Look what I got in the mail!!! I can’t believe I have a poster of fan art from my fic!! I’m cryingggg!! Thank you again @frozenmusings for doing this piece. It’s perfect and I can’t still believe you even created this moment.
Tips for Caringhearts! Or any caretaker of an age regressor
If you’re new to this whole “taking care of an age regressor” thing, you might be a little confused as to what to expect! Here’s a little guide of helpful suggestions I could come up with based on general age groups!
BABY AGE REGRESSORS
• very cuddly
• needs lots of naps
• might use diapers
• be gentle and soft with them please
• likes chewing on things
• feed them
• hold them
• may be very babbly or completely nonverbal
• might be calm or fussy
• pacis, bottles, teethers
• stuffies and blankies should be soft
• soft carpet or mats for crawlers
• not too loud or too bright please
TODDLER AGE REGRESSORS
• might be mischievous
• cute clothes are necessary
• pacis and Sippy cups
• all the stuffies
• cute plates and eating utensils
• nap time might be harder to enforce
• makes messes if you don’t watch them
• lots of crayons
• cut up their food for them
• buckle their seat belt
• everything is a game
• Disney everything
• tickle fights
• brush their hair
• tea parties
• there’s monsters in the closet
• piggy back rides
• imitates caregiver
• “I am a big kid!”
• needs help/reminding for brushing teeth, going to the bathroom, washing hands, etc.
• less baby talk, but uses simple sentences, may make small grammar or pronunciation mistakes
• they shouldn’t touch the sharp things!
• or hot things
• they will probably want to touch the hot things and the sharp things
LIL KIDDO AGE REGRESSORS
• more autonomous and can help you take care of them
• help pick out clothes
• tie shoes
• lots of questions “what’s that?” “Who’s that” “why?”
• watch lots of cartoons
• the character shaped food is always better
• thinks they can do everything by themselves but they still need help
• night lights
• play pretend
• wants to learn
• take fun trips to pool, park, zoo, etc.
• sings lots
• arts and crafts
• read with them
• hold hands to cross the street
• speech easy to understand but may be random and excitable, unrelated to what you were saying
• character t-shirts
• cute hair accessories, bracelets, etc.
• pillow forts
BIG KID AGE REGRESSORS
• wants to be more independent
• board games and card games
• video games and movies
• still needs bedtimes and curfews
• help cook meals
• give them little assignments
• needs to know you’re proud and you love them
• climbs trees
• can have more big kid conversations
• hang out and play with them
• write cute notes and stick in their lunch boxes
• help them make hard decisions but allow them some freedom
• might need to limit time with electronics
• sports and team games
• comic books/ magazines
Remember, this is just a list of suggestions. Every regressor is different, and you’ll have to get to know them personally. They may have qualities from each of these sections! If you’re ever unsure as to what your kiddo needs or wants from you as their carer, the best thing to do is to ask them! They may be unsure of what they want themselves. It can take time and experimenting, but together you can find what works for the both of you together.
I pretend to sleep in the dark and I watch the sun rise up. I pretend that I’m awake when really I’m asleep, with the light from the crack where the curtains meet. It shines on my face and I roll over, annoyed by the sun. I’ve lied for years. I’ve hidden what I do, post other people’s photos and have become anonymous. I’m a wall of bad graffiti that everyone looks at and says “why would someone do that, it doesn’t even look good?!”
That’s why I repainted myself, so that no one could see who I really was and what use to lie between my coats of paint.
•A JOURNAL ENTRY: WHAT IS IT REALLY LIKE TO LIVE WITH DEPRESSION?•
i wouldn’t exactly call it living. more like surviving… i look at the environment surrounding me, memories lie tattered in my brain. a life i want to believe was once so full and fruitful has become unthinkably dull. my own eyes were once baby blue but have since faded to an iridescently eerie gray. im hurting. it hurts. im not lying.
i would tell you that you don;t understand- but i;ve begin to notice that everything can only be interpreted in relation to other things or feelings. and this is the only thing ive come to recall feeling. this ethereal delicate coldness within my core, shaking and rattling my bones, consuming my every feeling of functionality. im clearly broken beyond repair- yet i aimlessly crave fixture.
