ofregulus

[ofregulus]

lucius-a-malfoy​:

Lucius had just finished his last task of the day for work. It was his favorite type of case–Improper Use of Enchanted Object. An older, former Ravenclaw had charmed a pocket watch with illegal time magic. It could only set things back just a few seconds, nothing so strong as a time turner, but the Ministry didn’t take kindly to any kind of time magic. That didn’t mean Lucius didn’t though. Lucius filed had filled out the notes for the case to be that it was an charmed wrist watch, but the wizard would give no information about the magic it would perform. Lucius would get a watch cheap off the street and place some easy charm on it and, well, pocket the pocket watch. If anyone asked about his own spell use when charming the wrist watch? Well he was checking to see if he could find the spell since the old man would give no information. 

He was just about ready to head out of the filth of Knockturn Alley when he caught a familiar bob of brown hair out the corner of his eye. Well it wasn’t any good for Regulus to be here. Not if he was going to fulfill Lucius’s hopes for the boy. But maybe if he met him halfway it would be enough. He pulled a pair of gloves from his robes, sliding them on–he would go to the pub, but he wouldn’t risk contact with it–and followed the younger wizard into the bar. 

“You’re so conscious about it. Afraid someone will see,” Lucius said casually, noting Regulus’s gesture with the mark as he sat beside him. “You should be more proud of it you know. It means your mind’s in the right place. That’s an invaluable thing.” He sighed, stretching slightly on the stool. “Perhaps all I want is a bit of company after a hard’s day work, is that so much to ask?”

malfoy wasn’t necessarily wanted company, but he wasn’t unwelcome either. he trusted him very little, sure that nothing would get back to narcissa and then to his family unless it was because there was something malfoy wanted from him. regulus hadn’t even been particularly talkative, always far more reserved, but he would have to watch his tongue just the same. he’d always been charming and smooth but that kind of charm set off regulus’ defenses; being around malfoy made him wary, sure there was a serpent hiding underneath the cordial facade. 

the comment on his mark was an unwelcome one, not eager to draw more attention to it. knockturn alley was more for the unsavory, those who did their business in the shadows, away from the ever present eyes of the ministry. of course that was common knowledge, though, and it wouldn’t be unlikely for aurors to be in the area, waiting for someone to make a mistake. being outnumbered had never stopped them before and he doubted it would now. “i hide it because revealing it in public is tacky.” protesting that he was unafraid sounded childish to his ears. “regardless of where i am.” 

out of everyone that was a black or had married into the family, regulus hated him the least. he wasn’t complicit in how he’d been treated as a child and he had the right values, wasn’t a traitor. he’d have brushed off narcissa if she were the one to join him instead. “fine. but i’m not much for conversation, so i hope you’re prepared to sit in silence.”

[ofregulus]

hellsbxlls​:

bellatrix was happy for her husband, she really was, but the prying eyes that had come with his nomination were far more grating on the nerves than she’d anticipated. even here in knockturn alley, a place she felt so at home, people whispered and talked behind their hands, and she was in half a mind to make a scene, but she refrained. and for such temperance, she deserved a drink.

it was a bit hypocritical of her to be so appalled at the sight of her cousin here. after all, wasn’t she at this disease infested dive bar, same as him? but she was on track to be the minister’s wife, and he, he was supposed to be upholding the black family name, the little shit.

“walburgha wasted all those years trying to teach you manners. if she could see you now…” she muttered, elbowing him aside as she made a space for herself at the bar. “reggie, you have the subtlety of a punch in the face,” she said, mostly to get on his nerves, her hand coiling around the wrist of his tattooed arm, pulling it closer to her to let the mark peak out (barely, but enough that it was dangerous for both of them), just to prove a point. “when someone carts you off to azkaban for waving that thing around, i certainly won’t be coming to your rescue.”

a pause for her to order a drink, and, bringing the chilled glass to her lips, she asked, “so. my darling cousin. what have you done today that will disappoint me? be honest. i’ll be less cross if you’re forthcoming about it.”

of course. if there was ever even the slightest chance he would be found by someone, it would be a member of his family; the last people he wanted to see. he would play nice at holidays, though bellatrix had never been the type to do the same, and he held his tongue out of deference for his elders whenever the words had gone from teasing to outright cruel. though it was never without a bit of a laugh to himself that he thought of bellatrix as old. 

his fist tightened a little at the nickname, and more at the mention of his mark. in knockturn, people getting hexed and cursed would go more or less unnoticed, a muggle stabbing would have a blind eye turned to it. but he held off, if only because he didn’t want to hear her voice egging him on. it would absolutely grate on his last nerve. 

