griefswar - Tumblr blog

[griefswar]

evan knew he would come. it was the only reason he waited for him in this place all this time. or perhaps he had hoped and he hadn’t been willing to give up on that hope. it was a question of sorts and he isn’t exactly sure if he will like the answer; he isn’t even sure which answer he wants. his gaze never wavers as alastor walks up to him or when he closes his eyes breathing in the salt air. it is the sort of stillness only he had ever been witness to, the sort of stillness he had only seen here. evan’s gaze is steady but there are no words for the war in his head: the hope this is the end. the hope its the beginning of something else entirely. and then, alastor sits down next to him and he has his answer.

it is a heady thing: to be seen for the terrible thing he was and still be wanted, still be chosen. it is why he will test alastor’s devotion over and over again — if only because evan knows his is endless. if only because he will never get used to it. it will always be like this very first time: the sort of thrill that is unmatched, that makes all his blood seem like a small price to pay if it means having this for whatever is left of his short life. that’s all azkaban ever was. alastor might have already known but there was a world of difference in knowing and being confronted by it and oh, evan knows he will pay for this and more. but not now and not here. never here.

“you’re here now,” his words followed by the slightest of laughs, low and breathless as he leans back on his hands, his shoulder brushing alastor’s. he turns to look at him, “i had to know. if you’d still come. once you know what i am.”

there is a pull to this place,    steady,    thrumming.    so often alastor thinks he might just be able to wash his hands of this and walk away from whatever bleeding thing lies on the ground between them.    but he always comes back here.    and when he walks up the low hill he can’t even pretend to be surprised that evan is  already waiting.

  he pauses for a moment,    eyes closed against the sound of the sea.    alastor had strained to hear it so many times during his confinement,    sat and imagined this place.    he knows evan is watching.    ❛     you can’t hear it,     ❜     an answer to an unasked question    -    an offering to that morbid curiosity he is sure evan fosters for that place.    on a rock in the middle of the sea and not even the breaking of waves against stone,    it isn’t the kind of thing you realize until you try to listen for it.    he opens his eyes again and doesn’t feel any differently for having been seen.    there is blood on their hands and so much owed that has yet to be paid,    but there are no threats to make good on here.    no scores to settle.

 he sits beside him.

       *     alastor  ft. evan   (   @griefswar​​   )

[griefswar]

Sirius was not usually the first choice for a stakeout. Or the second. Or really, anywhere in the top ten. He was far too restless and tended to chase after trouble ; both of which were counterproductive — or so he had been told. But now, the Order was stretched thin. There were so many lives lost, he knew it would overwhelm him if he stopped to take count. 

It is supposed to be a simple mission: he is supposed to watch a warehouse for any signs of Death Eater activity and try to determine if it was a potential safehouse. It ended in a fight with those masked fuckers, Sirius barely able to make it to the apparation point with the three of them throwing curses after him. Well, at least he had managed to confirm Death Eater activity. 

He stumbles when he lands in the Order safe house but manages to catch himself on a nearby table. He is bleeding on the floor and feels light headed for a moment, giving himself a second to steady himself. There is a gash in his side, another one on his forehead but he is alive which is all he can ask for in these days. He looks up to see Roman watching him. 

He is still not fully used to having him here. His presence brings back memories he would rather not deal with , feelings he had gone a lifetime without acknowledging and he wasn’t going to start now. They had never been friends — their relationship always too volatile for that gentle word, always stretched too close to the breaking point until it had inevitably ended that way. But they had been something. They had been close. Once.

He grips the side of the table, offering up a sarcastic smile, “Ran into some of your pals.”

[griefswar]

vainglcry​:

who: devna & finn ( @griefswar ) where: the streets of london

Devna had spent far more time away from far sunnier places, but as she walked the streets of London for the first time in months she couldn’t keep the wide grin off her face. Sure, the sky was a dreary grey turning all the more somber as afternoon faded into evening. Sure, she’d left the city a war zone and returned to a massacre. But this–this dirty, busy city held something that so few other places in her long life had offered her: a reason to return.

