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[crookedkingdcm]

MULCIBER , douglas

who: orion selwyn ( @crookedkingdcm ) where: douglas’ apartment.

     ORION HAD ALWAYS BEEN LIKE MORNING DEW. There and then gone; a constant part of his life, always when the sun rose, often disappearing when the sun went down. It was how it had to be, especially as the battle raged, and his father began to notice that he was slipping. Not just in his practice, although the dark arts seemed less and less inviting these days with Orion by his side. His loyalty to the cause, his intensity in a fight; day by day he cared less and less. What were they fighting for really? Some notion that seemed so antiquated that only old men were teaching their sons to fight? 

     His fear of his father was all that kept him in line; all that kept him from running away. Doug knew he’d find them. No matter what corner of the Earth he decided to hide on, his father would find them. He’d never let them be, not if it meant his image. And that was why, when having dinner with his father and not with Orion, that when Orion’s name dropped that Douglas realized he was no longer looking at morning dew. He was looking at a thunderstorm. 

     Doug couldn’t go, not yet. Although he already knew what awaited him at home, and his heart thudded in his chest loudly as he tried not to show his panic. Orion’s name on his father’s lips only brought terror to his very bones, a terror that he didn’t quite know he could experience. He thought he’d always been scared of the man seated across from him; always though he’d known the devil within. Doug hated to admit when he was wrong, but bloody hell, if what he’d felt before was fear, then this monstrosity inside of him was some other beast. 

    His father made the mistake of leaving for the restroom, and Doug quickly made his escape, apparating away to his home and throwing up any protection spell he could think of as he practically knocked over the front door. The smell was what drove him to the living room, and then the floor, sticky with blood. Godric, no. Orion lay so still that for a moment Doug thought that his father had truly done the unthinkable. But then, a short breath, and he was by Orion’s side, cradling his head as he felt tears prick at his eyes. “I’m so sorry,” he said, softly, carefully wiping away some of the blood on Orion’s cheek. “I’m so… This is my fault. I should’ve–I should’ve known he would find you.”

    Doug’s break down wasn’t quick, but it came on like a storm, tears falling on Orion’s cheek like morning dew as he bowed his head, knowing what he would need to do to end all of this. 

—

ORION HAD LONG SINCE given up any illusions about who Doug was ; of just what he was capable of. Orion had always had a way of turning a blind eye to truths he did not have the strength to face. He had liked to call it self preservation when it was something else entirely. But he there was no room for cowardice in love.

Orion knew who Doug was and he had always loved him because he alone saw the parts of him that no one else did. He had seen him when the morning sun shone on his curls rendering him in the softest light and he had heard his laugh and seen his smile — the one that seemed to be only for him. He knew there was more to him than his father, more than the cruelty and violence that had been forced on him since he was a child. 

Orion had thought it was him coming home when he had first heard the whoosh of the fireplace. The smile had fallen from his lips when he saw his father, his wand already raised and poised for attack. Orion had barely had the chance to take half a step back before the curse hit him with its full force and lifted him off his feet, slamming him in the wall behind him. In a sense, he was hardly surprised. This was always going to happen but God he wished Doug was alright. 

The seconds bled into each other just as his screams faded until his voice was too hoarse and his body too broken. Every moment was a flash of blinding agony but Orion tried to hold onto his sanity ; tried to hold onto the image of the two of them slow dancing in this very room. 

Orion didn’t know how long he was left there in a pool of his own blood. The pain was excruciating but he faded in and out of consciousness, trying to find his way back to the thread that had always held him together. And then Doug was there and he was pulling him in his harms and even though the pain was unimaginable, it was still far better than a moment ago. It took a few seconds for his voice to reach him and longer still for him to comprehend them.

“Shh-” he tried to say through the blood filling his mouth because he could hear the anguish in his voice. It was a struggle to speak and he let his head drop against Doug’s chest. He lifted his hand to wipe a tear from his cheek and when he spoke his voice was barely intelligible, “You’re here- you’re here—”

[crookedkingdcm]

MCKINNON , marlene

who: mason mckinnon ( @crookedkingdcm ) . where: the leaky cauldron .

“OI, SCOOCH OVER, WON’T YOU?” Marlene slid into the booth beside her brother, leaving him little space as she quickly leaned over to grab ketchup from the side of the table. The Leaky was full tonight, and as such Marlene felt bad about asking for a new booth after she’d horrifically spilled some of her pot pie all over the seat. Feeling too lazy to do anything different, she instead forced Mason to share, quickly munching on a crisp as she was sure Mason stared at her in disbelief. “This is why you can’t take me anywhere, yea?” she said. “Unless it’s with Doe, then I behave, yea?” Around her brothers, it was easy to admit how much she loved Dorcas. They all seemed to know, so she didn’t have to stop the words from her tongue. Still, sometimes it felt strange that everyone could see how she felt but Dorcas. Maybe that was her own fault, but the wix was practically family at this point and Marls was scared of fucking it up. At least with Mason, though, she could speak openly. 

—

MASON COULDN’T SAY he was surprised. Spending time with his siblings was never boring thought it was always up for debate whether that was a good thing or not. Marlene never failed to brighten up his day and his eyes glinted with amusement, “Fine but only because no one I know is here,” he says as he moved over to make room for her. “Or I wouldn’t be associating with you,” he teased before raising an eyebrow at her mention of Dorcas. He understood why Marlene was hesitant to pursue her feeling for them even if it was obvious to everyone who saw them together could tell that they were meant to be together. Mason could only hope the two of them would stop looking for excuses and figure it out sooner rather than later. Marlene deserved the world. “If only they could have seen you now,” he grins, “Feel like it was one of your finest moments.” 

