#divorced era? fic

[lover-of-mine]

several sentence sunday

I was tagged by @honestlyeddie @wildlife4life @try-set-me-on-fire @eddiebabygirldiaz @disasterbuckdiaz @wikiangela @daffi-990 thank you <3

well, i've been bouncing between docs all weekend, but have this bit with way more than 7 sentences I wrote in the middle of the night for the divorced era fic just because prev snippet

Eddie is waiting for the nightmare. He knows his patterns and triggers too well by now to not realize it's coming.  He had the day off and he still hadn't talked to Buck, and Buck had called exactly once, no messages, so it was unavoidable. He knows he wouldn't be lucky enough to get two peaceful nights.  Not after a whole day of sulking around and letting the thoughts of everything that could go wrong, everything that had gone wrong, take over his mind. Not when he didn't have the physical exhaustion of a shift to make him sleep through the night  So he's waiting for it.  It doesn't make it any easier though.  Doesn't make the image of Buck falling into the fire shifting until he's hanging motionless from the ladder go away once he gasps awake.  Doesn't stop the way his heart is beating rapidly, adrenaline spiking, while he tries to remind himself it was just a dream.  He has a routine when this happens. When he wakes up feeling like the only thing that will calm him down is proof of life. With that buzzing feeling under his skin that he knows will only go away when he's seeing Buck with his own eyes, sometimes while trying to sneakily feel his pulse.  It's easier when Buck is on the couch, that way he can check on him and get a head start on breakfast.  If they had the day off, he would text, try to make plans, maybe breakfast after he dropped Christopher off, but considering how well Buck knew him, he would show up with pastries and coffee before Chris was even up, and tag along for the day, without ever asking questions if Eddie didn't want to talk.  If they had a shift, that usually meant Carla was the one taking Chris to school, so he would drive to the weird coffee shop that's way out of their way but has this way too sweet monstrosity Buck loved, just because the way Buck would grin at him when he saw the cup was enough to erase any remaining anxiety from his mind.  Now? Now he doesn't know what to do.

No pressure tagging 🩷: @bucks118 @honestlydarkprincess @housewifebuck @giddyupbuck @watchyourbuck @steadfastsaturnsrings

[boxboxlewis]

Daniel finds out about Max’s divorce from a Google alert.

“FORMER F1 CHAMPION NEWLY SINGLE, SEEN HITTING THE BARS IN MONACO.” Journalistic excellence from the Daily Mail, as always. But when actual newspapers start reporting on it, Daniel decides to reach out. He texts Max a cat meme. Subtext: sorry about your failed relationship, also I know you like cats. Max texts back Are you trying to cheer me up, and then 😂. It’s unclear if he’s 😂 at the cat or the notion of Daniel attempting to comfort. While Daniel is trying to figure this out a third text comes in. Stop reading stupid shit by dumb assholes who don’t know anything.

Nah it’s all good, I can’t read, Daniel replies. He hesitates, and then adds I am like. Sorry about stuff with kelly or whatever though.

Max thumbs-up reacts the message, and doesn’t reply.

Daniel figures Max’ll probably just start dating another exquisitely beautiful, exquisitely groomed woman with a disconcerting resemblance to his own mother. They’re ten a penny in Monaco, where Max still for some reason lives. 

He’s not prepared for the next tranche of articles his Google Alert brings him. “MAX VERSTAPPEN SEEN LEAVING GAY BAR.” “VERSTAPPEN REFUSES TO ADDRESS RUMOURS.” “VETTEL COMES TO VERSTAPPEN’S DEFENCE: ‘HE HAS A RIGHT TO A PRIVATE LIFE.’” Like… people go to gay bars sometimes, even if they’re straight. But do straight people let Seb Vettel defend their honour in the media?

Daniel opens his text thread with Max and types Hey, are you. You know. 

He deletes it, obviously. He’s got a lot going on in his own life. Brand ambassadorships out the ass, his film production company, his vineyard. He sends Max another dumb meme and calls it good. Max is just doing Max stuff. It’s some belated F1 champion rumspringa, probably, because when he was an actual teenager he was psychotically focussed on racing. He’ll settle down soon enough.

Daniel really isn’t expecting him to announce live on Dutch television that he has a boyfriend. The clip is in Dutch, obviously, but someone has added English captions, and Daniel watches over and over again. RIP his YouTube algorithm. It’s some daytime talk show, the kind of thing Max hates, the kind of thing he’d never do unless someone was twisting his arm about it. The host asks all sickly sweet if there’s a special someone in Max’s life. Max says, “Well yes of course there is my boyfriend.” The “of course” in Dutch sounds like naturally. Naturally, naturally. “And my family I am very close to, as well.” The camera dwells with voyeuristic glee on the talkshow host’s face as she tries and fails to pick her expression up from the floor. “Your boyfriend?” she manages. Max nods, impatient. Daniel rewinds the clip. Your boyfriend? Your boyfriend? Your boyfriend?

Daniel decides to visit Monaco. Not because of Max. It’s summer and the swing of the season is funnelling him that way, that’s all, towards the parties and the glittering people dancing on yachts, getting high, bright and beautiful, living that good life. He doesn’t have an apartment there anymore, but Max does, because Max never left: still has his custom penthouse with its views of the harbour. Unless—it’s a weird thought—unless Kelly kept it in the divorce. But when he texts Max to invite himself to stay, Max doesn’t mention anything about a new address. 

Max also doesn’t sound, like, super enthused, but that’s just how he is. It’s his natural Dutchness, most likely. Fine you can come then. You are lucky I don’t have plans is probably just the Dutch way of saying “Yeah sounds great, looking forward to reconnecting.” You are very annoying is probably how people from the Netherlands express affection. Daniel texts back Love you too my brother 🤘🤘

He gets his hair touched up before he goes, a little bit of tattooing at the roots in the front. He does a spray tan, and gets his face dermaplaned (not in that order). You can’t go to Monaco and not look good, that's all.

It always feels kind of weird, flying into Nice in a non-F1 context, first class instead of private, but Daniel fits, still: gets asked for his autograph at the airport, and then on the concourse, and when he stops to put petrol in his rental car (a sweet little Porsche, nice). He tosses his keys to the valet at Max’s building and the valet goggles. That’s right, baby: twelve-time Grand Prix winner Daniel Ricciardo is in town. Daniel winks and the valet turns gratifyingly mauve.

Max, when Daniel pushes into his apartment, is less enthusiastic. “Daniel. I really do not know why you’ve come.”

Daniel ignores him in favour of crouching down, trying to pet Jimmy or Sassy. “Hey, little guy,” he croons. “Or girl. What’s up? Do you remember Uncle Danny? Am I in town to show your daddy a good time? Yeah I am! That’s right. That’s right.” Jimmy or Sassy scowls at him and swipes with one needle-tipped paw. All right, drama queen. Daniel stands back up and grins at Max. “I mean, mostly I wanted to meet your boyfriend,” he says, for some reason. What the fuck, Ricciardo. He keeps grinning, styles it out. “Gotta give him the old shovel speech, right?”

Max is doing the blank-eyed stare Daniel remembers so well from their racing days. It’s wildly disconcerting coming from this Max, who looks. Different, that’s all. He’s thick, still fit and well-muscled but heavy with it now, t-shirt stretched over the layer of hard fat covering his abdomen, face softer. He’s a bear of a man, he could—he could do lots of things, obviously. It’s fine. It’s just that part of Daniel still expects him to be the gawky teenager Daniel loomed over.

Max says, “What do you want to say to my boyfriend about shovels,” and for a bewildering moment Daniel has no idea what he’s talking about. 

“Oh, no, it’s like—it’s a saying, or whatever, when someone starts dating someone. I mean, usually dads say it, I guess, but like—the idea is if he mistreats you I’ll…” Daniel trails off as he realises he’s not actually sure what “shovel speech” means. “Uh, hit him with a shovel? Or I guess potentially, like, use it to bury his corpse. Whiiiich is a joke! Not actually going to bury anyone.” No, weird comment, Daniel’s not actually going to bury anyone t-shirt is raising a lot of questions et cetera. Hastily, he adds “As long as he behaves!” and then stands there mentally kicking himself while Jimmy/Sassy yowls soulfully near his ankles. He's never like this, he never loses control of a conversation like this. It's agonising.

Max stares at him for a long moment, and then cracks up. “Daniel, you are still so weird,” he says. It sounds kind of affectionate. 

“You know it, baby,” Daniel says. “So, where’s the boyf?

Max’s cheeks go a little red, it looks like. Maybe Daniel’s imagining it. “Ricardo is at the gym,” he says.

Daniel has to have misheard that. “Sorry, what’s this dude’s name?”

“Ricardo,” Max says grumpily. “My boyfriend.”

“Right, yeah, of course.” Once again Daniel decides, against his better judgement, to style it out. “Uh, is he Australian, by any chance? And devastatingly charismatic?”

Max sighs, as if Daniel is being really annoying. “He is from Melbourne. And yeah, he is okay I think. Maybe you won’t like him though, because you like always to be the funniest one. Come on, I will show you to your guest room.”

Daniel manages a casual-sounding, “Haha, you got me.” They’re walking through the apartment, now, Max leading the way. For a moment Daniel just watches the sunburned back of his neck.

[kquil]

DIVORCING ORION BLACK | CHAPTER THREE

03 : SHOPPING (2/2)

CHPT. SUM. : so many stores are left on the list, the boys finally eat delicious food outside, detours are a natural endeavour and you meet a collection of interesting shopkeepers. what a day~ 

LENGTH : 10k

TAGS : fluff ; fun day out ; sirius and regulus being precious ; they're just kids ; reader is mother of the year ; reverse comfort ; OC ; visions ; original walburga makes an appearance ; she doesn't stay long though ; money isn't a problem ;) ; domestic fluff ; sibling fluff between sirius and regulus ; marauders fix-it-fic

← PREV. | 02 : SHOPPING (1/2) | SERIES M.LIST

“Two what?” Sirius asks, your attention snapping towards him and breaking contact with the grey-haired man standing before you.  

“Do you need a new wand too, Mother?” Regulus speaks up from your other side, swiftly following after his older brother. It was clear from the differences in their elocution that they differed greatly. One was much louder, with a sharp tongue and an audacious attitude to boot; the other was of a more gentle demeanour, equipped with a clever mind and observant eyes.  

Mr Ollivander leans back with an amused smile waiting to see how you’d react and whose question you’d answer first. 

“The two of us need wands today, Sirius,” you hum, hoping your nerves don’t show through in your voice as you switch between the two. It was adorable how similar their curious looks appeared when staring up at you.  

“Why is that?” your eldest asks curiously, the question reflecting similarly in your youngest’s eyes. 

