let me tell you what i wish i'd known when i was young and dreamed of glory , you have no control : who lives , who dies , who tells your story ━━━━ 𝑚𝑢𝑙𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝑏𝑎𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒛𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 , 𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑦 𝑗𝑘 𝑟𝑜𝑤𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 .

𝗔𝗨𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗥⠀⠀:       river   .   twenty  six  .   england   .   mild to low activity   .   mutuals can dm for discord ( preferred method  of communication )   .   mdni   .   going forward , there will be dead dove   ⟋        𝗡𝗔𝗩𝗜⠀⠀:      ⑴ 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 ⑵ 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐬 ⑶ 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 ⑷ 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫 ⑸ 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 ⑹ 𝐦𝐮𝐝𝐛𝐥𝐜𝐜𝐝, 𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐨 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 .

the none answer is met with a lightly tossed packet of biscuits on the table ; custard creams , not the only ones in the cupboard , but the closest , unopened . he sits down heavily opposite her then , hands wrapping around his own scolding cup , the teapot sitting between them ; an unassuming thing , nothing too fancy ; a deep brown , melding into a red . for a moment , he stares at it ; if only to avoid ava's gaze for a moment , he struggles , lately . social interactions are like nails upon a chalk board , he's never really present , if it isn't remus , it isn't someone worth acknowledging ( in his bones , it's not something believed , not truly . he loves people , but it was just . . . hard ) though despite all that , he'll force himself - he's never been any good at turning his back on kids ❛ yorkshire tea , always been a twinings man myself , though . it's the only thing peyton has in at the minute . muggles don't always get it right , but their tea is always been more my palette ❜ for james , it always had a stronger taste to it , the bags left to simmer in its own spices rather than forced along ; magic , sirius always made a face at him , but he could always taste it in certain things . he smiles , though , gentle around edges as he stared into the liquid ❛ bloody hell , sat here making small talk about tea , sirius would have a field day over this . ❜

❛ i don't want to be like you , you're not even scary enough to be considered a monster , you're just rot ❜ his response dry , the biting response hiding the fact that his heart clenches beneath rib cage as the bitter reality once again washes over him against will ; the role of the chosen one isn't something people willingly choose , it's forced upon you by the gods , by those with more &. in turn it's a rot all on its own , ugly , a decay that was much slower than the process of skin &. muscle . he wasn't so dense to misunderstand mamie , he knew the trade of places was more than just the physical ; it was the roles played by each of them . though he supposes , in this story being written , they're two dead men existing in different realities ; he believes , however , he remains more monster than the corpse before him . the anger , he was a house fire burning away in a night hidden street ; the spark &. light moving to infect the house next to him , only to spread , volatile &. destructive . some days the fire kept him warm , most of the time it left him charred &. broken , begging for relief from the blisters &. agony the flames caused . he wants to say , i don't want to be myself either , but the words are swallowed down like pebbles , lodging in throat in the process , blocking airways &. leaving him gasping for air . though , he's not so much drowning in hatred &. self pity that the others'means of existing seems pleasant , either . ❛ . . . i suppose we both lucked out not having to experience each others existence . ❜