zephyrusislost

[zephyrusislost]

Chapter 3. starry nights

Considering how much of his day was dedicated to doing absolutely nothing, Regulus was fatigued a lot of the time

The day after James re-entered his existence, Regulus had to haul himself out of bed at eight fifty. He rocked up to his "job" with only the key to the gates, kept on a thin silver chain around his neck. He forwent all the morning tasks and flopped on his beloved swinging chair, bringing his feet up on the opposite armrest. Sometime still early in the morning, the wind picked up and blew over him, gently swinging the chair. If anyone came into the graveyard, Regulus would not be able to tell you.

The sun was high in the sky when he awoke to find some pieces of cardboard paper on his stomach, tied across both ways with some brown string. Even his great grandmother rolling in her grave could tell you that he did not want to wake up.

Regulus groaned dramatically and rolled onto his side, then immediately yelped as he almost fell from his chair. He cursed his favourite chair, the autumn wind, and lastly his entire existence.

"Wow, you're so dramatic." Came a voice above his head.

Regulus sat up immediately, and, oh if it wasn't the only person he desperately wanted to both see and avoid.

"What the fuck. Were you just watching me sleep?" Way to catch a man like a deer in headlights. Haha. Deer. He was the deer.

Regulus straightened his jacket and stared James in the eyes. He looked amused and very very handsome in this era of attire. The gay thoughts really need to be banished. They've technically only known each other for less than a day.

"Relax, I just got here. We were taking pictures in the church, the lighting in there is really good right now."

James pulled out some prints from his pocket. "Speaking of, I got these printed this morning. Thought you'd like them because they look great. Because I'm so damn talented."

They really were picturesque. Regulus just really wishes he had some photos of James. Something to remind him that he still exists in this world, or existed again. Because one day, when he's driven himself mad enough with wanting, he would need some proof that the boy he loved wasn't a mere figment of his imagination.

And his gaze lingers on James. Okay, more like he openly stares.

"Thank you, Jamie." He whispers softly, clutching the pictures close to his heart, mind always far, far away.

James tilted his head in confusion and took a step closer, reaching up to cup a hand around his shoulder and looking deeply into his eyes. "I know we just met, but you can trust me, I'm a simple man. If there's something troubling you, I would never shy away from sharing your burden." Regulus was weak in the knees. This was not happening now.

"I know. The world doesn't deserve you, you're too good."

"You talk like you've known me longer than two days."

Regulus sighed and closed his eyes. This was his person, and the one chance that the stars aligned and allowed their reunion.

James was still looking at him so intently. He wanted to cry. He had him for one lifetime, and they never got their happy ending. Here, there was no war, no dark wizards, nothing truly standing between them. He just had to go about it the right way.

"When are you leaving?"

"You wound me, Reg. I could stay all day and stare at your pretty face."

"No... I meant leaving the town."

"Oh. In four days. I'll be sad to leave you."

~~

James was going crazy. A vivid daydreamer himself, he often imagined meeting his soulmate at some sunny beach, or a rainforest home, or even a cute coffee shop. They would look at each other and just know like that. She would be funny and chatty, and feed into all of his flirting like they were made to be together.

But right now, he was not daydreaming about some chick, like at all. His mind was filled, it was all Regulus, Regulus, Regulus. The way he looked so melancholy all the time. He feels drawn towards him, like they're so inherently connected, and meant to be together.

Lying in his bed of the rental apartment and waiting for Sirius to return from the bookshop, James pondered what he was going to do.

~~

Regulus was undergoing a sudden transition into extreme empathy which was slightly inconvenient and very exhausting.

"I'm going to frame them in my living room." She says, like she's reading out the answer to a calculus problem she'd just worked on for the past hour.

That's a bit excessive, Regulus thinks, Miss Eleanor must be really lonely.

He looks at her with a resigned sort of pity, and sighs.

So am I. It's not a new revelation. So was I.

[zephyrusislost]

concrete all around (but really, it's in my head)

i add more every time a feel sad. basically a cringe projection vent.

