#the jolly corner 1975

[josephinepineconey]

Henry James’ The Jolly Corner (1975)

[moonymoodz]

Damnatio Memoriæ

The one with the Punch Bowl.

Genre: Angst. Angst. Angst. Always and forever. (Is it friends to lovers? Ennemies to lovers? Idiots to lovers? They don’t know and I don’t know either, but somewhere in that realm) + slowburn because there is no other way.

Pairing : Sirius Black x fem!OC

Wordcount : 12.5k (yes, it’s a lot. Push through, people)

Context : Fifth year is rough. Miserable teens make crappy human beings. That’s it.

Original Character : Cordelia de Valois, Ravenclaw, pureblood, wealthy.

Disclaimer : I’m not a Native English speaker, so there are going to be mistakes here and there, don’t hesitate to message me so I can fix them.

Previous Chapter

Thursday, December 14th, 1975. —

Sirius Black was not feeling the festive Spirit.

The corridors of Hogwarts were thick with anticipation, students bustling to and fro, voices rising with excitement for the Winter Ball. Sirius tried moving through the hallways with his usual cocky swagger, but there was tension in his shoulders, sharpness to his gaze. Christmas break was looming, and he could already feel that familiar notion dragging him down.

It didn’t help that he still hadn’t received the formal robes he’d been expecting from home—an absence he didn’t particularly want to dwell on but couldn’t ignore either.

The thought lingered like a thorn in his mind as he rounded the corner, spotting Professor McGonagall speaking with a few Ravenclaws near the Great Hall.

“Professor!” he called, masking his irritation with his usual bravado. “Quick question for you. Any chance there’s been an issue with the post? I seem to be missing… well, everything.”

McGonagall turned, her expression softening ever so slightly, though her eyes still held their usual scrutiny. “Mr. Black, I assure you, the school’s post is quite reliable. If you haven’t received something, it’s likely because it wasn’t sent.”

“Oh,” Sirius’s grin faltered, though he kept up the act. “Well, I’m sure it’s just delayed. My parents are terribly busy, what with the holidays and all.”

McGonagall’s gaze lingered on him, her expression thoughtful. “I assumed you’d already heard, but given your… recent academic performance, there were discussions among the staff about your attendance at school events.”

Sirius’s bravado slipped further. “Discussions?” He laughed, though it was forced. “What, so I’m on the school’s naughty list now?”

“This is hardly a laughing matter,” McGonagall said evenly, her tone gentle but firm. “Your attendance record has been—let’s say, less than exemplary this term. And with your grades slipping—“ She hesitated, as though searching for the right words. “I’m afraid your family had to be notified.”

Sirius’s stomach dropped.

He knew what that meant.

And to think his parents hadn’t bothered to tell him. They’d simply withheld his formal robes, their disapproval as silent as it was deafening. Christmas was bound to be a jolly affair in the Black household this year.

“Brilliant,” he muttered under his breath, his jaw tight. “So,” he forced out, “I’m banned from the ball, then?”

“Well,” McGonagall’s lips pressed together, the faintest trace of sympathy there. “The terms of your attendance remain your own decision, but perhaps… some self-reflection would be of value here.” She paused. “Perhaps you could use this as an oppor—”

“I’ll be there,” A small scoff escaped him, though his insides twisted. “What’s one evening?”

McGonagall gave him a long, measured look, and for a moment, Sirius thought she might say something more. But she only nodded, her expression unreadable. “Very well, Mr. Black. Just—be mindful. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you the holidays are coming.”

She looked at him knowingly and he felt his stomach tighten, but his smile never faltered.

“Not to worr.y,” he said, “Mindful is my middle name.”

—

Sirius nudged the infirmary door open, slipping inside with James and Peter close behind. Remus was propped up against a mountain of pillows, his face pale but breaking into a faint smile as they approached.

“You look like death warmed over, Moony,” James said, dropping into the chair by his bed with a grin.

“Cheers, Prongs,” Remus replied, voice scratchy but amused. “Madam Pomfrey’s keeping me in another night. Just in time to miss the ball.”

Sirius sighed perched on the end of the bed, raising an eyebrow at the parchment scattered around Remus. “Homework? Pomfrey must be thrilled to have such a star patient.”

Remus shrugged, glancing down at the unfinished notes. “Just trying to keep up. Transfiguration, Charms—feels like half a term’s worth. Not much else to do in here, is there?”

“That reminds me,” Peter fumbled in his pocket and handed Remus a few toffees he’d nicked from the kitchens. “For when Pomfrey’s not looking.”

Remus beamed as he took them. “Pete, I could kiss you.”

Sirius cleared his throat, leaning in with a smirk. “Anyway, we’ll handle the mischief at the ball—you just focus on not getting those good looks back, okay?”

Remus shook his head, laughing quietly. “I’m sure the three of you will make up for my absence.”

“You know it,” James replied, throwing Sirius a grin. “We’ll dance twice as much just to cover your share.”

“Stir up twice as much trouble,” Sirius added.

“Try and play nice, huh?,” Remus muttered, having noticed the ominous glint in his Sirius’s eye.

Sirius leaned in, tone dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “No promises there.”

“We’re already 600 points behind Slytherin and I can’t even imagine Ravenclaw,” Remus reminded his friends, who were headed for the exit. “I’m not joking!”

Stopping at the door. Sirius cast one last glance over his shoulder, grinning. “Relax, Moony,” he grinned, “when have you ever known me to make a scene?”

—

The study hall that afternoon was silent, as usual., students hunched over their desks, the scratch of quills and the soft rustle of pages the only sounds filling the room. Sirius sat near the back, slouched in his chair, staring down at his parchment with an empty gaze. He hadn’t written a single word.

His mind kept wandering, circling back to the unopened howler he’d shoved in his bedside table the week before. It was one of several now—each envelope still sealed. He hadn’t dared open them in front of anyone; just the sight of his mother’s handwriting on the back of the envelope was enough to tell him it was best left untouched. Out of sight but never quite out of mind.

He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to look back at his blank parchment, but his thoughts kept circling, his pulse drumming faster than he liked. Christmas break was coming. And his stomach tightened.

A quiet, snide laugh broke the silence.

“Look at him,” came a low, oily whisper from a few tables away. Severus Snape was half-hidden behind a stack of books, his lips curled in a mocking smile. Barty Crouch Jr. sat beside him, his eyes gleaming with that nasty, focused look he always got when he saw an opportunity to prod at someone.

“Couldn’t even remember to bring ink,” Barty whispered, barely audible but unmistakably taunting. “No wonder he’s falling behind.”

Sirius stiffened, his grip tightening on the quill. He forced his gaze back to the parchment, ignoring them. He wasn’t in the mood, and they weren’t worth his time. Besides, he had indeed forgotten to bring his ink. But the two Slytherins leaned in closer, their voices like poison threading through the quiet.

“Goes to show,” Snape muttered, his tone dripping with mock sympathy. “A name can only do so much.”

“No wonder Reg won’t talk about him,” Barty chuckled, his voice a soft, sneering whisper, “that name is all they have in common.”

Sirius’s jaw clenched, the anger simmering dangerously beneath his forced calm. He kept his gaze locked on the empty page, his hand fisted around the dry quill, but each word hit like a slap, cutting just close enough to the truth to leave him seething.

“Honestly,” Snape went on, his voice barely a breath but deliberately cruel, “how many more years do you think he’s got before they just—”

“Would you two kindly shut up,” a new voice snapped, slicing through the tension like a blade.

Sirius glanced up, startled, to see Cordelia de Valois, her face barely visible behind a tower of books she’d stacked between herself and Dorcas Meadowes. She didn’t look up, her expression calm, but her voice was as sharp as a whip, her gaze fixed firmly on the open book in front of her.

“Honestly, don’t you two have anything better to do?” she murmured, her voice low but laced with quiet authority. “Some of us are actually trying to get work done.”

Snape’s face twisted, but he didn’t respond, his mouth pressing into a thin line as he glared at Cordelia. Barty rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath, but the two of them fell silent, shifting uncomfortably before settling back into their seats.

Sirius watched them slink off, the tension in his chest easing slightly. He glanced over at Cordelia, who was still absorbed in her work, her expression cool and composed as if nothing had happened.

For a brief moment, he considered saying something. Thank you. Piss off. Only, the words stayed lodged in his throat. Instead, he looked back at his blank parchment for an hour longer.

—-

By dinner time, Sirius had managed to bury his irritation deep enough to keep up appearances. He slouched at the Gryffindor table, trying to keep his expression indifferent as he piled food onto his plate.

James nudged him with a grin. “Still planning on crashing the Ball tomorrow, yeah?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Sirius replied, forcing a smirk as he reached for his goblet. “Not about to let the faculty keep me out of a party.”

“Good,” James said, taking a hearty bite of his own dinner. “I need my wingman.” He shot a quick look over at the Ravenclaw table, his grin widening. “Besides, we all need to see which poor sap asked de Valois to the Ball.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t entirely ignore the knot of irritation at the mention of Cordelia. “Probably some daft idiot, desperate for his last shot at impressing a de Valois before he graduates,” he muttered, trying to sound dismissive.

James rolled his eyes, smirking as he tore into a piece of bread. “Right, because we’re in such a better position. You’ve turned down every girl who so much as looked at you, Pete’s been hiding away since Halloween, and as for me…” He sighed dramatically, glancing down the table to where Lily Evans sat, laughing with her friends, clearly oblivious to him. “Let’s just say the Ice Queen remains firmly on her throne.”

Sirius barked a laugh, the tension loosening just a little. “Guess that makes us a real prize trio. We’ll be the highlight of the evening.”

James snorted, nudging him with an elbow. “Honestly, mate, it’s like we’re cursed. Only ones left without a date by the end of term—”

Before he could finish, a fit of giggles erupted from the far end of the Gryffindor table. Sirius looked up to see Maisie and Daisy Pevensie huddled together.

The Hufflepuff twins had a knack for drawing attention. Big laugh, nice tits, sweet lips—their charm only slightly marred by their thick Geordie accents and questionable taste in fashion.

Sirius caught James’s eye, and a spark of mischief passed between them. The Pevensies might not be the most dignified option, but they were certain to entertain—and right now, that was exactly the distraction he needed.

“Bet they’d be a laugh,” Sirius said, tilting his head toward the twins.

“You’re not thinking—“ James replied with a grin.

“Well,” Sirius said with a grin, glancing back at the twins, “if we’re going to go, might as well go big.”

James raised his goblet in a toast, a resigned grin spreading across his face. “Eh, what the hell.”

They clinked their goblets with mock solemnity, and downed the rest if their pumpkin juice.

“Shall we?” Sirius said as he rose from the table.

James laughed, getting to his feet beside him. “After you.”

——

Friday, December 15th, 1975.

The celebration had already begun to slip into a pleasant chaos, laughter mingling with music, the ballroom alive with swirling colors and drifting sparks from the enchanted ceiling. At a table near the back, of the hall, Sirius, James, and Peter sat in quiet rebellion, pointedly ignoring the dance floor as they lounged in varying degrees of disinterest.

Sirius was, as usual, the centerpiece of their little scene. His bright red suit cut a stark, deliberate contrast to the traditional black robes every other boys were sporting, and with his shiny patent shoes propped on an empty chair, he looked both out of place and entirely in command of his own version of the night. Heads had turned when he’d walked in; he’d caught the glances, some amused, some shocked, and a few clearly disdainful. But he’d merely flashed a grin and leaned back, fully prepared to hold court from his seat.

That being said, it seemed he couldn’t quite shake a nagging, restless feeling in the back of his mind. Every few minutes, despite himself, he found his gaze drifting toward the entrance, where students running late still trickled in.

« Oi, Pads, » said James, as though he’d read his best friend’s mind, «Has Cordelia shown up yet? »

« Couldn’t say, » Sirius mumbled in fake nonchalance.« I haven’t been paying attention. »

« Maybe she’s preparing a grand entrance, » Peter suggested.

Sirius rolled his eyes. Formal events knew no such thing as fashionably late. Not in Cordelia’s world, anyway. No. It had to be something else.

« Or maybe,” James grinned, nudging Peter, “she’s already snuck off with her mystery date for a little smooching session. »

“Come on, now, » Sirius rolled his eyes, though a smirk tugged at his lips. His friends were watching him, intrigued. He shrugged, leaning into his casual tone. « Isn’t it obvious? » he elaborated, « Almost an hour in, and she’s still a no-show. I can’t be the only one who think she’s been bluffing all along?”

Peter looked up, his eyes wide. “You think she doesn’t have a date?”

Sirius shrugged, his smirk widening. « Oh I’m sure she’ll come up with a perfectly reasonable excuse, » he paused, his gaze sweeping the hall as though already convinced. « But I’m betting she just realized no one could put up with her highness for a whole night.”

James raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Right. So you’ve just been watching the door to keep track of how many people didn’t want to go with her?”

« Come off it, Prongs, » he nudged James, « I’m just saying, it wouldn’t exactly be surprising if she couldn’t find anyone willing to keep up with all the etiquette.”

« Speaking of etiquette, » James muttered as he leaned over, trying to keep a straight face as he discreetly looked over to the side.

Maisie and Daisy Pevensie—the frilly tangerine-clad Hufflepuff twins to whom Sirius and James had extended a last minute invite to the ball—sat at the edge of their table.

With their big curls, thick purple lipstick, and matching puffy dresses that looked like they’d been dipped in pumpkin juice, the twins were impossible to ignore.

“Your genius still amazes me, Pads,” James said under his breath, his voice thick with amusement. “They’re really something.”

