oleahnder

[oleahnder]

ollie  had  gone  to  bed  exhausted,  prepared  to  sleep  in  for  as  long  as  he  could.  unfortunately,  he’d  forgotten  his  best  friend  was  also  there.  jan could find a way to wake the dead if he was so entitled to. he’d drifted  out  of  sleep  the  moment  he  felt  a  weight  settle  on  the  bed.  with  a  groan,  he  turned  from  jan,  stubborn.  “  absolutely  not,  jan  sirac.  sun’s  barely  even  shining.  ”  not  that  he  would  know,  with  his  eyes  still  shut  despite  sleep  creeping  away  from  him.

a  beat.  one,  two,  and  then,  without  prompting  from  jan,  he  sat  up,  wiping  at  his  eyes.  “  alright,  fine,  you  win.  but  only  ‘cause  you  make  a  convincing  argument.  ”  an  argument  had  not  even  been  made.  a  grin  made  its  way  onto  his  features,  as  he  gently  elbowed  jan’s.  “  y’know  you  could  have  taken  the  time  to  bring  breakfast. this is why you’re my least favorite polat.  ”  light  teasing.  quidditch  wasn’t  his  favorite  thing  in  the  world  —  except  when  his  competitive  spirit  possessed  him,  which  it  would  eventually  —  but  there  was  not  a  chance  he’d  miss  out  on  spending  the  world  cup  with  jan.

“  it’s  way  too  quiet.  is  everyone  else  asleep? just how early did you wake me up?  ” 

Where: The Polat's Tent, Quidditch World Cup Campsite When: 15th of August, 2026 Who: @oleahnder

In an uncharacteristic turn of events, Jan awoke with the sun. He was normally a night owl, choosing instead to sleep in while the sun was out.

But today was a special day. Today was the day that Brazil would crush Norway in what would have to be the biggest victory of the century. The excitement of the cheers from the crowd, the chants for Brazil you would shout as you passed a fellow fan in lieu of a greeting. It was a rush he was not soon to forget.

But he certainly couldn't lose his voice shouting for victory by himself. To get to be there with his best friend was the best birthday present he could have asked for. He was sure his parents were up already, but as his eyes darted open he looked around to see his friends and siblings still fast asleep.

"Goooooood morning!" chimed Jan as he climbed down from his bunk to pile himself on his best friend's bed. How could he possibly be asleep on a day like this? "Time to wake up!"

[oleahnder]

@hogwartsexpress

parallels: initiating touch with Galadriel VS recoiling from other's touch

requested by @shady-swan-jones

[oleahnder]

[oleahnder]

@lilys response to this bc tumblr hates me apparently.

her  words  have  him  imagining  the  option :  if  it  had  been  lila  they  found  asleep  in  death  instead  of  his  father.  there's  a  tick  in  his  jaw,  the  darkening  of  his  eyes,  indications  of  how  that  made  him  feel.  he  was  sure,  if  it  had  been  lila  instead  of  neville,  this  would  still  be  the  outcome.  that  he'd  still  be  a  wounded  dog  biting.  even  if  he  wished  she  could  be  right.  hating  lila  would  make  everything  easier. "  you  wouldn't  want  me  dead.  you  should,  though. " because  he'd  only  end  up  hurting  her,  eventually.  that  was  what  wars  did.  and  he  was  a  war  in  human  form.

we've  known  each  other  our  whole  lives.  as  if  he  wasn't  so  terribly  aware  of  it.  aware  of  her.  the  polats  were  a  constant  in  his  life,  but  it  was  her  in  particular  he  couldn't  shake.  she  was  right : he  would  know  her  until  he  found  his  way  to  the  grave.  it  was  him  who'd  become  a  stranger,  something  disgraced.  there  was  no  reply  from  him.  he  couldn't  lie  to  her,  still.  how  pathetic  of  him.  that  seemed  to  be  the  common  theme  with  them.  she  would  speak,  and  he  would  lose  all  sense  of  who  he  was,  what  he  was  meant  to  be  doing.

instead  of  speaking,  he  waited  for  her  to  answer  the  question  he'd  leveled.  it  was  unfair  of  him.  of  course  she  didn't  want  him  to  stay.  she'd  seen  him  angry,  she'd  seen  him  monstrous  —  he  remembered.  the  way  she  looked  at  him  when  he  told  her  he  was  leaving.  he'd  agonized  over  it  for  weeks  later,  always  her  on  his  mind. liar,  he  wanted  to  say.  he  didn't  because  he  was  unsure  if  he  could  handle  it  if  her  words  were  a  lie.  he  wasn't  sure  if  he  can  handle  them  being  the  truth.  there  it  was  again,  the  welcome  presence  of  anger,  unrighteous  fury  of  a  boy  torn  apart  by  his  own  claws.  anger  was  familiar.  anger  wasn't  vulnerable.

