Rabastan Lestrange

⋯ ⋯ ⋯ they use red to circle the u n f i n i s h e d sentences, ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ the ones with no punctuation for breath ⋯ ⋯ ⋯ or a place to go afterwards... i tell them i am still looking for

[mr-rabastan-lestrange-blog]

[starriingrole]

He spoke again, and she gave a small start, as though she really had forgotten he was there. She twisted to face him, one hand smoothing over his face. “A hangover tends to make even the coldest stone a tempting bed, I think.” Her hand moved to push through his hair, savoring the early morning messiness of him. “Loneliness is what woke me this morning, though. You know how much I hate to sleep alone.” He also knew, she suspected, how often he was her last choice to warm a shared bed. Sometimes that was all he was; a warm body, arms to hold her, lips to soothe her. When they were alone it was so easy to pretend he was the only person in her world. At night together, she slept curled in his embrace, clutching desperately for him.

                                                         Some mornings she woke up and forgot she was married.                 Some mornings she trapped him in the warmth of their bed as long as she was able.

She continued speaking. “There is nothing to forgive. I like when you’re happy.” It was true. It was easier when he was happy. She didn’t have to constantly look after him. She loved seeing him smile, hearing him laugh, but for all the wrong reasons.

[mr-rabastan-lestrange-blog]

“Ah, well, my arms are around you now; there’s no need to speak of loneliness. For now, at least, I’ll offer you what I can.” His arms only moved after the words left his lips, as if given life by his promise. This embrace paired well with the lazy warmth of the early morning. Rabastan found himself almost regretting his decision not to crawl into bed with her while she slept and make the most of the quiet buzz that remained. Almost. He was hard pressed to muster up any complaints when she regarded him in this manner.

Her comment brought a warm smile to his lips and a new rush of affection. A reply didn’t come immediately. Rabastan ducked his head to press a light kiss to her shoulder, lingering, sweet and full of the affection he doled out so freely. “Then my happiness is all for you.” A pause, confidence growing, his hand sliding up her back. “An embrace, a conversation, my happiness. Is there anything else I could offer you before our the day sweeps us up with its niceties? Lunch. My parents sent along a dinner invitation as well. Tsk, so many details to muddle through, masks to wear. Do you have mine? I seem to have misplaced them all.”

[mr-rabastan-lestrange-blog]

traitcr:

Today she was bubble gum pink and laughing. 

Last night she’d been red hot, tearing up every and any dance floor she could find. She’d been burning scarlet and she’d spent more time moving than thinking about anything else and she loved it. Last night, there’d been five minutes when she’d forgotten that there was a war going on, forgotten that everyone she loved had a target inked on her back, forgotten that this could be the last time she’d seen another year. There were too many things to forget, when she thought about it. But last night she had been hopeful, and last night was not now. 

Still, the happy buzz of the alcohol was still mingling in her system and, if she was honest, she’d been topping it up throughout that day. Today was January first, and Marlene Mckinnon had long ago decided that she liked firsts. She liked to wear bright pink shoes and drink cocktails with stupid names and she definitely liked to spend January first laughing. Which was perhaps why she was so open to the thought of spinning around the lamppost as if she were in one of the movies she’d seen her friends watch. 

                                 “  be my risk assessor. how quickly                                      into swinging around the post do                                      you think i would fall on my face?                                      i’m debating if it will be worth it.      ”

He was bored. Bored, restless, maybe slowly going insane. No, not that last one. Was an all-encompassing word really an accurate descriptor for the entanglement his mind had started to resemble? It went without saying that they were all inching towards the relief madness offered. He turned the corner, his destination unknown, only to stumble upon the perfect example for his thoughts. As a bright pink blur twirled around the lampost, he wanted to grab a passerby. Show them this is it. This is exactly the madness he was thinking about. How free she looked. “Do it.” She wasn’t speaking to him. Or at least, he didn’t know who she was speaking to, but his excitement had the phrase slipping out before he could stop himself. He hurried on, partially to cover up his own words and partially a  little light flickering on inside him. “It wouldn’t matter how long. Time makes no difference regardless. It’s all just a human conceptualization-- meaningless, overall. Do it.” A frustrated edge ended his sentence as his inability to get his thought across properly-- fully -- dampened some of his enthusiasm.

