The Push, the Pull, and the Promise: Exploring Couple Dynamics
The Unstoppable Force & the Immovable Object
This dynamic pits two strong-willed characters against each other. One is a driven, passionate risk-taker, while the other is grounded, methodical, and cautious. Their love story is a constant push and pull.
How it plays out: Their arguments aren't petty; they're clashing philosophies on how to live life. The "Unstoppable Force" might want to quit their job to travel the world, while the "Immovable Object" is focused on saving for a house.
The core tension: Can they find a way to meet in the middle without one of them completely losing who they are? Do they balance each other out or burn each other down?
Example dialogue:
"We have to take this chance. It's everything we've been working for!"
"No. We have to be smart. 'Everything we've been working for' means we can't risk everything on a single roll of the dice."
The Healer & the Guarded
This is a dynamic built on a foundation of emotional vulnerability and trust. One character is open-hearted, empathetic, and naturally nurturing, while the other is deeply wounded or guarded, having built walls to protect themselves from past pain or emotional wounds.
How it plays out: The Healer's job isn't to "fix" the Guarded, but to offer a safe space for them to open up. The Guarded character's journey is one of slowly, painstakingly, learning to trust and let their walls down.
The core tension: Can the Healer maintain their patience without burning out? Can the Guarded character take the risk of being vulnerable for love, or will they push the Healer away?
Example dialogue:
"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. But I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
"You don't understand... you can't. Just leave it alone."
The Shared Soul
This is a dynamic built on a deep, immediate understanding. These characters often feel like two halves of a whole, finishing each other's sentences and sharing a similar worldview. They are a team from the start, a united front against the world.
How it plays out: Their story isn't about overcoming their differences, but about facing external challenges together. Their conversations are filled with inside jokes and knowing looks. They are each other's greatest comfort.
The core tension: How do they maintain their individual identities within the relationship? What happens when their shared worldview is challenged from the outside?
Example dialogue:
"I was just thinking the same thing! Okay, so we'll tell him..."
"You know what's funny? I don't think I was ever really me until you showed up."
These are just a few templates, of course. The most compelling characters often have a blend of these dynamics. Think about what seeds you want to plant in your story.
What core interaction will define your couple's journey?
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as an aroace person I've realized my absolute favorite romantic ships are "absurdly tragic". They can yearn but can never be no matter WHAT and I eat it up every goddamn time...
They love eachother but one of them dies. They love one another once upon a time, but never found the courage until one (or both) of their mutual feelings have faded. One pines from afar while the other hates them with an unyielding passion. One is attracted to them, the other physically can't reciprocate. Things that have no happy ending. Things that can't be reconciled.
Give me love stories which can never be or give me death I say
It's worth to note that despite having a deeply intimate relationship with Thaddius himself, War14 does not back Blakk Industries. She is not interested in immersing herself any more than necessary into the politics of the Industries while she is the active generation, and is better known to let Thaddius handle the consequences of what he does using it by himself. She will not defend him or his company in any way if it is all the business side of things.
However!
She will also not allow harm to come to him if he is by himself, either. If they are in the same space together while he is not working and harm is promised or actively threatened, she will stand at his side. He is not being the corporate industrialist, he is being Thaddius in those moments and she will not let her precious time with him be taken up by some cowardly little upstart trying to make a name for themselves.
Pretty sure Thaddius keeps score in those moments...
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Ugh. Working on something new again after a few months of being horrified by my writing skills.
Trying to find a good rhythm. Anyway, here's what I have so far - unedited, word vomited and typed on my phone. Shit's all wonky.
"I won't fall in love with anybody."
Sirius heard the words, but they crashed against the stone wall of his will, falling pathetically into a heap of pity at his feet.
"I don't believe that for a second, darling."
The line on the other end was nearly silent, crackling with the sound movement until he heard the screeching of metal hinges and the cold, blunt thump of a closing car door.
He held the cold mobile phone to his ear with his shoulder while he fiddled with a fuse box on his newly acquired motorcycle— only the latest in an increasing collection of bikes he planned to enchant and sell someday. ("I'll get around to it," he told nearly everybody who asked.)
"Hermione, love, are you still there?"
"Yes, I'm-- hold on, I'm starting the car," she grumbled as the roar of her engine's vehicle overtook the speaker.