"  i  don't  think  there's  anything  left  to  heal. "  more  than  broken,  he'd  been  shattered.  by  the  polats.  by  himself.  he  could  blame  them  as  much  as  he  wanted,  he  could  have  lila  believe  she  was  at  the  center  of  his  hate,  and  it  wouldn't  change  the  truth :  that  he  had  been  a  willing  participant. " you  should  forget  the  boy  you  knew.  he  died  with  his  father.  i'm  all  that's  left. " wasn't  that  terrible?  he  was  all  that  could  be  offered  to  her.  he  couldn't  come  back  even  if  he  wanted  to  because  there  was  nothing  to  return  to.

and  still,  fondness  remained.  he  had  no  idea  how  she'd  managed  to  wrap  herself  around  the  vestiges  of  him,  how  she'd  made  herself  remain.  he  was  stepping  closer  before  he  could  stop  himself,  muscle  memory  in  every  movement,  reaching  out  —  fisted  his  hand  before  skin  could  touch  skin,  settling  his  own  palm  back  down  onto  the  counter. idiot,  he  thought, what  were  you  doing?  he'd  almost  let  himself  fall  for  it  again,  that  stubborn  thing  that  kept  him  attached  to  her,  the  thing  that  had  made  him  follow  her  towards  his  own  ruin.  lila  lunara  was  dangerous.  vitriol  leaves  him  in  an  attempt  to  regain  control  over  himself,  that  thin  line  that  she  always  managed  to  steal. "  all  of  you  polats  break  things.  there's  no  point  in  agonizing  over  it  if  you're  not  the  only  one.  i'm  the  idiot  for  not  seeing  it  earlier,  how  nothing  good  comes  from  any  of  you. "  all  that  anger  and  he  still  couldn't  bring  himself  to  say  her.  to  not  generalize.  to  name  her  as  the  enemy.

"  you  aren't  me,  lila. " he  snapped,  lowering  his  gaze  to  hers. "  you  keep  saying  that. if  i  were  you, if  i  were  in  your  shoes, if,  if,  if.  don't  tell  me  what  you  would  do  if  you  were  me  —  my  choices  have  already  been  made.  i  would  make  them  again.  that's  why  that  was  a  mistake.  you  should  have  made  sure  you  could  be  able  to  kill. "  a  nod  to  her  scar.  another  twist  of  his  features. "  you  think  i  can  change.  that  i  can  be  good.  if  it's  a  redemption  you  want,  you  should  put  your  focus  on  daisy. "  his  twin  could  be  happy  again,  but  all  rabid  dogs  needed  to  be  put  down  eventually. "  my  life's  already  forfeit. "

give  up  on  me,  he  doesn't  say. hate  me.  promise  me  you'll  be  the  one  to  end  me.  the  end  of  his  life  was  the  fondest  gift  he  could  give.  he  leaned  back,  away  from  her. "  i  shouldn't  have  come.  we're  getting  nowhere.  this  was  a  mistake. "

[oleahnder]

despite the utter disaster that the party turned into, it had offered a distraction. he doesn't tell daisy that, though : that the only thing taking his mind off of their father's death was to go see the ones that caused it. keeping secrets wasn't something they did until it was. like the multitude of unsent letters to lila lunara he's never told his sister about. sue him : it's harmless. it means nothing. ( he's turned into an expert at lying to himself, too. ) " no one's festive and bright this year, dais. 's kind of been a terrible year. " leans back in the stool until his back hits the counter, watching daisy carefully. they'd lost so much. " but you're right. not about being smarter or older — it doesn't count if it's on the same day — " an argument they've had more than once. " — but you were right not to go. you know the saying ... time heals all wounds? " perhaps that was what he hoped would happen. that he'd step into grimmauld place and all his anger would vanish, and he'd magically become someone unbroken again. " it's kind of shit. "

lately, all that she could think about was the erinyes. vengeance. justice. it simply consumed her. always thinking about the next plan, the next idea. it's difficult to recognize herself these days. their dad would be so disappointed. but neville was gone. he was gone and he wasn't coming back. so this is how she chose to cope. worrying about her family's safety went hand in hand with that. her and ollie protected each other. always. it rang true in everything. from the littlest things when they were kids to now the life and death situations they found themselves in as adults. their flaw, however, was caring about each other more than they cared about themselves. daisy didn't really care about what happened to her in the end all, as long as ollie was okay. she knows that's his take too. twins, they're hopeless.

ugh, she hates it when he does that. of course she had gotten an invite. straight from the mouth of jan sirac himself, not that she was going to tell her brother that part. she never considered going even for a second. "i just didn't feel very festive or merry and bright this year and i didn't feel like pretending to be at a dumb party," she remarked flatly. the thought exhausted her. she used to love this time of year. the most wonderful time of the year. until you mess around with resurrection and kill your dad on christmas. then that kinds of ruins the vibes for every christmas after that.

