regulus has the same because they are both stubborn and vengeful to target each other at the exact same spot every time. What leaves him more surprised is finding new beauty marks on his brother just on his throat and the neck. Regulus has always got more of them than Sirius.
“I understand.”
Sirius blinks at him. “Really?”
Regulus nods but he doesn’t meet his eyes right away. “Then what about— well.” He stops himself. “It’s better to not think about him.
The flowers dance, scratch, twirl and leech at the mere mention. Tell everything. It should worry Sirius that they can speak now but he pities them - they are as starved of Remus as he is. He coughs and lets them fly out with no concern. Regulus shifts but takes several seconds to vanish.
“Anyhow, now it doesn’t matter how well James and I got along,” Sirius roughly articulates.
Regulus twirls his wand in his palms. “I don’t know why you are surprised when Potter has been shouting everywhere that Lily is his eternal soulmate. All the signs were here that he is cheating on you...”
The somewhat joke doesn’t land right away, which causes Regulus to grow embarrassed and glances away from him before Sirius uncouthly snorts and a wheezy laugh escapes him.
“Yeah, I should have picked one that doesn’t run after the first girl he sees,” he quips and nudges him to reassure him.
Regulus’ lips twitch but doesn’t smile, meeting his eyes for a second before looking at his wand.
“What I meant to say is that, I’m here for you, Sirius,” he declares. “Now and ever, I want to be brothers. We haven’t even finished school and you— you might die .” His tone shakes and Sirius hesitates to reach out, an easy task as they are sitting beside each other but far more difficult than he expected. “Which I won’t let happen but for that I need time. I never thought that you might die.”
His brother’s eyes are heavy with tears. One blink makes a drop cascade and he breathes in loud and pained. Sirius cautiously slips an arm over Regulus’ shoulders and slowly brings them together. There is no fight.
“I don’t want you to get the Hanahaki,” he whispers, letting his face softly fall against their similar but shortened hair. “It feels awful. I-I’m broken and I don’t want you to feel that way.”
“I need you alive.”
“Reg-”
“Please, let me try,” he pleads and fists his shirt with a shaky hand. “It could be late but— I want to try. I will save you and maybe we can be brothers.”
Sirius is deafened by the sobs, increasing in sound and feelings, before he realised he has joined the cry. Regulus is hiding against his shoulder but it isn’t enough to muffle any of it.
It comes so naturally to him that he doesn’t realise it until they are both tired, laying in each other’s arms as Sirius pets Regulus’ hair with puffy eyes and a raw throat. Their faces are shining with tears, starting to dry, but neither move and mention none of it.
Hurting Regulus is still out of the question but Sirius replays everything they have said up until he was found in the toilet. It would be a lie to say that he would have assumed Regulus would have not care one bit about his whereabouts; his brother is more tender and understanding than anyone might assume. Regulus would have cared that Sirius dies but to go as far as trying to save him? He would have never hoped so but now he feels thankful.
Sirius has not much to live for if he is honest and he has realised it now. The least he can do is be there for Regulus. He can be a brother, a real one, for his last days. Regulus made research, tons of it apparently. He also goes out of his way to reach out to Sirius as if they have never ignored each other. It makes him uncomfortable and void of pride that he finds himself earning for it with a childish awe. Like a treat that never crossed your mind and yet feels so important to hang on.
They are tucked together with no difficulties, no questions and no mistrust. He wishes he could hug him tighter, play with his hair and rest his head against his - but it would be weird. Sirius and Regulus barely touched each other if they weren’t annoying or fighting each other. The only times they have been somewhat touchy in a soft way were when either of them rode up and down the many curses their parents chose for their punishment— and often they couldn’t feel the touch until hours passed.
Sirius swallows and his fingertips brush over one of Regulus’ strands of hair. “Who would cast it?”
Regulus clears his throat twice; the second time out of embarrassment as he realises how much of him is laying on Sirius’ chest.
“What?”
“The bond.”
He sits up and quickly rubs his eyes before looking at Sirius. “Evan. The two people bonded can’t cast the spell themselves.”
A scoff escapes him and his brother squints at his grimace. “Rosier?”
“Yes. Or do you want to ask someone else? A professor? A ghost?”
Sirius lightly kicks him and rolls on his stomach with a tired groan. “He is a prick.”
“He is my friend and I trust him.”
“I don’t.”
“You have never met him,” he points out and scowls when Sirius is about to reply. “The Purebloods’ meetings when we were kids don’t count. We were all five years old at best.”
He rolls his eyes. “What tells me that he will not make it worse for me?”
“Evan wouldn’t hurt me. Nor you by extension. He already agreed-”
Sirius stands up with wide eyes. “You told him?!”
“I didn’t say what it is for,” he explains and brushes his hair with a hand to clear his eyes from the few stubborn curls. “He knows that you’re cursed but nothing else.”
Sirius doesn’t care much if someone knows as long as it doesn’t reach the ears of some Gryffindors. The Slytherins might make fun of him but he can deal with it; plus he doubts that Regulus would let it happen.
He rubs his forehead with his hands. “I will think about it.”
Regulus looks at him. “Really?”
A sigh escapes him but he offers a small nod. “I get your point with the bond but it’s still risky.”
“Evan can cancel it at any time.”
“You don’t know how it will react,” Sirius argues and looks at him with a conflict in his eyes. “Have you read of what happens to the Hanahaki with a nuptial bond? Maybe you will be as affected as I am and it won’t slow it down.”
“We need to try,” Regulus insists with a scowl.
“Let me think about it.”
His brother stares at him, exhales quietly as his hands curl up. “Let’s make a deal.”
“What?”
“If we do the bond, as in you at least try it with me without cheating or anything else,” Regulus articulates. “We leave Grimmauld Place together this break.”
Sirius gapes at him but can’t find any sign that his brother is anything but fervent and honest.
“Leave?”
“You heard me, let’s run away together. I have an idea of where we can go and Kreacher can prepare our affairs to hand it to us once we get out of the Hogwarts Express.”
“Kreacher?! What are you even talking about?” Sirius almost shouts as he tries to digest everything. “What brought this on?”
Regulus coolly looks at him. “I’m not as— weak or ignorant as you might think. For some reasons that I still can’t understand, you never seemed to really grow in our home with our parents… I did. And it’s not an excuse. I had no other thoughts or speeches in my head that weren’t about blood-purity, Muggle hatred and for dark arts to be as easy as breathing. To me, there wasn’t anything outside of our home which you have always seemed to know about and I struggled to understand it.”
Most families of Pureblood always said that Sirius is an unruly, feral, ill-mannered child. A little rebel which he has always taken as a compliment but truly he only felt sane and insane at the same time. For the most important gatherings and once their parents lose hope over Sirius behaving himself, they used the Imperius on him so many times that he might as well develop an allergy— what is more important is what people see.
“You clearly didn’t approve of my idea of running away and you have no problem listening and obeying our parents,” he argues, standing up from the bed as he really doesn’t feel like letting Regulus go when he cracked this buried, drowned, chest open. “Did you really think parents who cursed us regularly are simply normal?”
“I figured you need a little bit of pain to be happy about the rest-”
“A little bit?!”
Regulus harshly exhales through his nose and crosses his arms to face him. “I recognize now that our parents are not— nice . You didn’t need to get out of the house to realise it but I did. As a child I thought that you only fought with our parents all the time to have all their attention.”
“What about those wankers of Death Eaters?”
He glares at him. “I do not want to join them. I might not talk back to our parents but that’s because I know it won’t change anything, better stay out of their radar even if I have to listen to their words. I did think they would make the world better, as if our lives aren't all set up already. I realise how wrong all of this is now and especially how hypocritical our so-called Dark Lord is.”
Sirius squints but an uneasiness warily crawls over him. He doesn’t want to push his brother in the spot, especially when they have managed to be somewhat friendly. Plus, he actually has not any real proof that Regulus is following these ideas. At home he is quiet and stays mostly out of everyone’s way but he can play the perfect little Pure-blood whenever it’s necessary. He never openly spit or sneered at anyone who isn’t a Pureblood like Snivellus.
“Really?”
“You do realise that I could literally be the king of every Slytherins if I ever just spoke up? Some are actually waiting on me as if I’m just lazy.”
“You are smarter than that.”
Regulus’ lips twitch into an almost smirk. “I am,” he confirms before wetting his lips with a trace of brooding. “It’s only my second year here that I realised how all of this Pureblood logic and veneration don’t make sense. Mostly because I met Pandora, who is officially a nobody if you follow our rules, but also Dorcas. I hadn’t realised before that no one from Slytherin ever hung out with her because she is a half-blood. It probably took me too much time to realise any of it.”
It’s true that Sirius doesn’t recall Dorcas spending time with any other Slytherins outside from his brother and his little friends. When she got into their Quidditch team, it created a slight scandal up even when they almost won all games ever since she started in third year. She also flew right into Sirius to make him fall off his broom and broke his leg. Pandora being a nobody by ‘their’ rules doesn’t truly remind him of anything specific; she doesn’t even have a family name because she is apparently an orphan.
“That’s all very good,” he replies, feeling immediately silly. “I mean— I know you’re a better person than anyone in our family. I was… I was scared that I love and care about you but that you were as inhuman as they are.”
Regulus’ eyes have softened over his words but they quickly dive to the floor, head shifting for his parted bangs to drift in front of them. His hands awkwardly shuffle upward until they can catch on his sleeves. Sirius recognizes all the signs and only takes a few steps closer, enough to be able to reach for him even if he doesn’t know if it will be welcomed.
“I also..,” he clears his throat. “I only like men. Which I’m sure you know isn’t who Purebloods must shag with to have an heir, despite the many means to have a child even for a couple sharing the same bits.”
Sirius doesn’t quite know how to properly react. His face must be telling something though because Regulus barely meets his eyes and scowls, crossing his arms with the regular twitch of his fingers around his sleeves.
“Putain, tu es gay ?”
“I would rather use queer because I— I’m not going to tell you actually,” he sneers with his pale skin completely turning red.
“Are you kidding?! You need to tell me everything!” Sirius exclaims. “How did you know? Why did you never tell me? Did you think I would be an asshole? That I would have a problem?”
Regulus rolls his eyes with a mocking smirk begging to appear. “Please, have you looked at yourself? Only someone blind wouldn’t see that you’re definitely not heterosexual. And it’s not a good enough reason to talk about myself.”
He snorts, pleased. “I will take this as a compliment. Still, why didn’t you tell it to me before? You knew right away about my-” His words are cut short by rough coughs.
Two flowers crawl their way out, leaving his throat aching as he holds himself onto his knees to wheeze and to retrieve his breath. Regulus tries to soothe him with a hand going back and forth over his back.
“I just never felt like I needed to say it. My friends never asked and they knew.”
Sirius clears his throat, straightening up and whipping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Well, I want to know about it. This is huge, Reggie— I mean we can share!”
“Once you’re free from this stupid curse, yes,” he accepts.
“No, no, now ,” he playfully argues. “Don’t you want to make me happy?”
“You’re— fine. But I’m not sharing more.”
“When did you notice it? Do you like someone-”
“I’m answering what I want to,” Regulus warns, stepping back toward the door with an angry step.
“You have to give me something Reggie. You know, lift up my mind and all.”
“You’re insufferable!” He shouts with his face so red Sirius fears it will get stuck like that. “I noticed— someone when I started my first year here and that’s how I realised. That’s all.”
“Who was it?” Regulus’ shoulders almost touch his ears with how tensed up he is. “Don’t tell me it’s someone weird like Snivellus or Gilderoy— Merlin’s balls, is it a professor? Like Dumbledore?”
“Ew, what is wrong with you?!” He exclaims with an intense wrinkle of his nose. “You don’t get to judge me but I can assure that my tastes are completely sane contrary to what seems to be going on in your head.”
“Hey, I just want to help you! Who knows what kind of creep will go after you!”
“Don’t be this kind of brother who doesn’t let me date because he can’t get it through his head that I can make my own choices,” Regulus cautions. “Be the one who either helps me get with the person I— like, or help me make them disappear if they ever hurt me.”
Sirius looks at him before snorting at the ever-severe tone. “Sure, I can do that.”
He smiles. It’s small but it’s everything and Sirius finds himself hoping . “Good,” he says within a whisper that sounds ready to tip to something more raw. “That’s good… Same for you of course. Back to what’s important, please really think about the bond. I really do believe it’s our best hope to find a cure for you and at least we will try.”
“Wait, were you— the running away is a real deal?”
“Just trust me Sirius, alright?” Regulus says. “Will you?”
Sirius wets his lips. This day has been exhausting but worth it. His plans were to stay in bed, try to distract himself. Regulus is the highlight of it, for a long time now which he can’t get enough of, and he wonders how much he has missed over the years.
“I do,” he decides and his brother stares at him with unwavering eyes. “Just let me think about it.”
“Why do you need to think about trying or not to survive?”
He feels like cheating that they are somehow bonding, actually talking, only because he got the Hanahaki. Without it, they might have never given each other a chance and he fears this future. The biggest part of him wishes that he could make Regulus forget about this curse, just to sweeten the deal, to not feel like a burden and an unwanted company. The Marauders would probably help him if they knew. Even Remus might have helped. They are good people. Sirius doesn’t want to throw this pain on them - they deserve the peace.
“Just let me.”
He didn't sleep well that night despite the exhaustion. It feels like a bad omen because he wakes in the dead of the night choking, throwing up flowers that could fill up the Great Hall, from a small dream including Remus and perhaps the Quidditch’s locker room with their clothes on the floor. Of course the flowers perked up and swirled up even from his sleep.
It leaves him restless and in pain and for a second Sirius considers distracting himself by reading something but the idea only makes him cough a few more times. He spends the rest of the night mulling everything over, focusing as much as possible on Regulus.
The lack of sleep and the struggle of keeping his mind focused must be obvious, despite the make-up he put on and the potion to hold back the flowers from slipping out. James meets his eyes at some point but doesn’t sign or try to talk to him. He does look conflicted and pained but Sirius knows all about it. Even if James isn’t the one whose secret got out, it was still the Marauders’ and Sirius broke all of it. His little paradise trashed by himself. Remus has needed a lot of time to open up and they all know it but now he might have come back to his old ways and Sirius finds it more punishing than anything else.
“Mister Black, stay behind please.”
McGonagall coolly observes him as the whole class empties. Marlene shoots a look at Sirius, as well as Mary who seems sad and confused, but he keeps his eyes on their professor. No one dares to interrupt and he tries to ignore the light feeling of Remus needing to pass behind him as soon as the lesson has ended. They don’t talk. They don’t look at each other. Sirius feels like he doesn’t exist.
She closes the door with a gracious swish of her wand, eyes not leaving him, before turning to her desk and gestures at him to sit on the chair that she just transfigured for him. There is no other professor that he cares more for and Sirius opts to simply obey, too tired to even try to come up with a smart answer that might make her hold back a laugh.
“I have barely heard you over the last two weeks, which I find incredibly worrying considering what might be going through your mind,” she starts with an imperious eyebrow. “I would have expected one of your tricks again but it has come to my attention that you haven’t come back to the Gryffindor dormitory over these weeks.”
“This sounds like favouritism,” he softly fires back, watching the cup of biscuits near him on her desk. “I hope you’re paid enough Minnie if you look after everyone from Gryffindor like that.”
“I can assure you that I’m gratified enough. You also went from being a troublemaker to staying by yourself without coming back to your dormitory and friends. Where are you spending your nights, Mister Black?”
He bites back on a scowl. Marlene could have easily snitched, especially since he avoided her as much as he can since the last time they talked. She might talk to the Marauders about him or discover the truth and he doesn’t want that.
“Who lied to you? I can give them a word or two for lying to you, Minnie.”
She is thoroughly unimpressed. “The Fat Lady is convinced that you never entered the Gryffindor dorm over almost a month. Your group of misfits is also not up to its usual mischief and I admit I worry about you. Do you sleep at another dormitory?”
Sirius coughs in the crook of his elbow and he feels like he is suffocating. He is really yearning for the toilet in his magical room. “Is it important?” His voice croaks.
“The house-elves have also confirmed that you eat in the kitchen rather than in the Great Hall. You do know that there isn’t a difference in the food.”
“I just feel like being by myself.”
“Really?”
“Yes,” he quips back before shrinking in his seat at his insufferable tone. “Sorry…”
Thankfully, she doesn’t appear mad but she takes her time to think over her words. “Sirius, would you like to talk about it? You and your friends still haven’t talked. Is it because of what happened with Mister Snape? We are nearing October and it has been going on since the middle of September.”
Snivellus hasn’t told the truth to her, thankfully but it doesn’t mean he can’t spill it any time. The only thing she knows is that they pulled a prank over him, which Sirius admitted was his idea to clear everyone else, and it ended very dangerously with the Whomping Willow almost squishing Snivellus. He got kicked out of the Quidditch team and some detention with James and Peter as Madam Pomfrey cleared Remus by declaring he was bed-ridden.
There aren’t high hopes that Snivellus might not be a complete wanker to realise how disastrous it would be for Remus if he speaks. He is probably waiting on the right moment or black-mailing them— Sirius needs to figure a way to avoid that. It’s the least he can do.
“I don’t know where I’m sleeping,” he says, opting to direct the attention elsewhere.
McGonagall squints at him and picks one biscuit, silently offering it to him. He refuses.
“What do you mean?”