i am light with awful lightness. my blood is mud and my bones are brittle. my thoughts freely cascade within my mind, setting fire to all of my precious sensibilities . any meager ration of purpose and hope is replaced by these fucking reminders that i am truly and entirely 113% alone in this.
at one point, i wanted help. i went to therapy once a week- on bad weeks i went twice. i convinced myself that the glass was half full. i made the most out of everything- and in the process, i made a fool of myself.
i spoke out. i cried for help. i wrote it in books, on forums, i would have carved the words “help me” into my damn skin on my damn forehead if i thought for one minute that anybody was listening.
and i know you’re listening if you’re reading this. but are you really reading this? are you reading me? can you feel the pain in the tips of my fingers, in the ends of my hair, in the blood in my veins, in the staggering cry of my voice at 2 in the morning- an ugly face soaked in the tears resulting from years of utter and complete destruction and then desertion of every little thing i feel?
can you feel my pain?
can you imagine trying to fall asleep when there are actual fucking faceless voices in between your ears jabbering an unimaginably taunting cry? whispering demented nonsense into your ears nonstop after you beg and plead with yourself to quit hearing those damn voices. your mind races like it’s been training all its life and this is the moment it has all led up to: the olympic event of self destruction. and it’s taking home the gold.
i close my eyes and i am so unbelievably tired. staying alive is a fight and today it has beat
me to a pulp. my eyes have bags as big as my regrets and my face is tired from
pretending to light up with joy all day.
jesus christ, it’s my junior year and i’m graduating in less than a year. surely there is one thing to even half way grin about. no, you are wrong. because for every good little thing that happens- every time it seems like it’s getting better, every false sense of hope, for every good thing, there is depression.
my false sense of hope has found its home. depression is a polite host to every single good
feeling in my body. depression feeds me, it cleans me, it loves me, it speaks to me, it knows me.
depression wants to stay forever. it houses in my bones, it feeds on my fears, it gets high on my anxiety, it exchanges hope for hopelessness, it thrives on my insecurities, and depressions favorite thing to do is to keep me up on nights like tonight, where i’m at my worst.
i’m scared, truly. i used to be obsessed with the seasons- more importantly, the transition of one season to anther. perhaps i used to be so fond of change because change was actually a possibility at that point in my life.
winter turning into spring was my favorite. i would lay on the dead, crunchy, brown remnants of the grass, the air around me crisp and cold, stabbing my lungs with every swift,
sharp breath. my nose rosy and cold, sniffling along every chill within my body. bare branches of tall oak trees
stretched into the white winter sky, seemingly reaching for the sunlight the tree craved and needed, as my pale, cold, minuscule hands clutched at the dry, barren earth beneath me- fumbling for more meaning of the world around me. why must seasons change, but my heart always feels the same?
you see, i resonate so very deeply with the winter months. gardens and patches of land that were once beaming with flora and fauna, life and expounding sunlight and warmth, now lay isolated, empty, sterile- similar to the child in me that once was jubilant and lively, but now turned into some thing so cold and ugly. the innocence has beend lost and the happiness within me has since been destroyed by the monster within me, which claims not only me as a victim, but those around me who love and care about me
i only know that i am loved and cared for because i’m continuously and perpetually told this upon a daily basis. it has become very prevalent to me that people feel much better about me when i validate that i know that they are here to talk and that i am loved. yes, i know this. but i cannot feel it. the love that you have for me is, in the least offensive way possible, absolutely irrelevant to my entire being.
you could listen to me rant for days upon weeks, you could read this bible that i’m typing. but i can never seem to make the people around me realize that i am never going to truly accept the love they offer me.
i often wonder if it is true love that inspires people to be there for those with depression- or if those surrounding me simply feel compelled to profess their love and support to me because they see my approval and wellbeing as a direct reflection of their credibility as a friend or family member.
i feel as if i am a burden to those around me, simply harshening the seemingly good mood that literally everyone else but me is capable of partaking in. i want to run with wild horses, frolic among wild flowers, hear the laughter of a child, hold hands with someone i love, and entertain deeply fulfilling and life changing relationships- but you see, the way my life is set up- i am actually emotionally incapable of doing so!