Inhuman reflexes sent her from one roof to the next, feet landing whisper soft on each one as she followed Finn along. Not that she’d admit it to him, but she’d been on her way to the Finnigan’s flat when she’d spotted Finn weaving his way through the streets and, well. An even earlier reunion was all the better–but she’d still have her fun first. And if a part of her was nervous, that part grew easier to ignore with each roof.

But something was off–something even her happiness at seeing him again couldn’t overshadow. When Finn turned down an alleyway, Devna knew she was caught, and none too soon; the nerves she’d felt when she’d first spotted him were back tenfold, but with a far more acute fear this time. Still, uncharacteristically, she hesitated, waiting for him to acknowledge her, happy to follow his lead in this if in little else.

—

It would have been easier to apparate back home. A flash of pain traded for this slow hurt that dogged his every step. The sooner he got home, the sooner he could fix himself up before Rory saw him like this. It strangely felt like taking the easy way out and besides the apartment had a way of feeling too still at times when he was alone. The absence of something he couldn’t quite pinpoint could chill him to the bone. 

His injuries weren’t all that bad all things considered: a broken ribs, a shallow cut in his side, a leg that ached with every step after he had fallen off a roof and landed badly. Finn hadn’t seen the ambush coming and he usually did if only because he liked to avoid violence when he could. It became a necessity in his line of work though and the ongoing war had only heightened tensions, the fighting disrupting whatever supply lines the brothers had managed to set up. Finn doesn’t like what violence does to him ; doesn’t enjoy the fact that it manages to come easily when he gives in to it. Perhaps if things were different he wouldn’t even bother putting up a fight — he would have happily bled out in the back of an alley and call it rest well earned — but he still has his brother to get back home to. But then if it wasn’t for Rory he wouldn’t have made it this far. He wouldn’t have climbed out of his house’s window when he was eleven. He would have died in that place with his mother. 

He turns down an alleyway, a flash of pain crossing his features as he drags his leg behind him when he feels her presence. He isn’t surprised by the recognition, he always known when she was around but he is surprised by the wave of relief it brings. He had missed her. It was a simple thing but one that Finn had never allowed himself to linger on when she was gone. He does now though. He pauses, leaning against a wall, his gaze shifting to the top of the buildings. She wasn’t in sight but he knew she was near. “You can come out now, you know,” his voice slightly rough. He can’t help the smile when he finally does see her, “Most would stay away in the middle of a war. Not come back.”

[griefswar]

HARRIS , elijah 

…

feeling wells up inside of him,     the tenderness that will always live in his heart for caelan flutters back to life.    it is a relief to see him alive even if he does look more like a ghost than any living thing.    eli has always been impressed with caelan’s ability to drag himself along,    to keep standing even when he shouldn’t.❛     i know,     ❜     the sputtering of an engine back to life,    a kickstart to a tired heart.    he would like to believe that caelan means this apology,    he would like to believe that it will be the last one he has to hear.     ❛     i’m glad you’re around to say it,    ❜     he knows that should be the end of this,    that he should say goodnight.    but whatever resolve he’d maintained weakens slightly at the sight of red rimmed eyes,    the uncharacteristic sag in his shoulder.    he looks like he hasn’t slept in days.     ❛     have you been taking the draughts they’re giving you?❜

—

his lips curve in a ghost of a smile. he knows it is far too little far too late but it brings a strange sort of relief all the same. he can’t say he’s glad for this stubborn survival but good god he was glad for eli , for what the two of them had , even if it had proven to be shortlived. he still wants him , still wants that quiet closeness. he had known what it meant when he walked out of his apartment and had chosen to do it all the same. love meant loss, that was a lesson the war had taught him well. he is terrified of losing him , even more than he was in the beginning and he knows this fear would have only grown so he tells himself it is a good thing they are over and done with because how could he live like this? but he is so tired and he can almost see himself walking up to him, letting his head fall on his shoulder , eli’s arms moving to encircle him , to hold him there. “draughts? hm. yes,” the words are so unconvincing he follows them with a small laugh. “you know how those draughts are,” the sleep was never restful and they left him disoriented in the waking hours. he was no stranger to nightmares but they had been particularly bad lately. before azkaban he could still count on a couple hours of sleep at least , more if he was with eli. he shrugs, “it’ll even out in a couple of days.”