The girls’ thick Geordie accents could be heard even over the band. Maisie (or was it Daisy?) had already charmed a stack of Chocolate Frogs to race across the table, shrieking with laughter as her sister egged her on.

Sirius shrugged, watching them with a grin that was part admiration, part bewilderment. “Lively, aren’t they? Still can’t tell which one I snogged last year, though.”

“It would be hard to say,” James said, barely containing his laughter.

« Although it may have been both of them, » Sirius continued, pensively, « I am a giver, after all. »

Peter choked on his drink, and Sirius’s grin widened as the twins shrieked again, Maisie accidentally charming her chocolate frog straight into a bowl of custard, causing another eruption of laughter.

“Absolute class, those two,” came a cool voice from beside them.

They looked up to see Lily Evans, standing there in her dainty chartreuse-coloured dress, an eyebrow arched as she took in the scene with a mix of amusement and disapproval.

“C’mon, Evans, don’t be so stiff,» Sirius said with a smirk, “you can’t tell me you’re not entertained.”

Lily sighed, glancing from him to James, her lips curling into a reluctant smile. “I’d call it horrified fascination.”

“Nice suit, Sirius,” Marlene stated, arching an eyebrow as she took in the bright red. “Could see you coming a mile away. Very subtle. »

“Subtlety,” Sirius said, raising his goblet in mock toast, “is for people who can’t pull off scarlet.”

James rolled his eyes, nudging Sirius. “Real shame de Valois didn’t show. You know she’d just love writing you up for dress code violation.”

« Has she not arrived yet? » Lily asked, glancing at the clock.

Sirius shrugged, throwing back his drink with a look of utter disinterest. “Shocker, I know. The Duchess remains in her tower. »

James opened his mouth to respond, but his gaze shifted, his eyes widening a little as he glanced over Sirius’s shoulder.

« Poor thing. » Sirius continued, leaning back in his chair, « Probably couldn’t stand the embrassement of coming alone.”

«Uh— » James began, his voice quieter, a strange note of surprise in it. « You may want to reconsider that theory, Pads.” He nodded towards the great doors.

“Wait—» Sirius raised an eyebrow, turning with a smirk that was meant to hide any actual interest to follow his best friend’s gaze, ready with some quick retort. But the words died in his throat.

There she stood, in the hall’s entrance, her hand resting lightly on the skirts of her dress. The soft silver silk rippled under the enchanted light, catching and throwing reflections like liquid moonlight as she stepped into the hall.

For a moment, everything seemed to still. The flicker of candlelight danced off her hair, pinned back with a faint glint of diamond, making her look a touch otherworldly. Her gaze drifted across the hall, calm, detached, as though she didn’t care every head had turned in her direction.

« Oh, Merlin,” Peter mumbled, eyes wide, “Sh-She’s…”

“An angel,” Marlene finished, the awe in her voice echoing their collective thoughts.

“Well,” James cut in, breaking the trance with a grin aimed at Lily, “I’ve personally always been more partial to redheads. »

« Oh, give it a rest, » the freckled girl rolled her eyes, swatting him on the arm. “She looks stunning.”

Sirius scoffed, leaning back as if to distance himself. “Sure, if you’re into the prim-and-proper look,” he muttered.

But even he couldn’t deny it. There was something in the simplicity that drew him in—no flashy jewels, no frills or excessive trimmings. Just the quiet, understated elegance of elven silk draping her frame effortlessly.

It struck him as the same pretension his family had drilled into him. True wealth whispers, he could hear his mother’s voice, reminding him, Only the desperate need to show off.

The thought made his skin itch, and he found himself loosening the crimson polyester bow that suddenly felt too tight around his neck.

Still, there she stood, calm, perfectly poised and—alone?

Before he could process it, a figure emerged from the crowd.

Evan Rosier—his face that familiar picture of arrogant calm. He stopped a few steps in front of her, bowing slightly in the kind of polished, antiquated way that had Sirius’s smirk turning sour. Cordelia inclined her head, her face softening into a faint, polite smile as she took his arm, and together they moved into the room, a pair that looked—infuriatingly—like they’d been made to fit.

James chuckled quietly, leaning back with an eyebrow raised at Sirius. “Well. So much for her bluffing, eh?”

“You didn’t seriously think no one asked her, did you?” Lily asked, glancing sideways at Sirius.

He forced a laugh, though the sound was tight. “Well, not really. Although I can’t say I expected that pairing. Then again, I suppose that’s fitting enough—birds of a feather, and all that.”

“Sure, Pads,” James smirked, nudging him. “They make a good-looking pair, though.”

Sirius forced himself to shrug, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from them, Cordelia and Evan, the two of them moving through the room like royalty. As they passed a few admiring third-years, Cordelia glanced in his direction—just a brief flicker of her gaze, her face unreadable. Sirius swallowed thickly.

Suddenly, Maisie or Daisy—he still couldn’t tell which—sidled up next to him, her giggling almost startling him as she tugged on his sleeve. “I’m bored silly, let’s dance!” she exclaimed, her accent spilling over the words like a blunt instrument.

Sirius barely glanced at his date. « Later, yeah? » he muttered, though she didn’t seem to notice or care, twirling back to her sister with a loud chuckle that made a few nearby Ravenclaws glance over with faint looks of alarm.

“You sure you’re alright there, Pads?” James asked, a grin creeping back over his face.

“Perfectly fine,” Sirius muttered, though his gaze stayed fixed on Cordelia, who was now exchanging words with Evan as they drifted further into the crowd. She looked entirely unaffected by the attention she was attracting, as if she’d been born to stand there in her pale, starlit gown, drawing eyes without effort.

For the first time that night, Sirius was quiet, his smugness gone. For all his teasing and jokes, he hadn’t expected that twist of irritation—and something else he refused to name—at the sight of her on Rosier’s arm.

——

A few songs and several drinks later, Sirius hadn’t seen her again, though she kept lingering in his thoughts, unsettling and unwelcome. He was deep in some half-hearted conversation with Peter about Quidditch tactics when he noticed James looking over his shoulder, grinning.

“Duchess incoming,” James coughed, his voice smug, “I repeat, Duchess incoming.”

Sirius turned just in time to see Cordelia weaving her way through the tables toward them. He straightened slightly, his usual smirk shifting into something more guarded.

« Well, well, » he drawled, leaning back with his drink in hand. “To what do we owe the honor? Dont tell me you’re bored, already.”

Cordelia tilted her head, a faint smirk of her own tugging at her lips. “Not at all,” she replied smoothly. “Just figured I’d check in, see who won the bet on my date. I imagine you all had your guesses. »

« I’m afraid we’re all losers here,” James admitted with a grin, lifting his hands in mock surrender.

“To be fair, we had ruled out sixth-years,” Peter added, shrugging.

“And we had hoped you’d steer clear of Slytherins.” James shot her a raised eyebrow, then shook his head with exaggerated disappointment.

“Guess that was wishful thinking on our part.” Sirius snorted, crossing his arms as he looked her up and down, gaze lingering on the silver of her dress. “Well, look at that, fellas—she’s even dressed for the part.”

Cordelia’s gaze flicked over his suit, the bright red fabric standing out sharply against his dark hair. “You’re one to talk. That suit is certainly a… bold choice.”

James stifled a laugh, but Sirius’s smirk faded. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing,” she replied quickly, “I was just thinking black never really suited you anyway.”

Something in her tone—casual, detached—sliced a bit too close. His face hardened, his smile slipping as he leaned back, his expression closing off. “Right, very subtle.”

Cordelia blinked, her brow furrowing slightly, a flicker of confusion in her eyes. “N-no, I only meant— red suits you better, it’s nice. »

The tension thickened, and James, ever the diplomat, cleared his throat, giving Sirius a quick, warning look before he turned to Cordelia. “So, how’s your night going? Rosier keeping you entertained?”

Cordelia’s face softened, though there was a hint of something unreadable there. “Evan’s an old friend. I’m fairly certain his mother asked him to ask me, but so far he’s been a perfect gentleman.” She glanced over her shoulder, and Sirius followed her gaze toward Rosier, who was standing near the punch bowl in a group of Slytherins.

She glanced back at Sirius, then at James, her eyes flicking toward the dessert table. “I spotted your dates earlier. They look—“She hesitated, casting a polite smile. “Lively.”

Sirius turned, following her gaze to Maisie and Daisy, who were currently leaning over the chocolate fountain, letting the chocolate stream directly onto their plates, oblivious to the stares around them.

Their bright tangerine dresses were marked with smudges, and one of them was licking a streak of chocolate off her arm, giggling as her sister elbowed her. They looked completely unbothered, perfectly harmless, yet Sirius couldn’t help but feel a foreign surge of embarrassment as he watched them.

“Truly charming,” Cordelia murmured, her tone light but unreadable.

Sirius’s gaze snapped back to her, his irritation flaring up. “What’s that supposed to mean, then?”

Cordelia blinked, once again taken aback by the edge of his tone. “Nothing at all. I was just saying they look like… they’re having fun.”

“Fun, yeah, we get it,” Sirius let out a scoff, his irritation flaring. “Well, sorry our dates don’t meet your polished standards. Not everyone needs your stamp of approval, you know. »

Cordelia’s faint smile faded, her gaze flicking over him with the smallest frown. “That’s not what I said.”

“Yeah?” His voice was colder now. “It’s what you meant, though, isn’t it?” He leaned back, crossing his arms, the faint flush of irritation creeping up his neck. “Maybe it’s not all your taste, but at least they’re having a laugh. Could say the same for you, but I have a feeling that’s not on the schedule with your Slytherin prince.”

Cordelia’s face tightened, and she took a steadying breath. She looked like she was weighing her response, her gaze fixed on him. « You know, not everything needs to turn into a fight, Sirius. » Her tone was calm, but there was a tension there now, an edge of hurt.

James cut in, his voice casual but with a warning note. “Come on, Pads. Maybe we’re all taking this a bit seriously, yeah?”

But Sirius ignored him, his gaze still locked on Cordelia, his expression hardening as he felt his anger simmering. “Why are you even here?” he asked, the words coming out sharper than he intended. “Shouldn’t you be with your date?”

Cordelia’s gaze didn’t waver, her face a study in calm, though a flicker of frustration passed across her eyes. She took a steadying breath before she spoke again, her voice soft but pointed.

« Actually, » she said, « I came to make good on a promise. » She turned to face Peter, her eyes softening and tone shifting. The girl extended her hand toward the shy boy, offering a small yet cheery smile. « I believe you still owe me a dance. »

Sirius blinked, caught off guard as he saw the flush rise on Peter’s face. “Oh, I—are you sure?” Peter stammered, glancing between her hand and her face as if she might change her mind at any second.

“Positive.” Her voice was calm, steady, and with a kind of warm patience that made Peter turn even redder.

James leaned back with a grin as he gave Peter a nudge. “You heard the lady, Wormtail. Don’t leave her hanging.”

Peter gulped, nodding awkwardly as he took her hand. Cordelia’s expression didn’t change, even as he stumbled forward, nearly tripping over his own feet as she led him toward the dance floor, her silver gown trailing behind her like a quiet statement.

——

Surius watched, quietly brooding, as Cordelia guided Peter through a waltz near the center of the floor, holding his hand lightly, her other hand resting delicately on his shoulder. Peter, looking as though he might combust at any moment, was trying his best to follow her lead, but his steps were heavy and clumsy. Twice already, he’d stumbled, narrowly avoiding crashing into a couple dancing beside them.

“Poor Wormtail,” James muttered beside him, trying not to laugh as the stumbled again, nearly stepping on Cordelia’s toes. “She’s got her work cut out for her.”

Sirius couldn’t stop the grin that tugged at his lips. Yes. Poor Pete—The lad could barely string two words together when Cordelia was around, and now here he was, red-faced and mortified, as he bumbled his way through a dance with her.

Cordelia, to her credit, didn’t seem to mind. She counted out the steps softly, her voice calm and reassuring, and each time Peter apologized, she only smiled, saying, “It’s fine, Pete. Just follow my lead.”

“…Two, three, one, two… that’s it, you’re getting it!” Her voice floated over the music, light and encouraging.

Peter, crimson from collar to forehead, stammered, “Sorry—again, sorry—I’m not exactly, uh—”

Sirius knew Peter’s little crush was one-sided, innocent—yet there was something about the scene before him that lade his jaw clench. For the hundredth time that night, he wished he’d chosen a better distraction.

That was until one Evan Rosier appeared in the corner of his eye.

Sirius’s grip on his glass tightened as he watched the towering Slytherin boy stride confidently onto the dance floor, his gaze fixed on Cordelia. There was something smug about the way he moved—that easy, arrogant air that made Sirius’s blood boil.

He came up behind Cordelia, his gaze briefly skimming over Peter’s clumsy efforts with a mild look of disdain.

“Mind if I cut in?,” Evan drawled, his voice loud enough for even Sirius to hear. “Thought I’d come and spare you the bruises.”

Peter went scarlet and practically froze, his steps halting as he took in Evan’s amused expression. Cordelia, undeterred, kept a firm grip on his hand. “It’s quite alright, Evan,” she said evenly. “Peter’s doing wonderfully.”

The boy raised an eyebrow, casting Peter a glance of pity that made Sirius’s blood boil. “Sure he is,” he replied, voice thick with condescension. “But I’m sure a break wouldn’t hurt. Wouldn’t want to see you nursing sore feet for the rest of the night.”

That was it. Before he could stop himself, Sirius rose to his feet and strode over.

“Think you’re a bit out of line, Rosier,” Sirius said, his voice louder than he intended, cutting through the soft music and drawing a few curious glances.

Evan turned, raising an eyebrow as he took in Sirius’s expression. “Is that so?”