“i only lacked manners because i saw it was you,” he replied, tone flat and empty, unimpressed by his mother being brought into the jab. “and speak for yourself. i’d ask the same of the wolves that raised you but your sisters at least pretend to be respectable, so i know that you were raised correctly. if anything, it’s most likely because you’re aware that you’re deeply unlikable and have made up your mind that if anyone is going to dislike you, it’s going to be on your terms.” 

he took a sip of his drink. “it’s working out fantastically, by the way.” 

that was another thing that he felt safe enough to be doing later. as a child, he would have been hiding away behind his mother, or his brother, afraid to say three words to his cousin out of fear but as an adult, as the heir? bellatrix could maim him, flay skin from bone, but at the end of the day, he would be alive because she wouldn’t dare kill the only successor to the black family name. and as an adult, there was nothing stopping him from doing any last one of her threats to her first. even if muggle acts like that were far beneath him. 

he rolled his eyes at her implications, shaking his head a little. “i suspect my mere existence disappoints you, don’t act like it’s on a day by day basis and depending on what i do. we both know better than that.”

[ofregulus]

when: january 9th, 1978 

where: the white wyvern, knockturn alley

who: regulus and open

the only good thing about the sketchy passageways of the alley, regulus had noted a few years ago, when he first started lingering around knockturn alley, was that no one wanted to be seen there. the chances of him running into someone he knew was exceedingly slim and even if someone was to come across him, they wouldn’t be able to say anything. anyone who wanted to keep a good reputation wouldn’t be caught dead in knockturn alley. regulus didn’t care about his repuation; not anymore, anyway. he couldn’t be a bigger let down than sirius, who was in turn, compared to their cousin, not nearly as big a disgrace. 

as far he was concerned, regulus was golden. untouchable. 

what had started out as him carefully traversing the alleys after finding interest in the dark lord had grown almost into cockiness. he wasn’t brazen enough, or tacky enough, to flash his face around all sorts of areas, each more unsavory than the rest, but a pub was just a pub. people would just assume the leaky cauldron was busy and move along. 

he glanced in the mirror behind the bar sensing someone behind him, tugging his sleeve down to cover his dark mark more fully. “can i help you or are you going to continue hovering?”

[ofregulus]

morsmordrerp​:

Amongst the chaos stands REGULUS BLACK. They are EIGHTEEN years old and stand in the ranks of the DEATH EATERS in the face of war.

You are delicate for a boy who lives in a glass house. They sneered and mocked you for wearing your heart on your sleeve but you brushed it off because you knew that your sincerity made you special. Always one to please the masses, you struggled finding your place in this world standing on your own two feet. You knew how to be a brother, a son, a friend, but never yourself. The pressure increased by tenfold once your brother left and you were quickly locked into a destiny that you weren’t even sure you really wanted. Though you could never voice that, because when your father looked at you, he wished he was looking at your brother. He thought you to be weak-minded, spineless, but in truth, you’ve become hard and indifferent, scornful of the mould you’ve been fitted in. You’ve always cherished the people around more than you did yourself; you loved them and will love them even after it all falls apart. With your brother gone and the world divided, maybe this war is what you need to find your voice and finally prove them all wrong. 

REGULUS is portrayed by NICK ROBINSON and is currently TAKEN.

10 Easy Steps to Creating A Monster

Step One: You are born as the second son into a wealthy, pureblood family. The youngest between you and your brother and your cousins, you are coddled and babied, treated as though you are made of glass. Despite your family being the ones to treat you like that, like you are something fragile, to be protected, they would view it as a detriment when you grow older. It seems that you are only encouraged to be gentle as a toddler, they expect you to grow out of it, grow into the man your family requires you to be.