"but the very main reason i didn't go is because i'm totally smarter than you," older sister core, never taking your foot off your sibling's neck. she's a pro at that. "older, smarter, prettier, you should know the drill by now, oll,"

[oleahnder]

there was a part of him that hated the dead who came back. there was a part of him that respected the dead who came back. it took all of him not to have his eye twitch when one severus snape decided to slink his way. here was someone he didn't trust, though he refused to show open hostility. not yet, at least. there was enough of that in the air now. he settled for giving snape a bland look, betraying nothing. the comment still stung. " not everyone here is an enemy. " he moved his gaze away from the other, dark eyes brushing over the rest of the room. a look out for a wisp of jan, or worse, a flash of red hair. " and it's better to pick and choose my battles. " easier said than done. his jaw clenches. " do i dare wonder what it is you could possibly want? "

december 25th, 2030. grimmauld place. order party. closed starter for @oleahnder

Quick black mirror eyes flickered across the room, taking in everything. Severus sat in some corner of the parlor with a cup of tea and leaned back as if watching a mildly interesting documentary. The festivities began about an hour and a half ago, prompting Severus to crawl out of the library where he’d holed up most of the day. He needed to see who came and who didn’t, who clustered together, who avoided who, the invisible lines drawn through the crowd. This was a treasure trove of information.

Then he spotted Oleander Longbottom making his way through the attendees, looking moody and ill at ease. Severus raised his brows. Did the Order often invite their enemies over for Christmas or just the ones with a complicated history? Severus intended to speak to him at one point. He did not expect it to be so soon, or here of all places. Interest piqued, Severus left his seat and made his way to the other man, leaning against the wall beside him before he spoke. ‘ Do you always spend Christmas with your enemies, or just the ones that killed your father? ’ He tilted his head to the side. ‘ I’ve been invited to the Lestrange feast next week, if you haven’t got plans for New Years. ’

[oleahnder]

" there's always a family member you want to escape from. " there was a little lie there : nowadays he's the family member everyone's looking to run from. but there was always a nagging wix before, when they were all far more united. when conversations weren't stilted and awkward and there wasn't a sense of wrongness instilled in everything he did. tilts his head towards dominique, acknowledging her. " victoire wanted to talk about something. but i think it was just an excuse to get me to be social. " that was something he used to excel at. oleander longbottom, life of the fucking party. how quickly things change. " since i've been left out to dry here. apparently it wasn't anything important. " motions around them, the emptiness of outside.

then, sheepish : " do i look that miserable? "

 “    not  exactly  boring.  …  certainly something,  though.   ”   murmurs  dominique,  breathing  in  deeply  with  a  tight-lipped  smile (   better  described  as  a  grimace   ).    “   y’know  great-great-great  aunt  muriel?  somebody  had  the  bright  idea  to  invite  her.  not  a  very  festive  mood  in  there  right  now.   ”   as  friendly  of  a  person  that  dominique  was;  aunt  muriel (  resurrected  unfortunately  to  no  one’s  happiness  except  maybe  her  mother’s )  far  preferred  victoire  over  her  and  being  told  that  you  have  bad  posture  repeatedly  contributes  to  no  one’s  festive  spirit  nor  good  mood. 

she  breathed  out,  watching  her  breath  dissipate  in  the  air.  social  situations  were  dominique’s  forte,  at  least  until  recently.  every  thing  had  changed  and  the  atmosphere  had  shifted  from  friendly  and  buzzing  to  silent  and  tense. very tense.  to  the  point  where  she  no  longer  wanted  to  fill  the  silence  and  chatter  away  because  everybody  was  too  busy  glaring  at  each  other  or  plotting  each  other’s  deaths.  better  to  run  away. 

“   why  did  you  come  here,  anyways?  doubt  that  it’s  because  you  wanted  to  join  in  on  the  celebration.    ”  

[oleahnder]

a scoff. " of course you don't. " bitter mumble, more to the floor than to jan himself. ollie's gaze finally snaps to his ex best friend, the person he'd once considered his brother. it hadn't mattered that there was no blood between them ━ he would have followed jan anywhere. had followed him to ruin. the cold is bothering him, jan is bothering him, and he's starting to bother himself for ever thinking it was a good idea to come here. he should leave. ignore jan's jab. it wasn't the worst thing he'd ever heard. it wasn't any different from what he told himself. but something about it irked him. made that rage that had flit away resurge tenfold. he turns, quick as lightning, one hand fisting into jan's collar to pull him closer, the other cracking against his best friend's cheek. there's a flash of regret the moment he does it, an almost instinctive urge to apologize, to beg for his forgiveness. running away. running away, as if that was what he'd done, as if that was all his anger was : just a way to run from himself. maybe it was, but that anger was all he had, and he wouldn't let jan take anything else from him. not anymore. " you want to say that again? "

Why did you invite me here?