“Don’t you have anything better to do than stand around insulting other people?” Sirius spat.

“I meant no harm, » Evan’s smirk only deepened. He tilted his head at Sirius, as though examining something underwhelming. « Merely thought my date might appreciate something a little more her speed.”

Peter ducked his head, visibly retreating, but Cordelia caught his hand, giving him a reassuring smile. “You were lovely,” she told him softly. “Practice makes perfect. »

But Evan’s smile didn’t falter, his gaze fixed on Peter with a detached amusement. “I’d be happy to take over, you know. Save your toes a little trouble.”

“Oh I’m sure you would,” Sirius scowled, “you misera-“

“Sirius,” Cordelia interjected quietly. She cast Sirius a look of subtle exasperation, a look that said he was very close to embarrassing himself, “this really isn’t necessary.”

But Sirius ignored her, his attention fixed on Evan. “Right. And making Pete feel two inches tall—that was necessary, was it?”

“It’s nothing personal, Black. we can’t all be cut out for— society functions,” Evan shrugged, glancing down at Peter, who looked ready to evaporate on the spot, “I’m sure Pettigrew agrees, right?”

The freckled boy, still flushed, mumbled, “It’s all right, Sirius… I don’t mind.”

“Oh, grow a pair, will you? » Sirius snapped at his friend, «Can’t you see he’s being an arse?”

“That’s enough,” Cordelia’s gaze snapped to Sirius, a flash of irritation in her eyes. “Evan was only offering to help.”

Peter, still red-faced, mumbled, “Yes, it-it’s fine Pads, really—”

Evan smirked, clearly pleased. “See?”

Sirius’s gaze shifted back to Cordelia, who looked between the two of them with a faint, exasperated sigh.

He clenched his jaw. “Fine,” he muttered, taking a step back. “But maybe you should rethink who you’re spending your time with, De Valois.”

Cordelia’s gaze hardened, her patience finally wearing thin. “And maybe you should rethink sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

After a beat, she turned back to Peter, her expression softening, and placed a hand on his shoulder, her voice gentle. “Shall we, Pete?”

Peter, still flustered, looked up at her and then back at Evan, hesitating. “Uh, it’s—I-I think I’ll sit this one out.”

Cordelia paused, a flicker of disappointment crossing her face, but she nodded, letting her hand drop.

Evan stepped forward smoothly, extending his arm toward her with a polite nod. “May I?”

For a moment, she hesitated, her gaze flicking back to Sirius, but whatever she saw in his expression seemed to settle her decision. With a faint sigh, she took Evan’s arm, her face smoothing into a composed mask as they stepped back onto the dance floor.

Peter gave a weak laugh, scuffing his foot against the floor. “You… didn’t have to do that, you know.”

But Sirius just shook his head, biting back his frustration. “Yeah,” he sighed, “I know.”

—

Frustrated and restless, Sirius slipped outside, his footsteps muffled against the cool flagstones as he crossed the courtyard and ducked into the shadows beneath one of the stone arches. The chill of the night air hit him, grounding and refreshing, a stark relief from the crowded, stifling heat of the Great Hall. He fished a cigarette from his pocket, lit it with a flick of his wand, and took a long, slow drag, letting the smoke ease the tightness in his chest.

He exhaled, watching the smoke dissipate into the night, wishing he could do the same with the restlessness twisting inside him. But his thoughts kept circling back to Cordelia, her hand resting on Evan’s arm, her calm dismissal of him—and of course, the infuriating way Rosier had looked down his nose at Peter, and at him.

He shook his head, annoyed at himself for caring at all, and was about to take another drag when voices floated through the night. He froze, pressing himself further into the shadows.

“Have you seen the Black boy tonight?” one voice asked, slightly shrill, with the clipped vowels of his History of Magic professor.

“What about him?” another voice chimed in, dry and nasal. Professor Greaves from Arithmancy, no doubt. Sirius could practically see the disapproving frown.

“All in red,” another voice sniffed, a chuckle bubbling under her words. “Quite the statement. Though I can’t say I’m surprised. Always has to make his mark, doesn’t he?”

Sirius felt his jaw tighten, his fingers curling around the cigarette as he fought the urge to step out and say something. Instead, he held his breath, listening.

The third voice joined in, a low, bemused laugh. “I’m fairly certain I saw Regulus earlier, and he wasn’t-“

“No, no, not Regulus,” the second professor cut in with a scoff. “The other one.”

“The other one?” Crone repeated, sounding vaguely bewildered.

“Why, yes. Sirius, the eldest,” the Ancient Runes professor explained patiently.

Crone gave a skeptical sniff. “Regulus has an older brother? I could’ve sworn he was an only child.”

“Oh, there’s another one, all right,” another one said, amusement giving way to a hint of pity. “Rather infamous, if you keep your ears open.”

There was a pause before there was a soft chuckle. “You’re sure? I certainly haven’t seen him in my class.”

“Not surprising,” Greaves said with a faint, dry sniff. “I don’t think he’s had the ambition to take Arithmancy.”

Sirius drew hard on his cigarette, the taste of smoke and irritation sharp in his mouth.

“Not that it would make much difference,” another continued lightly, as if commenting on the weather. “I believe I was meant to teach him last term, but… Well, let’s just say he never darkened my classroom’s doorstep more than once or twice.”

“Always up to no good, so I’ve heard,” Greaves muttered, and Sirius could almost picture his frown. “If it were any other student, they’d have been expelled by now.”

“And Horace lets it slide?”

“Well, it’s not exactly his purview, is it?” One said dryly. “The boy’s in Gryffindor.”

Another pause, filled with the faint rustling of robes. “Gryffindor,” Crone echoed, a note of faint astonishment creeping into his voice. “You don’t say.”

“Oh, yes,” one said, her voice touched with something close to fond exasperation. “You should’ve been there the night he was sorted. We thought there might be a riot.”

A chuckle ran through the group.

“A scandalous debut, I see.”

“You can say it only set the tone,” Runes added, voice light. “Isn’t the boy always in detention? »

One nodded, « Minerva practically has a table in her office reserved for him. »

“Merlin, yes,” Greaves said, realization dawning. “Giving her grey hair, I’ve no doubt.”

Sirius’s grip tightened on his cigarette, the irritation giving way to something heavier, something that ached.

“Well, he’s a funny lad,” the third interrupted, more amused than critical. “But funny can only take you so far, can’t it?”

“Merlin,” Crone said, sighing. “In my day, a Black would never earn such a reputation.”

“Yes, quite the path breaker, young Sirius”

“And not the only thing he breaks, from what I hear.”

“Rules, Noses, wands—“

“—Hearts” one giggled.

“A Black Hooligan. Now we’ve truly seen in all!”

A pause settled over them, and Sirius could almost feel the words coming before they spoke them.

“Well,” Greaves said quietly, a hint of resignation in his voice. “There’s always Regulus.”

“Yes,” Crone replied, their voice softening with something that almost sounded like relief, “thank Godric for Regulus.”

They moved away, their voices fading into the night, but the words lingered, heavy and raw.

Sirius stayed still for a moment, leaning back against the cold stone. The cigarette had burned down to his fingertips, leaving a faint sting against his skin, but he hardly noticed. With a sharp exhale, he flicked the last of the cigarette away, the embers scattering in the darkness.

—

Sirius strode back into the Great Hall, his head still ringing with the professors’ words. Their laughter echoed in his ears, bitter and clinging. Across the hall, the orchestra had begun tuning for the next set, a low hum that rose into a spirited, precise melody—the Witch’s Reel, an old, formal dance that he was all to familiar with, but hated beyond measure.

The crowd gathered in anticipation.

As the students lined up on the dance floor, he spotted Evan and Cordelia among them, her silver gown catching the light as she took her place across from Rosier, the picture of poise. Evan whispered something in her ear, earning a faint, polite smile, and for some reason, it set Sirius’s teeth on edge.

Without a second thought, he grabbed his date’s hand and guided her toward the lineup.

Ignoring the muttered complaints and pointed glares, he maneuvered them until he stood directly across from Cordelia and Evan, his date teetering beside him, wide-eyed and already a bit flushed.

“Better get ready, love,” he muttered, sending her a lopsided grin. She giggled, smoothing down her frilly dress with a proud little smile, looking to her twin across the room who gave her a cheerful thumbs-up.

The orchestra’s tempo picked up, signaling the dancers to bow.

With a grand, sweeping bow, Sirius dropped his gaze and took Maisie’s hand, her grip surprisingly firm as she curtseyed clumsily.

They moved in time with the music, each step precise, punctuated by turns that led them down the line. Every few steps, the couples shifted, new pairs forming as they spun into the next part of the reel.

As the partners switched, Sirius found himself face-to-face with Cordelia. She glanced up, her face unreadable but her gaze steady as they moved through the first steps, hands brushing only briefly. “Enjoying yourself?” she murmured.

“Immensely,” he drawled, arching an eyebrow as he spun her outward, the lace of her gown brushing his arm as she turned back to face him. “I can’t believe I almost missed this.”

Cordelia held her posture with perfect elegance, her voice soft but edged. “Well, the night is still young. Plenty of time for you to make a spectacle of yourself. »

They circled, each movement deliberate, shifting back into the rhythm. She spun, and he took her hand to guide her back in, their eyes meeting, the tension crackling between them.

“And you, Duchess?” he asked, voice low, a taunting glint in his eye. “Making the most of your evening with Rosier?”

Cordelia’s lips pressed into a thin line. “As a matter of fact, I am,” she said evenly, letting her hand slip from his as they turned, partners shifting again.

Sirius found himself paired with Dorcas, who raised an exasperated eyebrow as they began their steps. « Could you at least try to act like you’ve got some manners? » she murmured, glancing pointedly at Cordelia.

“Manners?” He scoffed, matching her step for step. “I arrived on time tonight, didn’t I? More than I can say for de Valois.”

Dorcas narrowed her eyes. “She was in the infirmary with Remus, helping him catch up on his classes. Not that it’s any of your business.”

Sirius stumbled slightly, caught off guard, but recovered quickly, his jaw tight as he returned to his spot. The words landed harder than he expected, and he struggled to maintain his easy smirk as Dorcas moved away with one last spin.

Sirius turned to his next partner, only half-listening as his date launched into a loud, giggly commentary on their clumsy footwork. He barely registered her words, his gaze fixed on the opposite side of the floor where Cordelia moved with infuriating grace, her focus back on Evan,

He didn’t get her.

She called Lily a friend, yet attended the ball on the arm of a blood purist who wouldn’t think twice before having her thrown her out of Hogwarts.

She’d seemed more than happy to dance with Peter, but had promptly let Evan walk all over him.

She helped Moony with his recovery, but when it came to actually defending him in front of other students, she remained silent.

She called him a friend and yet—

He was pulled from his thoughts as the line shifted, this time landing him across from Rosier. Evan’s expression was cold, his eyes hard as he held Sirius’s gaze.

“Glorious evening, is it not?” Sirius said, voice dripping with mockery.

« Yes, » Evan replied coolly, eyes flicking over him with thinly veiled disdain, «It was. »

The line shifted, and Sirius once again found himself face-to-face with Cordelia. There was a flicker of tension in her eyes, a warning, when he offered a mocking bow, eyes gleaming with mischief.

“Don’t look so dour, de Valois,” he drawled, taking her hand and guiding her into the next step with surprising precision. “I’m only here to keep things interesting.”

“Is that what you’re doing?” Cordelia arched a brow as they spun. “And I suppose that’s how you justify the little scene you pulled earlier?» She shook her head, «Peter must be mortified. »

Sirius’s smirk faltered, though he masked it quickly. “I was looking out for him.”

She held his gaze, her eyes sharper than before. “Please. You use him as a punchline every chance you get. Don’t start pretending you care.”

They spun, switching directions again, but Sirius’s eyes stayed locked on hers. “Maybe I care more than you think.”

Cordelia’s expression softened, just for a fraction of a second, before she hardened it again. “You might want to start showing it in ways that doesn’t leave your friends wounded» Her voice was barely above a whisper. « Or you’ll find yourself dancing alone. »

Before Sirius could say a word. The line shifted again and Cordelia returned to Evan, who was now watching Sirius with open disdain.

“Why do you even bother with him?” Evan muttered loud enough for Sirius to hear as he pulled her closer.

Cordelia’s response was quiet, something Sirius couldn’t quite hear, but the look on her face was one of steely resolve.

By the time the final note rang out, the room was buzzing with energy, everyone breathless and flushed. But as Sirius met Cordelia’s gaze one last time, there was no mistaking the unspoken challenge in his eyes—the reckless invitation that simmered just beneath the surface.

Cordelia held his gaze, her chin lifting, a hint of defiance in her own expression. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

——

The night had unraveled into a blur of spinning lights and blaring music, each cup of spiked punch Sirius downed stoking the simmering irritation in his chest. After the Witch’s Reel, he’d stalked back to his date—Maisie, Daisy, whatever her name was—plastering on a grin that barely masked the sting of bruised pride, his mind lingering bitterly on Cordelia’s parting words.

« Come on, love, » he announced, grabbing her hand before she could protest. He dragged her onto the floor with a loud, wild enthusiasm that bordered on desperate. « Let’s give’em a show. »

« ’Bout time! » she slurred, giving him a bright, tipsy grin, her eyes wide with anticipation as the tangerine frills of her dress bounced with each step. Sirius let out a reckless laugh, throwing himself into a messy rock step that immediately drew stares from around the room. But he didn’t care. He spun her with an unhinged abandon, each twirl harder than the last until she stumbled, nearly toppling over as she clung to his shoulder, giggling.