Step Two: Your brother is a god in a world built by your father’s words. Everything he does, you do. Every action, any word, mimicked, like an echo. It was the worlds longest game of shadow and if your brother was ever annoyed by your actions, you always shied away. Harsh words sent you into a corner, upset at being spoken to like that. You’d never been treated anything but kindly and that sheltered treatment had made you unprepared for the ways brothers could be. That kind of reaction was frowned upon by your father and, unbeknownst to you, he was forever grateful that you were second born. Still a son, still able to bring dignity to your family and carry on the family name but none of the legacy would fall to you. It was a title, pure and simple. Your brother was the one he was proud of. 

Step Three: You find interest in quidditch as a child, whizzing around on practice brooms inside the house despite being yelled at by your mother. Your brother had done it, surely it was okay regardless of her words. Your eyes had sharp focus and you were poised to become a seeker later in life, when you would find yourself at Hogwarts. It’s your one pursuit your father approved of, hoping the sport could toughen you up but you also found interest in music, in piano and violin and even guitar, though you lose interest in the last one rather quickly. You are your mother’s son, even if you’re not particularly close. You are gentler than either of your parents would like, unable to turn yourself into the harsh creature your brother could. Its after your father compares you to your brother that you make up your mind to earn his praise. 

Step Four: You grow up during the Dark Lord’s rise to power. Though neither of your parents fall in line with him, the espouse his beliefs and it appears to you to be a one way ticket to getting your father to approve of you. Your brother seems scornful of the Dark Lord from the beginning, never seeming to care when your father went off on tangents about mudbloods and how they infiltrated society. You always listened with rapt attention, vying for the chance to be the favorite but it seemed to be your brother by default, even if he was brash and spoke back. At least he had a backbone. 

Step Five: Word gets back to your family thanks to your eldest cousin of your brother’s failure to uphold family values, to be sorted into the only proper house. Your parents are furious and, despite your envy of him, you worry for him. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and you were already fond of your brother. Him being away at Hogwarts gives you a chance to reset the status quo, to prove to your parents that you can be just as good as your brother. But you still crumble when you are spoken to harshly and you still fight back tears whenever you are yelled at. Always doing your best to dance around your father, to be good and tough, every time you earn a modicum of his approval, you mess up and are compared to your brother once more. One step forward, two steps back. Hogwarts is only two years away, you need to be able to prove your worth quickly. 

Step Six: Unlike your brother, you make your family proud. Your brother is the black sheep, sporting red and gold instead of silver and green like he’s supposed to. When you go to Hogwarts, the hat that analyzes you give you pause. No one reminded the hat that you are only eleven, still a child, still fragile. You’re desperate for approval, it had said, speaking into your mind and making you flinch in surprise. You’d do anything for it, wouldn’t you? It hadn’t expected an answer, it seemed to have already known, plucking the answer from your head before you’ve properly thought it. Despite your parents’ disapproval at home, talking about your brother’s failure and expecting you to follow suit in distaste, your eyes search the hall in a panic, trying to find your brother in the sea of red and gold for reassurance. Maybe he expected you to be sorted in with him (rumor had it the hat would respect if you asked to be placed somewhere) but you are too scared to ask. too shy to find your voice without a guiding hand on your shoulder or your brother standing behind you. you let the hat ask all sorts of questions, examining your mind. it suggests Hufflepuff for a boy as gentle and soft as you but the fear that flashes through your mind makes it reconsider. you are almost a hat stall, taking four minutes and thirty eight seconds to sort. for every reason the hat suggests another house besides Slytherin, your panic jumps in and for every time it suggests Slytherin, you feel a wave of pride, then it suggests you are asking for the wrong reasons. You’d do much better in Hufflepuff. No expectations. No pressure. You’d be happier. When you counter that you don’t remember ever truly being happy, it relents and you end up with silver and green robes. Each day, you watch your brother across the hall, trying to suss out if he was disappointed in you, or angry, or if he even cared now that he’d made a new family and seemingly left you in the dust.  