[griefswar]

Andrew Koji as Ah Sahm Warrior Episode 10 | Season 2

[griefswar]

woundcarved​:

fromruins​:

gideon is quite sure his arm will forever be numb, having held his niece for what felt like hours as he tried to rock her to sleep. if only his spell work hadn’t been so jumpy, causing the cradle to start and stop so abruptly - something he’s sure molly perfected many years ago. but it was no matter now. she felt so tiny in his arms, even if her cries were so loud he was sure it would wake her brothers, despite the spells. " she’s asleep, ” the whisper is so quiet, out of fear that ginny will somehow hear him from the kitchen, that he’s unsure if molly can even hear him. he plops down at one of the rickety kitchen chairs, accioing a butterbeer to where he’s sat, relaxing into his success.            “ i dunno how you do it, molls. ”  any of it, really. he’s always been in awe of his older sister, even when they were younger. but even with arthur, having to wrangle seven kids was quite a feat for the two. gideon knows that no one can fill the robes he’s left behind, but he tries to pop in every now and then to help with the load. even if he can, at times, make it more difficult.  (  though he likes to think they’re past the ron’s ear hands. )  “  how many minutes of quiet do we have, you reckon? before one of ‘em wakes up?  ”  he takes a sip of the cold drink, leaning back in the chair and tilting his head in her direction.  “  i doubt i’ll even get halfway done with this bottle.  ”

*     gideon  ft.  molly   (   @woundcarved​​​   )

…

molly is sat with head in hands when he enters,    his voice so quiet she has to look up to be sure she’s heard him.    she tried to convince him that she was better off handling ginny herself,    but then he wouldn’t be her brother if he gave in without a try.    she could never grudge him that.     ❛     taught you a lesson,    has she?     ❜     when he sits beside her she shifts to lean her head on his shoulder,    a contended sigh all she contributes for a few moments.     ❛     quite a lot easier when you’ve four hands.     ❜     there is a levity that masks the true depth of her words,    but molly trusts him to understand her anyways.

      ❛     well you’d better drink fast,    to be safe.     ❜     quiet like this rarely lasts,    but lately it has become increasingly difficult to enjoy it for what it is.    worry permeates the calm,    she finds her hands shake where once they had been steady.    molly wants to speak her mind,    wants to ask him exactly what he’s getting out of this war.    but it’s quiet,    and she’s tired,    and she can’t bring herself to conjure up the words.     ❛     they do adore you,    those boys.     ❜     they marvel at him,    their mythical uncle.     ❛     i think ginny is coming around.     ❜

—

he has been spending far too much time at the safehouse. the ministry has cracked down hard after the break in , as expected. the order is exhausted, their spirits dwindling. this is a war that has gone on for too long and there is no end in sight. they are all expected to pull their weight and fabian doesn’t complain ; he knows this is important work they are doing: fighting for a tomorrow but he has his moments when he wonders if the cost the war will exact is worth it. he thinks of his nephews and his niece in those moments and he knows there is no price he would not pay if it meant they would be safe. 

gideon had mentioned he would be dropping by molly’s later. he knows he is slightly late as he stops to pick up a bottle of firewhiskey but it is no matter. he knows he will feel better when the three of them are together — it’s something he needs in order to get through these times with a sane head on his shoulder. he knocks softly but the door opens, recognizing his touch. merlin, molly is a genius with these charms. he closes the door behind him, the silence telling him that they have chanced upon some rare moments of quiet. “but you know i’m ginny’s favorite,” he said with a grin as he walks into the room, catching the end of that conversation. “these are no times for butterbeer,” he teases as he accios a couple of glasses from the kitchen. “are my little demons asleep already?”