[crookedkingdcm]

BONES , amelia​

WHEN HE WAKES UP, THERE is a sense of overwhelming relief and it feels like a betrayal, somehow. All she can do is watch him as he comes back to himself, all she can do is try her best to keep the fear and panic and relief from showing on her face. But she feels lost, off kilter, and she thinks that may be what scares her most of all. It is easy, when they are together: she can forget those months where hearing his name felt like an open wound. But she can’t think on it, because then the fear seeps in–no, the logic seeps in. No one has ever held her heart except him. There is a madness in letting him near it again. It’s unspoken, unspeakable, but he gets it, she knows he does, knows that the days where they lash out and the days where they choke back down that easy intimacy come from both sides. Amelia is balanced and controlled; she does not falter. But when those thoughts race in–her controlled burn turns into a wildfire if she lets it.

Their eyes meet, but all she can do is stare at him, expression horribly, mercifully blank. He is gone before she can will herself to move. Still, she sits as if frozen, moving only to tear her gaze from the now-empty doorway to the tangled mess of sheets beside her. It is too late to stop the spiral, was too late the second she awoke; if she is to follow him, she has to go whole. If. Will she? Tarquin’s expressions are a language she is fluent in, her skills gone rusty with disuse but still there, still returning. Clear as day in his eyes, she knows he didn’t want her to see this any more than she did. Would he want her to follow–and does she care what he wants, right now?

Twenty years. She has known him for twenty years–loved him for that long, too, even if the type of love has changed over time. No matter how much that part of her that cringes away from anything as unnecessary as emotional attachment tells her to run, there was never any possibility that she’d leave him to face his memories alone. It seems she is too stubborn for her own fear. With a new surge of resolve, she is out of the bed, but even still she does not follow him immediately. First, she goes to the kitchen. Pours a finger of whiskey, downs it, pours another. She grabs that glass and one of water, and goes to follow him, not entirely sure which drink is for who.

It doesn’t take long to find him. Somehow, deep in her bones, Amelia knows just where to go; her steps take her to him as if following a trail, a thread. Now, she doesn’t hesitate: she makes her way straight to him. When she sits, she leaves some distance between them, one last border marked by the two glasses she’d carried. This one will be his to cross only if he chooses to. “Pick your poison,” she declares wryly, a furtive attempt to lighten the mood. Silence surrounds them, and she isn’t sure how to break it, is still trying to remind herself why she should. Why she wants to. They haven’t looked at each other since she sat down next to him; it was all too easily to follow his lead and stare out into the night. Now, though, she sneaks a peak out of the corner of her eye. It’s the same instinct she knows so well from missions where he’d come home bloodied and bruised: a need to remind herself that they’re both here, they’re both okay.

“I won’t make you talk.” Even speaking so softly, her voice feels loud in the quiet night. “But you can, if you want.” I won’t run from it, she thinks, and when he meets her eye, she hopes he can hear that message too. Whether or not he decides to—and she finds some traitorous part of her does want him to after all—she wonders if this is enough, if it would be enough for her. For so long, she faced horror after horror alone, shoving it down to where it can’t touch her. While she plans to continue doing exactly that, she thinks: I missed this. She thinks: maybe it helps to know you’re not facing down the world alone.

—

TARQUIN KNOWS HE IS RUNNING AWAY AGAIN. For all his talk of bravery, this is what he has always done. Tarquin has always run away from the things that had truly mattered ; he had never been able to face his own demons. Tarquin had always believed they made him weak so he had turned his back on them and put as much distance between himself and them as possible. They had always caught up to him though ; all his broken dreams and his mistakes. The thing is he does not know how to face this. The mere thought of Azkaban made his heart seize up in fear. It made him feel helpless - trapped in the dark without a way out. The very idea of letting anyone see him like that is unbearable. 

Tarquin had headed for the roof. It is slightly cold but he doesn’t mind it. The slight chill does its part in chasing the nightmare away. Tarquin sits down against the wall, leaning his head back. It is easier to breathe in the open air ; his gaze steady on the pinpricks of light. His eyes are heavy and yet he is scared to let them fall shut ; sure that he will see the same images again. A part of him is surprised when he hears her footsteps but a part of him always knew that she would follow him. Since when have they left the other in the dark? 

He is torn between wanting to be alone and relief that he does not have to be. 

He doesn’t look at her as she makes her way over, sitting down next to him. He is acutely aware of the distance between them. A few years ago he would not have thought twice before crossing it. Such a simple thing and yet it seemed like giving in. The corner of his lips curve up in a slight smile when she spoke. Tarquin knows he shouldn’t drink but his nerves are still shot to hell and he knows he can trust her with this. He reaches for the shot, downing it in one quick go. 

He looks at her properly when she speaks. Tarquin knows that she means her words ; that she is prepared to meet whatever this is head on but then Amelia has always been his strength. Tarquin knows how easy it would be to lash out. He could easily pick a fight that would leave them both wounded. In a manner, it would be comforting in its familiarity. And yet, he knows that it would cause irreparable damage. Tarquin doesn’t want to hurt her anymore. He knows she is trying. Maybe he can as well. 

He looks at her for a moment before letting his head fall against her shoulder. A single moment passes and then he feels her fingers in his hair. It soothes something inside him. He squeezes his eyes and there is no nightmare lurking behind his lids. There is just the cool of the night and her fingers in his hair. Tarquin is surprised at the ache in his throat. He stays like that for a long moment ; he lets them have this thing before raising his head once more, leaning it back against the wall though they are closer now. “Wouldn’t know where to start-” They are honest words. He would trust her with his life but he doesn’t know how to trust her with this. “It’s-” Azkaban. The word turns to ash on the tip of his tongue. He glances at her, “I have had these-” he tries again but nightmares seem like such a trivial word ; something he should have left behind in his childhood. Tarquin digs his nails in his palm, his shoulders falling in a shrug as a dry laugh escapes his lips. “It’s nothing I can’t live with.”

