when does a war end?

i obey your absence for you i learn the art of staying dead private mm penned by fifa

[ncfunerals]

tracker

b — caelastor  beela — finnson / evan & narcissa  shleby — 

[ncfunerals]

CRESSWELL, eileen

…

              SHE WOULD NEVER UNDERSTAND JULIAN.  No matter what details he shared she would never really know him in the way she wanted to; she came from a family where love was abundant, she came from a family where something like this would shatter them, where it wouldn’t be brushed aside. Eileen would never understand Julian but she loved him, she always had and this time together had only made that more glaringly apparent.  “  Hey, hey, come here,  ”  it startles her, the look on his face. His eyes are looking past her, far away, and when he grabs her arm she thinks for a moment he might be going down.  “  It isn’t fine. It matters,  ”  she thinks he must know this even as she takes him into her arms, even as his voice cracks against the force of the words in his throat and causes her to wonder if maybe he doesn’t after all. The truth of the matter is she’s angry at Alastor. She blames him for this, blames him for all the choices leading up to it and all the choices that would surely follow. Eileen repeats her words, cradling his head against her chest. All she can offer him are consoling words, shocked into a sort of tenderness.  “  It matters, Julian. You’re allowed this. You are.  ”

              She doesn’t want to pull back, as if keeping him close to her might fix something, but the small patch of blood on her sleeve is visible and so she has to.  “  Have you hurt yourself? Let me see─  ”  she takes his hand in hers, seeing the cut on his palm that had reopened. If there was one thing she could do for him now it was healing surface wounds. Eileen turns aside to rummage in the drawers in search of dittany before returning to him, a small amount does the trick for what could hardly even be classed as a laceration and she smoothes it over his palm in silence. She has seen countless worse injuries on strangers and friends and healed them all, but something about this causes tears to prickle at her eyes. She keeps them trained on his open hand, tracing the line there. Would you tell me next time? She wants to ask, will you let me be with you? But she knows the answer may be one she doesn’t want to hear. Instead she glances back up with an easier question, one that won’t hurt if he says no.  “  Will you come back to bed?  ” 

—

               TENDERNESS IS A JARRING THING. He thinks he knows it ; and then there are moments like these when it redefines itself for him and leaves him hollowed out. He is shocked by the way she holds him close, by the softness of her words and the force behind them and even though he hears them, even though they reach him, he can’t quite bring himself to believe them because that would mean everything else he had ever believed in was a lie. If it mattered that meant that everything else leading up to it ; every hurt, large and small, mattered as well and Julian could see the way that thread could unravel his entire life. He does not dare to go there. Besides, families are complicated things and she only knows what he tells her so she doesn’t see all the times he has been a terrible brother as well. She just holds him and she tells him that it wasn’t fine because she has a way of seeing the good in him and he he has a way of playing up things in his head and hers is the only love that comes without any strings attached.

               Being close to her helps. She fills up all the empty, aching places inside him until he doesn’t feel lonely anymore. She is here and they will be okay. He hadn’t noticed the cut that has opened up again and he wants to tell her that its nothing but her touch is so gentle, the words close in his throat. He closes his eyes for a moment as she applies the dittany and a silent tear trails down his cheek. “Yeah,” he nods in reply to her question. Julian follows her back to their room, their fingers still intertwined together. He peels off his shirt before getting under the covers. Julian wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her closer and her legs fit perfectly in the space between his. He traces a finger along her cheek, “I don’t want you to worry about me,” he finally says. Like this, with her pressed close and them warm in bed, the way he had been seems like an overreaction to a long day. There is that same familiar urge to make excuses for himself and for his family, to try to explain it away. “It’s been hard for everyone but it will get better, yeah? And I’ve been just— I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

[ncfunerals]

LOOKING AT HIM HURT. Every time Caelan steals a glance at him, he is painfully aware of the distance between them. Of how it had grown from something he could cross with a smile and a touch to something he couldn’t even begin to consider. He had thought of him all the time in the darkness of Azkaban. Their last conversation had played itself over and over again until it took on the shape of something far more sinister than it had been but what Caelan had tried to hold onto was the sound of Eli’s laughter in the middle of the night and how it had wrapped itself around his bones, settling in his chest like something he could live for. It didn’t work though because if Caelan was that strong he would have never left in the first place and so he kept going back to his mistakes even as he had wished he was home instead. Even as he knew there was nothing for him to go back to. He had known that when he had walked out — had known that Elijah loved him for who he was and he had loved him with whatever was left of him but love was rarely ever enough.

