#viiolentminds

[evanrosierr]

@viiolentminds // FLASHBACK: the wedding party of bellatrix and rodolphus lestrange, 31st of October, 1974.

the slow, melodic tunes of the live band can be heard faintly in the distance, though evan doesn’t seem to notice. he’s standing leaned against the railing on the small balcony, a cigarette placed between his lips, his gaze completely cold, lifeless. all emotion ( be it anger, resentment, disappointment ) has seemingly been erased, no longer existing. he snaps his fingers, lighting his cigarette. pretends not to notice when HE appears next to him --- rodolphus lestrange is about the last person evan wants to see right now, anyways. so he stands like that for a while. blowing smoke into the night air, arms crossed over his chest. refusing to say a single word. eventually ( after what seems like an eternity ), he dares a look at his former friend. cloudy eyes are still dead, revealing little of what he thinks of this spectacle. but he does speak. “you’re missing the party,” he says, and takes another blow on his cigarette. the smoke feels comforting against his tongue, dulling his senses. making all this a little more bearable ----- as if he didn’t know all along that this day would come. it had always been the inevitable end, no other future in sight. to think anything else would be irrational ---- and evan may be many things, but he is not that. “you should go back inside before my dear, dear cousin starts to miss you. never know what that one will do next.” another breath of smoke leaves his lips, and he refuses to meet rod’s gaze. instead, he’s staring off in the distance, his eyes seemingly locked on something intangible. voice is lowered when he speaks again, becomes a little raspy, uneven. he hates himself for it. “we’re not doing this. just go.”

[bitchtricks]

@viiolentminds // text messages

[ 04:12 AM ] bellatrix - rodolphus : do you still have a shovel in the back of the BMW?

[bitchtricks1]

@viiolentminds

                “   ---- What did you do to your hair? Makes you look shittier than usual. “

[bitchtricks]

@viiolentminds

their hands are tightly intertwined, her fingers coiled around his, netted together into a silent promise. the streets are dark, and the street lights flicker ominously above them. perhaps warning others of their presence, of their turmoil. the chaos that will soon ensue, as soon as they loosen their grip to each other --- thus creating that perfect storm, effortlessly complimenting each other, becoming so much worse in each other’s presence. but for now, her wand hand is busy being his. she leans into him, their shoulders bumping into each other. something of a smile lingers on her lips, and her grip tightens around his hand. melting into him. if they weren’t such a sinister duo, one might even think they’re on a date. “aren’t you the least bit excited?“ she says, careful to keep her voice low, for his ears only. her hand squeezes his. “when we get the list, we kill the lot of them first. then we give it to the dark lord.” and that will be yet another fruitless attempt at making him proud, of pleasing him ---- when will she learn that nothing will ever make lord voldemort happy?

[evanrosierr]

@viiolentminds // FLASHBACK: circa 1971-1972

he looks so very tired. there’s no rosiness in his cheeks, and he looks paler than usual. like he hasn’t seen the sun for weeks. coffee cup is lifted to his lips, the hot liquid comforting against his tongue, jolting him awake. allowing him to carry on for a little bit longer. paper work is spread out across his desk, endless pages and pages of laws blending together, blurring before his eyes. gaze diverts from his desk, instead focusing in on him. lestrange. something of a smile ( albeit a small one, faded, too exhausted to reach his eyes ) plays on his lips, and he puts down his quill. it continues writing without him, enchanted to do his bidding. “ what are the odds that all this works out in our favor? “ he asks, and his question falls off his lips sounding more rhetorical than anything else. less expecting an answer, than he is making a statement. he hardly ever wavers in his belief --- in his faith, but tonight. he’s slipping. the only thing holding him in place is him. so he holds on for dear life ( though, would he ever admit such a thing? boys like them don’t have hearts, don’t need others ). so very stubborn - refusing to shatter. refusing to fall. sharp teeth bite into his lip, and he seems to think better of it. now is not the time. hand retracts back over the table, closing himself off again. he clears his throat, and cloud grey eyes divert their attention from rodolphus, back to his papers. “ i assume you finished your reports? “

[evanrosierr]

@viiolentminds

a folder hovers in the air for a few seconds, before floating towards mr lestrange’s desk, and landing on top of the wooden surface with a loud thump. evan himself stands leaned against the door frame, arms folded across his chest, feet crossed in front of him. his demeanor casual, unbothered. “these came across my office, this morning,” he says, and muted grey eyes gain an entertained quality, sparkling ever so slightly as he speaks. “somehow, i feel that they are more your jurisdiction, than they’re mine.” he pauses, a finger reaching up to his tie, adjusting it carefully. “seemingly unreported muggle deaths in lancaster should be law enforcement territory. i don’t know what they’re expecting me to do about that.”

[bitchtricks]

@viiolentminds

" ------------- honey? “ she calls out, the word sounding wrong ( unnatural ) falling off her lips, spoken by such a CRUEL tongue. by the same teeth that so often BITE back, spitting venom, making promises of a slow death. “ where are my daggers? i left them on the kitchen table this morning. “ careful fingers adjust her dress as she enters the living room, eyes quickly finding him. head cocks to the side, and teeth dig into her lips, CALCULATION apparent in her gaze. “you didn’t take them, did you?” she questions, words slow as she leans herself against the door frame, her arms crossed against her chest. a cold twinkle appears in her depth less eyes, and something of a smile forms. “i won’t be mad.... but i am going out.” and for that, she needs her knives. they both know that. 

[dirrtymercy]

@viiolentminds

                cat eyed glasses slip down her nose as she carelessly flips through the magazine in front of her. as if she doesn’t know on what EXACT page she’ll find the article she’s looking for ---- but she knows how to play this game. an all too pleasant smile appears on her lips when she FINALLY seems to decide that enough time has passed. a perfectly manicured nail taps twice on the glossy pages of witch weekly, and she pushes the issue across HIS desk. “ see? nothing but good publicity, “ she says, smile still stuck in place, no signs of wavering. feeling a little braver today, a little less nervous. perhaps it’s because she had a shot of tequila before leaving her apartment ---- liquid courage seemingly needed when she PRESENTS her article to someone whom she suspects... isn’t all that he seems. she knows that the piece has twisted the truth quite a bit, but it’s no worse than usual. since it’s written for witch weekly, it’s mostly romantic and idealist garbage, bound to appeal to the SHEER STUPIDITY of her readers ---- which she admittedly do not have the highest opinion of.... and someday, she’ll dig deeper into the life of rodolphus lestrange and his wife. listen in ( bug them ), see what she finds. but that day has yet to come. so today, she’s quite content with just studying him, razor sharp eyes focused on his every movement. calculation and plans hiding behind a gentle smile. “ it’s too late to make any changes, but i think you will be rather pleased. i mean, unless you don’t want to look like a man of the people, determined to stop this war. “