[crookedkingdcm]

MCKINNON , myles

HE’S WOKEN BY THE CREAK OF A WINDOW,   and for the first time Myles thinks there might have been some merit to Rabastan’s insistence after all. He sits up from where he’s crashed on the sofa, feeling for the pistol on the table beside him before making his way towards the bedroom. It’s difficult to make out the figure, but moonlight streams in from where the other has entered and the familiar shape comes into view.

Myles observes another moment, wondering why the hell sneaking in had seemed like the most logical of answer to this particular problem. He tucks away the weapon in his waistband, approaching as slowly as he can before lunging forward, locking the imposter in a hold from behind.   “   Bang,   ”   a whisper against Rabastan’s ear, he’s grinning at this moment of victory.   “   You’re dead.   ”

@crookedkingdcm​ (ft. rabastan)

—

RABASTAN IS SURE there aren’t eyes on him but if there’s one thing in the world he doesn’t take risks with, it is Myles. Rabastan’s life is utter chaos and hell he likes it that way. He wouldn’t know what to do without the gunfire or the unparalleled thrill that comes from winning ; crossing the other cars seconds away from the finish lines. Myles is his safe place ; the calm in the middle of the storm and Rabastan would like to preserve the peace he finds with him. 

People get desperate when they lose and he didn’t want anyone to have any sort of leverage over him. Especially not this sort of leverage. It was better to go in through the window rather than give away the building. Rabastan barely had time to adjust to the dark before Myles has a hold on him. He grins at his words and a moment later he’s being tipped forward on the bed. Rabastan tries to flip them over but Myles has him pinned down and he laughs ; the sort of easy laugh he only has around Myles. “Solid strategy if someone does sneak in. This should stop them.”

[crookedkingdcm]

MCKINNON , myles​

——

IT HAD BEEN A STARTLING EASE THAT LED HIM HERE. He told himself he would leave when it was over; that he was here for one thing. But what started as a quick fix had even more quickly revealed its strings. There was a history between them; no matter how easy it had been to come together again, they were heavy with shared loss and that had always been a truth Myles preferred to ignore. 

Returning to the place they’d once shared felt strangely like a homecoming——Myles hadn’t expected that. And though the question of why tugged at him, he told himself he wouldn’t care for the answer. He should have taken the chance to leave before Rabastan woke, but there was something remedial about the familiar rise and fall of the other’s breathing, about the silence. In the year that passed he had convinced himself he hadn’t felt the absence, but laying awake now it was an acute sting.

So stupidly, foolishly, he stayed. Myles didn’t have an answer as to why, at least not one he’d give. And when Rabastan finally stirs, he claws at whatever bit of regret he can muster.   “   It was late.   ”   A hand reaches across the small distance, landing on the bare skin of his arm. Myles eyes land there too, focusing on trailing his finger tips down his skin because he can’t meet Rabastan’s eyes. He needed this. Some part of him needed Rabastan still. And he wouldn’t admit it.   “   I was tired.   ”

—

RAB NEVER THOUGHT about why he had kept their apartment. It wasn’t that he was waiting for Myles to come back ; it was just that it felt wrong to get rid of it and it had always felt wrong to come here without him. Myles was everywhere in this place and when he had tried in the very beginning it had felt like losing him all over again.

“That’s why you stayed?” His words are quiet, edged with the sort of foolish hope Myles had always brought out in him. He should know better - he does know better and yet Myles always happens to him all over again. He knows it means nothing ; that there could be no going back. There is grief between them but before that, wasn’t there love too?

Myles hands trail down his side and Rabastan props himself up on his elbow. It would be enough to just be here with him for a little while. Myles hand curves around his neck, his fingers brushing against his jaw and Rab can’t help but lean into the touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. He had never known tenderness like this ; he had forgotten what it felt like.

His movements are slightly stilted as he dips his head, his lips brushing along his collarbone and then against the hollow of his throat, a ghost of a kiss more than anything.  “We’ll blame it on the alcohol,” he says as he pulls back, his words accompanied with a small laugh, though he immediately wonders if it was the wrong thing to say. He changes the subject, trailing his nail over a scar on his chest, “How did you get this?”

[crookedkingdcm]

MCTAVISH , thea

…

HIS EYE ROLL CAUSED HER TO SMILE; A SOFT THING THAT FELT ALMOST NATURAL AT THIS POINT. They always spoke this way; she the positive, he the negative, combining together to become something whole. Thea knew that, in theory, they could survive on their own, but she had never wanted that. Her brother had been her anchor. As evidenced by when he was gone, Azkaban with its hooks deep into his skin, Thea had crumbled. She’d pushed away those that she loved, had pushed away what she loved, and buried herself in her work. Still, she survived. Thea stood on her own two feet, or rather, sat in Tarquin’s kitchen, feet gently swaying as she drank from her glass.

“Mm, not too much longer I don’t think,” she said. “Which is a right shame. I love when we get to work in Paris.” She hopped up with a quick squeal. “Speaking of which…“ Thea shuffled some clothes around in her bag before finding a small box, tied neatly with a bow and passing it to her brother. “Got your favorite from that bakery right across from the muggle museum.” Thea would never remember it’s name ( so if the shop were ever to move she’d be completely out of luck ), but, the bakery had the best macarons in the city. At least, in her humble opinion. 

