#paint it black fic

[rayactive-factory]

fanart for @teamxdark!! based on the descriptions from this story, i loved the outfit designs and white-silver and black-golden colours for them so much <3

[thatmoonspell]

My first piece of fan art. My baby Regulus Black 🌙 ✨ Oil paint on 8x8 canvas. So excited to paint more HP pieces! 🤍

Follow me on Instagram!🌟

[glassy-eyed-poet]

Me because I live and breathe for the marauders but the only merch I have is this mf:

[97b0n3s]

♡ The shadow ♡ (inspired by the painting by edmund leighton)

[lulublack90]

Prompt 18 - Paint

@jegulus-microfic May 18, Word count 588

Previous part First part

James was woken up just after dawn by Sirius and Peter coming back to the dorm after Remus had transformed again. He pulled the curtains back so he could look at them, Regulus still nestled into his side. 

“How was it?” He asked Sirius in a low voice. Peter waved at him but dove into his own bed, hoping to get a few hours sleep before lessons began. 

Sirius shook his head. 

“He wasn’t happy. I tried everything to calm him down.” He swallowed and James saw the tears flighting to get out. “He chewed up his paws, he wouldn’t stop. He wanted to be out of the shack. When he turned back, his hands were in tatters. I couldn’t stop him, Prongs.” A tear leaked down his face and James felt so guilty. He should have been there to help Sirius, to be there for Remus. But instead, he was curled up safe and warm with his boyfriend. He opened the arm that wasn’t wrapped around Regulus towards Sirius. Sirius glanced once at his slumbering brother and bounded into James’s bed. 

Sirius snuggled tight into James and James held him. He stroked his hair and muttered reassurances to him. Regulus stirred and slowly blinked and opened his eyes. 

“What are you doing in here?” He grumbled at Sirius, clearly not happy with his new bedmate. James had been about to step in when something strangely wonderful happened. Regulus noticed the tears on Sirius’s face and the way he trembled slightly. He reached over James, and took his brother's hand. “Is Remus alright?” He asked gently. Sirius shook his head again and sniffled. “Well Madam Pomfrey will fix him up, won’t she?” James had never seen the two brothers getting on so well. He was afraid to breathe, in case he broke the spell. 

Sirius looked over at the window and said quietly. 

“You need to recite the incantation,” He rolled and grabbed Regulus’s wand off the bedside table and handed it to him. 

“Thank you.” He wiggled out of James’s hold and sat on the edge of the bed. “Amato, Animo, Animato, Animagus,” He chanted while holding his wand to his heart. He handed his wand back to Sirius and laid back down. They all slept until Peters alarm clock blared, and they forced themselves to get up. 

“I feel like I need to prank,” Sirius declared as they were pulling on their robes. “It’s been too long since we did anything good.”

“I’ve got a bunch of fanged frisbees in my trunk. We could use them,” James suggested as he flung the invisibility cloak over Regulus before they left the dorm. 

“Nah, too boring.��� Sirius dismissed. 

“There is nothing boring about a fanged frisbee,” Peter piped up. “Remember the one that went off in Zonkos? It nearly scalped me.” 

“Either way, Pete, it’s not what I had in mind.” His eyes flickered to the hundreds of paintings all around them. 

“Did I ever tell you I used to paint?” He grinned mischievously. A bodiless groan came from beside James. 

“I don’t want to be anywhere near you lot when he does that. You should have seen what he did to Phineas Nigellus. It took months for him to return to normal.” James couldn’t help it, he was intrigued.

“What you thinking, Padfoot?” Sirius gave him that look that gave him shivers of anticipation. 

“I think the paintings could do with a bit of fun,” James couldn’t wait to see what Sirius's imagination would come up with.   

Next part

[firelightmuse]

Save Him

Yume x Zenos

Immediately following the final battle with Zenos at the end of 6.0; After granting Zenos the battle he had been pining for ever since he returned from the dead, Yume makes a life altering decision in a brief moment of desperation.

1,456 Words

Featuring @traveler-of-light’s Astrid and Arslan

Content/Trigger Warnings: Brief Descriptions of Attempted Ritualistic Suicide/Seppuku and Depictions of Character Death

This is my first time ever writing for Yume x Zenos, so I hope you all enjoy!! A HUGE shout out to all who have been so encouraging and supportive of me while I navigate this new ship, especially @meepsthemiqo!! Thank you so much!!

As the two combatants channeled as much aether into their punches as they could, Yume Aino, Warrior of Light, got the upper hand and delt the disgraced Garlean prince a devastating blow. The enshrouded Zenos viator Galvus flew backwards, flipped over and landed face first onto the ground.

Though she could hardly catch her breath, and feeling an overwhelming amount of pain in her chest and abdomen, likely due to cracked ribs and internal bleeding, she quickly surmised, Yume pushed the pain from her conscious mind as much as she could as she slowly dragged her broken form closer to her opponent.