The fatigue settled in some time before lunch. Halfway through the elaborate example Professor Slughorn was showing about how to verify that the Draught of Living Death was brewed properly without actually drinking it, Regulus' eyes glazed over and thought that he would volunteer to be a test subject right about now. He watched the steam coming out of his cauldron, currently bubbling a dark grey, and absentmindedly waved his hands over the top, feeling the heat come and go. There were only a few steps left, none too exhausting. And it was lunch after. He started counting down the minutes.

Barty and Evan were very chatty during lunch, they were happy about brewing a perfect potion together. Something about love conquers all, including tedious schoolwork. Regulus leaned his head on Evan's shoulder and linked their arms, looking through all the food on the table. None were appetising enough. He just closed his eyes, the chatter flew past his heavy mind.

For his fifteenth birthday, Sirius had gifted him a lemon scented candle. They hadn't really talked much all year, so it was a really thoughtless gift. But being the unloved, desperate little brother, Regulus held it as one of his most prized possessions. It kept him company where Sirius wouldn't, as he read and studied and thought. Six months later now, he's taken to just looking at it and letting his mind run blank. It was fun to play with, and a neat bit of wandless magic to change the colour and shape, or extinguish and reignite it with a wave of his hand. Sometimes he would come closer and closer until it was painful, then quickly draw away. Sometimes he sees Sirius looking at him, and he would draw away then too.

Regulus had rushed down to his dormitory the second class had ended, taken a shower and changed into pajamas, then just laid fully in bed. One of these days he would just lie here forever, and nobody would be able to drag him up. And then, maybe the exhaustion will slowly wear away like a stone weathered away by water, or maybe it'll build more layers and leave him trapped underneath.

Unfortunately, life is a train that does not stop for Regulus being a depressed dinosaur. It does, however, give him a break, because it's the weekend. Even better, a Hogsmeade weekend! Which means that nobody will bother him while he does whatever depressing shit around the castle.

The depressing shit turns out to be lying in a boat he conjured up, floating around the black lake aimlessly. He had brought a book to read, indulging in one of the more dramatic, angsty, relatable books in his collection. Sue him, it was comforting. But then it took too much effort to read, and now the book was discarded beside him.

Regulus thinks that someone could vanish his boat right now and he wouldn't mind, wouldn't even struggle to stay afloat.

Restlessness and boredom are cruel to the unassuming peace seeker, and he suddenly found himself desperate to get out of this boat and back to his room. He basically sprints. It serves a second purpose of building up the adrenaline. In his very empty room, Regulus searches through his very full trunk for the delirium potions he brewed for funsies, and had the foresight to keep in his collection.

One bottle should do the trick. It takes a while to settle into his bloodstream though. He uses these last few minutes of coordination to pull out his notebook and ballpoint pen (he doesn't trust future him with an ink well) and very dangerously light his precious beloved candle.

Wearing cute plaid pajama pants with his hands neatly folded in his lap, Regulus did not look like the glorified alcoholic that he was. He patiently waited for the effects to set in, and let his mind wander to the last time he met with James. This was good sign. Already drifting towards good thoughts. A few minutes after, he stood up and tried to walk across the room but literally couldn't. Great. Time to lie back in bed with all the pesky thoughts suppressed. Kind of like lying on a happiness cloud.

Luck was not in his favour as Barty and Evan burst into the room not even half an hour later. Regulus looked at them with a big, lazy smile and they immediately knew what was happening. Because normal Reg never smiled for no good reason. Barty's grin also widened as he came to sit on Regulus' bed and poke his cheeks. Regulus giggled. Actually giggled, how embarrassing.

In a completely platonic way, Regulus internally remarked that Barty looked very handsome today. Well, he was always handsome, but Regulus never really thought about it, he guesses. They're both taken men, but nothing wrong with some harmless admiring. He had those heavy eyelids that made him look very sleep deprived, which is funny, because he is. Regulus swatted at him, but Barty just grabbed his hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it, like he was some fair lady and they were about to dance.

He was actually ecstatic right now. It was brilliant. He would go for a broom ride if he could stand up.

