elmswriting

[elmswriting]

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Rules (Updated 31 Aug 2023)

Muses (Updated 1 Sep 2023)

[elmswriting]

Hello, I was wondering how you use AI as a tool when you’re writing? As in how does it work? Do you feed it prompts, does it feed you prompts? How different is it to writing without AI? What things do you find it’s not so good at? I saw you describe it as a muse which I thought was really interesting and I wanted to learn more!

Hi!

It depends, it can work in all those ways. It depends on what I want help with. You can feed it prompts and see what it does with it, ask it for prompts for you to write yourself, and ask it to outline stories, chapters, etc. It's versatile.

"Make a detailed chapter outline and other helpful stuff to get the story written."

"I want this: two cyberpunk women, allies in dystopia, resilience, defiance, neon reflections, high-tech gloom. Include a story summary and complete chapter outline."

These are two prompts I've given to get some aid about how the story can be outlined and to get some brainstorming ideas.

For my personal amusement, I've also asked it to write little snippets of fanfiction for my favourite ships. Or silly stuff as amusing poetry written as if it was penned by Cesar, etc.

So, it can do quite a lot, if you know how to prompt for it.

And that is something I find it doesn't do so well. I often have very specific wishes, and rules for it to follow, characterisations that I want it to follow. And it doesn't usually do that well. It's often very shallow, lacking the nuances and depth that I want, and it's usually written in a flat, shallow, juvenile style that I do not vibe with. So, I suppose, it lacks humanity, human understanding, creativity, and my way of being creative.

Many of my prompts and chats with the AI are "No, no, no, I did not ask you that. Why do you not follow my rules, why do you not follow this idea, what are you going on about, Jesus Christ, forget it, you don't get it, I'll do it myself."

So for me, it requires a lot of editing and me writing myself. So for me, the AI is more of a muse. I can chat with it to bounce ideas, get feedback, brainstorm, and learn what I want or do not want from a story, a plot, a character, a personalisation, etc. And play around with formatting, I'm from the old stock of roleplayer, for example, on here that never used to format replies, and the AI helps me explore fun and interesting ways to format.

I guess the difference with writing without the AI is that I do not have easy access to all that, and that it might take longer to get past writer's block, or solve a problem, or solidify an abstract idea.

An AI wouldn't be able to write a whole book, a long story, or fiction beyond tiny little snippets. It's a tool, a muse.

[elmswriting]

AI isn’t writing. It’s dressed-up cut and paste plagiarism. Good luck having an original thought one day

Hey there again, Anon!

Firstly, about AI—when I use language models, they're not just copying and pasting text. These are algorithms trained on extensive data sets to understand the intricacies of language. They generate real-time, unique responses based on the queries they get. Think of it as more of a high-tech muse than a simple cut-and-paste tool.

That the datasets might have been trained on stuff it shouldn’t, I’m not denying that. But see my other point, we all get inspired by each other’s creativity and creations.

As for your concern about my originality—wow, 15 years and counting of original thoughts in writing here! It's funny, though; we all pull from what we know and have experienced, don't we? Artists, writers, and creators of all kinds synthesize their influences into something new. In my case, sometimes that involves using AI as a creative tool. In which I feed my original thoughts and ideas.

So, isn't it interesting to ponder where the lines of inspiration and creation really lie? Thanks for giving me yet another thing to think about.

[elmswriting]

don't write fanfiction by ai. that's not writing, and you are personally harming the entire writing community when you use ai this way.

Mm, I’m not personally harming the entire writing community. AI is a tool. Nothing else.

And where does it say that I don’t edit/write/add to whatever AI comes up with or outlines or whatever?

A few little snippets of fanfiction with a touch of AI help will not harm the entire writing community.

Thanks for your thoughts!

[elmswriting]

Title: The Paradox of Love and Power, Revisited

Setting: Malfoy Manor, during the First Wizarding War

Lucius Malfoy stood in the opulent drawing room of Malfoy Manor, a setting of luxury that belied the tension in the air. Tonight, the manor's walls would reverberate with dark incantations and whispered conspiracies—the clandestine meeting of Death Eaters. He looked around, his eyes falling on the masks and dark robes strewn about, stark reminders of his double life.

Across the room, separated by a world of unspoken complexities, was Narcissa. She stood at the periphery, her ethereal beauty contrasting sharply with the dark room. She was no Death Eater, but her life was inextricably linked to one. It was a paradox, a cruel kindness that Lucius felt deeply. He wanted to protect her, shield her from this world of darkness, yet his actions exposed her to it.

Lucius' Internal Dialogue: I've brought her into a realm of danger, thinking it's to protect our family, our legacy. Is it bravery or foolishness?

Narcissa felt his eyes on her and looked up. His gaze was intense, a palpable force laden with unspoken emotion. It was a blend of power and vulnerability that sent ripples through her usual composure.

Narcissa's Internal Dialogue: He looks at me as if I'm his sanctuary, but what if I'm also his Achilles' heel? We're entangled in this perilous reality, and our love is both our armor and our vulnerability—an open secret.

Drawn together as if by an invisible thread, they found themselves standing closer, isolated from the ominous gathering. The air between them was thick with sensual tension, a palpable heavy lightness that seemed to defy the gravity of their situation.

Lucius' Internal Dialogue: To touch her would be an ephemeral escape, a sweet sorrow as the walls of reality close in again.

In a moment that felt both fleeting and eternal, Narcissa reached out and lightly touched his arm. Her touch was full of contradictions—a comfort and a torment, a simple gesture echoing their complex reality.