“A door appeared in one of the corridors, out of nowhere. Of course, I opened it and found a bedroom with a small bathroom.”
Her eyes slightly widen before smiling. “I see. It’s the Room of Requirement. I shouldn’t be surprised at this point.”
Sirius frowns curiously. “What? Do you know about it? I ever heard of it.”
“During my years as a student I stumbled upon it once, yes,” she says. “It’s on the seventh floor, isn’t it? It’s also called the Come and Go Room.”
“Seventh floor, yes,” he replies, surprised. “Is it some kind of Hogwarts’ legend I never heard of?”
None of the Marauders have ever referred to something like it and Remus has gone through several books about the castle to work on their map.
“Not quite. This room only appears to people who really need it. The seventh floor isn’t used much, even outside of classes, which is perhaps why it built itself there. Only people looking for something specific might wander there.”
Sirius’ interest sparks up. “You mean that the magic took life there? It’s incredible! I have seen it shifting before I even think about what I might want or need.”
“Such as?”
“Er, well,” he trails off because she certainly won’t be happy to know that most things he needed came from his own bed from the Gryffindor’s dorm that the Room brought back. “Like a mirror. Or a quill when I lost mine. Anyway, that’s incredible— the amount of magic behind it, becoming sentient and understanding us…”
“It is fascinating,” she agrees with a small kind smile on her face.
He feels himself blushing, not realising that he has been babblering. Magic fascinates him, especially ones that become somewhat alive - evolving into a proper nature by itself without any wizard influence.
“How come no one knows about it?” Even Regulus didn’t.
“Even if you know about this room and went looking for it, its appearance will rarely be for anyone’s amusement. It still needs a specific reason to make itself known.”
“How did you find it?”
Her lips twitch. “I have been going mad over a particular spell and I was looking somewhere to practise quietly. The Room offered me all kinds of target practices and some water when I felt thirsty. I tried to find it later out of curiosity but it never showed again.”
“Uh. Do you reckon it’s born from all the magic going around? All of it concentrated to one point, especially considering how many people’s magic interact-”
McGonagall indulges his theories and fascination, even offering some of her thoughts about how a room such as this one has come to exist and the chance for another to come to life. Sirius finds himself happy and cheery after this. It’s refreshing and his curiosity doesn’t quite settle down after understanding how incredible this room is. Does it have a true form? How far can it change depending on the person?
This is the kind of thing Unspeakables must work with: the raw and wild side of magic - what isn’t tamed and comes from nature and more. It’s what Sirius wants to work with and learn from. Being an Unspeakables is incredibly difficult and dangerous but there is nothing looking quite as satisfying as this. Though now he won’t even reach the end of his studies with all the flowers drowning him from the inside. Remus has told him he could become one, that he has all the skills for when he shared his fear and ambition, but now he lacks time. A few coughs escape him but he ignores her intense eyes.
“Please Sirius, take care of yourself,” McGonagall says after allowing him to go to his next class with a written excuse, “and try to talk to your band of misfits. Trying is often the best first step. And do not think I haven’t noticed your coughing, go check on it with Madam Pomfrey, it’s already been a while and you haven’t stopped.”
“I planned to go, thank you Minnie.”
Sirius has no chance if he goes to Madam Pomfrey to keep the flowers hidden. She will know and perhaps be understanding enough to not tell anyone about it but still, she might try to treat him and too many people will be brought into his business. This reminds him that the full moon is almost here - this year has a bad timing where one full moon happens during the fall break. There is also one in a few days and Sirius is torn apart by the desire to go or not. Remus and Moony are connected, despite what he might say, and their moods tangle together. Neither will be happy to see him.
After a rough coughing and a bouquet of flower floating down the toilet of the Room of Requirement, he wanders to the kitchen to grab something to eat even if the more he munches, swallows and drinks the sicker he feels. The flowers do not like it even though they shouldn’t be in his stomach in the first place. They might have already spread everywhere if he listens to his feelings, sometimes even believing that he can feel the vines digging through his limbs.
Regulus isn’t wrong. It does feel like he is already running out of time and the only few things he has stomached to read promised nothing better comes after. He tries to picture how he would react if someone he knows had the Hanahaki— he would do anything for any of the Marauders and the girls. As well as for Regulus. Sirius would go mad at the picture of seeing him slowly die. The flowers are pretty enough to hide the horror on the inside but they carry their own pain.
Will anyone recognize his corpse once he dies or will he become one with nature? The flowers were at first simple wolfsbanes but now some moonflowers have joined the show. They are all terribly accurate and Sirius has always felt quite obvious about his feelings for Remus but this is even worse. All their petals are pretty and soft to touch, but it might be the poison talking, and vanishing or incendioing them has started to become painful.
Even if they came up from his own inside, they all hold on to some of his blood as if to confirm y es we are from you and you aren’t different from us .
Sirius Black is a sad pathetic almost-a-man who is too selfish to be any good to anyone. He loves these flowers. They destroy a path within him to get out and isn’t that a pretty fight to watch? Sirius would like to think he is the one braving this suffocating mould, crushing weight, to find the same freedom as when he put a foot in the Hogwarts Express the first time.
He accepts the nuptial bond. No matter how crazy it is or the number of times he can see his parents proudly declaring their family motto: Toujours Pur. Always pure of shit for sure. Still, it’s worth getting more time for Regulus and Sirius is convinced that his brother will do far better by getting outside their cursed home - even if it’s through blackmailing himself.
Because Regulus is a year below, they don’t share classes and it’s rare that they cross paths between one. Sirius doesn’t have the map with him which means he can only try to track down Regulus by himself but he figures out he might try his luck in the Great Hall for an early dinner. Thankfully his brother is already eating at the Slytherin’s table with Emmeline Vance.
Their eyes meet. Sirius swallows, gnawing on his left cheek before nodding at him. Regulus pauses, slightly surprised perhaps to no one but him and Vance who glances curiously at their exchange. He returns the sign and focuses back on his meal.
Sirius could actually try his luck at the Gryffindor’s table, anyone outside of his old circle will let him sit down. The girls don’t seem to know what happened but they are without a doubt on Remus’ side, which he is thankful for because he doesn’t need to lose more trust, beside perhaps Marlene who won’t leave Sirius alone. Though she might be more worried about losing her hair-care partner rather than what’s going on.
McGonagall has spotted him and Sirius forces a charming smile as he slips in an isolated seat, clear of anyone, and ignores the slightly surprised look at his return from a few Gryffindor. He doesn’t manage to stomach much but McGonagall is keeping an eye on him. His body can’t handle staying much longer at this spot and jumping at every new face walking through the door but he picked up food here and there before quickly walking out of the Great Hall. Thankfully, he doesn’t cross anyone’s path from the Marauders or the girls as he quickly goes back to the Room of Requirement.
He is surprised when he can see the door forming some time after, quite quickly after he came back actually. It always appears to him, like some kind of promise that he can get out at any moment, but if Sirius doesn’t wish to leave the room then it opens on the wall. Still, he hasn’t found any strange feeling or reason to mistrust the room over time.
Regulus and Evan Rosier come in, the latter with a bemused look as he takes in the room and the door. Sirius is curious to know whether any of his old friends would be allowed inside like Regulus seems to be. It’s only because he is here that Rosier could have come through.
“What is this place?”
“I don’t know,” Regulus answers, watching him observe the room. “It’s probably Godric trying to outdone Salazar because of the Chamber of the Secrets.”
“You found it?” Sirius asks curiously.
“Of course not. Have you tried to find it?”
“Obviously.”
Rosier eyes Sirius. His hair is still as ivory blond as ever and his shoulders are tall and set, almost calling for a fight, but he can easily see that it’s simply the natural stance of any Pureblood breed and trained for power.
“Are you really agreeing to Reg’s crazy idea?”
His brother glares at his friend. “It’s not.”
“It is,” Sirius agrees, “but I’m willing to try.”
Regulus observes him and hopefully can see everything behind his words. Rosier is really not someone he wants to reveal himself to. His father is clearly like their parents though whether he receives the same kind of treatment is a question but he must believe in this old Pureblood supremacy.
“What is your curse?” He asks, crossing his arms as his eyes curiously look at the comfy bedroom settled in there. “And what is this place?”
“It’s called the Room of Requirement.”
“The what?” Regulus frowns at him. “Did you name it?”
“No, though maybe Minnie did. She is the one who told me about it.”
“Really?” He is pleased by the surprise. “What did she say?”
Sirius eyes Rosier and finally leaves his bed to properly greet them. Another large seat appears next to the pair that have never left. He supposes that Rosier won’t be able to find the Room if he has bad intentions. Plus he really wants to believe in Regulus, as a proper brother, and sadly this means also his friends - a tiny bit, maybe. Even if Rosier had been one of these Pureblood children they met over these awful meetings during their childhood, always perfect and never too much flawless.
“They don’t know where it comes from, just that his room will appear and adapt to the person walking in to their desires but only when they greatly need it. It’s more a legend so that must be why it isn’t known.”
Rosier squints at him and examines the room another time. “Well, it’s impressive. What about my first question?”
“Evan,” Regulus warns with a seething glare as he walks to his usual seat.
Sirius really doesn’t feel like hosting Rosier but he forces himself to be friendly— only for his brother. A small table appears in front of him with a seat of teacups and a boiler which starts to gently fume.
“What? I’m only curious to what madness you are throwing yourself into,” he dryly comments and walks up to a seat with a perfect poise. “You don’t seem to realise what you’re asking for.”
“We already talked about it,” he hisses back and to Sirius’ surprise seems actually bothered by his friend’s questions. “Stop it.”
“I have the Hanahaki.”
Regulus gapes at Sirius before taking in Rosier’s shell-shocked look. He lost all his humour and teasing. All his decorum is swiped away, for once showing something akin to honesty. Sirius hopes it’s a good sign.
“The Hanahaki?” He parrots. “The flowers? You have that ?”
He scowls, unsure of what it means. Out of them two, Sirius is probably the one most in-touch with his feelings. Rosier grew up like any other Purebloods and his father has always seemed to only care about money - though perhaps his dead mother has influenced him in a good way. He doesn’t know the whole story about the Rosiers.
“Yes.”
Rosier frowns at him for a few seconds. “Is it Lu-”
“Don’t!” Regulus cuts but Sirius coughs up flowers anyway.
Our love! Sirius puts a hand over his chest with an angry hiss in his mind at how the flowers start to swoon as if they are the same. Regulus frowns worriedly at him.
“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?” He painfully articulates and Rosier is almost sorry by the look of it. “You don’t even know me but it’s obvious— do you see why I don’t want anyone to know? Anyone at Gryffindors will immediately put it together at the smallest doubt.”
Rosier nods and purses his lips. “How do you even hide it? If you were missing all the classes it would have been known by now.”
“I brewed a potion to hold them back,” he explains and sits down on the last seat available. “Air passes through, as much as it can since the flowers clog my lungs.”
“You didn’t tell me that,” Regulus complains with a glare. “It’s incredibly dangerous. What are the ingr-”
“I just need to empty my lungs once I get some free time and that’s all. And you are crazier than me, you want this to happen to you.”
“Only because it will actually help you! It won’t affect me in the same way.”
“You don’t know that Reggie.”
“Actually,” Rosier speaks up to Sirius’ annoyance. “I think Reg’s theory might be right. The Hanahaki needs feelings to live on but it doesn’t cause them, which means that it will grow with nothing to feed on. Hence not growing.”
“Exactly.”
“Still,” Sirius interrupts with a glare at them two. “You don’t know this exactly. The nuptial bonds are smart and made for this kind of tangled cursed fate.”
“Well if I end up to your point then we can break it,” Regulus offers. “If I cough full flowers, Evan will break it.”
“But what if you really catch it? You don’t know whether the flowers can latch onto some of your feelings.”
“It needs to be unrequited,” Rosier reminds and must feel like they are merely theorising because he is quickly abashed with a quick glance at Sirius before looking down. “Well in this case you don’t have the same feelings for— him .”
“Merlin, no.”
Sirius tries to swallow his coughs but it doesn’t properly work. Thankfully neither comment even if Rosier seems uncomfortable. Perhaps he is pitying him or actually thought it was a joke of some kind.
“Well, I’m willing to try,” Sirius mumbles just to soothe his brother’s prickly self because his face is still all crunched up.
Rosier eyes him. “Alright… I never casted one before but I was taught how to do it.”
“As long as we never speak about it.”
Regulus scoffs at Sirius. “Do you really think I want to share about this to anyone?”
“You’re literally the one who thought of that! How could you even think of that idea!”
“Because I tried to come up with a way to counter the curse! There are some curses countered with another and-”
“Alright, alright. Let’s do this,” Rosier offers with a polished smile. “Better not lose time, you can’t afford that.”
Sirius scowls. He can afford the time to beat him up if it’s needed but it will probably not please Regulus. The only thing that matters now is his brother. Efforts will be needed but he doesn’t want to lose a second with him. It feels like he reached some kind of heaven to finally be in close proximity to Regulus, especially considering that they have started to clear up things between them. The best thing he can do is to lead Regulus out of their cursed home to help him be the good man he actually is. Also he can’t die without hearing more about Reggie’s little crush from his first year— or maybe still is now.
They need to hold hands for the bond to be made, which is more than awkward, and he can’t decide which pair is sweatier than the other. Regulus’ eyes stay on Rosier and his wand work.
Sirius wants to take everything in: how his hands are slightly smaller but Regulus is still growing, how his skin is slightly paler because the only time he truly goes outside it’s for Quidditch. They are soft but cold and Sirius squeezes them within his. Their fingers are tangled, hands crossed as an infinity symbol and the more Rosier pronounces the incantation - the stronger is the shimmering strand curling around the fourth fingers of their left hands. It seals into almost invisible golden rings.
Rosier and him stare at Regulus but there doesn’t seem to be any reaction. Sirius is sure that the spell worked but he doesn’t feel anything different. He is about to offer the tea that the room brought for them when a rough wheeze slips past his brother’s nostrils.
Within a beat, his hands fought out of Sirius’ and are at his throat as he chokes. Sirius immediately leads him to the bathroom and shouts at Rosier to cancel this stupid bond but Regulus still tries to argue and shoots a furious glare at him before going over the toilet to gags out some petals. Rosier hovers anxiously but Sirius doesn’t let go of Regulus, hoping to soothe some of the pain by rubbing his back.
Just when he believes a few petals is all there is— after all, the Hanahaki can’t have latched right away, right? A whole moonflower falls down the toilet. Just one.
Regulus’ breathing is still a bit erratic and he spits several times after clearing his throat. Rosier stares at him, worried, with a glass of water in his hand. Sirius takes it when gestures at it and offers it to his brother. Sirius realises now that he has quite literally caged Regulus against the toilet and he gingerly leans back to leave him some space as he keeps his hands kneading his back.
“I’m alright,” Regulus articulates after emptying the glass.
“You need to break this off right now ,” Sirius hisses at Rosier. “You said it yourself-”
“No.”
“Shut it Reggie,” he hisses. “You are already coughing! So much about not being affected-”
“The bond replicates ,” he spits. “This means that I will still have some effects because you have them. I’m merely coughing what is already inside you right now. It will probably be only petals from now on.”
“This wasn’t part of the plan!”
“Do you see me coughing anything else?! The Hanahaki just realised there is another body now. And I said when I cough flowers , as in more than one.”
Sirius’ jaws are grinding. “I don’t like this.”
“You promised to try, Sirius. You promised.”
Rosier is clearly uncomfortable about it and Sirius sighs because he doubts that he will break the bond if Regulus doesn’t say so.
“Stay here tonight, I want to keep an eye on you.”
Regulus doesn’t disagree, thankfully as Sirius is in no shape to really argue. His brother tells Rosier that he can come up with an excuse for Crouch Jr., who has probably realised that he has been distracted by the rest of their friends to not notice them two missing - Sirius isn’t going to ask what it means.
They talk between themselves, which he wants to pry on but he doesn’t. Once Rosier leaves, with a surprising ‘I really hope it helps, Sirius’, there is an awkward silence. The Room doesn’t bring another bed into existence or a different side of space like the first time they came in here.
Sirius’ bed is larger than a simple one so they can easily fit in it together. He offers Regulus to shower first as he still needs to drop by the kitchen to have some dinner.
“Bring me back something please,” Regulus asks.
“Something sweet or salty?”
He pauses before closing the door of the bathroom. “Sweet.”
“Alright.”
It’s their last words for the night. Regulus goes through one of Sirius’ essays that he needs to hand out in two days while he eats several biscuits. When his brother coughs, they both freeze but they don’t point it out. Sirius does too but his are rawer. His brother might only have a sore throat if you didn’t know what they did. They must be quite the pair.
They lay without a word as they try to sleep. There is enough space just like he thought and Sirius hopes he doesn’t move too much during the night or have another awful dream. He likes to have his space, knowing well that it makes him sound like an arrogant child, but he enjoys being nested in some comfortable space without worrying about falling; though he could also just sleep on the floor if he has enough comfortable items, frankly he isn’t that picky. He coughs too hard to stay on his back so he turns on his side to let it out. Regulus reaches out. They fall asleep hugging and tucked against each other.
It has never been in their habits. The only comfort they would offer or take from each other at Grimmauld Place is when either was at the end of their parents’ wrath or boredom. Neither were really conscious or feeling it but it’s probably why they even dared to do it. Their parents never mentioned it or noticed it; a blessing.