"Christ," he yelped, dropping the fuse box and pulling the mobile away from his ear. "Love, use the spell we talked about, I can't hear anything over your bloody car. You need a new one, I've told you a thousand times--"
"And I told you that I'd happily purchase one for you if it meant I'd have some peace of mind whenever you decided to gallivant across the countryside the muggle way."
"And I told you I can't afford a new one," Hermione's voice chipped in, now reasonably audible as the subdued groan of her vehicle indicated she had, in fact, used the charm Sirius suggested.
Hermione snorted on the other end. "The muggle way? Says the man with a garage filled to bursting with motorcycles--"
"Flying motorcycles," he corrected, fruitlessly.
"--and I've yet to see you actually perform a single enchantment on one, save for the original."
Sirius rolled his eyes and kicked the stand up to the bike he was currently tinkering with, and with a huff, rolled the machine into said garage. He cast a glance over the various gleaming bikes, a wide range of colors and shapes, before sighing and snapping his fingers to close door.
"I'm assuming you called with a purpose, darling," he said, more a question than a statement. He knew he wouldn't get an answer. The line cracked again, and he could picture her: her mess of wild curls would be piled atop her head, her face screwed up in consternation, fighting an eye roll as she slouched against her threadbare seat belt and gripped her steering wheel, at 10 and 2, knuckles white in annoyance (and fear, because despite her hesitation over buying a new vehicle, the current monstrosity she drove filled her with anxiety).
The phone calls started a year ago, after Harry had convinced him to join the modern age and get a mobile. They were nearly a decade into the new millennium, now, Harry told him.
It was all, the kids all have one now, and wouldn't it be nice to have some forewarning when Jamie and Al want to pop over without having to further obliterate your kneecaps kneeling at the floo?
Teddy eventually added that not everyone had an enchanted mirror, plus, enchanted mirrors couldn't even take party calls, Uncle Sirius.
He never remembered peer pressure being quite so bloody hard to resist, he told Hermione, the very first person he ever dialed on his new muggle device. She had laughed, a full cackling laugh that overtook the airwaves and filled his chest with its warmth (maybe there were some perks to mobile phones, after all). "Peer pressure is nothing compared to nephew-pressure, Sirius. These kids just look at you with their sad little eyes and suddenly you're thinking you could burn the whole country down if it would cheer them up, the little buggers."
"First-hand experience, love," he'd asked her.
"That Teddy is right manipulative little urchin," she laughed. "Harry taught him the bloody orphan routine."
Before the phone calls, Sirius had come to rely on routine, something he'd never thought to appreciate in his youth. Prior to his stint in Azkaban, Sirius lived every day "Flying by the seat of his pants", Euphemia Potter used to say. Dropping in on people unannounced, welcoming guests all hours of the day or night (provided they could pass Order-of-the-Pheonix Standard security questions).
After Azkaban, he couldn't really pop in or out if Grimmauld place at all, and visitors weren't necessarily popping in and out to see him so much as they were babysitting.
It wasn't until after the veil, after the war, that Sirius finally had the freedom to move about as he once had. But, with no one left from his world to visit, (Harry and his young family lived at Grimmauld with him, and Andromeda basically lived there with Teddy, too) the excursions quickly became errand-based.
He wandered out one day and found himself at a motorcycle shop. He only stepped in out of curiosity, wondering how the contraptions had evolved since his glory days. The salesman, a young muggle kid with a sheen of sweat across his forehead, started yammering on about this feature and that on this bike or the other, and before Sirius knew it, he was handing over a muggle credit card and riding the new bike back home.
Restlessness really kicked in when Harry told him that he, Ginny and the kids would be moving into their own home. It was nothing against Sirius or Grimmauld, but Ginny had fallen in love with the look of a little cottage outside of Essex; it had a large garden and the countryside was filled with trees for climbing and secluded enough for flying.
The emptiness in the house reverberated through every bone in his body. Sure, Andie still lived there with him, but she was often occupied doing whatever young grandmothers do in Wizarding Britain while Teddy was at Hogwarts. The silence sent pins and needles through his head. A week later, as he was riding home on yet another new lime-green bike, he caught sight of Hermione.