i am most aware of my unfortunate illness and incapability to be happy in the most unexpected and irrational times. take birthday parties, for instance. celebration and good vibes fill the air around me, seeping into my black, pitiful lungs. everyone around me smiles and sings, drowning in their jubilation, as i sit and watch. i want to have fun. please believe me. i want to sing happy birthday. i want to watch you open your gifts. i want to be as happy as you. i want to feel the warmth in my cheeks as i have the time of my life with my friends. but some thing within me compresses each and every slither of joy i am capable of feeling. i am suffocated by the downfall of my emotions and i am blinded by the reminder that depression doesn’t take breaks, not even at birthday parties. depression is strongest whenever you are faced with situations that expose you to the reality that you’re the odd one out- you’re sticking out like a sore thumb. you’re moping and you’re constantly staring out into space. what are you even looking at? what do you have to think about? you have nothing to live for, so anything beyond what’s right in front of you has no relevance in this whole scheme of life. so take it or leave it. you should be enjoying this birthday party. all the other kids are happy. you should be too. you’re lucky you even left the house today. so lucky. had you stayed home, you would have been 100% alone with your thoughts, rather than 97% along with your thoughts, due to the constant interruption of your moping and resentment by peers and parents and teachers asking “is everything okay?”
habitually, you nod. yes. everything is fine. i’m doing well, thank you. but what is the meaning of life? why do i feel like there’s a big fat man sitting on my chest and stomach and heart all the time? why do i always feel like i’m the only one in the room holding back tears trying not to cry? why are the other kids so happy? am i missing out on some thing? why do i feel so sad? why is it that every time i’m surrounded by people who say they love and care for me, i feel as if i’ve never been more alone before in my life? why? do you pity me? it’s just who i am. is that weird?
and oh my god i was always so desperate to be different. perhaps it was just the way my personality was set up. and i was always fairly extroverted. but it was presumably a persona that i put on. hey world, look at me. i’m silly and creative and ill say things that nobody else would say. pay attention to me, look at me.
because i needed them to watch. i hope you never feel so out of control of your body as me, to where you feel as if the only way that you can be saved is if other people figure out that you’re dying on their own. you don’t know how to come straight out and tell them, “hey, i really would rather not be alive at this given moment. i have visions of ending my own life. i use self isolation as a coping mechanism at times in order to feel like less of a burden on those who love me. i haven’t felt genuinely loved in a really long time. i’m so lonely. i could really use a friend right now.”
you can’t just say that. and i became depressed at 9 years old. how would a 9 year old even possibly articulate these complex and life threatening emotions that severely alter the way that every one of their peers perceives them. those middle years are crucial for making friends. it’s at that age that you have to find a group of 3 to 8 people who accept at least half of your given characteristics and occasionally invite you to partake in shit that kids do.
i wouldn’t know. i was a fleeting spirit. appearing and disappearing from cliques like it was clock work. there was more than one willow. there was the catty, witty willow- that found self-approval and approval from others by teasing and belittling others in order to build her own confidence up. then there was the sweet, flower child willow that sold daisy chains on the playground at recess at the price of one hug. there was the willow that stayed near the teachers at times because it was obvious that the other kids wanted nothing to do with her.
and as time progresses, the newer evolution of willow became prevalent. the willow that kept to herself most of the time, spending recess in the class room alone, drawing on the pages of her books, talking to herself, worrying her life away. everyone wondered - what was wrong with willow? or perhaps nobody noticed at all. maybe i was so insignificant even at such a young age- that the only time people considered me was in my dreams.
depression changes a person. some times, the change isn’t even tangible or noticeable to those surrounding the victim. some times, it is a slow discourse of the destruction of the spirit. it can slowly creep into your ear one ungodly night, and forever more whisper its awful lies into the victims ear, as it infects their whole body, their heart, their mind, their spirit, their hands, their eyes. everything. it slowly progresses into the uncontrollable loss of feelings and motivation to even maintain basic proper hygiene. it makes everything feel pointless. things are no longer worth the effort because you’re going to die no matter what, and that can’t come soon enough.