[griefswar]

nitwitisms​:

SHE KNOWS SHE SHOULDN’T WAIT UP. Blanket draped almost lazily over one leg, hair perfectly sprawled on a couch pillow, she could be a painting of sorrow. The kids are asleep, and Hera almost wishes they weren’t; maybe that would make him stop and say hello. Maybe that would make him look at her in the daylight, instead of only in the darkness. A door closes and she tries not to jump; tries not to feel her heartbeat speed up at the thought of him walking past. She has to time it just right, a deep yawn, eyes flickering open to see his back retreating until she carefully asks, “What time is it?” Four simple words felt so heavy between them. When had it become a game just to get him to sit down with her? When had she started caring so much? 

@griefswar​

—

zeus is quiet as he lets himself in, though it is less to do with any regard for his wife and more so he doesn’t have to answer any questions his arrival might entail. long gone are the days when he used to come home every night. these days he often spends the night at the office, in another’s bed , in one of the many apartments he owns around olympus. he stiffens slightly at the sound of her voice before closing the door behind him and turning to look at her. his wife is still the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. there was love there once but a man like zeus crushes love between his fingers until it’s ash only. it is not for him, this family. he is far more suited to war and even though he knows he is well capable of waging it alone he also knows he would want her by his side. there is a reason this marriage has lasted so long even in its dying, gasping breaths. “around 3,” he replies, loosening his tie as he walks into the light. he glances at her before tilting his head towards their bedroom, “coming to bed, love?”

[griefswar]

fromruins​:

woundcarved​:

IF YOU ASKED REMUS, HE WOULDN’T HAVE SHOWN UP AT THE BLOODY SAFE HOUSE. It seemed a moot point now, as he stood on the front step, looking right out of place in the brightly lit Irish hillside. A grey speck amongst the lush hills. Why they’d hid James and Lily here, he’d have no understanding of, but Dumbledore had always worked in mysterious ways. It seemed even after his death, he’d had a few moments of madness still planned for them. The knock on the door was quickly answered by none other than James himself; a laugh from Sirius behind him. “Oi, did you lot give me the wrong time or something?” he teased, although a sense of uneasiness settled over him. Remus knew he’d been more absent than not lately, but he’d hoped that they wouldn’t think the worst of him. 

Still, seeing them all now, Sirius and Peter standing behind James like they were waiting for a photographer to take a picture, he felt his stomach drop. That, of course, was not something he could show to any of them. No, so he kept his head down, pushing past James as if nothing was wrong, and plopped the bottle of firewhisky and the pot pie he’d brought from the Leaky down on the counter. “Risked a lot getting those for you, so you’re quite welcome.” Remus had been here already, of course, after everything that had happened. The fear he’d hoped, would bring them all back together; restring their bond, so to speak. In this moment, he felt like he was on his own island; an island he desperately wanted to jump off. He hopped up on the counter, pointing to some of the cattle paintings on the wall. 

“Nice artwork you’ve got. Is that a Picasso?” Remus was grinning, trying his best to make this feel like they were all sitting around the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. “Dumbledore might’ve been a bit batshit but he knew how to pick a safe house.”  

…

there is nothing quite like this,     nothing quite like the presence of these three,    all under the same roof despite circumstances that would keep them apart.    he’d seen several healers since azkaban,    and the curative powers of a particular redhead were a marvel in themselves,    but james swears this is the only thing he needs to feel right as rain.    he’s talking back at sirius,    something to the effect of i told you so,    when the door swings open and james greets remus with a grin.     ❛     nah mate,    you’re just in time.     ❜     clapping a hand on his back as he passes,    he gives remus’ shoulder a light squeeze.    time and war might have wormed its way in between them,    but to james nothing had changed.

      he trods after his friend before settling into a bar stool,    looking over at the painting in question.    ❛     do you reckon that’s his name?     ❜     he helps himself to the pot pie without second thought,    speaking through his first bite.    ❛     harry’s just taken to calling him moo.     ❜ 

…

this is losing a war  :  hiding in the middle of ireland, picking at smuggled pot pie from the leaky, surrounded by brothers. he wonders if they know it, too. but they haven’t seen the other side - not like he has. they are on the losing side of the war, he wants to scream. to let the feeling in his gut shake out of him, shaking them from their naive plans. they have let him into the safe house. they do not know what this means. that he could give them away, if he wanted.  ( if he wanted, he thinks, because he’s desperately searching for control however he can get it. ) but he knows it will likely end with him shaking on the other end of a death eater’s wand, betrayal spat out of his mouth in hopes for survival. 