In one particularly wild spin, her skirt flared up, flashing her knickers to a chorus of gasps and giggles. The girl didn’t seem to mind, grinning as she drank up the attention, while Sirius threw his head back with a bark of laughter just shy of a sneer, reveling in the scene they were making.

His gaze drifted over the crowd, searching, and found Cordelia chatting off to the side with Lily and Marlene. She was the only person not glancing his way, her expression serene, unbothered. Something sharp twisted in his chest at the sight.

Sirius’s eyes flickered over to one table, where a few Slytherins were chatting with Rosier, clearly basking in their own importance. An idea struck him, and he leaned over to James with a mischievous grin. “Fancy a little excitement, Prongs? Think our mates in green are a bit too comfortable.”

James, who was trying as best he could to hold a conversation with his own date, shook his head, sighing. “Not tonight, Pads. I’m tired.”

Sirius’s grin weakened. « Suit yourself,” he muttered, then slipped his wand out, muttering a quick charm that left the contents of their goblets fizzing and bubbling in ominous green smoke. Satisfied with the Slytherins’ bewildered looks, he turned back to his date.

“So, what do you say we get out of here?” he shouted over the music, leaning in with a cocky grin. “Maybe we can top last year.”

Her smile froze, her expression shifting from confusion to irritation. “What are you on about?”

Sirius gave her a lazy, lopsided grin, too drunk to catch the warning in her tone. “Oh, come on, love. Don’t bruise my ego. We both know how it went.”

Her face grew stony, the tipsy flush fading as her eyes narrowed. “I don’t, actually.”

But he barely registered the shift in her tone. “Please,” he drawled, his words slurring as he leaned closer. “Practically broke a desk, didn’t we?”

Her face suddenly twisted in fury, her voice like ice. “You’ve got the wrong sister, you absolute git.”

Sirius blinked, thrown, but before he could recover, he let out a scoff. “My bad.» He leaning closer, «Although—there’s no need for the prudish act. You two aren’t exactly known for being— hard to win over, yeah?”

The music seemed to drop out, leaving a sharp silence in its wake. Without a word, she picked up her drink, her face flushed with fury, and threw it directly into his face.

The cold punch hit him like a slap, the tangy liquid dripping down his hair and splattering across his suit. Blinking in shock, he staggered back, wiping his eyes as she fixed him with a glare that could have frozen the Black Lake. « What the fuck? » he muttered.

“Enjoy the rest of your night alone, Black,” she hissed, her voice cold and venomous. With one final, scathing look, she turned on her heel and stormed away, grabbing her sister’s arm and leaving him drenched, alone, in the middle of the dance floor.

Sirius stood there, swaying slightly, feeling the eyes of the room on him. He could sense the stares, the whispers, rippling through the crowd. With a careless shrug, he wiped his face with his sleeve, then threw the room a reckless grin, his voice slurred and loud.

“What?” he called, laughing despite himself. “Can’t a bloke enjoy his own party?”

But even as he forced the laugh, he felt a dull, sinking weight settle in his chest, the lingering taste of punch sharp on his tongue, as the night swirled on around him.

——

Sirius stumbled over to the refreshment station, squinting as he patted around for a napkin to wipe his face, his fingers brushing over the rims of empty glasses and sticky patches of spilled juice. No napkins, nothing but his own smeared reflection in the brass of the tabletop.

Muttering to himself, he swiped a hand over his face, smearing the sticky trails across his cheek, then, with a slurred smirk, began licking his own lips, catching the faint sting of whatever they’d spiked the punch with.

He was mid-lick, tasting the firewhiskey on his own skin, when he felt a gentle nudge at his shoulder. Slowly, a delicate, pale hand came into view, holding out a crisp, immaculate pocket square embroidered with a three letters he knew toi well.

Sirius didn’t need to look up to know who it belonged to. The sight of his brother’s initials brought a smirk to his face as he waved off the offered handkerchief, still licking stray drops from his lips. “Think I’ve got a good two sickles’ worth of firewhiskey on me,” he slurred, his voice just loud enough to carry. “Can’t let it go to waste.”

Regulus lowered the pocket square, his mouth pressed in a faint, unreadable line. “Since when are you worried about money?” he asked softly, a thread of disbelief—or disappointment—woven through his tone.

Sirius laughed, a short, bitter sound, finally meeting his brother’s gaze. Regulus was, of course, dressed in the traditional black robes their mother had surely handpicked, tailored perfectly to fit. The crest of the Black family was embroidered discreetly on his shoulder, every detail as flawless as their mother would demand. And there, pinned neatly at his collar, was the Black family brooch, the dark silver and onyx heirloom that had, for as long as he could remember been meant for Sirius to inherit.

Sirius’s eyes lingered on the brooch, a sharp pang slicing through his drunken haze before he forced his grin back into place. “Nice robes,” he drawled, shrugging with exaggerated nonchalance. “I’m afraid mine must’ve gotten lost in the post. Lucky I had this old thing lying around.” He gestured down to his garish red suit.

Regulus’s gaze flicked over him, unreadable, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of something—disdain, perhaps, or worry. “Lucky,” he murmured, his voice flat.

Sirius forced a grin, letting his gaze drop again to the brooch. “And sporting the family jewels, I see,” he sneered. “Bit much, don’t you think?”

Regulus’s hand went instinctively to the brooch, his fingers grazing over it as if he were only just aware of its weight. “Mother sent it,” he replied, his voice barely more than a murmur. There was a flicker of discomfort in his eyes, but he held Sirius’s gaze.

“Good.” Sirius’s voice came out sharper than he intended, and he forced a lazy smirk to soften it. “Not like I wanted the bloody thing anyway.”

Regulus’s expression didn’t change, though a faint line creased his brow.

« We’re going home tomorrow, » Regulus finally said, his voice neutral.

Sirius swallowed, the familiar dread clawing up his throat. « Someone’s learned how to read a calendar, » he mocked, though the words landed hollowly.

A flicker of something unspeakable passed between them, an acknowledgment neither of them dared give voice to.

Home.

Regulus’s gaze softened, barely, his expression unreadable but his tone low, edged with a caution he didn’t dare make explicit. « You know, » he murmured, « maybe you should’ve skipped tonight. »

Sirius scoffed, rolling his eyes, though he knew deep down his brother was right.

He’d be surprised if they hadn’t received yet another owl by now. Or some bloody oil painting depicting the scene. He could picture their expression already. He didn’t know which one would push them over the edge. The ghastly red suit, the tasteless half-blood on his arm, the sloppy dancing, chain-smoking, heavy-drinking. They’d have a wide selection to choose from, as per usual. And if all of that weren’t enough, the glass of punch thrown in his face in the middle if the dance floor was sure to take the cake.

Sirius let out a short, humorless laugh, tipping his chin up. « What, and miss the party of the year? Not my style, » he shook his head, feeling his coat pockets for his cigarette case.

Regulus’s expression barely changed, though his jaw tightened. « Maybe, » he started quietly, « you could consider changing your style. »

« And maybe, » Sirius giggled as he brought the cigarette to his lips, lighting it with the tip of his wand, « I could set myself on fire. » He smirked, exhaling smoke in a lazy swirl. « How’s that? »

Regulus’s hand shot forward, snatching the cigarette from Sirius’s mouth. Before Sirius could react, Regulus stubbed it out in a half-empty glass on the bar, the cigarette fizzing in the dregs of punch and firewhiskey.

“Oh, what’s the matter now, little brother?” Sirius taunted, with a pout, “Have I embarrassed you?”

Regulus’s face hardened, his expression carefully guarded as he met Sirius’s eyes. “No,” he replied, his voice calm, almost resigned. “I was only thinking—things might be easier if you’d only try to behave, just once.”

Sirius’s grin faltered, something dark and resentful flashing in his eyes. “Behave?” He took a step back, lifting his glass in a mocking toast. “Well, here’s to behaving, then.” He raised his voice, spreading his arms wide with a derisive smirk, drawing a few curious glances. “And thank Godric for Regulus, ladies and gentlemen!” He turned back to Regulus, lowering his voice to a bitter mutter. “A Black through and through.”

Regulus’s expression remained steady, impassive, though his gaze was heavy, weary, a strange resignation settling in his eyes. For a moment, he looked as if he might say something more, but instead, he simply nodded, his voice quiet, almost soft. “Someone has to be. »

With that, he turned, slipping back into the crowd, leaving Sirius with the quiet, heavy ache of everything that remained unsaid.

——

Sirius stood slouched at the refreshment table, pouring himself another cup of punch and downing it in one swift motion, the alcohol stinging his throat as he refilled the goblet with careless abandon. He barely felt the warmth spreading through him now—just enough to keep the edges blurred.

“Still enjoying yourself?” a voice rang out over his shoulder.

He glanced up, his hand paused mid-pour. Cordelia stood before him, her tone deceptively light, her expression anything but.

Sirius raised his goblet in a mock toast, a lazy, crooked smirk stretching across his face. “More than I expected, actually.” He gestured to the punch bowl with a flourish, extending the ladle toward her with exaggerated politeness. “Care for a drink?”

Cordelia’s eyes flicked to the bowl, her lips pressing into a thin, disapproving line. “I can smell it from here. » She lifted a brow, arms crossed. “Spiking the punch bowl? Really? That’s beneath you.”

He shrugged, his face unbothered, almost bored. “Bit of pizzazz never hurt anyone,” he drawled. “It’s a party, after all.”

« There are third-years here,” she shot back, her voice steely. “Students who don’t know any better. And you think it’s funny.”

Sirius barked out a laugh, the sound ringing hollow and defiant in the dim light. “Yeah, I do. Lighten up, Duchess. Maybe loosen the stick.”

« You’re drunk,” she observed, her voice low, wary.

“Not drunk enough,” he retorted, raising the cup to his lips and pausing just long enough for the punch to tip precariously over the rim.

Cordelia’s gaze hardened as she took him in—rumpled, glassy-eyed, his smirk sloppy and fading, like he was losing grip on the mask he wore. “You’re a mess you know that?,” she muttered.

“And you’re a buzzkill.” He scoffed at the hurt look in her eyes. « I mean for Godric’s sake isn’t that the whole point of tonight? To forget about all the crap for a while? Or is that too much to fucking ask for? »

Cordelia’s eyes darkened, « I don’t know, you tell me. How’s that working for you so far? »

Sirius blinked, the question catching him off guard. Something twisted in his chest—a spark of discomfort, of anger, as her words seeped past his defenses.

Across the room, James glanced over, sensing the tension. “Leave it, Cord,” he called, his voice light. “Let him have his fun.”

But Cordelia didn’t back down. She rarely did. “Is this fun, Sirius?” she pressed, her voice quiet but cutting, each word sharp enough to slice through his bravado. “Getting so drunk you can’t see straight? Picking fights just to feel something?”

His jaw clenched, his hand tightening around the cup. “I’m not the one picking a fight, here.”

“Then what are you doing?”

She shook her head, when he didn’t reply, a trace of frustration in her gaze. “See, this—this is exactly why—” She stopped herself, biting her lip as though holding back a truth she didn’t want to give voice to.

“Why what?” Sirius challenged, stepping even closer, his heart pounding hard against his chest. “Go on. Say it.”

Cordelia’s eyes flashed, and for a split second, her mask slipped. “Why people don’t take you seriously.”

Sirius blinked, momentarily thrown.

“You’re not a child anymore, Sirius. You can’t keep acting like the rules don’t apply to you.”

He forced a laugh, though it sounded hollow even to his own ears. “And why do you care?”

She exhaled sharply, crossing her arms, her silver gown shimmering in the low light, her jaw tight with frustration. “Because you’re not helping yourself by acting out like this, » she stated, voice soft but steely. “What are you hoping for—that they’ll suddenly change their minds?”

Sirius’s smirk faltered. He laughed, a harsh, hollow sound that echoed in the tense silence between them. “Change their minds?” He leaned forward, his gaze sharp, challenging. “You think I care what they think?”

Cordelia’s eyes softened, just for a moment, and she dropped her voice, her tone measured. “I saw you with Regulus just now.”

His smirk faltered, his jaw tightening. “And?”

“You didn’t look like someone who doesn’t care.”

Sirius’s eyes darkened, his grip tightening on the cup as he raised it toward his lips, eager for another sip to drown the bitter taste left by her words. “You don’t know shit,” he muttered, lifting the cup to his mouth.

Cordelia’s hand shot out, her fingers wrapping around the goblet before he could drink, her grip surprisingly firm. “You’ve had enough.”

« Let go, » he said, his voice low, his fingers clinging to the cup, refusing to release it as they locked eyes, a silent standoff between them.

“Or what?” she snapped, her eyes flashing as she tugged at the goblet, her tone edged with impatience. “You’ll make an even bigger fool of yourself?”

«You know what? I just might,” he replied, his smirk returning, daring her to push him further.

« Sirius, for once in your life, could you just—” Her voice softened, almost pleading as she reached for the goblet again, her fingers brushing against his as she tried to pull it from his grasp. “Just give it to me. Please.”

They struggled for a brief moment, his grip tightening, her resolve hardening, as the cup teetered precariously between them. In the tussle, Sirius’s balance shifted, his feet slipping on spilled punch. He reached out, trying to steady himself on the edge of the table, but his hand landed on the rim of the punch bowl instead.

For a breathless second—a gasp—time seemed to freeze. The bowl wobbled, caught in a precarious balance between their hands.

Then, with a sickening lurch, it tipped forward, the contents spilling out in a crimson wave.

It hit Cordelia head-on, the bright liquid soaking into her silver gown, spreading like a sea of blood across her figure.

A hush fell over the hall. The music, the laughter—all of it died in an instant, leaving a heavy silence as every eye turned toward the scene unfolding at the refreshment station. The soft drip of punch hitting the floor was the only sound in the room.