It was a fair question, but one that left Jan sitting in his own silence. He wanted to say because I wanted to see you, I wanted to know you and Daisy are okay; because the Holidays don't feel right until you give your best friend his Christmas gift. But the words didn't come out that way because they couldn't. Because they were both built from a fire that once forged their bond but now that bond was broken. And it was Jan's fault. It all was. Losing Ollie and Daisy, passing the shell of his father without so much as a hello, the hords of people who Jan should only know about in passing stories now with their own hearts beating yet again. Words wouldn't help solve the negative feelings that everyone felt towards Jan.

His eyes knotted, unable to hide the twist they made at Ollie's remark about his handwriting. When they were kids they'd scribble notes on paper to ask if there was time for a play date. Of course he would recognize it.

"I don't know what you're talking about." A blatant lie, a bad lie that the Ollie who used to know him could recognize in an instant. He stood his ground, maybe that would be the hill he would die on now, and if so that would be the story.

A gust of wind hit them both as he shielded his eyes from the particles of snow that flew from the rooftops of the buildings. The cold was beginning to numb his fingers.

"How are--"

He caught himself. He didnt deserve to know how Ollie was doing, or how Daisy was doing. He burned those bridges and that was that. The pain from forgetting would feel better than the truth. "Nevermind, you can just leave again," he provoked with a dismissive wave. "You seem particularly good at running away from things these days."

[oleahnder]

he wasn't made for the cold. a creature of fire born to bask under the sun, miserable every time there was a chill in the air. it was meant to be a quick appearance : go in, meet with victoire, get out. the opposite of a repeat of christmas, he'd kept to the shadows, kept out of sight, kept out of the warmth. it really was far too cold. he's distracted by it, tucking his own jacket tight around him as if closing it might make the air grow warmer. he'd already used a heating charm on it. forces himself to sit down and wait. if victoire didn't show up in ten minutes, he was apparating home. a noise beside him. he stills as someone sits, but it isn't who he expects. dominique. " technically, i'm not. i'm outside. " he motions around them, glancing back at the cottage with a frown. when he turns to her again, it's with narrowed eyes. " what are you doing out here? figured you'd want to spend tonight with your family. " breathes out slowly, shaking his head. perhaps he shouldn't be so overtly suspicious ━ but after christmas, his guard was up like never before. a peace offering : " must've been boring. "

1 JANURARY 2031 : JUST OUTSIDE SHELL COTTAGE / MIDNIGHT. starter for @oleahnder

IT'S  COLD  TONIGHT,  something  not  too unexpected  for  still  being  in  the  dead  of  winter.  dominique  could  feel  the  chill  in  her  bones  and  goosebumps  forming  on  her  skin  when  she  stepped  out  of  the  warm  cottage  and  almost  regretted  it  instantly. but  she  had  committed  to  this  (  mainly  to  escape  the  tense  family  gathering  happening  within  the  cottage  ),  and  wasn't  going  back  anytime  soon  until  the  cottage  was  finally  empty  and  the  lights  were  off.  which  wasn't  going  to  happen  anytime  soon,  so  she  pulled  up  the  sleeves  of  her  thick  jacket  and  continued  walking. and  then  she  spotted  somebody,  somebody  sitting  on  a  patch  of  grass  and  back  turned  away  from  her.  it  was  a  bit  eerie,  but  dominique  couldn't  care  less  at  the  moment.  at  least  she  wouldn't  be  alone,  that  would  be  nice. she  sits  down  next  to  the  figure  and  brings  her  legs  to  her  chest,  somebody  she  recognizes .   "oleander?  i  didn't  know  you  were  going  to  come  here  tonight."  it  sounds accusatory even with her gentle tone of voice, but she didn't mean for it to come out that way.