     "  mate, he’s talking about the muggle painter,  ”  peter offers, his voice sounding far away from him, a small smile on his lips as if he has any real confidence in his answer. he feels a bit smug at the knowledge he has over james. it’s a playful jest, but he enjoys it all the same - it’s not often he finds himself in this position with anyone.  “  got a missin’ body part, i think.  ”  he adds after a beat later, mouth full of pot pie and eyes on remus - because of course he does. never knowing when to stop will always be his ruin. “ like his toe or somethin’. ”

—

there are still moments when he almost forgets that there is a war going on. they are fleeting and so few in between, weighed down by everything they had lost but sirius finds relief in them all the same. the four of them haven’t been together in a while and he had felt the absence keenly but it didn’t really matter, not with a bond as close as theirs. it was always the same no matter how long had passed. they might have been trapped in a safehouse in the middle of nowhere but the war was the furthest thing from his mind.

he greets remus with a grin and a fist bump before taking a bite from the pot pie. he waits until he’s finished eating before he speaks, “that’s not the painter, that’s that pianist,” he corrected peter, waving a fork and sounding all too confident for someone who’s wrong. “and it wasn’t his toe, it was his ear. and he cut it off because he was too depressed or some shit. which alright, we’ve all been there, right fellas? its just an extreme form of a depression haircut or something.”

[griefswar]

woundcarved​:​​

…

it’s enough to prompt a laugh,     tinged with sadness and offered to caelan with a light shake of his head.    how many years had he known him,    and how often in those years had elijah been eager to grind salt in his wounds?      ❛     you know me better than that.     ❜     his smile is one that fades into nothing,    where before it might linger into permanence.   azkaban had been punishment enough for both of them,    that much was written clearly on their faces.

      ❛     i voted against the rescue.     ❜     elijah is aware of the glances stolen at him all evening,    he may as well have bore marks where the other man’s eyes fell,    but this is the first time he meets caelan’s gaze since that night in his flat.     ❛     i’d hoped i wouldn’t have to,     ❜     but he told caelan he would stand by the words spoken that night,    as difficult as they had been to say.    no matter how badly elijah wanted to volunteer himself to go,    to throw his caution and words to the wind,    the truth was that he could not keep caring more for caelan’s life than he did himself.   and yet he was here because he cared still.     ❛     i thought you should hear that from me.     ❜

—

he has missed his laugh. caelan thought he had heard it often enough in azkaban, until it had turned into something cruel. he takes in a moment to soak in the real thing, his own lips turning in a smile. of course, elijah would never twist the knife even though caelan often thought it would hurt less if he had. anger was something caelan might have been able to deal with but he didn’t know what to do with this quiet acceptance. 

“i know—” he had figured as much. caelan’s life was not worth the risk the order had taken and it was certainly not worth the target on everyone’s backs now. he had known the risks when he had walked away. he had left because of them — because he knew that he wouldn’t come back; because he had never felt as if he should have returned from that death eater compound; because the cost of his life had always been too damn high; both then and now. his life had grown meaningless to him but he has hurt him in his warpath and he could claim that he never wanted to but it didn’t matter. eli is the best person he knows and he feels his loss in his bones. “i wanted to tell you-” he starts to say before pausing, “i didn’t think i would get to tell you,” the words cut like glass. everything that has happened and he still stumbles on his sorry excuse of an apology, “i’m sorry. for hurting you.”