There was an absence where once Eli had been. It didn’t matter if he had always known this would be the way it ended ; if there had never been anything real to end in the first place. He had lost him all the same. Caelan can’t go home yet because it isn’t safe and the Order is trying to map their next moves but he is still so tired and he knows he will throw himself back in the planning, in the fighting, soon enough because what else is there left for someone like him but he wants nothing more than just a moment of rest. The room had somehow emptied of everyone else until its just the two of them left, something which he is suddenly keenly aware of. He knows he should apologize - he wants to apologize - he had promised himself he would apologize the first chance he gets but the words won’t come. Still, Elijah is about to leave and he knows he has to say something. “You know this is the part where you can tell me told you so,” his voice is filled with false levity, an attempt at light heartedness, “I’d deserve that.”

@oncewept​

[ncfunerals]

oncewept​:

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧.   post azzy breakout.   ／   𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.   julian’s flat.

              THEY’D FALLEN BACK INTO THIS PATTERN FAR EASILY THAN EXPECTED.  When he came back she told herself she would keep him at a distance, that she wouldn’t forgive him so easily. But Julian had that way of breaking down any walls Eileen built; she wanted to care for him, wanted him to know he was deserving of that, even after what he may have done. Since Alastor’s arrest, they’ve found themselves together most nights. It was selfish, and in part useless; Julian was beyond consoling and Eileen was afraid of what he might do because of it. Tonight was hardly different, even with the world in its upheaval and their rescue attempt successful, she found herself at his flat by night’s end.

             Julian asked her to help with Alastor and she did what she could. She was there when he woke, witness to the waking terror that led him to see Julian as an enemy rather than his brother. She was there when the others ran in to subdue him. She was there to treat Julian’s wounds. And she was there now, reaching out for him in sleep only to find his spot empty. When she finds him he is leaning over the counter just down the hall, and she tries to ignore the feeling that had begun to twist in her chest. Eileen approaches in silence, resting her head against his back. They stay that way for a moment before she finally speaks.  “  You need to rest. There’s nothing more you can do for him but wait.  ” 

@ncfunerals​

—

IT HAD SURPRISED HIM ; the way they had fallen back together. Julian knew he was far past forgiveness  but somehow he had managed to find his way back to the only place that had ever felt like home. They don’t dare to name this thing between them, as fragile as it is, and he doesn’t ask for more than she gives but she keeps him hopeful and he keeps her close. Julian sees the way she watches him as if she is afraid to look away and he wants to put her at ease but he doesn’t want to make any more promises he won’t be able to keep. So he says nothing and she stays and her presence makes him want to see the other side of this thing.

Julian hadn’t been able to catch a wink of sleep and slips out of bed, careful not to wake her up. It would be the easiest thing to leave in this moment. It is an urge as old as he can remember, as familiar as the loneliness he had carried with him his entire life. Alastor would be relieved and Julian would be free of watching his brother drive himself to his own ruin. He could leave except that Eileen is sleeping in the next room and that keeps him between these four walls even as he paces the length of his apartment once, twice and over and over again, always stopping at the door and turning back.

He ends up in the kitchen, washing the glass that were sitting beside the sink if only to give his hands something to do. He does it once and then again and again until it breaks in his hand, slicing his palm. The cut isn’t deep but the water runs red with his blood and Julian looks at the broken shard for a beat too long before he calmly cleans up the mess and presses a paper towel to his hand until it stops bleeding. His hands are shaking and he hangs his head over the sink, not knowing exactly how much time passes until he feels her press her head against the thin fabric of his t shirt. The slightest smile pulls at his lips. 