LOL

"Fuck, I want to get drunk again. I'll forever be chasing that feeling." Regulus lamented over the frog they were charming.

"That's not healthy, dude. One day you'll fling yourself off the astronomy tower or something. Who will compete with my unhingedness then? Nobody else in this school even comes close."

"Not my problem, and I don't think that's something to be proud of, buddy." Why was Barty giving him such excellent ideas in the middle of charms? Usually his brain turned off the moment he stepped foot in any classroom.

Regulus turns back to his frog. It was not doing what he wanted it to. How frustrating. He wanted to cry. Biting his lip and sitting up straighter, he desperately reminded himself that he is not defined by anything, least of all not being able to charm a frog. Ugh. He wished he could go lie down and forget it all. It sure was terribly exhausting to function as an upper class schoolboy who had no real problems. This train of thought was not helping.

Evan also abandoned his frog, and nudged his chair closer to Regulus' to put an arm around his back. Regulus looked up at him, and Evan used his other hand to hold his. And that was it. The heirs to the great, noble houses of Black and Rosier, hugging during charms because school was hard. Life was hard.

This was so embarrassing and clown - Regulus was trying very very hard to not cry right now. He's already gone through all the tactics: blinking really hard, rolling his eyes, thinking about cats, exhaling really deeply, but none of them were working. The only thing left was to gaslight himself out of his sadness. He hated doing that, it was like denying yourself free thought.

"Professor, can Regulus go to the bathroom?" Barty asked.

Professor Flitwick looked at them for a second but waved him off. He's been teaching too long to care.

Regulus covers his mouth with his hand and rushes outside, leaning against the wall next to the door. He's sick of it all. Fed up with doing everyone, having to try so hard. And the worst part is that he doesn't know when it will all get better. Maybe when his parents pass, but then he would just live a miserably lonely life.

There's a buzzing through his brain, tripping him over every time he thinks. Perhaps this is just how it is, how it will be, for someone so insignificant and incompetent.

[zephyrusislost]

Chapter 2. Sunset

Miss Eleanor was once a cleaner in the church. In her retirement, she still frequented her old workplace. For the amount of time that she spent alongside Father Mackenzie, they did not seem familiar with each other, and rarely exchanged words further than the Hellos and Goodbyes shared between everyone. Anyway, she has been around enough for Regulus to know her name and face, but not enough to know much else.

It was turning colder by the day, and soon, Regulus would have the additional morning task of sweeping snow from the driveway, the paths and the grave. He was not built for this manual labour. But it did take away from the energy he had to overthink everything that happened to him in his life as a wizard, and then there was the pleasant reward of seeing the pretty snowfall.

Monday mornings began the same way as every other day. Because the graveyard must open every day. And there was nobody else to open it. Duh.

Regulus sweeps away the layer of orange-brown leaves mindlessly. His mother, or rather his ex-mother, would be disgusted at the way his life now consisted only of menial tasks, completed to serve others. Sirius would think this is boring, but he thought everything was boring. And James. James, the biggest optimist in the world who the worst things have happened to. James would love this for him, Regulus thinks. Back then, they always talked of running away forever, living a peaceful, good life away from the war. Together.

Monday afternoons are slightly different from every other day, because Miss Eleanor usually comes. She brings her knitting needles and sits beside Regulus, offering a smile and no words. She usually knits until closing. Regulus doesn't know what she's working on, and doesn't really care, but it looks like some sort of cardigan for herself. He watches her, and watches the others that pass by, and overthinks himself into sadness again.

It's four thirty and he goes to the washroom before preparing for closing. It's golden hour now, but that's the kind of thing Sirius would have cared about, not him.

When he returns from locking up the office, someone has taken his place on his swinging chair, and is now loudly and enthusiastically chatting to Miss Eleanor. It's one of the guys he saw yesterday. He has his back to him, and Miss Eleanor looks both taken aback and also very pleased to talk to him. She waves him over.

"Regulus here is the keeper of this humble graveyard," She explains proudly, "and he is most kind to enjoy his peaceful presence when I visit."

Hardly a kindness, not kicking you out, Regulus thinks.

The man seems to share this sentiment because he makes an amused noise. Up close, he's taller and broader than Regulus, and when he turns to face him, Regulus' next words die in his throat.

James - well, Regulus doesn't even know if he's still called James - looks different only because they're in a different era where the dress code norms are different. But his face is still James, just like how Regulus still looks the same.

"James," Regulus whispers, and his final brain cell also short circuits and dies, leaving him quite rudely staring.

"Oh hi! Miss Eleanor was just telling me about this town, nice to meet you, Regulus. Oh er, I'm James, wait ... how did you know my name?"

And, he also sounds the same.

"Are you okay?" James waves a hand, and Regulus might melt and die right now, he doesn't know whether out of panic, longing, or fondness.

"Fine." He blinks. James is still there, looking at him with no recognition.

"Okay, um, my mate and I are here on vacation for a week, just got here two days ago. I'm a photographer and my usual model is snoring away in our hotel room," James snorts, "d'you wanna be my model? Just here, of course."

Well, Regulus could never refuse James anything.

~~

They started off with Regulus sitting cross legged on his swinging chair, then moved around beside the shrubbery and the ancient maple tree, and finally to the graves. Miss Eleanor watches them passively, and James directs her to join in for some shots. She looks like she's having the time of her life.

James is talking and laughing the whole time. Regulus is silent, and leaves Miss Eleanor to fill in the gaps of their so-called conversation. James must think this town so dull, and them both so boring.

"Beautiful. I love it here." James says.

Regulus waits for him to elaborate.

"Oh it's terribly boring, I'm afraid." Miss Eleanor shakes her head. "Meeting you is the highlight of my decade."

The highlight of my sad, lonely life, Regulus thinks.

"No! This is like your cute little corner of the world, and it's so pretty, you're pretty too, both of you." James sighs dreamily, scrolling through his camera roll.

Only my James would call a graveyard cute Regulus rolls his eyes and takes a step closer to check out the photographs.

James looks down at him over his shoulder, they're less than a feet apart. The last time they were this close, James was begging him to go, his face full of desperation and hopelessness. The seventeen or more years since then have restored him back to full merriment, but now he only looks at Regulus with curiosity and nothing deeper.

It's awfully unfair, Regulus thinks, that he gets the privilege of forgetting, while I will always be still living in the past.

He closes up late again, and once the high of seeing his soulmate again dies down, Regulus feels empty again. He's not mine anymore. He doesn't belong here, in my sad little town. And he leaves in five days, he reminds himself, just to keep his hopes down.

Regulus replays and replays the afternoon until it's locked in the safest corner of his memory. It's worth more than anything else he has.

[zephyrusislost]

All the lonely people

Chapter 1. Snowfall

In his first life, Regulus Black had died alone.

And now, seventeen years into his second life, he has almost everything that he'd ever wished for last time.

In the small town of New Roselle, Adrastor Snow was the keeper for an ancient graveyard standing beside the even more ancient church. Since the ripe age of ten, Regulus Snow had been learning the trade from his father, in bite sized pieces. Newly graduated from high school now, he can take over, and Adrastor can finally rest.

Objectively, Regulus liked his second life better than his first. His parents, Lysandra and Adrastor Snow, were kind and doting. He could see his whole life planned out ahead, with people that knew and had no problems with him. All in all, very pleasant, very tame.

On the first day of his father's retirement, Regulus trekked the whole five minutes from his home to the graveyard, and unlocked the heavy ornate gates seven minutes before nine o'clock. He checked off his morning tasks at a pace comparable to a sloth: unlock the office, check the mail, water the bushes, clean up any rubbish and dead flowers, then finally, sit in his little swinging chair and stare off at nothing. Just fine and dandy.

The first few people dribble in just as he'd settled down. They don't ever talk to him, and don't usually even look at him. Regulus respects that. They're here to grieve, and sometimes, Regulus feels like he is too.

Despite passing these same people in the streets, in the shops, the church, for numerous years, he doesn't know most of their names. Doesn't feel the flash of familiarity when he sees their faces.

Niki from the bakery came by at noon. She was lovely to Regulus - his parents had even tried to set them up on a date once - but he was a shadow of a human being who was unable to form connections with anyone anymore. Niki laid pastel yellow flowers by her grandmothers grave, then came to sit next to Regulus, procuring a sourdough loaf that fit perfectly into her cupped hands.

"For you, darling. I was trying some new scoring patterns and this one didn't turn out too well. Still tastes good though." Niki was so kind, so good.

"Thank you, Niki. I'm sure mother and father would like it."

"And what about you?" Niki smiled shyly.

"Of course."

In his second life, Regulus doesn't feel as deeply, doesn't care as much.

~~

Every shift is a graveyard shift when you're in an actual graveyard. That's awful and also poetic for Regulus, because he has been missing his sun. And just about every single little fucking thing that he once had. It's become a little pathetic.

His life now is good. Picture perfect, and happy. Like something out of a novel that Regulus had randomly picked up in the muggle studies section of the Hogwarts library, and secretly enjoyed thoroughly. Maybe living in it would be perfect, if he didn't remember his life as Regulus Black. If mentally, he wasn't still back there, wishing for this mundane life as an escape.

Regulus Black had been quiet, but someone had listened to every word that he said. He was cold and untouchable, but surrounded by people who cared, who tried.

Under the fading blue sky and setting sun, Regulus Snow could speak all he wanted to an empty graveyard, and only the deceased would pretend to listen.

~~

Father Mackenzie's Sunday church services were not very popular. The old man still does his thing as usual, what else can he do anyway? By far, the most exciting things that the church ever sees are weddings, followed by funerals. But in a small town, those are few and far in between.

Regulus attends every Sunday, only for his parents. He doesn't think they'll mind much if he stops going, but doesn't really have enough resolve to break the routine. After the service, some will visit their loved ones in the graveyard. Some won't. Either way, it's usually empty when Regulus returns. This time, it's not.

Two guys, not much older than Regulus, are in his swinging couch as he arrives. They're talking, laughing, and eating baguettes. That's fine, it's a public place. Regulus heads back to his little office. Now would be a good time to write the order for some new flower seeds anyways, his father was a practical man, but this sad little corner of the world was now his pride and life's work, so it should be at least somewhat nice.

He stays in there until five twenty, and closes the gates almost half an hour late, because he lost track of time researching the meanings of different flowers, the conditions they need to grow, and what time of year they would bloom.

As sad as it sounds, Regulus doesn't think he would mind dying alone in his second life too.

[zephyrusislost]

"Evan." Barty finally breathed out. "Stay away from me today."

Evan lay with a face full of pillow, and was Not ready to wake up.

"Mmmrmph wha?"

"I'm going to die today, and if you're here then I won't be able to leave you behind."

Oh. He was fucking awake now. Evan turned on his side to face Barty, who stared at the canopy like it didn't exist. His face was relaxed, a bit scarily so.

"Don't, then." Evan whispered delicately, and koala grabbed Barty.

"Let me go." Barty whispered back, like he was begging, but with no desperation.

"No <3"

And honestly, Barty didn't even have a plan. That's how things always ran with him - impromptu. It makes things ever the more thrilling, and he wasn't complaining about that.

Evan, the literal angel descended from heaven, somehow managed to drag his demon possessed ass to breakfast, and force feed him some waffles. Like, literal feeding. He even flew it through the air like an aeroplane. Bruh?!?! Was Evan going to make a field day of this??? Honestly, Barty was not complaining, at least someone knows how to have a good time. And now they sat, well, Evan sat, Barty slumped, in the arithmancy classroom. Glorified maths, how fun

(1)

[zephyrusislost]

the only solace i got from watching his orthorexic ass taking the smallest bites was that clearly eating healthy doesn't work for everyone

[zephyrusislost]

BAHAHAHAAHAHAH

i feel like i should personally thank and shake alex quackity's hand for making "where are the askers"

a song that was truly ahead of it's time

[zephyrusislost]

OHHHH THEY'RE NOT GONNA LIKE THIS ONE

GET BEHIND ME TOMMY!!