—

TARQUIN COULD NOT count the number of times talking to Thea had grounded him in one way or another. He has always liked to tell himself that there wasn’t a single person he couldn’t live without, that no matter how much it hurt in the moment he would always be able to go on but when it comes to his sister, he harbors no such illusion. She is the only person he has never been selfish with. 

“I’m sure something will turn up again,” he offered with a small shrug. “If you like it there you should get out of this fucking country,” Tarquin is unable to help the suggestion. It would be safer for her somewhere else ; hell they both know that it be safer for her even if it was just Muggle London. He fears that its only a matter of time until she gets hurt ; until she gets caught up in this war as well. The smile on his lips when she hands him the box is small but genuine. Tarquin has always been partial to anything sweet and Thea has always remembered his favorites. “Thanks,” he says as he opens the box, holding it out to her. 

[crookedkingdcm]

PATIL , jai

@crookedkingdcm​

Working at the Leaky Cauldron was never his goal in life, was never part of the grand plan he once hoped to achieve. And yet here he was, wiping down wooden tables riddled with rot, serving patrons so drunk they could hardly ask for another. There was a time, some twelve or so years ago, when he excelled at charm and potions while attending Hogwarts; he tutored his classmates when he could, and toured the halls as a Hufflepuff prefect in the evenings. Jai’s future was bright, everyone could see it. He would be the best healer there ever was - kind, intelligent, passionate. For a while, he was. The wealth of knowledge housed inside his head startled his colleagues. How could he know, without any research, which poison infected their patient? Which creature the bite was from? Which treatment was most appropriate? And when they assumed he was a former Ravenclaw, he let his Hufflepuff pride show - however smart he was, he was kinder still.

Jai was never quiet about his dreams and never hid away who he wanted by his side through it all. He loved her - he had loved her since they were children playing in meadows, loved her since they were teenagers skipping stones on the Black Lake, and he loved her still with his broken heart. Their daughters were the lights of his life, they shone brighter than any professional success ever had. He only wished their mother had stayed to chase away the darkness that remained.

Attempting to raise two infants alone was nearly impossible. With neither of his parents still alive to help, and his siblings occupied with their own lives, he was left without any assistance. Hours at St. Mungo’s were long and grueling before, but after their arrival? It was impossible to maintain his career and parenthood at once. So, he chose. Jai didn’t regret his choice, but smelling the stench of day-old (or several days) soup in the pub’s kitchen did make him miss the cleanliness of St. Mungo’s. And yet, this was the only option left to him it seemed. He was able to work flexibly, rather than adhere to a strict schedule, and that meant more times with the twins. It pained him, it frustrated him, but seeing Padma and Parvati at the end of the day chased away any feelings of regret.

With a huff, he tossed his dirty rag into the bin that sat behind the bar. There was a lull, as it looked like patrons were returning to their jobs after a quick lunch break. The nearly empty pub was quiet now, save for relentless mewling of Juno, a cat who seemed to have adopted herself to the workers. They fed her and cared for her after it became clear she wasn’t going anywhere. “ Just you and me now, huh girl? ” He scratched under her chin affectionately, but his attention was distracted by the arrival of a new customer. He perked up to greet them, but any enthusiasm or sense of welcome faded from his face as his eyes met hers. A grim, joyless smile set upon his face. Jai could hardly believe she was here, but it seemed like her to appear right when he least wanted to see her, right when he most wanted to see her - right when he loved her the least and the most all at once. “ Passing through? ” Jai finally said. He hoped she would turn and leave, he hoped she would stay. But despite all his conflict, he was not looking forward to the conversation he knew was about to happen.

—

ZOYA HAD NEVER imagined herself to have much of a future at all but each time she had allowed herself to see beyond the next year, she had always seen him by her side. He had been by her side since that very first day on the Hogwarts Express when she had ended up in the wrong carriage. That was the first time she had ever felt as if she belonged ; as if her presence in the world mattered. Hogwarts was an escape from the house she had grown up but she had build her home in him. It was fated that no matter how many mistakes she made she would always come back to him. It was the only thing she had ever gotten right. 

Jai had seen her at her lowest ; had been there when she had fallen apart in his arms and he had never turned away from her. She had watched him grow into the man he was always meant to be: the best man she had ever known. Jai had saved countless lives including her own one too many times. Their love should have been a fairytale. They had been lucky enough to find each other so soon in their life ; had been lucky enough to be blessed with two beautiful girls. 

And yet, that was the very thing that had changed everything. Zoya had tried her entire life to run away from her mother’s shadow and yet as soon as she had looked at her girls for the first time, she had known that she was her mother’s daughter after all. She had waited for that spark. The flicker of unending love that everyone talked about. She had heard that every other feeling paled in comparison to it and yet the first time she had held her babies, she hadn’t felt a single thing. She looked at Jai and she saw her entire life but she never saw the world in her girls. 

Jai was enamored by them ; damn near everyone was. Jai used to weave dreams around their daughters but all Zoya felt was loss of a freedom that had slipped through her finger ; a burden so heavy she wasn’t sure if she could carry it. She knew there was something broken inside her that couldn’t be fixed - something that was damaged beyond repair. She didn’t know how to talk to Jai or Raveena - not about this. Not when their entire world revolved around those two babies. 

It was the worst thing she could have done and yet she had known the twins would be happier with Jai. She had known they would be loved the way they deserved to be. She wanted to spare them the hurt of a mother who could not bring herself to love her children ; after all she knew it far too well. 

She told herself that she was going to go back but then one month passed and then another and soon it felt too late to go back. It scared her - this dark thing inside her. Children could tell when they were unloved and she would not do that, not to her beautiful girls with her smile and his kind eyes. In some ways coming back to England was the hardest thing she had ever done and yet it was way overdue. It was an impulse, a call she could no longer ignore. She had always found herself back at Jai’s door time and time again.