“Yeah I know—” he starts to say, turning around to look at her. “It’s fine. It doesn’t matter. I get it” and he does. It was everything Alastor took on and Azkaban on top of it. He doesn’t blame him but Julian can feel Alastor’s hands around his throat ; can see the look on his brother’s face. He shakes his head and his mind spins and he is twenty  and Alastor is pushing their father away from him and then the room spins again and he is on the floor of the safehouse with his brother’s hands closing around his throat. He has to hold onto her arm to steady herself. He leans against her, lowering his head until it meets the crook of her neck and tears prick against his eyelids. He closes his eyes tightly, willing the tears to not fall and his voice is shaky as he repeats the words, “I get it.”

[ncfunerals]

POTTER , james

𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞.   post azzy breakout.   ／   𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.   sirius’ flat.

IT FELT LIKE HE’D BEEN OUT OF THE LOOP FOR FAR TOO LONG.  James is restless, buzzing with newfound righteousness and ready to know the full truth. He’s spent far too many hours doing far too little, and he had never been well suited to that. Yes, he might need draughts to sleep without having terrors, and yes there was still very little food he could stomach, but no one needed to worry about any of that. There were bigger problems to be had, and James was trying not to think about it much himself.  “  They’re scared of Lils, I swear. No one’s telling me anything. What’s she threatened them with?  ”  

             He studies the galleon he’s been twirling in his fingertips as the beginning of a thought forms. Lingering like some gaunt form at headquarters was just not sustainable, and quite frankly, James was growing bored. Some time out would do him good. It may have been against all the rules of his current predicament, but in the company of Sirius rational thinking was all too often an afterthought. He sits up from where he was previously sunken into the sofa, the galleon glints as he tosses it towards his friend.  “  We have to get out of here, mate. I’m losing it.  ”  

@ncfunerals​

—

SIRIUS WAS THINKING OF ONLY JAMES. Fuck the order and fuck their plans and whatever the fuck ‘next steps’ was supposed to mean. Everyone acted as if this whole thing was something else that they needed to cross off a checklist ; as if a whole bloody month in Azkaban was nothing more than an inconvenience. He had thought he would be able to rest once James free, that he would stop feeling as if he was trying to escape his own skin but Sirius still felt as if James might disappear if he looked away.

Sirius had never had much to offer when it came to comfort but James had others for that. He knew James well enough to know that he was downplaying the entire thing but neither of them knew of a better way to deal with this. And God most of all he hated feeling like this. The way he couldn’t quite figure out how to be around James - couldn’t figure out how to say the things he needed to say - couldn’t quite figure out what to do with this new fear that had settled in his chest. “Well she has that glare she brings out for special occasions, yeah?” he grinned, “It throws people off. Not everyone is as used to it as you mate.” Sirius spoke as he almost fell off the arm of the couch in order to catch the galleon before throwing it up in the air victoriously. “Losing it, huh? I can’t believe you let the Dementor’s win at their jobs,” he joked but he was already on his feet. “I have the bike upstairs,” he nodded towards the roof, “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

[ncfunerals]

POTTER , lily

who: sirius black ( @ncfunerals​ ) where: potter’s cottage. when: january 3rd, 1983.

      MAYBE THEY SHOULD’VE FOUND A DIFFERENT HOME. Lily still feared the worst, although with James away, the Death Eaters and other Ministry lackeys had taken their eye off of her. No one suspected little Lily Potter. The muggle-born. The mother. Surely, she wouldn’t do anything that would put her son in jeopardy. And they were right, she wouldn’t. But that didn’t stop the fire in her veins, the heat in her bones. Lily knew that she was more than their bloody labels, but Godric, did she burn in the little box they’d put her in. She was suffocating, and not just by their words, by her own flames.

    Sirius helping wasn’t the most logical solution. Normally she’d ask Remus, but he wasn’t in the right headspace these days. While Sirius temperamental himself, she knew he’d be there; knew that without questioning, he’d show up on her door-step. So, when the owl left she knew that Sirius would be there in the morning. She knew he’d bring breakfast. What Lily didn’t expect, was for there to be a bloody feast.

