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hpandthegobletofsass · 4 months ago

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one of the few scenes i've written for the jegulus fic i've been working on, regulus getting his dark mark. wrote this back in january and haven't looked at it since until today and am deeply unwell about it, so posting this snippet to hopefully get motivation to write more than just the three scenes and fuck ton of notes i have (it's like 550 some words, so putting it under a read more, but you should read it and then ask me questions bc i have so many thoughts for this fic :3)

The next meeting is just after Christmas. There seems to be a slightly different cast of characters at each one, probably why these are so frequent, to keep anyone who couldn’t make the previous meeting up to date.

He isn’t there until the third meeting though. Just before Regulus is due to go back to Hogwarts. The vibes are different immediately, a chill in the air, everyone speaking in more hushed reverent tones with less idle chit chat.

He addresses Regulus specifically towards the end of the meeting. “Black, I’ve heard promising things about you,” he gives a small nod, ��How have you been finding our meetings, intriguing I hope?”

This is the moment, the pivotal spot where everything shifts, “Yes, sir, they’ve given me much to think about, and already I have learned so much more than I ever could’ve hoped. I’ve been given access to resources on the dark arts I could never dream of finding at Hogwarts, it has been a great privilege.”

Bella looks like she’s about to start vibrating from excitement, that the Dark Lord is paying specific attention to the Black family is a dream come true to her.

“Hm yes, we can offer much that Hogwarts cannot. However, Hogwarts is where the youth of today exists, and it’s always good to have an insider, to convince those who might be unsure, what the best side to be on is." He pauses for a moment, "So perhaps, we have ourselves a new recruit tonight? Your cousin Bellatrix has already proven herself more than loyal, and I can’t imagine she would bring someone along who wouldn’t already be loyal to us as well.”

Regulus panics, Fuck does he know? he can’t know. It’s probably just because I’m 16 and he can’t have full control over me at Hogwarts. Verbally he says, “I’d be honored, My Lord,” with a small reverent bow.

He seemed pleased with this, “Brothers, tonight we celebrate adding another to our ranks! Welcome, young Regulus Black.”

Bella screeches beside me, clinging to my arm, Regulus offers a smile to the rest of the room, hoping he seems excited and not on the verge of tears. The meeting has now extended to include his induction.

Regulus has no clue what to expect, he knows Bella has the Dark Mark tattoo, and can only assume he's in for the same.

Regulus can tell there’s some sort of strong magic woven into the ink being painted on his forearm. It’s cold and feels almost alive, sort of snake like. Then came the pain. After Nott finished painting the design, he grabbed Regulus' wrist, barely touching his wand to the skin, and the mark sunk in. Regulus felt it eating away at his flesh, more like a brand than a tattoo, it was the most excruciating pain he had ever experienced. But he knew this was part of it, they were testing him, to see if he was weak, how he reacted to this pain was another part of whether or not they’d let him live.

Regulus allowed himself a grimace and nothing more, he refused to make any sort of sound as the ink burned through him like poison. Then it was done. The others congratulated him, told him he did well, that they were excited to have him on board, promised to send him books and such.

#the tattoo ink is a type of potion that they basically paint onto their skin and then using a spell connect it to the person's body #so like it does essentially function like a brand and ties your magic in with voldemort's #idk what all the specific components of the potion are or what the spell is yet but that's the gist #the potion does include some of nagini's venom which is the main thing that ties the death eaters to voldemort #but yeah there's no jegulus in this scene but i prommy it's relevant #painful deep dive into how the war has effected those on both sides #and obvi how it affects james and regulus' relationship #i've got some really interesting ideas for how magical theory is gonna do different things #there's gonna be cannibalism #and interesting things in regards to magic and cannibalism #it's so good i just need to actually write it #musings of serenity nebulus #harry potter #the marauders #marauders era #regulus black #death eaters #wip

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childrenofcain-if · 6 days ago

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CW: CANNIBALISM

W is just the character who'd go all ride-or-die for us 👁️👁️ I am LOOKING! With all the cannibalism allegation, would they join us if there was a Bones and All AU with MC being an eater? Out of all the ROs, I feel like they're the only one who'd accept us like that from the very beginning

the bullying began so long ago that it felt like cicadas in the summer or the thrum of air conditioning inside your house—always there, always insidious.