He shouldn't have been surprised to find the witch in Muggle London. He thought she should have been more surprised to see him in Muggle London. Instead, when he caught her eye, she set toward him with such determination that he hopped off the bike to greet her.
"I need your help," she said, completely foregoing formalities.
"Why,hello Sirius, it's so good to see you out and about on a day like this! How's the weather," he asked, voice kicked up a few octaves in mockery of a female greeting. His cheek fell on deaf ears as Hermione quickly and quietly shrunk his bike, pocketed it, and pulled him by the sleeve into a cold empty shop.
"I've bought this shop and I have no idea where to start," she began, chewing absently on the inner side of her bottom lip, and casting a glance at Sirius from the corner of her eye.
"Uh," he hesitated, looking around the dark room at the bare walls. He'd had no prior inclination that the young witch was looking to start her own business. "I s'pose the next step is to start selling stuff?"
The witch stamped her foot and groaned. "I know that part, Sirius! But I don't know how to set up a shop! I don't know the first thing about running a business!" Her face was now buried in her hands, groaning and muttering something about Connor and being more spontaneous. Sirius got the distinct impression she'd been manipulated and hadn't the foggiest idea of how to help her.
"Well," he said, knowing full well that he hadn't any idea how to start a business either, "I could help you paint the walls? It's muggle London, so we may have to do things the muggle way to avoid suspicion," he stated, the tail end morphing into a mutter only intended for himself. "Oh, and hey, we could build some shelves over here, put a sofa and table in this corner over there— pet, what are you selling?"
Hermione looked up at him, face red as she mumbled, "books?"
"You're not sure?"
"Yes. No, I mean, yes, I'm sure. I'll be selling books."
He nodded, taking another glance around the space before settling his attention on Hermione. "Good. See, you've got a plan."
Slowly, Hermione seemed to find her footing as they volleyed ideas back and forth over how they'd set the shop up, briefly discussing adding a secret Wizarding back room for magical texts.
"Look, you've got a perfectly serviceable closet here that we can add an expansion charm to, and leave it disguised for the muggles," Sirius showed her, opening the door to the musty utility closet. He wrinkled his nose and closed the door, mumbling something about Andromeda's cleaning and air purifying spells.
He wasn't surprised when Hermione admitted she was heading out to Grimmauld when she'd spotted him on his new bike. It wasn't a secret among his friends and family that he was slowly going insane in his house without anything to do. The growing collection of motorbikes in his garage wasn't a secret either.
He knew Harry and Andie were both concerned about it, thinking he was likely buying bikes left and right as some sort of coping mechanism for the shock and heartbreak of being magically resurrected and spit out into a world he hardly recognized. While the latter was true, he refused to admit that the purchasing compulsion had almost nothing to do with his change in circumstance and almost everything to do with pity for Grant, the small salesman, who Sirius now knew had triplets with his young wife and almost no money to feed the boys.
However, the speculation reached Weasleys and Grangers and now it seemed Hermione had taken it upon herself to put him to work. He should have been annoyed; really this was just another thinly disguised method of babysitting him, again. But painting walls and building shelves for Hermione's new shop was fun enough that he let it slide. At least the witch wasn't dropping by the house to chastise him for moping around and frivolously throwing his money away.
"What are you planning to do with all those bikes, then," Hermione asked him, rolling her paint roller across a tray, glancing at him with curiosity.
"What bikes," he asked, biting back an eyeroll.
"I see," she huffed, teasing in her tone. "The first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem, Sirius." He chuckled, flicking a pinch of Robin egg-blue paint in her hair, relishing the exaggerated gasp of offense.
"I don't have a problem, Hermione. I have a relatively normal collection of motorbikes for a man my age."
"Relative to what," she asked, siphoning the paint from her hair with her wand. "Weren't you just on a new lime-green one yesterday? You don't even like lime-green," she accused.
"I like lime-green," he exclaimed. "It's a much better green than other greens I've seen," he replied, dodging the incredulous look the witch shot in his direction. Unwilling to keep to the pretense, he deflated and admitted, "I'm not sure yet what I plan to do. Maybe I'll fix them up and sell them."
Hermione made a noise caught halfway between a hiccup and a guffaw. "They're brand new bikes," she reminded him, "there's nothing to fix up."