    Harry was already strapped into his high-chair when she padded into the kitchen, a yawn quickly accentuated with a bark of surprise. Pancakes and waffles; eggs and toast; bacon and sausages. They were piled a mile high on the table, little Harry beaming as he happily munched away at a bit of danish. Meeting Sirius’ eyes, she raised a brow, “Since when did we need enough to feed an army?” she asked, but her voice was soft. A soft kiss to his cheek told him all he needed to know, and as she fixed herself a plate, Lily asked, “So, do I need to plan on having company or did you really expect us to eat all this food?”

—

SIRIUS FELT UTTERLY useless in the face of everything. He had not been able to rest a single moment since they had been captured but if he stopped he would fall apart. He had always had his crutches but the only thing that was keeping him from completely losing his mind was the thought that he would be of no use to James and the others in his current state. He had to claw his way back to some semblance of sanity and when he had his best friend back — maybe then he could think of getting blackout drunk for a week. 

Sirius always showed up for his friends so when Lily send him that letter there was no doubt that he would down the fastest acting sobering potion he could find and show up at her door, only slightly late for breakfast. He also had a tendency to go overboard so it was no surprise when he showed up with far too much than they needed but it wasn’t as if he had been thinking of the menu. 

James absence hit him like a punch to the gut as soon as he stepped inside and he had to steady himself against the wall, taking a deep breath before steeling himself and walking to the living room with a smile spread across his lips as if this was just another visit. His eyes lit up when he saw Harry, “How’s my favorite guy?” he said as he picked him up from the chair, throwing him up in the air. He could feel Lily’s glare but it softened at the sound of his giggles. “Chill Lils — even if I dropped him he’d bounce right back up. That’s just how babies are,” he teased before shrugging in reply to her question. He strapped Harry back in his chair just to give his hands something to do. “Yeah well you know what they say. Breakfast is the dinner of the champions or whatever,” he said as he shook his head at the plate she was holding out for him, unable to work up an appetite.

[ncfunerals]

PETTIGREW , peter

who: sirius & peepee ( @ncfunerals​​​ )  where: their lil flat  when: january ??, 1983.  

       The label on Peter’s fifth - fourth? seventh? did it really matter? - beer bottle was all but disintegrated by this point, his fingers absentmindedly picking at it as he leant against their kitchen counter. Antsy and restless energy poured out into something entirely unhelpful. Though he wasn’t really sure what would help him at this point. One of his best mates, and multiple Order members, were locked up in Azkaban. And that wasn’t even the part that had him feeling so out of place - it had been his doing. He had given the Death Eaters the information about the ‘Save Dumbledore Plan’ in return for, well…he wasn’t quite sure yet. Safety? Trust? To not be on the opposite end of Rosier’s wand? 

       The bastards hadn’t even told him what they would do with the information. Peter only realized once he heard the news, that it could’ve been much worse. This wasn’t the games they used to play, or the trouble they got into back in school - this was war. He felt like he wanted to puke, but instead he finished off his beer and grabbed another. He couldn’t even remember what the last thing him or Sirius said - but he offered another drink to him as he paced back and forth in their cramped kitchen. "Think it’s time for a rat and a dog to sneak into Azzy, then?” He took a sip, this thumb immediately peeling back the label, knowing full well that he had no plans to break into Azkaban. “Or you got a better idea?” 

—

HE SHOULD HAVE BEEN THERE.  All of them should have. The same regret repeats itself over and over as if it was a stuck tape. It would have made a difference because the four of them had always been luckier together than alone ; had always been able to get away with the most impossible of antics. And now his best mate - his brother -  was gone and Sirius doesn’t know how long he would be gone for but he did know that every passing second brought him closer to never seeing James again. The alcohol didn’t help and the drugs didn’t help and the relentless pacing sure as fuck didn’t help but Peter’s presence helps if only because of how familiar and comforting it is. If only to serve as a reminder that not everything is lost

