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[karolinaandfrogs]

Flowers

A/N: There is no use of y/n because of my indescribable hatred for whatever that thing is. Also by saying this I just wanna say that I don't mind other authors using y/n as their main character. Just for me personally, I like it when my main hero has more obvious shapes, so I just dropped here my own character.

A/N: The reader is elf born. I like to mix the world of Tolkien and J. K. Rowling a bit so please, let there be no confusion of the main character for the house elves in Harry Potter.

Warnings: none

Pairing: Regulus Black x female!elf!reader

Words: 1,7k

"You're beautiful. As a flower.”

“Then, why won’t you make me yours?”

“Because every flower dries eventually. Each one of them becomes fragile with time. But not everyone has given their lives to the hands of time. No, some of us are cursed by it. We stay with heavy centuries on our shoulders as we watch the flowers vanish slowly.”

The library was almost empty today. This wasn’t surprising because most of the students were enjoying the day at Hogsmeade. Either buying gifts or just wandering from one shop window to another. November was slowly but surely coming to an end and as Christmas time was now, swiftly approaching the snow-covered school grounds, a festive but relaxed atmosphere was lingering in the air. Everyone excitedly awaited the magical part of the year.

Except him.

Regulus has never really liked this time of the year but that wasn’t the reason for the current state of his mind. Even Evan had told him that morning that he was grumpier than usual, but he wasn’t the only one to notice his friend’s despair. Regulus’ concentration in classes became loose as he struggled to pay attention to his professors’ interpretations. His marks took a quick turn down and before he knew that, he wasn’t at the top of his class. Many professors have noticed this sudden change in his behavior and one time even Professor McGonagall asked him to stay after the lesson ended. He’d be lying if he said that, it didn’t touch his heart, at least a little, when the usually strict and precise woman asked him motherly if he was alright. But of course, he hasn’t uttered a word to his closest friends, he wouldn’t confide in her.

And that’s why he was here, in the library, ready to get the post of the top student of his year back.

He was looking for a book to help him write an essay about the Salem Witch Trials for Professor Binns. He trailed his tired eyes along the leather backs of the books. He yawned and shook his head as if it were meant to cure his sleep deprivation. He grabbed the first book that looked somewhat useful and sat down at the nearest table. He took the first sheet of parchment he found in his bag, altogether with a bottle of ink and a quill. He took the book and started working on his essay. He was three words in when his mind started to wonder again.

“I’m too old for you, you know that right?”

“Didn’t you say, that elves age differently?”

“I did, didn’t I? But still.”

Hand in hand with his marks had taken a downfall in his appetite and sleep. He started to skip breakfasts and lunches and sometimes dinners. These days he’s always felt like he’d throw up any minute the little his friends almost shoved down his throat. The image of food touching his lips had begun to feel so unfamiliar. And it started showing.

When he saw himself in the bathroom mirror the other night his mind was unable to process what he was looking at. At first, he could only recognize the outlines of a young man. Although he could already tell that what he was about to see was rather ugly, he still reached out his hand to wipe off the water of the mirror.

The bathroom air was stuffy, hot, and heavy. The night behind the bathroom window was thick like a rich chocolate mousse. Almost as if inviting to dip a spoon in. And in the mirror stood a silhouette of a boy. His collarbones were sticking out. His ribs took more obvious outlines. He was staring at his outline and his outline’s gaze was fixed back at him. Each one of them looking unhealthy and miserable.

And all that for one simple reason.

His pride was hurt. His feelings were rejected. He was rejected.

The sound of approaching footsteps interrupted his train of thought. Some first-year walked past his table with an armful of books, mumbling something Regulus couldn’t understand, and disappeared behind a first shelf of books.

Regulus sighed. He needed to concentrate. He’s not going to let his intrusive thoughts put him down this easily. Especially, when he’s got a goal to achieve. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath in and out. Then he took a quick look at what he’s already written down. It wasn’t much, or, to be completely honest, it was merely a few words. He dipped his quill in ink again and started working.