yes, depression can be slow and progressive. but that’s not the worst. the worst depression is the kind that sneaks up on you out of nowhere in the dead of night and immediately stiffens every hair on your body and turns your blood cold, making your mouth dry and your tongue numb. this depression hits you like a fucking train. it hits you in your most vulnerable state- comfort and normalcy. from that point on, you will never know normalcy again.
depression has a way of deceiving you into believing things that are crazy and untrue. but these things become so real to you as the depression progresses into a lifestyle that you come to know nothing else but the lies that depression will fill you with- so nobody can really tell you anything. it will call you names. it will tell you that you’re better off dead. it will be your only comfort- feeling nothing- during the night, whenever anxiety holds you until you pass out from exhaustion. you will never be cold at night as long as anxiety and depression have you snuggled up in between them.
oh how depression loves to kick you around and belittle you. oh how it renders your fantasies pointless. it loves to keep you hostage- to the point where any time you get an idea that doesn’t include moping around in your own sorrow, it immediately renders that idea impossible and reminds you that you are depressions bitch. you eat when depression finishes telling you how fat and disgusting you are. you sleep all day, so depression can take a dip in your nightmares. you wake up, and realize that life with depression is the true nightmare after all.
you pray for the day that you are relieved from this blinding madness and this subliminal torture. you feel as if you are not only a burden to your own self, but a burden to the people who love you and care for you
the only times when depression allows you relief from questioning the ulterior motives of those around you who claim to love you and care for you is when depression instead allows you to feel ashamed of your affliction. when you’re depressed, people notice. they may pretend not to and they may ignore it. but they know. they just don’t know what to say.
what would they say anyways?
hey. i’m sorry your brains are figuratively dripping out of your ears and i’m sorry that you have convinced yourself that i only care about you because i feel guilty, and i’m also sorry that you don’t even have the motivation to take a shower. i’m also sorry that you don’t
remember the last time that someone made you feel special. i’m sorry that you can’t find a reason to smile. i’m sorry that out of all the millionaires, the talented ones, the ones who fall in love, and the ones with nice asses- you were the one to end up hating yourself and everything around you.
ask yourself…. what do you say? what do you say to someone who is depressed?
know that i understand that you don’t know what to say. because yes this sucks. and i don’t expect you to understand what it’s like to wish you were dead. and i am so jealous of you for that. but please treat me the same as everyone else. please love me. make
me laugh. invite me to go shopping with you. get shit faced with me. help me fill the gaping hole in my soul with pointless memories of laughter and small talk. talk about life with me. listen to what i have to say. let me love you.
yes, i have depression. trust me, i will never forget! but please, help me feel normal. i don’t want to feel different than you. i want to be your peer, not your charity case.
i am dying to make friends. i am dying to spend less time in this bed writing shit like this. i am tired of letting this god damn disease walk all over me like i’m a fucking patch of dead grass.
life sucks. but please remind me that winter fades to spring. please remind me that some flowers are seasonal, and not every flower spends its whole life in bloom. remind me that you have to spend time in the dark to understand just how beautiful life in the sunlight is. remind me that there’s no cure for a bad day like a strawberry daiquiri and deep, controversial conversations with complete strangers.
remind me that my car has a sunroof and that it’s okay to open it up and let my hair get a little messy. remind me that music is better when it’s too loud to really interpret what the artist is saying- but you don’t have to understand to feel some thing.
remind me that i don’t have to lose this fight.
i am fucking hurting. but for the love of god, i’m begging you to help me fix me. because i forget that there’s good in the world. i forget that depression isn’t the boss of me. i forget that i have the whole world in my hands. i forget that there’s life after high school and that it’s okay to be alone some times, but it’s never okay to be lonely.
i will never forget what it is like to have my heart ripped out by a disease that i can’t even lay my hands on. perhaps i can touch the blisters under my eyes from
crying so much. perhaps i can run my hands along the holes i’ve punched in the walls from being so angry with myself. and yes i can feel how my bed is sinking in towards the ground because i spend so much time laying here trying to feel some thing besides utter destruction and loneliness. i can never forget what this disease has done to me. there will always be a piece of my heart that this depression has stolen from
but with loving other people, i can aimlessly work to mend that hole. i can’t do it alone. i need a friend. i need you here with me.