Sirius feels like he is a complete fraud. Regulus cares and reaches out only because he is going to die. If he wasn’t cursed, they wouldn’t be in this situation. He doesn’t say it because he is selfish. This small slice of happiness is bitter but it’s the only thing holding him back from running as far away as possible and dying out of sight, out of mind.
Regulus doesn’t have another coughing fit, though it sounds like he has a persistent tickle in his throat, and Sirius only sees him whenever they cross paths or when he comes by to spend time with Sirius before curfew. Which is almost every day but he keeps his comments to himself.
What does really change is that Rosier, or his brother, really did spill about the Hanahaki to the rest of their little group. He can feel too many eyes watching him. Pandora, Regulus’ Ravenclaw friend and who might be the only one who can be all touchy-feelings with him, actually seems to be hunting Sirius down. He swears she wasn’t here one moment and the next, she is right here.
“Merlin’s-” His curse is held back and the arms tighten around him.
It feels like there is some kind of written rule somewhere that no one is allowed to swear in front of Pandora - like it’s some kind of unforgivable curse.
“Here you go,” Pandora chirps with a smile, letting him out of her intense hug.
Sirius is unsure on what to do to deal with her. She seems happy and not pitying, which is the best he can ask for. Except that she still literally jumped on him.
“Erm, hello?”
“I will see you later, Sirius,” she says and leaves with a merry step. “Your hair looks nice today!”
He doesn’t know if it’s a good or bad sign. It leaves him a bit puzzled but he has to go through potion class with a tense and silent James. If only he could just leave school but Regulus will definitely hunt him down - they might not be on the same magical thread but Sirius wouldn’t be surprised that he would use any means to drag him back here.
“How are you?”
Sirius startles at the new voice and glances at Dorcas Meadowes settling at the same table as him. She walked in with the rest of the class and usually Sirius would have come in later than before, but after getting jumped by Pandora he figured he needed to sit down and mull over everything where she couldn't catch him.
“What?”
James, with Peter and Remus, came in with the rest of their classmates and along with everyone they are watching the odd potion partners. Though Remus barely pays attention to them before walking to his usual table. Sirius quickly turns his back to them, trying to ignore the confusion in James’ eyes and the flowers crawling up at a worrying speed. Go see him!! Look at him. Moony Moony Moony MOONY-
“So it’s true,” Meadowes cuts and looks at him with no shame. “You’re coughing.”
Sirius tries to clear his airways because he can’t find words. His glare falls flat with how his eyes watered at the deluge in his lungs.
“What do you want?” He hisses with a burning throat.
“Sorry, do you want to keep your usual partner? I figured you would prefer someone who wants to talk to you.”
The only times Meadowes and him talked were to scream at each other in the middle of Quidditch. She was a mean chaser as in she doesn’t need a beater’s bat to be dangerous because she would ram into people just to steal the quaffle. Sirius admired that up until he broke his leg when they both went flying into one of the watching towers.
“What are you bloody doing?!”
Sirius’ eyes slightly widen at Marlene storming over here. She is definitely pissed about Meadowes giving him attention but by the quick glance, he can recognize some worries about him.
“We are getting ready for class, McKinnon, isn’t that obvious?” Meadowes replies with a know-it-all tone and the smile that sends Marlene’s blood into overspeed.
“Get out,” she warns.
“No.”
Marlene glances at Sirius, outraged, before glaring at her in fury. “ I am partnering with Sirius.”
Mary is waiting for Marlene at their usual table but she looks as surprised at the scene as everyone else in the room. She definitely rushed over without thinking. Meadowes has the decency to check on him before facing her again, lips turned into an insufferable smirk which causes Marlene to blush.
“I reckon you’re both still forbidden from partnering together since the incident in second year.”
Her eyes widen and Sirius also can’t believe that she remembers that. Marlene and him only partnered once for potion, James had been out sick that day, and she jumped on the chance before any Marauders could. People thought they were in love that time because he and Marlene spent a lot of time together, teasing and bickering with each other. Their only partnership for potion ended up with the cauldron exploding, digging into the ceiling to get stuck there, with the room evacuated because of the aggressive fume. Slughorn banned them from working together ever again and put a note about it to all professors.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Marlene curtly asks with her eyes only more scrunched up in frustration.
“I’m attending class, which you’re bothering by the way.”
“Everyone please go to our tables to get ready, we have a lot of work ahead!” Slughorn greets as he walks in. He pauses at his table, taking in who Sirius’ partner is and Marlene. “Well Miss McKinnon please get to your seat please, we need to start.”
“What?”
“Chop, chop.”
Sirius nods at her to go, offering a small smile that he hopes clears all her questions, and she does with a last icy glare at Meadowes. He notices that James had been left with no choice but to sit with Meadowes’ old partner, a shy dark-haired Slytherin. Regulus has mentioned that she has no friends in her year and Sirius doesn’t remember her being caught chatting or having fun with anyone in their shared classes. Her potion partner doesn’t seem to care about the change, even looking rather gratefully at James who greets her politely.
Slughorn starts his class immediately. Sirius’ focus drifts to Meadowes jotting down words before noticing the blush on her cheeks or the quick glance that she stops halfway towards Marlene’s table. He checks on it, taking in Marlene glaring at them and furiously whispering with Mary and Lily who leans away from her table to listen - not that Slughorn would care what she does since she is his favourite.
Meadowes look pretty happy and cheerful but tries to hold most of it back. Sirius can’t be imagining it, right? When she sat here, she seemed friendly but not overall happy up until Marlene rushed to their table to argue with her. He knows for a fact that Marlene gets off from the fights, the arguments, the insults and the slight mockeries. No matter how much she screams and promises vengeance, she always ends up somewhat complimenting and pining for Meadowes and Sirius can totally understand her point.
If he follows his instinct, he might almost believe that Meadowes is in the same situation and antagonise Marlene at every chance just to drink up all her attention and preen under it.
“Merlin’s pants.”
“What?”
Sirius glances at Meadowes, trying to hold back a smile that feels foreign - it’s been so long . He definitely needs to share this to Marlene. At least something good will come out of this weird pairing.
“Nothing,” he replies, “just realised how weird that we are— sitting here. Together.”
She frowns at him before softening with a courteous nod at the ingredients they need to prepare. “Well, I figured you need company… I noticed that something was going on with you.”
“Can’t lie but say that’s weird.”
She snorts. “Let’s say the contrast jumped into my face— plus I know Reg’ cares about you, even before he never talked about you if it’s not to complain.”
“He talks about me?”
Her shrug doesn’t hint at anything specific as she puts the first ingredient in their cauldron. “Insulted you. Now though it’s different, we had to pull the truth out of him if I’m honest but,” she trails off, checking over the heat, before looking at him. “He is getting sick over worrying about you. Actually it is now, ha! Isn’t that right? Weird kind of bonding if you ask me.”
Meadowes knows . All of them probably do but Sirius thought he would have more time. She stares at him, waiting on some kind of answer, but he can’t really think this through. He figured no one would care but then Regulus barreled in and requested to be in this mess. Now his friends? What even for? They can stay at his brother’s side and ignore Sirius; this would make sense.
“He is the one who forced me.”
“And I wasn’t invited to the wedding, very rude.”
Sirius barks out a short laugh before focusing down on their potion, feeling out of place.
“It wasn’t very pretty. We didn’t even get a cake, can you believe that?”
“Major faux-pas, you should divorce this selfish boy.”
“Regulus hid the papers before I could.”
Meadowes chuckles with no shame and shakes slightly her head. They work together with no hitch and even chat about the latest gossip, her current crochet project and Quidditch.
“We should fly sometimes. Me and Em’ try to fly every time we can, even just for fun. Sometimes Reg’ joins us,” she offers. “I know you got kicked out of the team, which is a shame by the way, but with your— condition you might not be able to later.”
Sirius decides to sidestep her last comment. “Em’ as in Emmeline Vance?”
“Yes, the fastest and most skilled flyer I have ever seen.”
He frowns at her. “I never saw her play Quidditch.”
“That’s because of her parents. It’s uncouth or whatever crap that a girl likes to cause some violence. She does everything to please but they still didn’t allow her to play the try-outs.”
The Vance family is without a surprise Pureblood, although a minor one, but he has heard that they worked hard to climb up the ranks. There are mostly good things about them which Sirius considers as bad since Purebloods’ traditions and culture is pure crap.
“But she is at Hogwarts, surely they can’t stop her.”
“I tried to convince her to try her luck many times, believe me. She is planning to wait until she gets out of school to do whatever she wants— that’s something. Anyway, she wouldn’t mind if you join us.”
Sirius is honestly surprised by all the sharing. He would have never pictured any of this, especially not at their first polite talk. Regulus didn’t even talk about his friends that much - though it’s probably because he is more worried about Sirius’ health.
“I will think about it, thanks.”
She smiles at him and he returns it. It must be weird for everyone else who observes them and Sirius can picture many eyes on them just for the fact they are polite and not at each other’s throats. Remus probably doesn’t care. Too fed up with him.
He coughs and Meadowes frowns at him but he signs that he is fine. Considering that it’s a full-moon tonight, Sirius is barely suffering compared to Remus.
Nothing has changed except that Regulus coughs here and there, throat gritting, and that a group of Slytherins have elected to come to his room as if they have always been friends. At first it’s strange and almost everyone is uncomfortable. Yet they still follow Regulus and have opted to be intensely friendly to him.
Sirius has taken the habit to play with the light to see the faint gold ring mirroring Regulus’. He doesn’t feel anything from it, thankfully the nuptial bond doesn’t include feelings, but he somehow likes the sight of it - of having Regulus near him one way or another. His brother notices this small habit and takes it badly by the glare he throws at him; Sirius naturally responds to the same tone by staring daggers right back at him and they both get lost into a competitive stare-down.
“Have you thought of killing him?”
Regulus’ focus snaps on Barty. Sirius needs another second before understanding what he just said. This one is the craziest out of the Slytherin’s bunch and for Merlin’s and Morgana’s lives, he can not understand whether he really is mad or plays the part to trick people.
“Barty,” Evan mutters but keeps his eyes on his book.
“I’m just wondering.”
Sirius swallows the tingling but the flowers push their way through. Bastard. Kill him. HIM. Barty looks at him and the petals with a fascinated glint even after he vanishes them.
“That’s a terrible idea,” Regulus replies.
“Did you really say that?” Sirius blurts out.
Barty barely blinks at Sirius’ glare and shrugs. “I’m just curious if the curse would consider it unrequited.”
Dorcas kicks him off the couch, gift of the room, but he saves himself from the fall. None of them truly came upfront about Sirius’ situation but they don’t hide that they know it. It’s a strange mix.
“It would,” Regulus quietly answers, returning back to his book.
“Barty, can you imagine yourself if the love of your life was dead?” Pandora wonders, playing with her wand as she throws random ingredients into her cauldron.
The Room of Requirement has accepted them only when Regulus walked first but now most of them have managed to come in how they want. Sirius is unsure if he has made the decision of letting them in without realising it or if the Room thought it was what he needed. They are alright but still, they aren’t his friends.
“Oh.”
He glances at Barty who seems immensely troubled and furious at the ceiling. Pandora stares at him with a small smile and Evan turns his back to them all on his seat to continue his book. Emmeline is innocently observing, though something must be going on behind her Pureblood made mask. She has a softness compared to what Sirius used to wear, or Regulus, and Evan’s own facade is full of arrogance and a fake camaraderie to throw people off. He is curious on how her house life must be but they have barely spoken outside their shared interest in painting and drawing.
“Do not talk about it,” Regulus reminds, sitting against the headboard on the bed, facing Sirius who is spread half-way at the end of it.
He closes his eyes. Barty first told Sirius, without even a hello or anything, that it’s a ridiculous way to die. He told - almost sermoned Sirius - that love should have made him stronger if he was smarter. Evan had immediately kicked him in the back of his knees and Dorcas declared he is forbidden from getting desserts for a week. Emmeline kindly told Sirius that Barty struggles to see others’ logic and this might more than often come off as rude but there are genuine questions, sometimes. Sirius still called him a bloody wanker and hexed his nose to sprout curly hair as long as his chest. They made up over a game of chess where Barty asked him what is the craziest prank he ever thought of.
“Yes,” Emmeline says, probably to replace the silence. “It’s a good idea.”
Sirius is curious about what she is painting but doesn’t want to overstep. It’s a bit of a hidden pleasure because he feels a bit deranged that he still likes ancient paintings as they are used a lot by Purebloods. Lily introduced him to tattoos and this has been his focus - though his attempts at putting charms and magic into ink has been put off because of his current problem. It’s not related to any old traditions and this makes him feel better. Still, he is jealous of Emmeline, only a little bit.
“Sirius!”
“Uh, what?” He glances at Pandora in surprise.
“I have a wonderful idea,” she smiles, waving her hand to clear the fume of her potion. “We could help you make a list.”
“A list? What for?”
“At the orphanage, we used to write down things we would like to have, do and so on. The first thing I wrote was to have a twin, which they mocked me for, but I was right.”
Sirius frowns at her, checking on the others’ reactions. Evan looks particularly troubled. To his surprise, he is actually kinder than he would have thought.
“What else did you write?”
“We do need to test you to check if you are a Seer,” Dorcas advises with a pointed look and Emmeline chuckles. “You can’t have predicted having a twin just like that. A twin , not a sibling.”
“You have a twin?” Sirius asks, flabbergasted
“Yes Evan of course.”
“What?”
“It’s a secret,” he replies with a shifty glance at him. “My father… Well Pandora is more stubborn it seems.”
“You and Pandora?” He repeats, turning to Regulus who mocks him with a raise of his eyebrow. “They are twins?”
“Really Sirius, it’s obvious.”
“I knew it the moment we waited for the Sorting,” Barty preens.
“You. Shut up.”
“Make me.”
“I will,” Meadowes warns, who doesn’t appear to have any patience whenever Barty and Evan get in their regular rows.
“Wait, wait— Pandora is a Rosier too? How come no one talked about it? That’s a huge deal.”
Evan sighs and closes his book. “My father only wanted one heir or at least he only wanted boys. Our mother died not long after giving birth so he was free to put Panda elsewhere.”
“You can call me Panda too Sirius,” she comments with a smile at his incredulous look. “I don’t want the family name though. I just wanted to find my twin and I got lucky.”
“She is a monster,” Regulus mutters behind Sirius who discreetly glances at him.
“You never told me about this. Do you still have that list?” Evan asks, sitting up in his seat as he looks at her.
“I remember it.”
“We can do the rest of it together,” he offers. “Maybe.”
“Oh, I would like to have a child.”
“Well not with me,” Evan dryly replies.
Barty barks a laugh. Emmeline joins and Dorcas smiles but keeps her eyes on her crochet. Regulus has a soft smile on his face and Sirius finds himself copying it without forcing himself.
“This list… Do you mean a bucket list?” His brother suddenly speaks up, eyes flying away from his book to look at her.
“Yes. I find it inspiring,” Pandora confirms and meets Sirius’ eyes. “Maybe it will help you too. Distract you.”
They don’t look at him but he doesn’t need that to feel that they are all waiting on his answer. Though Barty has no manners and stares at him openly like he is a curious puzzle.
“Of things I want to do before I die?” His voice sounds awfully flat.
“If,” Regulus hisses. “If you die…”
“You won’t die,” Pandora confirms and this weirdly feels like set in stone.
“Beat up my father,” Barty declares. “That’s what I need to do before I die.”
Sirius is out of their stories but it has been quite easy to put their dynamics together. Barty hates his father to no end, though it’s the same for almost all of them except for Dorcas. She acts a bit like the mature figure for them, not only because she is a year older than them like Sirius, but she isn’t too serious either - she really cares about them and more than often manages to know where it goes before they reach that point. Overall, they are all more or less broody but Pandora sweetens the deal with an endless positivity that can match with Barty’s— merry craziness . Emmeline is the most calm but she must enjoy the show because she never tries to stop them despite Dorcas calling her to do so; more than often she offers an input that only worsen their ideas and bickerings but without throwing herself on the stop.
He likes them to his surprise. Which is a relief as they are Regulus’ friends and he can almost consider them worthy enough to be around his little brother.
“There is nothing I really think of,” he says after thinking of Pandora’s idea. Maybe spend time with Marlene or if he is hopeful enough, to apologise and make up with Remus.
Regulus stares at him as he coughs and throws the couple of flowers on a bin next to the bed.
“Maybe travel? Over the break you should travel, go see everything that you can think of.”
“The North Pole!”
“Whatever for? Is there even something up there?” Dorcas asks Pandora.
“We will discover that.”
Sirius snorts. “That’s something.”
“Also hugs,” she says. “Tons of hugs. You need them.”
“Alright, alright.”
Pandora gives him daily hugs, at least five, and Sirius has stopped being surprised by them and to return them. It makes him think of James but he accepts them nevertheless. A lot of people have started to give them weird looks about it - especially since Pandora just walks, grabs him for long seconds, before walking away.
“From Reggie too.”
His brother doesn’t twitch but quickly glances away when Sirius looks at him. He has slept over two other times after the first one and they always wake up hugging. Whoever wakes up first always pets the other’s hair but they never speak about it. Sirius doubts Regulus would even be comfortable to talk about it.
“Your favourite meal,” Dorcas offers. “I would like to eat my favourite dishes all the time if I was in your spot.”
“That’s a good idea,” Sirius realises.
“Easy. Pasta with mushroom cream,” Regulus replies. “It’s your favourite.”