[oleahnder]

he's never believed killing could make someone a monster. he's never believed it because of her. she didn't need to tell him what had happened, and he knew, even back then, he didn't need to know. anything lila did, he would forgive. that was what he'd thought. perhaps he'd found his limit. why was he still so afraid that she might find her limit with him? " it had to be done. " he repeated. did she think that was how he felt about her? something to put down and be done with. the thought made his stomach curdle. " stop that. stop saying that. i don't know what you want to hear, but you won't hear it from me. and you didn't make anything easier for me. " terrified, so terrified, that the truth might creep out. he could not kill her. he would lay his life for her, still, despite everything, if he had to. he was always at his weakest when it came to her. you can't die. how funny, that he could have said the same to her. his mouth parted, closed. he wanted to say her name again, but he was afraid that it would say everything. admit all he could not. it was why he'd taken to calling her polat, even in private : he needed the distance, or else he was taken over by memories. by that feeling she invoked within him that had never gone away. the thought of her wanting him alive made him feel ... strange. he tried to lesson the true intent of his words, knowing she could see through him. " a war means everyone's at risk. i have to think realistically. " he had no response for what she said next. two, three, four beats of silence before he finally spoke again. " you don't know me. we barely know each other anymore. " weak-whispered lie. there was something tying them together that didn't have a name : he would always know her, and she would always know him, and that was their little cycle of tragedy. he should try to snip it right here and now. but the only way to do so would be to be truly cruel, and his tongue might be a knife, but it could only cut lila so deep before he'd rather turn it on himself. instead, he allowed himself another moment of vulnerability, if only because he was so sick of hours spent wondering. " come back? why didn't you ask me to stay? the day i told you i was leaving. "

the  way  he  looked  at  her  palm,  at  the  hidden  scar  of  her  vow  —  her  skin  prickled  with  something  she  refused  to  name,  a  desperate  fire  of  longing  and  almost  hope.  for  just  a  moment,  his  gaze  held  that  old  softness,  that  familiar  concern  that  used  to  make  her  feel  like  she  was  worth  saving.  it  was  as  if  he  still  cared,  and  the  bitter  knowledge  tore  through  her  like  a  knife,  wounding  her  than  his  anger  ever  could.  so  what  if  —  underneath  all  that  resentment  —  the  love  was  still  there,  buried  deep  in  the  ground,  lying  right  beside  his  father's  corpse?  it  would  not  change  things,  would  not  erase  the  distance  between  them  or  wash  the  blood  from  her  hands.  she  had  forfeited  any  right  to  his  care  the  moment  she'd  helped  tear  his  world  apart. she  wanted  to  make  him  understand  that  the  unbreakable  vow  hadn't  been  about  disadvantaging  herself  in  battle.  it  was  about  stopping  herself  from  becoming  the  monster  she  feared  she  already  was,  about  preventing  herself  from  crossing  more  lines  that  could  never  be  uncrossed,  from  spilling  more  blood  that  could  never  be  washed  away.  but  most  of  all,  she'd  done  it  for  him  —  to  atone  for  what  she'd  done  to  him  and  his  family,  for  the  way  she'd  helped  break  something  that  could  never  be  fixed.  what  did  it  matter  if  she  died  in  the  process?  she  deserved  it.  after  everything  she'd  done,  death  would  be  a  mercy  she  hadn't  earned.  maybe  that  was  what  she'd  been  seeking  all  along  when  she  made  the  vow  —  not  redemption  but  punishment.  (  she  imagined  it  sometimes,  in  her  dreams:  oleander  killing  her.  he  was  always  more  merciful  than  she  deserved,  his  hands  steady  and  sure  as  he  ended  her  life,  his  eyes  holding  that  same  softness  they  had  now.  ) but  the  words  died  in  her  throat,  too  honest  to  be  spoken  aloud.  "  it  doesn't  matter.  it  had  to  be  done.  "  she  finally  said,  her  voice  barely  above  a  whisper.  his  words  rang  in  her  ears:  sometimes  killing  is  needed,  even  if  it  hurts.  it  brought  forth  a  memory  she'd  tried  her  hardest  to  forget:  the  first  time  she'd  killed  someone — her  ex-boyfriend, adonis — she'd  shown  up  on  oleander's  doorstep,  wrecked  with  guilt  and  self-loathing.  he  hadn't  asked  questions,  just  held  her  while  she  shook  apart  in  his  arms,  her  hands  still  smelling  of  smoke.  she'd  fallen  asleep  beside  him  and  left  before  sunrise,  too  ashamed  to  face  him  in  the  light  of  day.  "  somehow,  i  thought  you'd  be  happy  i  did  it.  easier  this  way,  isn't  it?  getting  the  job  done?  "  when  he  spoke  of  not  wanting  neville  to  return  until  he  was  gone,  lila  felt  the  words  like  a  physical  blow  to  the  chest.  the  implication  hung  heavy  between  them:  he  was  planning  to  die  in  this  war.  just  like  she  was.  they  were  both  racing  toward  their  own  destruction,  two  shooting  stars  burning  themselves  out.  "  don't  say  that,  "  she  insisted,  in  spite  of  herself.  "  you  can't  die.  "  what  would  this  all  have  been  for,  if  he  just  let  himself  die  in  the  end? the knowledge of his murder should've sickened her, should've pushed her away, but it didn't. not yet. "  ollie,  stop.  i  know  you.  i  know  you're  not  a  monster.  "  she  said,  fiercely,  vehemently.  "  if  you  killed  someone,  you  must've  had  a  good  reason.  they  must've  deserved  it.  you  don't  need  to  torture  yourself  for  it.  just  ...  come  back,  we  can  make  this  right.  "