i am so tired of being alone.
i will push you away at first. i may come off as helpless and a bitch. but please, that is the depression talking. it’s not willow.
willow loves the color pink
willow loves wild flowers
willow loves the smell of green onions
willow loves the feeling of sand under her feet
willow loves hearing about your childhood and how you had a speech impediment and a cat named angel
willow loves the smell of rain when it hits a hot sidewalk
willow loves to go barefooted
willow loves establishing connections with animals
willow loves willow, some times she just can’t see it
i need a gentle reminder of what it’s like to be a real normal teenage girl
this shit is hard. and being misunderstood makes it harder.
so i’m saying it loud and clear. my name is willow and i have clinical depression and generalized anxiety. my life has been a series of almost laughably awful events, which have resulted in said mental illnesses. i have been misunderstood, bullied, neglected, and hurt. but my story does not end here. i may never completely overcome my depression, but i will overcome my failure to acknowledge my illness. i will work to educate people about those who suffer as i do. i will help those with depression. i will be the friend that i have never had, but always needed, to anyone who wants it. i will be a testament to the depression that has oppressed me for 8 years now.
depression is not who i am. depression does not define me. what defines me is the fact that i am staying alive even though it is proving to be the biggest struggle that i have ever encountered, and i am asking that you help me and people like me. because it’s not a one person job.
my name is willow. and i’m telling you that depression is a rude ass bitch. but i’m a bigger bitch, and unlike my illness, i have the power to make people feel loved and valid. and i will use that power to overcome my depression.
i would like to dedicate this journal entry to everyone reading it. i may go to school with you, you may be just a random tumblr user, you may suffer with depression, you may suffer with some other deeply oppressive situation, you may just be a happy son of a bitch.
it doesn’t matter who you are. let this. journal entry be a testament to your life.
there are people with depression. and there is no way that i can ever explain to you just how it feels via tumblr text post or even via socratic seminar complete with gardens of text books and instructional videos. all i can say is that in this life, you are responsible for being there for the people around you.
you never know what someone is going through. people with depression practically have licenses and 4 year degrees in the field of putting up facades of being okay and sucking it up and repressing those explosive emotions. they don’t expect you to give a shit about them, because as far as they’re concerned, nobody has given a shit,
nobody currently gives a shit, and nobody ever will give a shit about them. they make it hard to help. but it’s so important that you break down those walls. and some times, all you need to do is smile at someone or invite someone to eat after school or to go to a party. you can’t do much for someone with depression. like i said, they’re a whole world away. their concerns and struggles are immaculate, indescribable. however, it doesn’t take much to show someone that you care even a little bit. even if it’s just picking and giving them a random flower.
if you suffer from depression or know anyone with depression and you need someone to look to for advice/help/inspiration, my DM’s are open. oversharing is caring. i know what it’s like to want to take your own life, and i fought the urge to do so even while writing this journal entry.
i am here for you. you are not by yourself. please DM me if you ever need someone to send you pictures of a cute animal to cheer you up, or if you even need me to talk you out of suicide. i know both feelings.
if you’re reading this,
i challenge you to go out of your comfort zone. yes you. i challenge you to do this one easy thing at either work or school, or out in public or in your family
1. pick 3 flowers, they can be store bought or you can have picked them yourself
2. give one flower to someone who you worry might have depression
2. give one flower to a random person who you don’t know
3. give one flower to a person you would like to get to know better, you never know when someone desperately needs a friend
it’s just a flower, but you could save someone’s life. some times, all people need is a gentle reminder that good things still exist and that somebody is thinking about them.
don’t be the person that assumes too high of a role or makes an excuse to not be able to participate in this challenge or share this journal.
you never know when you can save someone’s life.
remember: no matter who you are, i love you. and i am willing to comfort you in times of need. i’ve been where you are. and i know how much ass depression sucks.
my DM’s are open, and so is your future.
don’t end your story this early.