She had stopped at the bar to calm her nerves, figuring that Jai would be busy at Mungo’s anyway. She is not prepared to meet Jai there and it stops her cold in her tracks. Her thoughts are a jumbled mess as she tries to make sense of the fact that he is here and she has never wanted him to look at her like that. “I-” she tries to speak but it feels as if there is a rock lodged in her throat. The sound of his voice sends her careening - searching for something to hold onto. She digs her nails in her palm, trying to steady herself as she realizes that as hard as she had tried to hold onto him, her memories had never done him justice. “What are you doing here?” she finally managed to say. It was hardly the most pressing issue and yet there was something that wasn’t adding up here. Jai shouldn’t be here. It felt wrong. “I thought you would be- why aren’t you at Mungo’s?”

[crookedkingdcm]

THE STACK OF PAPERWORK isn’t appearing to grow any smaller despite the fact that Mason had been at it for what seemed like hours. He was sitting on a table out on the terrace, the slight wind blowing through his hair, his third cup of the coffee growing colder by the side. He supposed it was his own fault for letting it get to this point but then he had always enjoyed the fieldwork far more than this. He is absorbed in his work, only seeming to come out of it when he hears the door falling shut and then the sound of Bowie’s familiar footsteps on the wooden floor.

The smile on his face appeared on its own accord as Bowie stepped through the doorway. Mason’s heart felt lighter every time he saw him, as if a weight he hadn’t even been aware of had been lifted off his shoulders. It took him by surprise every single time. As Bowie came to his side, Mason leans against him, letting his head fall against his chest He closed his eyes for a moment, only now realizing how tired he felt. Mason looked up, “Had a good time?”

@ofshelters​

[crookedkingdcm]

LAWRENCE , pippa 

…

THE WORDS ROLLED IN HER BRAIN, CAUSING A SMILE TO FORM ON PIPPA’S FACE. She’s quite certain that she hasn’t smiled this wide, this often, her whole life. Somehow Angel brought out the pearly whites; made her want to dazzle and shine. For someone who lived in her old Chuck’s and jeans ripped not because it was cool but because she didn’t feel like buying another pair, any kind of shine felt as though she were brand new. “Well, it only took me about ten minutes to sneak inside,” she said, with a raise of her brow. “So, I’m glad you didn’t push me away.” Little did the other woman know, it was more than that. Pippa was so bloody glad that Angel smiled upon seeing her; came by her side without any hesitation. There were few people in her life who’d approached her with such care, but that was Angel, wasn’t it? Even if they’d only known each other for a month, Pippa already knew that about her; Angel cared. 

“You lot should really work on your security measures,” she said, tilting her head. “Although, I won’t lie, this isn’t my first time sneaking inside.” Pippa had, not too long ago, gone inside and sent a stink bomb along with a special charm to the head coach for using freed House Elves without paying them. It was inhumane, but it had worked. Eventually. The smoke bomb was just quite fun. 

—

IT WAS HARD for Angel to feel like her old self but Pippa beaming at her most definitely helped. It was almost as if she couldn’t look away from the way Pippa’s smile lit up her face. How could she feel anything but lucky when Pippa was looking at her like that? Angel caught herself. She knew that she had a tendency to be reckless ; to fall hard and fast until it either ended up in flames ( sometimes, literally ) or with her growing bored and moving on without a second glance. This could be different - a voice inside her head whispered — but then wasn’t that what she thought each time? Still there was no reason she couldn’t enjoy a beautiful girl’s company when there was little else that was capable of making her feel any better. “Not after you put in all that effort,” she teases, “Makes me feel special.”

Angel raises an eyebrow before laughing slightly, “I’d be very surprised if it was.” She said, “I’m sure you’ll find a way through whatever security measures they come up with.” Angel waved a hand dismissively, the grin reappearing, “Now let’s get out of here before someone sees and interrupts our date.” The word rolls of her tongue effortlessly but Angel makes no attempt to take it back. 

[crookedkingdcm]

BONES , amelia

AMELIA & TARQUIN ( @crookedkingdcms​​ )

SHE FALLS INTO SLEEP AS if her body has simply given up on her. It is always like this, in the before and in the after: They sleep when they can. They both know how rare it is for the other to catch more than a few hours rest; it never mattered to Amelia before whether those hours lined up and she doesn’t see why it should matter now. When she finally, finally, finally drifts to sleep, he is not home. It doesn’t matter. This is the first time she’s slept before the cruel hours of the morning in weeks. She is learning to accept that he will be there when she wakes up. She is learning to accept that whatever this in-between they exist in is close enough to a never-quite-lost love that she is safe.

At first, she doesn’t know what the sound is, doesn’t know where she is. All she knows is something is wrong and some instincts never fade. An hour of sleep, maybe two, maybe three, yet she is alert before she so much as opens her eyes. There’s another body in the bed with her: He has come home. It takes her another heartbeat to realize the sound that had woken her was his scream. The sheets are a tangled mess, his skin is slick with sweat, and for a moment in time she is frozen. It is too soon for this. Amelia is not ready for this. It has been enough, to have his presence in her life, in her heart. It is too much to seem him like this: Beautiful, troubled, vulnerable.

It would be a cruelty to leave him to his nightmare, though no one has ever bothered to call her kind. But this is a line, one she doesn’t want to cross: What demons plague him now that didn’t before? What new horrors haunt his nightmares? Amelia wants to know, and the thought makes her sick, because it’s too soon. Because it feels like a line in the sand that she can’t cross, won’t cross, but the wind has sent her tumbling over it anyways. A word falls from his lips, though she can’t make it out. His face twists into an expression of horror, of pain, and she is afraid he will cry out again, is afraid any noise will shatter what fragile resolve she has gathered.