Cordelia stood there, motionless, her eyes wide with shock as she stared down at the red stain spreading across her dress. Her breaths came in slow, controlled gasps, her expression a mask of calm that did little to hide the rage simmering beneath.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Sirius, too stunned and, frankly, too drunk to process the full weight of what had happened, simply stared, open-mouthed.

Slowly, Cordelia lifted her head, her gaze burning as she fixed him with a look that made his stomach twist.

“You,” she growled, jabbing a finger at his chest, heavy with barely restrained rage.

Sirius swallowed, but the words he might have said caught in his throat, his bravado slipping under the weight of her glare. He squinted, bracing himself for the gathering storm.

Only, Cordelia suddenly stopped herself, glancing around at the crowd of eyes watching her, as if realizing just how many people were witness to this moment. Her hand dropped, the anger in her gaze flickering into something far colder. She took a step back, her expression unreadable as she fought to compose herself, blinking back the tears that threatened to break free.

With a single, determined sigh, she turned on her heels, pushing through the crowd as she stormed towards the exit.

The silence hung thick in the air, broken only by Evan’s pompous as he stepped up beside him. “Well played, Black,” he drawled. “Real class act.” He cast Sirius a mocking glance before slipping into the crowd, following Cordelia’s path.

Before Sirius could react, Dorcas appeared at his side, eyes darting between the punch stains and his damp suit. “What on earth happened?” she asked, looking at him with a mix of curiosity and concern.

Sirius opened his mouth to answer, but a new voice cut through the din—cold and stern, echoing across the hall. « Wonderful question Miss Meadowes. »

Sirius turned to see Professor Greaves looming near the doorway, arms crossed and a look of displeasure etched into every line of his face. « I, too, would like to know what exactly is going on here. » The professor’s gaze locked onto Sirius, unyielding. “Care to explain yourself, Mr. Black?”

The room fell utterly silent, students staring, a few muffling nervous laughs behind their hands. Sirius felt a surge of defiance flare up, his gaze narrowing, every instinct telling him to push back. But he didn’t answer. Instead, he turned sharply, shoving past a few lingering onlookers as he headed toward the doors.

“Mr. Black!” Greaves’s voice boomed behind him. “Get back here!”

Ignoring him, Sirius quickened his pace, pushing open the heavy doors and stepping out into the cool corridor. He could see Rosier’s figure up ahead, heading towards the Astronomy Tower—no doubt to offer Cordelia some chivalrous comfort.

Moron, Sirius thought, changing direction. He had a hunch where she’d actually go. He turned left, taking the stairs two at a time, as he headed toward the second-floor girls’ lavatory.

She had essentially claimed it as her own, private restroom, ever since she’d realized everyone else avoided it like the plague. Sirius had spotted her slipping in and out of there a few times, back when it was just another habit of hers that made him roll his eyes. Trust Cordelia de Valois to prefer a toilet bowl ghost over having to queue up for the mirror with the other girls.

Reaching the door, he hesitated only a moment, then opened it. The door hadn’t even clicked shut when he heard her heels echo sharply against the tiled floor and the sound if the water running.

Sirius walked in quietly, leaning against the tiled wall, his arms crossed.

Cordelia finally glanced up at him in the mirror, her lips set in a tight line as she ran a wet handkerchief over her ruined gown, streaks of red punch staining the delicate silver fabric like fresh blood. Her reflection was all angles—tense, a figure poised at the edge of restraint.

“You really don’t know when to quit, do you?” Her voice was taut, each word clipped as if she were biting them back.

He shrugged, an infuriatingly casual tilt of his head as he offered a tentative smirk. “Come on, lighten up. It was an accident.

Her laugh was dry, humorless. “An accident? Of course it was. Just like everything you do—‘an accident.’”

Sirius scoffed, rolling his eyes as if she were overreacting. “What, you’re going to pretend this wasn’t blown out of proportion? It’s a bit of spilled punch, not the end of the world.”

«Please leave. » she muttered, running the now stained handkerchief under water.

“I’ll pay for the bloody dress if that’s what’s got you knickers in a twist.”

At that, Cordelia stopped fussing with her gown, turning fully to face him. « What do you want, Sirius? » Her voice dropped, cold and unyielding. “What more could you possibly want from me?”

The corner of his mouth curled, his gaze narrowing, glinting with something reckless. “Nothing. Just—didn’t think you’d want to end the evening on a sour note.”

She shook her head, letting out a sharp breath. A sour note. “Oh, please,” she said, her tone barely restrained. “You’ve been itching to ruin this night for me since before it even started.”

“Uh—how’s the ego?” he replied with a smirk, an eyebrow raised in mock innocence.

Her eyes flashed, but her voice remained low, icy. “Well, you got what you wanted.”

“And what’s that?” His voice was quiet now, controlled, the smirk lingering, a mask to whatever churned beneath.

“Don’t play dumb,” she snapped, her voice gaining a dangerous edge. “It’s puerile, even for you.”

“Merlin, here we go,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. “Look, if it’s about Rosier, you could’ve just—“

“This isn’t about Evan,” she interrupted, her tone harsh. She stepped closer, her chin raised, her gaze steady and searing. “This is about you and your compulsive need to destroy everything you touch. It’s about you acting like the whole world exists just so you can tear it apart. You push and you provoke everyone around you, and when it backfires, you just— laugh it off. Like nothing matters.”

“Nothing does matter,” he replied, his voice cool, distant. “Certainly not the opinion of those idiots out there.”

“You say that, as though you’re any better than them,” she countered, her tone sharpening, her words hitting like thrown knives. “Newsflash, Sirius, from where I stand you don’t have half the decency of—.”

“Decency?” His laugh was sharp, brittle, his eyes narrowing. “I’ve seen your perfect Rosier and his ‘decency’ up close. There’s nothing real about him—nothing real about any of them.”

“Merlin, are you hearing yourself?” Her voice was laced with disdain. “You’re fighting a one-sided battle and you don’t even realise it. Not everyone is watching, hanging onto your every move. Most of us just wish you’d grow up.”

He tilted his head, a dark smile flickering on his lips. “So that’s it, then? I’m just some insufferable, petulant attention-seeker?” His tone dropped, venomous, his gaze piercing. “I suppose that would make sense coming from you, what with your perfect family, perfect record, always doing everything by the book.” He leaned closer, his voice a low, dangerous murmur. “Tell me, how’s it feel to be the most well-behaved doll in the box?”

Her expression didn’t falter, but he saw it—the tightness in her jaw, the barely perceptible twitch in her eyes. Her hands curled into fists, her shoulders squared.

“You think you’re so clever,” she whispered, her voice raw, each word deliberate and biting. “Pushing everyone away before they can look too closely. You don’t fool me one bit. You’re just scared that if anyone does, they’ll see exactly what you are—nothing but a coward.”

“Coward?” he echoed, his voice dropping to a chilling, deadly whisper. His eyes glinted with something vicious, reckless, the kind of look that meant he was holding nothing back. “I’m not the one letting my family pull the strings every second of the day.”

“Aren’t you, though?” she snapped, stepping closer, her voice cold and razor-sharp. “Face it, Sirius. If anything, you’re no more than the other side of the same bloody coin—rebelling just for the sake of proving them right. It’s transparent and, quite frankly, pathetic.”

He let out a low, dangerous laugh, the sound reverberating in the quiet space.

“Guess I’m a lost cause, then.” He sneered, his tone laced with scorn, before falling down to hus knees, “Oh, do forgive me, then, Saint Cordelia, please,” he drawled, laying a hand over his heart, “I’ve been a very bad boy, haven’t I? Won’t you please take mercy on that black soul of mine and spare me a prayer?”

“Don’t mock me, Sirius,” she warned, her voice taut, though her hand trembled as she clenched it by her side.

“Or what?” He jumped back to his feet. His voice was barely above a whisper, cutting and venomous as he leaned in, his face inches from hers, a mocking gleam in his eyes. “What’ll you do, hmm? Finally drop the act and show how cold you really are?” He tilted his head, his expression dark and unhinged, a mirthless smile stretching his lips. “Will you punish me, mummy? Curse me, leave me bleeding on the tile?”

He was close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him, and smell the stench of alcohol in his breath. Her chest heaved, breath coming quicker as she stared at him, a mix of fury and something she couldn’t name flickering in her eyes, but she couldn’t force a single word past her lips.

Sirius only watched her, his voice dropping, his tone venomous, mocking. “Of course not,” he said, a satisfied smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Because that would require an ounce of sincerity—and we both know you don’t have a fucking scrap of it.”

Her eyes hardened, a flicker of something dangerous flaring behind them. “Are you finished?” She moved to push past him.

He blocked her, laughing, hollow and sharp. “What, did I hit a nerve? Look at you, de Valois,” he taunted, his tone thick with mockery, “the perfect daughter, the pureblood princess—untouchable. Must be nice up there, on your little pedestal, sheltered from the dark.”

“That’s enough,” she warned, her voice low, a tremor in her words.

But he didn’t listen. He leaned closer, a twisted grin on his face. “Does it scare you?” He taunted, shaking his head, “You think you know so much. You haven’t got a fucking clue what they’re like.”

Her voice was taut, clipped. “I know enough. Now let me through.”

Sirius scoffed, his eyes gleaming with defiance, arms crossed. “So that’s it? You’re just tired of me now? Done with the show? Wish I’d disappear?” He laughed, bitterly, a taunt on his lips. He didn’t even notice she was on the verge of unravelling. “Maybe you’re right. Better yet, maybe I should never have been born at all—join the queue for that wish, Duchess. You’ll fit just fine right behind my paren—”

“Well, I can’t say I blame them!” she finally snapped, her voice cutting through his words like a blade. His smirk instantly vanished, but she wasn’t finished, words spewing out like venom.

“Maybe your family wouldn’t hate you so much if you weren’t so hell-bent on proving just how worthless you are.” She shouted, her voice raw as she held his stunned gaze with her own teary eyes. “But you can’t help it, can you? And that’s exactly why they’ll keep hurting you, and why no one—no one—will lift a finger to stop them. Congratulations on showing everyone you’re not worth saving.”

Her words settled in the silence, colder than any look she could give, and Sirius just stared, stunned, the cruelty sinking into every hollow place he’d tried to bury.

Cordelia’s face, too, had gone pale, and he could see the realization of what she’d said sinking in, her own expression flickering with regret before she forced it away.

He opened his mouth, some retort rising to his lips, but it died there, unspoken. He didn’t want her to know how much it hurt, how true her words felt. Instead, he took a step back, his gaze never leaving hers as he forced himself to laugh—a hollow, breathy sound that barely made a dent in the silence between them.

“Right,” he whispered finally, voice barely audible. “Thanks for clearing that up.”

Cordelia’s throat tightened, the weight of her words crashing down on her. She’d gone too far, pushed past the boundary of what was forgivable, and she knew it. But before she could say anything, before she could find the words to take it back, Sirius turned and walked away, his shoulders tense, his footsteps echoing down the empty corridor.

—

Hope you liked it! Do send me all the feedback. I want it all. And tell me if you’re interested in reading more!

[thekillerblogofkillers]

John Wayne Gacy (1942-1994) PART TWO

In August 1971 with financial help from his mother, Gacy bought a house in Norwood Park Township in Cook County. 8213 West Summerdale Avenue is where Gacy lived until he was arrested in December 1978 and where all of his known murders were committed. In August 1971, not long after Gacy moved into the house with his mother, he got engaged to Carole Hoff. Hoff, a divorcee with 2 young daughters, had briefly dated Gacy in high school and was a friend of his younger sister. She moved into the home soon after the engagement was announced and Gacy’s mother moved out just before the couple’s wedding, which was on July 1, 1972. A week before the wedding, on June 22, Gacy was arrested and charged with aggravated battery and reckless conduct. The arrest was in response to a complaint filed by teenage boy Jackie Dee, who told police that Gacy, who was impersonating a police officer, flashed a sheriff’s badge, and lured him into his car, forcing him to perform oral sex. The charges were later dropped after Dee tried to blackmail Gacy into paying money in exchange for dropping the charges.

After Gacy married Carole Hoff, his new wife and 2 stepdaughters moved into the Summerdale Avenue house. Gacy quit his job as a cook and started his own construction business, PDM Contractors (PDM meaning Painting, Decorating, and Maintenance). The business started with minor repair work, such as sign-writing, pouring concrete and redecorating, later expanding to include projects such as interior design, remodelling, installation, assembly and landscaping. By 1978 the annual turnover of the business was over $200,000. In 1973 Gacy and a teenage employee of PDM Contractors went to Florida to view some property that Gacy had bought. When the two were alone in a hotel room, Gacy raped the youth and as a result the youth refused to stay in the room and instead slept on the beach. When they returned to Chicago the employee drove to Gacy’s house and beat him. Gacy’s mother-in-law stopped the youth from attacking him further and he drove away. Gacy told his wife that this attack was because he had refused to pay the youth for poor quality work. Gacy’s neighbours in Norwood Park considered him to be gregarious and helpful – he was active in the community and hosted annual summer parties beginning in 1974. He became active in Democratic Party politics, offering the labour services of his PDM employees free of charge and was rewarded for his community services by being appointed to serve on the Norwood Park Township street lighting committed, subsequently earning the title of precinct captain. In 1975 Gacy was director of Chicago’s annual Polish Constitution Day Parade (Gacy had Polish ancestry) and supervised the event from 1975 to 1978. Due to his work with the parade, Gacy met and was photographed with First Lady Rosalynn Carter on May 6, 1978. Through his membership in a local Moose Club (a fraternal and service organisation) Gacy learned of a “Jolly Joker” clown club whose members would dress as clowns and perform at fundraising events and parades, as well as volunteering at the local children’s hospital. By late 1975 Gacy had joined the Jolly Jokers and created 2 of his own characters: “Pogo the Clown” and “Patches the Clown”. Gacy designed his own costumes and taught himself to apply clown makeup (some professional clowns noted that the sharp corners Gacy painted at the edges of his mouth are traditionally drawn to be rounded so as not to scare children). Gacy performed as Pogo or Patches at numerous local parties, Democratic party functions, charity events and children’s hospitals.  By 1975 Gacy had announced to wife Carole that he was bisexual and after having sex on Mother’s Day informed her that it was “the last time” they would ever have sex. He then began spending his evenings away from home, coming back early in the morning, claiming to have been “working late”. Carole saw Gacy bring teenage boys into his garage, and also found gay pornography in the house. They would divorce amicably in March 1976.