Willow Scalisi 4/18/17 (dam i just realized sonic got half priced burgers today, turn up)
Pairing: Louis Tomlinson/Harry Styles, Louis-centric, Slight Harry Styles/Nick Grimshaw
Word Count: 41k
“I meant, worse than usual. He’s… I don’t know how to explain it, but I’ve been with him a long time and I’m telling you…”
“Okay,” Liam says. “Well, you keep watching. You watch him like a hawk and if you notice anything. Anything. No matter how big or small, you tell us. “
“He’s going to kill me,” Louis says and he hates how small his voice is.
The silence in the car only confirms Louis’ fear.
“He will,” he repeats. “He’s gonna find out who I am and he’s gonna kill me.”
“I won’t let that happen,” Liam says gripping Louis’ shoulder tightly. “You just have to hang in there. We’re so close.”
Louis and Nick are on two different sides of the law and mobster Simon Cowell is not the only person they have in common. The one where Louis is an undercover cop and Harry is the court-ordered shrink who refuses to prescribe him Valium.
A/N: another shitty old draft with a terrible ending that no one asked for and isn’t what i’m supposed to be writing :)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))
In all your years at Hogwarts, one thing remained constant - Sirius Black always had a smile on his face, until now. You knew Sirius enough to know something was wrong. The whole school was buzzing with joy and excitement - the Christmas spirit. The annual Gryffindor Christmas Party was happily bustling along in the common room. Usually, Sirius was the life of the party. Dancing, telling jokes, keeping the alcohol stocked - it was his thing.
But this year, he stood by the fireplace with a lifeless expression on his face. Kids were raising hell all around him, laughing and downing cup after cup of firewhisky. This year, James had enchanted them to automatically fill back up once empty, so you knew this blowout would ultimately end in buckets of vomit and the infirmary running to the brim with hungover, cranky Gryffindors in the morning. Marlene McKinnon cackled across the room. She clung to Sirius like her life depended on it, giggling and drunkenly flashing cleavage in his face. You smiled softly to yourself at Marlene’s behavior and when you looked up, Sirius was looking at you.
Most people would say Sirius’ best feature was his hair, but you disagreed. His eyes stuck out to you. They were a light, misty gray color that made you think of thick morning fog on the hills and the smooth silver locket your mother always wore around her neck. They reminded you of your grandmother’s thin wispy locks piled on her head like the crown she deserved to wear. They were pulchritudinous and alluring, but above all things, soft and gentle. His eyes were warm and inviting, but mysteriously deep and full of stories at the same time somehow, and that’s what made them so complicatedly beautiful.
Tonight though, they weren’t. They’d lost their sparkle of happiness. He looked at you with eyes like a hard slate of steel. You cocked your head to the side, smile slipping into a hard line. You stood gazing back at the inky haired boy across the room, nibbling on your bottom lip. You didn’t think you’d noticed how breathtaking Sirius Black was until now. He was a ball of pure sunshine most days, a burning flame. But, now his fire had gone out and you saw vulnerability and imperfection. You saw Sirius for the human he was, not for the light he pretended to be.
You were pulled abruptly from your trance as Marlene whisked Sirius away. You blinked a couple times before shaking your head and stumbling to the cup counter. You picked up a red solo cup, muttering James’ incantation for the automatic refills and downed a couple of cupfuls, distracting yourself from Sirius and directing your attention to a hammered Gryffindor boy a year above you.
It didn’t take him long to be stolen away from you by a few of his friends. Sighing, you plopped down on the bottom step leading up to the boys’ dorms. You watched the party around you. The chaos of it all always intrigued you. It wasn’t long before a seething Marlene Mckinnon stomped past you, Sirius following feet behind her. He stopped where you were, sitting down beside you.
You took a sip of your drink before turning your head to look at him, “What was that about?”
“You know how Marlene is,” he said, lighting a cigarette. “She throws a fit when she doesn’t get what she wants.”
“Yeah?” you asked, playfully ramming your shoulder into his. “And what is it that she wanted?”
He sighed heavily, smoke billowing out from between his lips and shook his head, turning to you. “You wanna get out of here?”