He ran a hand through his hand before taking the bottle from Peter’s hand and taking a long sip. “I’m all out of ideas, man” he  says with a laugh which sounds crazed even to his own ears. Sirius would storm Azkaban right this second. It would be better than sitting around while James wasted away in Azkaban. He stops abruptly, dropping in the chair across from Peter. “The fuck are we going to do, Petey?” He asks, he remembered how he had tried to argue for a rescue mission at the last Order meeting only to be told it was too dangerous so soon. He doesn’t let Peter answer before he goes on, “Alright so we can try to convince the others again at the next meeting and if the rest of them want to be fucking cowards,” Sirius shrugs, “Fuck them. Then its just you, me and Remus, yeah?  We don’t need the others.” The words are coming faster, racing out of his control, “We can figure it out. Its James man. If we don’t get him out of there now he’s going to die in there—”

[ncfunerals]

MALFOY , narcissa​

who: evan rosier ( @ncfunerals​ ) where: the malfoy manor. when: january 1st, 1983. 

     THE HOUSE REEKED OF HIM. Lucius was bloody everywhere. The peacocks. The velvet green sheets. The broken crystal vases in his office. Narcissa assumed he hadn’t bothered to clean them up, not after he’d been found out. No, he left his mess for her to deal with, still the same Lucius in the end, even if his heart was in the right place. Narcissa hated that she thought that way; hated that she thought him a hero now. She’d tell her son that about him, anyways. It would help her sleep better at night.

    Now, though, she’d gotten Draco to bed with only a few questions, answered as softly as she could. As delicately. There was only so much she was willing to keep from him; only so much that he wouldn’t find out on his own once he got older. She would rather him be armed with answers when confronted with the cruelty of the world.

    But, still, he was only two years old.  Two years old and already having to face the evils of this world. Cissa hated that this war had ended up worse for them than it started; hated the gossip that was surely going to spread. About her. About her family. About Draco, who didn’t deserve an ounce of it. She’d be protected, of course, by her family, but that didn’t stop the stares that were already starting. So, she sat now, wine glass in hand, out on the empty balcony that Lucius used to frequent, and turned at the sound of Evan dropping into her living room through the fireplace. Narcissa huffed, turning around to take another drink of her champagne. “If you’e come to yell at me about my husband, you’ll find I’m not in the mood.”

—

HE IS NOT HERE to comfort her or share in whatever grief she was going through. When Lucius was alive, Evan had tolerated him better than he tolerated most people - for Narcissa’s sake if nothing else but all he felt now was a simmering annoyance and anger at Lucius’ stunning display of foolishness. He did not care about the man — not in life and certainly not in death but he cared about her and he cared about Draco. He was here only because he knew it was what he needed to do before the day ended.

Death was easy, even one as humiliating as Lucius’ had been but he had left his wife and child to pay for his mistakes. Narcissa would not be able to escape the veil of suspicion that now surrounded her and the Dark Lord would expect Draco to grow up in his own shadow. He would demand unwavering loyalty and anything less would be a death sentence. Evan did not want them to have to live like this. He asks himself if he would have helped them escape if he had a way of knowing the insane plan Lucius had concocted - a plan that was bound to fail from the start - and the answer is a resounding yes. It is frustrating and it is a weakness but his dedication to his family is something he stopped questioning a long time ago.

“I’m sure you realize the position your husband has put you in without me having to yell at you about it,” he replied flatly. Evan did not ask how she was doing as he pours himself a glass from the decanter sitting on the table. He drummed his fingers on the table, his face an emotionless mask as he spoke, “If he has the slightest suspicion of you wavering he will kill you. And he will kill Draco.”

[ncfunerals]

The party is in full swing, the noise filtering through the doors leading to the balcony. Vivi is alone in a corner, looking over the grounds that stretch in front of her. The air is cold but she doesn’t want to go back in just yet. The ring on her finger is a heavy weight even as it glimmers in the moonlight. She leans over the railing and for a moment, the world tilts on its axis. For a while now, she has been constantly feeling as if she is falling. She never hits the ground though and somehow the dread makes it far worse. She + up as she hears footsteps behind her because despite everything she would still know him everywhere.