On January 2, 1972, Gacy met 16-year-old Timothy Jack McCoy from Chicago’s Greyhound bus terminal and took him on a sightseeing tour. Gacy took McCoy to his home on the promise that he could spend the night and be driven back to the bus terminal in the morning. In his later statement, Gacy said that he woke up the next morning to find McCoy standing in his bedroom doorway with a knife in his hand. Gacy jumped out of bed, and McCoy raised both arms in a gesture of surrender, tilting the knife and accidentally cutting Gacy’s forearm – Gacy had a scar there to back up this account. He twisted the knife from McCoy’s wrist, smashed his head into the bedroom wall, kicked him against the wardrobe and walked towards him. McCoy kicked Gacy in the abdomen and Gacy grabbed him, wrestled him to the ground and stabbed him in the chest repeatedly. Gacy then went into the kitchen and saw an open carton of eggs and a slab of unsliced bacon on the kitchen table, which McCoy had set for two. It seemed that McCoy was making breakfast and absentmindedly took a knife into the bedroom with him when he went to wake Gacy. Gacy buried McCoy in his crawl space and covered the grave with a concrete layer. In an interview after his arrest, Gacy said that after he killed McCoy he felt “totally drained”, noting that he had experienced a mind-numbing orgasm as he killed the boy, adding: “That’s when I realised that death was the ultimate thrill.” Gacy later said that the 2nd murder he committed was in January 1974. The victim was an unidentified teenage boy with medium brown, curly hair aged between 14 and 18. Gacy strangled him before stashing the boy’s body in his closet before burial. Gacy later said that fluid leaked out of the youth’s mouth and nose while he was in the closet, staining his carpet. As a result Gacy would later stuff cloth rags or the victims’ own underwear in their mouths to prevent this from happening again. This particular unidentified victim was buried about 15ft from the barbecue pit in Gacy’s backyard.

By 1975 Gacy’s business was growing fast – he began to work 12-16 hour days to fulfil commitments he had agreed to with an ever-increasing number of contracts. He also later admitted that 1975 was the year in which he began to increase his “cruising” jaunts, looking for young men. Most of Gacy’s workers at PDM Contractors were high school students and young men. One of these workers was 15-year-old Anthony Antonucci, hired in May 1975. 2 month later, Gacy went to Antonucci’s house while he was home alone having injured his foot at work the day before. Gacy got Antonucci drunk, wrestled him to the ground and handcuffed his hands behind his back – but the cuff on his right wrist was loose, so he managed to free his arm from the handcuff when Gacy left the room. When Gacy returned, Antonucci pounced on him, forced him to the floor, got the handcuff key and managed to cuff Gacy’s hands behind his back. Gacy screamed and threatened Antonucci before calming down and promising to leave if Antonucci removed the cuffs. He agreed and Gacy left. Antonucci later said that Gacy told him: “Not only are you the only one who got out of the cuffs; you got them on me.” 1 week after the attempted assault of Antonucci another of Gacy’s employees, 17-year-old John Butkovitch, disappeared. The day before, he had made threats toward Gacy as a result of 2 weeks of outstanding pay. Gacy later admitted he lured Butkovitch to his house while Carole Hoff and her daughters were out of town on the pretext of discussing the wages. Gacy tricked the boy into allowing his wrists to be cuffed behind his back, before strangling him to death and burying his body under the concrete floor of his garage. Gacy later said that he had “sat on the kid’s chest for a while” before killing him. Butkovitch’s car was found abandoned with his wallet and keys still inside. His father called Gacy, who volunteered to help search for the youth, and was sorry he had “run away”. Gacy was questioned in regards to the disappearance and admitted that Butkovitch and 2 friends had been at his apartment demanding his overdue pay, but all 3 had left after a compromise was reached. Over the next 3 years, Butkovitch’s parents called police over 100 times in an attempt to get them to investigate Gacy. Tricking young boys into handcuffs became an important part of Gacy’s modus operandi for subduing victims. After plying the victim with drink, drugs or just getting them to trust him, Gacy would pull out a pair of handcuffs and persuade the victim to put them on, claiming it was part of a “clown trick”. When they were cuffed and unable to free themselves, Gacy would say: “The trick is, you have to have the key”, before he would proceed to rape and torture his helpless victim. He would finish with “the rope trick”, putting a rope over the youths’ neck and tying a tourniquet until the victim was strangled to death.

After a heated argument in October 1975 about her failure to balance a PDM Contractor’s checkbook correctly, Carole asked Gacy for a divorce – he agreed, but Carole continued to live at 8213 West Summerdale until February 1976, when she and her daughters moved into an apartment. A month later, on March 2, the divorce was finalised. Although Gacy continued to be gregarious and civic-minded, neighbours noted changes in his behaviour between his divorce and his arrest in December 1978, such as hearing his car leave and return at all hours of the morning, lights switching on and off in his home at strange hours, and a near constant stream of young males visiting. One neighbour later recalled that for a few years she and her son were repeatedly awoken in the early hours by muffled crying, screaming and shouting which they believed was coming from the Gacy house adjacent to theirs.

[keywestlou]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY KATE MIANO

Today is Kate Miano’s birthday. One of the finest persons in Key West. Loved by all.

Kate is the proprietor of the Garden’s Hotel. The Gardens reflective of Kate’s qualities.

Happy birthday dear friend!

A Civil War sea battle was fought saturday as part of Civil War Heritage Days. The battle took place near Fort Zachary Taylor.

Two schooners involved. The Union’s America and the Confederate Jolly Rover.

Union soldiers in Civil War attire joined viewers watching along the shore.

Key West’s roaring 1970’s. Wish I could have seen and tasted the days.

Another world. Nothing like one sees today.

One of the most popular establishments was the Monster. A bar and disco. A wild place! Frequented by gays, hippies, and visitors.

No longer exists. Gone like Atlantic Shores.

The Monster opened on Front Street in 1975. An instantaneous hit with gays and straights. The original Monster opened in 1970 on Fire Island. A jolly gay environment. Even today.

The Monster closed at 2 am. Those inside shed their few remaining inhibitions. Clothes also if so inclined. Partied till early morning.

Celebrities frequented the Monster when in Key West. The likes of Devine, Eartha Kitt, Phyllis Diller, and Leonard Bernstein.

Word has it Acting Chief of Staff Mick Mulvaney and wife recently visited Key West. His father and mother own a condominium at 1500 Atlantic.

Secret Service were seen about.

Poor Mulvaney was stung by a man of war.

April is around the corner. The starting time for repairs to the Cow Key Bridge.

Oh, the pain and suffering it will bring!

May Johnson’s diary. This day in 1896.

May was at a social at the Parsonage. Miguel came for her. They took a carriage to Las Brisa where May said, “We had a most delightful evening.”

Miguel again. May’s mother does not like Miguel. A storm is coming.

The formal Tino today. In a tuxedo. Second from the left. Tino tells me he is often portrayed in a tuxedo while working as an extra.

Lynda Frechette’s Aqua Idol wednesday night. Six to 7:30. Suggest you arrive at 5 to be sure to get a seat.

The show spectacular!

Enjoyed the Academy Awards last night. One of the event’s finest shows.

South Korea had a big evening. Won 4 major awards, including Best Picture.

The New Hampshire Democratic Primary tomorrow night. Trump doing a rally in New Hampshire tonight. Not sure if he is in a Republican primary race.

If he is not, he should not be in New Hampshire tonight. It’s Democratic time. He wants to draw publicity away. Also, it is his way. Do anything to screw up the opposition.

I recall a movie starring James Cagney and Doris Day. An oldie. Cagney played a tough hood type guy. Day her sweet typical self.

Cagney was without taste. Somewhat like Trump.

Cagney and Day were having an argument. She told him he had no “couth.” He responded she should tell him what it was and he would get a truck full.

That’s Donald!

Trump’s proposed budget is being revealed today. Big. $4.8 trillion.

The proposed budget does not touch Social Security or Medicare.

An election year gimmick. If reelected, Trump will be for cutting both next year.

Giuliani back in the news. Once an outstanding prosecutor and the nation’s Mayor, he has reappeared back in the gutter. He announced yesterday he has the “smoking gun” re Hunter Biden. Three witnesses willing to testify and “name names.” Their testimony will result in “total vindication” for Trump.

The news this morning reported Giuliani has opened a “back door” to Attorney General Barr.

Disgusting!

Sounds like another Bangladesh to me.

On this day in 1936, Nazi Germany’s Reichstag passed a law investing the Gestapo with absolute authority, exempt from legal review.

Are we headed in a similar direction?

There is a place where the government provides everyone with food, housing, and healthcare. Prison.

If government can do it for the worst of us, why not for the best?

I ask the question. However I do not subscribe to the thought.

A Biblical quote. Psalm 27. “I remain confident of this: I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.”

I don’t know anymore.

Enjoy your day!

    HAPPY BIRTHDAY KATE MIANO was originally published on Key West Lou

[matchbox-fighting-furies]

The end of the Matchbox Fighting Furies (with full chronology)

Shipwrecked:

After the product line’s initially encouraging but relatively modest success its fighting fury future soon withered and after only five years – in total, worldwide - the figures and accessories were banished to bargain basements and clearance shelves where they lived on for a while and some even languished in their original warehouse packing cases for decades (only to be eagerly consumed by 21st century toy collectors). Those that loved them, loved them, but the pace of sales didn’t justify further expansion, with the original strategy of investing in cost-efficient but large initial stocks serving only to exacerbate the limited range and compromise any potential progress.

Ultimately the products failed to accrue the popularity and volumes originally expected and one anonymous but enterprising U.S toy distributor - where lingering stocks of the Adventure packs were increasingly irrelevant without the matching figures – even slid a deplorably poor-quality pirate figure (“inspired” by the Captain Patch figure of Mego’s Super Pirates product line – with this “knockoff” version placing the eye patch over his right eye instead) into the window packs in an attempt to help sell through the last of the outfits. The ‘patch’ figure was poor and wasn’t even the correct size - being noticeably smaller - but some toy collectors have contemptuously included this unofficial imposter within their Matchbox Fighting Furies collection!??

After Crazy Horse’s tomahawk formally came down on the entire Fighting Furies product line at the close of 1978 it seems happily fortuitous, as the era of Star Wars had arrived and cowboys and pirates – of the earthbound variety - felt particularly dated. But were our pirates, and their Errol Flynn swashbuckling “heroics”, extraordinarily progressive for their time with their obvious ethnicities, male makeup, prostheses, lessons in coastal geography, cultural ceremonies and an embracing of cultural dress? Probably not – and possibly the exact opposite along with fictional clichés stolen from the silver screen of a previous era - but for a short glorious moment these British toys flexed their jib climbing muscles and blithely went head to head with already entrenched and recognisable brands while being prepared to compete across all of the world’s seven seas and all from the humble address of Lee Conservancy Road in landlocked Hackney, East London. The figures had a superior specification, were better crafted and they boasted exceptional outfit accessory packs, but as confused late entries into a crowded market, already dominated by established players, the Fighting Furies have ultimately only become a footnote in the toy history of modern 20th century action figures; but unjustifiably so. Such was the audacious desire of Lesney Products to muscle their way into this lucrative market from a complete standing start, with no franchise tie-ins and relying only upon the claustrophobically generic world of period pirates and old-school westerns, the range was destined to remain small and would always struggle. Quality doesn’t always win out and on imperial seas you only ever got rough justice. But a rare honour is bestowed upon this long-ago toy episode, as Peg-leg, Hook, the original Sea Fury playset and all eight of their disguises now form part of the eminent collection of Britain’s Victoria and Albert museum; the world’s leading museum of art and design.

No self-respecting vintage ‘action figure’ collector can conceivably ignore these beautifully fashioned and exceptional examples which are surely destined to be afforded more and more retrospective attention.

Matchbox Fighting Furies blogs written and researched by Cap’n Blood Lust. (Aye-aye, me hearties).

                                     -----------------------------------

Across the internet, the years and lifespan associated with Fighting Furies products are consistently reported incorrect – here is a breakdown of their availability timeline:

Published product history (USA/UK):

The first two Pirates and six Adventure packs first launched in the U.S.A and were then quickly followed in the U.K in 1975. They were publicly promoted by Lesney Products in the U.S for only two years while in the U.K (and Europe) the products continued, and an additional Wild West series was released in 1976. All Fighting Furies products would eventually end with remaining stocks making a final formal appearance as part of the official Matchbox product range in the U.K/Europe 1978 collector’s catalogue.  (It is thought that Lesney Products – aka Matchbox - in the U.K may also have attempted to relaunch the Wild West series – serviced with legacy stocks – to the trade in 1980).

1974 U.S.A: The pirates and adventure packs appear in a public brochure for the first time in the 1974 U.S.A edition of the Matchbox Collectors Catalogue.

(The first two pirates, 6x adventures and the Sea Fury carry case also first appear in the U.S.A trade catalogue for 1974).

1974 U.K: Matchbox Collectors Catalogue; No Fighting Furies products.

------------------------

1975 U.S.A:  As previously/1974.

(Elsewhere, U.S.A national retailer Sears introduces the ‘full ship version’ Sea Fury carry case to their product line).

1975 U.K: The two pirates and 6x adventures are introduced in the 1975 U.K public Collectors Catalogue.

(Ghost of Cap’n Kidd, 2x adventure packs, 2x Disguise packs, the Wild West series – of 3x figures and 2x adventure packs - are presented in the U.K trade catalogue).

------------------------

1976 U.S.A: All Fighting Furies products disappear from the 1976 U.S.A Matchbox Collectors Catalogue.

(Elsewhere, the U.S.A retailer Sears introduces “Capt. Kidd” – the ghost of - to their range and continue selling stocks of Pirates, adventure packs, and playsets).

1976 U.K: The 2x pirates, plus the introduction of the Ghost of Cap’n Kidd are shown (with their “disguises and accessories” - 6x adventures + 2x disguises - mentioned in the text). The three Wild West figures are shown and described as a “brand new series”. (A “magnificent horse” is also shown, labelled as Sundance. Their own action sets and disguises are also mentioned, while Kid Cortez is labelled as Pecos Kid [sic]).

-----------------------

1977 U.S.A: Again - No Fighting Furies products.

1977 U.K: 2x pirates + Ghost of Cap’n Kidd, 2x action packs explicitly named and shown for the first time (Stockade Assault & Captain Kidd’s Treasure), 2x Disguises explicitly named and shown for the first time (Buccaneer Captain & Spanish Officer), 6x adventures (listed only), 3x Wild West figures and 2x Wild West adventure packs (Cattle Rustler & War Dance; listed only), are all featured in the public’s Collectors Catalogue.  

-----------------------

1978 U.S.A: Again - No Fighting Furies products.

1978 UK: Only the 3x Pirate figures and the 3x Wild West figures are shown. (No reference to any accessories, adventures or disguises). No Fighting Furies appear in the 1979 edition.

Products

1974:

Pirate series:

Figures:

Peg-Leg: (Capt./Cap’n). (U.S code: 10 00 01, U.K code: FF-100). 

(Supplied with hidden map, sabre, knife, peg-leg plug/stopper, grey breeches, one boot, white shirt, brown waistcoat, orange sash and ‘gold’ ring).

Hook: (Hook/Cap’n). (U.S code: 10 00 03, U.K code: FF-101).

(Supplied with a black wrist band, sabre, knife, purple breeches, shoes, socks, purple waistcoat, yellow sash and ‘gold’ ring).

Both figures released in corner window packaging with minor design variations and differing titles:

U.S versions. “Hook” & “Capt. Peg-Leg”: exclusive U.S release boxes. (With Matchbox logo at top of box).

European versions “Cap’n Hook” & “Cap’n Peg Leg”: exclusive European release boxes. (With Matchbox logo at bottom) *. (U.K codes: FF-101 & FF-100, respectively).

Both figures were also available in the U.S via retailer Sears in plain Sears branded packaging, as ‘Hook’ and ‘Captain Peg Leg’ [sic].

*Some boxes featured small “specification” statement at bottom rear. Some of which also used flat-bottomed inner inlay cards. Some boxes included the “specification” statement and a black key line around the lettering of the main promotional text on box front.

Not including the Sears packaging and including the U.S.A versions (and counting both figures as one) there are technically four versions with differing external details, but predominantly the USA, the European and European with key-line text versions.

Adventure accessories packs. (Each a mixture of clothing and general accessories):

The Captain Blood Adventure

The One-Eyed Sailor Adventure

The Hooded Falcon Adventure

The Spanish Main Adventure

The Redcoat Adventure

The Kung Fu Warrior Adventure

All 6 adventures were released in packs with design variants:

U.S exclusive standard packaging

European exclusive standard packaging (with language translations)

U.S exclusive ‘de lux set’ labelled standard packaging

All 6 adventures were also available in the U.S via retailer Sears in plain Sears branded packaging.

Playsets:

Sea Fury - Play set and carry case (standard Poop Deck design)

Contains: Vinyl foldout case with attached handle, Anchor with rope, Helm (wheel), 2x deck railings (often confused as one when stacked together), Chart Table, Chair, Decorative Decals (sticker sheet) and Instruction leaflet. Sea Fury retail packaging was a printed open-ended cardboard sleeve with a colour “photo-litho” on one side.

1975:

Pirate series:

Playsets:

Sea Fury - Pirate Ship Play Case (full ship version): U.S exclusive, available only via U.S retailer Sears

Contains: 3x red clips, mast connector, mast sail rubber O-ring (for assembly*); The vinyl foldout case/playset with attached handle, Anchor with rope, Prow section, Helm (wheel), wooden Mast (supplied in two parts, with skull and crossbones Jolly Roger fitted to one), suspended hammock, gangplank, ladders, white square sail and wooden Spar, ropes for securing Spar to stern and instruction leaflet. Sea Fury retail packaging was a printed cardboard open ended sleeve with a colour “photo-litho” on one side.

(*Clips trimmed and bridged together top sections of the front edge balustrades. Connector tube joined the two wooden masts together. O-ring on mast is double looped to slide spar through).

1976 – second wave releases:

Pirate series:

Figures:

The Ghost of Cap’n Kidd (Exclusively supplied in Europe in full colour “coffin” packaging. Codes: FF.102)

Capt. Kidd [sic] (as per The Ghost of Cap’n Kidd, above: exclusively available in the U.S via mail-order from retailer Sears and supplied in Sears branded plain packaging)

Disguise packs – Europe only product. (Clothing only):

Buccaneer Captain

(Contained: Tricorn Hat, Ruff, Blue Coat, Black Boots and White Breeches)

Spanish Officer

(Contained: Cloak, Helmet, Breastplate, Ruff, Brown Boots and Striped Breeches)

Accessory action packs – Europe only product. (Accessories only):

Cap’n Kidd’s Treasure

(Contained assorted accessories concurrently available in The Captain Blood and Spanish Main Adventure packs and the white belt and pouch from the Redcoat Adventure. Contents: Compass, Treasure Chest with Treasure, Telescope, Pistol, Shovel, Belt and Pouch, Tankard, Set of Keys and Treasure Map)

Stockade assault

(Contained assorted accessories concurrently available in The One-Eyed Sailor and Redcoat Adventure packs. Contents: 2x Belaying Pins, Rifle, Pouch, Pistol, Swivel cannon on gun barrel, 3x rammers, Axe, Grapple with rope, Powder horn)

Western Series:

Figures – Europe only product:

Black McCoy

(Included body-armour, black cattleman Stetson - with decorative red hat band, chin strap/cord and toggle - and a revolver handgun. Packaged with a brown handled knife – as like the other figures – but is omitted from box illustrations and Matchbox catalogues).

Kid Cortez

(Included body-armour, yellow sombrero with chin strap/cord and toggle, revolver handgun, brown handled knife and green cord for closing his waistcoat).

Crazy Horse

(Included two patterned hair bands, two head feathers, tomahawk and knife. There is a colour variant of his trousers: yellow or darker yellow/orange).

Sundance – the Wonder Horse (featured in promotional literature and series packaging, but not believed to have entered into production).

Accessory action packs – Europe only product:

Cattle rustler (Content: Rifle, Water Bottle with and Strap and Stopper, Camp Fire, Unrolling Blanket with straps, Pair of Initialled Branding Irons, Steers Skull, Pair of Chaps, Mug and Coffee Pot with Lid)

War dance (Content: “Peace Pipe”, Lance, Working Rattle, Drum with Drum Stick, Shield, Mask Headdress and Camp Fire)

 Inexplicably some Peg-Legs and some Black McCoys have the same black wrist band as Hook.

[itsjaybullme]

Lou Ferrigno's 10-Step Guide to Monster Mass

Photographs Courtesy of WEIDER HEALTH & FITNESS & SHANNA FERRIGNO

Just as Bruce Banner mutated into the Hulk, TV’s original not-so-jolly green giant, Lou Ferrigno transformed himself into bodybuilding’s ultimate mass monster. At 6'5" and 275 while in his early 20s in the early ’70s, he was the hugest human to ever crunch out a most muscular. Even now, the legend—who gained 100 lean pounds in the five years that took him from high school to the Mr. Olympia stage—has many lessons to teach about sizing up. To go big, let’s think small. By analyzing how a single set of Lou’s monster-making workouts progressed from before the first rep to just after the last, we can learn how he built a physique capable of hulking out on bodybuilding stages and TV screens.

  Click "NEXT PAGE" for the 10 steps >>

[pagebreak]

 STEP 1: SELECT THE EXERCISE 

When he was building a Hulk-worthy physique in the ’70s, Ferrigno didn’t have a plethora of machine-exercise options. In addition to free weights, he was limited to basic cable and lever lifts. To fill out his big frame, he focused on gaining strength in the barbell and dumbbell basics. Just look at his shoulder workouts. “When I first started training, I hated doing overhead presses,” he said. “My arms were so long that I was especially weak in that movement. But overhead pressing is so vital to good shoulder development that I just had to force myself to do it in every shoulder routine. I began to progress best when I emphasized dumbbell shoulder presses.”

His chest workouts were similar. Like Ronnie Coleman 30 years later, when Ferrigno was training for the 1974 and 1975 Mr. Olympias, he did bench presses, incline presses, and decline presses in every chest workout. More likely than not, whatever exercise Ferrigno chose it was done with a barbell or dumbbells. “The free-weight compound exercises let you lift the most weight, and they hit multiple muscles at once and force you to balance the weight. All of that helps to build more muscle than an isolation exercise or a machine exercise.” There’s room for all styles of exercises in a routine, but for hulking mass the best choice is usually compound and free weight.

 STEP 2: VISUALIZE SUCCESS 

“Without the mind, training and diet both approach 0% effectiveness,” Ferrigno averred when he was at his ’70s peak. “I spend a good 60 to 90 minutes psyching myself up before a workout. You don’t have to think about only training during that time, but you need to eliminate negativity and focus only on the positive. I think about what body part I have to train, what exercises I plan to do, the weights I’m going to use, how I’m going to feel, and what my muscles are going to look like. Once you’ve visualized all that, it’s much easier to make it a reality. Then I go to the gym and put 100% into my workout. All the while until my first set and throughout the workout, I’m reaffirming that I’m going to achieve my goals and create the workout I visualized.”

  Click "NEXT PAGE" to continue >>

[pagebreak]

 STEP 3: SET A TARGET 

The man immortalized in green body paint and frayed capri pants knew how many reps he wanted to get before he launched each set. That tally could vary from as few as six to as many as 20. He pyramided the sets of his most basic exercises, typically progressing from 12 reps to 10 to eight to an apex set of six over four sets with progressively heavier resistance. He might finish with a fifth set of 10 reps with a lighter weight. With other exercises, he typically did straight sets of 12 reps.

“I believe in moderately heavy weights, very strict form, and moderate reps,” Ferrigno said. “Some people say you shouldn’t limit yourself by making a rep target before the set begins, but you should know about how many reps you’re going to get for any exercise you do regularly. Focus on that number, and if you can get an extra rep, that’s great. Those people who are always trying to use more weight or do more reps tend to use sloppy form. I want to keep my form strict to avoid injuries.”

 STEP 4: GET HELP 

From his initial workouts in New York City in the late ’60s to his early ’90s Olympia comeback sessions in Southern California, Ferrigno almost always trained with a partner. That person would not only spot him and encourage him but also offer helping hands when a set faltered so he could eke out more reps (see Step 9). To illustrate the encouragement part, let’s journey back to the summer of 1975 when 23-year-old Ferrigno was toiling in R&J Health Studio in Brooklyn in preparation for the Mr. Olympia and a rematch with Arnold Schwarzenegger. The Pumping Iron cameras captured Ferrigno psyching up before a set of 245-pound standing shoulder presses, but he wasn’t alone. “How many, Hank?” Ferrigno asks as he grips the bar. “Come on! I want to see 10!” Ferrigno’s partner, Hank Chavis, bellows back, punctuating the sentence with a finger in the behemoth’s face. “You’re going to do it, too! Come on, Lou, you’re going to wipe him out!” Then, with every rep, Chavis shouts encouragement.

  Click "NEXT PAGE" to continue >>

[pagebreak]

 STEP 5: CUT (SOME) CORNERS 

With the exercise selected, success visualized, a rep target, and a partner goading him to reach that target, it’s time to go to work. The set begins. Ferrigno focused on strict form, but that didn’t necessarily mean a full range of motion. In part because of his long limbs, the ROM that worked best for him was sometimes shorter than full. If you look again at that Pumping Iron scene, you’ll notice he doesn’t lock out any of his overhead presses. The final push involves more triceps than delts and is the most difficult segment of the lift, so he’s able to use more weight and put more stress on his shoulders by not locking out. This may not have been significant to 5'5" Franco Columbu because the entire movement was relatively short for him. But to 6'5" Ferrigno it mattered. 

“My goal is to always keep the tension on the targeted muscles,” Ferrigno stated. “That can be difficult in a compound exercise because more than one muscle is working. So there are times when I’ll avoid locking out or going too deep in order to make sure I put the maximum stress where I want it to be. I also want to avoid resting points. There’s no point during a set when I want to rest. I want to keep working and keep the tension on my muscles from the start to the finish.”