“Gladly,” you said, taking the hand Sirius offered you. You let him pull you through oceans of people and out of the common room. He led you through the portrait hole and into the hauntingly vacant halls of after hours Hogwarts. Sirius didn’t stop outside of the Gryffindor Tower, though. He continued to hold your hand in his own regardless of the fact that he couldn’t possibly lose you in these empty, commotion free hallways. You didn’t mind though. You followed at his heels until he came to an abrupt halt.
“Why are we stopping?” you asked.
A smirk crawled onto his face slowly as he started to tap on the nearest window. You furrowed your eyebrows. The hallway you were on looked out over the Black Lake and was full of windows. Each was long and rectangular, stretching about two inches from both the floor and the ceiling. It was magnificent at night; stars twinkling through the glass and casting soft shadows throughout the tunnel like way. Sirius didn’t seem to notice though. He pushed on the window softly, and your eyes widened.
The window swung open like a door, revealing a dark room. Sirius stepped through and for seconds, you thought he might fall. He smiled from inside, tugging softly on the hand he still held. You stepped through in complete awe. Hogwarts had many secrets, you knew that, but you never thought you might discover one of them. Instinctively, Sirius wielded your wand, whispering, “Lumos…”
The room instantly lightened and Sirius walked to the center of the room, pulling a string hanging from the ceiling. Around the room, several pedestals appeared, each holding a circular crystal ball holding a blueish light. The balls of light lit up the entire room. Sirius returned to you as you gawked at all the moving portraits. Each depicted a child, no older than you or Sirius, completing highly advanced magical endeavors - taming trolls, riding graphorns, battling quintapeds. On the opposite wall as you, a golden jewel covered box sat on yet another pedestal. You turned to Sirius, “What’s in the box?”
Sirius stuffed his wand down in his pocket, “Open it.”
You let your fingers slip through his and approached the box. It was rectangular and the top hand no hinges. You ran your fingers along clusters of ruby, sapphire, emerald, and amber before sliding the heavy top off the matching box. Reaching inside, you pulled out a wooden goblet. You cocked your head to the side, “What is this?”
“Looks like a prehistoric goblet to me,” Sirius answered, plucking it from your hands and inspecting it himself.
You snatched it back, “You mean, you don’t know what it is?”
“I’ve never opened the box before,” he told you, leaning against the wall. “Thought there might be something dangerous in there.”
You put the cup back into the box hastily, glaring at Sirius playfully. You knew he would never truly let anything hurt you. He cracked a small smile and you couldn’t help but to grin back. He sighed, “This room could use some chairs, wouldn’t you think?”
“I don’t think this room is meant for sitting,” you said, plopping down on the floor regardless. “I think it’s a room for reminiscing, like history museums, or something…”
Sirius sat down next to you, “What are you plans for Christmas?”
“The same as they are every year,” you answered shortly. “What about you? What do the Blacks do to get into the Christmas cheer?”
“Easy answer,” he laughed. “We don’t.”
“Oh c’mon,” you rolled your eyes. “Christmas cheer is infectious, like the bloody flu. You can’t even buy a coffee in December without seeing at least one sad bloke dressed up like Santa.”
“Yeah, well if that’s the case, we’re immune,” he snorted.
You propped you head up on your nears, narrowing your eyes, “I don’t believe that Sirius Black, an actual ball of sunshine, is immune to the Christmas spirit. I refuse to.”
“Yeah?” he asked, leaning back onto the floor, sliding his hands to use as a makeshift pillow under his head. “Well, maybe this ‘ball of sunshine’ is just burnt out.”
You frowned, your voice lowering as you spoke, “I refuse to believe that, too.”
“I’m not going home this Christmas,” he said abruptly. “I’m going to James’. His mum, Euphemia, she’s a dime, really. And Fleamont, Prongs’ old man, he’s just as grand. The Potters - they’ve never made me feel anything less than family, so why do I still feel so…alone?”
You sprawled out on the floor beside him, staring at one of the crystalline balls. You remembered hearing the story at the beginning of the school year that Sirius had ran away from home over the summer vacation and has been living with the Potters since, but gossip was never really your thing, and you hadn’t even thought about it until now. Sirius turned his head to look at you and you licked your lips before talking once again. “Blood is thicker than water, Black.”