Narcissa's Internal Dialogue: I wish to assure him we'll survive this, but that would be a comforting lie. It's a paradox, a form of enjoyable suffering.

Lucius looked at her hand on his arm, a simple touch that shattered his typical self-assured thought patterns. He felt compelled to say something, to encapsulate the storm of emotions within him.

Lucius: "We'll find a way through this, Cissa."

Her eyes met his, mirrors reflecting the same mosaic of fear and love, hope and despair. It was a minimal exchange of words, yet it felt as if they had laid their souls bare—a gentle betrayal of his emotional reserve.

Narcissa: "I believe we will, but at what cost, Lucius?"

The question lingered, a form of organized chaos encapsulating the essence of their relationship. They were each other's sanctuary and their own battlefield, a paradox both bewildering and inherently understandable.

Lucius' Internal Dialogue: She's right, as always. The cost is an enigma, a riddle with no easy answer. All I know is I would pay any price to keep her safe—even if it endangers us both. A foolish wisdom.

Narcissa's Internal Dialogue: And I would follow him, wherever this dark path leads. An intelligent folly.

As Lucius returned to the inner circle, his robes swirling around him like a cloak of darkness, the contradiction of their existence was palpable. Their love was an oxymoron, a complex interplay of opposites—fear and courage, darkness and light, bondage and freedom. Yet it was real, as tangible as the war raging beyond their walls, a love that defied simple definitions. It was their precious bane, their lonely crowd, their sweet sorrow.

In a world increasingly filled with contradictions, they were the most beautiful oxymoron of them all. And as they faced an uncertain future, that oxymoronic love remained their one unwavering certainty.

Thus, in a room brimming with paradoxes, they stood as the most intricate—two souls deeply in love but ensnared by a world that might tear them asunder. A complex enigma that neither could untangle, and yet, neither wished to.

[elmswriting]

The Assay of Love

Sirius Black was not one for introspection. He lived his life by gut instinct, propelled by the thrumming energy of the present moment. But today was different; today he found himself at an impasse, unable to proceed without first assessing—assaying—the purity of his emotions.

Remus Lupin was the catalyst for this newfound need for evaluation. For months now, they had been toeing the line between friendship and something... more. The tension between them was palpable, filling the room like a storm cloud, demanding attention.

"It's like living on the edge of a cliff," Sirius had once confided in James. "I don't know whether to take the plunge or to run in the opposite direction."

But that was the thing about cliffs—you never knew how high or low they were until you looked over the edge. So, for the first time in his life, Sirius decided to assay, to test the strength and purity of his feelings for Remus. It wasn't a metal or a substance that could be melted down and evaluated for its components, but it was something infinitely more valuable. It was love—or so he hoped.

Meanwhile, Remus was embroiled in his own assay. Being the more contemplative of the two, he often found himself mired in self-analysis. But this was different; this was an evaluation that could change the course of his life. Could he afford to love Sirius Black? Was it a luxury or a necessity? Was it pure emotion, or was it tainted with desperation, fear, or loneliness?

He pondered this as he watched Sirius from across the room, laughing and joking with James and Peter. He looked so carefree, his eyes dancing like embers in the dim light, and Remus felt his heart swell with affection. Or was it love? That was the question he needed to assay, to test for purity.

The moment came unexpectedly, during a quiet evening in their shared dorm. They were both reading, absorbed in their respective worlds, but the tension was there, humming beneath the surface like a hidden vein of gold waiting to be discovered.

Finally, Sirius put down his book and looked up. "Remus," he began, uncertainty edging his voice.

Remus sensed the gravity of the moment and set his own book aside, meeting Sirius's gaze with an openness that took his breath away.

"I need to know," Sirius continued, "what this is between us. I can't pretend any longer."

For a moment, Remus was silent. Then he spoke, his voice tinged with the same uncertainty that Sirius felt. "I've been asking myself the same question."

So they sat there, in the stillness of the night, each assaying the emotions that lay between them. It was a test, a measure of purity, but it was also a gamble. Yet, as their eyes met and their souls touched, they both knew the answer even before it was spoken.

"It's love," Remus said, finally breaking the silence. "Pure, unadulterated love."

And as Sirius leaned in to kiss him, he realized that the assay was complete. The love they felt for each other had been tested and found pure, and that was all they ever needed to know.

[elmswriting]

Moonstruck

Remus Lupin always prided himself on being composed. Studious, restrained, and responsible—those were the terms people often used to describe him. Yet, when it came to Sirius Black, even his vocabulary seemed to betray him. Words like "hot," "dashing," and—Merlin forbid—"sexy" began to encroach upon his usually well-ordered thoughts.

Take this particular evening, for instance. Sirius was sprawled out on their worn-out sofa, engrossed in a Muggle rock-and-roll magazine he had discovered during their last venture into the non-magical world. A vinyl record spun on the turntable, filling their flat with the soulful strums of a guitar.

Sirius was the epitome of a rockstar without a stage, exuding an air of nonchalant coolness that Remus found endlessly fascinating—and, if he was honest, utterly enticing.

With shaggy hair that framed his face, Sirius looked every bit the rebellious artist. His eyes skimmed the pages of the magazine, occasionally glancing up to meet Remus's gaze, as if daring him to admit what they both knew to be true—that Remus was utterly smitten.

What drew Remus's eyes tonight, however, was the black, tight-fitting tank top Sirius wore. It clung to his torso in a way that seemed almost sinful, outlining every muscle with tantalizing precision. It was the kind of outfit that screamed confidence, insouciance, and just a touch of recklessness. Coupled with Sirius's natural charisma, it was downright lethal.