W was delicate in ways the world found easy to prey upon, not because they were weak but because they felt too much. it showed in the way their hands trembled when they clenched them, in the tears that gathered in their eyes when the laughter of their tormentors reached their ears.

you had spent years trying to stop it. standing in hallways with your fists balled, staring down cole and his cronies, daring them to come closer. sometimes it worked—your defiance could scatter them like pigeons startled from a rooftop—but only for a time. they always returned, like a bad bout of winter, colder and harsher than before.

cole had always been there—a looming, destructive presence that crushed everything in his path. he was bigger than life, in size and ego, in anger and entitlement, and he flaunted his privilege like no other. his father’s influence whispered behind closed doors, his fists a language of violence that left bruises on W’s ribs and a tremor in their voice.

for years, you had tried to shield W, to draw his fire onto yourself when it became too much. for years, W had endured it.

“i told the principal again,” W had said one day, their voice brittle with exhaustion. “he just gave me that look, you know? the one where you can tell he’s already decided not to care.”

and you did know. you’d seen it before, that glazed-over indifference. cole’s father sat on the school board like some sort of king, his power extending over even the smallest squabbles of the student body. but what felt small to the school was enormous to W.

“i’ll fix it,” you had promised them, even as you didn’t know how.

the solution had come from your father, as many of them did. elias, who rarely spoke in anger but could wield his wealth like a weapon when the moment demanded it.

“i’ll buy the entire damn school board if i have to,” he had said when you told him about the bullying. and elias didn’t make empty threats.

cole was ‘transferred’ soon after, the details vague but the outcome seemed decent. and for a while, it seemed like things might actually change.

but cole wasn’t one to let things go.

W had confessed it in a choked whisper the other day, tears carving clean lines down their dirt-smudged cheeks.

“cole’s still… i think he’s following me,” they had said, their voice shaking like a leaf caught in a gale. “he waits for me after school. he knows where i live.”

you’d felt the familiar heat of anger rising in your chest, your fists clenching as you swore you’d make it stop. but what could you possibly do as a high school junior that your father hadn’t already done?

what could you do to a boy like cole, whose world was built on the certainty that no one would ever truly punish him?

the gas station was quiet, the flickering of the neon lights outside the only sound as you paid for your drink and stepped out into the cooling evening air.

the pavement under your sneakers was warm from the day’s sun. you were halfway down the road, the horizon a bleeding canvas of pink and gold, when you heard the blue corvette pull up beside you.

cole’s voice was a venomous drawl as he grinned wolfishly and got out of his car. “hey there, long time no see.”

you took a step back. “leave me the fuck alone, cole.”

he didn’t. of course he didn’t.

before you could react, his arm snaked around your neck, pulling you into a headlock. his strength was overwhelming, his gym-built muscles like iron bars against your skin.

you struggled, your sneakers scraping against the asphalt as he dragged you, half-choking, toward the cornfield on the side of the road.

panic surged through you, hot and electric. you thrashed against him, clawing at his arm, but it was like fighting a mountain. the stalks of corn closed in around you, their rustling leaves swallowing the sound of your gasps.

the field swallowed you both, its towering stalks turning the world into a maze of green and gold shadows.

you’d never liked cornfields. there was something too perfect, too endless about them, rows upon rows standing like soldiers awaiting orders. today, they were silent. watching. waiting.

you stumbled over uneven ground, your sneakers catching on roots, the dirt kicking up into your face. the air stunk with the green smell of crushed stalks and the faint, acrid sting of gasoline from the vehicles that passed the highway after getting a refill from the nearby gas station.

cole’s arm was an iron band around your neck, cutting off air, and you could feel his sweat slick against your skin. you clawed at his forearm, nails digging deep enough to leave crescents, but he didn’t even flinch. his breathing was heavy, labored, as if he were dragging a bag of stones and not another human being.

“stop struggling,” he growled, voice sounding like gravel scraping against a rusted shovel. “it’s not gonna make this easier for you.”

you didn’t answer. not like you could even if you wanted to. your words would be crushed beneath the weight of his arm, your lungs burning. but even if you could have spoken, you wouldn’t have begged. not to him. not to anyone.

the world narrowed to the two of you, his strength against your will. you twisted your body, kicking at his shin with a desperation that sent a flare of pain up your leg, but he only hissed and tightened his grip.

finally, he shoved you forward, and you fell to your knees, gasping for air, the dirt biting into your palms. you scrambled to your feet, but he was faster, grabbing your shoulder and spinning you around. his face was twisted with rage, lips pulled back in something too animal to be called a smile.