“Thanks, Y/L/N,” he snapped sarcastically. “But my blood - it fucking sucks.”
“The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb,” you said. “The bonds we choose to have are stronger than those that are forced.”
“What in Merlin’s name are you rambling about now?” he asked, interest lacing his tone.
“The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb,” you repeated, sitting up. He followed suit, listening as you spoke more. “Blood doesn’t make a family, Sirius, love does.”
He slung an arm around your shoulders, “I think this sunshine might shine a little brighter with you around.”
You grinned up at him, watching the twinkle return to his eye. The silver, captivating sheen arrived with the toothy smile he gave you. He chuckled, turning his head away from you. You giggled, resting your head on his shoulder. All around the two of you, the lights in the spheres faded away and suddenly, the room was filled with blackness. But, you could still see Sirius smiling beside you.
In order for the light to shine so brightly, the darkness must be present.
Have you seen this gif? I was tagged in a post with this gif (and have since lost that post somewhere in my hoards of likes, oops) and let me tell you, my life was enriched for having seen it.
So here’s an AU:
Graves is a celebrity with everything that entails: tv appearances, photoshoots, even just going up on stage to receive an award. He has a whole team dedicated to managing his life and his appearance including this one guy on the makeup team, this young guy with the curly hair who’s just starting out and is terrified of doing something wrong and getting fired from his first big job.
And honestly, Newt doesn’t mean to get things wrong. But. One of the dogs was sick, and he had to clean it up and stay long enough to make sure she was ok, he couldn’t just leave her until he knew she was alright - but work - but dog - in the end he sneaks Niffler the dog into the back room and hopes no one notices and stammers his way through an apology for being late. And his budgie, little blue and yellow guy called Pickett, he has attachment issues - birds are really intelligent, you know? Much more so than we give them credit for. So Newt sneaks him in and he’s usually so good about staying out of the way, but sometimes he sits on Newt’s ear and preens his tousled mop and that’s just a thing. And the cats, Newt has a lot of cats - to be honest he doesn’t even mean to have a lot of cats but somehow he keeps adopting strays - and do you know how hard it is to get cat hair off your clothes? Hard.
So there’s Newt, stumbling over his words with a bird on his shoulder and cat hair over his clothes and a cocker spaniel hiding in the back room and he’s only meant to be sweeping up and handing people things, that’s all he’s meant to do.
Except Graves points at him and asks him if he’s new. And then, because Newt blushes scarlet and he really is far too cute to overlook, Graves waves him over.
“Show me what you’ve got,” he says with a challenging smirk and Newt kind of just dies? because? Percival fucking Graves is god’s gift to mankind and Newt gets to style his actual hair that’s it, he’s reached nirvana, goodbye budgie-Pickett Newt has ascended to a higher plain.
He doesn’t actually remember much of the experience because he was too busy floating on a cloud of happy (interspersed by random bouts of fear because what if Graves doesn’t like it and Newt gets fired and never gets to touch this amazing man again what will he do) but somehow he ends up waiting in the wings with Niffler the spaniel sitting on his feet and Pickett the budgie on his shoulder and somehow Niffler’s stolen not one but three of the makeup brushes and is chewing on them which probably isn’t good, but Graves is on stage now and that’s all that matters.
“Looking good,” the presenter compliments him, and Graves responds by staring out to the audience and running his tongue over his lip jesus christ Newt has been revived from death-by-hair only to die again how much more can he take.
Except. Except then. Just at the end Graves flicks his gaze to the side and looks Newt straight in the eyes. He finishes with this satisfied little smirk and Newt actually crouches on the floor and hides behind Niffler because holy fucking hell wHAT.
Niffler, the traitor, trots out onto the stage and presents a well chewed brush to Graves while Newt attempts to hide behind a lighting rig and pretend he doesn’t exist.
“A new admirer?” the presenter jokes. “She’s a cutie, isn’t she?”
And Graves, clearly not content with the extent to which Newt’s brain has been scrambled, smiles this beatific, conspiratorial smile as he kneels down and scratches Niffler behind the ear, does he have any idea how much Newt loves people who love his dogs, because it’s a lot, ok, a lot, and says: