# Same Energyand The Only Two Times The Strongest Metal In The Known Universe Has Ever Been Busted ()

# same energy     and the only two times the strongest metal in the known universe has ever been busted (◡‿◡✿)

FIRST THREE IN MY INBOX GET KISSES

@thewrongsorts​ || cont.

trying to make sirius talk these days wasn’t something you’d like to get yourself into. no matter the time, no matter the new trick one could come up with or the joint efforts of people he had genuinely loved, the result seemed to always go a little bit like this: gritted teeth and warning barks; white knuckles, screaming and a series of banged doors. for—the person that had came back from the department of mysteries was ( at least in appearance ) the sirius that had roamed the halls of grimmauld place, though, for him, it hardly felt like the victory so many had tried to make him see. 

no, if anything, he felt like this was punishment. penance for the carcass left behind. 

so—when she answered to the loose words that had slipped his mouth ( barely an excuse to make his way to the bar, grab the nearest bottle he could find and leave the scene ) it had been but a miracle that his first reaction wasn’t to storm out of the room but the complete opposite of that—he stayed. frozen in place, a little tremor in his breath, but he stayed. his features hidden from her given the position he was in and the tense waiting of the uncertain, livid in his stance. and perhaps—maybe, it had something to do with her story. one he hadn’t connected with until just now, but one that he knew almost too well. he was living a part of it, after all. 

“ like—you stole those words right out of my mouth, that’s how i feel. ” he flashed her the last remnants of a smile, boyish charm and a little bitterness in it. an amber-coloured stream filling his glass which he sipped before tilting the drink her way, an invitation to get her something alike now that they were about to have a little chat.

“ though the baby part i barely got over a few years ago, kid sprout up like crazy when the last memory i have of him was something a little bit like—this ” he showed her making a space with his hands of the size harry had been, last time he have held him in one of his visits. another fond grin visiting his features, at least briefly. “ neville, right? your boy. had a chance to talk with him these days, or…? ”

mythology moodboards | neon fae

“I have elected to become monster & beauty & grace & terror.” (x)

i—

@getlostsqdwrd​ || cont.

time, at some point, had stopped its sequence; and it shouldn’t count as a lie that she hardly acknowledged the moment she had left home for good ( if sokovia could still be called a home after all ). an aircraft, buzzing all around. a memory of papers and forms and instructions thrown over her; a room, her new room. an intent to make her train and the final resolution that she should be left alone, for a while at least. the hope that she’ll recover at some point, though how long ago she couldn’t tell anymore. and—in that blurred space, for as much as we can know, it came to happen. one grey afternoon, rain a symphony in the distance. it happened—suffocated words and eyes fixed in another world, somewhere far ahead. and a thought, barely one certainty amidst it all—that she hadn’t spoken to herself, but to the only one she’d trust herself at this point.  

vision, his hand coming to intertwine with hers.

and for just a moment, she thought that would be all for today. them, sitting in the middle of the room. a silence she could perhaps lean on, for a while at least. understanding in just letting her sadness be. but—he speaks, and far from infuriating her she’s kindly pushed somewhere words could hardly describe. a tremble in the sides of her neck, tears that tickle in the corners of her eyes. and it’s—it’s not the first time she cries about it. less so, you’d have trouble finding a moment she didn’t look just about to release another tear, but—this time was different. in feeling, it was different. weary, of course, but liberating in the strange way where your pain is received with the ghost of a smile. with acceptance of what it is and will be for a while more. she sighs, closed eyes and a second in which she contained herself before turning to him, one look, some doubt, then a brief attempt at meeting him with a smile carrying the gratitude in her, that then came back to be the tired state of someone that had been haunted by memories every other night before.

“ it was like this—the last time it happened, you know? ” she admits, the faintest stroke of her thumb against the skin of his hand. “ when our parents died and we were rescued from under that bed, i—hardly really spoke again. the next days, months maybe. not even... when i was hungry or my head hurt from all that crying. but—pietro… he dealt with grief so differently. lock it out and choose time and time again to take me by the hand and take me everywhere he went. guessing all i needed and always getting it right, and—even when i couldn’t say a word he spoke to me for hours to no end. he never gave up… he never does. ” and through the tears there it was, at last—love in the way she painted his memory word by word. a light amidst her broken parts. 

“ i wish i could be a little more like him… ”