“you think you’re so fucking superior, don’t you?” he snarled. “you and that little freak friend of yours. you think you can ruin my life and just walk away?”

your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, glaring up at him.

“you ruined your own life, cole,” you spat out. “you’ve been a bully since the day you learned how to swing your fists in order to get your way. W’s ten times the person you’ll ever be, and you always picked on them for no reason other than to satisfy your own sick pleasure.”

that struck a nerve. his face twisted, the veins in his neck standing out like cords. he lunged, grabbing the front of your shirt and hauling you up so your faces were inches apart.

“shut your fucking mouth if you know what’s good for you,” he hissed. “you don’t know anything about me.”

“oh, i know enough,” you said, the poison in your voice surprising even yourself. “i know your dad’s been cleaning up your messes for years. must be hard to grow up knowing the only time you feel like a man is when you’re picking on other kids.”

“you don’t know anything,” he repeated, his voice trembling now, not with nervousness, but with something far more dangerous.

and then he was on you, his hands around your throat, squeezing until the world started blurring out. your hands scrabbled at his wrists, but his grip was unrelenting, and the familiar panic clawed its way back up your chest.

the world tilted, the cornfield spinning around you, the green and gold blurring together into something surreal and wrong.

you thought of W then, their tear-streaked face, their voice breaking as they confided in you about anything and everything. you thought of all the times you’d tried to protect them, only to fail. and now, here you were, about to become another one of cole’s victims.

your fingers brushed against something cold and hard— a rock, jagged and solid. you didn’t think. you didn’t have the time to think. your body moved on instinct, your arm swinging wide and bringing the rock down on the side of his head.

the sound was wet and final, a krrack! that seemed to echo through the field, bouncing off the stalks and the sky and the earth itself.

cole froze above you, his hands falling away from your neck, his expression slack, his eyes wide and uncomprehending. for a moment, he was just a boy—a scared sixteen-year-old boy. his mouth opening as if to speak, but no words came out. and then he crumpled, his body hitting the ground beside you with a thud that sent a shudder through your own.

you staggered back, the rock slipping from your fingers. your breath came in shallow gasps, your throat raw and burning. you stared at him, at the way his body lay twisted in the dirt, his eyes staring up at the sky, unblinking.

“cole?” you whispered, your voice breaking. “cole.”

he didn’t move.

it hit you then, a wave of horror so strong it nearly made you yell. you’d killed him. you’d killed cole.

the cornfield was silent, the only sound your ragged breathing and the distant whir of cars passing occasionally on the highway. you were alone, and yet you weren’t. the field was watching, the world was watching, and you could feel their eyes on you, accusing and hungry and unrelenting.

your stomach churned, bile rising in your throat, but you couldn’t look away.

his blood was pooling beneath his head, dark and viscous, soaking into the dirt like ink spilling onto a page. the sight of it did something to you, something primal and terrible, like the tearing of a pomegranate, the way the seeds spilled out, red and glistening, the taste sharp and metallic. you felt that same hunger now, a gnawing ache deep in your chest, as if something inside you had been waiting for this moment, waiting to be fed.

but it wasn’t just hunger. it was revulsion, too, a sickening mix of desire and disgust that made you want to scream, to run, to claw at your own skin until you felt clean again. your hands trembled as you reached out, then pulled back, unsure of what to do, of who you even were anymore.

your hands then reached back out as if making up their minds. you stared, horrified and helpless, as they extended toward cole’s still body, fingers curling into claws. they tore through the fabric of his shirt, breaking the fragile barrier of skin with a wet sound that made bile rise to the back of your throat.

but the bile didn’t come, and neither did the disgust you expected earlier. instead, there was only this strange hunger.

it was euphoric, thrumming through your veins like a song you’d always known but never sung aloud. your fingers plunged deeper, seeking, finding, and ripping. there was no hesitation, no thought. just action. your hands disappeared into the cavity of his chest, the slick warmth of blood coating your skin, your nails scraping against bone.

somewhere, far away, a still-sane part of you screamed to stop, to look away, to do anything but this, but the hunger drowned out everything else.

and then your teeth joined the fray. you didn’t remember when you leaned forward, when your lips pressed to his ruined chest, but suddenly you were biting, tearing, devouring. the first taste was an explosion, the metallic flavor tinged with something indescribably sweet, like burnt sugar at the edges of a flame.