She reaches out her hand, places it on his shoulder. Every inch feels like a battle, but she is a soldier, but she wears her strength like an armor. She can do this and keep that shield around her heart. She can face his demons and come out the other side in tact, whole. There is nothing she can’t survive, and she has reminded herself of this over and over. If there is anything she knows, it is that she is invincible. Grip tightens, shoulders steel, and she shakes him. “Tarquin.” The first word comes out like an order, a command, as if they are back on the field once more. It startles her enough that she softens. “It’s just a dream.”

The floodgates open, the panic rushes in. It has always been there, this urge to protect him. Once it was a need to protect him from his own reckless urges, now–now it is this. Awake, he would resist, he always does, always did– and why wouldn’t he when he can fend for himself just as she can? But he is still asleep. She is cruel and cunning but she can bear any pain but his. “I’m here,” she promises. “It’s just a dream.” If she repeats it enough, who will it comfort? “Come back to me. Come back to me.” It is not a weakness, she tells herself, to hope he does not remember her words.

—

TARQUIN HADN’T WANTED to fall asleep. Exhaustion had settled in his bones but he could not remember the last time he had gotten a good night of uninterrupted sleep. It must have been before Azkaban. Ever since then he had tried to stay one step ahead of the nightmares and that was when he was able to fall asleep in the first place. Tarquin got sleep when he could - when Amelia was curled up against him on the couch working on her paperwork and he could lean his head back and fall asleep for an hour or two with her steady weight against him or when he could lie down with his head in her lap and her fingers in his hair. 

The thing between them is still fragile ; it is still a thin thread they are walking on but it tethers him all the same. They don’t ask the questions they didn’t want to know the answers to. They don’t dwell on the meaning of this. There is a war raging outside and they don’t waste their time on such irrelevant questions. They know that they will come back home to each other and the knowledge of that is enough to light a spark of hope inside him for the first time in three years. He had come home late and the sight of her had made his heart stutter. There is still a part of him that is not used to having her in his life again. There is still a part of himself he has to fight everyday just to allow himself to have her again. He had seen her asleep and all Tarquin had wanted to do was lie down next to her. He had been careful, knowing she didn’t get much sleep either but Amelia had still turned towards him. It had made him smile.

The dreams came swiftly this time. A cell that was far too small and far too dark. The kind of cold that had made a home in his bones and he hadn’t really been able to get warm ever since. A presence that was far worse than death. Tarquin had never wished to get out of Azkaban the entire time he had been there. That was far too much hope for the place. No, he had only wished for death. Dementors fed on violence, on anger, on guilt and hopelessness and God knew Tarquin had enough of those. In many ways, he had been an easy target. He had tried to hold onto the people he loved - Thea and the Prewetts, the only family he had ever had and to her - the only person he would ever love but for a single happy memory, there were a thousand mistakes he had made and soon that was all he had left. 

He is telling himself that he won’t scream and then he is pressing himself back against the cold damp walls as the Dementors glides closer and there is no where else to go and it is only then that he lets the scream rip through his throat. It fills him with shame every single time. “Please-” he says under his breath, though the plea is always lost - buried under the desperation. He hears her voice through a haze - come back to me - but that can’t be right because she is not here and there is nothing left to go back to. Tarquin comes back to wakefulness all at once, following the thread of her voice. He sits up straight, breathing heavily and blinking his eyes against the darkness. “Too dark-” the words are panicked, as he reaches for his wand on the side table. “It’s too-” His movements are too frantic and he knocks down the glass but then the room is bathed in light and Tarquin finds it easier to breathe. He pauses for a single moment before turning to look at her. Tarquin flinches at the look on her face. He had never wanted her to see him like this. He runs a hand over his face. “Fuck-” 

The silence between them was dangerous. More so than any of the arguments or the blows they dealt each other. At least with those they always knew where they stood. This is foreign and terrifying and too much.  “I’m going to get some air-” he forces the words out, his jaw clenched. It isn’t entirely a lie - the room feels too closed in but he also wants to put some distance between himself and what had just happened. Tarquin gets out of the bed, picking up his shirt and pulling it on. He glances towards her once but he is at a loss for words as he heads towards the door.

[crookedkingdcm]

​MULCIBER , douglas

…

He’d never been a morning person. No, he’d always left that one to Orion, or to his father when he was a child. Doug had always been a good child; never rebellious, never out of line. Still, he’d liked to sleep in. It was the one toe out of line that he’d allowed himself. His father had never noticed, or if he had, it was the one thing he’d never commented on. The one freedom he was allowed held up into his adulthood, and most mornings he woke up to see the bed empty. A bit of fear always gripped his heart; what if this time Orion had left? What if this morning the dream ended, and the nightmare he was so used to crept back in under the closed door?

But then he’d hear a clinking in the kitchen, or the sound of the shower, and the fear that gripped him would release. This morning, he relaxed into the bed at the sound of Orion in the kitchen, the sizzling of whatever he’s making on the stove easing him back into comfort. After a moment of relaxation, he padded out to the kitchen, eagerly taking the mug of coffee from him. “Morning, love,” he said, gently placing a kiss on his cheek. In this moment, the world outside was gone; there was nothing but the two of them. He leaned against the counter, watching him cook, before smiling up at him. “Coffee and breakfast. What did I do to deserve this?”