Step Seven: Despite being close with your brother at the beginning of your schooling, the rift between you grows bigger and bigger, until it feels as deep as the Mariana Trench and twice as wide. You want to be friends with his friends and for awhile, you succeed, but your housemates begin talking about the Dark Lord and what he believes in and more than one person a few years above you calls your brother a blood traitor. You wonder if they know you’re related, that your brother was the person you used to idolize but maybe they don’t care. The emotional, not physical, distance between the two of you only makes you drift further away and you find yourself becoming more embroiled with your housemates. There are rumors some of them would get His mark and permanently curry his favor. Bitterly, you think that it should be that easy, but even with your brother being a disgrace to the family, he’s still the favorite and you’re nothing but an echo. 

Step Eight: At the age of fourteen, you wake up to shouting, but it isn’t unusual. Your family is usually up in arms about something and you find yourself in the middle of a whirlwind of chaos as your house elf hands you a cup of coffee. Only this time, your brother is nowhere to be found. The yelling involves a note addressed to your father and, hesitantly, you ask to see it. It states that your brother has gone, that he’s left your family. You hadn’t been close in recent years, with you consuming all the Dark Lord’s propaganda you could get your hands on and having started to mimic the cruelty spewed by your classmates and parents about muggleborns ruining society, but you still feel as if you are falling. The coffee cup slips out of your hand, shatters on the floor, which only enrages your father further. He’s never been the man to shout, his anger was colder, darker, like thawing ice instead of a bomb with a short fuse. You seem to have brought a chisel, chipping out bits until he was focusing his ire on you. You understood why, through your brain refused to wrap around it. Your brother was supposed to be the heir, he had been trained for it, learned to smile with his mouth closed to hide the fangs and swallow his anger, but he couldn’t handle it. Instead of learning to grin and bear it, he had burdened you with the crown that was supposed to be his. Your family’s legacy fell on your shoulders and not a single one of the people in your family had seemed to think you were capable of it. Now they all needed you.

Step Nine: This wasn’t supposed to be your life. Being the second born meant that all you had to do was be respectable, marry and have a few kids down the line. It wasn’t what you ever envisioned for yourself, truthfully you hadn’t even seen yourself making it that far, but it was what was expected of you. Growing up, you’d always known you would have done it, because your brother was to be doing it. What would have felt like an honor previously now felt like a trap. You’ve been made to feel unworthy all your life until you became the last hope for your family’s name and bloodline. A small part of you almost found it humorous but a bigger part of you was annoyed. It was that annoyance that finally allowed you to tap into your brother’s grit, to become angry and hostile like he had. But you learned something else too, from your father: how to become empty and cold. How to detach yourself from emotion entirely.

Step Ten: Fourteen is a young age to have the entire legacy handed to you, being told not to ruin it. Any sort of desperation to earn your father’s approval is long since gone and you are just jaded at how you only matter to him when you are useful. They may not be aware of it, but that is when you begin to pull away. With your brother betraying you and your father showing his colors about how he only cares when you are of use, you fall in with the Dark Lord. For your sixteenth birthday, you join some of your old housemates in receiving His mark. They said it would earn his approval, just by pledging your allegiance to His ideals and joining the ranks. But you are so young, you don’t understand exactly what the Dark Lord plans. Barely sixteen, still a child, you wonder if the hat had known you better than you knew yourself and find yourself staring at it during the first sorting after receiving your mark. The gentle boy you were, almost sorted into Hufflepuff once upon a time was gone. Instead was a man who was cold and empty, afraid to feel because it would overload you if you did and the cracks in your foundation would surely begin to show.  

You’re desperate for approval. You’d do anything for it, wouldn’t you?

[ofregulus]

[ofregulus]

you fucked up

idk what you’re referring to but probably

[ofregulus]

[ofregulus]

which ben wyatt are you today?

[ofregulus]

[ofregulus]

[ofregulus]

#SAME

[ofregulus]

Little (2019)

[ofregulus]

[ofregulus]

Carnival of Souls (1962) dir. Herk Harvey