“My wand appears to be having some problems lately and, well,” you raise your gaze to meet eyes with the wand artisan behind the counter, “I was hoping Mr Ollivander could help the two of us today,” the light streaming in from the windows above reflects off Ollivander’s grey hair to create a glowing outline encircling him. His peculiar portrait reminds you of how idiosyncratic he is, like a living ghost who’s able to touch superior levels of magic and wonder. It's mysteriously intriguing but just as harrowing too. He was able to deduce so much after so short of an interaction, after all. You stare at him silently, a gentle prompt to help you and your eldest son with your homogenous need for a new wand. 

“I like to focus on one client at a time,” the look he gives you offers up the decision of who should go first to be made by your small family. 

Before you can say anything, Sirius speaks up with a light dusting of pink on his cheeks, “Ladies first, Mother,” he announces politely and your heart melts at his consideration. You coo and awe at his gesture while dropping down to his height where you press a loving kiss to his forehead. 

“Thank you, my darling. You’re such a gentleman,” Sirius beams at your praise as Regulus meets his eyes to the right of you and grins widely. The two easily share in the small joys they’ve been able to experience around you. They don’t want to seem rude so the two of them secretly cheer at the headache you suffered to be able to change this drastically, “However," you comb your fingers through his hair lovingly, "you’re the star of the show today. Why don’t you go first, my dear?”

Sirius doesn’t refute, too distracted and pink-cheeked by your affection to do anything but nod. He then turns to Ollivander, who smiles down at him kindly. The oddness surrounding the wand artisan, however, cannot be missed and Sirius is cautious to proceed forward. 

“Your name, young man?”

“Sirius Black,”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sirius. Please step behind the counter and we can get started on finding you the perfect wand, shall we?” Sirius glances one more time over his shoulder and observes the encouraging nod you give him; his heart calming from the reassuring pat you give atop his head. Another moment passes before he is led behind the counter by Ollivander. The elderly wizard proceeds to give him a short once-over before disappearing between two ceiling-tall shelves, stacked full of stored wands. 

“Do you want to watch your brother find his wand, Regulus?” you ask, kneeling to level with your youngest.

“Yes please, Mother,” he nods with a shy smile, “but I don’t know if I’m allowed past the counter,” 

“Don’t worry,” with a smile, you carry him up in your arms, “I can seat you on the counter instead,” for the brief moment you rise, he stays in your embrace. However, when you go to place him on the counter, you find that Regulus doesn’t want to be let go.

In a whisper, you ask if he’s alright, “Can you just hold me like this?...please?”  His answering whisper melts your heart and you can't find it in yourself to say no. Even if your arms begin to ache, you aren’t going to set him down until he wants to be set down – you’re determined! 

“You mean you don’t know which wand is for me?” Sirius’ words ring with curiosity more than judgment as he looks up at Ollivander. 

“I’m afraid not, my boy,”

“Aren’t you supposed to know?”

Smiling fondly, Ollivander begins to explain the process, happy to answer the questions of a curious child, “Ultimately, it is the wand that chooses the wizard, Mr Black,”

Sirius contemplates Ollivander’s words for a moment as Regulus gasps in astonishment beside your ear. The awe and interest are evident in the youngest’s silently twinkling grey eyes, matching that of his elder brother. Their wonderment is clear and both are equally skilful in concealing it.

“How will I know that a wand has chosen me?

“You’ll know,” Ollivander nods. There’s something in his pale eyes that makes Sirius keep from asking anything further. Something that says ‘trust me’.

Together, you and Regulus watch over the counter as Sirius tests out a variety of wands. 

At one point Sirius makes several misplaced papers catch fire, which makes you giggle quietly. Regulus stiffened in your arms momentarily at the sight of the sudden flames and only seemed to relax as soon as he heard your soft laughter. It isn't until he presses his face into the junction of your neck and shoulder that he finally draws your attention. It didn’t seem like an issue to press further about so you gave his small back a few reassuring rubs and continued to watch over Sirius – perhaps Regulus was feeling a little exhausted already. Despite the disastrous flames, Ollivander had the situation handled and simply magicked away the fire before rummaging around for a different wand, muttering softly to himself as he did so. It wasn’t until Ollivander came back with a jet-black wand with familiar-looking markings carved along its body that you smiled to yourself. This was the one. 

“Try this...” Ollivander offers up the wand but after the previous incident, Sirius is much more hesitant to proceed. He was only able to resume the testing when Ollivander flashed him a kind, reassuring smile - though he remained hesitant and stiff. Sirius was too scared to turn and see your reaction to the commotion he had just caused. But it was an accident! Surely you’d understand– “Give it a wave, then, young man,” Ollivander's chuckle was able to ease some of the stiffness from his limbs as the markings beneath his fingers urged him for a sturdier grip before giving the black wand a small flick. 

Appearing from the tip of his wand, a small circulating breeze moves through the room, not caring for the mess it makes of any unfiled papers nor the rattling it causes amongst the stacked boxes of wands. The breeze eventually returns to circle Sirius, ruffling his hair and clothes before eventually dying down to leave him looking bedraggled.

The result was quite confusing to the ordinary eye, which worried you, but not for the elderly wand artisan. Ollivander slaps his knee and throws his head back with a laugh. “Now that’s a match if I’ve ever seen one!” His words make Sirius stare up at him with wide eyes of disbelief. 

“Really?”

Ollivander kneels beside him with a twinkle in his eye, “That’s quite a choosy wand, my boy. Wands made out of jet black Ebony are happiest when in the hands of those who are not afraid of being themselves, sticking to their beliefs no matter what external pressures there may be,” the elderly wizard’s words washed over Sirius and flooded him with a feeling of vindication. He felt light and there was a flutter in his chest. In his short life so far, it’s been so hard to adhere to his convictions, and he has never before felt so validated, “you, young man, have a very courageous heart,”  Ollivander’s words make you smile widely. 

You set Regulus down as Sirius makes his way back to you. The two brothers share a hug but Sirius is still unable to meet your eyes. It isn't until his younger brother pulls away from the embrace that Sirius finally wills himself to look up at you. Regulus can see the slight fear in his older brother’s eyes and he knows the exact cause; Regulus was scared too. Regardless, you haven’t done or said anything to further his fears so the younger brother tries his best to be optimistic and flashes his older brother a small smile as if to say ‘it’s going to be okay’. 

Biting his lip, Sirius finally turns to find that you’ve come down to his height. Rather than a scowl on your face for his earlier misbehaviour with the discordant wands, he finds you smiling brightly at him instead. Before he could comprehend what was happening, you pulled him into your arms. One hand presses against the back of his head and encourages him to bury his face into your shoulder as the other splays across his small back to give him supportive pats. 

Beside his ear, you whisper, “I’m so proud of you, Sirius,” pulling away your eyes find that his own have significantly watered, holding back tears. Tears of joy, you assess and deliver a small kiss on his forehead. 

“You’re not mad at me? For setting fire to the papers earlier?”

“Of course not!” you protest and pull him into your tight embrace once more, “I’d be surprised if I don’t set something on fire when trying to find a new wand too,” he giggles against your shoulder and it's the most beautiful sound you've ever heard, “I’m so so proud of you Sirius, you have your wand now, and you’re going to be attending Hogwarts soon,” you sigh into his dark curls and mutter against his temple, “Far too soon…”

Relieved by your reaction, Sirius can finally digest your words and the sincere tone behind them. He’s never heard his mother praise him or voice how she’s proud of him but here you were, whispering rare words for him to hear only. He doesn’t know if he could ever feel happiness like this ever again. It’s hard for him to even describe - he’s just so so happy. 

It’s your turn to get a new wand now and the process is entirely the same. Ollivander goes through a selection of wands for you to test the feel of, giving each one a chance to see if they want to become your companion or not. After going through the first handful, you manage to light a stack of papers on fire yourself and when Ollivander swiftly distinguishes it, your group shares a laugh. 

“See? I told you it would happen to me too,” you smile over your shoulder at Sirius who giggles with his little brother. 

A few more inharmonious wands go by before Ollivander hands you one that's made of a light-coloured wood. The design of its body was very elegant and emulated a pattern that was reminiscent of vintage stone pillars. Widely spaced vertical ridges run along the main body and lead towards ornate, uniform designs that either look like curling leaves or crashing waves. It’s beautiful but what matters is whether or not the wand chooses you.

Flicking the wand, a spark of light escapes from the tip and you prepare yourself for another pile of papers to be set on fire. However, you’re pleasantly surprised when the light floats through the room as if it were swimming through water. It reaches Sirius and Regulus, where it proceeds to circle each of them before departing and leaving a warm touch that lingers on their cheek. The light eventually returns to you again, where it orbits your figure several times, enveloping your silhouette in an ethereal glow before disappearing. In its wake, it leaves a path of warmth that loiters in the air, suspended like the many particles of dust dancing in the light filtering in through the high windows.  

Smiling in success, you hold the wand to your chest and turn to your boys who had begun to cheer for you. You could have easily lost yourself in the moment if it weren’t for your keen ears picking up on Ollivander’s mutterings. His words were all in a whisper and not meant for anyone else’s ears.  

“How fascinating…” the elderly wizard smiles whimsically to himself again, “the singular wand whose properties are the precise opposite of the original became your destined companion,” you meet the pale, almost translucent eyes of the wand artisan, who smiles at you as soon as he finishes muttering to himself, “it’s truly an honour to be able to witness the pairing of an Applewood wand,”

“Why is that?” Regulus asks before you can even react. With a smile, Ollivander moves to the front of the counter and bows at the knees to his height. Their eyes lock like that of a patient but talented teacher and his diligent student. 

“There are many properties of a wand that can be attributed to the reasons why it chose its ultimate owner, one of which is its wood. Your brother,” Ollivander gestures to Sirius, “has himself a wand that is made of Ebony wood, while your mother has herself one that’s made of Applewood. Applewood wands are very powerful indeed, I can assure you of that,” you find yourself leaning closer, eager to learn more, just as much as your two sons were to learn of their mother and the nature of wands, “their owners are typically ones who harbour ambitious goals and even higher principles. As a result, there stands a positive correlation between possessors of Applewood wands and the life they tend to live,” your breath remains trapped in your throat, held there by anxiety as you tensely anticipate Ollivander’s successive words, “they live a life that is long and where they are well-loved,” the relief was great and one that you were desperate to maintain. You know what you're setting out to do is going to prove a difficult challenge but it is going to be worth it, as long as your two boys are happy and by your side.    