Viv turns, flashing a smile as Dirk reaches her and wraps an arm around her waist pulling her closer. She marvels at the ease of the gesture — at how once it had been the same for her; at how she had once reached for him without thinking. She leans into his warmth, her head on his shoulder and closes her eyes for a moment. Vivi had loved him once - she told herself she could love him again. “Sorry for abandoning you inside,” she finally said, looking up at him. “I just felt like I was going to end up killing someone if one more person asked me when the wedding was.” She grins, “And that would have definitely have thrown a wrench in the planning.”

@nitwitisms​

[kaxbrekker]

andrew koji as ah sahm in warrior ( ft. bedroom eyes ) 

[ncfunerals]

SAITOU , carson​

who: finn finnigan ( @nomcurners​ ) where: finn’s place. when: july 4th, 1984.

PISSED DIDN’T BEGIN TO DESCRIBE CARSON’S STATE OF BEING.

     He’d ended up here, somehow, but he didn’t remember the exact way his feet had taken him, nor really how he’d made it all the way cross town without apparating. Still, here he was, knocking on Finn’s door with red knuckles ( had he punched someone? why did they look that way? ). Somehow, he still had the decency to push his hair back, making himself look more presentable before the door opened and his heart stopped.

    “Bloody hell, mate your place sure was hard to find,” he said, shaking his head ever so slightly. Still, that grin remained, even as he leaned against Finn’s doorway, head falling on the frame. “Are you going to invite me inside or do I have to force my way in?” His hand was already reaching for Finn’s shirt, searching for a way to pull it up. Instead, though, he just managed to twist the fabric. Was it the alcohol or just Finn? Carson never was sure these days, and certainly, right now, he had no way of knowing. The other man was turning him around, and he didn’t like being twisted. He didn’t like knowing that he might care more than the other person.

     Still, here he was. Fingers twisted in his shirt, curls falling in front of hopeful eyes. He hoped Finn couldn’t see how bloody knackered he was ( and not just because of the alcohol ). Then again, he hoped Finn didn’t realize what had happened here. That Carson had gotten drunk, and the first place he’d run was to Finn. Always to Finn, his manager said these days. Always to Finn.

—

THERE WAS USUALLY only one person who showed up to his apartment at this time of the night and while Finn might have once thought nothing about it, now he almost found himself anticipating it. He was so unused to having something to look forward to that it was almost disquieting. He didn’t dwell on what that might mean because as far as he was concerned there was nothing to think about.

There was the flicker of a smile when he opened the door but it was gone as soon as he took in the state he was in. Finn had known better to stake any hope when it came to Carson — he knows this thing between them amounts to nothing and it isn’t even as if he wants anything more — but hope had found its way between them anyway. It is snuffed out as if it was a flickering flame, unbalanced and delicate. 

His face turned stony in the blink of an eye. Finn takes a step back, untangling his shirt from his hands. “You can’t—” he starts to say, shaking his head. “You can’t come here like this.” Its harsh but he hates the way Carson is looking at him, all bright eyed and hopeful. He can’t watch yet someone else he cares about lose themselves in alcohol. He wouldn’t be able to take it. 

“I’m not dealing with you drunk.” Despite his words, Finn found himself opening the door wider because he couldn’t turn away from him either, not when he was in this state and he was unsure whether he would be able to make his way back home. He gestured with his head for Carson to step inside before closing the door behind him.

[ncfunerals]

HARRIS , elijah

…

HE’D LIKE TO LIVE IN MOMENTS LIKE THESE.    Moments where a morning is just a morning, where walking out the door is not a gamble, where bliss can exist without end. Caelan turns and Elijah studies him with level gaze, the faintest hint of humor in his eyes as the other moves back towards him. Fingers trail across his skin and he can’t help but lean into them, raising his own hand to hold Caelan’s still before pressing the faintest kiss against it.    “    Considerate of you,    ”    a murmur against skin before he parts lazily, leaning back against the pillow.