Remus felt his breath hitch, the normally smooth rhythm disrupted by the view before him. He wanted to reach out, run his fingers through that unruly mane, and feel the warm, taut skin beneath that tank top. He imagined the sensation of fabric giving way to flesh under his touch, the feeling of Sirius's pulse quickening beneath his fingers.

And then, Sirius looked up, his eyes locking onto Remus's, a slow grin forming on his lips as though he had read every sinful thought that had crossed his lover's mind.

"Like what you see, Moony?" he drawled, his voice tinged with that devil-may-care attitude that Remus found so irresistibly attractive.

Caught red-handed, Remus felt a flush creep up his neck, but he managed a confident smile. "Do you really have to ask, Pads?"

Sirius chuckled, closing the magazine and tossing it aside. He rose from the sofa, closing the distance between them until Remus could feel the heat emanating from his body.

"No," Sirius whispered, leaning in for a searing kiss. "But I do like to hear it."

As their lips met, all thoughts of restraint vanished. For in that moment, Remus was not just composed, studious, restrained Remus Lupin. He was also Remus, who was in love and lust with the man before him, the irrepressible Sirius Black.

And as they lost themselves in the embrace, Remus knew that some things—some feelings—were too powerful to be contained, even by the most expansive vocabulary.

[elmswriting]

Will Start To Contact

Hi hey hey!

When I posted my ad, I wasn't yet ready to get back in the game. I now feel more refreshed and recharged and inspired, so to all that has massaged me, I will slowly come around to reply to y'all.

[elmswriting]

magicalmeee​:

Adar’s eyebrows could have hit the roof as Sirius introduced himself. He had forgotten to remain polite, forgotten to not show his truth within his expression. He looked impressed, and intrigued, and behind his shoulder, Gilderoy watched the reaction with reverent fear and confusion.

“Sirius Black.” Adar echoed, his eyes glancing down at Sirius’ hand as they shook, as if touching him was like gracing a relic of culture itself. “Well, the pleasure is all mine, I can assure you.” he continued, finally releasing his hand. “All mine.” 

Gilderoy cleared his throat, unable to disguise all of his discomfort, as Adar physically made room for them to stand side by side, allowing him into the conversation. He did his best to keep his shining smile, his general glow, but it was clearly diminished- faltered by the anxiety of Adar’s eyes upon Sirius. Every time Adar looked at Sirius with a particular shine, Gilderoy’s eyes narrowed with a sense of desperation

As Sirius locked eyes with Gilderoy, he could feel himself strain. Part of him wanted to emote, wanted to try and communicate through expression, that Sirius should leave as soon as possible. The other part of him, however, fell into Sirius’ dark gaze with thoughtless abandon, indulging in the respite of not worrying, not calculating. He felt himself breathe.

But as Sirius spoke, Gilderoy felt that sense of calm and breath leave him. His nerves all focused upon Adar and his reaction- his entire body pointed towards the Professor as if he’d be able to anxiously divine his meaning before it was said. “Of course he is!” Adar agreed with Sirius, nodding deeply. His arm came to stretch around Gilderoy, his hand clasping the back of Gilderoy’s neck firmly. Gilderoy swallowed dryly. “It’s just that his words cost more than most, now that he’s a published author, eh Roy?” Grunnion chuckled, squeezing the back of Gilderoy’s neck until he winced softly.

Gilderoy nodded, glancing between Adar and Sirius with downcast eyes. “Didn’t you want to make a transfer, here?” he asked Grunnion softly, before his face snapped back to practiced neutrality. Gilderoy seemed to not want Sirius to be in any part of what Gruinnion referred, his eyes inable to disguise the glint of panic, the subtle turns of his head as he watched the two of them speak, how many tally’s he had again his wall. “For the right person, I’ll sing.” Gilderoy teased conspicuously, for which Adar gave him a satisfied nod.

@magicalmeee​

A smirk danced on Sirius' lips, a play of amusement and bravado in his grey eyes as he watched the spectacle unfold before him. The discomfort brewing within Gilderoy was something he could practically taste, and it sparked an instinctive dislike for the cause of it all - Adar. Sirius' own experiences with manipulative authority stirred within him, urging him to interfere, though he kept himself in check, biding his time.

Adar's touch elicited a subtle tightening of Sirius' jaw, a minuscule but telltale sign of his simmering disapproval. His gaze drifted back to Gilderoy, capturing the fleeting signs of fear and desperation hidden in the man's eyes. He didn't have to voice his concern; it was written plainly in the way he held himself, a silent vow of support radiating from him.

"Seems words do come at a price, don't they?" Sirius echoed Adar's words, his voice edged with dry humour, but his eyes remained steady on Gilderoy, a silent apology for the discomfort the man was enduring.

When Gilderoy attempted to divert the attention, Sirius played along, his smirk transforming into a devil-may-care grin. "A song, Lockhart? I reckon that would be worth the price of admission." His voice was light, intended to ease the tension, even as he took note of Gilderoy's poorly concealed panic.

Turning his attention back to Adar, Sirius allowed his smirk to widen, his tone bordering on the insolent as he delivered his calculated compliment. "Gilderoy's success must be quite the point of pride for you, Adar. Not every day you meet someone who's rubbed shoulders with a published author." His words, while outwardly polite, carried an underlying challenge, a subtle warning. Sirius was here, and he wasn't going anywhere.

Adar's control over Gilderoy was akin to a game for Sirius, a game he was quite familiar with. His rebellious nature found itself roused, the instinctual need to challenge such authority, such dominance making his blood boil. His gaze locked on Adar, an unspoken threat flickering in his eyes. Sirius Black was a man who thrived on disruption and chaos, and if the situation called for it, that was precisely what he would bring.