Zenos managed to get up onto his knees and reached out his hand to her, but too much of his life force had been spent and he instead dropped back to ground, this time facing the firmament. A moment later, Zenos’ enshrouded form dissipated from the majority of his body, but his left arm was still twisted with bright red flesh, reminiscent of a voidsent.

The samurai stood close enough to Zenos’ fallen form that she could see him open his eyes as he deeply sighed, “That I should lose again...”

With a chuckle, he closed his eyes before he dejectedly said, “How disappointing.”

Yume shook her head and questioned, “Did you though? Heh… I do not feel victorious.”

“Is that so?”

Before she could say anything more, Yume collapsed under her own weight, falling down right next to Zenos, her hand mere ilms away from his.

She looked over at him, and though her vision had begun to slightly blur, she saw his sky blue eyes aimed upward towards the heavens, yet by the look on his face, she knew his mind was drifting, to where she knew naught.

Zenos must’ve sensed that her focus was upon him, as he began to speak his thoughts aloud.

“Never have I understood those around me. Understood their obsessions.” He paused a moment, the memories of his life floating in and out of consciousness as he continued, “Besieged by their banality, the world was a mire of tedium and trivialities.”

Yume could swear that his eyes shifted to her face briefly, yet the pain was nearly unbearable and it was a struggle to keep listening, let alone to see properly.

The Garlean’s deep, rough voice reached her horns once more; this time she could hear a hint of joy in his tone. “But in these fleeting moments, there is...a spark. Blinding, brilliant... Gone...too soon...”

She let out a small sigh. “Yes… I understand.”

Yume had enough visual clarity to see Zenos turn towards her, trying to catch his breath as blood ran out of his mouth and trickled down his face.

“What of you, Yume, my mirror? Born into this world, bestowed name, bid to seek out strife and adventure...”

Yume turned towards Zenos as much as she could, though it was increasingly difficult to keep her eyes open. As she shut her eyes, the pain that racked her whole body started to slowly fade away, and in turn, her mind’s eye began to wander.

“Was this life a gift...or a burden?”

Her mind wandered to her childhood in Hingashi, images began to rise to her conscious mind and soon fall away to the next; Mt. Aino rising up to the sky, its peak surrounded by clouds, flags flying of the Aino clan’s sigil, the seemingly endless multitudes of people bowing to her father, the duels that always ended with her victory yet with no worthy husband, her slicing her belly open and her father coming to stop her, and her leaving her homeland behind for lands unknown.

“Did you find...fulfillment?” Zenos asked as Yume’s mind continued to wander through the memories of her life.

Images floated to the surface of her new life in Eorzea; her arrival in Limsa Lominsa, first adventuring in Ul’dah, fighting Ifrit, joining the Scions, meeting all of whom she would now consider her found family, going on to fight so many primals, so many Garleans, then the dragons, and then the sin eaters, and finally the blasphemies and then the Endsinger. One victory after another, always more victories, and yet, she still felt the same emptiness as before.

“Did I? Did I… really?” Yume wondered aloud, as her mind flashed to images not of memories of real events as before, but of the dreams that haunted her off and on again for years. Dreams of adventure in far off places she had never experienced before, always with a steadfast companion by her side through all the battles and hardships to come, but also celebrating moments of pure joy and true happiness; she sees the scene of an eternal bonding, realizing that it was in fact her own. Yume gleaming in a white dress, joined hand in hand with the love of her life, sealing their bond with a kiss full of passion and love. Yet, she couldn’t not see her lover’s face. Always was her lover’s face shrouded in shadow. She knew that these must be visions of a future not yet written, and now may never come to pass.

Yume knew in her heart that she was a samurai, and there was no greater honor than to die an honorable death in battle. That was a comforting thought. And yet… it was not enough. She asked herself the same question that Zenos had just asked. Right now, in what could well be her final moments in this life, was she fulfilled? Did she find what she had been looking for in all these years of searching?

With a single tear falling from her eye, Yume answered her beaten opponent’s poignant question, “No… Not yet… There is so much left to experience…”

As the words passed her lips, she heard only a single sound from the man laying next to her.

“I...”

What followed was nothing but silence and darkness, as her vision was failing her, and she could not see nor hear him anymore. Was he still there? Or was it too late?

“Z-Zenos…?” Yume spoke his name aloud as she lifted her hand, reaching out for his. She soon found it, but tears instantly began to fall from her eyes as his skin felt cold in hers.

“No… Do not… leave me…alone…”

Yume gripped his cold hand with the last remains of her energy. If she was to die, then she wanted to die with him, the only man who would ever be worthy of her in her family’s eyes. The only person who could ever understand her, who saw all of her, her beauty and her ugliness, her strengths and her weaknesses, her determination and her doubts. Everyone else only saw the light, but he saw the darkness that she hid deep inside, and he was unafraid. In fact, he welcomed it, and drew it out of her, and made her feel unashamed of herself for the first time in her life.

No. Zenos was the only one that she deemed worthy. If she was to die, then she will die having made her own choice. And she chooses him. Her enemy… her love….

As she felt her consciousness slipping away from her, Yume heard a faint clanging of metal, and then as she still held Zenos’ hand, she felt them both being whisked away, and then arrive in another place.

Yume felt nothing, and she could see nothing, but the very faintest of sounds reached her horns.

“Oh… Yume!”

Was that… Astrid’s voice? Was she back in the ship? Was she in the Ragnarok with the others?

“Yume! And… Zenos?!”

That could only be the exclamations of Arslan, confirming that she had in fact been teleported back to the ship, and Zenos had arrived with her, though if he was alive or dead, Yume did not know.

“Can you hear... Say...” Estinien’s voice called out, though it was incredibly difficult to make sense of what he had said.

Yume heard more voices, Urianger, Y’shtola, Alphinaud and Alisaie, but she couldn’t seem to understand what they were saying at all.

With the last of her strength, Yume opened her eyes enough to see her vision blurred so badly that she couldn’t make out any faces, but she finally spotted her target: a shock of pink entered her sight, and she knew she had found the only person who had a chance of saving him. If anyone could do it, it’d be her.

“H-Hali…” Yume spoke with the last of her breath, “Save… him… p-please…”

As the words left her lips, Yume closed her eyes and let the darkness pass over her. Life or death, she knew not what awaited her. It was out of her hands now.

[labyrinthhofmymind]

i’m never gonna get ahb out of my head

[eddie4bat-president]

I'm not a writer but i had this thought so- bear with me, yeah?

For months Eddie hears all about how cool and badass Steve Harrington is, yeah, but you know what he also hears about? How Steve and Robin are made for each other and how cool and pretty Robin is and how stupid it is that they're not a couple for some dumb reason, like Steve not wanting to be with a band geek and still clinging to high school hierarchy. And in all of the things Dustin says about Steeeve Harrington, that last part is the only thing that fits into the Munson Doctrine, so obviously everything else Henderson is saying is what's skewed in his little shrimp world view.

Steve Harrington thinks he's better than a band geek and that's why we won't look twice at a girl that would be perfect for him (according to Dustin Henderson, so... still questionably trustworthy information). Eddie probably assumes Dustin is talking up how close Steve and Robin actually are, just how he's exaggerating how close Dustin himself is to Harrington (like that would impress Eddie and the rest of Hellfire??? He really doesn't know how to get through to the little sheep that his worship of Hawkins' most notorious square is a detriment to his character and not something Eddie would find impressive. If it was real. Which it obviously isn't. Anyway-)

Turns out? Steve Harrington? Actually a cool dude. Not cool as in popular but cool as in "holy shit did he just bite that thing's head off???? Oh and he's not even gonna brag about that, it's just nbd, yeah sure, cool cool cool be fucking cool Eddie, oh god he's talking to me why is he talking to me" and just, chill to hang out with. After the whole shit show went down. Who would have fucking thought, huh? (except for Dustin Henderson, yeah yeah yeah, shut up)

So now Eddie has to reevaluate some other assumptions he made. Maybe Dustin was right and Steve actually is cool and badass, and he and Buckley actually are as close as he had said (and they really fucking are! He has seen them give Keith eerily matching bitchy looks for trying to schedule them on opposing shifts and basically bully the guy into changing the schedule around so they can spend as much time as possible in each other's presence. It's enough to make a guy question his own friendships when sometimes a few hours of band practice are enough to make him want to never see any of those chucklefucks again. Of course, that feeling abates but seriously, how are those two never sick of each other??)

So if they're as close as advertised but not a couple (and after meeting everyone Steve cares about and they're basically all nerds so the "Harrington thinks he's too good for a band geek" thing can't actually hold true-) what is the hold-up? Why aren't they a couple? And somehow, somehow Eddie comes to the conclusion that Steve is in love with Robin. Steve is a serial romantic (emphasis on romantic) and while his love life isn't the talk of the town post-earthquakes as it would have been before, people do still talk about the fact that he hasn't taken out a girl since it happened.

Which brings us to a day in summer, maybe fall, after Eddie has seen Steve look wistfully at a young couple with a baby, that he shows up at Robin's door step.

"Eddie? Hey what's up?"

"Good, good, how are you? Uhh can I... can I come in?" There's a nervous energy around him that is immediately infectious and she leads him to the living room where he immediately starts walking back and forth in front of the couch. She watches him for a moment, hands fluttering through different motions trying to find one that might calm him down before giving up on that. Instead Robin swerves around him, clambering onto the couch and wrapping her arms around her right leg, putting her head on her knee. She follows Eddie's path with her eyes and decides to wait before quickly realizing that she can't, actually.

"As riveting as it is watching you walk a groove into my parents' rug, do you maybe want to say something? I mean I can definitely talk enough for the both if us if that's what you want it's just that I have the slight suspicion you've got something you need to get off your chest" Eddie stopped walking halfway through her monologue and starts nodding.