“The Salem Witch Trials were a major event in the history of the wizarding world.”

“Reggie?”

“They provoked many witches and wizards who settled in the New World to return to their homelands.”

“Yes?”

“I thought you hated that nickname.”

“I don’t mind when you call me that.”

He snapped the book closed. He knew he wouldn’t get any work done like this. Plus, even tho he tried to occupy his mind, it always seemed to find a way for memories too painful to bear to float to the surface.

He quickly packed all his belongings and threw them into his bag. Normally, he would spend extra time organizing his belongings, but today he didn’t care. He just wanted to fall onto his bed, tuck himself under the sheets, and pretend he was already asleep so that when his roommates returned from the Great Hall, they wouldn’t try to convince him to eat something.

He exited the library and headed straight to the Slytherin common room. He was walking through the empty corridor when he heard someone call his name.

“Reggie?”

He froze. He knew this voice way too well. And so did he know the owner of this voice.

But he didn’t turn his head towards her. Not just yet.

He knew he wasn’t ready to look her in the eyes. Not after what she’s done to him. He hated her for that most ardently. He was bitterly swallowing the fact that he knew he would willingly go through all this pain all over again only if he could reach any possible closure.

And again he was disgusted by how pathetic this all was. This wasn’t the man his mother raised him to be.

His breathing got faster and he was starting to feel dizzy. He knew that he needed to get out of there. He wasn’t prepared for this kind of conversation.

“Reggie, please look at me.” Her voice was soft. Just like every time she spoke to him. But it was hard to tell if she had this tone of voice dedicated to him and him only or if she had spoken like this with everyone. Either way, to him she seemed angelic.

He turned his head. His dark hazel eyes met her steel grey.

In the bright afternoon light that peeked through every window in the corridor, he could see that her curves seemed sharper than normal. Honestly, she looked… tired. Her long honey curls were today frizzy and wild. There were dark shadows underneath her eyes. Her tie appeared to be oddly knotted but at the same time, the knot looked like it was holding on only by the power of pure will. Overall she looked like she’s got a few rough nights behind her. Just like him.

This was the first time since the last time they’d spoken that he had a chance to really look at her. Of course, they had classes together but he usually kept his gaze buried deep into the ground. He just didn’t have the guts to look her in the eyes.

“You know that we don’t have to do it like thi-”

“What do you want?”

His voice was way harsher than he wanted it to be. He could see that he hit the right spot when she twitched with a mixture of fear and nervousness. He should be happy about that. Then why wasn’t he? Why was he so afraid to hurt the one, standing behind all his despair?

“I wanna talk.”

“When we’ve spoken at last you made it clear, that you want me to keep my distance. So, that’s what I’ve been doing. And now it’s all wrong again?” Even he was surprised at how flatly he managed to say these words.

She paused, for a brief moment and when she spoke up again her voice was brittle. Her usual confidence with whom she spoke was gone. Now, she seemed almost fragile.

“You know that this is not fair Reggie.”

He scoffed, “oh? How so?”

There was a genuine hurt in her eyes and it immediately made him want to take back, what he said. But he couldn’t.

“You’re being mean. This is not the Regulus I know. This is not my Reggie.”

It was almost cynical to call him hers. They both knew it. It didn’t matter, how they called this whole situation of theirs. He wasn’t hers to keep. And she wasn’t his to look after.

The corridor was strangely empty. Regulus was thinking that anytime someone has to rush in and ruin this moment. Only, if it hasn’t been already ruined.

It was hopeless. Either way, they were doomed to fall apart. Of course, there were a few stories throughout history when an elf and a human had fallen for each other but these fairy tales always had the very same ending. When the wistful youth had washed off one of the lover’s faces and the long years passed there was only one left. And that one was chipped into pieces while hoping that something would bring their dearest one back to them. Cursing the wheel of time while wishing it would be them to break it.

How many romantic tragedies will pass before they learn their lesson?

There was a long silence in the corridor. Neither of them had anything left to say.