 STEP 6: MAINTAIN THE TEMPO 

Go too fast and you’re liable to get sloppy. Go too slow and you limit the number of reps you can tally. Big Lou always strived for that just-right middle ground. “I want to keep the weight under control and steadily moving,” he explained. “Some guys focus on lowering the weight slowly and then firing it up fast, but I lower and raise the weight at the same speed. The important thing is to maintain a tempo that lets you focus on your muscles. If you’re too focused on switching up the speed of the weight when going up or down, you’re already missing the point.”

  Click "NEXT PAGE" to continue >>

[pagebreak]

 STEP 7: FOCUS THE STRESS 

This two-time Mr. Universe pre-exhausted and supersetted to focus the stress of exercises. For example, he did dumbbell side laterals before shoulder presses to pre-exhaust his medial delts before the latter compound exercise. He also combined isolation and compound exercises. Uniquely, he finished his chest routine (after the barbell presses in Step 1) with three supersets of cable crossovers and dumbbell pullovers (15 reps each). Doing this better targeted the pullovers, which primarily work the lats and serratus, on his pecs.

Whether he used pre-exhaust, supersets, pyramids, or straight sets, his focus was always on his muscles—and often on specific areas of those muscles. This takes us back to the “homework” he did in Step 2. During that time, he inventoried the areas he wanted to emphasize in the workout, such as his upper, inner pecs or his outer-quad sweeps. Then, during an appropriate set, he stressed that area, keeping it tensed. “You can never let your mind wander during a set. You have to actually feel your targeted muscles working.”

 STEP 8: REACH THE END 

In the late ’70s, Mike Mentzer’s low-volume, high-intensity Heavy Duty system rose in prominence in sharp contrast with the volume training of Arnold Schwarzenegger. Mentzer and Schwarzenegger nearly traded blows before trading poses at the 1980 Mr. Olympia. Meanwhile, Ferrigno was busy going green on TV screens. Still, there was no doubt on which side of the debate Ferrigno stood—Team Arnold all the way. Ferrigno did relatively high volume (26 sets for back, for example) with moderate intensity. “You can’t let yourself get too fatigued from a single set,” he said. “If you do, your strength level will be too low for you to do justice to the rest of your workout.” He didn’t aim for absolute failure on working sets, though sometimes he did fail to complete his final rep. Usually, he hit his rep target at somewhere near failure, and then stopped.

  Click "NEXT PAGE" to continue >>

[pagebreak]

 STEP 9: KEEP GOING 

There were exceptions. Sometimes, he kept going. Almost always this was on the final set or two of an exercise in which his partner could apply his hands and remove some stress (such as pulldowns, barbell curls, or incline presses), and even then forced reps were not some all-out struggle to eke out just one more. “I do forced reps for all my body parts, but I think a lot of guys use forced reps incorrectly,” he said during his Hulk era. “They do one very hard forced rep and quit. I’d prefer to do my full set, have my partner support 20–25% of the weight and then do two to three forced reps with him pulling up the weight enough to help me.” Of course, this required an experienced and strong partner familiar with Ferrigno’s strength and range of motion. During his ’90s comeback, Ferrigno trained with fellow pro Frank Hillebrand.

 STEP 10: REST AND REPEAT 

When the set was done and the weight was racked, Ferrigno would offer encouragement to his partner and spot him. He worked fast, resting only about 90 seconds between sets of 10 or more reps. Only before his heavier sets of six to nine reps would he pause for more than two minutes. “Getting and maintaining a pump is important, so I want to keep moving and stay in rhythm,” he said. “I don’t want to stop and talk and get out of that rhythm. After I got famous as the Hulk, that was harder to do because lots of people wanted to talk, but I had to explain working out is an important part of my job. You don’t want to waste a workout by losing your pump and getting out of the rhythm you were in.” When one set ended, he was already thinking about the next one, plotting to hit his target reps and visualizing improvements. The biggest bodybuilder in the world was zeroed in on how to grow still bigger. Go Hulk or go home. – FLEX

from Bodybuilding Feed https://www.flexonline.com/training/lou-ferrignos-10-step-guide-monster-mass via http://www.rssmix.com/

[itsjaybullme]

Lou Ferrigno's 10-Step Guide to Monster Mass

Photographs Courtesy of WEIDER HEALTH & FITNESS & SHANNA FERRIGNO

Just as Bruce Banner mutated into the Hulk, TV’s original not-so-jolly green giant, Lou Ferrigno transformed himself into bodybuilding’s ultimate mass monster. At 6'5" and 275 while in his early 20s in the early ’70s, he was the hugest human to ever crunch out a most muscular. Even now, the legend—who gained 100 lean pounds in the five years that took him from high school to the Mr. Olympia stage—has many lessons to teach about sizing up. To go big, let’s think small. By analyzing how a single set of Lou’s monster-making workouts progressed from before the first rep to just after the last, we can learn how he built a physique capable of hulking out on bodybuilding stages and TV screens.

  Click "NEXT PAGE" for the 10 steps >>

[pagebreak]

 STEP 1: SELECT THE EXERCISE 

When he was building a Hulk-worthy physique in the ’70s, Ferrigno didn’t have a plethora of machine-exercise options. In addition to free weights, he was limited to basic cable and lever lifts. To fill out his big frame, he focused on gaining strength in the barbell and dumbbell basics. Just look at his shoulder workouts. “When I first started training, I hated doing overhead presses,” he said. “My arms were so long that I was especially weak in that movement. But overhead pressing is so vital to good shoulder development that I just had to force myself to do it in every shoulder routine. I began to progress best when I emphasized dumbbell shoulder presses.”

His chest workouts were similar. Like Ronnie Coleman 30 years later, when Ferrigno was training for the 1974 and 1975 Mr. Olympias, he did bench presses, incline presses, and decline presses in every chest workout. More likely than not, whatever exercise Ferrigno chose it was done with a barbell or dumbbells. “The free-weight compound exercises let you lift the most weight, and they hit multiple muscles at once and force you to balance the weight. All of that helps to build more muscle than an isolation exercise or a machine exercise.” There’s room for all styles of exercises in a routine, but for hulking mass the best choice is usually compound and free weight.

 STEP 2: VISUALIZE SUCCESS 

“Without the mind, training and diet both approach 0% effectiveness,” Ferrigno averred when he was at his ’70s peak. “I spend a good 60 to 90 minutes psyching myself up before a workout. You don’t have to think about only training during that time, but you need to eliminate negativity and focus only on the positive. I think about what body part I have to train, what exercises I plan to do, the weights I’m going to use, how I’m going to feel, and what my muscles are going to look like. Once you’ve visualized all that, it’s much easier to make it a reality. Then I go to the gym and put 100% into my workout. All the while until my first set and throughout the workout, I’m reaffirming that I’m going to achieve my goals and create the workout I visualized.”

  Click "NEXT PAGE" to continue >>

[pagebreak]

 STEP 3: SET A TARGET 

The man immortalized in green body paint and frayed capri pants knew how many reps he wanted to get before he launched each set. That tally could vary from as few as six to as many as 20. He pyramided the sets of his most basic exercises, typically progressing from 12 reps to 10 to eight to an apex set of six over four sets with progressively heavier resistance. He might finish with a fifth set of 10 reps with a lighter weight. With other exercises, he typically did straight sets of 12 reps.

“I believe in moderately heavy weights, very strict form, and moderate reps,” Ferrigno said. “Some people say you shouldn’t limit yourself by making a rep target before the set begins, but you should know about how many reps you’re going to get for any exercise you do regularly. Focus on that number, and if you can get an extra rep, that’s great. Those people who are always trying to use more weight or do more reps tend to use sloppy form. I want to keep my form strict to avoid injuries.”

 STEP 4: GET HELP 

From his initial workouts in New York City in the late ’60s to his early ’90s Olympia comeback sessions in Southern California, Ferrigno almost always trained with a partner. That person would not only spot him and encourage him but also offer helping hands when a set faltered so he could eke out more reps (see Step 9). To illustrate the encouragement part, let’s journey back to the summer of 1975 when 23-year-old Ferrigno was toiling in R&J Health Studio in Brooklyn in preparation for the Mr. Olympia and a rematch with Arnold Schwarzenegger. The Pumping Iron cameras captured Ferrigno psyching up before a set of 245-pound standing shoulder presses, but he wasn’t alone. “How many, Hank?” Ferrigno asks as he grips the bar. “Come on! I want to see 10!” Ferrigno’s partner, Hank Chavis, bellows back, punctuating the sentence with a finger in the behemoth’s face. “You’re going to do it, too! Come on, Lou, you’re going to wipe him out!” Then, with every rep, Chavis shouts encouragement.

  Click "NEXT PAGE" to continue >>

[pagebreak]

 STEP 5: CUT (SOME) CORNERS 

With the exercise selected, success visualized, a rep target, and a partner goading him to reach that target, it’s time to go to work. The set begins. Ferrigno focused on strict form, but that didn’t necessarily mean a full range of motion. In part because of his long limbs, the ROM that worked best for him was sometimes shorter than full. If you look again at that Pumping Iron scene, you’ll notice he doesn’t lock out any of his overhead presses. The final push involves more triceps than delts and is the most difficult segment of the lift, so he’s able to use more weight and put more stress on his shoulders by not locking out. This may not have been significant to 5'5" Franco Columbu because the entire movement was relatively short for him. But to 6'5" Ferrigno it mattered. 

“My goal is to always keep the tension on the targeted muscles,” Ferrigno stated. “That can be difficult in a compound exercise because more than one muscle is working. So there are times when I’ll avoid locking out or going too deep in order to make sure I put the maximum stress where I want it to be. I also want to avoid resting points. There’s no point during a set when I want to rest. I want to keep working and keep the tension on my muscles from the start to the finish.”

 STEP 6: MAINTAIN THE TEMPO 

Go too fast and you’re liable to get sloppy. Go too slow and you limit the number of reps you can tally. Big Lou always strived for that just-right middle ground. “I want to keep the weight under control and steadily moving,” he explained. “Some guys focus on lowering the weight slowly and then firing it up fast, but I lower and raise the weight at the same speed. The important thing is to maintain a tempo that lets you focus on your muscles. If you’re too focused on switching up the speed of the weight when going up or down, you’re already missing the point.”

  Click "NEXT PAGE" to continue >>

[pagebreak]

 STEP 7: FOCUS THE STRESS 

This two-time Mr. Universe pre-exhausted and supersetted to focus the stress of exercises. For example, he did dumbbell side laterals before shoulder presses to pre-exhaust his medial delts before the latter compound exercise. He also combined isolation and compound exercises. Uniquely, he finished his chest routine (after the barbell presses in Step 1) with three supersets of cable crossovers and dumbbell pullovers (15 reps each). Doing this better targeted the pullovers, which primarily work the lats and serratus, on his pecs.

Whether he used pre-exhaust, supersets, pyramids, or straight sets, his focus was always on his muscles—and often on specific areas of those muscles. This takes us back to the “homework” he did in Step 2. During that time, he inventoried the areas he wanted to emphasize in the workout, such as his upper, inner pecs or his outer-quad sweeps. Then, during an appropriate set, he stressed that area, keeping it tensed. “You can never let your mind wander during a set. You have to actually feel your targeted muscles working.”

 STEP 8: REACH THE END 

In the late ’70s, Mike Mentzer’s low-volume, high-intensity Heavy Duty system rose in prominence in sharp contrast with the volume training of Arnold Schwarzenegger. Mentzer and Schwarzenegger nearly traded blows before trading poses at the 1980 Mr. Olympia. Meanwhile, Ferrigno was busy going green on TV screens. Still, there was no doubt on which side of the debate Ferrigno stood—Team Arnold all the way. Ferrigno did relatively high volume (26 sets for back, for example) with moderate intensity. “You can’t let yourself get too fatigued from a single set,” he said. “If you do, your strength level will be too low for you to do justice to the rest of your workout.” He didn’t aim for absolute failure on working sets, though sometimes he did fail to complete his final rep. Usually, he hit his rep target at somewhere near failure, and then stopped.

  Click "NEXT PAGE" to continue >>

[pagebreak]

 STEP 9: KEEP GOING 

There were exceptions. Sometimes, he kept going. Almost always this was on the final set or two of an exercise in which his partner could apply his hands and remove some stress (such as pulldowns, barbell curls, or incline presses), and even then forced reps were not some all-out struggle to eke out just one more. “I do forced reps for all my body parts, but I think a lot of guys use forced reps incorrectly,” he said during his Hulk era. “They do one very hard forced rep and quit. I’d prefer to do my full set, have my partner support 20–25% of the weight and then do two to three forced reps with him pulling up the weight enough to help me.” Of course, this required an experienced and strong partner familiar with Ferrigno’s strength and range of motion. During his ’90s comeback, Ferrigno trained with fellow pro Frank Hillebrand.

 STEP 10: REST AND REPEAT 

When the set was done and the weight was racked, Ferrigno would offer encouragement to his partner and spot him. He worked fast, resting only about 90 seconds between sets of 10 or more reps. Only before his heavier sets of six to nine reps would he pause for more than two minutes. “Getting and maintaining a pump is important, so I want to keep moving and stay in rhythm,” he said. “I don’t want to stop and talk and get out of that rhythm. After I got famous as the Hulk, that was harder to do because lots of people wanted to talk, but I had to explain working out is an important part of my job. You don’t want to waste a workout by losing your pump and getting out of the rhythm you were in.” When one set ended, he was already thinking about the next one, plotting to hit his target reps and visualizing improvements. The biggest bodybuilder in the world was zeroed in on how to grow still bigger. Go Hulk or go home. – FLEX

from Bodybuilding Feed https://www.flexonline.com/training/lou-ferrignos-10-step-guide-monster-mass via http://www.rssmix.com/