"Yeah. Yeah yeah yes you're right it's just- I haven't a hundred percent made up my mind about saying something", Eddie has one arm wrapped around himself and uses the other to alternately play with his hair and gesticulate at her, "because on the one hand it's a little bit driving me crazy, maybe, but on the other hand this is none of my fucking business" And Robin who was worried at first just because Eddie is nervous, then for a second because she was scared he was going to confess to a very ill-advised crush on her, is stumped. What the fuck is this about and why did it bring him to her of all people?

"Just say it you weirdo", is what decides to comes out of her mouth but it doesn't even matter because half of her sentence is layered with his "Are you aware Steve is in love with you?"

[here we're facing the issue of me not actually being a writer and pretty much running out of steam but we also haven't reached the part that sparked this whole thing yet, which is wild - let's just pretend I wrote a very funny dialogue between those two in which Eddie confronts Robin for stringing poor Steve along ]

There's a moment when they're both silent and there's a moment when they're both talking and then there are steps coming down the stairs. They make a smirk grow on Robin's face that is starting to worry Eddie when not a parental figure but Steve Harrington steps through the doorway. He's wearing sweatpants and a shirt that might be Robin's and there's a headband pushing his hair away from his face.

"Don't yell at me for coming downstairs, you took forever and the first layer... is... dry....", he stops in his tracks the moment he looks up from his bare toes and sees Eddie. Then he very quickly rips off the headband and slings it somewhere to his right into the unknown of the hallway.

"Hi Eddie. What's... up" Eddie is going to sink into the floor and never come up for air again.

In the meantime Robin stood up on the couch to sit cross-legged on the back of it for a better vantage point and is steepling her fingers in front of her face. Eddie is getting the distinct impression he's missing some crucial information here.

"Stevie, babe, platonic love of my life-", Steve nods for her to go on, "you know how we decided I get a veto on your romantic life because we realized droves of suboptimal dates actually make you miserable so we're going for quality over quanity for the first time in your small-town Casanova life?" Steve has that cute little crease between his eyebrows while he's looking back and forth between Eddie and Robin, trying to figure out what's going on but he rolls his eyes at the end of her sentence, back in familiar territory. "Yes, Robin-"

She interrupts: "And you know how I also reserved the right to give a shovel slash molotov cocktail talk to anyone we deemed worthy of being a potential future partner?" Steve's face somehow shows an emotion that can only be encapsulated by "?!" as he glances to Eddie before shifting back to Robin with just the "?" remaining.

"First I have to say I'm personally very pro, I loved this experience; Eddie here really made a fool of himself, very worried for your delicate sensibilities and how I'm breaking your sweet little heart." "...what...?"

"So: what's the verdict on a potential future partner giving me the shovel talk?"

[swampthingking]

regulus black’s guide to face painting and falling in love

halloween au <3

struggling artist reg - dad james - baby harry

tw: regulus briefly reflecting on his childhood (u know how it be) and reg inquiring about harry’s scar

The thing about being a freelance artist is this; you take work where you can find it.

Unfortunately for Regulus, that means he’s found himself occupying the Halloween Fair from 12 to 5PM as the face painter.

Regulus didn’t understand people’s obsession around fairs.

Well, he understood them. The hazardous rides that are operated by people who are either half asleep, or recently graduated from high school. The funnel cakes and apple cider. The apple flavored everything. The pumpkin flavored everything (which Regulus can’t find it in himself to hate, despite his best efforts. He sips his pumpkin spiced latte and glowers.) The pumpkin carving, corn maze, haunted house, haunted hayride, haunted arcade.

And of course, the children.

Just because Regulus understands the appeal around fall festivals doesn’t mean he likes them. He likes autumn, of course. It’s his favorite season.

That doesn’t mean he wants to sit outside, under the flimsy protection of a questionable tent, painting the faces of squirming, sugar-addled children.

Regulus doesn’t dislike children. He just doesn’t quite know how to… interact with them. He tries, because in all honesty, kids are funny. But they don’t always like him. Regulus is grumpy; stoic. He tries to joke, but kids don’t love dry humor, sarcasm, or straight faced deliveries.

Would he like to share his life with a husband and a child or two? Of course. But he doesn’t want to raise a child just for them to despise him. He doesn’t want to marry someone just for him to be disappointed in the father Regulus might be.

But Regulus also knows he doesn’t have great parental examples to go off of. And he knows what not to do. Knows what made him feel small. He still feels the things said and done that stick with him; the scars he bears.

He’s spent hours painting pumpkins, bugs, princess masks, Spider-Man, those motherfuckers from Paw Patrol. More characters from the provided booklet he can’t remember, on so many faces he can’t remember either. But it’s money, and money keeps him paying his share of the lease with Sirius.

Regulus checks his watch. 4:53PM.