When Caelan speaks it sounds like reassurance, but that doesn’t live between them for more than a beat before Elijah feels himself shaking his head. Neither of them could say that and mean it. Who really could, these days?    “    We’re too old to be making promises that can’t be kept.    ”    The absence of chaos in moments of tenderness only made its presence more notable, more clear. The illusion always dissipated when something too easy slipped through, only to reveal simple facts: mornings were not just mornings, they were a gift. Walking out the door was always a gamble, a game of whether or not you would return. And bliss was something far more easily fractured than it was formed, fragile as fluttering wings. He sits up, moves to get out of bed just as simply as if he were sinking back into it, casting a glance at Caelan over his shoulder.    “    Now I’m up, I could go for some drills. Were you headed to the office?    ”    

—

ELIJAH KISSES HIS HAND and the knot in Caelan’s chest loosens even as the fear presses closer. The fear of losing him is a constant thing ; not only present in moments like these but almost worse because Caelan is so aware of everything he will lose. It seems impossible to imagine and yet it would be a lie to say that he had not tried. He tells himself that a part of him is prepared — just as a part of Eli must be prepared to lose him but the truth is that it is impossible to guard himself against a loss so terrible that he knows he would not be able to go on. Caelan wants to believe that if they were going to die anyway it was better to have this but the truth is that there isn’t much of him left for him to offer to Eli. He is cracked, all the best edges of him jagged and he knows that Eli knows this and chooses to love him anyway but he also knows that it isn’t fair. 

“Your optimism must be wearing off on me,” He teases as he leans back on his hands, watching him move around the room. If not a promise to come back then perhaps a promise to try which is more than he has wanted to do in the past while. He shrugs in reply, not having thought that far ahead, “Probably for a run.”

[ncfunerals]

MOODY , alastor

…

HE DOESN’T SPEAK.    Instead he knocks back the glass, reaching again for the bottle. The desire to change something, to make something count in a war already lost in so many ways—it sounds to Alastor like every other fresh recruit eager to make a difference. Plenty of those recruits were already dead.    “   You want to make something count, Jules,   ”   the briefest moment of hesitation, foreign to a man always so sure when he speaks. He’d buried friends and enemies and strangers alike. He would not bury his brother, too. Alastor leans forward, usual insult exchanged for simple truth.    “    Then you go back to wherever the hell you’ve been the last six years, and you forget about coming back.    ”

—

HE IS SHAKING his head before Alastor has even finished speaking. He has been everywhere over the past six years and it hasn’t made the slightest bit of difference. He is still in the same place where he started from except he had come back home to so much loss. “I missed out on so much,” his voice is barely above a whisper and he shakes his head again. His brother had lost his leg and he hadn’t known, he had lost someone who had been like his sister and he hadn’t known, Eileen had lost her twin - someone he had once called his best friend and he hadn’t known. He shrugged, “Six years away and I have nothing to show for it.” Nothing apart from the distance between them that he had never known how to cross and the fact that Eileen still looked at him as if she is still waiting for him to leave. “Isn’t this what you always wanted from me? For me to get in line?”

[ncfunerals]

MOODY , alastor

@nomcurners​​   /   julian moody

HE POURS AMBER INTO EACH GLASS, reserving the heartier one for himself before pushing Julian’s forward with a nod.   ‘   Slàinte.   ’   The brief toast is the only word that passes his lips as mulls something over in his mind. Alastor could have expected this, should have known his brother enough to put a reason to his unannounced return. But the distance over the years had lulled him, as it were, into a sense of ease. Julian was gone and out of it; Julian had run away from the war and it suited both of them in some way.   ‘   Did you think you could ask around without word getting back to me?’

—

JULIAN RAISES HIS glass in toast before knocking the drink back. “I knew you would find out,” he replies, his shoulders rising in a small shrug, gaze passing over everything in the room except his brother. “And I knew you wouldn’t have told me anything about it.” And he had known that Alastor wouldn’t be happy when he would inevitably find out but Julian would settle for delaying his brother’s disappointment if he couldn’t avoid it entirely. He topped up his glass before finally meeting his eyes because Julian will never be able to fight the urge to explain himself to him, “I don’t want to keep running, Astor. And if I’m going to be here, I might as well make it count.”