Together, both wands cost 14 galleons. And, despite the excitement you first held for meeting such a distinguished Harry Potter character, you were eager to leave, slightly scared of the amount of knowledge he potentially held. At the very least, you were able to depart on a good note

Naturally, the next order of business was to get all of Sirius’ robes and uniform at Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions shop. That would be on the north side of Diagon Alley and, considering you were on the south side for Ollivander’s wand shop, you needed to direct your boys back up to the North. You admit, it was quite inefficient to go from Gringotts, which was North, to Ollivander’s (South), only to go back North when all the shops you had left to visit were up there. There were many shop names that you recognised on the way down, however, it was best to get the only singular South-side shop from your list out of the way so you could spend the rest of the afternoon easily hopping from shop to shop in the North-side. 

“What’s wrong, darling?” you ask, noticing that Sirius has been staring off in one direction for some time, completely motionless and glued into place. 

“Nothing… let’s go,” he grabs a fistful of your dress’ skirt but you already noticed what had captured his attention. 

“A joke shop…” a small grin tugs on the corners of your lips. You remember the child-like wonder that washed over you whenever you watched the scenes featuring Fred and George Weasley’s joke shop. This joke shop isn't theirs but you wonder if it’s just as remarkable. 

Sirius had no hope of ever convincing you to take a look, especially when most of today would be packed full of shopping at other shops for his supplies as a first year. In his insecurity, Sirius was only able to muster a quiet, “...yeah…” 

“What a good idea,” you smile brightly and take both their hands into yours, heading in the direction of the shop happily named, ‘Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop’, “Let’s have a little look shall we? A small detour like this can’t do much harm,” Sirius was smiling from ear to ear as soon as he overcame the shock your agreement brought, “Although, I'm afraid I won’t consider buying anything,” a treat like that is meant for another time...

“That’s okay!” Sirius cheers and hurries along, making it to the door before you could and holding it open for you. 

You’re beginning to realise a recurring discrepancy between the size of a shop’s exterior compared to its interior space; the joke shop is considerably larger on the inside compared to its outside appearance. It added to the joke factor of the store itself - how funny that it appeared so deviously small on the outside. 

The entrance was lined with shelves filled with an assortment of joke items, all were vibrant and eye-catching. It was hard to enforce any form of restraint when your eyes couldn’t stay in one place too long, nor could your feet. There were several other children with their parents roaming the galleries of jokester paraphernalia too. Only then were you finally able to focus your gaze on your two, fascinated boys, not wanting to lose them.

“How undignified!” your eyes roll at the scratchy, annoying voice that invades your head once more, “No child of mine should ever be seen in a Joke Shop!”

“Oh Shut up, let my kids be kids,” you retaliate, folding your arms loosely as you observe Sirius dragging around his younger brother by the hand. Regulus happily heeds, not needing to be dragged to be able to shadow his older brother. Nevertheless, their small hands remain connected. The scene made you smile warmly, they’re the cutest boys you’ve ever – you want to prolong their happiness and give them as many opportunities as possible to experience the same delights over and over again. 

“THEY’RE NOT YOUR KIDS!”

“YES. THEY. ARE!” shaking away Walburga’s shrill screams, you try to focus on the ground beneath you. It’s best to end this argument quickly, you don’t want to faint in the middle of a joke shop and ruin the day for your two boys; it's barely started. 

You didn’t prolong your stay but enough time was spent there for you to witness Sirius’ certain appeal towards a particular item: a purple box of stink pellets. Smiling to yourself, you make a mental note of the fact before leading your two boys out and back to the north side of Diagon Alley. 

It’s a relief that most shops offer delivery services, you don’t believe you would be able to carry all of your purchased items home. 

At Madam Malkin’s, you bought all the necessary uniforms and robes for Sirius to have. Being an established house and family, you were attended to right away despite your insistence on no special treatment. Sirius was then measured and the appropriate sizes for his robes and other items were brought back to be tried on. He looked somewhat embarrassed from the attention but you couldn’t help yourself. There are many joys of being a mother and one of them was the ability to brag about how beautiful and exemplary your child was. To anyone within earshot and to those who, both, cared and didn’t care to listen, you openly talked their ear off about Sirius. Said son grew redder and redder with each expression of praise that left your lips without an ounce of hesitation. 

Was he hearing right? You're just joking with him...but you sound so sincere. Surely those other people don't care, why are you such talk on them?!  

“He looks all grown up, I’m so so proud of him,” Sirius’ ear tinted a faint red. 

“I worry that he’ll attract too many girls’ attention and grow a bad reputation over breaking too many hearts. But, then again, look at his handsome face, of course, they would fall for my son,” Sirius looks to the side, trying to find interest in the cracks of the shop’s walls -- a weak attempt at distracting himself from the flames in his cheeks. 

“I can already tell! He’s going to achieve so many great things, I just know it!” Sirius looks over and narrows his eyes at his giggling younger brother. Wait until he has to go through the same thing when he starts his first year! 

“Yes yes, I know your son looks wonderful in his robes too but look at my son! His robes look like they were made for him!” try as he might, Sirius can’t help the smile that pulls at his lips. His heart swells up in his chest and threatens to burst from the amount of happiness your endless praise fosters in him. 

Just as the checklist states, you made sure to get three sets of plain work robes in black, a pointed hat, a protective pair of dragon hide gloves, a black winter coat with silver fastenings and, lastly, name tags to attach to all items. The total amounted to 28 galleons and 44 sickles. Madam Malkins offered a service that stitched on the name tags for you but you kindly refused. It’s a tedious task but you wanted to stitch the name tags on yourself; you had the time and you wanted to do your due diligence as a mother. This is your job and you aren’t going to hand it over to anyone else. You were told to expect the owl delivery within a week. 

“How about a break?” you suggest upon seeing a sudden fall in your boys’ energy. Their once slumped shoulders suddenly tense and the two peer up at you with cautious eyes. Despite the amount of progress you’ve made in cultivating a mutual rapport with them, it appears that some phrases put them on high alert regardless of the harmonic atmosphere. 

“It’s okay mother,” Regulus hurriedly assures, his smile now much smaller and wrinkled at the edges from superficially conjectural nerves. 

“Yeah, we’re not tired, we can continue shopping just fine,” Sirius continues, reaching out to hold hands with his brother as they stand before you with identical ambivalent expressions. It breaks your heart. Their words are simple but their actions are heavily veneered by a thin veil of coy nonchalance. 

“Aren’t you two hungry?” you ask, crouching down to meet at their level, where you’ve gotten into the habit of being able to converse deeply with them. Keeping their gaze, holding each other’s attention and listening closely has led to so much understanding and that’s all you want with them. 

They look at each other from your question. Sirius can see the obvious hesitation in his younger brother’s eyes and he gives his hand a small squeeze. Usually, Sirius was the more outspoken one, never letting his fears show while allowing his tongue to run and verbalise all the thoughts and opinions in his head. It was his small bit of freedom in a house that was so set on censoring him and his many opposing views, despite his young age. Oftentimes, his parents would guilt him into thinking that he was being a bad influence on Regulus, simply by voicing his views, which are usually opposite to those of his parents. Regulus had a much softer disposition, however. While Sirius carried about smug confidence and had a deficiency for self-preservation, Regulus reigned in studiousness and quiet wit. Sirius knows that his younger brother is gifted but his bright mind shouldn’t be cultivated under such oppressive practices and methods. If that happened, Sirus feared that his darling, little brother's gift would be reduced to nothing. There's no way that Sirius would let that happen to his baby brother, which is why he’s so vocal! But… what's changed? 

Now he was hesitating, his throat clogged up, his palms were sweaty…he was scared. Scared to have you look at him with disapproval or disappointment. Sirius doesn’t know what happened to you, his mother, but you’re different now, he wants to love you and be loved in return. You’ve shown him that you can give the tenderness he desires, you’ve proven that he’s loveable and that he’s worth your time and attention. 

He’s scared because if he makes a single misstep now… he’s going to lose that. It’s much harder losing something you’ve known, felt, and experienced than losing something that never existed in the first place…

“My dears?” you whisper with concern, leaning forward ever so slightly with furrowed brows of worry, “what’s wrong?”

“We’ll have to go home to eat…” Regulus confesses softly. He avoids your eyes as he fiddles with the hem of his long-sleeved shirt and completely misses the confused look on your face. 

“It is not proper to conclude important errands prematurely,” Sirius explains as if reciting from a rulebook,  “...and we don’t want to go home yet either…”

“We’re not stopping entirely,” you reassure, petting their soft hair affectionately and rewarding them with a kind smile as soon as they raise their hopeful faces to you, “we’re just having a lunch break, my loves,” 

“You mean…” Sirius begins. 

“We’re eating outside?” Regulus continues. Both look astonished at the notion. 

“Of course, it’s better than eating back at home,” it then occurs to you a simple explanation for their odd behaviour, “Do you two not want to eat outside?”

“No!” Sirius jumps over-excited before a flash of realisation flourishes in his grey eyes and he quickly drops back, “No, it’s not that, m-mother,” 

“W-we’ve just never eaten outside before,” Regulus explains shyly, “you have us on a strict dietary regime as a proper gentleman wizard of the Black family should be,”

“I’m putting a stop to that ridiculous ‘diet’ as soon as we get back,” they perk up at you but are quickly ushered forward to the nearby pub; unable to press you further on the matter.

Stepping into the Leaky Cauldron, you're greeted by the comforting aroma of hearty meals, mingling with the faint scent of crackling firewood and a faint fog of cigarette smoke. The space is a cosy retreat from the chaotic cobblestone streets outside. From the ceiling hangs several candle-lit chandeliers made of blackened iron, its flickering lights casting a warm glow upon the worn wooden tables and mismatched chairs positioned about the room. The walls are lined with shelves displaying an eclectic assortment of magical curiosities - from peculiar potion ingredients preserved in jars to enchanted artefacts that seem to hum with hidden power. An array of portraits decorate two parallel walls above brick archways. The portraits contain inky sketches that move about freely, some interacting with other portraits as a few characters walk between the varying displays. You guess they might be disappointed to realise that their selection of landscapes are largely the same - plain - but having the freedom seemed sufficient for them to stay jovial enough. At the heart of the room stands a grand fireplace, its flames dancing merrily within its brick frame. Its ochre light casts playful shadows across the room, socialising with the silhouettes of fellow bar guests.

Lighting within the pub relied heavily on candles so the atmosphere was quite dim but the tall candle illuminating the centre of your table gave the time spent there a very idyllic ambience. The two were unfamiliar with the menu items so, with their permission and trust, you ordered in their place.

Since Sirius didn’t mind what he got, you ordered for him Hunter’s Chicken. Regulus said he had a liking for fish so you got him a classic plate of Fish and Chips. For yourself, you got the cottage pie. For drinks, they got apple juice while you had a hot tea. Thinking back on the bland meals served at the Black family household, you’re certain that they were in for a treat today. 

It doesn’t take long for the meals to be given out after your beverages; thankfully all of your entrees were delivered together. In front of Sirius were two succulent chicken breasts wrapped in smoky bacon and smothered in a rich and tangy barbecue sauce, baked to golden-brown perfection. 