The fair wasn’t as busy as it was earlier this afternoon. The clouds were dark and scowling, but were far too cowardly to start actually crying. He stood from the cheap stool, stretching his back, reaching for the paintbrushes to start packing up.

The brushes had been provided by whoever hired him, but he still had an intrinsic need to clean them properly. He can’t stand the thought of paint cemented into the hairs of a brush. And these brushes are perfectly good still. Regulus wonders if anyone would notice if he stuck them in his bag—

“Do you have time for one more?” A deep voice asked from behind him.

Regulus turned to see a beaming child in the arms of a man, wearing the same smiles. The same dimples. The same curly, brown hair. Even the same glasses.

Regulus was absolutely freezing, and he was sure if he touched this kid’s face, he would start to cry because if it. He desperately wanted to beat the rain before it started pissing down, but the boy was grinning, and Regulus’ heart squeezed at the thought of taking that from him if he declined.

So he nodded and said, “Yeah, of course,” and rolled the table of supplies in between the chairs they’ll sit in.

The man set his son down, thanking Regulus while the boy hurtled himself into the rickety chair, climbing into it like he was scaling a mountain. One muddy, red Converse kicked up onto the seat to haul himself into it, his knee slipping as he planted himself on the cushion.

“This is Harry,” the man gestures to his son, who was busy inspecting Regulus’ paints, his nose almost touching the pallet.

Now that there was no line and the fair seemed predominantly empty, Regulus could relax. Could handle small talk. He paused gathering the brushes he’d been in the process of purloining to give Harry a closed lipped, but genuine smile.

“Hi, little love. I’m Regulus.”

The man slid some cash in the tip jar before sitting in the chair beside Harry, knees spread, elbows resting on his legs. “And I’m James.”

He reached out to shake Regulus’ hand, not seeming to care that it was covered in paint. It was warm and firm, long fingers nearly encasing Regulus’ whole hand.

Harry smiled up at Regulus as he took a seat in front of him, his knees bracketing the boy’s tiny legs as he kicked the air. He had a small gap between his front teeth, and after he clawed the hair out of his eyes in that aggressive way that children do—like they have a vendetta—Regulus saw a webbed scar on his forehead.

“Cool scar,” Regulus acknowledged.

No, Halloween Fair face painters aren’t mandated reporters, but he was dubious anyway. Regulus had been a child with marks. With secrets. Children Harry’s age love to talk about anything and everything. It was part of their development. Regulus wanted to see where Harry took him, or didn’t.

But Harry’s smile only grew, like he was eager to tell the story. An abused child probably wouldn’t do that.

“I was running through the forest, and allullasudden, I just knew—” Harry’s eyes were wide, demanding Regulus not look away. “I was around, surround—” he looked up frustratingly at James for help, and James only started to whisper the word before Harry cut him off, the word coming to him. “—sur-rounded by these guys! They were in these black coats. And I was running super fast because I was ini-vib-sible, and then I tripped. There was this tree. I fell. My head hit the ground so hard, and I fought them off and escaped and the guy really wanted my ring, and he was really weird looking. And then, I have a scar.”

So, the entire plot of the Lord of the Rings, with a personal spin.

Regulus liked him.

“Tripped and fell into a table,” James mouths, exaggerating his words so Regulus could read his lips. His hands cupped around his mouth so Harry wouldn’t notice him spoiling his story.

“Hmm,” Regulus ponders, draping a paint-stained rag over his thigh to distract himself from a smile. “I think I’ve heard about that. That was you?”

“Yes,” Harry says with conviction. James is looking at his son with such adoration that it makes Regulus’ stomach hurt. He has to turn away.

“I can’t believe I’m sitting in front of the boy who saved the world.” Regulus mock bows to him just because he knows it’ll make him laugh. “Thank you for allowing me the honor to paint your face. Unfortunately, little love,” Regulus puts on a sulk. “the glasses will have to come off.”

Harry ripped them off one handed, throwing his arm out to James who was already reaching to take them. He folded the temples, tucking it into his shirt and letting them hang off the collar.

Regulus’ eyes may have lingered on the tan skin, and James may have seen him. The corner of his mouth was quirked when Regulus glanced back up at his face.

Oh, God. He was hot.

Regulus looked away, hoping the chilled, autumn air disguised the heat in his face. He turned to Harry, even as he felt James looking at him still.

“What are we painting?”

“Sméagol,” Harry says without a beat.

Regulus purses his lips. He would not laugh at this child. He would not laugh.

He sucks his lips into his mouth, his cheekbones aching.

“Really into Lord of the Rings right now, as you’ve probably guessed,” James offers, looking equally as affected as Regulus.

Regulus nods, turning away from them in attempt to turn his laugh into a cough. He fails.

He takes his phone out instead and pulls up a reference picture of the creature, then sets his phone on the tray off to his side. Harry glances down at it and smiles excitedly, legs pumping.

“Sméagol it is,” Regulus declares, mixing a grayish-tan into the pallet. “Ready?”

