aster

SO! I’ve always been ridiculously picky about the things I read. For me to truly love a story (to the point of becoming completely obsessed with it) it has to be amazing.

Regulus had broken his arm at ten, falling down the stairs at Grimmauld Place. And Sirius had taken the punishment for him. That was the part James could never forget — the image of a twelve-year-old Sirius placing himself between his brother and their parents' fury. Taking the blow without hesitation, as if it were the only possible choice in a world where none were good.

okay, here we go. I went back and forth a lot about whether to post this here. I'll be honest, I'm not great at handling judgment, but at the end of the day, this is just a silly little story I wrote for my own entertainment. bc hey!! I have a LOT of fun writing it!! and that's what really matters.

Sirius loves Regulus with every fiber of his heart. He is his younger brother—a vital piece of who Sirius is. The child he raised with his own hands. The one he taught to speak, to walk, to laugh softly so their parents would not hear. When Regulus woke in the middle of the night, sick and frightened, it was Sirius he called for. Sirius who held his hair back while he was vomiting, who pressed a cool palm to his forehead, who stayed awake until dawn just to be certain his breathing had eased.

me: has insomnia

I'm cooking bartylus again…