—

THERE ARE MORNINGS HE STAYS IN BED. Doug is different when he is sleeping. He seems less burdened somehow. There is none of that haunted look in his eyes Orion sees so often, none of that weariness on his features buried under a charming smile. Orion is more than content to lie in bed with him on mornings until he wakes him up. He will never get used to the look on Doug’s features when he opens his eyes and see him - it is something that makes his heart skip a beat every single time. 

Orion cannot help the wide grin that spread across his lips. He doesn’t think he will ever get used to Douglas calling him love either. It will always feel just as surreal, just as sweet as the first time. He brushed his thumb over his cheek, “Well technically, coffee is part of breakfast.” He laughs before raising an eyebrow, “Oh, you know. You put up with me stealing the blanket.” He teases. The stove starts to smoke and Orion rushes to get the toast off it, “Never complain when I burn the toast every time,” he said pointedly before shrugging, “That sort of thing.” 

[crookedkingdcm]

to do

b

bella:

shleby 

[crookedkingdcm]

THIS PART HAD ALWAYS BEEN EASY ; they had fallen into each other as if no time had passed. Their hands still remembered their way around its each other’s bodies and they had lost time to make up for. Rabastan could taste want on Myles lips rather than contempt and he could have gotten drunk on the feeling. It was as familiar as coming home and yet there were new marks on Myles body he did not know about ; new scars that he did not know the stories behind. 

Later, he had fallen asleep waiting for him to leave. 

The silence that had descended upon them wasn’t exactly uncomfortable but it was strangely heavy, so unlike the simple pleasure of the past hours. Rabastan bit his lip to keep himself from saying the wrong thing. Instead he had closed his eyes, sure that Myles would not stay now that there was nothing for him to stay for. It wasn’t as if he didn’t understand ; it was just that he didn’t want to watch him go. He hadn’t expected to fall asleep and that too so easily but it seemed as if the closeness helped when nothing else had for the past year. 

Rabastan wakes up to Myles beside him. They aren’t touching anymore but the distance between them is small. It takes a moment for him to register it. The way Myles was lying so still, looking at him. Rabastan cannot read the look on his face but it hardly mattered when he was still here. A smile lights up his face ; it is as genuine as it is bright. “You stayed.”

@ghostswish​

[crookedkingdcm]

ofvcnguard​:

— — — amelia & tarquin ( @crookedkingdcm​ )

It wasn’t exactly that Amelia was lonely – no, she barely knew the meaning of the word, had never really been given the opportunity to, especially with Edgar around – it was just that sometimes her thoughts grew so damn loud. Drinking alone in her flat after a hard day at work or showing up at Alice’s with a bottle of something strong held plenty of appeal, but sometimes she craved the anonymity and noise of a crowded bar. And so she was drinking. Alone. And definitely not thinking about lovers lost or the feeling of a familiar hand in hers as her world fell apart once again. Definitely not. 

And she sure as hell wasn’t seeing that particular face in every dark-haired silhouette that entered the poorly-lit bar, just as she sure as hell hadn’t found herself checking the latest casualty list that had wound up on her desk for his name. That’s what had set her off this time, she figured – not him, but the list itself, the reports growing ever longer. Every day, more lives were lost on her watch; lives that, despite all her power, she was powerless to save. Not thinking about him was merely a product of the alcohol, of her mind’s blind attempts to latch onto something that wasn’t a mounting body count, as if this subject was palatable rather than something she’d ignored for months now.

Tossing a shot back, her gaze caught on someone across the bar – and held, as something like dread curled in her gut. Because, as it turns out, she hadn’t just been finding Tarquin’s features in faceless bar patrons, she’d been seeing him. But the dread felt like weakness and Amelia found it burned more than the liquor ever could, and so her back straightened and she held that gaze; the quick spark of annoyance was far more comfortable. When she crossed the bar to him, it felt distinctly as if she was marching into battle. “Didn’t think this was one of your usual haunts,” Amelia quipped, as if she had any claim over the bar. “Let me guess – here to cause trouble?” Against her will, she found herself scanning him, checking for obvious signs of injuries. Finding none, she worked hard to keep that traitorous relief from her face.

—

Tarquin has not allowed himself to think of her. It should be an easy thing by now ; hell it should have been the normal thing by now. He knew what it meant to sever a bond so completely that there wasn’t a single trace left of it anymore but as hard as he tried to convince himself otherwise, there would always be something of Amelia left in him. He had forgotten himself  after the carnival. And in the days leading up to the carnival. The truth was, he forgets himself every time he sees her and this is one mistake he can’t let himself make again.

 For someone who hardly ever drank, Tarquin spent a lot of his times in bars. It was one of the easiest places to pick a fight and Tarquin was always looking for one. It  usually didn’t take much and Tarquin does not know a way to deal with the absence in his life that doesn’t involve making a spectacle of violence. At least this way there was some physical proof of the way he felt inside: bruised all over. 

It is not hard to avoid places they could ever have a chance of running into each other. That is hardly something Tarquin would admit to doing but then he would also never admit that he had found himself guilty of walking halfway to her apartment on a sleepless night, that he still found himself looking for her in every room he entered. That in her absence he finds relief but also something he dares not name ; something that feels far too much like loss. It is better this way. He just has to remind himself of that fact every so often. 

Their eyes meet at the same time and Tarquin barely has time to steel himself before she is making her way over. He wants to be indifferent to her but instead there is a small spark in his chest as if he is anticipating this. It is the first real thing he has felt in a while. The realization makes his features harden, more angry at himself than anything else. Tarquin’s gaze flicks over her and the sight of the eyepatch still makes his heart seize up. “Wasn’t aware you kept track,” he replies, leaning back against the bar. Tarquin raises an eyebrow, his eyes flitting around the place before settling on her once more. “Something like that,” he shrugs, “Would it get me arrested?”