Harry flinches at the first few swipes of paint, but sits fairly still after he gets used to the temperature. He kicks incessantly, but they don’t land on Regulus, so he doesn’t mind. At one point, James asks permission to take a video to send to Harry’s mum.

Regulus hadn’t really let himself hope, but he was still a bit disappointed. He would get over it, he knew, but—

“Her wife is the one who’s been reading the books to him. She’s gonna be beside herself when she sees what he’s done.”

Oh.

Well, that changes things.

“Hm,” Regulus says, trying to keep his focus on Harry, and making him into the best Sméagol there could possibly be. But when he turns to look at the reference photo, he glances at James, who’s looking at him. James smiles softly, head cocked. Wondering.

Jesus Christ.

By the time Regulus finished, the sun was setting. He checked his watch. 5:26PM.

He wasn’t upset he’d stayed late.

Harry was the spitting image of Sméagol. Regulus has painted his entire face a warm grey, his nose a rosy pink, then added the wrinkles in darker grays and black, shading his face to take on the shape of Sméagol’s. He’d gently splattered brown freckles onto his face to look like sun spots. He even painted thin black tendrils of hair down Harry’s neck.

He was magnificent. Regulus’ favorite piece yet, truly.

James took more pictures, and Harry’s penchant for theatrics came to fruition as he crouched, feet and hands on the grass, crawling towards James like Sméagol does in the movies.

Regulus offered to take some photos of Harry and James together. James excitedly handed Regulus his phone, then scooped Harry up and propped him on a hip. Harry grabbed James’ hand, which was sporting many rings, and pretended to bite his fingers. It was futile, but James attempted to look terrified. He ended up cracking and breaking into a heart-stuttering smile, eyes squinting and cheeks giving way to dimples.

The pictures were adorable, naturally.

Harry broke character suddenly, gasping, a hand slapping on the top of his head. Regulus saw a raindrop sliding down from his hairline and wiped it away, just before it could drip onto his face and smear the paint.

“My paint!” Harry yelled, face contorting. Regulus had to look away from this glassy-eyed child with the grotesque face of Sméagol. The last thing Regulus wanted them to think was that he would laugh at a child’s sorrow.

To Regulus’ relief, James was also stifling his laughter as he set Harry on the ground, removing his own jacket to implement it as a shield above his son. The rain was picking up now into a light sprinkle. “Forgot an umbrella, babe. We’re gonna have to run super fast.”

“Daddy.” Sméagol-Harry looked up to James, sounding close to tears. “My paint,” he said, dejected.

Regulus absolutely didn’t think this through before he did it, but he said, “We won’t let your paint get ruined, love.”

He walked to his bag and rummaged around for his umbrella. He opened it and handed it to Harry, whose chubby hand wrapped around the handle, but wasn’t strong enough to hold it up against the breeze.

James and Regulus grabbed it at the same time, all three of their hands piled on top of each other. James’ was over Regulus’, so he couldn’t just pull away without ripping the umbrella from Harry, and he was absolutely not doing that.

James removed his hand with the barest hint of pink on his cheeks. He put his jacket back on now that his son was protected from the rain, thanking Regulus for holding the umbrella.

“Do you have another umbrella?” James asked once his jacket was zipped.

“Uh— no. But I can find one. I’ll ask someone. I’m alright.” He attempted to wave it off, despite knowing that he is anemic, and his fingers are already freezing.

“Okay, take this back, please. I can’t have you walking back in the pouring rain.”

“I’ll be fine. You guys take it.”

“Let us walk you to your car.”

Regulus cringed. “I… took the bus.”

James’ eyes widen. “You were going to walk to the bus stop, and then all the way home with no umbrella?”

“Yyyes?”

James raises a brow at him. He really hadn’t thought it through.

“Take your umbrella.” James goes to hand it back, then had to stop because of Harry’s death grip around the neck of it. James starts to, presumably, ask him to let go.

“What umbrella?” Regulus turns to pack up his supplies, avoiding looking at James. He knows playing this card probably won’t work but hopefully if he’s annoying enough, it will convince James to just take it. “I didn’t give you that umbrella. You came with it.”

James deadpans. “Okay, if you’re going to do that, we’ll just have to give you a ride home.”

Regulus spasms. “What? No, that’s— you don’t have to do that.”

“I didn’t do anything. You asked me for a ride.”

Regulus gasps, but he’s smiling. Damn it. “Oh, you’re good.”

Regulus lives fairly close, about 10 minutes away. The ride is almost silent. The radio is low, and Harry talks all about their day, sparing no details. What they saw, what they did, what he ate, who he talked to, what he thought about the corn maze (“Why can’t I eat the corn? Why is it there then?” to which James responded, “It’s not for us to eat.” to which Harry responded, “Why?” to which James responded, “I don’t know, babe. I just know they asked us to not eat it.” to which Harry responded, “Why?”).