[oleahnder]

" alright, you're a terrible liar. remind me not to let you go on any spy missions. " if it were up to him, daisy would be as far from danger as possible at all times. but his sister's rage could sometimes surpass his, so he'd settle for hovering and keeping a close eye on her. not close enough, from the way he's clueless about her and jan seeing one another at all. he throws out the coffee, considering ignoring the question. why he went was complicated : a part the itch to see his old friends again, a part to see if going might have helped him deal with neville's death, somehow, a part just how badly he missed glimpses of red hair and dark eyes. he was definitely not going to talk about that last one with daisy. better to turn it all onto her instead. " i find it difficult to believe you didn't get an invite. why didn't you go? " he finally settles down on a kitchen stool, brows raised. " and don't say it's because you're smarter than me. i'll tell on you. "

daisy would die for her brother, she does not mean that lightly. however, he's been pacing in her kitchen for twenty minutes ranting all about jan and their argument on christmas and quite frankly, she's starting to get a headache. well, she already had one, to be fair. a lot on her mind, as per usual, recently, everyone coming back from the damn dead. yet another damn consequence of their christmas resurrection. well, almost everyone. not that she expected for their dad to be one of them, that's not how prophecies work. she just wished they did. it wasn't fair. how everyone's loved ones came back. yet another thing to be mad about. just like everything else.

yeah, so maybe she had slightly tuned the conversation out. but only sightly! and yes, maybe a eye roll was had. she still got the gist of it all. jan, super annoying. especially when he leaves his crap in her flat and she has to make sure to scrub any evidence that he was there. not that she's going to say any of that. god, her brother would have a stroke.

"excuse you, i'm totally listening. i'm just letting you get it all out of your system first without chiming in." daisy threw her hands up in defense. she figured that would be the best course of action. she was the talker usually and now? her thoughts. what the hell was he even doing there in the first place? "but honestly, why did you even go there in the first place? you had to know it wouldn't have been pretty," trying not to sound like a nagging mother, but genuinely out of curiosity because she knew him. he knew himself. a situation like that couldn't have ended any other way. a light laugh spills from her lips at his reaction from the coffee she so generously made him. "yeah, yeah, just dump it out, oll, you're welcome, by the way,"

[oleahnder]

if there's anyone ollie respects, it's teddy. their advice is always good — more than that, he's never been able to fully shake off childhood fondness towards them, especially when teddy followed him and daisy to the erinyes. he knows if teddy offers an opinion on something, it's usually correct. he'll ignore it anyway. " a fight. " his brows furrow. he wants to come to his own defense, but his knuckles still have a phantom throb a little from the last fight he got in. which teddy had also warned him against. " i'll be on my best behavior. i can behave myself. "

24 / 12 / 30 : 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗟𝗘𝗔𝗞𝗬 𝗖𝗔𝗨𝗟𝗗𝗥𝗢𝗡

" recruitment, " they repeat, letting the word hang in the air between them in the hopes that, the longer they leave it there, the more asinine it will sound. " and i suppose you're going to be selling our cause over mulled wine and mashed potatoes — is that it? " they know it’s a flimsy excuse to see the polats. they also know there's little they can do to dissuade oleander once he's made up his mind.

" i'm not worried about danger, " they say patiently, running their tongue across their teeth as they consider how best to put it to make him see sense. " but you could start a fight in an empty house. if this goes south, and it will go south, it'll be a spectacle. it’s too raw. " too many quick tempers and vibrant personalities. too much hurt.