He takes his first bite and moans in amazement at the taste. The tender chicken yields effortlessly to reveal layers of savoury goodness - the sweet and smoky notes of the bacon harmonising with the bold tanginess of the barbecue sauce. Every mouthful he takes thereafter struggles between going slow or fast, the symphony of textures and tastes, leaves him craving more of the hearty dish. He doesn’t think he’s ever tasted something so appetising. Why couldn’t the food at home taste like this?

Regulus had before him a plate displaying a golden fillet of flaky fish. It’s encased in a light and crispy batter, served alongside a generous helping of thick-cut, crispy-on-the-outside-fluffy-on-the-inside chips, garden peas and a small ceramic of tartar sauce. Having not seen this appearance of a fish dish before, Regulus looks up at you with a curious look as if to say ‘What is this?’. You greet his curiosity with a sympathetic but patient gaze. 

Gently, you urge him to squeeze the lemon slice over the battered fish and nod when he timidly follows your instruction, “Now give it a try, my darling, I promise you’ll like it,” 

…and like it, he did!  

With each bite, Regulus is met with satisfying crunch after satisfying crush. The exterior is perfectly fried, giving way to the tender fish within. The delicate cod melts in his mouth, introducing the delicate flavour of the fish, complemented by a sprinkle of salt and the squeeze of fresh lemon. Together they create a harmonious balance of savoury and tangy notes that dance happily over his palate. 

“It’s delicious Mother!” Regulus grins with partially stuffed cheeks and crumbs of the batter decorating his lips. Sirius nods enthusiastically beside him, unable to speak from stuffing his mouth full of his chicken dish. 

“Big brother, you have to try some!” you watch with a heart swelling up from adoration and pride as Regulus offers a big chunk of his fish and places it onto his brother’s plate. 

“You too Reggie!” Sirius does the same with his chicken, generously offering up a portion from his plate. Once the two try a bite of each other’s meal, an explosion of ardour lights up their grey eyes, creating a galaxy of endless constellations in their wake. They are so precious. 

Giggling at their antics, you turn to your dish and begin to eat. In all honesty, seeing them enjoying their food for the first time had your stomach already halfway full. So you happily offered a portion of your cottage pie as well. They wanted to say no but you were much too convincing and when they offered a bite of their dishes, you explained that you were already getting full. 

They were named after stars but at this moment, their eyes held a galaxy of their own, just from tasting a delicious meal. You want to see them like this all the time…maybe you should begin cooking in the kitchen again? It was a hobby of yours that you enjoyed, baking too but found limited time to partake in it when your business had exponential growth.

Throughout the meal, you often forgot your unfinished plate to be able to tend to your boys. They’re not usually this messy but they were enjoying their food so well that they couldn’t help themselves. They haven’t tasted food this good before! 

“You two are so messy,” you joke, giggling to yourself as you reach over with a napkin to wipe at the edges of their mouths while they chew their food. A look of shame crosses their adorable, sweet faces and they slow their mastication, avoiding your gaze. 

“Sorry mother,” Regulus apologises meekly as Sirius mutters a similar apology beside him. 

“Whatever for?” you pout at them, “I love seeing you enjoying your meals so much,” their expressions relax slightly when they turn to gaze up to witness your kind smile, “maybe I should get a cookbook and begin cooking up some delicious meals at home for you two, hmm?” a wide grin overcomes them, their astonishment quickly washing away from their elation at the prospect.  

“Really mother?!” hopefulness makes Regulus’ voice raise an octave higher as Sirius bashfully stares up at you. 

“You’d do that?... For us?” Sirius’ voice comes out unusually shy. 

“Of course,” you shrug nonchalantly, trying to temper your exuberant grin, “I was getting tired of the dull, tasteless meals anyway,”

The main topic for the next visit was Eeylops Owl Emporium. 

In your head, you remember the dark feathered owl Sirius owned in the films who had a horrible habit of biting people. Surely it wouldn’t affect the timeline drastically if you bought a different owl for him. It’s been on your mind how you would like to write letters to Sirius regularly, especially during his first year. You might even convince Regulus to join you so you could send your letters together; you didn’t want your son getting bit every time you wrote a letter to him so you’ll be getting him a different bird for all prospective deliveries. 

Upon entering the shop, you encourage your boys to explore and keep a lookout for an owl that would be suitable for Sirius to have for school. In the meantime, you tried to pinpoint the owl with the terrible biting habit so that you may be able to steer Sirius away from ever encountering the bird. You don’t understand why Sirius would have ever decided to get a bird like that in the first place so if he manages to find it before you and decides he wants it, you don’t know how you’ll be able to convince him otherwise— 

“That insolent thing bit me!” as the original Walburga’s voice enters your head, an image of the familiar black-feathered owl flashes behind your eyelids. 

˖  ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖

‘The amber-eyed owl, quick as lightning, launches its head forward with a vicious snapping of its beak. Successful in its attack, you reel your arm back – except it’s notyourarm – with a shriek of fright and pain. Upon looking down, you observe the torn fabric of your sleeve as well as the lacerated skin of your arm – still not your arm – which begins to bleed a crimson red. Anger and embarrassment flood your veins as you prepare to curse at the insolent thing but stop when your eyes lock onto the hidden smirk of your eldest son. 

“I want that one,” he says, a devious twinkle in his eyes. Before you could protest, his negligent and, often, preoccupied father, steps towards the shop clerk to request the owl for purchase. Orion hadn’t seen the vicious beast attacking you; too eager to return to his work and rushing through the list of school supplies needed for Sirius' first year. The man you call your husband only has himself to blame for waiting so late, only a week was left before Sirius had to depart for Hogwarts but, thankfully, most delivery services didn’t require that long to complete shipment.

“Let's hurry along then,” Orion clicks his tongue in displeasure over the sudden slowing of everyone’s pace, “we must be done by noon, I have better things to be doing!”

˖  ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖

“Wh-what the–?” blinking rapidly, your vision of the present slowly returns as you reach out to grasp onto something just to steady yourself. Unlike all other squabbles, the original Walburga doesn’t return to elaborate in her screeching voice; she is unusually silent but you’re too dazed to point it out. 

You don’t realise what’s happened until you’re flinging your arm back with a sharp cry, cradling your arm to your chest. 

“Mother!” Regulus runs up to you with furrowed brows marked by distress, “Are you okay?” he reaches for your arm and you bashfully show him your injury, inflicted onto you by a black-feathered owl. The cheeky thing tilts its head at you as if it’s done nothing wrong and merely proceeds to preen its feathers, unbothered by the whole ordeal – so rude.

“Not that one,” Sirius glares at the malevolent bird, narrow eyes filled with malice before turning to you with a softened look of concern. 

“It’s alright my darlings,” you smile reassuringly at them both, “it’s just a scratch, let’s look for a different owl, alright?” 

It took a while to calm the boys enough to distract them from the mishap and finally return to the task at hand. You're injured but you, thankfully, didn’t have to do much to convince Sirius about choosing another owl. Only… The fact that your injury looks identical to the one that appeared on the arm of (what you assume) is the original Walburga’s vision, was disconcerting. 

You make mental notes of everything that happened in the short period, not wanting to ponder on the sinister details just yet, not when you were having such a fun day with your two boys. 

In the end, Sirius settles on a majestic barn owl with beautiful gold and white feathers. The shopkeeper informed you that the owl was a female as he prepared all the additional items you wanted to have with the owl; treats, a small care guide, its cage, water bowl, food bowl, and all of its necessities. You don’t want to acknowledge the shopkeeper’s suspicious gaze as it periodically falls on you. It was beginning to make you feel self-conscious and you’re eager to distract your racing mind. This was probably all original Walburga’s doing. You know how much of a bitch she is but her reputation is proving to be incredibly troublesome when it comes to interacting with other people. 

“What will you name her, Sirius?” you ask, hoping your voice doesn’t give away your discomfort. Thankfully, your question is a good distraction for everyone, including the shopkeeper. 

“I don’t know…” Sirius ponders to himself, “Maybe… hmmm… Owletta,” he grins cheekily, proud of himself for the creative name. You can already see the marauder in him and it makes you grin as well. 

“That sounds very fitting,” you wink at him as Regulus giggles to himself, enjoying the given name as well, “great choice,”

“What happened to the last owl you purchased?” the shopkeeper asks suddenly, finally finished with preparing all the items and eying you warily. You feel Sirius and Regulus’ eyes on you from his question as well and hurry to make an excuse. This situation has grown very uncomfortable.  

“Last owl?”

“Yes, the screech owl, from last week,”

“It was for a gift…to a friend,” you smile innocently despite your awkward wording, grateful that the shopkeeper doesn’t ask any further questions although he does appear reluctant to hand over Owletta. But with an impatient flap of her large wings, he hands her over inside her cage. She probably felt the taut tension of indecision in the air far worse than you.  

“10 galleons…” you gladly hand over payment and usher your boys out. 

This has the original Walburga's name written all over it. 

Continuing with the shopping, your next stop was Flourish and Blotts for Sirius’ books. The list of publications needing to be purchased was long, amounting to eight volumes of knowledge ranging from magical creatures to history and magic theory. You were tempted to read through the books yourself and learn a thing or two but didn’t want to appear lacking. As unfortunate as it is, you’re supposed to be the Walburga Black, a very proud, ‘high-class’ witch within the wizarding world, meaning that you had to be proficient in, at least, 1st year of wizarding knowledge.  

Fortunately, there was an owl delivery option for the books, which saves you from carrying the heavy load but you’re beginning to feel sad for the poor owls subjected to delivering such a package. Not only that but you worried for your poor Sirius’ little shoulders and arms having to carry around those heavy books at Hogwarts. You hope to god there’s a magic bag that could carry many things without transferring the weight onto you. From the books and the delivery fee, everything costs 14 galleons in total. 

It wasn’t listed on the official school supplies list but you had the foresight to go to Scribbulus Writing Instruments to buy an assortment of inks, quills and parchment. Sirius and Regulus were fascinated by the colour-changing inks available, some transitioning between two to three colours and some cycling through much more. At first, you found it odd that they hadn’t encountered such a simple and commonplace magical item before until you remembered their parents and all the unfortunate implications that came with that realisation. It made your fists clench in anger and had you impulsively buying a small pot of each colour-changing ink to the surprise and subsequent delight of your two boys. 

“Y-you didn’t have to do that Mother,” Regulus comments shyly with a soft pink glow dusting his cheeks as he cradles a small pot of colour-changing ink in his little hands. That particular one was his favourite, if you remember correctly, it transitioned through an array of blue hues. He looks so adorable; you don’t know how you were able to resist reaching down to pinch at his pudgy cheeks. 