He scowled. "I mean, fix up magically. Like my first bike. James and I had a lot of good times on that bike. Really, I'm surprised no one else has leaned into that market, yet."
"They're too scared," Hermione agreed, turning back to focus on the wall she was painting. He turned to face her back from across the room. Her hair was piled on her head, held by her wand, paint spatters dotting across the back of her oversized graphic tee-shirt. He cocked his head in curiosity.
As though she could see his expression, Hermione continued. "Bikes are too muggle, and wizards, despite a whole war being fought over the basic human rights of all people, are still too staunchly convinced that muggle technology is inferior to magic. Marrying the two is seen as eccentric, too much like Arthur Weasley."
Sirius snorted. "Like as if they haven't married magic and technology already," he scoffed. "As if a wizard invented the radio base of the Wizarding wireless network." He painted in silence for a minute before adding, "and for Christ's sake, what about the Knight Bus, or even the bloody Hogwarts Express! Trains and buses aren't Wizarding inventions."
"True," Hermione conceded, placing her roller carefully on her paint tray and admiring her work, hands set firmly on her hips. "I think you should do it."
"Do what," Sirius asked, glancing over his shoulder, eyes catching on the slight jut of her hip and effectively dropping every other thought in his head until she spoke again.
"Open a bike shop," she encouraged him with an excited grin. "Join me in my entrepreneurial journey and go for it!" She bounded over to him, placing one hand on his shoulder and dragging the other across the empty air in front of them. "Picture it, 'Grimmauld Motors, producing Flying motorbikes since 1977!'"
He grinned, slinging his own arm around the witch's shoulders. "I'd hardly call that accurate, witch." She turned to him and shrugged. He guessed she probably hadn't realized that her breath caught at the surprise of his proximity, but he did, in fact, notice. He took that little hiccup and folded into into a a secret pocket he didnt realize he'd been filling all week. His secret pocket, which he later referred to as Pandora's Box, was slowly drowning in smiles and reactions from the little witch, moments he could see her blush, or instances he noticed her blush or smile, or the three to five seconds he lost all his words around her-- all filed neatly away in a deep deep pocket with a label on top reading I promise I don't have a problem.
"It's close enough to the truth. Wasn't that when you enchanted the original?"
"How'd you know that?"
She grinned, a small pink sliver of her tongue poking out between her teeth on the right side. Folded up and filed, he thought, trying to focus on her eyes instead as she sing-songed, "Harry tells me almost everything."
When the bookstore opened, the routine set in.
Sirius, excited to have had a hand in the shop's initial coming-to-be offered to help Hermione every couple of days, reshelving, stocking, general shop maintenance. It kept him busy and social. He couldn't quite tell if it was the work he enjoyed so much as they company, but that was neither here nor there, and the thought was never uttered aloud. But the company was nice, he admitted; Hermione had a warm countenance. Her tongue was as sharp as her mind and quick as her wit, giving both customers and Sirius regular friendly lashings. When the shop was slow, he found he rather enjoyed the stillness with the witch as much as the hustle and bustle. She never shied from making light-hearted barbs of his follies ("Please, Sirius, Harry knows you're hiding away at my shop right now. No, I don't think its morbid to celebrate Jamie's birthday on his grandfather's birthday-- I know you aren't really this emotionally constipated, please see your mind healer and work through this before the boy's party.").
Eventually, Hermione began dropping by his garage on weekends, to sit and watch him tinker with bikes. She asked unending questions about the enchantment process, which he had yet to attempt on any of his bikes, making sure she understood how the magic married with the machinery. He happily went over his copious notes on the spellwork with her, listening to suggestions and reworking his ideas to better adapt to the newer muggle technology.
Oftentimes, she would gently rib him to actually test the enchantments over tea or lunch. With a saccharine smile, or in many cases a rougher-than-necessary stab at his salad, he'd claim he didn't fully understand the muggle mechanisms yet and, "if I attempted something right now, it could have deadly consequences, love." She'd frown, roll her eyes, and carry on relaying all the details of Harry and Ginny's life in the country or some chatter about her customers at the shop. Sirius took great (covert) pleasure in watching her wave her lettuced fork around in the air as she recounted her tales, eyes sparkling with delight, her laughter filling him with a warm sort of wonder (a feeling which promptly was filed away with the others in Pandora's Bloody Box).