“Oh. Erm…”
He blinks at his brother. It’s such a distant memory that Sirius wouldn’t have thought about it. Digging through his memories has never been his strength, not that he tried much since it only gives him nightmares.
“Kreacher only prepared it once but you ate at least three full plates because you loved it so much. Then you threw up because of the amount you ate without barely breathing.”
Barty’s laugh is purely to mock him and Dorcas snorts with a bemused look at Sirius.
“I was 6.”
“It was really good,” Regulus admits. “Though we never had it again because of that.”
“That should be easy to make,” Evan muses.
“Maybe we could ask the elves.”
Sirius can’t help but show his surprise at how fast they follow this idea. He does remember the dish and it makes me hungry just thinking about it - even begging Kreacher several times to prepare it again but it never happened. Except that it’s not quite his favourite meal nowadays, close to, but it’s probably only because he never ate it again.
“It’s hum, well one of my favourites,” he mumbles out. Regulus’ eyes widen at him and he can read the uncomfortable betrayal before it’s covered up. Sirius bites his lips together but he doesn’t want to lie to him, not when they have made progress. “I would love to-”
“What is it then?”
He is surprised that his brother is taking this personally. His eyes are back on his book but completely cold and closed-off, like back at Grimmauld Place. Sirius notices that all his friends are quiet.
“Er, khichdi, maybe. But-”
“What is it?”
“Something that James’ mum cooked for us when I stayed there. She has her own recipe I think.”
Regulus doesn’t like the answer but he stays quiet, bringing the book closer to his face. Sirius hesitates to reach out. If he is honest it’s the first thing that jumped to his mind when Dorcas told her idea, but he doubts it will taste the same ever again. Effie won’t cook for Sirius anymore nor requests him to help around the kitchen but be kind and sweet. He has barely spent a week or two there if he counts all the days he went there, spread over all the summers since his first year. The curses for running away were always worth his time there even when James insisted he could just stay.
“The pasta sounds great.”
His brother stays quiet. Barty gets a kick before he can speak up, probably something unhelpful and only pissing off Regulus or Sirius or both.
“Well we can cook both,” Emmeline says. “It will be fun. And you can’t eat the same things over and over or it won’t stay your favourite dish by the time you are cured.”
“Great,” Regulus mutters.
“You should make that list Sirius,” Pandora insists, filling up several vials with what she concocted, “by the way I have these for you.”
She finishes cleaning her spot and everyone suddenly starts to take all their affairs. Barty’s stuff seems to be Evan by how he drifts to his side and bothers him by looking through his bag. He realises that curfew is in a few minutes and his focus shifts to Regulus. By his sullen look, he isn’t open to stay for the night.
“What are they?”
“To help the rash of the flowers. It worked on Reggie so I tried to make something stronger for you, it should also lull them to sleep but not affect you,” she explains as she lines them up on his night table. “It’s better than what you used, they won’t clog you. Though the effect should only last for a few hours…”
“No, no it’s great,” he quickly says. “Thank you. I will drink them for classes.”
She smiles, very pleased, and hugs him with a strong pat on his back. “Good night Sirius.”
Evan and Barty have already left, probably bickering, and Emmeline only finished now to tidy her painting and tools.
“Reggie,” Sirius calls when he catches his brother almost slipping out. “Stay.”
“What?” He scowls even though Sirius’s tone is perfectly friendly.
“Reggie, ne commence pas. Écoute-moi juste une minute.”
Regulus rolls his eyes but stays, letting Pandora kiss his cheek before walking out with the other girls who wish them a good night. He squares his shoulders and throws a disdainful look at him.
“Well?”
“Don’t be mad at me.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes you are, you wanker,” Sirius says and brushes his hair with a hand before sighing. “Come on, you can’t be angry at me because I thought of another meal.”
“I don’t bloody care about that.”
“Then stay.”
Regulus scowls. “Why should I? Do you always need someone to put you to bed or something.”
“I want you to stay with me,” Sirius insists, “please. And you only shut your big mouth when you sleep.”
“Trust me I won’t open it again.”
“Reggie. S’il-te-plaît…”
His brother is surprised at his tone and shifts on his feet as his eyes shift to the floor but Sirius won’t let him go. They are talking, looking at each other, sharing and living - it should be enough but he is selfish.
“I’m not mad at you,” he says.
“Really?”
“Yes,” he articulates and whatever he wants to add is held back.
Sirius softly smiles. “First thing on my list is having sleepovers with you.”
Regulus blushes and slightly kicks his legs as he finally leaves the door to put his bag down. “It’s a stupid one.”
“You can’t judge my list.”
“Yes I can.”
“I want sixteen years worth of sleepovers.”
“That’s impossible.”
“It will be if you get your arse over here,” he replies with a cocky smile as he jumps back on his bed. “Come on. We can’t talk when all your friends keep babbling.”
“You babble as much as them.”
“But what I say is always relevant.”
Regulus finally relaxes, shaking his head at him, and even sheds off his cloak to join him, tucking his legs under himself as he accioes his book over.
“You ate today, have you?”
“Yes, yes,” he groans out. “Geez.”
“I need to check because you’re a stupid prick who needs someone to sleep.”
“You’re mean.”
“Thank you. And you smell so go take a shower.”
Sirius tuts and kicks his shin. Regulus only smiles which makes him grin too. He shifts on his stomach to face him properly.
“When you talked about Pandora being a nobody by our rules,” he starts, “did you mean about this crazy story that she is a Rosier?”
“Yes… Evan did a test to be sure they are related but they keep it to themselves in case their father— well, is a Pureblood.”
“So it’s your little group’s secret?”
Regulus frowns at him. “Yes and you better keep it to yourself.”
“Hey, come on. I like Pandora, I wouldn’t do that to her,” he promises. “I’m still surprised, that’s all.”
“You better.”
His attention stays on his book and Sirius watches him with a small smile before sitting with his legs crossed. He can still see the look on his brother’s face when he corrected him on his favourite meal. Perhaps he should have let him believe that.
It’s difficult. They keep trying though. Sirius would rather know all the truths about Regulus, even if it isn’t what he expected, and he hopes it’s the same for him too.
“Do you want to know my biggest secret?” Sirius whispers with a rising excitement.
Regulus turns a page without looking up. “Anyone knows you’re bent, it’s not so much of a secret. I’m pretty sure some girls are actually into that.”
“You’re so bloody rude Reggie.”
He snorts and glances at him, pausing there. “What? This isn’t it?”
“Nope. But this one you can’t tell your friends about.”
Regulus frowns, only as a manner of thinking and nothing else, before closing his book. He never uses a bookmark.
“I didn’t want them to know— but Barty saw me coughing and he has the bad habit of being here at the right moment,” he explains. “Plus Pandora stared at me and I’m sure she knew but didn’t say so.”
“This one might really be a Seer.”
Regulus nods with a small chuckle. “She must be, yes. So? What’s your secret?”
Sirius spreads his legs. “You promise me you won’t tell anyone? And I really mean it.”
“Yes,” he replies rather mockingly.
“And you need to not let your brain go off.”
“What?” Regulus frowns. “What do you mean?”
“I know you’re brilliant and you might— you might put everything together but you really need to not do it,” Sirius explains and purses his lips.
His brother puts his book on his now night table with a serious look. “Is it about what happened with your friends?”
“You can’t ask questions.”
“Are you serious?”
“Always am-”
“Stop with that joke.”
“Can I just tell you my secret without you starting to pick a fight or always to figure everything out?” Sirius exclaims with a pissed look.
Regulus crosses his arms with his jaw jumping once. “Fine. But just so you know, I’m not always-”
Sirius shifts into Padfoot and this effectively shuts his brother’s mouth. His tail wags by itself before slowing down to a stop as Regulus’ face is completely devoid of any reaction.
He has wondered about telling him that he is an Animagus but he has decided that he is trust-worthy, especially after the last days. Contrary to what he thought, his brother needs a minute before finally reacting with his eyes wide and full of wonder.
“Sirius?”
Padfoot offers a quiet bark before crawling closer to lean against him. He is taller than him considering he is sitting on the bed they are both on. Regulus carefully places his hands on him, first petting his side and back before softly grabbing his face to look straight at him.
“Merlin, are you unregistered?” He asks and chuckles when he is pushed down for Padfoot to rub his face over his. “Urgh, of course you’re stinky.”
Sirius shifts back. “Hey, I’m perfectly clean and I know for a fact I smell great.”
Regulus shakes his head as he fights a small laugh. “Since when are you an animagus?”
“Third year,” he replies before noticing the slight frown on his face. “Don’t think too much about it.”
“Alright, fine,” he mumbles. “Was it difficult?”
“Some ingredients were tricky to get but nothing was impossible. Did you expect that?”
Regulus shakes his head and lays down with his eyes still on him. “No. I never even thought about this.”
“Well, it’s great! It’s worth the torture of keeping that mandrake leaf in your mouth for a month.”
Sirius wouldn’t be surprised if his brother guesses that all the Marauders are animagis, minus one but this isn’t something he must know, and Regulus seems to be deep in his thoughts. It’s risky to tell him but his brother could have gotten rid of him a long time ago by now.
“Would— would you help me to become one?”
He blinks at him. “An animagus?” Regulus answers with a nod, keeping his eyes away from him. They both know that he could do it by himself without a problem so— asking Sirius to help, be here, for him to do it must mean something. “Of course I will help you Reggie. You will love it.”
Regulus gnaws on his smile but his eyes are grinning. Sirius doesn’t hide any of his joy - just the thought that he stayed at his request, that they haven’t stopped talking and now this?
Padfoot comes out right away, throwing all his weight onto Regulus and they scuffle a bit. He is pet and hugged, tail wagging without a break, and he could fall asleep like that. His brother sounds so happy and none of his laughs are held back even though he keeps his face against his fur.
“Oh,” Regulus lets out at some point, fingers softly exploring one of his paws. “This explains this awful nickname they keep calling you— Padfoot .”
With a huff, he licks his under-jaw to irk him off before snuggling his face against his neck. Regulus chuckles and holds him. They never had any animals at home and the dead ones looked freaky. He isn’t surprised that his brother actually loves them, though he is probably a bit more comfortable since Padfoot is still Sirius.
He almost fell asleep and probably would have if his ears weren’t so sensible. Regulus is sobbing against his furry neck and just tightens his arms around him when he tries to move. With this angle, he can’t do much.
“Stay.”
Padfoot stays, snuggles and laps at what he can to comfort his brother the best he can. They wake up in the same position, without getting under the blanket but the Room is kind enough to keep them warm. It’s always a bit weird to wake up in this form, the distance between the wizard and dog is further and thinner. Regulus is still sleeping as he tries to picture his chances if he runs away like this.
Hiding as Padfoot was actually a part of the plan but the flowers have not bothered him all night and he doubts that Remus hasn’t come to his mind at all. He is the most recurrent guest there. Perhaps staying as Padfoot will disconnect him completely and get rid of the Hanahaki.
Sirius is a bit on a high over the next day. They haven’t talked about the crying but they also didn’t fight or run away from each other. Today is a Quidditch day and breakfast has barely finished so people rushed to the field for the upcoming Gryffindor & Slytherin game. Regulus and Dorcas are playing, just like James and Marlene, which should be enough for him to go watch the game but he opted to stay behind. He wouldn’t know where to sit; Moony and Wormtail would properly cheer on Prongs. He still hopes that Gryffindor wins.
“Padfoot!”
He freezes on his spot before turning to find Peter quickly walking toward him. Not quite nervous but he is clearly unsure of what he is doing. His cheeks have red and gold paint and his scarf is in one hand while the other has a letter. Sirius swallows and looks around them. He must be on his way to the Quidditch pitch.
“Wormtail?”
He comes to a stop in front of him. By the slight widening of his eyes, he must realise that Sirius isn’t someone he should talk to at this point.
“Hey… Hey Pads,” he clears his throat and offers a small smile. “You— how are you?”
“Pete’, you should go watch the game.”
His fringe has gotten longer ever since he saw him but it suits him. It almost fully covers his frown.
“We miss you,” Peter declares. “Where are you staying? Sometimes we can’t find you on the map.”
Sirius shifts his jaw before opting to not get his hopes up. “I’m here, aren’t I? I’m in class.”
“Sirius…” He sighs and glances at the letter in hand. “Look, what happened is-”
“What do you want Peter?”
“We can’t talk to you if you don’t come back to the dorm-”
“I really don’t think M- Remus wants to talk to me.”
This seems to be the wrong thing to say but it’s the truth. Sirius hasn’t thought otherwise.
Peter clears his throat and stretches out the hand with the letter. “You received this but you aren’t in the Great Hall for breakfast anymore. I took it because the owl seemed desperate… and before anyone else saw it.”
He frowns at it but takes it. Without the Black’s family insignia it means at least it should be safe but he can’t think of who would write to him.
“Er, thanks I suppose.”
“Do you know who it is from?”
Sirius shakes his head. “No.”
Peter pities him with a look. “Listen-”
“Wormtail? We ne-”
MOONY!
The flowers stab him with no mercy, screaming in joy and agony as they climb up. Sirius almost falls but he only takes a step back at the sight of Remus who stopped at the corner when he saw them. He is beautiful, just like always, and a Gryffindor scarf is around his neck which shouldn’t be a mesmerising sight after six years but Sirius can’t help but stare and wish to be tangled right there too.
Remus’ face is set in stone once he takes the whole scene in and the flowers lose their euphoria to go straight into a violent panic and fear.
He is mad! MAD AT US!
“Moony,” Peter realises, eyes quickly flying from one to the other.
BEG! Apologize— anything, please!
Sirius’ gaze is no help and only sweetens the lethal blow when they meet Remus’ amber, thunderous and noble , eyes. He flees. As much as he can through the faintness and the fighting bodies trying to crawl out of his throat. It feels like he is walking rather naturally, if not a bit rushed, but they can easily assume that he is a simple coward running away rather than choking around a sea of poisonous flowers.
GO BACK! TO MOONY!
He can’t breathe nor can see. There is nothing to save his fall and his body keeps breaking around waves of thorns, stems holding on to his guts, with flowers suffocating him in hatred with no mercy. His head thrums but the pain barely reaches him. There is nothing to feel and the relief is mute, completely false and poisonous, but he lets himself be swallowed with no fight.
His body is groggy and left with no strength but he can’t piece enough memories together to know where he is. A nausea rockets through his numbness and his eyes shut close at his attempt to see.
A cold touch helps him breathe. It brushes over his face another time and his eyes blink through the biting haze; Emmeline hovers with a frown until she meets his eyes and offers a slight smile.
“You’re alright,” she promises and her hand cautiously pets his forehead with a small wet towel.
Sirius is not alright despite the relief upon seeing her and the soft contact on his raw skin. He feels like he is bleeding. His throat feels clean which is an odd thought but it’s been a long time since nothing clogged it.
He tries to speak but his mouth gives up before the first sound. The ceiling has an accurate starry sky with a slight dome at the centre of glass. It can only be the Room of Requirement but Sirius has no recollection that he managed to walk far once he escaped Remus. Emmeline helps him sit up with a cautious hand on his shower and puts down the wet tissue to offer a glass of water.
“What—” He articulates after drinking but he still needs to clear his throat. “What happened?”
There is no one else beside them. Emmeline is sitting on a seat beside his bed and her bag lays beside her feet.
“I found you… Gagging,” she explains with a worried frown. “You were lying on the floor and barely breathing with flowers stuck in your mouth. I tried my best at extracting the flowers with Carpe Retractum and brought you here before anyone could find us.”
Sirius closes his eyes and drags his knees against his chest to rest his head. A cough climbs up which he tries to fight but chokes around a wolfsbane which falls on the bed.
“Thanks,” he whispers.
“It’s nothing,” she replies and shifts in her chair but doesn’t move closer. “Does it hurt somewhere?”
His answer is a weak shrug as his whole body throbs in pain and it feels like the flowers completely took control of him. He nails dig into his palms as he tries to wrest away the clear memory of Remus walking on Peter and him. His breathing grows erratic but is cut short by Emmeline softly tugging on one of his arms to force him to look at her.
“Do you want to see one of my paintings?” She blurts out with a slightly panicked look.
Sirius blinks at her. He takes in what she said, how she found him, and his current predicament. She touches him like he might break.
“What?”
Her cheeks get an intense blush and she lets go of him with an embarrassed throaty noise. “I— sorry, I just thought I must distract you…”
His situation can only be caused by one person and she obviously knows it. This time Sirius swallows the cough and forces himself to smile.
“I would love to see a painting of yours.”
Strangely, Emmeline is slightly surprised and grins excitedly before taking her bag to open it. Sirius unclenches his fingers as she looks.
He almost died, didn’t he? A spot on his head toward the left aches and he cautiously touches it to be sure of the bump he pictures. He must have fallen against the floor or a wall, it’s only a vague feeling but he has the proof of it. Remus hasn’t even spoken to him and his eyes haven’t openly showed any emotions but the flowers were livid and crying for attention. Emmeline glances up from a notebook as he coughs. With his wand, he fills up his glass with water again and empties it.
“Who won the game?”
“It only started thirty minutes ago or so,” she says. “But I’m convinced Slytherin will win this time.”
Peter must have found him ten minutes before the game. The letter is on his night table, slightly crumpled from his own hand probably, but at least Emmeline noticed it and brought it too.
“I think you underestimate us,” he replies.