“Goodbye, Regulus.”

He knew this was about to come but he wasn’t ready for it yet. He didn’t respond. All he could do was to watch her leave him behind. As always.

[karolinaandfrogs]

illicit affairs

Alright girlies, so this is my first time posting on Tumbrl also English is not my first language so beware.

This is a short fic if i can call it that way, that i wrote a few months ago when i was feeling lower than your math grade because your teacher doesn't like you. It's my feelings and personal experiences merged into eight hundred words and I'm putting it on display for a handful of strangers on the internet instead of my therapist because honestly, who needs a therapist? I personally need All Too Well (3 months version) and I'll be just fine.

So, my dear little fellows, prepare for an angsty angst.

Warning: none

Words: 0.8k

At first, you feel nothing. At least I did. It had been a month since I heard from him at last when he sent that message. I remember sitting on my friend's couch when it happened. I hadn't heard from him for so long so I thought that now he wanted to apologize. What else, right? This is how it had to be because this is the way things are meant to be in the books and movies.

I've realized I've lost feelings… I'm breaking up with you.

I couldn't hear what my friend was saying. The blood was rushing to my cheeks. Everything was so loud and so quiet at the same time.

Denial.

This is all wrong. He doesn't mean it. It's just because we haven't seen each other for so long. He couldn't just suddenly fall out of love. He fell first and didn't fall out when I gave him no hope for nearly seven months. This is not fair. I don't deserve this.

They say that when you lose someone beloved the world will turn black and white, but that's not true. It still has very bright colors, but you can't see them because right now you're looking at the world through a pair of sunglasses. There are moments when the glasses slide down your nose just a little but enough for you to see the actual tones that are still very present. And that is what you hate the most about it because how could it still be so colorful when you are drunk on all this pain? You cannot unsee all those different shades he has shown to you, because you know deep down that you cannot see them with anyone else.

He had painted me with my favorite tones just so that he could leave me standing with a dry paint palette in my hands.

I love you and I won't lose you.

He's aware that a part of me won't leave. The years will pass, and we will get old but that tiny naive snippet of a hopeless romantic girl who believed that when you are fifteen and somebody tells you they love you, it means something. And that part will still stand right at the spot he left it. Time won't turn her honey hair silver, nor will she give her wrinkles. She will let her stand there, with dust gathered throughout the years, on her blond curls. She might hold her hand or just stand beside her so that the shadow of the girl wouldn't feel lonely.

Yes, she. My mind is convinced that the time is a woman. An older Victorian lady most likely. And I'd like to think that she keeps these small fragments of us and keeps them somewhere safe. They say that Time is cruel but I don't believe that. I see her as a companion. She mustn't keep us so she simply takes only small parts of us to cherish and with a heavy heart, she lets go of the rest. In her arms quietly awaits death yet life. That's why she can't hold us. Each piece she collects is us, stuck at some point in life, so she knows it will never leave her and accepts it as her own child. These children or sometimes even adults will not get old. Not anymore. They become landmarks in time. They're created when something happens, something that marks us for our entire life, and from that moment there is only before, after, and them. Time laid a dust layer on their clothes and put some in their hair.

One day maybe he´ll turn his head to make sure I'm still there. The realization that I am not might hit him and he will realize what he has lost. Or maybe he won't. He won't even turn his head instead he'll show me his back. As he already did so.

The first week at school was a living hell. He hit me right in all my weak spots and caught me unprepared. Then he rubbed the salt in the wound.

He didn't even look my way.

I guess, that's what it is like to date a person you see almost every day. When it comes crumbling down you will fall with it.

It's like a hungry homeless cat. It sticks to your side once you show a bit of empathy and you'll never get rid of it.

But his eyes are no cat's eyes. They have the most beautiful shade of blue I've ever seen. They remind me of the quiet before the storm. The stilling silence while the clouds are already fighting wars. This kind of blue is his and only his. This kind of blue that for a moment looked at me like I was the greatest sin and the purest piece of heaven. This kind of blue has never been truly mine.