His little thoughts bounced around the car until they abruptly stopped. Regulus peeked into the backseat to see him sound asleep, his mouth open, head lulled to the side. The blue eyes Regulus had painted on his eyelids stared back at him, and Regulus began to regret his artistic choice.

As they drove, Regulus couldn’t help but sneak glances over at James. He almost doesn’t want to look at him, but he can’t seem to stop. He’s stuck between wanting to remember him and not wanting to look at him so he can forget his face easier. At one point, James glances back, the gold frames of his glasses glinting from the streetlights.

Regulus’s house is dark, the porch light Sirius left on for him flickering, when they pull up to the curb. Sirius has gone into a Halloween frenzy, and it looks like a Spirit Halloween vomited all over the front porch and yard. Jack-o’-lanterns line each step, the carvings depicting various faces. Waterproof fairy lights in the shape of ghosts hang from the oak tree, twinkling like the flames of a candle.

“Thank you for—”

“Maybe I could see you again?” James says quickly, like he’d been thinking of saying it for a awhile, but hadn’t had the nerve to.

Regulus looks over at him, wide eyed. James ran a hand through his mussed hair, looking endearingly nervous.

Regulus grins, all teeth, and James returns it. “I would love that.”

[james-sunshine-potter]

i really want to write an unnecessarily long fic where james and regulus finally buy a house together, and james has been tasked with all the outdoor labour. which regulus thought was a good idea cause james is really handy and good at labour based tasks. (plus regulus is no good with that).

but it back fires, as james keeps drawing eyes to himself cause he's basically doing it half naked, as it's middle of summer, mid heatwave and too hot for james to wear tops and do manual labour. so people on the street keep flirting with james, cause he's tanned, toned and sweaty, and it's driving regulus insane with jealousy.

this would quite literally just be for me. it would be a funny fic.

[prettyboynapoleonsolo]

I think a lot about how if Solo enlisted at 15/16 (he had to have enlisted between January 1945 and Germany's surrender in May, and he only turned 16 in March), he didn't finish high school. Did he ever get around to getting his GED? Could he have gotten his GED? After all, he stayed in Germany after the War instead of returning to the US, not to mention his cover would have fallen apart if he had to hand over his academic records. Or was he simply too busy learning languages and stealing art to bother? Did he get it during his time with the CIA?

Solo probably knows enough about art and antiquities to have a Master's degree just from personal experience, but did he ever study it? Did he teach himself or learn it from other art thieves? Did he ever think about going to school for it?

[calamitoustide]

“That oh from us, so much will grow.”   

chance with you - mehro/choices - messermoon/chance with you - mehro/unknown/waiting room - phoebe bridgers/choices - @sophsicle/waiting room - phoebe bridgers/choices - messermoon/waiting room - phoebe bridgers/unknown/faking - koda/choices - messermoon/faking - koda/the last day of pompeii -karl bryullov/take me back - heroe/choices - messermoon/take me back - heroe/the last day of pompeii -karl bryullov/peter - taylor swift/choices - messermoon/unknown/somewhere only we know keane/choices - messermoon/somewhere only we know - keane/unknown/peter - taylor swift/choices - messermoon/peter - taylor swift/unknown/we're in love - boygenius/choices - messermoon/we're in love - boygenius/choices - messermoon/we're in love - boygenius/choices - messermoon

[hailqiqi]

'crying into raspberry buns'

Hi Anon! thank you for the ask!

crying into raspberry buns

OK so this is definitely a working title. I think. Who knows, it might end up being called 'tear-flavoured jam' by the time it's done!

It's a little post-canon oneshot about Lucy, set a few weeks after TEG and just when everything kind of catches up with her. Raspberry buns are a very simple recipe that people 'up north' all seem to learn as kids (and people here down south have never heard of) and I wanted to include it because I think we all miss the comforts of childhood when things get hard (even when said childhood wasn't stellar).

There's not much left to go on it but it's proving rather difficult to write because Lucy's emotions are rather complex and she's quite frankly pretty terrible and identifying them herself, so how the fuck am I supposed to do it. I'm currently regretting not just writing a casefic.

And that, dear reader, is how I found myself sitting at the kitchen table at three a.m., surrounded by raspberry buns. Mam had mentioned that her recipe was for a family of eight, but I had figured that even if I made a hundred buns they’d all somehow find their way into George’s stomach by day’s end so I hadn’t bothered to halve or quarter it. Apparently my family was capable of absolutely inhaling the little cakes, because every flat surface in our new kitchen was covered in rows of them, dollops of raspberry jam gleaming in the harsh light (we still hadn’t got round to buying a lampshade). The night was still and quiet, perfect for sleeping. I was in no rush to go to bed, though; something about the mass of cakes had captivated me. Maybe I should open a bakery. I’d be able to stare at cakes every day, then. ‘Knock knock.’ Lockwood’s voice in the doorway made me jump. ‘Is there any – oh wow, Lucy, you’ve been…busy.’ He stood with one hand on the doorframe, eyes roving over the trays of raspberry buns, taking it all in. Then he looked at me and did a double take. ‘Luce, are you crying?!’ Oh, did I forget to mention that? Yeah, I was crying. I couldn’t tell you why, really – I’d sat down to take a break after turning the oven off and promptly burst into tears.