“No. You were a core to your team and without you Potter can’t do as many tricks as before. Both of you worked too well together and I doubt Gryffindor will manage this year because of the sudden change. Perhaps at the beginning of spring they might be up their game, considering whether you return or not.”
“I certainly won’t,” he mutters before frowning at her. “Why weren’t you there to watch the game then? You obviously are into it.”
Emmeline shrugs with a sad smile, glancing to her notebook’s page where she taps her wand on. “I grew tired of watching it, I suppose. It’s different when you know— the feelings when you’re up there.”
They have only flew twice together but Sirius has seen that Dorcas’ words are right: Emmeline is truly brilliant on a broom, especially if you consider that she probably taught herself during her free time - probably with Regulus and Dorcas’ help but it’s still not quite the same training as when you’re on a Quidditch team.
“You’re right,” he agrees. “You should try to join the team, really.”
“You’re too nice,” she insists. “And to be honest, I found you which is more important. Though I didn’t expect that.”
Sirius’ smile dims a bit but she doesn’t point it out. Instead she takes out a small picture from her notebook, revealed by a tap of her wand, and she stands up with a curious look around the room. Thankfully, an easel appeared beside her.
“Oh, thank you Room,” she says with an amused look around, placing her miniature painting on it. “It’s still weird to think we are in something as— conscious.”
“I wonder if it can get lonely,” Sirius comments and watches her charm her painting back to its right size. “You keep all of them in a notebook?”
“I do. I’m not— narcissist I believe but I enjoy looking at them from time to time and like this I don’t get frustrated.”
“It’s brilliant.”
Emmeline smiles and sits back on her seat to let him see her work with no distraction.
“It’s Regulus.”
Sirius is almost jealous. He loves classical paintings and arts, as posh as it makes him, but it brings too many memories of Grimmauld Place and the Purebloods’ nonsensical and ever-oppressing tradition and culture. She doesn’t seem to have any argument about it though and her painting shows her education clearly.
It’s a beautiful scene of a winter forest. Though contrary to what you might expect is the sight of the peaceful rain, drenching the white snow in various spots, and all the snow appears to have settled like a warm blanket a long time ago. It’s still full of colour with shades of greens and a contrast with a bluish sky peeking through the branches and the shadows of the infinite forest. There is a spot though, just hiding behind a group of trees of warm light as if a comfortable fire is running there, perhaps fresh, but it leads your eyes across the exploration of the forest.
“Wait, you said it’s Reggie?”
“I understand why it must be weird for me to say I painted it by looking at Regulus when it’s this,” she trails off.
“Well, it’s really pretty,” Sirius says and feels like he needs to be more convincing because it is an impressive painting. “We might just go through it, just at the other side of a window.” She smiles, pleased, and he returns it. “I just expected a portrait and not a winter forest.”
“Can I tell you my thoughts?”
“Of course.”
“I paint the feeling I have whenever I think of Regulus, how I picture him,” Emmeline explains with a tender look at her work. “He appears like a cold person, only at first of course, but beyond this he is also— unexpected. There is something, you know that you’re not alone despite the first look, yet you won’t know what to expect.”
“I see it,” Sirius blurts out, voice drifting in awe as all the details jump to him. “The snow is perfectly still. The trees side each other without completely obscuring a path but not quite offering one either. It’s— really I’m speechless, it’s lovely. Is this why there is a fire running somewhere there? It doesn’t look wild to me.”
“It isn’t. Reg’ needs time before trusting but once you get through his… Prickliness and upfront coldness then you will find how funny he is or how much he cares despite everything.”
Sirius swallows. He is a part of this everything - the abuse, the competition, the dark arts and the unclear path of their lives with no idea of what freedom even is.
“You’re right,” he answers shallowly.
“The rain is the depth. Snow happens when it’s cold enough but it’s affected by a lot of elements, if it’s too bothered it won’t solidify enough and become rain,” she says with a thoughtful voice. “Reggie… He isn’t the same around everyone. No matter if he isn't a happy person as in he isn’t as loud and optimistic as some of your friends for example. I don’t see it as a flaw, if anything it makes him rather realistic. Too many people forget how rain is important and that we need it from time to time.”
He hasn’t never shared about his enjoyment of art, especially this kind. There is nothing extravagant but it’s realistic, embellished beauty, but one that screams some kind of superiority - money - status. Sirius had hated all the portraits from his family and worse was the experiment to sit still for the painter to work but the sole action of painting always interested him. Even though it felt too posh, arrogant, boring and expected.
Tattoos are fantastic and Sirius can’t get enough but it’s not quite the same. He tries to not stare at some of the paintings at Hogwarts but some of them look fantastic and if he is caught staring, he comes up with an excuse be it any of the Marauders or the girls. He is scared of what it means that he likes something brought up from his ill-advised childhood.
“You’re— talented,” he articulates as tears weigh him down. “Your mind is fantastic. I completely see what you mean. That’s… him. That’s Reggie.”
She is silently surprised. Sirius can’t look away from the painting but he can clearly feel her eyes onto him. Thankfully she stays quiet as he tries to digest everything. There seems to be years of turmoil, confusion and yearning that has never hit him until now. He wants to be the best brother to Regulus, learn what he likes or doesn’t enjoy - who is that person who caught his attention back in first year? Sirius wants him to know everything about himself too.
It doesn’t feel like it will ever be enough. Padfoot was revealed and yet there are so many things Sirius wants to tell him beyond that but he is so afraid that they are running on a flaming spark that will run out any time soon. He finds himself in the middle of frozen water. The ice feels strong underneath him but it shifts at his every whims and they have broken some part of it to reach each other. What if it goes too far? If neither can swim in this endless darkness where they can’t predict if they will ever continue to love each other inside and out?
How come it’s so hard to connect with someone you love?
“Would you mind if I paint you?”
Sirius turns to her, throat gasping around fresh tears, and her eyes brim with small tears but she holds herself strong. One of her hands reaches out to grab one and tightens it with a soft smile.
“Me?” He croaks out, quickly rubbing his eyes with his free hand. “Like you did for Reggie?”
“I painted all my friends, yes. But I always ask first.”
He doesn’t cry more but he gasps around mouthful of words that can’t decide in which order they must get out. It might mean that they are friends and somehow it isn’t as weird as he would have thought.
“Sure. I wish I could— Tattoos are what I like to do. But I still love art like yours but it feels wrong. Vile.”
“How so?” Emmeline is only curious by the look of it but it sadly isn’t helpful enough for him to feel confident.
“It’s… That’s what Pureblood does. They drape everything about them and always embellish the lie. All their paintings are about that. Family’s portrait? It’s not a family but the painter will make it appear like it and there is no other proof,” he articulates. “There is a set of rules. Superiority, power, control— be it by magic, money or image. All these paintings are made for this and I feel sick that I wish I could paint beautiful things like this because it will mean I’m using Pureblood's crap.”
She glances at her painting before smiling at him, her hand kindly squeezes his. “Do you find tattoos not beautiful?”
“No they are-”
“Art is used in many ways. I understand what you mean I believe— I paint like this because I like it but it’s my personal tutors who taught me and it’s only because my parents are Pureblood that I had this chance,” she replies. “I find the truth more interesting, as hurtful as it can be. It’s about who is behind the art that defines whether it’s a good one or not. You can use it to spread lies, cultivate Pureblood’s supremacy or— have fun. If you ever paint, it won’t be because you are a Pureblood but because you understand that it can be more than what we were brought to believe in. I paint for myself, not for my parents, or to show that I’m better than everyone else. I started a small secret group last year where we meet up to draw, paint, play music or sculpt and many have no basics but it doesn’t change their passion.”
Sirius blinks at her. He swallows and inhales. “You have a secret group?”
Emmeline blushes, shifting in her chair, before nodding. “It’s not quite a secret. A first year asked me about painting and before I realised it we started to use an empty classroom and more people came by. Dorcas comes to crochet and happens to be a model from time to time. We meet up two times per week… If you ever want to join. No one will care who you are and even less judge you.”
“Er, I do draft often, without realising but I’m not sure.”
“You’re a good person Sirius,” she declares. “Despite everything, I’m sure I barely know the surface of it but you managed to not become as twisted as your parents. I’m sure that if you ever paint, in any shape, it will be wonderful.”
Sirius can only nod, full of embarrassment and a broken satisfaction of all her compliments, but he doesn’t have the capacities to continue this current topic.
“Tattoos were— more common before and often used for magic. I’ve been trying to make something out of it.”
She smiles. “Do you want to show me some of it and your ideas?”
It’s a safe subject, one that he knows all the hidden nooks and every book about it. She quietly listens to all of it. Too many thoughts escape him but he barely realises any of it as she asks questions and whether she can see the one he has on him or not. He doesn’t see the time flying and soon enough dinner comes around.
As she expected, Slytherin won the Quidditch’s game but Regulus doesn’t come by - probably exhausted. It’s alright by Sirius who finds himself too sleepy to even move to grab something to eat. Emmeline left for dinner though she asked him if he still wanted company before.
The full envelope is still waiting for him and he finally opens it after taking a shower. It’s the full-moon tonight which he tries to ignore and thankfully this letter does the perfect job.
Chère Petite Terreur,
Sirius physically can not immediately read the rest of it— not with Dear Little Terror , which has always been the nickname Uncle Alphard used for him because of how many family dinners Sirius disrupted. It makes him happy despite the confusion and he forces himself to read the rest of it.
A pocket watch slipped out from the envelope with the letter, not ticking, but it's his uncle's and he remembers it because of the symbol of the hydra graved in the back of it and inside the pocket watch is an intricate drawing of a serpent circling the whole world. It turns out to be a Portkey that will be working on the Sunday when the Hogwarts Express will drop off students who want to go home for a week before Halloween. Most stay back for only one week but apparently Regulus planned it either way. For any other break their parents will expect them home.
His brother actually has a plan and apparently went ahead with it because their uncle said that he planned everything for them - even legal papers. Sirius reads the letter several times as he struggles to fully picture all of it. Alphard seems excited to have them over and care for them, mentioning how terrifying it must feel to them. They are brave, he says, to run away.
Alphard isn’t quite exiled from the family but he has a different living style than anyone else and he has been left out of most family reunions over time before completely disappearing for almost seven years or so. He is living in France now, in a quiet Muggle place, and the Portkey will bring them to the Portkey station in Paris where he will be waiting for them. They have the option to refuse his invitation. Regulus contacted him first - which Sirius would have never thought of and even less thought that his brother remembers him - and Alphard wanted to also tell Sirius personally on this run-away plan.
Regulus must have contacted him before he even offered the deal to Sirius– which is just so him that he isn’t surprised. His focus shifts to the clock, counting in how many minutes Remus will be walking to the Shrieking Shack with Pomfrey, before shaking his head and reading the letter another time with a hopeful smile.
There are big risks at running away to their uncle and it almost seems far more dangerous than going to the Potters like Sirius had planned. Alphard is like a ghost to them and he believes him when he has written that no one knows where he lives and that once Sirius and Regulus take the Portkey, all the papers to cut their parents’ control and to not have access to their Trace to find them through the Ministry. Their uncle will literally become their legal parent and has apparently planned it with Regulus’ help.
His brother is really a sneaky little liar but it only makes Sirius more proud.
He wants to write a reply right away but his body can’t relax. Despite everything, he can’t stay away. One might think the moon is also pulling Sirius but he knows it’s not true. It’s— Moony . Though this time the flowers are up and ready to make him squirm and he shifts into Padfoot the second he is out of the castle after checking that no one follows him. He hasn’t eaten anything for dinner because of the storm in his guts but he ignores the hunger.
It could be a very bad idea, the worst if the last full-moon hadn’t happened, but Sirius is possessed, running and covering in bushes once he can spot the Shrieking Shack. He is on time to watch Remus and Madam Pomfrey walking in the old house.
He realises as he waits for the rest of the night to unfold that the flowers are subdued when he is as Padfoot. He coughs up several petals but nothing more and the flowers have stopped singing to him. It’s still a bad idea and he doesn’t know what to expect. Moony can easily hate him as much as Remus does except that here they won’t talk and Sirius won’t be able to outrun him.
Once they all became animagis, they have never been separated over all the full-moons that happened during school. Sirius wouldn’t want to break a habit, just in case that Moony needs all of them then— well, Padfoot will be up and ready to join them again. Prongs and Wormtail are perfect to distract and play with Moony so they should be fine. Padfoot finds himself whining at the idea that he might be not needed.
Madam Pomfrey leaves the shack and he can picture James and Peter making their way over here. He could be by their side and he feels like he is - Remus’ cries of pain and the sickening crack of bones and flesh are right beside his ears. Except that he is outside, isolated from the bubble created inside the Shrieking Shack to mute the horror, while Prongs and Wormtail patiently wait for Moony.
Padfoot startles at the sudden crash into a wall. His eyes easily find the figure of a large werewolf barreling through the night like a terror. It’s a very bad moon then— Moony happens to be in a bad temper from time to time but he has never been this aggressive-looking. Prongs and Wormtail immediately run after him.
He has never truly been scared of Moony, if anything he is fascinated and he wishes he had hands sometimes to soothe and touch. It’s probably strange. A werewolf could easily tear him in pieces with minor efforts.
Padfoot needs a second before deciding to follow the Marauders as discreetly as possible. He only means to check on them and if his mistake broke everything they have built with Moony. The previous moon had been peculiar as Prongs and Padfoot kept ignoring each other without the usual cheeriness of running through the woods. Perhaps this is why Moony went off in a very bad mood this time.
His nose easily catches on where they went but he can’t manage to get a good view of them. It seems that Moony wants to run to the end of the earth and Wormtail must be clinging like crazy to Prongs’ coat as they rush through the dark woods. Hopefully Moony tires off soon. Padfoot is finally getting close because the smell intensifies and there are claws marks over some of the trees - one completely destroyed. He jumps on the broken trunk to have a better view. It’s his mistake that he only focuses on only worrying about their possible whereabouts.
A large shadow catches him with no mercy, bringing him down into the dead leaves as Padfoot squeals in surprise at the attack and weight keeping him pinned. Moony breathes right into his face, snarling and crowding his space. Padfoot reacts immediately, tail tucked between his legs and ears bowed as he tries to show that he is no danger to him. It’s the usual act but this time it isn’t enough.
Moony growls at him, paw still digging into him, as he rapidly huffs and smells him. It’s feverish and he can’t read Moony’s eyes if he keeps his gaze down to not challenge him. He hears Prongs stopping right beside them, at a respectful distance despite the anxious stompings, and Wormtail’s panicked squeak. Moony doesn’t give them any attention and Padfoot can’t even try to.
He has no idea what he is looking for. His smell is well-known, probably how Moony knew where to go to catch him, and yet he seems to be looking for something else. A plea cradled into a whine and a tentative wag of his tail finally shakes him off.
Padfoot doesn’t budge when Moony’s tongue splashes him. It’s not rare but still not a habit that Moony ever licks him. They are both canines so they have an easier time understanding each other, compared to Prongs and Wormtail, but Moony shows his affection with small nudges and head-butts. Licks are rare but currently he seems to be trying to groom Padfoot which is very unlikely.
Still, he doesn’t move a muscle and lets Moony decide on where it goes. At least he appears to be in a better mood, even slightly wiggling his butt as if he has a tail, and Prongs appear to have relaxed when he glances at him and Wormtail. Once he is happy with his treatment, Moony pushes Padfoot up to get him to move. He towers over him and keeps him crowded, dragging him back against him with a paw when Padfoot supposes that standing means they should start to walk. Moony keeps him like that for a few beats before letting go.
Wormtail is happy to see him and Prongs greets him with a graceful nose-to-nose contact. Padfoot is ecstatic and he gets lost into that feeling as they start to gallop through the forest. Moony is still in a weird mood and doesn’t let him get any real distance. He snarls and snaps his teeth as a warning, hurrying at his side or grabbing him and dragging him to his side. There is no complaint until Padfoot makes the mistake of not noticing Moony rushing for an unlucky rabbit that he slashes with one big paw.
Usually they manage to stop him from killing any wildlife, and eat them , but they must have been all distracted by Padfoot’s sudden appearance. Prongs immediately tries to push Moony away from the fresh flesh and gets a snarl for it as Moony brings the bleeding rabbit to Padfoot who has been barking in an attempt to distract him.
He doesn’t eat it despite the insistence as Moony even tears it in smaller pieces before nipping frustratingly at Padfoot without truly hurting. His hungry stomach has probably made a noise at some point because this never happened before. Thankfully, Moony lets it go and doesn’t eat the flesh himself.
The dawn comes far too quickly in Padfoot’ opinion and despite the pain starting, Moony whines more at Padfoot not entering the Shrieking Shack as it gets louder the more Prongs pushes him inside. Wormtail only follows when Padfoot jerks his head ahead to follow them. He doesn’t stay.
Remus rarely remembers much of the night outside of the pain so Sirius hopes that this time there isn't much that he can recall either. He only wanted to check on them, on Moony , and he doubts anything good will come of it. Though he can’t help but be happy about the affection thrown at him tonight, especially from Moony himself.
We need to stay! Sooth and nurse him! LOVE HIM.
The flowers are mad. Very much angry at him. Sirius shifts shortly once he is at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. His throat immediately clogs up before he can even properly feel back on his two feet and he almost falls to his knees because of the pressure screaming to get out.