[mr-rabastan-lestrange-blog]

Mary had always believed that the best fix for a hangover, even the little ones that she would get occasionally, was more alcohol. Donning what could easily have been Sirius’s sweater- the laundry room in the flat was a bloody mess and she would often ‘accidentally’ steal an item of his that she found more pleasing than her own- she headed towards the tiny liquor store near the flat. Shivering from the slight chill in the air, she glanced back- ever paranoid- spotting someone that looked even worse than she felt. She nodded to them, trying and failing to look sympathetic to their own hangover.

Despite all of the overdramatic revelry at what was, in essence, simply a meaningless passage of time, Rabastan had always had a fondness for New Years. People let the humdrum of daily life slip away and truly did something. It was an interestingly rare occurrence. That being said, doing something seemed to be getting completely smashed and spending the rest of the week in an alcoholic haze. Though the early morning kept most in bed-- his dear wife included-- but Rabastan was restless. He found himself wrapped up in a cloak and humming a tune to himself as side-stepped a few pathetic little stragglers, some still lost in the merriment of the new year and others just a tad more sullen. One, in particular, caught his eye. It was fitting, wasn’t it? A new year, an old relationships. He stepped out onto the street so that he was in front of her when she turned around from the person she was greeting-- a friend? A stranger? “Mary, dear cousin of mine.  Tsk, you know if you keep looking back, you’re going to miss something in front of you.”

[rogersx-blog]

His gaze fell upon the pieces of parchment, amused by the drunken scribbles of stranger’s promising a million things that they would never accomplish. The tradition was just as ridiculous as the resolutions but still, he couldn’t stop his ever so curios brother from wandering off to attempt to read them. “Half of these goals were written by drunk people, Rab, of course they are hollow.” Rodolphus said, turning his head to look at his brother. “I’m afraid not everyone looks at things the same way you do. For them a fleeting moment is enough. Resolutions for them are like shooting stars, gone in an instant.”

[mr-rabastan-lestrange-blog]

A sigh left him as he fell back into step with his brother, though not without a parting glance at the window. “You’d think they would think. If you’re going to make a promise you won’t keep, make it fantastic. Say you’ll go hunt a dragon and mount its head on a wall. Say you’ll mount on your broom and discover a new country.” His hands came up, accenting his words with a perplexed, frustrated edge. He glanced to his brother, seeking a confirmation that he only waited on for a breath before going on. “But this? They’re so... stuck. In these minuscule boxes. Even in dreams, they forget to dream. Plebeians.”

[mr-rabastan-lestrange-blog]

[starriingrole]

She scoffed at him. Rolled her eyes far, far back into that pretty skull of hers and tossed her hair impatiently. He made her anxious. Uncomfortable. All that affection simply o o z e d out of him all the time; didn’t he ever get tired of it? To her, it was exhausting.

One strap of her nightgown had fallen. She fixed her attention on it instead of her husband, sliding her fingers over the silk, making a show of slipping it back into place on her shoulder. “Flattery will get you nowhere,” she chided him softly, but they both knew it wasn’t true. Already she had begun to look up at him through thick lashes, eyeing him from across the bedroom. She uncurled one hand finger by finger, pushed back the covers, swept her legs off the bed, padded across the floor until she was settled in his lap. Not that she paid him any more attention once she was there. Simply perched there as though he were an inanimate sofa and combed her fingers through her hair.