[ncfunerals]

HARRIS , elijah 

HE HASN’T REALIZED THAT ELIJAH IS AWAKE. That much is obvious in the way Caelan rummages around for his clothes, slowly, cautiously, as if he expects to trigger a tripwire in the process. The sun has just begun to break, offering a thin veil of light that enables Elijah to make out the outline of his body and little else. He finds his shirt and pulls it on. Elijah props himself up on one arm, observing. Some curious part of him thinks to wait, to see if Caelan will spare a parting glance before he goes, but the thought that he won’t seems too much to consider.  “  I don’t take sugar in my coffee.  ”  

There is humor on his lips when Caelan turns, his smile knowing and teasing and hurting all in one. The thing is, Elijah knows this isn’t a breakfast in bed kind of love. It isn’t the kiss you before I go and see you when you return kind of love. He also knows that it feels like it could be, when the nights settle over them and they reach for each other and the world goes still. He knows that he has seen every side of Caelan and chooses him still. And isn’t love seeing someone for exactly who they are? Isn’t it reaching for them anyways?  “  Assuming that’s why you were sneaking out at five in the morning.  ”  Eyes linger there for a moment or two longer before humor fades from his features, tone softening in honest observation.  “  You weren’t going to say goodbye.  ”

@nomcurners​ (ft. caelan)

—

ELIJAH IS EASY TO LOVE and there are days when this is easy as well. Days, when Caelan is not so haunted by the past, by the war that he can’t allow himself to be loved. He lets himself see a future where the days stretch on in the most ordinary of ways and their time together is not cut short and then there are days like this morning when Caelan is sure that it is not a matter of if but of when. The next hour, the next day, the next attack. It is an old refrain by now — it is the same fear that had made him keep Eli at a distance up till then and it is takes the shape of an old warning.

He is well aware of how unfair it is to him as he tries to get dressed without making the slightest sound. He should wake him up or better yet he should have climbed back under the covers until it was time to get up. He should have taken whatever time he had with him but Caelan can’t push back the urge to leave and he doesn’t feel brave enough to face him right then. He tenses at the sound of his voice, the hurt unmistakable in it. “I know how you take your coffee,” he replies as he turns to look at him, trying to keep his tone light but it is laced with guilt. Caelan walks over to his side of the bed before sitting down next to him, leaning into his body ever so slightly. “I didn’t want to wake you.” He continues softly. He brushes his fingers along his jaw, “I’ll come back, Eli.” His words are more of a plea than a promise and both of them know that he doesn’t mean that he will return that morning or even that day but he will always come back to him. 

[ncfunerals]

the darkness is a heavy shroud and evan feels as if he will suffocate under the weight of it. it is the sort of black that presses against him and leaves him drowning. he keeps his eyes open because when he closes them, the black behind his eyes is dark than the one around him and it feels far too much like a concession. he relies on the pain to keep himself awake, no matter how tempting it is to give into the shadows gathering at the edge of his conscious. it would be so easy to slip away into oblivion but evan digs his nails in the wound in his side. the blinding pain overtakes every single thought for a moment but it has the intended effect. it gives him the clarity he needs to endure this. 

he doesn’t know exactly how long it has been. he had tried to keep track of time but it had proven to be impossible. every second seemed like an eternity but he knows it could not have been too long because evan is far too deadly of a weapon for the dark lord to leave him to the order. he knows that it could not have been long because bella will always come for him.

the door opens and evan has to keep himself from flinching at the sliver of light coming through it. he knows it is him before alastor had stepped inside and closed the door behind him, lighting the tip of his wand. evan doesn’t take his eyes off him as alastor crosses the room, kneeling down in front of him and he is not surprised when he presses the knife against his throat.

a sardonic smile spread across his lips. did he think this was any different than any of the other times? it was disconcertingly familiar. being with alastor had always felt like this ; had always felt as if evan had guided alastor’s blade to his throat himself. evan had always known the price he would pay. he leans into it because he has grown in the habit of leaning into his touch. evan waits a moment before speaking, his voice rough from misuse but still full of its usual arrogance, “what are you waiting for?”

@samedeath​