“Of course, I had to,” you huff with a playful sternness before leaning down and bringing them in close to whisper for their ears only, it was as if you were telling a century-old secret. Intrigued by your actions, they lean in with rounded eyes of wonder, “But promise not to tell your father, he doesn’t deserve to know about our secret ink stash,” Sirius grins mischievously as Regulus' cheeks dimple. Nodding firmly at each other, your agreement was sealed and the three of you continued with your shopping spree. 

The next stop was Potage’s Cauldron Shop, where you purchased a small cauldron before getting potioneer equipment and a telescope from Wisearce’s Wizardry Equipment. Again, like all the shops before, it was incredibly touching to be able to see your son's eyes sparkle in fascination and wonderment. You can practically hear their thoughts. Even though Regulus has to wait another year before he can attend Hogwarts, they’re both glowing with enthusiasm and alacrity to learn and experience something new. It just makes your heart ache a little over how you’re going to be mostly absent from that venture, seeing as Hogwarts is a boarding school. In the meantime, you’ll savour having them with you now and spending the little time you have with Sirius worthwhile and carry that on with Regulus while his older brother is at school creating chaos with the rest of the marauders.   

Sirius’ assortment of school equipment was quickly piling up and so was his excitement. It was an excitement that proved to be very contagious as Regulus stood to his right, absorbing the delight that flowed from him in wave after beautiful wave. Seeing such precious smiles on their faces, it was hard to believe that the first day or so was filled with them fixing you with permanent scowls or passive expressions that were too mature and ill-suited to their youthful faces. These gorgeous smiles suited them a lot more… and you want to keep it that way. 

Stepping back out onto the cobblestone streets, you look around with your mental list of shops that still need visiting but find your gaze stopping on the sign of a quaint, unassuming shop dubbed ‘Belby’s Potions and Ingredients’. You don’t remember ever hearing of a shop like this being in Diagon Alley but that’s to be expected, the world building wasn’t very expansive in the Harry Potter movies or books when it came to Diagon Alley, and this is without considering that you were in a different era of the Harry Potter Universe. You’ve already come across some shops that you’ve never heard of before but sit comfortably, right at home, amongst the other recognisable shops in the district; this one in particular shouldn't strike you as so intriguing.

“Is that where we’re going next, mother?” Sirius speaks up, snapping you out of your dazed state. 

Smiling shyly, you make a small confession, “It’s not part of the list, I’m just hoping for a little detour to get you familiar with potion ingredients before school," you skillfully fib, "is that okay with you boys?” asking for their opinion and giving them a choice to agree or disagree always seemed to make them happy. It’s a freedom and a luxury, that they were rarely given when under the real Walburga’s ‘care’ so they were more than happy to oblige. 

“Of course that’s alright,” Regulus looks past the skirt of your black dress to meet eyes with his brother, “right, Sirius?”

“Yeah!” grinning happily, they hold your hands in their much smaller ones and start pulling you along to the shop, their enthusiasm making appear like normal, happy kids, “let’s go, mother!”

Looking up at the sign once more, you allow your curiosity to spring forward. Indeed, you can’t recognise this shop before your transfer into the Harry Potter, Marauders era universe but the name ‘Belby’ definitely piqued your interest. It’s on the tip of your tongue but you couldn’t quite place where you recognise the name. 

Entering the shop, you were presently enticed by the entirely separate atmosphere it presented. Unlike most of the other shops that were, either, barely lit or bursting with colour, the atmosphere of this shop was remarkably serene. It was pleasant. A good change of pace. Switching from two extremes of decoration, it was relieving to finally find one that danced in the middle, leaning towards an aesthetic that was homey and unsophisticated. 

Your two boys were quick to begin surveying the shelves of products themselves - a library of carefully crafted potions and their ingredients. It was clear that they too, were welcomed and put at ease by the cottage-core aesthetic of the dwelling. There were dried bunches of flora hanging from the walls and ceiling, some with cute blossoms, frozen in their prime, whilst other herbage sported brittle stems and frail, veiny leaves. The colours of the ingredients and tightly packed potions meticulously measured into phials were somewhat muted but in a very pretty sense. It was like opening a beloved, ageing book and diving into its wondrous, antiquated tales, freckled with wise passages that transcend all time and languages. The shop was very small but also very charming and well-loved; you felt right at home.

As your two boys weave through the isles of merchandise, a genial voice calls out to you, “Welcome to Belby’s Potions and Ingredients, I’m Damocles Belby, how can I help you today?” at the front counter, you observe a man in his mid-thirties with a full beard and moustache framing a no-eye smile. Slowly easing himself out of his merry greeting, his eyelids unfurl to reveal a beautiful pair of honey-amber eyes. He looks kind; his affable demeanour is just as welcoming as his cosy shop. 

“Hello sir,” you hope your smile conveys, at least, half of the warmth of his own, “I’m just taking a look around, thank you,” he gives a soft ‘ahh’ of acknowledgement before nodding, “My two boys are also around here somewhere. My eldest son will be starting his first year at Hogwarts next month so I wanted him to get a little familiar with the potion ingredients he’ll be encountering at school,”

“That’s a brilliant idea,” Damocles grins in approval, chuckling to himself at your chest swelling with pride for your son, “what is your son’s name?”    

“Sirius Black,” you announce fondly, the friendly atmosphere coming to a screeching halt when realisation washes over Damocles’ features. The once cordial air has plunged to freezing temperatures within seconds, prickling your skin with goosebumps. 

“M-madam Black,” he greets formally with a bow of his head. It’s clear that Walburga’s reputation is notoriously menacing but you’re not her and you kindly ask that he refrain from such discretionary (in your eyes) behaviour. 

“I’m simply a mother to my sons and a wife to my husband,” a disgusting, pile of shit that’s a complete waste of oxygen, who doesn’t deserve the title of father or husband, “that is all,” your answer doesn’t soothe him as you’d hoped it would but your attentions are soon required elsewhere when you’re both drawn to an even cosier corner of the store. 

Led there by the whisperings of your two sons, both accompanied by a tired yet melodious voice, you are greeted with the most charming sight — your boys sitting at the foot of a rocking chair, where a frail but equally kind-looking woman slumps into, her pale blue eyes shining with fondness at them as she embroiders a shimmering pink thread into a plain square of cloth in her lap. She’s dressed modestly, with her top hiding her arms in long lantern sleeves as her collar stretches up her neck. The long skirt of her dress looks layered, puffing up at the sides of her seat and what little skin you would have seen at her ankles are covered in thick socks. You wonder if she’s cold at all. Or maybe she’s just a very unobtrusive person with a likeness for coquettish and demure fashions.      

“How do you know how to make the flowers if you don’t draw them first?” Regulus asks, peering over her lap in an attempt to catch sight of her work between her elegantly working hands. 

Sirius nods and adds to the conversation with his question, “Yeah, and why aren’t you using magic like everyone else?” 

“It comes with a lot of practice,” she answers your baby first before turning to your slightly older baby, “and I do it because I enjoy embroidering; besides…” she turns her work over to them, allowing you a glimpse of her masterpiece as well, “it always looks prettier when I embroider it myself,” your two boys ‘ooo~’ and ‘aaah~’ at her work. The interaction draws a soft giggle from you while the shopkeeper beside you sighs quietly – he sounds relieved. 

“Are you feeling better, my dear?” Damocles steps up to his wife, placing one hand on the head of the cane that’s kept beside her rocking chair. His other hand reaches up to curl his fingers into a shy ringlet of her blonde hair. They are a loving couple, a 'one true pair'. 

“Mr Belby, you need to stop being such a worrier,” his wife chides playfully at him, abandoning her embroidery to smile lovingly at her husband, “and besides, there’s nothing for you to fret about when I’m around such good company,” her comment makes you smile widely, proud that your two boys were growing a reputation of their own, ones separate from the infamous Black family. You can handle the stares and uncomfortable accommodations for your prominence but you wouldn't stand for them to experience it too. 

“Right, of course,” Damocles nods with a short but airy chuckle and nods at the boys thankfully when they shuffle their way back to you. Sirius and Regulus had never seen such an affectionate couple before; their parents weren’t like that. And, although they wish they could grow up under such a soft and healthy model of love, they know that it wouldn’t be possible; to them, mothers and fathers don’t normally show affection for each other and that was how it was going to stay between their parents. There was no use in hoping. 

“You must be these two young men’s mother,” Damocles’ wife meets your gaze and smiles, her beauty unable to be masked by her pronounced ailment, “My name is Ruth Belby, I see you’ve already met my worry-wart of a husband,” the two of you share a laugh before you’re able to introduce yourself as well. Unlike her spouse, Ruth's first reaction was not fear but rather surprise, an astonishment that quickly melted into a soft smile. 

“You two have a very lovely shop,” Sirius and Regulus nod eagerly by your sides, agreeing with your comment, “it’s so much cosier than all the other shops around here,”

Damocles’ expression softens, his eyes mirroring sweet honey before he presses a kiss to his wife’s temple, “It’s all because of my wife’s keen eye, I catered this place solely for her palates’ enjoyment,” 

“I’m very lucky in that sense,” Ruth’s twinkling laugh rings out as quickly as it gives way to a coughing fit. It sounds as though she’s trying to hack up a serrated knife, the sound of it making all witnesses' hearts shake with panic except for Damocles', who rushes about to quell her discomfort. He hides his worries well. His expression is completely neutral as he offers her a crisp glass of water, however, his other hand reveals his true sentiments – his true fretfulness. As soon as she's had her fill of the glass, Damocles offers up a phial of magenta liquid that you’re all too familiar with, “darling, there’s no need for that,” Ruth’s nose scrunches up at the appearance of the healing potion. 

“It’s for your own good, please Ruth. I only want for you to feel better, my dear,” she grumbles and whines but eventually gulps down the healing potion, taking a moment to get over the ghastly taste before changing the topic. Your eyes fall onto her with sympathy. That potion is truly disgusting. 

“That’s enough about me, I hear that this young man is going to be attending Hogwarts,” Ruth gestures to Sirius as you fondly bring up a hand to comb your fingers through his perfectly permed hair. 

“Yes, he’s growing up far too quickly…” you hum, melancholic despite only being with your newly acquired sons for a little over a week. Sirius’ ears tint a soft pink and he shyly peeks up at you with pouting lips. 

“Growing up is normal…” he utters like a grump. 

“I know,” you sigh in gentle acceptance, “but I quite like you as you are right now,” Sirius’ eyes widen in disbelief and his cheeks burn as pink as his ears. It’s an expression that makes you smile warmly, you like the appearance of it on him, he needs to express it more often, “I want you to stay like this with me just a little bit longer, is that too much to ask?” 