[oleahnder]

where : daisy's flat / when : 28th of december, early, thankfully before jan shows up with his rocks / with : @daisyalices

talking had never been ollie's strongpoint. he preferred silence, to take in the surroundings and let someone else lead the conversation. except for when it came to daisy ━ he was still a little brother ( by hardly any time at all ) and being a little brother meant his sister was the perfect person to bother with his angst. " ━ so of course everything went to shit. i should have never gone. and you know how jan gets, annoying and demanding. " he's been complaining about arguing with jan at christmas for twenty minutes, pacing around daisy's kitchen, arms crossed, the coffee he'd demanded personally requested she make for him lying untouched on the counter. notably : he's leaving out the part where he also saw lila. now that they have a moment alone, they should be discussing their next moves. they should be discussing what it means that their father hasn't returned when all the other dead seem to come back so easily. but that would all mean having to experience emotions deeper than brief, petty, snarky anger at a past event, and he was so tired of feeling so much. he wanted to complain to his sister without thinking of how awful the world outside was. glances over at his twin, narrowing his eyes. " are you listening to me ? i think i saw you roll your eyes. " he finally takes a sip of the bitter, cold coffee, making a face. murmurs a warming charm under his breath. the next sip burns his tongue, but better that than cold coffee. " this brew's terrible, dais. "

[oleahnder]

boulder, eva baltasar

[oleahnder]

@jansirac

THE BEAR 3.02 "Next"

[oleahnder]

perceptive eyes trailed towards her palm. not so long ago, he might have reached out, curled his hand over her own & traced his thumb right where her fingers touched. offering comfort to lila had never been an obligation to him : it came to him as naturally as breathing, once. now he stood there, almost awkward, wanting to break the distance between them and wanting her as far away from him as possible in equal measure. he used to make things grow, and now he only breaks what he touches. he was a danger to her. longbottom. it should make him happy, that she's stopped calling him by his name. she had no right to refer to him informally. they were enemies. and still it was so hollow to hear. " then you see what a disadvantage you've forced yourself in. " he was almost scolding her. another flash of rage rose within him, directed at her for all the wrong reasons : how could she have taken away a form of protection from herself ? " sometimes killing is needed. even if it hurts. " though he'd stopped feeling guilty about the blood on his hands a while ago. that was how he knew redemption had slipped away from him. it took a monster to fight monsters, and that was what he had become. he wanted lila to see that. he wanted her to put an end to him. wasn't it only fair for it to be her that killed him ? he might walk right into the knife if only she asked it of him. if only she hated him the way he needed her to. he leaned against the counter, the only way of stopping himself from reaching out and making sure she's steady. " i don't think i want him to come back. or if he does, i hope it's — " when i'm gone, he doesn't say. let the implication hang between them. she was right. his father would want him with his friends. he'd want him to take some vow to never kill and be good. for the first time, his gaze softened. " i can't leave daisy. " but it wasn't that simple, either. " you're wrong, lila. i am too far gone. being a wraith isn't the only way to be a monster. this — " his fingers brush over the wound. " i killed the person that gave me this, and i felt proud of it. i would do it again. that's why i didn't heal it. "

she  wanted  nothing  more  than  to  reach  her  hand  out  —  to  gingerly,  gently  trail  her  lithe  fingers  along  his  wound.  does  it  hurt,  ollie?  she  wanted  to  ask.  will  you  let  me  fix  it?  but  the  knowledge  that  he'd  only  flinch  away  from  her  poisonous  touch  kept  her  hands  placed  firmly  at  her  sides.  digging  her  red,  red  nails  into  her  palms  until  they  carved  faint  crescent  moons  into  her  skin,  she  relished  in  the  pain,  the  bite  —  it  was  only  what  she  deserved  for  her  traitorous  thoughts.  she'd  lost  the  right  to  care  about  his  wounds  the  moment  she'd  inflicted  far  deeper  ones. the  firewhiskey  burned,  but  not  enough  to  dull  the  edge  in  his  voice  when  he  spoke  of  his  father.  (  it's  my  fault,  it's  my  fault,  it's  my  fault,  a  voice  in  her  head  repeated,  a  sickening  mantra.  death  would  never  be  so  merciful  as  to  give  up  his  freely-given  sacrifice.  )  her  fingers  tightened  around  the  counter's  edge  until  her  knuckles  went  white,  fighting  the  urge  to  wrap  her  arms  around  him  like  she  might  have  once,  before  she'd  torn  their  world  apart  with  her  own  bloodied  hands. "  a  proper  match?  that's  rich.  "  a  bitter  laugh  escaped  her  throat,  raw  and  hollow.  "  haven't  you  heard,  longbottom?  i  couldn't  kill  you  even  if  i  wanted  to.  "  the  words  slipped  from  her  lips  before  she  could  think  better  of  it,  her  inhibitions  loosened  by  the  alcohol  swirling  in  her  system.  filled  with  an  overwhelming  urge  to  slit  her  own  tongue,  she  sheepishly  looked  away,  her  fingers  instinctively  touching  the  back  of  her  palm,  tracing  the  scar  she  kept  glamoured  —  how  foolish  could  she  be,  telling  the  boy  who  wanted  to  kill  her  most  that  she  couldn't  even  properly  fight  back?  the  unbreakable  vow  sat  like  a  noose  around  her  neck,  one  she'd  tied  herself,  but  the  worst  part  was  that  even  if  she  hadn't  taken  that  vow,  she'd  still  let  him  kill  her.  maybe  that  was  even  what  she  wanted,  at  this  point. the  truth  of  his  words  about  neville  made  her  hollow  chest  ache,  guilt  eating  away  at  her  insides,  threatening  to  consume  her  whole.  neville  had  been  too  good,  too  kind,  too  willing  to  see  the  best  in  everyone  —  even  her.  even  now  that  she'd  proved  that  she'd  never  deserved  such  gentle  mercy.  even  after  she'd  taken  his  son's  gentle  love  and  twisted  it  into  something  dark  and  venomous. "  you're  right,  "  she  whispered  back,  voice  thick  with  everything  she  couldn't  say.  "  he  was  too  forgiving.  far  too  forgiving  of  me.  "  she  pressed  her  palms  flat  against  the  counter,  trying  to  ground  herself,  to  stop  the  rush  of  self-loathing  that  threatened  to  pull  her  under.  “  but  you're  wrong  about  one  thing.  he'd  want  to  come  back  for  you.  he  loved  you,  more  than  anything.  “  she  knew  that  she  ought  to  stop  now,  knew  her  next  words  would  only  wound  them  both  further,  but  the  firewhiskey  had  loosened  her  tongue  and  she  couldn't  seem  to  stem  the  flow  of  words:  “  it's  not  too  late,  you  know.  you  can  still  come  back  from  this,  come  home  to  us.  you're  not  too  far  gone  that  this  can't  be  fixed.  “  unlike  me,  she  thought  but  didn't  say.  some  things  were  beyond  fixing,  beyond  forgiveness.  ”  you  know  it's  what  he'd  want.  ”

