#* flashback.

where – black family residence who – @nchanting​

She’s bored. Something restless has taken over Bellatrix ever since she has graduated, a feeling of is this it, then? that demands more of life, constantly. All that seems to soothe her is being in the presence of the Death Eaters, the opportunities that lay ahead of her. But now, she is home, and there is not much to do. Her work day has ended, and there are no missions or meetings on the horizon, and so she moves through the house in search of entertainment. Her sisters, of course, are an endless source of it, perhaps the only thing keeping her in this dreaded place.

She enters Andromeda’s room without knocking, expecting to find her seated in a corner, perhaps even napping, but not like this ––– packing. “Going on a trip?” Bellatrix closes the door behind her, waiting for the click that assures her it won’t open unless the handle is turned. It’s for the best if this is spared from the eyes of their parents, whatever this is. She feels restless, something that comes close to fear but isn’t it exactly. Worry is very clearly present, but when is she not worried about her sisters? She keeps herself composed, though. “You know, if you’re going on holiday, I’d love to come. I could use a little time abroad.”

As both the oldest of her sisters and cousins, responsibility came natural to Bellatrix. Part of it was because of the expectations weighing down on her shoulders, but another part of it wasn’t influenced by anybody else, simply by who she was. Controlling, perhaps, but also deeply loyal to her people, willing to do anything for them, should she have to. She wanted them safe, happy. And so, when she found Andromeda crying, it was clear that it was up to her to fix this, in whatever which way.

Bellatrix was no good at sympathy — compassion came hard to her, even harder now that she was starting to grow crueler. She was no good at soft words, or a soft touch. But she was protective and proactive, a sturdy thing to lean on, she thought.

After entering one of the many sitting rooms in her parents’ house and placing herself on the sofa across from Andromeda, bending towards her, she asked, “What’s wrong?” Bellatrix noticed how demanding she sounded, and tried to soften her voice and facial expression. “Talk to me.” She had been better at this once. At being an older sister, someone to rely on. Someone who shielded her sisters from the world, snarling and snapping.

The lack of control she had over her sister’s happiness was startling, at times. Bellatrix hated seeing Andromeda like this — tear stained, sad. The fact that there were things in this world that could hurt them (and many of them relating to the war she was so devoutly invested in), was more than maddening. Maybe that was why she was so willing to tear everything down, only to rebuild it. “Do I need to hex someone for you? Just say their name, and I’ll do it.”

Mundungus had never thought the world particularly kind. Not as a child, when he’d seen his mother’s pain and felt his father’s cruelty, and not as a teenager, when the world felt unfair and he’d decided to become an outsider, rather than a part of it. And now, as a pawn in a war, he was even more aware of the fact that the world was cruel — and still it startled him, at times. When news reached the Order of more deaths, or the headlines shouted the latest crimes at him with big bold letters, he could still feel something twist inside him.

He preferred to run from that feeling, most of the time, often through self medication. Today, however, he’d decided to take a more responsible route. On top of a few glasses of rum, that was. Mundungus had knocked on Dorcas’ door, a bottle of red in his hand, his eyes tired and weary. He didn’t like to voice his grief, but he didn’t have to with Dorcas. He assumed that she, too, felt heavy with it — the multiple bodies that had been found only a day ago had shaken plenty of people.

And now they were sitting on Dorcas sofa, intertwined. A record played, and its music had been the only sound for quite some time. “Sometimes I just wanna get the fuck out of here,” Mundungus muttered. A bitterness edged on his words, a sincerity that he often lacked. Around her, it came out more often than around most others. It was strange, he thought, that he had this, amidst it all. Something that felt steady, despite his own wobbliness. He pulled back from their embrace, eyes wide. “This fear, Dor — it’s gonna eat me whole, I swear it. It’s so fucked, everything here.”

      @sebastiiens .

              for third time in the year ,        the king and queen had shipped agnes off to luxembourg ,      in hopes of what ?               she wasn’t sure .                she had no choice more than to      obey .               still ,      it was never a boring time when she was there ,     considering it gave her the possibility to know other nightlives and make ties that’d sure prove to be fruitful for her ...               project .                  so now ,     agnes knew how it was going to go down :           once dinner was done ,      they’d all move to the drawing room on the west side of the castle ,      and chatter .            she’d be offered some brandy ,      the king would half scold her for taking it ,      half hint that would she want more ,     she was welcome to it ,            and then they’d play some cards .              the king and queen would retire mid - game ,       most would go to bed ,      and agnes would be left alone with the second son ,     sebastien .                then it was chess ,     or quiet reading in eachother’s company .

             however ,       things unfolded differently and as soon as dinner was done with ,      the king managed to excuse himself and his wife ,      and everyone else followed because if the parents weren’t there ,        there was no point in pretending .                    looking at the time ,      agnes sighed and looked across the table to sebastien .

                         ‘       ---------- i have some time to kill .            chess ?     ‘

flashback & @daryl-th​!

     ˖ ꒰🍧꒱ A risada alta ecoando pelos corredores da Haven Entertainment já não era tida como fora do normal pelas outras pessoas que frequentavam o prédio; aquele tom divertido e a voz melodiosa tinham se tornado facilmente reconhecíveis. Eric, o filho do CEO que se tornara trainee aos poucos treze anos de idade. Embora alguns o olhassem torto simplesmente por existir aquele grau de parentesco que facilitara sua entrada na empresa, o garoto conseguira conquistar a maioria dos outros trainees e staffs com a gentileza e o bom humor de sempre.

     ˖ ꒰🍧꒱ Incluso nisso estava Woojin, de quem o mais novo agora estava alegremente fugindo. Eram melhores amigos e, tal como melhores amigos faziam, tinham discutido por algum motivo idiota, que levara Eric a correr por aí na tentativa de despistar o mais velho para escapar de levar um peteleco na testa em punição para qualquer coisa aleatória que tinha feito de errado ou qualquer jogo bobo que tinha perdido. Ria alto, primeiro porque tinha escorregado em uma curva e quase ido de bunda no chão, e segundo porque aqueles momentos com o outro lhe rendiam um formigar esquisito no estômago; fazia cócegas. Era agradável.

     ˖ ꒰🍧꒱ Ser alto desde sempre facilitava na hora de tomar dianteira correndo de alguém, e não fora nada difícil sumir das vistas alheias para se enfiar dentro de uma pequena salinha que quase sempre passava despercebida à qualquer um, por ser pouco utilizada. Obrigou-se a segurar o riso enquanto ouvia os passos do lado de fora indo e voltando, percebendo que o outro provavelmente não tinha entendido como diabos desaparecera com tanta facilidade. 

where  –  dove’s bedroom. when  –  a few days after harry’s death. who  –  @ccacoethes​ / dae.

Dove placed Dae’s drink in front of them on the table, taking good care not to spill anything. “There you go.” They usually didn’t take such care to be a good host, but it had been a good way to postpone what was to happen, next. Dread was an emotion Dove was rather unfamiliar with: everything they did, they did with conviction, without hesitation.

But they hesitated, now. 

Dove sipped her own drink – a steaming mug of strong black tea – as they tried to ignore the doubt rising in them. For a second, they closed their eyes, remembered the cruelty of the past days, and the fury raging through her. Dove had thought about this, and saw no better option. “I think we should break up.” 

The words fell from their mouth in quick succession, and Dove hoped Dae had heard them. No part of them wished the repeat them, after all. It was for the best if this was over soon, like a band-aid being ripped off quickly. Dove felt their heart hammer in their chest. Remember, they told themselves, you’re part of a war now.