[griefswar]

looking at him hurt. every time caelan steals a glance at him, he is painfully aware of the distance between them. of how it had grown from something he could cross with a smile and a touch to something he couldn’t even begin to consider. he had thought of him all the time in the darkness of azkaban. their last conversation had played itself over and over again until it took on the shape of something far more sinister than it had been but what caelan had tried to hold onto was the sound of eli’s laughter in the middle of the night and how it had wrapped itself around his bones, settling in his chest like something he could live for. it didn’t work though because if caelan had been that strong he would have never left in the first place and so he kept going back to his mistakes even as he had wished he was home instead. even as he knew there was nothing for him to go back to. He had known that when he had walked out — had known that elijah loved him for who he was and he had loved him with whatever was left of him but love was rarely ever enough.

there was an absence where once eli had been. it didn’t matter if he had always known this would be the way it ended ; if there had never been anything real to end in the first place. he had lost him all the same. caelan can’t go home because it doesn’t exist anymore and the order is trying to map their next moves but he is still so tired and he knows he will throw himself back in the planning, in the fighting, soon enough because what else is there left for someone like him but he wants nothing more than just a moment of rest. the room had somehow emptied of everyone else until its just the two of them left, something which he is suddenly keenly aware of. he knows he should apologize - he wants to apologize - he had promised himself he would apologize the first chance he gets but the words won’t come. still, elijah is about to leave and he knows he has to say something. “you know this is the part where you can tell me told you so,” his voice is filled with false levity, an attempt at light heartedness, “i’d deserve that.”

@woundcarved​

[griefswar]

woundcarved​:

 he  remembers  it  after  all  this  time    spent  in  self - isolation,    refusing  visits  or  calls  save  for  those  surrounding  order  business.    alastor  is  still  feverish  with  some  unrelenting  rage,    that  base  instinct  of  self  preservation  that  keeps  him  alive  despite.    he  has  ended  more  lives  than  he  can  count,    seen  more  violence  than  he  can  name,    but  no  sin  has  ever  amounted  to  this.    no  act  of  violence  has  ever  compared  to  what  it  felt  like  to  hurt  his  baby  brother.

        it  is  sorrow  and  shame  that  weighs  on  him  now  but  it  isn’t  enough  to  retreat.    not  enough  to  drive  himself  further  inward,    not  when  all  he  finds  is  some  abject  disgust  at  what  his  hands  have  done.    it  is  this  horror  that  makes  alastor  finally  seek  him  out  like  this,    finding  him  in  an  empty  room  at  headquarters.     ❛     julian,     ❜     he  announces  his  presence  before  moving  forward,    shoulders  heavy  as  he  crashes  into  the  other  with  the  entire  weight  of  his  grief.     ❛     i’m  sorry.     ❜     a  choked  and  unfamiliar  confession.    alastor  holds  him  tighter,    as  if  it  might  absorb  the  wrong  he’s  done.     ❛     i’m  so  sorry,  jules.     ❜

        *     alastor  ft.  julian   (   @griefswar​   )

—

it is not anger he feels but a distinct sort of helplessness. he knows how this goes — they won’t talk about it, won’t even so much as acknowledge it because that is not the sort of family this is. they will let this feeling fester until it rots , until its yet another nail in the coffin. alastor will drift further away from him and the thought still fills him with the sort of dread that’s impossible to see past. he will never fully understand the extent of what alastor carries with him and he will always be helpless in the face of everything that haunts his brother. julian doesn’t begrudge him anything , not even this. 

alastor refuses to see him after and it cuts like a knife despite everything else. it still leaves him feeling hollow. it isn’t that he’s surprised, only that he will always hope when it comes to alastor. he does not expect alastor to find him and there’s a joke ready on the tip of his tongue in that brief pause but he doesn’t get the chance. he is taken aback when alastor hugs him but he is solid and alive and god it is a relief to finally have proof of that. he knows his brother loves him , of course he does but there are times when he wonders if its love born out of obligation. it isn’t though and right then he can’t imagine how he could have ever doubted it. “c’mon alastor,” he says, his laugh a choked out sound. “i’m fine— it’s fine.” and it is. this is more than enough. he holds back tears, feeling like a little kid again ; the one who thought the world was as wide as his older brother. he has been around the world and still the feeling holds true. “you don’t have to worry about that or me or — you already do enough of that.”

[griefswar]

𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐟𝐬𝐰𝐚𝐫      —     a    private   multimuse    for    mm    featuring    original    characters,    as    imagined    by    fifa. 

𝟎𝟏.       name      ,      smth 𝟎𝟐.       name      ,      smth