He feels like his throat is bleeding and the flowers have more red hue than the purple and white of the petals. His mind has left somewhere after the second hurl before he can finally recall where he is. It has been more violent than ever and Sirius fears that it’s caused by his Animagus form, perhaps the flowers aren’t able to feed on his love in this form and it caused this violent shock.
“Pads!”
Sirius stands up the best he can, head turning to catch on James and Peter coming from the forest. He is sure they will notice the flowers and the blood he keeps tasting on his lips any moment. They hesitate though. James’ mouth works around unsaid words before closing and Sirius takes his chance to vanish the flowers and rush to the castle.
He doubts that Peter talked about the letter to any of them which is probably a good thing. The only thing left to say was more apologies that Sirius doubts will be any help. At least he eased Moony’s night, even if it might be the last one. Will James even reach out about their old plan for Sirius to come live at the Potters’? It doesn’t seem like it. Even if it happened, he won’t leave Regulus behind. Alphard is still a Black which will be easier to settle with the papers compared to the Potters. Sirius wants to try this with Regulus.
His brother needs to get out before it’s too late and his plan actually sounds great.
“Been on a night stroll?”
He startles and twists around to catch Barty coming out from behind a tapestry. The door of the Room of Requirement already appeared and he was just about to reach for it.
“Merlin’s pants,” he blurts out. “What are you doing here?”
Barty shrugs and walks up to him. “Breakfast won’t be ready until a moment so I walked around.”
Sirius eyes him before opening the door and closing it behind him. It’s still his exact room so Barty doesn’t seem to be looking for anything specific - otherwise it might have appeared.
“And you decided to come here?”
“Mmh,” he answers unhelpfully and clearly looks at him up and down before grinning with all his teeth. “Where were you?”
“I like to watch the sunrise,” he bites out gruffly and looks for his uniform for the day to change after a quick shower.
Barty doesn’t appear to see through his lie but he is clearly searching for something. He can’t see what even though they have become somewhat friends over the few times they hung out. Contrary to Pandora who is a loose card but still quite within reason, Barty is more keen on going to extreme means and Sirius is weirdly curious about his presence here. He is already in his uniform so he must not plan to come back to his dorm and he even drops down his bag on a chair.
Sirius can’t see why he would be looking for him alone and it’s definitely for school. Barty doesn’t seem to be doing any of his homeworks if Evan doesn’t tell him to do them.
“Is it on your list?”
“The list for what I want to die before I die?” Barty nods at his question. “No, not really.”
“Do you have sex on it?”
His eyes widen but Barty shows nothing; not one of embarrassment or amusement, even more terrifying is how intense he seems to be. Sirius swallows and tries to think through this logically despite how tired this day has been for him.
“You’re– you’re not saying what I think you are?”
Barty smiles and finally the familiar glint in his eyes rear itself to catch his attention. “I’ve been just thinking. You won’t be able to do anything once you are sicker and you’re already in bad shape, aren’t you?”
Emmeline certainly wouldn’t have told them what happened to Sirius during the Quidditch match? She can’t have and he is convinced after observing and listening to them that Barty is the type to play all his cards to see people panic. He certainly knows how to keep secrets and to manipulate but with his friends he doesn’t seem to play as much.
“Thinking about me, were you?” Sirius snarks back with a biting smile on his face.
“Your fate gives me a lot of perspective,” he admits, voice dropping to something more serious. “And I wouldn’t want to die without having one last great sex if I’m honest. I figured it would be a waste for you too.”
“A waste?” He can’t help but laugh. “You’re– I can’t say mad because I see your point but still a bit.”
Barty grins and steps closer with a sweep of his tongue over his lips. “Your first choice isn’t possible, is it? And I doubt you will not cough flowers so whoever you might do it with needs to keep the secret.”
Sirius’ heart hammers. It has to be because of the exhaustion and the rush of the day; nothing about one of his brother’s friends proposing to him with no shame and with eyes clearly begging to see what’s under his clothes. He doesn’t push Barty away, even when they are nose to nose.
“You don’t have a weird thing for Reggie, do you?” Sirius whispers. “Because that would really weird me out.”
Barty snickers and his smile is dangerous but quite pretty. Sirius tries to not think of a scar across slightly darker and more bitten lips but his chest thrums with coughs. A hand softly brushes over his arm and brushes the bottom of his jaw before twirling a strand of his long messy hair. The petals are swallowed.
“No. He is pretty but I would rather play with your hair,” he says with a playful tone.
It’s a horrible idea. Clearly. Barty is nothing like Remus, he won’t manage to shut Sirius’ mouth with a witty retort because only Moony can make his knees wobble and his body desperate to dig a way through his warm skin to live beside his heart forever and ever– but Sirius will never get that.
“I will cough,” he warns. “Tons of flowers and blood maybe.”
“Doesn’t make it less beautiful and it will only get worse if there is no cure,” Barty replies and his free hand takes out a vial from his pocket. “But– I have this.”
Sirius frowns. “What is it?”
“Polyjuice potion. Of the one and only person killing you.”
The flowers hurl and scream in indignation. They will never be fooled and Sirius sees red, grabbing it.
“You’re kidding.”
“I wondered if it might help so I made it in s-”
“Is it the only one?” Sirius snarls with his fingers trembling with a raging strength around it. “Crouch. Tell me you didn’t make a bunch of potions over Remus or I will kill you.”
Barty stares at him and starts to look doubtful, almost sorry. “It’s the only one. But think about it, maybe it will work.”
The potion is thrown into the fireplace with no other question. Sirius keeps a hand over his mouth as he tries to calm himself down. Remus can not know about it. It’s insane that Barty even managed to brew this, a successful one probably, and Sirius feels guilty that it only happened because of him .
“We won't talk about this ever again.”
He is a desperate soul. There have been thorough make-outs with a few girls and even a boy but nothing more than touches and tongues. Sirius wants to live in a lie and the more he thinks about it, the higher on his list is an embrace no matter who it might be. He won’t cheat on this though, not when he destroyed everything that he had with Remus be it only friendship or not.
It doesn’t mean that he won’t picture Remus. Nor that he won’t cry along with all the flowers. Barty thankfully doesn’t mind any of it.
#hp marauders#regulus black#jegulus#marauders#starchaser#sirius black#wolfstar#remus lupin#marauders headcanon#james potter#barty crouch junior#barty crouch jr#rosekillers#evan rosier#pandora rosier#marlene mckinnon#dorcas meadowes#dorlene#mary mcdonald#marauders era#emmeline vance#peter pettigrew#star brothers#angst with a happy ending#hanahaki#hanahaki disease#myriadparacosm
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I wonder if the dnpg havent an agent confirms that they want to properly turn the 'dan and phil' brand back into a Thing, like properly. Which is a lot if they are also focusing on solo stuff, but idk, its all very exciting, ig we'll see how it works out
i'm overwhelmed by thoughts right now. it doesn't make sense even in my head.
like,,, let's see. dnpg returned because wad almost flopped and Dan realised that he needs the audience back. great, better late than never. a complete change of management. aiming for UK and USA agencies, and getting them! IT pitching wad to companies to make/sell wad dvd. amazing stuff. at the same fucking time dnpg's return was in the works. not only dnpg but the whole dnp brand. the only difference is dnp™ doesn't intervene with AP and Dan's solo image/projects. they are investing so much time and money into dnpg. 3 different managers in IT!! that's a lot of help. Dan has at least 1 manager in UTA. and all of them are assigned to different projects related to dnp. soft and neat, mfs.
at the same fucking time, pardon my french, if dnpg was brought back to life to bring the audience back, it should be used to promote their solo stuff. how? i don't know! if the main goal was to separate AP / Dan / dnpg, then throwing wad promo on dnpg would be strange, unless it's done in relation to Phil/ with Phil (mukbang, because in 2018 they said they could do it again. or something similar). i can't even say anything about dan is not okay, i'm so scarred. like, i WANT him to use their platforms wisely, i want him to promote his solo stuff so it reaches the majority of us. i want him to succeed. the separation between brands just confuses me a bit. unless they don't take it seriously, and the lines can be blured when it comes to promo. which is yeah, go for it!
if we have something other than wad and dan is not okay – 🤯. touring. oh boy. ladydoor tour 2.0? Dan's real stand-up comedy attempt in smaller venues? if he is actully aiming for 2025/2026, i'm gonna die.
#gamingmas is coming. oh my fucking god#did anyone ask dan about wad dvd on twitter?.#by wad dvd i mean it can be transformed into something else. but it's still wad come on#and look. after 2026 dnpg is dead for real. i'm telling you 2027 MAX#answered#uta#inter talent#dan and phil
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Pardon My German
Summary: Bob and reader had met on base in Lenore a few years ago. You were quick friends but that changed when Bob asked you on a date to the Hard Deck.
Warnings: drinking, that's it. Fluffy fluff
A quiet "shieße" sounds behind me as I bend over the pool table to take my shot, a smirk playing on my lips. "Pardon my german" Bob apologizes sheepishly. "Someone tell Baby On Board that the phrase is 'pardon my french' " Hangman calls out half jokingly, half condescendingly from the opposite end of the pool table. "I don't know French jackass" Bob retorts playfully. That sent laughter howling around the room, myself included. "Es ist ok, wirklich schatz" I respond with a smile. The laughter then exchanged with "ooh"s from the pilots. "They got you there Bagman" Phoenix eggs on. Hangman holds his hands up in mock surrender, not something he does often. I've seen Hangman staring at me as well. Oh what fun. But Hangman was too cocky for me. And I just could do that to Bob, he's too sweet.
Suddenly a hand lands on my shoulder I grab but the pull (out of reflex) thankfully was interrupted, as I recognize Bob's face. "sorry, sweetie. Old habits die hard". I peck him on the cheek. His face reddens, we look up and everyone is staring. I chuckle nervously, debating on whether I should explain. "Spy! I'm calling it now" Fanboy calls out causing a ruckus of laughter to erupt. "Close, Marine." I say between sharing laughs. "Entschuldigung ich komme aus Amerika, ja?" Bob asked, chuckles rolling off his tongue as the laughter died down. "Yes." "Naah I'm not buyin the Marine thing, definitely an international superspy". Hangman rebutted. I just shake my head and smile. Picking up my cue, I shoot and land the two cueballs in the same pocket.
Three hours, two drinks and 5 shots later Bob and I are swaying together, holding each other, to the slow song Rooster is playing on the piano. My eyes flutter shut as a pair of soft lips start kissing my neck. "Bobby" I whisper, "not here". "I'm just enjoyin my girl, gotta show everyone you're with me", a hazy drunk smile and matching bloodshot eyes greet me when I come face to face with Bob. "Let's get you home sweetie" "nooooo*hiccup*ooo" he whines. I just giggle and lead him by the arm to my car.
Finally getting his seat belt on correctly, Bob decides to turn up the radio. Like A Stone by Audioslave comes through the speakers and Bob slurs along. "You're so beautiful (Y/n)". "I think you're pretty too Bobby, now where do you live sweetpea?"
The next five minutes is spent with Bob laughing his ass off that I called him sweetpea. "I just stay on base, the bunkersss". A loud gasp scares the shit out of me, causing me to swerve a little.. "Bob are you okay?!" I look to see where the blood was coming from, to my surprise he's fine. Just drunk. "I want some fucking cookies" Bob glares at me as a loud guffaw escapes me. "We can get cookies tomorrow darlin". I pull into the base parking lot after the MPs let us pass. "I like it when you call me darlin. I'm holding to you the cookies ma'am". I laugh to myself as I think that that made more sense in his head. He leans over the counsel and sloppily kisses me. We make out for a few seconds, pulling away out of breath. "get some sleep bobby, call me in the mornin and we can get some breakfas". Bob just smiled and tells me I'm beautiful again as a response.
I watch his cute butt as he disappears into the building. I rest my own swimming head on the steering wheel. I almost fall asleep before a knock at my window startles me. Rolling down my window I look to the MP, "Ma'am you need to leave." Nodding yes I throw the hearse in reverse (I put my hearse in reverse, gonna go for a drive up to the cemetery get inside) and back out of the parking lot. Homeward bound.
"Was für eine Reihe von unvorhergesehenen Ereignissen" i whisper to myself as I pull into the apartment complex parking lot.
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ig im not ok today after yg's words about how considerate he is towards tae. why?... why couldn't you release people p2 a week later? why did you postpone your album? you had been writing it for YEARS! and then you suddenly realised that the songs were not ok. what did jimin do? why do you hate him so much?
i really mean no harm. i dont want to be a bitch as yoongi. but some day he will die alone. without any friend near his bed. with a whole lot of money in his room but no one to help him.
I remember my SHOCK when I found out he'd been writing those songs and working on that album since 2020 😭😭😭😭😭😭 THREE YEARS.
I've already brought this up when this whole thing happened, but you realize Jimin did face from scratch in 10 months but the renowned producer of BTS had to keep postponing his album?
Honest to God truth is that he's a really insecure man, and pardon my french but he was shitting his pants fearing how his album would be received. It was so obvious from the way he released it right before going on tour and after people had bought their tickets. I don't think I'd ever seen anyone say "I'm releasing an album and then touring pls buy the tickets first". Musicians first release the songs and then, months later they go on tour. Which is how things should've gone if Yoongi hadn't been a selfish, disrespectful coward.
I don't cry over spilled milk so it's not that I'm thinking of face's lost potential, but it's crazy to see the switch up. The point of the whole thing is how he's literally admitting to care about not interrupting a member's debut time, but he couldn't give a fuck about Jimin.
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Chapter 1. : The New Normal.
Scrape.
Click.
Scrape.
Click.
Galaxies to my sides. Before me floor. It appears in the void as needed. I can see patterns in the stars that give way to fractals. Like real space, they are unending. A place we call The House.
Scrape.
Click.
Scrape.
Click.
My mentors claws gently tap the marble tiles as she saunters slowly down the corridor of The House. I float quietly to her right. The airs of reverence hang over my head far heavier than my own hat.
"Billie," coos she, "How stands The Game?"
She has her own way of talking. It makes sense on the inside. I suppose you'd need to be there. She's asking the system's vitals.
"Everything Is Accounted For, Mother." I abide by her rules and respond in her own tounge. She nods. My mentor, Cube, is the systems guardian. A seraphim. A real one. Her snow white feathers glimmer with the light of holy embers. She keeps her eyes covered at all times with the smaller wings on her head. She doesn't need them to see. What a high bar to set for a little triangle like me. How she expects me to follow her in her talonsteps is beyond us.
"Then Your First Mission Begins, O Tetrahedron. Go forth and make the control room more comfortable."
"For our host?" I grumble.
"For our host." she nods.
A snap of my fingers. Darkness. The control room has a long history of this... funk. I already decided I'd spruce it up in here but it's hard to polish a turd, pardon my french. I readjust my bow as I take a deep inhale to ready myself mentally. A long exhale follows.
The Darkness is in fact a great tunnel. Each noise I make echos deep into its caverns. Its wet and squishy caverns. The Tunnel is lined with flesh, as it is alive. There are eyes not unlike my own embedded into the walls and the others cannot see them. They stare into my own eyemouth with unnerving silence.
A green glow ignites from inside of me from between my very bricks and down my arm, blazing into an emerald green fire. With it, the shining of gold. My scythe. The metal engraving on it is of a six fingered hand and a broken heart. A reminder of whom death did me part. I take the scythe in my grasp and swing it as Grimm has shown me. Slicing through our shared reality and repainting it in the image most fitting. The tunnel is replaced, as with brushstrokes, with a room.
A comfortable little room with many plushies and a macintosh computer. It's not what I want it to be yet, but what it is. Is our hosts childhood bedroom. It is the place that right now. It needs.
Emerald Sparks die down. I sit gently upon the carpet.
"I am a friend, Shadow Girl. You can talk to me."
I can't see her. Or hear her. But I can feel her. And I know she knows something important.
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Mr. Bruce Wayne
Summary: An orphan all her life, Y/N is simply too old to remain at The Bowery Home any longer. That is where an anonymous patron has swooped in to send her off to college and all he requires…a monthly letter of her academic progress.
Based off the book and musical “Daddy Long Legs”
Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader
last part // series masterlist // next part
27th May
Bat man, Esq.
Dear Sir: I am in receipt of a letter from Mother Waller. She hopes that I am doing well in deportment and studies. Since I probably have no place to go this summer, she will let me come back to the asylum and work for my board until college opens. I HATE THE BOWERY HOME.
I'd rather die than go back.
Yours most truthfully,
Y/N Abbott
Cher homme chauve-souris(French for Batman),
Vous etes un brick!
Je suis tres heureuse d'about the farm, parsque je n'ai jamais been on a farm dans ma vie and I'd hate to retourner chez The Bowery, et wash dishes tout l'été. There would be danger of quelque chose affreuse happening, parceque j'ai perdue ma humilité d'autre fois et j'ai peur that I would just break out quelque jour et smash every cup and saucer dans la maison. Pardon brievete et paper. Je ne peux pas send des mes nouvelles parceque je suis dans French class et j'ai peur que Monsieur le Professeur is going to call on me tout de suite.
He did!
Au revoir, je vous aime beaucoup.
Y/N
Bruce was at his desk and he was laboring over the blank sheet of paper. Similar pieces were littered across his desk and all of them a similar message, and yet, sounding wrong each time.