[elmswriting]

regulusblacx​:.

Regulus nodded slowly, coming to terms with what Sirius was saying and understanding this side of his brother he never got to see up until now. “As long as it makes you happy, that’s um, what’s important.” It was a sentiment he never quite voiced up until now. How much Sirius’ joy meant to him, how important it was. It had taken years for Regulus to realize that Sirius had left all those years ago not out of selfishness, but out of survival. The pain he had felt from being abandoned was now overshadowed by the joy it brought Regulus to know that his brother was able to pursue his own happiness and lifestyle.

The grin on his face remained as they toasted, the glimmer of hope remaining mutual, and he didn’t want it to end just tonight. Sirius’ question brought on an onslaught of his wants and desires. I wish for our family to live, he wanted to say, I wish for them to remain untouched by the war. Instead, his eye caught sight of a group of people at a table nearby. They were all clinking tiny cups together and laughing, and before Regulus knew it he was exclaiming, “I wish to take a shot. I’ve never had one before!” 

The bartender was motioned for and two shots were placed in order, arriving shortly after. The small glasses hadn’t seemed so big from far away, but now that Regulus saw them up close and could smell the pure, unmixed alcohol in them, he could see why people cringed when they drank them. Regulus tapped his glass against Sirius’ and tipped it into his mouth with a sickening burn. “Salazar– I’m going to regret that,” he remarked with a grimace.

To: Regulus Arcturus Black @regulusblacx​ From: Sirius Black

The sound of Sirius' laughter, unrestrained and buoyant, resonated in the air, a testament to his amusement at the grimace on Regulus' face post shot. The raw bitterness of the drink might not be the warmest welcome, but it held a charm of its own. "Ah, the quintessence of shots, Regulus," Sirius quipped, a smirk playing on his lips. "Instant remorse, yet a fine anecdote for the morrow." He demonstrated, his own shot disappearing smoothly, the grimace absent from his face.

An unanticipated swell of warmth bloomed within Sirius, ignited by Regulus' expressed gladness for his older brother. It was foreign, this feeling—unsettling even—yet not entirely unwelcome. Their bond had always been complex—a tangle of sibling affection, shared traumas, and a persistent undercurrent of grudges. Yet now, here in this fleeting instant, it seemed they were inching towards amicable territory, attempting to bridge the vast crevasse of their past.

"Your words earlier...," Sirius initiated, his tone gentle, cautious. "About my happiness bearing significance to you. I trust you're aware it's mutual, Regulus." Articulating such emotions felt bizarre, especially in an environment devoid of their usual sarcastic quips or veiled jabs. However, it felt right, almost cathartic.

As the fiery sting of the liquor ebbed, replaced by a soothing warmth, Sirius found himself sinking into the ambience. The bustling pub faded into the periphery, their shared laughter and banter taking centre stage.

"I've a thought," Sirius proposed, leaning in, a mischievous sparkle lighting his gaze. "How about we turn this into a tradition? Each year, on your birthday, we do this. To commemorate this moment. To acknowledge that we remain brothers, in spite of everything else. What do you reckon?"

The proposition was impulsive, a spark of thought now voiced aloud. However, the more Sirius ruminated on it, the more it appealed. Their very own tradition, a ritual to reconnect, to transcend their tumultuous past and embrace the future. Perhaps it was also a reminder that beneath the layers of strife and resentment, they were, after all, brothers, bound by blood and shared histories.

[elmswriting]

nymphgood·:

If there was something Pandora was, especially during galas not thrown by herself, was a hater. And it got even worse with the lack of a certain blonde next to her.

How could her husband double book himself?! Her poor, caveman of a husband that barely wanted to leave their little shack? And during a ball?! Oh, she was fuming. Or at least close to it, evilness spreading out from her body as a lovely shine of incredibly bad vibes.

The tablecloths didn’t match. The flowers were dying, — probably because the planners had used the wrong kind of spell to keep them alive for longer. The food was dreadful, she could outcook them in a blink of an eye. And the worst part: None of her close friends seemed to be in attendance (Probably too involved with certain matters of terrible and dangerous morals to bother).

It was a voice that broke her from her misery. A low, chilling voice. The voice of her oh so great ex-fiancée. Or something like that. “Sirius?” When she turned, her dress spread out even more, reflecting the stars the astronomical tower didn’t quite capture (At least in her opinion). “Oh, dear!” In a second, she had forgotten about the previous annoyances, stuck in time with him.

She couldn’t place the last time she saw him in a calendar but she could remember how the breeze blew his hair onto his face and how bad she wanted to make fun of him then, how life was much easier when they were closer to kids than adults. “The fort will never go down as long as I can sew and braid.” With a smile too large for her face, she reached for his hand, placing it right next to her heart. “It’s been too long, hasn’t it? And why must we meet at this— I must be honest! Very disappointing excuse for a gala! Oh, and without Xenophilius! He’d love you, yes, maybe not as much as Luna—“ Cutting herself off with a sigh, she let him go. “But how are you? What have you been doing? Still drawing, I’d imagine— I’d hope, really.”

"

To: Pandora Lovegood @nymphgood​ From: Sirius Black

Sirius' eyes flickered with an unrefined warmth that surged from deep familiarity, as he absorbed Pandora's playful chiding. A surge of nostalgia, reminiscent of shared mischief and camaraderie, swelled within him. Her voice, laced with a sincerity that echoed through the years, resurrected a joy within his heart that he'd forgotten was capable of feeling.

"Time's indeed given us the slip, Pandora," he replied, a lopsided grin dancing on his lips - a perfect blend of amusement and solemnity. In an uncharacteristically gentle motion, Sirius placed his hand over hers, allowing the electric current of their rare touch to linger. "Our knack for bizarre reunions is as uncanny as ever, isn't it? Beneath impossibly dim stars to boot." His gaze wandered alongside hers to the faux night sky, a rumble of laughter escaping his throat at the sheer artificiality of it all.

His features softened at the mention of Xenophilius and Luna. "I would've sprung at the opportunity to meet them. Luna sounds like quite the prodigy, no doubt a mirror image of her mother," he stated, a profound sincerity colouring his tone as his stormy gaze met Pandora's once more.

A wistful shadow veiled his features as Pandora withdrew her touch. "I haven't exactly retired my sketchbook," he revealed. "Actually, I've been trying my hand at a bit of tattoo artistry. It’s quite like sketching, really, just with a bit more… pain involved.”

"Life's been... unpredictable, to put it mildly," he acknowledged, his words pregnant with cryptic undertones that betrayed the winding and tumultuous path he had traversed. However, his eyes soon reclaimed their mischievous sparkle, locking onto Pandora. "What about you, Pandora? Still conjuring magic into art, I presume?"

"

[elmswriting]

caitrionaebing​:

@afracturedstar​

“Don’t call me that it’s not my name, and we are most certainly not close enough for you to address me with a diminutive.” Caitriona let go of Sirius with a shove, half hoping he might be thrown off balance and fall down. It was not a charitable wish, but she couldn’t help it; Sirius brought out the worst in her in a way unlike any other. Her father’s temper bubbled to the surface and too much of the careful control she’d learned from her mother was lost in the flood. He’d always annoyed her, but now he made her furious. 

As she listened to Sirius’ words, Caitriona’s fingers itched for her wand, but she would not give into that urge. This conversation wasn’t about her or what she wanted, it was about Regulus and what he needed, which was to avoid unnecessary attention. Hexing Sirius, as satisfying as that might be, would not help Regulus. So instead, Caitriona took a deep breath and smoothed her skirt with hands that only trembled a little. “I know that you relish having thrown off the yoke of societal expectations and abandoned your duty to your family, but Regulus has not followed in your footsteps. He doesn’t have the luxury of being normal, something I’d expect you to remember since you’re the one who foisted your responsibilities on him.” 

Caitriona rolled her eyes, and resisted the temptation to remind Sirius that he’d already put Regulus in harm’s way, and many times over. “I am not the only person who cares about Regulus, but you are not now, nor have you ever been, included in that number.” Caitriona paused and rolled her shoulders, trying to release some of the tension that had seized her as soon as she recognized her cousin. “I know, for reasons wholly independent from logic, Regulus still cares for you, but you need to know that your mere presence in his life endangers him. If you were truly concerned for his safety, you would disappear from his life. You would make sure you were never in the same place at the same time. You wouldn’t speak to him or write to him. But we both know you’re far too selfish for that.”

@caitrionaebing​

"Caitriona," Sirius growled, his own control slipping as her words scraped against his exposed nerves. He stumbled back from her shove but caught himself, his boots scuffing against the ground. Anger welled up within him, hot and fierce. She'd always known how to needle him, to exploit his weaknesses with a precision that was downright uncanny.

Her verbal attack had his temper flaring, an echo of his parents' disdain. A part of him had always been on the defensive around his family, and Caitriona's words hit their mark, bringing forth a wrath born of frustration and hurt.

He could feel her anger emanating from her, her desire to hex him near palpable, yet she held herself in check. For Regulus, he realized, and that thought drove a spike of irritation deeper. They were speaking of his brother, his responsibility, as if he were a child unable to handle himself.

His fists clenched at his sides as she continued, her words slicing into him with their acidic judgment. Her jibe at his abandonment of his family, the societal yoke he'd gladly cast aside, did not sting as much as the claim of shirking his responsibilities towards Regulus.

"Luxury of being normal?!" Sirius snapped, his voice sharp, the timbre of his irritation echoing around them. "You have no bloody idea what it means to bear the burden of being a Black, Caitriona! You can pretend, play the concerned cousin, but you haven't the faintest idea what it's like!"

The ire in his words was palpable, a vivid reflection of the churning emotions within him. He cared for Regulus, despite their differences, despite the chasm that the choices of their lives had placed between them. He wasn't about to let anyone, least of all Caitriona, undermine that.

She continued, her words piercing into the thick tension between them. Her accusation, that his presence in Regulus's life endangered him, hung heavily in the air. His temper flared once more, but beneath the heat of his anger, a grain of doubt nestled. Would it really be better for Regulus if he were to cut off contact completely?

"You dare to assume..." he began, his voice shaking with the intensity of his emotions. Yet, the fight seemed to drain out of him as he grappled with the uncomfortable question.

>Would it be better for Regulus if he was out of his life?

Her words echoed in his mind, stirring up a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Anger, worry, and a trace of guilt intermingled, leaving Sirius teetering on the edge of an unwelcome realization.

>Was he truly being selfish?

"You're wrong, Caitriona," he said, his voice quieter now, underscored by a hard edge of determination. "I do care about Regulus. More than you know. More than he probably knows. But maybe...maybe you're right. Maybe he is better off without me around."

The words tasted bitter on his tongue, a reluctant admission of a possibility he did not want to consider. His stormy gaze locked onto Caitriona's, conveying a complexity of emotions his words did not capture. This was his battle to fight, his burden to bear, and he would do it in his own way - not dictated by Caitriona or any other Black. But he would think about her words. He would always consider what was best for Regulus, even if it hurt.

[elmswriting]

regulusblacx​:

.

Orion Black’s presence commanded you to sit up straight and fix your posture without him needing to tell you to. He’d always been the silent and serious type, with no frills to his fatherhood, always leading the boys with a firm hand. He only had to give instructions once for both brothers to follow, and soon Regulus was lowering himself into a chair across his father’s desk. The desk had seemed so expansive when he was a child and Sirius and him would sneak into the office to play. To Regulus, it had felt like Orion was in charge of the entire world back then, operating all of it from his armchair behind that desk. 

Regulus watched silently yet attentively as his father moved to the vintage drinks cabinet he kept in the study. To the younger boy’s surprise, he poured three glasses of an amber liquid, each poured meticulously yet equally. Regulus exchanged a look of disbelief with Sirius before he took the glass that his father offered. Regulus had never tried alcohol in his life before and he never would have thought that Orion, always the one to follow regulations and tradition, would be the first one to offer it to him. Even more shocking yet were the words that Orion uttered, and it took all Regulus had not to drop his jaw. His father’s statements were brief yet heavy with pride, and laced with an affection that felt both unfamiliar yet so long craved for.

“Thank you, father,” Regulus said politely, nodding to Orion, then glancing at Sirius. He smiled sheepishly to both of them, his brother and father, two of the three people he loved most in this world and held so dearly. “Happy Christmas.” With that, Regulus brought the glass to his lips and took a regular sip, expecting something unpleasant yet nothing more terrible than a cough potion. Instead his throat was met with a disgusting, burning sensation that immediately made the youngest heir splutter and cough. His face twisted into a grimace as he coughed harder, immediately going red in the face at the embarrassing display but unable to help his juvenile exclamation of, “That’s gross!”

@regulusblacx​

The room seemed to thrum with anticipation as Orion’s austere gaze danced between his two sons. His stern visage, molded by generations of Black tradition and the mantle of expectation, served as a formidable shield, concealing the subtle amusement glimmering in his eyes. It was a rare moment of familial warmth within the austere confines of the House of Black - a fleeting respite from the usual ideological battles and tempestuous disagreements that often ruled the household. Yet, despite the momentary calm, a ribbon of formality ran through the scene, a silent testimony to the gravity of their lineage and heritage.

Regulus's gratitude was received with a curt nod from Orion, a gesture as measured and composed as the man himself. "You're welcome, Regulus," he replied, his voice steady and resonant. His attention then turned to Sirius, the errant elder son who dared to defy the age-old Black family conventions. Despite Sirius's rebellious stance, he still bore the Black blood. This rite of passage was as pertinent to him as it was to his brother Regulus. "Sirius," Orion voiced, acknowledging him.

Orion's gaze softened fractionally as Regulus sampled the firewhisky for the first time. The sight of his youngest son's reaction prompted an unexpected chuckle from Orion. It was a rare sound within the Black household, yet it didn't mar the man's unwavering demeanour. The untouched drink in his own hand stood as a testament to his self-control.

"An acquired taste," he noted, his deep voice echoing wisdom hard-earned and innate. His focus shifted again to Sirius, a glint of curiosity briefly illuminating his eyes. He was intrigued to observe how his rebellious firstborn would navigate this moment.

Sirius was no stranger to the taste of firewhisky. He'd indulged in stolen sips from his father's collection before, and the raucous school parties had introduced him to the lightheaded world of inebriation. But this was a moment apart. This was his father, the patriarch of the Black family, acknowledging his transition into adulthood with an offered drink - a tacit, reluctant nod towards his burgeoning maturity.

Locking eyes with his father, Sirius held up his glass, his usual mischievous demeanour replaced by an uncharacteristic seriousness. Unspoken words and unexpressed apologies hung heavily between them, remnants of past confrontations and harsh words. But for now, they were suspended, paused for the sake of this fleeting moment of tranquillity. "Happy Christmas," Sirius echoed, the respectful tone in his voice an unusual addition as he swallowed the amber liquid.

The burn of the firewhisky was a familiar sensation to Sirius, one he'd grown used to. He put his empty glass down and nodded at his father, accepting the silent challenge laid out before him. For a brief moment, they were simply the Blacks - a family celebrating Christmas, their divergences momentarily put aside.

Satisfied, Orion finally lifted his own glass, the dark liquid swirling within. “To family,” he intoned, an edge of sentiment in his voice as he brought the glass to his lips. The fiery trail of the drink, potent and familiar, was an affirmation, a symbol of the burden and privilege of their heritage.

As he set down his empty glass, Orion turned towards the extensive collection of books that filled the study. His hand grazed the worn spines as he made a suggestion. "Perhaps," he said, "since it's Christmas, you boys might pick a book each from the collection. We rarely venture into the study, after all." The study, a place usually off-limits to them, was opened, if only for this special day. A quiet

invitation for them to understand their father, their family, a little more.

Sirius gave a noncommittal shrug in response, but the guarded wall around him seemed to lower, if only a fraction, a subtle acknowledgment of his father's rare display of openness. A shared look between the brothers, a brief pause in their usual rivalry, suggested a shared understanding of the rarity of this Christmas morning. They could enjoy a moment of peace before they would join Walburga for breakfast, immersing themselves once more into the usual rhythm of the Black family's life.

[elmswriting]

swearwolfx:

“Of course not, but I do prefer a more traditional bath, despite what it may do for my coat,” he shook his head slightly a small smile on his lips. There was a hollowness to Sirius’ jest not having meant to bring down his friends mood with mention of his affliction, his smile an assurance that he was okay. He had gotten better over the years at making small jokes in regards to it, especially with the commonality he and Sirius’ shared, both having the other form of a canine of some kind, connecting them in another way. The fact Sirius and the rest of his friends had done such a thing for him still touching him in a way they would never know, something he’d never be able to repay.

“I’m afraid you might be stuck with me now Padfoot, but back then you weren’t, you kept pushing to be my friend, not taking no for an answer in your usual fashion…” he clarified, something that still mystified him for what he could have seen in him. Sirius’ voice was filled with such sincerity it made his heart ache that he felt so strongly about their bond. As one who had always shied away from people and friendships he found himself often clumsy finding the right words to express his emotions, always paling in comparison to what he felt.”Your friendship has been the most important of my life… It changed it forever,” his voice was soft with emotion a soft blush on his cheeks feeling stripped bare.

It was a tease, but it was true all the same, he felt he would burn this world down with the depths his despair if he ever lost him. “I suppose I might miss having you around,” his tone was playful, a swift turnaround from the emotion in his voice just moments before. 

He observed Sirius for a moment, having repeated his words back to him again wondering what about the night sky caused his friend’s sadness. The moon was safely tucked away and posed no danger to him this night. “A night like tonight…I’m up for it after we tackle your room,” he amended, not sure what state it was in since he’d last seen it.

There was an understanding in Sirius’ gaze and he wondered what he had picked up in his own, perhaps the look of something more but he couldn’t be sure. He glanced around Sirius’ room taking it in for a moment wondering if there were more supplies than just those in view. Most of his own supplies he kept in one corner of the room, trying for a bit of organized chaos. 

“Would you like to point the way? Or should I start looking under the bed just in case some ended up there?” he chuckled. He always liked being in Sirius’ room, it felt warm, cosy, and safe, it felt entirely like him, making him want to curl up in it when he wasn’t home since he could feel his presence all around him.

@swearwolfx​

Sirius threw his head back and laughed, a genuine mirth bubbling up from his chest despite the heavier emotional undertones of their conversation. "Well, I would hate to mess up that pristine coat of yours, Moony," he teased lightly. "But I suppose there's always the traditional bath."

His gaze softened as Remus spoke about their friendship. "Ah, you weren't that easy to befriend, Moony. But once I get my teeth into something, I don't let go easily," he said with a smirk. "And I’m grateful for that. Your friendship has been invaluable to me as well, Moony."

His chest swelled with a warmth that he usually felt only in the presence of his closest friends. Sirius had never been one to mince words when it came to the people he cared about, and it felt good to say it out loud, to confirm what he felt in his heart.

At Remus' light-hearted jab, he couldn't help but chuckle. "I'll remember you said that next time you're complaining about me leaving my socks all over the place," he teased.

At the mention of the night sky, Sirius grew slightly sombre again. It wasn't something he often talked about, the lure of the stars and their infinite vastness, the freedom they represented. But if there was anyone who would understand, it would be Remus.

"We’ll deal with my room first, though," he agreed. "And yes, you might need to check under the bed, too. I can't guarantee the state of it."

He stood up, motioning for Remus to follow. His room was a reflection of himself - a chaotic mess on the surface, but there was a warmth to it, an underlying comfort that he had striven to cultivate. It was a space where he could be himself, without any expectations or pretences.

"Let's get this over with, then," he said, leading the way to his room. "And remember, Moony, no complaints about my socks."

[elmswriting]

@medasgalaxy

Surprise momentarily broke through Sirius' portrayal of Bellatrix's icy demeanor, but he was quick to correct it, painting a sneer across his face. "Andromeda," he greeted, echoing Bellatrix's typical scorn. He felt a pang in his chest as he regarded his favorite cousin with such an expression.

Looking her up and down, he mustered up a condescending chuckle, drawing on every bitter memory he had of Bellatrix. "At Gringotts, are we?" he drawled, keeping up the pretense. "Setting up a trust fund for your mudblood child, I presume?"

A twinge of guilt gnawed at him at his words. He knew it wasn't him speaking - it was Bellatrix, it was the Black family scorn and bigotry. But Andromeda didn't know that. She heard those words from someone who looked and sounded like her sister, and it stung.

Looking away dismissively, he added in a low voice, "I trust you're enjoying your... quaint life." The words tasted like acid in his mouth, but he had a role to play.

May 26th Gringotts bank @afracturedstar​

Andromeda had been waiting for Ted to arrive to the bank, they were setting some savings for Dora now that she would soon start Hogwarts. It wasn’t that they could do much, but being the child of parents that made her depend on them for everything and not being supportive of her choices, she wanted to leave Dora with something that she could call her own. 

She was getting a bit impatient that she hadn’t seen Ted yet, and was walking about the lobby when she bumped into someone, someone that she didn’t expect to ever see again. “Hello, Bella.” she greeted her sister, knowing that she would get other sort of names from her. 

[elmswriting]

aurcralux:

Of all the people in the world that she could stumble upon and bump into when escaping the seemingly ever-lasting downpour of the world around them, Sirius Black was not someone she had ever considered to walk into, nor hoped to. Too much had happened over the years to make such a meeting one she would look forward to. In fact, that very moment she was hit with a wave of dread and regret. Dread for what she was about to face, regret for the fact that instead of apparating home she had instead gone and found herself stuck in a greenhouse of the magical kind with family – or former family at best – that she would have preferred never to see again.

“Sirius.” Perhaps a more civil approach would be better than a snapping at him out of shock. Surely there were better ways to go about it. “Fancy, indeed. A surprise for sure.” Cissa struggled to find the words. Most of the situations she’d get thrown in were planned ahead and calculated so that no detail would go wrong. It all seemed to matter. This wasn’t one of those moments, but it seemed to hit much harder. “How have you been? What about those friends of yours?” While a certain snippy undertone couldn’t be denied, there was a politeness within those words; a very eager hidden wish to know.

The witch glanced over at her cousin before letting her eyes wander, staring at every flower found around her in hopes of catching something, anything, that would get her out of that uncomfortable situation. Yet nothing seemed to come to mind, no flower seemed to spring out of the bushes just to aid her in escaping or to lend advice on how to get out of that terribly awkward situation. “Would you like to sit?” Her voice was filled with a hesitation she had not been aware to be capable of, yet her hand moved to motion toward a small white iron seating arrangement. “If we are as stuck as we appear to be, may as well.” Part of her wondered if this was her inner need to be a host, trained from birth to function a certain way.

@aurcralux​

As Cissa's voice echoed in the vast greenhouse, Sirius remained silent for a moment, taking her in. Despite everything that had happened, she was still family, a reminder of the life he'd left behind. His dark eyes followed her gaze to the vibrant flowers that surrounded them. Despite the tension, he couldn't help but appreciate the beauty of their strange shelter from the storm.

"Cissa," Sirius began, his voice quieter than usual, almost lost among the rustling of leaves and the muted sound of rain against the glass. He was torn between old habits and new realities. "It's been… interesting. And the Marauders," he hesitated, unsure of how much he should divulge, "they're doing well."

His eyes finally landed back on his cousin. He could see the discomfort in her stance, the barely concealed urgency in her gaze as she searched for a means of escape. He didn't blame her. This was not a reunion either of them had been looking forward to.

The question of sitting caught Sirius off-guard. He glanced at the white iron seating arrangement, quaint and inviting amidst the chaos. For a moment, he weighed his options, the weight of their shared history heavy on his mind.

After a brief pause, Sirius gave a curt nod. "We may as well," he agreed, moving towards the seats. He was acutely aware of the unease in Cissa's voice, an emotion he too was grappling with. But he also recognized the hint of the girl he had once known, the dutiful host who had been trained to put others before herself. Despite everything, there was a part of him that was relieved to see that she hadn't changed completely.

As he settled onto the iron seat, Sirius turned his gaze back to the rain outside. The sight was oddly comforting, a physical representation of the turmoil he felt inside. "Are you okay, Cissa?" he asked after a moment, his tone sincere. It wasn't meant as a casual inquiry; he truly wanted to know. Despite their differences, despite their separate paths, she was still his cousin, still family in a way no one else could be. And he couldn't help but worry.

[elmswriting]

halfblxxdprinc3:

Unlike most of their missions, this one seemed rather unclear compared to the rest. Guarding a vault with a hidden object he had no knowledge of its importance. Perhaps those who had been in the inner circle longer knew, but as Severus stood next to Mulciber, the younger Slytherin couldn’t help but let his mind wander.

Even more so when he caught a glimpse of a certain most-loyal-right-hand for The Dark Lord appear in the gilded halls. There was always something striking about her. From her eyes to the wicked smile and, of course, that stroke of violence that was a brilliance all on its own. A quality he admired much in his comrade; one he’d looked up to.

And yet…

There was something…different. A challenge in her eyes that Severus hadn’t seen in years. And certainly not from her. Usually, Bellatrix paid no mind, or was cold and calculating. This was different. Watching the pair carefully, Severus stuck to the shadows until they came up to the goblin teller at the grand podium. Keeping an intense, watchful gaze.

@afracturedstar

@halfblxxdprinc3​

Staring at the figure across the hall, Sirius felt a weird sensation stirring within him. He was looking at a mirror image of his older cousin Bellatrix Lestrange, yet he was in her shoes, clad in her customary dark, intimidating attire. He felt a weight of unease settle within him, as though he were playing a role he didn't understand in a play he didn't want to be part of.

Observing Snape from afar, Sirius attempted to channel Bella’s cruel grace, her haughty confidence. It was unsettling, the way he saw Snape's gaze linger on him—Bellatrix—with what seemed like a mix of admiration and caution. But he also saw something else, a glint of curiosity that intrigued him.

In an attempt to maintain the façade, Sirius' gaze drifted to the goblin teller at the grand podium. He felt a pang of relief as he moved away from Snape's scrutiny. This was a part of the mission he could do—cold, impersonal, calculated. Sirius was good at acting, a trait honed from years of navigating his complicated familial relationships.

As Sirius approached the teller, he let Bellatrix's infamous smile stretch across his features. It was a smile that promised danger, a smile that had haunted his dreams on countless nights. He hated it, hated the person he was pretending to be.

But right now, he had a mission to complete.

Playing with the fear in the goblin's eyes, Sirius felt a flicker of regret. He wished he could reveal himself, wished he could pull off the mask and be Sirius Black, not Bellatrix Lestrange. But he couldn't. Not yet.

As Sirius turned to leave, his gaze locked with Snape's once again. The Slytherin's stare was intense, watchful, as if he were trying to solve a puzzle. Sirius met his gaze with equal intensity, hoping the younger Death Eater would see the challenge in his eyes.

A challenge that said, 'I'm not who you think I am.'

 Sirius couldn’t help the urge that he wanted to act out towards Snape, but he couldn’t. Bellatrix might, being who she is, but not randomly, without reason. He had to focus on the mission, to make sure they got what they had come to do. To steady his heart, control the whirl storm of feelings that made chaos in his mind by donning the likeness of his older cousin. And with that, he stepped back into the shadows, swallowed by the darkness.