[zephyrusislost]

Welcome to the United SMP, where 60 people- most of whom haven’t been invited yet- speaking six different language- the majority of which originate from Europe, but, hey, we’ve got South America in there somewhere, and we even have one Asian language!- play minecraft using live translation technology- which is being developed by a company known for pretty bad inventions in the translation field. It’s not like other Minecraft servers. It’s the first server with members that speak different languages.

People interested in joining should click on this English tweet that they probably haven’t seen because they aren’t on English twitter. Only ten people per language are invited, and there will be a leaderboard! Who’s the best German speaker? The best Korean speaker? We all know the best English speaker is Dream. He’s so good at talking that underage girls flock to him to hear his voice!

Definitely don’t watch the qsmp. Though Dream may have announced the new smp idea on the same day as the qsmp announcement and though he may have launched this preview on the same day as the first major qsmp event, that doesn’t mean anything! The qsmp event was moved, anyway! He couldn’t have gotten the idea without Quackity’s help, anyway.

From the man who refused to learn any Spanish when joining a Spanish minecraft tournament and who said that he doesn’t need to learn a foreign language because he only speaks winning, the United SMP will rank languages and break barriers just as easily as Dream breaks speedrunning records without cheating.

[zephyrusislost]

mountains and oceans fold over one another on my skin,

and so do the remains of man-made destruction.

youve shielded (or hidden?) yourself with frosted glass,

and effectively become dull, dull, dull.

I have nothing left, just everything i need and more.

of course it would be difficult to strangle some prolonged happiness from the abyss' strong, cold hands.

[zephyrusislost]

The numbness that threatens to overwhelm me grows as hardened soap foaming through my cortex, infiltrating my columns.

Feeling, just at your fingertips, gets interrupted somewhere along the way; and giving in to the constant static has never been so easy.

[zephyrusislost]

I want quiet friendships that can withstand the weathering of spacetime.

Ones that make me feel like the wind is soft and light, not desperately trying to turn me over.

That anchor in shallow waters of pensive sadness, letting me wallow without sinking deeper.

[zephyrusislost]

I can leave behind this hurt and pain

If it ever existed at all

[zephyrusislost]

They're all one text, one call, arms reach and a million miles away.

It's the ache of wanting to reach out, but holding back,

Of extinguishing even the minutest flare, and punishing it with a thousand tonnes of cold, unbreakable ice,

That abandons me, even though I was the one who left first.

[zephyrusislost]

Being an adult is being hooked in conversations that mean so much and ultimately dissolve to nothing, but feeling so inexplicably alone.

Most of your time is spent around people, but it's different people, and nobody tends to stay.

Really, it's my fault. Maybe it's the lead in my veins, the iron lacing my throat, that's holding me hostage. Or the empty, beating heart, fibrosed beyond the slightest chance of expanding again.

You shy away from sunlight; it'll burn your face. Inside, you watch your friends socialise, love, regret and romanticise a life that's just at your fingertips, if only you had the energy to reach out and grab ahold of it. You're depleted, dizzy as an excuse, you know but'll never admit that you're just scared. Because nothing will wait for you, and the only way to not come last in a race is to never compete at all.

A thin blanket covering fragile bones can only bear a subpar semblance of what I could have.

//im lonely

[zephyrusislost]

In the back of my mind, I've been dead for a long time.

In the back of my mind, I died by my own hands,

And I haven't had the chance to regret it.

At sunset, I missed the countdown,

Did I forget, or lose myself once more?

And at home there awaits a brother sharing the misery that is entirely mine, and another that can make sunflowers follow his every step, becoming further out of reach every passing day.

But here, there are no flowers, no warmth, only sunshine slowly and steadily slipping further away.

//projecting into achilles come home (please?)

[zephyrusislost]

At my last sunrise it will be silent and still. And all the time spent agonising, will be for nothing.

From the bridge, little boats seem so easy to sink.

The lead coursing my veins, cushioning my bones,

Is real and relentless.

There is seaweed grasping at my ankles, an elaborate welcoming to a new, forever home.