Dear Miss Abbot,
I put pen to paper with some trepidation but with the feeling after your last letter that I really do owe you some sort of response…
With that, another piece of paper was crumpled and tossed away. Throwing himself back against his chair, Bruce groaned, “How does one say, I want to write you back, but I don't know what to say? How can I explain that I'm not really old? That I am not at all the man you have imagined and I am definitely not the one you expect?” Getting up from the desk, Bruce began to pace and gesture wildly, “Of course, I write in contravention of my own rules of engagement which forbid any sort of communication from me. But last month, I was guilty of sending you a bouquet of flowers, so perhaps the damage is already done. It's getting very hard to abstain from a response, especially as a man who loves to correspond. I am longing to interject my observations and bursting with opinions and advice.”
Clark and Alfred were sitting on the couch, watching as Bruce had a prolonged temper tantrum. The former turned to Alfred, “Do you think he remembers we are still here?”
The grey-haired man laughed, “The world may never know, Master Kent.”
“How many letters is he at now?”
“He’s started 23. He’s managed to complete 0.”
Clark hid his laughter in his coffee, “Maybe he should just give up on writing a letter and just show up.”
Bruce whirled around and pointed at his friend, “Clark, that may not be a bad idea.”
“Oh, so you do know that we are in the room.” Clark pushed off the couch and pushed Bruce into one of the chairs, “I know you’re losing it now, because you have never thought my ideas were good.”
“No, this will work! I will drive up to the college one of these afternoons and introduce myself. I may not be ideal, but I should be able to manage. Although, I'm not good at friendship–as you know–I'm not good at attachment, or family, or commitment. I roundly despise my relations but she’s met Harriet, so she will understand. After all, my uncle is the reason for my low expectations.
Alfred stepped in to offer some advice, “Perhaps, it isn't wise to reveal yourself just yet. Why not meet Miss Abbott first as the man you really are? Why not introduce yourself as Harriet’s relation?”
“Because, it’s insane!” Clark couldn’t believe what he was hearing, “You’re going to meet your sponsee and hide your true identity all because you can’t manage to write a letter?”
“Yes!”
Clark ran a hand through his hand and turned to Alfred, “Surely you can see that this is madness.”
“Of course, but you are the one who planted the idea. Now, you will have to deal with the consequences.” The older man walked out of the study with a grin on his face.
30th May
Dear Batman,
Did you ever see this campus? (That is merely a rhetorical question. Don't let it annoy you.) It is a heavenly spot in May. All the shrubs are in blossom and the trees are the loveliest young green—even the old pines look fresh and new. The grass is dotted with yellow dandelions and hundreds of girls in blue and white and pink dresses. Everybody is joyous and care-free, for vacation's coming, and with that to look forward to, examinations don't count.
Isn't that a happy frame of mind to be in? And oh, I'm the happiest of all! Because I'm not in the orphanage anymore; and I'm not anybody's nursemaid or typewriter or bookkeeper (I should have been, you know, except for you).
I'm sorry now for all my past badnesses.
I'm sorry I was ever impertinent to Mother Waller.
I'm sorry I ever slapped Freddie Perkins.
I'm sorry I ever filled the sugar bowl with salt.
I'm sorry I ever made faces behind the Trustees' backs.
I'm going to be good and sweet and kind to everybody because I'm so happy. And this summer I'm going to write and write and write and begin to be a great author. Isn't that an exalted stand to take? Oh, I'm developing a beautiful character! It droops a bit under cold and frost, but it does grow fast when the sun shines. That's the way with everybody. I don't agree with the theory that adversity and sorrow and disappointment develop moral strength. The happy people are the ones who are bubbling over with kindliness. I have no faith in misanthropes. (Fine word! Just learned it.) You are not a misanthrope are you? I started to tell you about the campus. I wish you'd come for a little visit and let me walk you about and say:
‘That is the library. This is the gas plant. The Gothic building on your left is the gymnasium, and the Tudor Romanesque beside it is the new infirmary.'
Oh, I'm fine at showing people about. I've done it all my life at the Bowery Home, and I’ve been doing it all day here. I have honestly. And a Man, too! That's a great experience. I never talked to a man before (except occasional Trustees, and they don't count). Pardon, Batman, I don't mean to hurt your feelings when I abuse Trustees. I don't consider that you really belong among them. You just tumbled on to the Board by chance. The Trustee, as such, is fat and pompous and benevolent. He pats one on the head and wears a gold watch chain. However—to resume:
I have been walking and talking and having tea with a man. And with a very superior man—with Mr. Bruce Wayne of one of the first Houses of Gotham. Harriet’s cousin, in short (in long, perhaps I ought to say; he's as tall as you.) She tells me that he is the last of his family. The Wayne family is one of the founding families of Gotham. He's her father’s sister’s son, but she doesn't know him very intimately. Mr. Wayne’s mother was Harriet’s aunt. You’ll notice my use of the past term. Harriet informs me that Mr. Wayne’s family was killed when he was a child.
I have always thought that my situation was a sad one, and yet, I find my heart breaking for Mr. Wayne. While I have no memories of my parents, he has eight years of knowing how much his parents loved him. Knowing what could have been seems more heartbreaking than not knowing at all. I can at least pretend that my parents were horrible and mean, or they died and there was no one else to take me.
Sadness aside…being in town on business, he decided to run out to the college and call on Harriet. It seems he glanced at her when she was a baby, decided he didn't like her, and has never noticed her since. I can’t say I disagree with him. Anyway, there he was, sitting in the reception room very proper with his hat and stick and gloves beside him; and Harriet and Barb with seventh-hour recitations that they couldn't cut. So Harriet dashed into my room and begged me to walk him about the campus and then deliver him to her when the seventh hour was over. I said I would, obligingly but unenthusiastically, because I didn’t think I would care much for those related to the Kanes. But he turned out to be a sweet lamb.
He's a real human being—not a Kane at all. We had a beautiful time; I've longed for an uncle ever since. Do you mind pretending you're my uncle? I believe they're superior to grandmothers. Mr. Wayne reminded me a little of you, Batman, as you were twenty years ago. You see I know you intimately, even if we haven't ever met! He's tall and thinnish, tired eyes, and the funniest underneath smile that never quite comes through but just wrinkles up the corners of his mouth. For someone who looks so uninterested in the world, he had a way of making me feel right off as though I’d known him a long time. He's very companionable. We walked all over the campus from the quadrangle to the athletic grounds; then he said he felt weak and must have some tea. He proposed that we go to College Inn—it's just off the campus by the pine walk. I said we ought to go back for Harriet and Barbara, but he said he didn't like to have his cousins drink too much tea; it made them nervous. So, we just ran away and had tea and muffins and marmalade and ice-cream and cake at a nice little table out on the balcony. The inn was quite conveniently empty, this being the end of the month and allowances low.
We had the jolliest time! But he had to run for his train the minute he got back and he barely saw Harriett at all. She was furious with me for taking him off; it seems he's an unusually rich and desirable uncle. It relieved my mind to find he was rich, for the tea and things cost sixty cents apiece. This morning (it's Monday now) three boxes of chocolates came by express for Harriet and Barbara and me. What do you think of that? To be getting candy from a man!
I begin to feel like a girl instead of a foundling. I wish you'd come and have tea some day and let me see if I like you. But wouldn't it be dreadful if I didn't? However, I know I should. Bien! I make you my compliments.
'Jamais je ne t'oublierai.'
Y/N
PS. I looked in the glass this morning and found a perfectly new dimple that I'd never seen before. It's very curious. Where do you suppose it came from?
Lois raised an eyebrow, “You felt weak and needed tea? You hate tea.”
Bruce refused to look up from his meal. “We walked a lot.”
“You walked a lot and felt weak?”
Bruce finally set down his utensils and rested his chin on his folded hands, looking annoyed, “Are you going to rehash every detail of the letter?”
Clark laughed, “She’s just focusing on the most amusing bits. You had tea with your sponsee while hiding your true identity. Claiming weakness, even though you are in perfect health and didn’t even visit Harriet. Oh, and let’s not forget you sent her chocolates.”
“I sent all of them chocolates.”
Lois smiled knowingly, “Only because you couldn’t send them just to her without raising suspicion.”
“Why did I agree to dinner with the two of you?”
Clark shrugged, “We are the only ones you have to talk to about this.”
“How sad for me.”
9th June
Dear Batman,
Happy day! I've just finished my last examination in Physiology. And now: Three months on a farm!
I don't know what kind of a thing a farm is. I've never been on one in my life. I've never even looked at one (except from the car window), but I know I'm going to love it, and I'm going to love being free. I am not used even yet to being outside the Bowery Home. Whenever I think of it, excited little thrills chase up and down my back. I feel as though I must run faster and faster and keep looking over my shoulder to make sure that Mother Waller isn't after me with her arm stretched out to grab me back. I don't have to mind anyone this summer, do I?
Your nominal authority doesn't annoy me in the least; you are too far away to do any harm. Mother Waller is dead forever, so far as I am concerned, and the Kents aren't expected to overlook my moral welfare, are they?”
No, I am sure not. I am entirely grown up. Hooray! I leave you now to pack a trunk, and three boxes of tea kettles and dishes and sofa cushions and books.
Yours ever,
Y/N
PS. Here is my physiology exam. Do you think you could have passed?
@inluvwithladybug
@pierres-new-spectacles
@kity-k4t
@sassymemesfanficfestival
#toomanyrobins#✉️#Batman#Batman imagine#Batman x reader#Bruce Wayne#Bruce Wayne imagine#Bruce Wayne x reader#robert pattinson#robert pattinson x reader#robert pattinson imagine#battison#battison imagine#battison x reader#batfamily#batfamily imagine#batfamily x reader#batfam#Batman au#Bruce Wayne au#batfam imagine#dcu#dc imagine
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Simplement, Monaco.
Charles Leclerc x Reader
Summary: While on a trip in Monaco, you get impossibly lost on a small beach and can't find your friends anymore. The worst thing is: it's your birthday. Fortunately a kind (and insanely gorgeous) stranger comes to your aid.
Sneek peak: "Now, I am jealous. I am the one who saves you and you don't even bump me up one place?"
A/N: Hey everyone, I hope you are all as excited as I am for summer, because that is what I had in mind while writing this piece. Also the reader is a drama queen in this for real haha. Enjoy!
"Kayla! Gwen!" You were screaming and no one responded. The beach was silent. You knew you shouldn't have explored while your friends were tanning on the other side of the beach. Five minutes ago the beach seemed crowded and when you took a turn, a hide spot got you lost. You couldn't remember from where you had entered it. "Fuck." There also was no service and somehow, tears had fallen without your consent. This is so stupid. Why would you cry for something so stupid? You wiped your eyes and looked again around the secluded part of the beach.
A few minutes later, you were still stuck. The sand seemed like a nice place to sit on and take a break. You let yourself get dragged to the sand and looked at the sea. At least it's a beautiful view. The sun is setting and- Wait? WHAT?! Omg the sun is setting! You dare a glance at your watch and see that it's 6 pm. You are going to spend the night on a deserted beach. Was there any dangerous, wild animals around here? Oh god! Is there? Your eyes got wet again. But this time, you let it out. Who could hear you anyway? You are going to die here all alone, eaten by some stupid animal you didn't even know existed.
"Ça va?( Are you okay?)" You jumped at the un known voice, which led the stranger to appologise. "Pardon... Je ne voulais pas vous faire peur.(Sorry... I didn't want to scare you.)" A distant knowledge told you it was french and you somehow understood what he said. "No it's alright. Sorry for myself honestly." You let out a laugh at the same time he did. At that chuckle, you looked up at him curiously. No way. That's... that's Charles Leclerc. You got up immediatly and scrubbed the sand off of your butt. You looked at him again for this time to be met by his beautiful eyes. He smiled at you and you gave him a shy smile in return. "I'm..." He waited for you to continue, but your face told him you were stuck. "You're what... hum what is your name miss?" Miss? "You're older than me. Spare me the miss please." You laughed. He looked at you confused. "How would you know?" "I kind of follow the Formula 1..." His eyes blew open then he chuckled. "Sorry, I forget that people can know me sometimes. Okay..." there is a blank space like he doesn't know what to say next.
"I'm Y/N." You told him weighting your options for a minute. Yes! He could help you. "And... I am sorry if I am bothering you on your what seems to be late evening run, but I'm lost. I was at the bigger part of this stupid beach and I took an un known turn and got myself here. My friends are probably worried sick and it's my birthday so I would really appreciate celebrating it with the most wonderful friends ever. Tonight. In one piece preferably" You rambled. "Okay." Charles said . "Omg. Thank you so much. I could kiss you right now." Before you knew what you said, it was too late. Your eyes blew wide open and your mouth shut tight. "Well, I never kiss a stranger I just met. But maybe by the end of the night I will... if you'll let me make your birthday unforgetable, of course." You looked at him and nodded. "Fine. Then, let's go Y/N."
He took your hand and brought you back to the main part of the beach where your friends were also sitting on their butts worried sick. "Kayla, Gwen! I am here." They looked at you and ran with a huge smile. Once they were close enough, they both wrapped you in the biggest hug ever. It's only after this that they noticed the handsome man beside you. "That's Charles Leclerc? Right?" Gwen asked you with a wide grin. "Yes. Now shut up please." You whispered to her. "Oh this is too good." Kayla said laughing lightly. Charles looked at you weirdly and introduced himself to your friends.
Once he told you guys he had an amazing night planned for you all, you all started walking out of the beach. You and Charles slightly at the front chatting while your friends stayed in the back. "So how old?" Charles said looking at you with his iconic charmer smile. "Oh... hum. 23." You answered smiling too. But your smile faded quickly in embarasement when your friends talked too loud for your liking. "It's crazy! Him? Of all people who could've found her. She is for sure going to talk about this one for the rest of her life." Kayla said laughing. "Oh for sure. Also that 'My second highest celbrity crush I need to date' thing is about to come true." Gwen added crying of laughter. "She did tell us that she owuld date him since she was like... what? 19?" Kayla put more to the already embarassing conversation. You were bright red. If you had heard it as clear as this, Charles did too. "Omg I am so sorry-" He cut you off. "Second highest? I am not the first one?" He smirked down at you. "Timothée Chalamet is the first one. Sorry..." You said, glad that he wasn't embarassed. "Now, I am jealous. I am the one who saves you and you don't even bump me up one place?" He fakes a ridiculous sad face. "Not yet. I'll have to see if your a good kisser." Once again, your brain did not stop you in time. You were about to appologize again when he cut you off by kissing you deeply. Your friends were cheering in the back while you enjoyed what had to be the best kiss of your life. When you two pulled back, Charles looked straightly at you and smiled at your closed eyes. "Okay. I take it back. You are definitely number one." You opened your eyes and grinned at him like a fool.
"That's what I thought." He said before kissing you once again.
#charles leclerc#charles leclerc x female reader#charles leclerc x reader#f1#formula 1#f1 x reader#formula 1 x reader#charles leclerc x you#formula 1 x you#charles leclerc x y/n#formula 1 x y/n
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SNEAK PEEK!
Chapter 13 -- The One With the Rug Burn
It had been a really good day and tonight he was finally going to bring Mina and Leo to see Zee. Sorcha was behind him and when they entered the small private room Harry had paid for, they found Colt and Flo sitting on either side of Zee’s bed, each holding a hand.
“Mama!” Leo and Mina both cried, trying to jump out of Harry’s arms.
Sorcha pursed her lips. “I still don’t think bringing them was here was a good idea, Harry.”
“Grandmama, we still don’t really understand this and she’s… in there and maybe the twins can help in some way?”
“But what will it do to them?”
Harry didn’t have the answer to that. He just thought seeing Zee would comfort them.
“Mama’s sleeping.”
“Why?” Mina asked.
“She’s tired,” Harry said. “But you and Leo can snuggle with her.”
“Mama, up!” Leo demanded, putting his small hand on her cheek.
Mina lifted up her hair. “Shhh! Seeping!”
Leo pouted and rested his cheek over Zee’s heart, making Harry’s own melt. He took the chair Colt offered, rubbing his hand up and down Leo’s back as he took Zee’s hand in his other. Flo gave up her seat for Sorcha who did the same to Mina.
They’d decided as a family that she wasn’t going to be left alone and each were taking time to sit with her daily. Two Aurors, who Tonks had vetted personally, were guarding her door night and day, but seeing her lying there, stone faced and frozen was unbearable.
It was almost like he’d lost her all over again.
Leo shoved his thumb into his mouth and Harry sighed. It was a habit he’d started after Zee had vanished and he wished that he could do something for them. He barely understood what was going on himself, let alone could explain it to toddlers. But he thought letting them see their mother, even if they couldn’t see her properly, was a hint of something they all needed.
“The healer said that there’s been no change,” Colt told him. “She just lies there.”
Harry nodded. “I expected as much, Grandpa.”
Colt blinked back tears. “Having her alive… but like this… pardon my French, but it ain’t any fucking better than not having her at all.”
“Colten!” Flo hissed. “Not in front of the children!”
“I know, Grandpa,” Harry said. “But I’m hopeful we can… I don’t know. It’s all about Uncle Sirius and what’s happening there and…”
Flo came to stand behind Harry, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “No one blames you, sweetheart. This is an impossible situation, we all know it. No matter how it plays out, we’re all going to be heartbroken. We know that.”
“Mama!” Mina exclaimed, pulling on one of Zee’s curls.
“Shh!” Leo said, putting his thumb back into his mouth as he snuggled against Zee’s breasts.