[mr-rabastan-lestrange-blog]

Though his eyes were meant for the book he’d pulled out, they caught, instead, on Emma. They lingered on her for what would have been far too long if he were not her husband, caught up in the smooth confidence of her movements. He didn’t reply to her comment-- what was there to say? It went without saying that flattery was all he had to offer her and that he wasn’t looking for anything in return. Did she know about the nature of his love? Did she ever think he was lying when he said that he didn’t need anything but to love her?

His eyes fluttered closed and his book was entirely forgotten in favor of the touch she gave away. “Sleep left you quickly...Or were your dreams simply shattered by the morning? Morning, morning sun, hangovers, reality... They all have a talent for destroying the warmth of a bed.”  Perhaps she couldn’t fathom his love. After all, it was a rare thing to love and not care whether one is loved in return-- something nearly no one can manage in their meaningless quests to consumes themselves with greed and possession. A small burst of confidence accompanied the satisfied smile that his musings brought to his lips. “You’ll have to forgive me, ma cherie.”

[mr-rabastan-lestrange-blog]

He stood on the cobbled street, hand shielding his eyes as he squinted up at the windows in front of him. Pieces of parchment stuck to them, each loudly declaring some stranger’s new year resolution. Though they were hardly readable through the glare, Rabastan was 99.9% sure that a majority of them were about losing weight. “...They’re hollow. If you cared about making a change in your life, you could do that any time. But, here, it’s just for a mome-- the moment? Just because. Do you have motivation? No, just because it’s a new year. But a year’s just a marker, that’s all.”

[starriingrole]

The night before had not been kind. Fireworks the whole night, not a bit of rest. Not to mention drinking too much champagne, toasting to a new year and getting absolutely toasted herself in the process. Oh, well. Emma always had been a bit of a lightweight. When the curtains were thrust open so suddenly, she looked up as slowly as she could manage, eyes narrowed and one hand raised in defense against the onslaught of harsh sunlight. “Do you mind? Some of us didn’t get their beauty sleep last night.”

[mr-rabastan-lestrange-blog]

“I’m sorry, mon coeur.” His reply came automatically, warm and earthy from his own tired haze-- one he hadn’t bothered attempting to pull himself out of all morning. The curtains chased the sunlight away as he swept them closed for her, only pausing to glance over his shoulder at his wife. “If it helps any, you’ve started off the year with just as much beauty as the last.” A pause. He considered his words. “.. Granted, that was simply a day ago, but the fact remains true regardless.”

[elvisqueso]

[radtracks]

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[mr-rabastan-lestrange-blog]

brave // sara bareilles

maybe there’s a way out of the cage where you live maybe one of these days you can let the light in show me how big your brave is

[alonesomes]

In second grade, the first poem I ever wrote got published and my parents called me a poet. Maybe that’s when I started to feel your name growing like an extra tooth in the back of my mouth. My mama taught me that an empty refrigerator with chicken scrawl poetry taped to the door can be full too. She taught me that being hungry can mean different things when you fall in love. In fifth grade, we grew plants. It was then I learned impatience. Your skin was the leaf that never grew, the one I was never graded on. I wrote you and waiting synonymously since then, thinking I was doing well, leaving space by my pillow for a golden sticker. I grew up with you like an assignment I didn’t hand in on time. One that my teachers didn’t mention, just slipped into our desks when the lights of the school dimmed and the laughter slept for the night. You were nothing but a thesis written over and over. My college professors ask me about you. Who are these ghosts that keep showing up in your papers? Do they have a name? I tell them I’m still waiting for my plants to bloom. I tell them I’ve been waiting to grow towards the sunlight so my limbs can afford to shrink from the shadow. They use red pen to circle the unfinished sentences, the ones with no punctuation for breath or a place to go afterwards. I tell them I am still looking for somewhere safe. They ask me how long you’ve been around. I don’t answer. I tell them that I have work to do. I tell them that love is a haunted classroom. They look at me as if to say “What did you expect?” and again, more forcefully, “What did you expect?” I don’t have an answer. Twelve years, and I still have nothing to say.

An Education | Ramna and Caitlyn (via alonesomes)