“...not really,” you didn’t expect him to answer but it was in a whisper so you had to lean down ever so slightly to hear him clearer, “I’ll try to stay like this a little longer for you…if you want,” his comment, heard by you and Ruth, have you both cooing at him as Regulus grins hard enough for his dimples to show again; his older brother’s rose-red face is so funny to look at! 

When it comes time for you, Regulus and Sirius to leave, you thought it would just be a regular goodbye but not for your two boys. They've made good friends with the couple, especially Ruth so a memorable adieu was in order. 

Regulus bows to Ruth like a true gentleman while Sirius places a small kiss on her knuckles, whereby he then turns to his younger brother and says verbatim: that’s how a true gentleman bids farewell to a beautiful lady. The gesture of your eldest made Damocles’ eyes bulge out as Ruth laughed aloud, her shoulders shaking as her eyes lit up in glee. It's a relief that she didn't have a coughing fit this time. You, yourself, don’t know why you were so surprised. It appears as though Sirius’ philanderer ways didn’t start in Hogwarts; he already had the potential even before attending the boarding school. 

With another wave of your hand and a glance over your shoulder, you leave the couple whilst leading your two boys to the door in front of you. 

It was then that you saw it… 

In Ruth, you saw your past self. It was like looking into a mirror, a mirror into the past where you couldn’t have children no matter how desperately you wanted to have ones of your own. Like you, she probably had a list of names picked out in her head already. Like you, she probably pictured their innocent, beautiful faces in the appearance of other children. Like you, she envied the mothers who were able to conceive and desperately wished for a miracle to happen only for that miracle to never materialise. It was a mix of hopeless yearning and doleful forbearance. From your peripheral, you discern a similar impression on Damocles as he stands beside his ill-stricken wife. 

Damocles Belby… why does that name sound so familiar to you?  

The boys did so well today. It was long and arduous and you could see the sun beginning to set, however, it’s never too late for–

“Ice cream?” Regulus asks with glittering grey eyes. 

“We can have two scoops each,” you announce, eager to reward yourself as well, “we deserve something delicious for our hard work today,” Regulus was bouncing on the soles of his feet, something both you and Sirius noticed.  

“You can go first Reggie,” Sirius smiles at his little brother, who turns to you with pleading eyes.

“Can I choose my flavours myself?” he asks to which you smile and nod. Eagerly, he looks through the collection of available ice cream and decides to go for, “one scoop of strawberry and peanut butter, and one scoop of apple crumble please,” he seems proud of his order and is soon savouring it with the happiest expression on his face. It’s unexpected but he, undoubtedly, has a sweet tooth. A studious, quiet boy with a secret love for sweet things - how charming and precious. 

“Can I have one scoop of the clotted cream, and one scoop of the sticky toffee pudding please,” just like Regulus, Sirius was soon delving into his ice cream too, both teetering on the edge of wanting to devour the rare, cold treat whilst also trying to make it last as long as possible. You giggle at their antics briefly before ordering your own two scoops from the same vendor who smiles at you kindly. In his gaze and wrinkled but dexterous fingers, familiar and elegant with their motions, express a love for his craft and a love for those who show their appreciation of it – the simple act of enjoying their ice cream was payment enough to him. 

“Thank you kindly, sir,”

“Not at all mam, enjoy yer ice creams,” the man offers a slight tip of his head upon accepting payment. 

On a nearby bench, Sirius, Regulus and you sit quietly together and finish your doubly topped cones, taking the time to observe passing wizards and witches while enjoying the little time you have left of your day out shopping. You don’t think the day could have gone any better, and Sirius and Regulus don’t think anything would be able to transcend the fun they’ve had. 

Meeting each other’s eyes, Sirius and Regulus silently agree that today has been the best day they’ve ever had, not knowing that you have plenty of great days lined up for them. 

NEXT. | 04 : ... → | SERIES M.LIST

A/N : it's finally here, my promised, final update before i go on my hiatus. i'm sorry it took me so long to get out to you darlings. after my indefinite hiatus announcement, i got really busy. however, i'm sure you darlings would be happy to know that my situation has gotten better. it's not to the point that i feel like i can comfortably write but i'm definitely getting there so i can confidently say that I can see myself returning from my hiatus later on this year. in the mean time, i hope you darlings enjoy this chapter and please take care! i love you all so much and i'll see you soon x 

TAGLIST : @ttulipwritezz @ireallywannasleep127 @cloudlst @fortheeeefics @younmey @googie-jeon @unstablereader @cassie6392 @kneelforloki @enamoredwithbella @arcanumofthestars @bookworm124 @sonics-atelier @yours-truly-maya @honkravenous @theunwcnted @venuseuripedis @fredsbetch @iciel @anuncalledbridge @melinajenkins @aastonishment @until-i-found-you @corp0real @celestcies @lovelydoveval @inlovewithremusjohnlupin @calums-betch @futurecorps3 @hihihi1112 @simpingforthe80s @yrluvjane @chaosofmanyfandoms @storyofaromance @loving-and-dreaming @somewereinthegalaxi @ashreblogsficshere @stray-bi-kids @ttkttt @notasadgirlipromise @desikudisworld @volturissideslut @arilxup88 @fallencrescentmoon @topaz125 @xxrougefangxx @starchaser-lily @probablypossesedbysatan @agent-tempest @veryberryjelly @th3-st4r-gur1 @sousydive @delusional-4-fake-people @linaax

[n0blefl0wer]

Assignment for class: read this excerpt from historical text (about 500 words) and write a couple paragraphs analyzing its meaning and historical context. You want to be a historian. This should be light work.

Me: ugh no. *proceeds to read 300k+ word fic and write a long ass comment praising the author*

[sunshinediaz]

wip wednesday

mm hi pals, i'm working on the christmas fics so i haven't made progress on much of anything in the last few weeks BUT i have decided i want to get the burning house fic done before 14 march and oof, i will hit that goal

anyway, have an angsty snip i've shared before but i've made minor changes so pretend it's new

“You’ve got a lot of nerve bitching at me about Natalia when you’re no better than me.” Buck sneers, an ugly thing that twists his face up crooked and mean. “Marisol, really? I had to drag you to help fix up her place, and now you’re playing house with her?”  “Fuck you, Buck. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”  Buck’s barked laugh is harsh and grating. “You don’t love her and you never will,” he says, shaking his head. “She deserves better than you.”  Red hot rage shoves up in Eddie’s throat, acidic and thick. “Get out.” He moves forward and pushes Buck’s shoulders hard, ignoring the way Buck stumbles backward into the refrigerator, knocking off the pictures and nearly toppling over. He won’t hit Buck—never—but he needs Buck gone now. Right now. “Get the fuck out of my house, Buck!”  Buck rightens himself, wide-eyed and pale in the face. He holds his hands up in surrender. “You want me to leave?” he asks, small and soft. His anger’s cooled significantly from a moment ago; he looks like a frightened child, full of regret. “Eddie?”  No. No, Eddie doesn’t want Buck to leave. How could he? The itchiness in his fingertips and the chill in the center of his chest are only soothed when Buck’s around. But that smolder of fury in the pit of his stomach’s been stoked after too long and he needs Buck to leave before the cap on his wrath loosens and he takes everyone down with him again.  “Go, Buck.” The please goes unsaid, unheard. “Get out.” 

tagged by @exhuastedpigeon, @daffi-990, @hippolotamus, and @jamespearce9-1-1

tagging @eddiebabygirldiaz, @spagheddiediaz, @jeeyuns, @disasterbuckdiaz, @devirnis, @callmenewbie, @giddyupbuck, @wikiangela, @thewolvesof1998, @theotherbuckley, @watchyourbuck, @wildlife4life, @fortheloveofbuddie, @jesuisici33, @loserdiaz, @monsterrae1, and anybody else who wants to share <3

[genuineformality]

Divorce era Jayvik energy

[donationwayne]

Backtrack (S7x09 SPECULATION) 3k

This is basically exactly how it sounds. Speculation about the next episode. Basically Buck finds out about Kim and they fight about it. Amen. Buckle up for some angst, i'm sorry in advance.

Buddie fight. Buck feelings realization. I'm sorry its three am and my brain is no longer functioning.

SNIP Despite all the people, he starts to feel the return of peace. The high-pitched whistle of a kettle is dying down in his head. Buck turns around a corner to check out another row of vendors when something strange catches the corner of his eye. He blinks once, then twice, and shakes his head. Buck only met Shannon a handful of times, but for the barest moment, he’d seen a woman that resembled her in an uncanny way. The resemblance fades after a moment, and he continues on until he realizes the man beside her looks suspiciously similar to Eddie. He laughs to himself. Buck is seeing things. He pauses to buy some nice, fresh tomatoes from one of his favorite stands and continues on. Only he freezes when he spots the couple again—the slope of the shoulders, the mannerisms—that wasn’t just a look alike of Eddie Diaz; that was Eddie-fucking-Diaz. Holy shit. The second realization slaps him even harder than the first: the woman he’s holding hands with isn’t Marisol. What the fuck was going on here? Buck pulls out his phone, scrolling through his messages with Eddie. There had been no mention of a breakup when Eddie was texting him late last night, or even mentions when they saw each other at work. He’s trying to make sense of everything when Eddie and Shannon-Clone turn in his direction. He wants to hide, but he’s too busy being frozen in place; he's splitting the traffic of people who keep turning to stare at him in annoyance. This was it. This was the dread. It was the other shoe. Eddie’s face goes slack when he spots Buck, arms loaded down with brown paper bags of vegetables. He doesn’t know how Eddie can have the gall to look so shocked to see Buck here; he knows Buck’s routines inside and out. Buck was the one who’d even shown him this place. So maybe this was a cry for help. Maybe this was—he’s running out of excuses for Eddie. Spinning wild theories wasn’t doing anyone any good, and yet here he was. “Buck?” Buck isn’t sure why he runs, only that when he starts, it's difficult to stop.

[milflewis]

10. meeting afterwards + sewis! 🫶

[10: meeting afterwards]

Sebastian watches as Lewis sits up, rubbing at his eyes with a knuckle. His jaw cracks as he yawns wide, tooth gap front and centre.

There’s faint pink lines on his cheek where he was resting his head on his balled up coat. It’s one that Sebastian used to always check the pockets of after Lewis hung it up in the hall, knowing Lewis often forgot and left his keys inside.

Sebastian gives him an awkward wave when Lewis catches sight of him, quickly tucking his hands back inside his jacket pockets. What is he doing?

Lewis only smiles at him, a little distant but warm. He doesn’t look as sleepy anymore, blinking that off hand softness away.

Sebastian glances at the screens. Jenson is still making good time. Still a while yet before he’s on. He swallows, inhaling.

Lewis is reaching over a hand to hold it in front of Miles’s face, grinning. His friend doesn’t even stir.