it was ambrosia, a feast fit for gods, and it belonged to you.

you tore through the sinew and tissue with an ease that startled you, your jaw working like it had done this a thousand times before. blood smeared across your face, sticky and warm, running down your chin and pooling in the hollow of your throat.

you didn’t give a shit about it though. all that mattered was the taste, the sensation of this human’s flesh yielding beneath your teeth, the way his ribs opened up like a flower blooming only for you.

his heart was your favourite. you held it in your hands for a moment, its weight startlingly small, before sinking your teeth into the tender muscle. it was softer than you’d expected, almost delicate, and the flavor burst across your tongue like a symphony of everything you’d ever craved but never known how to name. your body sang with it, every nerve alight, every sense in perfect harmony.

cole’s hazel eyes came next. you couldn’t stand their glassy, lifeless stare, the way they seemed to accuse you even in death. they were soft, too, yielding easily beneath your teeth, and though the taste was a little bitter, it was satisfying in a way that you hadn’t expected. you chewed them slowly, the squelch of it audible as you savored each bite until there was nothing left to see, nothing left to judge you.

cole had it coming, hadn’t he? the thought floated to the surface of your mind, tenuous and fragile, as if spoken by someone else entirely. he’d hurt W, tormented them, made their life a living hell. he’d hurt you, too, dragged you into this field with the intent to kill, his hands around your throat and his hatred burning in his eyes.

this was your own kind of justice, wasn’t it?

and yet, as the hunger began to ebb, as the primal urge receded like a tide, the horror set in. you sat back on your heels, your hands and face slick with blood, your stomach churning with the realization of what you’d done.

cole’s body—or what remained of it—lay sprawled before you, unrecognizable, torn apart by your own hands and teeth.

you gagged, your body convulsing with dry retches, but nothing came up. the hunger had consumed everything, left no room for regret or revulsion to expel itself.

you pressed a shaking bloody hand to your chest, feeling the rapid thrum of your heartbeat, and fumbled for your phone with the other.

the screen blurred through tears you hadn’t realized were falling, but you managed to pull up W’s number. your fingers shook so badly you almost dropped the phone as you pressed it to your ear. the dial tone felt endless, every second stretching into eternity, until finally, W’s voice crackled through the speaker.

“hello?” their voice was soft, hesitant, as if they could already sense something was wrong.

“W,” you choked out, your voice barely recognizable. “i n-need you. please. please come.”

“where are you?” their tone shifted instantly, concern overtaking caution. “what happened? are you okay?”

“the cornfield,” you said, your words tumbling out in a rush. “somewhere near the gas station which has the neon signs. cole’s car is there. please, just—just come. i can’t—” your voice broke, a sob escaping before you could stop it.

“hey, hey, it’s okay,” W said quickly, their voice soothing, though you could hear the edge of panic creeping in. “i’m on my way. stay there, okay? don’t move.”

the call ended, and you were left alone again, the silence of the field becoming all too much. you looked down at your hands, at the blood smeared across your skin, the pieces of cole’s flesh that clung to your nails, and your stomach twisted.

you couldn’t move. all you could do was wait, the hunger still lurking at the edges of your mind, a shadow that promised it wasn’t finished with you quite yet.

W gripped the steering wheel tightly, their knuckles pale and fingers trembling as they pushed the old sedan past the speed limit. the engine groaned in protest, but they didn’t care. you were out there, somewhere, and you needed them. that was the only thought that mattered, drowning out the rush of adrenaline, the fear gnawing at the edges of their mind.

their sapphire blue eyes scanned the evening road ahead, headlights cutting through the sudden thick fog that clung to the landscape.

the gas station came into view first, a dimly lit beacon with its neon lights, and then after driving past it for a couple more minutes—there it was. the blue corvette. it gleamed faintly under the flicker of a dying streetlamp, its ostentatious frame a cruel reminder of the boy who’d tormented them for years.