[armungentum]

Inspired by a scene from The Cadence of Part-time Poets <3

[lulublack90]

Prompt 13 - Sunburn

@wolfstarmicrofic June 13, word count 849

Previous part First part

McGonagall took their dibs cards off them the following morning when she spotted the amount of bacon and eggs they’d all piled onto their plates. 

“You will meet me at the main gates once you have cleaned your plates.” 

“Well, that’s our holiday ruined then,” Peter sulked as he pushed the scrambled eggs around his plate. 

“Cheer up, Pete,” James said cheerily. “There’s four of us this year, I bet we can get through her list of chores for the day and have some free time afterwards.” James was wrong. 

When they finally dragged themselves outside, pots of white paint and brushes waited for them. Remus craned his neck, trying to see where the fence ended. But his guess was they’d be at this all day. They grabbed their supplies and got started. 

Sirius and Remus painted one side while James and Peter did the other. They actually seemed to be making good progress until lunchtime when the sun rose to its highest point and beat down on them. 

They’d watched tiny Mr Flitwick take the rest of the campers into the forest, chatting away merrily about all the things they were going to see. Remus had felt a bit jealous because the few snippets he caught sounded quite interesting. 

“Don’t worry, he says the same stuff every year. I’ll take you around and give you a private tour,” Sirius had winked at him after seeing his sullen face. That had cheered Remus up immensely, and they’d carried on for a few more hours. 

They trudged into the main hall once the others returned for lunch. They were forced to the back of the queue and ate whatever was left.

Remus rolled his shoulders as he sat down, trying to relieve the ache that had settled in soon after he’d started painting. Sirius reached up and applied pressure with his fingertips. Remus had to work really hard not to let out a moan.

“Remus your necks really hot,” Sirius told him. 

“Sirius not while we’re eating,” James wagged a finger at him as he bit off a chunk of his sandwich. 

“Shut up, Potter. No Remus, I mean it’s actually hot.” He pulled Remus’s t-shirt down at the collar to get a better look. Remus squirmed, trying to get away. He had a long scar there from when the doctors had thought he had an issue with his spine and opened him up to find nothing. Sirius ignored it though. 

“Remus you’ve got sunburn on the back of your neck.”

“Oh no,” He whined. His scar was going to be unbearably itchy until the redness went away. 

“I’ve got some cream we can put on that later,” Sirius reassured him, “Do you want me to help make sure you get sunscreen on there before we go back out?” Remus nodded. He’d thought he’d got the worst of the exposed areas of skin with the greasy cream, but clearly, he hadn’t. He could feel the way his skin had gone taught now that Sirius had pointed it out. 

Sirius rubbed copious amounts of sunscreen onto his skin. He seemed to be enjoying himself a bit too much and Remus stopped him after the third pass of his arms. 

“Sirius quit it, if you put any more on, I’ll be better covered than the fences we’re meant to be painting.” He grabbed the bottle and squirted some of the white liquid into his hand. “Come here, and I’ll do you,” He gestured for Sirius to come back. 

“Promises, promises, Remus,” Sirius grinned wickedly at him. Remus rolled his eyes and splatted a glob of sunscreen onto Sirius’s face to shut him up. 

Somehow, they managed to get all the fence painted. With Peter only stepping into a paint pot twice. Both of his legs and shoes were covered in the white paint, but at least he hadn't knocked them over, James had pointed out. They were exhausted, but they wouldn’t have to do it again and that’s what mattered. 

“Beautiful job, boys,” McGonagall appeared out of nowhere again, making them all jump. Her smile was kind. All four of them were nervous. “Go wash up for dinner, I’ll put these away,” She waved her hand over the paint pots and brushes. They didn’t hang around for her to change her mind. 

“Thank you, Minnie!” They all called simultaneously over their shoulders as they hurried back to their cabin. Remus caught the little head shake she gave them and the smile that played at the corner of her mouth. 

“Remus first,” Sirius shouted as they entered the cabin and pushed Remus into the bathroom to have a shower. He threw a clean set of clothes in after him and slammed the door shut. Remus stood there bewildered as James and Peter’s loud complaints came from the other side of the door. “Should have called dibs quicker then, shouldn’t you!” Sirius cackled at them and Remus heard what he supposed was Sirius bounding around the room while James and Peter tried to catch him. He chucked to himself and got into the shower.  

Next part

[r0b0t1me]

✨BRIGHT STARS, CONSTELLATIONS, BIBLICALLY ACCURATE ANGELS✨

fanart for bad blud by @/pidgetails/bigdamnher0 

alt. w/ no text