It’s been nearly five years and Sebastian still doesn’t know what Miles does or doesn’t know about Lewis and him, or what he thinks. He’s never been anything but friendly with him, inviting him in on jokes about Lewis, easily stealing stories out of him.

Sebastian likes him. Likes how he makes Lewis laugh, face scrunched up. Like how Lewis stands tall with him. Likes how Miles has a girlfriend.

Lewis looks over at him and pauses, considering. He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth. Sebastian keeps his eyes on Lewis’s.

When Lewis slides a bright smile at him, head tilting towards Miles, they could be back on that podium again, Sebastian egging Lewis on, knowing how much pouring that champagne would annoy Nico but somehow, interestingly, enjoying more how much it would make Lewis laugh.

It makes Lewis laugh again this time, delight folding his face into more lines, grey flecking at his temples, when he pours a few swallows of water down Miles’s collar, waking him up.

Sebastian laughs with him, unable to do anything else, and Lewis sways into his space trying to avoid Miles’s long reaching slaps. He’s broader than the last time they hugged and steady under his hands. Sebastian pushes him back.

It’s not quite how Sebastian imagined doing Le Mans, back in 2017 when he first brought it up on the heels of Baku, and then again in 2022, and all the years it was mentioned in between, but it’s enough. Jenson is flying on the track, delighted over the comms, and Sebastian is itching to get behind the wheel and Lewis is laughing. It is enough.

—

So, the Lewis Thing is back.

Part of him argues that it had never really gone away. But when Lewis had been staring deeply into Nicole’s or whoever’s eyes and professing his love of all things female and wet and hot, it had been easy for Sebastian to remind himself that Lewis was not interested and Sebastian should be looking elsewhere, if he felt like looking. Easier still, when it was Nico, Lewis was laughing with.

And even when Lewis’s eyes started straying further, both from girls and Nico, it had still been simple and clean cut to keep the handjobs between motorhomes and podiums separate in his head. Especially when Sebastian was dealing with being pushed out of Ferrari without even a goodbye pity fuck or watching Lewis deal with all of the shitstorm that was the 2021 season and what that entailed or how the w13 dug into his back and Sebastian was unable to doing anything of consequence, it was easy to push to the back burner.

Sebastian has been told by enough people that his face tells all for him to know that what he wants has always been clear. He has seen the pictures of them after all. Lewis never asked — not once — not again.

But then Lewis would stand close to him, or be unexpectedly kind, or say something stupid and brave and daring and bold, or belly laugh at one of his jokes even though Sebastian himself knows he’s not that funny, and Sebastian’s entire body would shout him, that one, Lewis Hamilton, him. Like the world is a bookshop where Sebastian could just point and say I'll have the driver with the big brown eyes and too long eyelashes and tooth gap and Lewis would be his, wrapped in brown paper and bookmarked at all the places that makes Sebastian’s mouth go dry.

But it isn’t, he can’t, and now that single retired Lewis is staying, for the first time in years, in a motorhome right next door it isn’t so easy to ignore. They stayed at the track an extra night. Jenson was delighted enough to have the three of them all in the same place that Sebastian was able to go along with it, Lewis as indulgent in Jenson’s antics as ever.

Sebastian stares at the ceiling and waits for sleep, but it didn't come. He finally drags himself out of bed, not bothering with shoes, and went back out into the front part.

Lewis’s forgotten blue blanket is visible in the moonlight, thrown over the side of his couch.

"Well, fuck," Sebastian mutters. He glances up at the front door. It’s not like Lewis desperately needs the blanket or anything; surely he'd survive one night without it. He’s a grown man. Sebastian hadn’t even realised he still had it until this weekend.

Just that Lewis apparently liked it. Liked it enough to go out of his way to pack it, instead of more clothes or shoes or jewellery. Sebastian found him wearing it as a robe two mornings ago. He hadn’t been able to read his voice when he overheard him telling Jenson that it was nice — soft — but he sounded honest all the same. And Sebastian had been the one that had gotten it for him.

He had grabbed it from a random shop in a random airport years ago because Lewis wouldn’t stop frowning, hands tucked into his armpits, as he insisted he wasn’t cold and Sebastian couldn’t wrap himself around him for body heat so he did the next best thing.

It was nearly half three in the morning, when everyone should be in bed.

Sebastian grabbed Lewis’s blanket from the couch and walked outside. He pushed Lewis’s door open, rolling his eyes at how it was unlocked. He didn’t hear anything.

Two giant suitcases are open on the floor of the motorhome, clothes hanging up in an open wardrobe. There’s a towel on one chair. A very complicated music desktop set is spread out on a table. Jenson’s helmet is sitting on the lid of a third suitcase — this one closed. Sebastian’s is beside it. They look like they’ve been cleaned. Sebastian had the one Lewis gave him already tucked away in his bags.

A sleeping Lewis is curled up on top of a book on his bed. His phone is face down on the floor of the bed beside him. He’s shirtless, lounge pants low on his hips, and barefoot. He’s got the sheets all tangled up at his calves. He shifts.

Sebastian freezes.

Lewis mumbles something, hands coming up to curl under his chin, and settles down again.

When he hears Lewis’s deep, even breaths resume, Sebastian moves again. For all the clutter, the floor is clean and empty. Lewis’s shoes pressed up against the wall. Sebastian spreads open the top edge of the blanket and quickly, quietly tucks it around Lewis —

Who blinks up at him. "Seb?"

"Sorry, sorry," he tells Lewis, who has one eye open. There is a crumble of sleep clinging to his lashes.

"Brought back your blanket."

"Okay." Lewis nods and closes his eyes, and soon his breathing goes back to its deep, even rhythm — the same rhythm Sebastian has listened for and fallen asleep to in a dozen different countries, across over ten years of their lives.

Sebastian lingers there for a minute. The door makes barely a sound when he shuts it.

He is so fucked.

[butraura]

Seven-Sentence Sunday

tagged by no one because no one asked for this akskjsjfh

 Every hair on the back of his neck stands at attention, his blood running cold. For the first time, Buck is afraid of Eddie.

 He quickly scrambles to his feet, backing up enough to create distance between the two of them, but not enough to run into anyone standing at the perimeter of the circle. “Eds,” he murmurs carefully, hands up at surrender as if dealing with live ammunition. 

 Calling him by his nickname was, perhaps, the wrong move.

 Eddie is up and lunges for Buck in what feels like a nanosecond. He grabs the fabric of his t-shirt and spins the two of them on their heels, throwing him up against a stack of tires. Buck ricochets off the rubber and stumbles forward. The cheers that were being yelled when Buck arrived have since gone mute. It’s so quiet now, Buck can hear how labored his breathing sounds. He regains his balance after only a moment, then attempts to stand straight, wilfully ignoring the pain searing in his back.

 “I’m not going anywhere, Eddie,” he promises. “I know I fucked up. But I can’t undo it, no matter how much I want to.”

 “Shut up,” the man spits, the first words he’s uttered since Buck arrived. It’s low and menacing.

 “Eddie, I-” Buck tries.

 “No.”

------

Tags: @watchyourbuck (I won't tag anyone else unless you ask lol shajhskdhf I want to be respectful)

This is a new WIP for a divorce-era fic; set to be either one long chapter or 2 shorter ones (I'm undecided). Also, this is my first post like this so idk, enjoy!

[theicarusconstellation]

i am once again thinking about my arcane fic

[lover-of-mine]

Seven Sentence Sunday!

I was tagged by @wikiangela thank you 🩷

It's been Sunday for me for like an hour but I've been giggling at this bit of one of the fights in the divorced era fic that i feel like sharing it now and it's exactly seven sentences, so have it lskllskapakapa prev snippet

“You ran in there,” Eddie interrupts and Buck gives him a pointed look. “Yeah, well, not three days ago you were yelling at me over where I run into,” he challenges, raising an eyebrow and Eddie has to fight the urge to roll his eyes. “That’s because you're trying to get yourself killed.” “I'm not trying to get myself killed,” Buck says, forever too stubborn and Eddie groans. “You went back into a fire for a toy, Buck.” “She was five and she was crying, I was trying to help her not get traumatized,” Buck says, motioning vaguely around himself. “Her house burned out, she was already traumatized!”

No pressure tagging 🩷: @eddiebabygirldiaz @bucks118 @try-set-me-on-fire @honestlyeddie @steadfastsaturnsrings @watchyourbuck @housewifebuck @wildlife4life @daffi-990 @giddyupbuck

[angelsdean]

cas driving around with stanford era dean and green day comes on and he’s like, “what is this? this isn’t led zeppelin.” and stanford era dean’s like, “what my older self’s never played green day for you?” and tosses him the empty cassette case and cas examines it with his squinty face and goes, “this album came out in 1994.” and stanford era dean’s like “yeah so?” and cas goes, “dean said music made after 1979 ‘sucks ass’” (he does the air quotes, of course) and stanford era dean makes a face like fuck that guy he doesn’t know shit 

[kquil]

DIVORCING ORION BLACK

⌈ A Marauders Era Fix-It-Fic - featuring Reader as Walburga Black but better ⌋

LAST UPDATED : 12/05/24 | [dd/mm/yy]

SERIES SUM. : You wake up in pitch blackness and under excruciating pain. It isn't too long before you realise that you've been transported into the world of Harry Potter and that you've taken the place of a familiar villainess - Walburga Black.

You need to escape the toxic Black family. You can only do that by divorcing Orion Black AND YOU'RE DEFINITELY TAKING THE KIDS!

UPDATE SCHEDULE : on the first day of every month, a new chapter will be posted at 9am GMT time ; the first chapter is the only exception ;)

CHAPTERS :

i. ARRIVAL

you take a familiar villainess' place, but it's all just a dream, right? (special thanks to @thebestofoneshots for beta reading this chapter!)

ii. SHOPPING (1/2)

life isn't easy in the Black Family household, you need to get out, you also need a new wand. Sirius does too as well as a few other things; time to go shopping.

iii. SHOPPING (2/2)

so many stores are left on the list, the boys finally eat delicious food outside, detours are a natural endeavour and you meet a collection of interesting shopkeepers. what a day~ 

iv. ... v. ... ...