W gulped, their hands briefly tightening on the wheel. a part of them wanted to turn back, to leave cole and everything he represented behind, but they shoved the thought aside. you were out there. you were in danger.

if they were going to be brave for anyone, it would be for you.

they parked a little ways down the road, their chuck taylors almost slipping on the wet asphalt as they stepped out into the night.

the rain had begun to fall in earnest now, a steady drizzle that dampened their hair and clothes within seconds. they wiped their hands against their jeans, steeling themselves, and followed the faint drag marks leading into the cornfield.

the stalks towered over them, swaying in the breeze and slapping against their skin as they pushed through. every creak and rustle was amplified by the silence of the evening, but W ignored it, their focus narrowing to the path ahead.

they could hear something now, soft and broken—your voice. crying.

they quickened their pace, the corn whipping against their face, leaving red welts on their cheeks. each step brought new fear, new scenarios conjured by their racing mind. what if cole had hurt you? what if he’d dragged you into the field and left you for dead? what if—

but what they found wasn’t what they’d expected.

W froze, their breath catching in their throat as they stumbled into the clearing. you were there, lying in the dirt, your shoulders hunched and shaking as you sobbed. blood covered you—your face, your hands, your clothes—and it didn’t seem to be yours. it stained the earth around you, pooled in dark puddles, smeared across your mouth like some grotesque parody of a smile.

and then there was cole. or what was left of him, to be precise.

his body lay crumpled nearby, torn open, half-eaten. his chest was a ruin of gore, ribs splintered and jutting out like jagged teeth. his face—what remained of it—was twisted in a rictus of terror: lower jaw torn off and missing, ears half-bitten, empty eye sockets.

W’s stomach lurched, bile rising in their throat, but they swallowed it down.

“oh god,” they whispered, their voice barely audible over the sound of the rain.

you looked up then, your bloodstained face contorted with grief and fear.

“elmo,” you choked out, the nickname slipping past your lips like you were five again. “i didn’t mean to. i don’t know what happened. i didn’t—”

W didn’t let you finish. they crossed the distance between you in three long strides, dropping to their knees in the mud. they wrapped their arms around you, pulling you close despite the blood, despite the gore, despite everything.

“it’s okay,” they murmured, their voice shaking but steady enough for your sake. “it’s okay. i’ve got you. you’re okay.”

you sobbed into their shoulder, your fingers clutching at their shirt as if you could anchor yourself to them, as if they were the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth.

“i didn’t want to,” you whispered. “i didn’t want to do this. it wasn’t my fault.”

“i know,” W said, even as their mind reeled. they couldn’t stop staring at cole’s body, at the brutality you’d left behind, but they forced the thoughts away. you needed them right now, and that was all that mattered.

the rain had begun to fall harder, washing away the blood from your skin and theirs, mixing it with the mud beneath you. W gently cupped your face, their thumb brushing away the streaks of red that the rain hadn’t reached.

“listen to me,” they said, their tone firmer now. you’d never seen them so serious and determined. “you’re coming home with me, okay? my aunt and uncle are out of town. we’ll get you cleaned up, and we’ll figure out what to do next. together.”

you nodded, your eyes wide and glassy, like a child’s. “what about…” you trailed off, glancing at cole’s body, your expression crumpling with fresh grief.

W followed your gaze, their stomach twisting.

“it looks like an animal attack,” they said slowly, the words tasting foreign in their mouth. “there are wolves out here. bears, too. we’ll let the rain do the rest. nobody has to know.”

you nodded again, but your hands still trembled as you tried to wipe the blood from them. W reached into their pocket, pulling out a handkerchief, and started cleaning your face as best they could. the fabric turned red almost instantly, but they didn’t stop until most of the blood was gone.

the rain was on your side, washing away the rest—your footprints, the drag marks, the blood trail leading to the clearing. W pulled you to your feet, steadying you as you swayed, and wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

they led you back to the car, their mind racing. they weren’t sure what to think, what to feel.

cole was dead, and a part of them—a small, shameful part—felt relief. he couldn’t hurt them anymore. he couldn’t hurt you. but the sight of you covered in blood, the memory of his mangled body… it would stay with them forever.

for now, though, they pushed it all aside. they focused on getting you to the car, on getting you home, on making sure you were okay. the rest could wait.

the rest would have to wait.

#well...#i think i cooked too much here #W is 100% gonna match MC’s freak tho 👀#‘bones and all’ is one of my fav movies ever so i got too excited with the prompt #um part 2 anyone?#also lemme know if i should tone down on the gore 💀#tw: cannibalism #cw: cannibalism #cw: gore #if: the ballad of the young gods #interactive fiction #interactive novel #interactive story #twine wip #ro: w ostendorf #ro scenarios

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