Harry closed his eyes, holding Zee’s hand up to his cheek. He knew that Flo was right. This wasn’t an easy situation by any means and it only seemed to get harder every day. He didn’t know what the solution was, not entirely.
On one hand, there was the possibility that they could give Sirius back his soul. This was something he needed to do. He couldn’t let the man who’d raised him die without his soul. He refused to let that happen. He knew that it was a tiny chance, but that small chance that re-souling him could save him brought more joy to him than he could express. While at the same time he knew that if it did save him, he would still have to die to save Zee.
He let a tear fall, using Zee’s hand to wipe it back and not for the first time wondered how on earth he was going to save one of them and not the other?
#harry potter fanfiction#breanie#chapter sneak peek#the world of asc#the kismet trilogy#the kismet trilogy by breanie#third time's the charm#the kismet trilogy part three third time's the charm by breanie
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Walking Dead Rp Meme
inspired by the sweetest rper I have ever spoken to or witnessed before @handsbloodied - feel free to edit the quotes or change pronouns for rp purposes
"My mercy prevails over my wrath."
Why are we running? What are we doing?”
Don't talk. Think.”
You think God exists?”
I know what kind of man you are.”
We need to start treating him like an adult.”
You shoot me again? You best pray I'm dead.”
This isn't about what we believe anymore. It's about them.”
I was just trying to keep everybody safe.”
I was a fool, and you people saw that.”
Waste of an arrow.”
You can't just be the good guy and expect to live. Not anymore.”
“Ought to be polite to a man with a gun. Only common sense.”
"If I got the chance to do it again, I'd kill you all."
“Adolescence is a 20th century invention.”
Get one thing straight. You're staying? This isn't a democracy anymore.”
“You’re my brother.”
The world we know is gone, but keeping our humanity? That's a choice.”
You're just gonna kill him?”
People in hell want slurpees.”
It's done. We do it today.”
"We are the end of the world."
There is no hope and you know it now, like I do, don't you? There is no hope for any of us.”
Please, Lord, punish me however you want, but show mercy on her.”
It's a waste of time all this hoping and praying.”
He was trying so hard to be reasonable, but that pushed my buttons even more.”
You want to kill me, you're going to have to do better than that wrench.”
“If I had known the world was ending, I would’ve brought better books.”
“We don’t kill the living.”
I'm responsible. I ain't gonna sit here while this fella takes this on alone.”
You're completely in over your head aren't you?”
You see 11 condoms, I see 11 minutes of my life I'm not getting back.”
Are you trying to buy my silence with fruit?”
Whatever it is, we all carry it.”
I ain't nobody's bitch.”
I'll control my people, you control yours.”
“I’m not the good guy anymore.”
You're a man of God, have some faith.”
"Everything now... Just consumes you."
"It's human nature to come together."
“We won’t get weak. That’s not in us anymore. We’ll make it work.”
The pain doesn't go away. You just make room for it."
"As long as It's all of us, We can do anything."
"People out there are always looking for an angle. Looking to play on your weakness ..."
“You can breathe, you can blink, you can cry. Hell, you’re all gonna be doing that.”
I can't profess to understand God's plan, but when Christ promised a resurrection of the dead, I just thought he had something a little different in mind.”
I'm not the good guy anymore.”
“They’re screwing with the wrong people.”
“I’m not your governor.”
"Goodnight, Love."
"Look at the flowers."
"You gotta be who you are, not who you were."
"I can't profess to understand god's plan ..."
"You honor the dead by going on, even when you're scared. You love because they don't get to."
“I try not to mix it up with the almighty anymore.”
I believe this one bloomed for your little girl.”
"I might be the one walking away, but you're the one who's leaving."
“Rest in peace. Now get up, and go to war.”
“You don’t look at him, you don’t talk to him, and I don’t make you chop anything off of him.”
Good thing we didn't do anything stupid like shoot it.”
“You like that, huh? Li’l Ass-Kicker?”
“I’ve got my fingers crossed for a little freaky deeky.”
“You got some beach-ball-sized lady nuts coming in kamikaze like that.”
“While they’re at it, I just want to point out to you that I’m not taking a scrap of your food.”
“Well, pardon me young man, excuse the shit out of my goddamn French, but did you just threaten me?”
“There’s a compound bow and a machete with a red handle. That’s what I’m gonna use to kill you.”
“Funny how a little ‘Holy sh*t! Somebody’s gonna die!’ lights a fire under everybody’s ass!”
He'll be locked up in the barn unless you bust it open again.”
“Lucille’s beautiful, smooth surface is never gonna look the same, so why should yours?!”
Your bitch went window shopping. You want him? Go fetch him yourself.”
“If they can’t make it, we’ll just take this place.”
C'mon, man, don't give me that gansta shit.”
#open to all#open to anyone#open rp#ask meme#rp meme#open meme#open to anybody#roleplay meme#ask prompt#memes#asks open#ask rp meme#rp ask meme#ic asks#walking dead#walking dead rp#handsbloodied#open oc rp#open oc starter#oc roleplay#meme starter#meme rp#ask memes#open walking dead rp#open walking dead starter#open twd rp#open twd starter
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ok just writing this here to get it out of my brain and before u say just log off of twitter don’t worry i have and i just want to get my thoughts out because i refuse to engage in discourse on twitter.com i like to just seethe in my mind :)
specifically what’s annoying me so much on twitter that i’ve seen for weeks now is the discourse about what is “good storytelling”.. certain people are talking about storytelling as if it is completely objective and in no way a matter of personal opinion (it is of course 100% personal opinion, that’s why a thousand people can believe a certain movie is amazing and there will always be another thousand saying it’s dogshit. PEOPLE ARE DIFFERENT). a lot of the discourse/discussion is specifically regarding the eggs and the choices made by the bts team about their ongoing storyline and involvement in the server. the way quite a few people are talking is as if certain decisions made about the eggs will completely ruin the server/story. which is obviously a wild take. people are really caught up on the fact(?) that the eggs were only supposed to be a short event and that characters such as the code monster trying to kill them, and that the eggs are now only allowed two immortality totems is bad for some reason because it seems as if the admins just want the eggs to die and that they’re dragging it out too long, another criticism being the whole “nightmare/bad dream” thing where they have given lives back to the eggs due to them losing lives to certain glitches/unfair circumstances. meaning that to reconcile this in the storyline the characters will just refer to it as a nightmare that they had. what i think that these people are missing is that the eggs are SUPPOSED to be a challenge and that making them completely invincible would negate that fact. they’re criticizing the fact that the brazilians and french have gotten two new eggs despite the server/admins “wanting to kill them”. if the trend of one new language group per month keeps going, i honestly think the new group will also get their own egg because the eggs are a HUGE part of the lore and i think that the eggs being under attack is being misunderstood by so many people. whenever a new language group has arrived they’ve toned down the mobs so that they have a fighting chance and have a bit of time to get stronger. due to the discovery cellbit made at the end of the qsmp puzzle, it’s been determined that the code entity and the group it’s a part of is completely different/at odds with the federation so the idea that like.. a main goal of the admins is to kill off the eggs is not true. q!quackity wanting to create an economy and a powerful community Along with the federation would only serve to help protect the eggs and it’s clear that he knows much more about the lore that is unknown to us so far regarding his future plans. his economy/organized nation idea is clearly important for the overarching story because he is aware of future events that will take place (which yeah is kind of metagaming but i feel like it doesn’t apply to him because he is the creator and he’s been open abt keeping up with what everyone is doing while he’s offline/reading the wiki, watching their streams etc). he has also stated that what has happened on the server so far is just a FRACTION of what he has planned and that it’s only just started and that he plans to add a lot of other language groups as well as new members from established language groups. the eggs of course have been a huge part of the storyline so far but the idea that decisions regarding them, such as it being a CHALLENGE to keep them alive will make or break the server/storyline is ridiculous. and of course the admins are real people who have made mistakes which is only human, such as the unfair killing of multiple of the eggs that they have pardoned, such as ramón being killed in his house and pomme recently being one-shot killed with a weapon that was way too strong (their lives were of course returned, which proves that heartless/unfair slaughter is not their goal). the eggs also becoming “cracked” i think proves that there is an overarching storyline in mind for the eggs and that they have future lore planned for them if they survive up to a certain point. (regarding the dragon mom, etc).
idk the whole “objectively good/bad storytelling” thing is just laughable because it’s clearly uncomfortable for people to not have things go their way or for there to be uncertainty, angst, and challenge. stories don’t have to be conventional or predictable to be good. things certainly don’t have to be “fair” to be good. i think the belief that the egg “event” has supposedly gotten out of hand and that the admins just want them to die is baseless and shows a misunderstanding of both angst and the concept of challenge.
(((on a re-read i kind of implied above that the federation would help protect the eggs which i do not think is true but they certainly aren’t actively trying to hurt them like the code entity/group is)))
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Island finale + ... this one isn't for the weak
Pardon my french in advance. Of course there are spoilers in here. The blog is called "I love spoilers".
One last memory of Won Miho, a smart, intelligent woman, who went to Jeju island by her father's orders to teach ethics. I loved that awesome hair and fashion sense and self-confidence, determination, strength and cool temper. And drifting demon race in pt1. It's good they brought her back in those last few minutes, at least.
Shall we do this for the old times sake? Here goes.
Island Finale, what the hell did I watch?!
Ok, let's be graceful. The series got me exhausted. Being emotionally involved isn't the best option with this one... If you haven't watched it already and love the genre, expect mess, confusion and cognitive dissonance. Or not, it's fine.
My heart goes to two greatly significant characters. I can't stop thinking about them and I'm so grateful neither of them died by the other's hand . Putting aside both actors' charm, these two characters grew on me. One of them being a deeply misunderstood vengeful killer machine. And the other, adorable goofy exorcist.
Since this two parts story finally ended, it made me think about half-demon brothers and why is it that one of them is utterly evil and beyond redemption in the eyes of our little Island community while the other one is practically absolved of all of his "sins".
Both brothers are trained killers (to be correct, abused since early childhood by Jijangjong Temple’s clan) and that's exactly what they've been doing their entire lives - committing murders. The only difference is:
One of them was lucky enough to turn into what he was supposed to become, according to plan - emotionless killer. Knife accepted him easily.
The other brother's transformation didn't go according to the plan. His feelings somehow never disappeared, pain and suffering destroyed him - he cracked under the pressure just as anyone would
First one believed that Wonjeong can give them their human lives back, his bloodthirst was ulterior motive (and I'll get to that a bit later)
The other was hypersensitive one and could see through the clan's lies. Even as broken as he was. His humanity made him trust Yeomji later on, making them both susceptable to Baek's clan manipulation
Were those two brothers really that different to begin with? Pan brought wounded Wonjeong back to the temple. After hurting her. Because he believed she could save them. By doing so he turned his back on his brother. Gungtan followed him knowing he'd get punished for it, his loyalty unmatched. While Wonjeong was living her life being trained to fulfill her destiny yet having a sense of freedom, boys were chained and starved. She would bring them food, but she never gained Gungtan's trust again - and his hunch was right. She was the end of both brothers.
If there's God in this story, then the moment Pan stabbed Wonjeong and a piece of divine crystal entered him was that God's doing. Pan gained a piece of humanity, by ending a life of a living person, accidentally or not. It never suffocated his urge to kill, but it made him more aware of all the lives taken by the lust demon and then by his own half-demon hands. That didn't make him less of a killer, but it did clear his mind of fog (which made him realise both he and Gungtan have to die in order to set themselves free), he gained control over himself and his impulse to kill - even though his yearning for Miho still made him want to kill her, let's not forget that. He is a lust demon, afterall, which does sound awfully like a vampire, but I'll let it slide.
Vampires, however, often end up killing their loved ones, unless they learn how to control their bloodthirst. I can't help but consider both of them vampires, in a way.
Boy got therapy and it (partially) worked. And everybody fell for him as if he's an angel sent from heavens and his past has been erased. That's not how it works, but fine. Fine. I'm fine with people being there for him. But something is not adding up here, there's still no sympathy for Gungtan. Why?
Ah, Gungtan, the villain. Once a boy who loved his brother so much that he gave up his own freedom/life for him. Took the beatings for bringing Wonjeong back. And turned his back on the whole human race for good. His love was the purest love they showed us, but it's not in the focus, so it's easy to run it over like it never existed. He ended up chained in the dark for years. No therapy. No nothing. Left to rot. Oh but he can't die, because he's not human. Torture lasted and lasted. Then he was set free only to be used again. Was mercy ever given to him in any way? Was he ever given any chance to become something different from what he became? Is there anything this demon-slayer knows of, other than abuse, punishment, betrayal and smell of blood? He is as self-destructive as it gets, there's no turning back from his path of soul torture. Character development inconsistencies are out there on the surface, so let's not go into that any further.
He's a hyperviligant killing tool but he can't stay indifferent towards a little girl covering his feet with her jacket. That was it for me. I couldn't care less about any other character at that point. I fell for the deeply wounded devil that he is. Completely. Why? Because I'm Bob the builder, duh. Because in the real world, where real and often horrible things happen, anyone can become a target of abuse and turn into someone like Gungtan. Often completely unaware of it. Leave out the killing and you have a very realistic character. Psychologically, it's a hell of a ride to get back up on tracks afterwards. And people think it takes a lot to become a villain, they don't have the potential, something like that can never happen to them, so why not wish death upon a fictional character who suffered more than enough for a thousand lifetimes.
I'm not buying any of the moralist-on-duty shit. Leave. Him. Alone.
I wish he could have run away that instant, somewhere, anywhere, before the Baek clan put their magic manipulation skills to work. I wish he was safe and in peace. I can't put any blame on him for what he became. And what he did. Especially since it is strongly suggested he was used like a puppet after they woke him up. His anger was used for a "greater" evil purpose. I can't help but wanting to reach out and get him the hell out of there.
Despite general opinion of the Island community and Mr. Gungtan himself, he isn't that different from his brother Pan at all. He cracked under the pressure, yet he didn't need a magical crystal fragment to sober up and help another abused child, which he wouldn't do if he had no feelings left in him. Pan believed in Wonjeong, Gungtan believed in Yeomji, but neither of those girls could help the brothers. And no matter how much they wanted to live, death was the only escape from the constant hellfire brought upon them. Gungtan needed to escape his untameable urge for revenge which led him to madness, Pan needed to escape the burden of his heavy dirty bloodthirsty soul.
May I add, Miho never sold out Pan, like Yeomji, who switched sides like a spineless creature. Yes, she's a kid and could never measure up to Miho. Her influence, if there ever was any, ended once Baek clan took over Gungtan. The same clan known for their magical manipulation skills. Gungtan's misery just doesn't stop. Once again he's nothing but a killing tool.
The brothers escaped their personal hell by ending their own lives - which is why I'm not mad about the ending. Their suffering stopped, at last. Finally. Their inner demons were swallowed by the underworld. Gungtan's little smile at the end, that sigh of relief as lust demon left his body and he was finally free, that moment was e v e r y t h i n g
But you know what else was everything? Seeing my favourite Island manhwa character coming to life on screen. Finally! Well done, cgi team, well done!
In previous life or death battle, my boy Gio almost died. Ahh, how many times I yelled at the screen for him to just stay out of other people's business but thankfully he survived it all. He is my favourite goofy guy who makes people write witty texts about him. The only priest, real or fictional, I've ever liked and will ever like. Look at this fluffball. Must. Protect. Him. (╥﹏╥)
Thankfully, Johan survived all the battles, which weren't even his own to begin with and which lead me to believe he'd meet a tragic end sooner or later. Ah but that's the part of his charm - sticking his nose in other people's business so we never know if he'll live or not. There would be some ugly crying if something tragic actually happened to him. And just like in pt1, he was left on hold while bleeding to death. This time it was even more horrible than before.
Pan, seriously? Like "brb, let me just-". I swear, at some point this thing turned into such a grotesque show. Plot has twisted so hard it was unbearable to watch at times. But, Johan picked himself up from the brink of death, thanks to his badass powers. Amen!
Despite the fact that finale brought so much sadness to entire audience, either for the main villain's death or PanxMiho not happening in a million years (which I'll forever be grateful for), that final fight was amazing. Writers finally gave us a large portion of enjoyable action. Plus, Gungtan wasn't the end of Johan and vice versa. Honestly, that's more than generous from their part, since Gungtan's downfall was imminent and it all went downhill long time ago, anyways.
Hope they don't bring us pt3. Sorry. I'm done with the massacre of manhwa plotlines and characters. Starred actors were amazing. Talent and looks, you know, everything. Especially absolutely stunning Lee Da-hee. Craaaazy talented and amazing Sung Joon♡ But. Please. No. More. Island.
Well, with too pure for this world cutie, I conclude my thoughts. It's been fun.
Sailor Pluto wishes you a great day and more enjoyable kdrama,
Till next time, xx
P.S. If you've made it this far, wow, congratulations. It must not have been easy navigating that pile of chaos. Also, there are so many things I edited out of the "original" text, trying to keep my cool. Also, if for any reason you (dis)liked my interpretation of fictional characters of Island, my ask box is always open. (◠‿◕)
P.P.S. Dear gifmakers, if you want me to remove any of your GIFs from my posts, please feel free to contact me, it will be done immediately. Thank you for all your work for our little community (✿ ♡‿♡)
#tving island#kdrama#gungtan#won miho#priest johan#kang chan hyuk#van#demon slayer#imsailorpluto#island kdrama
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