[crookedkingdcm]

LONGBOTTOM , alice 

WHO alice & tarquin mctavish @crookedkingdcm​ WHEN ear WHERE ??? who cares

They weren’t friends, and yet sometimes they were. Alice was responsible for his months in Azkaban for an admittedly sympathetic crime, but it was her job. Was she meant to turn a blind eye on the kettle that was once a man? Of course not. As time went on, though, she understood him more, his motivations and actions. Her respect was fully earned when he saved the life of her son and lost an ear in the process. At this point, she felt as if she owed him something. Lunch and trust, maybe, but that was all. Perhaps friendship, too. “ If that was a crime, I promise I saw nothing. “ She was telling the truth - she wasn’t exactly sure what she just saw, but she made sure to look away regardless. 

—

Tarquin wasn’t looking for new people in his life so he isn’t entirely sure how the fuck he happened to end up having lunch with Alice. He would have assumed that saving her son’s life would mean her being grateful enough to leave him alone but apparently Alice took that word in an entirely different way. Still, at least the food was good here. He raised an eyebrow at her insistence, “I have about enough drugs on me right now for at least a six month sentence,” he says in a completely emotionless tone, his lips curling up in a slight smirk, only wanting to push her. He leans forward on the table, “You want me to tell you more about my week?”

[crookedkingdcm]

DELACOUR , laurent

HE WANTS TO PRETEND HE DOESN’T SEE IT.   But when the shouts break out he knows he has to. Laurie is out of his seat in a moment, forsaking the hot meal that has just been placed before him in favor of escorting his sister away from the scene that has just unfolded. He’s ushering apologies to the staff as Angel continues to shout at the person that has clearly offended, trying not to laugh as he does so.   “   Sincerest apologies,   ”   she shouts louder, and he isn’t sure if it’s at him or not.   “   She’s very… passionate.   ”   

Once they’re safely out of the restaurant and into open air, Laurent releases her, stunned into silence for a moment as he takes a seat on a nearby bench. The look of exasperation on his face is only half real, considering the humor in his tone, but still he places head in hands with a sigh.   “   Do you ever wonder what it would be like to eat the meal before the brawl?   ”

@crookedkingdcm​ (ft. angel)

...

Angel had only gone over to the bar to get their drinks but it wasn’t her fault if men didn’t know how to take no for an answer. She had said so before she had reached out and grabbed the hand that was reaching for her and twisted his finger until she heard the satisfying crack. It was all downhill from there but Angel didn’t think his finger was really broken. And if it was then, well, he had it coming didn’t he? Maybe next time he would take a moment to think. The shouting begins at the same time and the next thing she knows, the jacket of one of the men is up in flames. 

It’s when Laurent drags her out and Angel has the presence of mind to switch from cursing in French to shouting in English. “Yeah well, fuck you,” she says over her shoulder even as Laurent pulls her out the door because she can’t not have the last word. “It wasn’t my fault!” She protests, crossing her arms but now that the adrenaline is wearing off, she’s realizing just how hungry she was. “Come on, we’ll find another place-” she swats his arm lightly, her lips curling in a smile as she adds teasingly. “Or I can always cook,” both of them know what a disaster that would be, “What’s the worst that could happen?”

[crookedkingdcm]

MCTAVISH , thea

…

WORK HAD IT’S PERKS. One of them being she had endless books to sort through; endless histories that felt like stories rather than truths. Thea was amazed by how real the words were; how they described a world that was their own, despite how removed in time they were. Today, though, after a particularly long and tiring day out in the field, all Thea wanted was to go home. Luckily, Tarquin’s portkey was on her at all times ( easy to get back to London when she was away, after all ), and she stumbled up to his door, shaking the dirt off her jacket before slipping inside.  “Please and thank you,” she said, managing a smile of her own before hopping up on the counter in his kitchen. 

Still, despite her exhaustion, Thea noticed the hint of struggle in his smile. Tarquin was her best friend; the one person in the whole world who she would give up anything for ( and had, even though she didn’t blame him for it ). Thea would always know when he was pretending. A part of her just wanted to ask what was wrong, but instead, she let her bag slide off her shoulder to the floor and she leaned back. “Y’know, today we found these plates in an excavation just outside of Paris,” she said, grinning, trying to tell a story to get his mind off of, well, wherever it was. “The things were six hundred years old. Can you imagine? We’re trying to figure out how they managed to keep them all this time, but I’m fairly certain it was without magic. Muggles are quite amazing sometimes.” 

...

TARQUIN HAS ALWAYS GUARDED HIS FEELINGS CLOSELY. He knows that his little sister is different from him in every single way that counts — better than him in every single way which is why even though Tarquin wouldn’t do it for anyone else, he makes an effort for her. He doesn’t want her to worry about him - it’s not her job to look after him, it’s his even though he hasn’t exactly done a good job of it in the past. Tarquin has never been a good pretender though and he knows that Thea would be able to tell immediately but he is glad that she doesn’t push him on it. He nods silently and tops up a glass, handing it to her.

Tarquin leans back against the counter as he listens to her talk. He knows she is trying to distract him and he has always liked hearing about her job, if only because it is obvious that she loves it but his mind is miles away even as he tries to bring himself back to the present. He finishes off his drink, the acidic taste burning in his throat providing a momentary relief. “Yeah,” he nods, “Wizards aren’t nearly as fucking great as they think they are.” He punctuates his words with an eye roll, reaching for the bottle and pouring another glass for himself. It’s not as if Tarquin has ever done well with small talk but he doesn’t want her to see him crack around the edges, “How long will you be working in Paris for?”