#blissember

@kidovna and I (@wolfstars_) are back with #blissember2021 prompts to put the BLISS in December ❤️ Hosting on instagram, but you can also post here or on A03 (Collection BLISSEMBER_2021).

Open to all kinds of contents: art, writing, edits etc.

hope you’ll enjoy this little piece here :) I’m actually proud of myself, since it’s the first thing I’ve finished in a lot. I love this blissember’s prompts, and I hope to be able to partecipate to all of them!

In the text you’ll read names that will probably make you wonder what the hell you’re reading… Don’t worry! Those are some new characters, from the fanfic I’ve been writing for almost a year, now. Context will be given either in the next days of blissember, or posted here on my tumblr.

Dear Mum,

Today the air’s cold, for the first time in a while. It surprised me, I was not ready, at all. It’s not snowing, though. Dad says it won't snow until at least November (but then, again, he also said it wasn't going to get this cold until at least next month).

The first week of school has gone by, longer and even more dreadful that I’d predicted it to be. Since the very first day, Diana has insisted to take me out on the Pitch, always saying she has to practice her new strategy with someone actually skilled, and, since Albus and Adhara have refused to put up with this nonsense, the most obvious choice was me. I know why she’s really doing that, and I know that Adhara wouldn't have missed a single opportunity to breathe the green and wet grass of the Quidditch Pitch. And also, Diana is a monster on the Pitch, even her new, unpracticed method seems flawless. But, honestly, I’m grateful for it, and for all of my friends.

My mind sometimes forgets. And, before guilt spills in and through me, it’s beautiful. It’s warm, and peaceful, and quiet again for fragments of time -though short, not even enough for a second, let alone a lifetime- and it’s bittersweet. Because my ribs still hurt. And so does my chest. And so does my head, full of memories of you.

I don't know how many times I’ve fought the stupid urge to cuss in this letter, but you hated it. You said that it made me sound ugly, and that I was too pretty for that. If you knew how many fucking times I’ve felt like screaming every word that sounds hideous. Because that’s how I feel. You taught me to never keep anything inside, to never be ashamed of my emotions, and to always speak them out-loud. I don't think you’d like to hear me doing that, now. But you can’t, can you? You can never hear anything again. You can't hear my emotions ever again. And I have so many… too many. Overwhelming me. Flowing into unknown, with not enough time to even process them. And I had in mind to say a lot to you. A lot. A lot. A lot.

But I’ve barely said “I love you”, and you’ve left so early. Too early. All the things we’ve left unsaid, they weigh on me deeply, day after day. But, I suppose, that’s what grief really is, isn't it? All the laughs, the confessions, the fights, the hugs, the midnight talks, the complaints about Dad, our Love, left unsaid… lingering in the, now thicker, veil between you and me. It’ll become like a comfortable silence, sooner or later, and grief’ll become somewhat pleasant, maybe even sort of warm and enjoyable, and I’ll wish it to never go away. Because that’s you, and that’s us, and it’s more magical than magic itself.

Maybe you’ll never write to me again, or constantly send me sweets behind Dad’s back. And you’ll never hug and kiss me each time I’ll come back home. And you’ll never take me to King’s Cross again. And you’ll never tell me again, for the millionth time, how you and Dad met, or kissed for the first time. And you’ll never call me Scorp again, or even call me at all. Maybe you’ll never wake me up, in the middle of the night, with an Howler, just because you promised to sing me Happy Birthday every year, right when the new day began. And it hurts. It hurts so much, I can’t breathe. But that’s what has made those memories even more special and unforgettable. And I’ll never forget how much I’ve loved you.

I still love you Mum. And I miss you forever.

Always, your Scorp.

I refuse to put my name on this monstrosity. Merry Christmas to y'all who celebrate it

blissember day 5, prompt: reunion

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Remus Lupin was exhausted. The first-years had been particularly difficult today as they all were overly excited for the festivities that night before the holiday break. He’d had a troubling time getting them to settle down for their very quick lesson on the drawbacks of having to use defense magic in the snow. It really wasn’t much, just explaining the quite simple aspects of slowed brain function due to cold, and lack of being able to easily use spells that provide fire or sparks. He knew they were kids, and they’d be super happy to move out of theory and into actual spellwork after the break, but really, it was the end of the school day - couldn’t they wait to release their energy after his lesson was over?

Remus decided to head right back up to his chambers and relax - some hot chocolate would be nice - then sleep early. He didn’t have anyone to celebrate with, besides, so what was the point of joining a rambunctious bunch of hormonal teenagers for a dinner that would be much nicer on Christmas when half the school was gone?

He ignored the fact he used to be one of those hormonal teenagers.

He was almost to his rooms when an owl suddenly swooped down around a corner - it nearly beaned him with its claws, then dropped a thin, light piece of parchment that fluttered down onto his head.

He picked it up, and there was no explanation, just a hastily written “He’s cleared” in what looked like McGonagall’s handwriting. He pushed down the excitement that bubbled up because surely this was meant for the wrong person. Who was the “he,” what was the “cleared,” that couldn’t mean anything. So, sighing, Remus stuffed the small paper into his pocket and continued on his way to his rooms.

He opened the door and froze.

Surely it was a hallucination because there stood Sirius Black, the man he hadn’t seen but most longed for in twelve long, long years, standing in front of his bed and looking quite nervous but openly excited because his mouth quirked up into a hopeful smile when Remus came in.

But he reached for the now-crumpled paper in his pocket that said “He’s cleared” and he allowed himself to hope just for a moment, connect the dots and believe he was connecting them correctly.

And he just stared, for a moment, before he spoke without thinking in a near whisper, “Sirius?” He felt as if he spoke any louder the spell would break then he’d be alone again, staring at his empty bed with no one there waiting for him.

But, with a tiny, tiny smile, eyes watering, Sirius said, “Remus.”

And Remus immediately crossed the room and threw his arms around the other man and held him so, so tight, and suddenly both of them were wracked with little sobs as Sirius buried his head in Remus’s shoulder. They both muttered each other’s names over and over until Remus pulled back and cupped Sirius’s face. He traced his fingers over his high cheekbones and slightly crooked nose and plump lips and handsome, beautiful face.

“I never thought I’d see you again,” Remus said in a shivery voice.

“I thought of you every day. Every single hour, Moony, I-” Sirius’s voice broke. He rested his head against Remus’s. “But now we’re together.”

“Now we’re together,” Remus breathed.

"Come on Bev, open your mouth and try my white-balls-nog cocktail"

"I'll flip your eggs if you don't take that away from me"

Beverly is a great cook, but whenever she joins Richie, the Losers never have a clue what those two are doing. Honestly, neither Richie and Bev. But they find it extremely fun, so they keep trying to find the perfect eggnog cocktail recipe.