[oleahnder]

better to spend it with your enemies than alone? there was a time he would not consider any holiday complete without spending it with jan. the moment he & daisy finished unwrapping their presents, he'd insist on going to jan's house. even now, when he can barely stand to look at jan without wanting to burn with rage, having him near made oleander feel like a puzzle piece had slotted into its rightful place. the realization is what made him turn to leave. this was dangerous. but jan was stubborn as always, hands grasped on oleander's shoulders, tugging him back. he turned his head to glare. his best friend, once. his brother, once. the childish part of him wanted to wrap his arms around jan, ask him why things had to be so difficult now when it had always been so easy for them to move on. he knew why : still, he wanted. he also wanted to punch him. it would be more dignified to call a duel, but oleander wasn't dignified. he wanted a brawl. " get your hands off. " he snarled, shrugging them off. trust jan sirac to announce to the entire party that he was an enemy. " there. i'm looking. happy? " his eyes were trained on the wall behind jan. if he looked at it hard enough, he could daydream about giving jan a black eye. ( in his most private version, a messy fight would be enough to undo all the mess between them, make them brothers again. as if the blood of a broken nose could make up for a father's loss. ) " why did you invite me here? and don't lie. i know it was you. you're still terrible at dotting your i's without blotting the ink. "

He knew of Ollie's biting nature, but he'd never experienced it directed at him. The feeling, now that he was in it, felt unbearable, like an itchy sweater that won't come off. The frigid December air gnawed at him and he suddenly felt stupid, running after Ollie without a jacket like a heroine at the end of a love story, popcorn garland still draped around his neck.

Of course he didn't have to say hello. But it raised the question that if he didn't want to, then why did he come? Why accept the invite? Jan wanted answers, but he felt himself egging him on. "Nobody else wanted you at their Christmas dinner, is that it? Better spend it with your enemies than alone?"

But he wasn't an enemy, was he? Enemies don't teach you Spanish or beg their parents for yet another week day sleepover or make sure you are properly caring for the plants that you forget to upkeep so you don't fail Herbology. Enemies don't tell you everything is alright when you cry because you're twelve and homesick. Enemies make you say things you immediately regret.

Contrary to the current situation, Jan followed after Ollie to check on him. Whether Ollie wanted it or not, the little parcel didn't belong in Jan's back pocket. But maybe caring like that wasn't allowed anymore. Not after what he did. He wished so desperately for these words to make their way to his lips but all they could do was form malice and a ball of hurt in his lungs.

But then Ollie turned to leave, as if dismissing their entire conversation, and the heat rose to Jan's face. "Oi!" He called, for Jan wasn't finished. "Look at me, Ollie!" The sound was more desperate than he wanted it to be. His hands clutched the back of Ollie's shoulders to slow him down, so he could step in front of him and stop him from leaving, so he could look his best friend in the eyes and finally say I'm sorry I miss you I'm sorry I'm sorry for absolutely everything.