DISCLAIMER : please read

TAGS : son sirius black/mother reader ; son regulus black/mother reader ; isekai au/transfering worlds au ; walburga black is evil ; not reader though hehe~ ; hurt/comfort ; fluff ; platonic fluff ; second chances ; reader basically adopts remus, barty crouch jr and peter pettigrew ; peter pettigrew redemption arc? ; but he never betrays the marauders in the first place so... ; remus gets a better life ; reader becomes a semi-political figure to help werewolves + house elves ; reader assumes a male alias ; alternating chapters from different povs directly effected by reader's actions ; reader is a powerful independent business woman and single mother ; reader is a milf ; reader secretly hates dumbledore ; reader hates orion black ; reader hates JKR (we all do) ; divorce ; mentions of child abuse (physical and mental and emotional) ; mentions of neglect ; angry reader ; canon jily ; mentions of wolfstar ; regulus being a precious baby ; sirius has his moments too ; reader being a powerful trio with minerva and pomfrey ; reader potentially adopting the black sisters (bellatrix, andromeda and narcissa) ; reader adopts everyone! ; there'll be ocs ; reader leaves to live her dream cottagecore life ; happy ending! ; i'll add more tags in the future

TAGLIST : @katdahlali @skepvids @agent-tempest @timhalamet @lovelybaka @cherrysxuya @ttulipwritezz @ireallywannasleep127 @cloudlst @fortheeeefics @younmey @googie-jeon @unstablereader @cassie6392 @kneelforloki

@enamoredwithbella @arcanumofthestars @bookworm124 @sonics-atelier @yours-truly-maya @honkravenous @theunwcnted @venuseuripedis @fredsbetch @iciel @anuncalledbridge @turtlesareeverywhere @b-i-h-i @crispymoonperfection @amethyistheart @whodis-26 @empress-simps @smaryamsstuff @thoughtfulpandamentality @maraudersgirlie @dragon-chica @darkcademiasss @ch3rry-lips @inlovewithfictionalmen444 @hermionelove @marsjupitersaturnn @champomiel [40/50]

SERIES TAGLIST : OPEN

[weballingsad]

Started listening, my first thought -

B U D D I E

Post showdown in the grocery store. Picture this:

After their argument, Eddie decides to take a break and go see his family. But because they're not talking, Eddie doesn't know that Buck had gone to his house to make up or talk it out. So, Buck gets to Eddie's to find that they're not home and finds out on Eddie's instagram that they're going back to Texas.

He obviously assumes the worst, and since he can't talk to anyone and confirm if he's leaving forever or on holiday Buck decides: "fuck him, imma get shit faced asf."

so he reaches out to a few friends he has outside of firefighting, and they decide to go karaoke. Buck decides to do this song, and his friends are recording. They post it everywhere, and it goes semi-viral. Enough that the 118 see it and send it to Eddie, who's unplugged from work.

Since we know the tsunami happens before the lawsuit arc, Buck singing this, him just on stage so sad 😞

[mighty-ant]

Lab Rat

The best way to describe Alador’s personal laboratory, in his personal opinion, is ‘organized chaos.’

Darius prefers ‘greasy chip-bag infested hovel that wouldn’t look out of place in the deepest corner of Latissa, honestly, darling, don’t you know what Hex Mix does to your cholesterol?’

Alador’s alway been a man of few words, so he’s more inclined to use his name for it. 

On that subject, he can’t remember the last time he spoke today. To another person, that is. 

Mittens popped her head in for a moment, didn’t she? 

Yes, to remind him not to expect her back until tomorrow afternoon because she and Hunter were having dinner at Camila’s, and would be staying the night. 

And Edric, he’d shouted something down the stairs–which was a terrible habit Alador really should try to get them to break, as someone who was learning to be a responsible parent, but he remembers the choking silence of his ancestral home all too well, the pressure to perform and achieve and connive like a noose that tightened and loosened but could never be ripped away, so maybe his children deserved to be loud and disruptive without the fear of what punishment would follow–something about…dinner?

Elbow deep in the guts and inner mechanisms of his 35th Abomaton of the day, Alador lost track of time 34 Abomatons ago.

He does good work, unfortunately–hack or otherwise. His creations are legion, and very difficult to destroy. Rather than force a responsible group of volunteers to waste the energy in destroying every single Abomaton with whatever magic at their disposal, Alador petitioned the newly formed Bonesborough Council of Witches and Demons for permission to manually deactivate however many Abomatons they saw fit to send his way. 

He’s certain that they only agreed because Darius is a councilmember–why else would they trust the very witch responsible for handing Belos an indestructible, unfeeling army in the first place? An army that imprisoned thousands to die in the Emperor's coliseum, writhing in agony as their sigils burned them alive from the inside out. An army that fired on children and almost killed his youngest daughter. 

None of this was his intent when he was churning out Abomatons under Odalia’s punishing deadlines, but intent hardly matters. It happened, and they all have the scars to show for it. 

The four months he spent locked away, shuttled between his personal laboratory beneath the manor and the one attached to the factory, surviving off cold coffee and Hex Mix, developing a permanent tremor in his left hand, and collapsing from exhaustion on the floor only to be prodded awake by the toe of Odalia’s boot–it was supposed to be worth it, in the end. By supplying the Emperor with enforcers, they were securing their children’s futures and Alador was able to keep them from joining the family business for just a little bit longer. They’d be able to continue living their lives like the teenagers they are, even if he couldn't be a part of it. 

Of course, that was all supposed to change. The Bonesborough Brawl had been a wakeup call. 

Alador remembers summoning abominations for his children to ride on when they were small, giggling as they raced through the garden. While Edric and Emira would goad their abominations to trip the other, Mittens always hurried back to him, eager to leap off the abomination’s back and into his arms. “Catch me, Daddy! Catch me!” she would trill, and Alador always did. Back when her hair was still the same shade of brown as his own and the bags under his eyes weren’t yet permanently etched into his skin. 

At the Bonesborough Brawl, Amity would rather shake his hand than allow him to hug her. And it hit him then; when was the last time he had hugged his youngest daughter? Or Emira and Edric for that matter? It was chilling, realizing he couldn’t recall. 

But Alador was too busy to do anything about it then. Odalia’s threats were like a finely sharpened blade pricking at his skin, a hundred individual nicks poised to bleed him dry. After the Day of Unity, he’d resolved. The Day of Unity was meant to be a respite. A break, at long last. 

He thought that maybe he and the children could go away for a while. His mother had kept a summer home on the Knee for when the weather in Bonesborough turned stifling with boiling humidity. In the early years of his marriage, when Mittens was barely walking, they had visited often. He found himself missing those days of quiet leisure, when Odalia’s hand on the small of his back was a comfort rather than a warning. 

Alador had never been the sort to entertain running away from anything, even as a child–there was the Blight family name to uphold, after all. But he had begun to realize that maybe none of them were happy with their lives. None except Odalia, who was the only one getting what she wanted. Two of his children wore concealment stones to hide their true, dear faces and their youngest changing her hair color was treated like an insidious betrayal. Alador and his wife hadn’t even slept in the same bed for the last five years. 

The cracks were there, concealing a far deadlier rot. The empty husk of his marriage. The true purpose of the Day of Unity. Odalia’s eager and willing complicity with the deaths of thousands. 

Odalia might have been poison for their children, but Alador wasn’t any better for keeping the antidote from them. He’s learning, again, how to be a father. As much as they will allow him to, and it’s slow going. It makes hiding that much easier, that much more deserved. Down here, deep in his new laboratory that’s gaining the same stains as the old one but holds none of the bad memories, he can put one of his few skills to use and do something tangible to fix one out of a long list of mistakes. 

With a satisfying crunch, the control circuit for Abomaton #37 gives way under Alador’s hand. Without it, the abombination’s bipedal form loses shape and slumps into a purple and gold mass of goo, spilling out over his lab table and splattering onto his smock and boots. Alador lets out a breath, relief sending a momentary but heady rush through his body. The dark clouds in his mind clear with the physical reminder that he is doing good work. Finally. 

A warm, heavy weight drapes itself over Alador’s back, startling him with its newness as much as its unexpectedness. Two broad arms wind themselves around his shoulders, and a hand splays over his heart with a palm that warms even through his layers.

In the past, when Alador slacked off in the lab as he’s doing now, Odalia would sometimes grip the back of his neck. It wasn’t painful, usually. She didn’t leave bruises. Perhaps because they would be difficult to hide with his pale skin, but it’s not like he went out in public much anyway. But she would grip him by the back of the neck with five icy fingers, like a disobedient pet, and force his head down. A slave to his work. 

“Focus, dear. Our next board meeting is already in another six weeks.”

In the present, Darius drops his forehead onto the back of Alador’s neck, his breath fanning across his skin and beneath his collar. Alador shivers, though he’s never felt warmer/from scorching heat, rather than cold. 

“Darling,” Darius mumbles. “Dearest. Do you know what time it is?”

Alador reaches up, squeezes Darius’ wrist. His eyes burn and he’s having difficulty blinking. He wonders how long that’s been going on. “Ah. It’s…late?” he ventures. 

“Alador.” He winces at Darius’ dry tone. “You know, you have windows in here for a reason. So that you know when the sun has set.”

Alador doesn’t bother looking out the aforementioned windows now. It’s been a few hours at least since the encroaching dark put too much of a strain on his eyes and he activated a handful of light glyphs. 

“Sorry, honey,” he sighs, leaning back into the sturdy expanse of Darius’ chest. The circle of his arms tightens and he takes Alador’s weight without complaint, adjusting his stance so that neither of them is sent toppling. “I appreciate the windows. I just lost track of time.” Alador closes his eyes, almost instinctively at this point, as Darius raises his head from Alador’s shoulder to kiss a line along the back of his neck, up behind his ear. The ministrations have Alador’s knees threatening to buckle, and his next words stutter out of him on a sigh. “I just…need another hour or so to…to finish up.”

Darius bites the shell of his ear in reprimand, not too hard, but also not hard enough. “What you need is a shower, love. And about twenty hours of sleep,” he mutters.

Alador huffs a laugh, too tired to be aroused, but comforted by Darius’ undemanding nearness, their easy intimacy. It wasn’t always so, fraught at the start by the years of scorn after their painful parting at graduation and the cruelties they hurled at each other under Odalia’s watchful eye. It took slow, halting steps to master the dance they have now, the give and take, the gentle reciprocity. Love, of a sort Alador had once forgotten existed. 

Darius’ arms slip down to wrap around Alador’s waist, molding his chest to Alador’s back until there’s scant space left between their bodies. Darius is taller and broader than him by several degrees, but instead of feeling trapped by the embrace, Alador feels secure in a way he seldom has in the last few years. There’s no threat or price attached to Darius’ affection—it is freely given, to himself and to their brood of teenage witchlings. He takes Alador’s hand, drops a kiss on the back of his scarred knuckles, because he wants to. Because Alador welcomes him. 

Alador doesn’t deserve him, or this new lab with windows that let in the sun, or this second chance at fatherhood. He doesn’t deserve it, but he’ll be thrice damned before he lets it go. Even if it means, sometimes, leaving his work incomplete. 

“Okay,” Alador sighs, admitting defeat. “Take me to bed.” 

“Thought you’d never ask.” Darius tightens his grip before teleporting them to their bedroom. 

[chronicowboy]

i want to go back to whatever i was on when i was writing this