Mentions Of Death - Blog Posts

Name: Starved Leafy (an alternative version of Leafy during BFDIA 1)

Gender: Female

Status: Alive

Kills: 8 (in the past, 6 regenerated), 33 (presumably in the future, 20 left alive)

Strengths:

• Teleportation; Can teleport from 5-20,000 kilometers in length and in height

• Long arms; Can extend her arms for up to 100,000 kilometers long.

• Her teeth; Her jaw has the same PSI shared with two T-Rexes.

• Her eyes; Pitch black yet all seeing.

• Ability to make inventions; she uses her own robot made of yoyle metal made from 18 dead yoyle metal contestants.

• Lethal Scraping; a single nibble or any form of contact on human flesh will cause a rare disease known as faciitis

Lore (aka a poorly written Creepypasta):

After Leafy got kicked out of Dream Island by Firey, she decided to take matters into her own hands. Instead of selling the island, she instead asked the announcer to purchase a button that can self-destruct anything as long as it is attached in hard surfaces.

When Firey turned around after he barricaded Dream Island, he saw that Dream Island was about to self distruct. Everyone screamed and panicked. Blocky slapped poor Ice Cube just for fun. Woody had enough of Blocky's abuse and felt pity for Ice Cube and Bubble that recently got popped. Woody tackled Blocky. Even though Blocky is too strong, Woody poked Blocky in the eyes. Pen and Eraser decided to help Blocky.

Pen: Eraser, look! Blocky wants help in need!

Eraser: well we must help our friend.

When Pen said "help is in need", Needle mistakes 'in need' as in 'Needy.' But before Needle could slap someone, the island exploded into tiny bits.

Everyone got out of there alive except for Blocky, Tennis Ball, Spongy, Bubble, Ice Cube, Woody, Flower, and Needle. Leafy noticed that her plan backfired since that the explosion was only meant for Firey. Then GB noticed Leafy and GB knew that Leafy had something to do with the crime of the homicide of her acquaintance.

GB thought of a punishment for Leafy, however instead of putting her in the crusher, GB suggests that Leafy has her arms all chained up. If Leafy moves, the chains grew spikes to impale her palms and her soles. Eventually she will be kept in a bullet proof glass capsule that sprays menthol gas to make Leafy lose her breath. If Leafy manages to survive, GB will light Match on fire and quickly put Match inside the capsule where Leafy meets her inevitable fate. Or they will use Firey as a cheap alternative to make the process faster.

But before Leafy could be chained up and be put inside the said bullet proof capsule, Firey saves Leafy with Snowball's hang glider. After Firey said his apology, instead of Leafy saying "Really, you mean it," she secretly has a foam water gun and says it in a monochrome voice:

Leafy: I'm sorry Firey, but it's time for you to meet a friend with no flaws except for one (referring to the foam water gun)

Leafy sprays a foam water gun at Firey, killing him instantly. As Firey begins screaming in pain as he is being distinguished, Leafy puts up her sadistic smile. Suddenly, they crash into the ground. GB saw Leafy and the BFDI characters (excluding Blocky, Tennis Ball, Spongy, Bubble, Ice Cube, Woody, Flower, and Needle) started chasing Leafy. Miraculously Leafy fell into Firey's rain shelter, then she waited until the footsteps stopped.

Pin: Hey, where did Leafy go?

GB: Grr I always knew that this coward will slip away!

Match: So, like, what do we do now?

Bubble: Oh no! I hope no one gets hurt in the hands of the monster (mentioning Leafy)

GB: Hush now, we must keep searching! And also we need to recover the contestants that lost their lives.

Announcer: um... We have to sell it due to budget cuts.

GB: YOU'VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!!!

Announcer: Haha, I was actually kidding. The recovery centers are fine.

GB: Whatever, we must defend everyone from this atrocious beast of burden (referring to Leafy)

Leafy stepped out of the rain shelter and tried to get away from the contestants. Then she saw GB's lab and decided to explore it. Leafy begins to study GB's lab. But before Leafy can study the experiments, she is spotted by GB but she manages to escape.

GB: Everyone!!! I found Leafy!

Pin: Let's get her

Coiny: She will pay for all of her crimes, um I guess.

The BFDI characters started chasing Leafy into the hills, through the Evil Woods then to the Evil Canyon. Leafy fell down from the Evil Canyon, but thankfully she used her handy dandy map quickly before she got impaled. After that, Pin rips the map in pieces so Leafy wouldn't come back.

A few years after BFDIA and IDFB, Pencil and Match decided to go to the woods together with Ruby, Bubble, Ice Cube (that recently got regenerated), and Book. They wander and explore in the evil woods. The Freesmart gang saw an abandoned Gelatin's Steakhouse, they entered and saw a horrifying discovery.

They saw Gelatin's rotting corpse and Leafy was standing in front of it, but Leafy looked sinister; she turned around with a slit mouth that resembles a grin. She is fully green that is monochromatic, has cold dead eyes meaning that Leafy can still see you but her eyes are openly larger than normal, and she has a few shades of the dark to make her more intimidating. Leafy attacked Pencil and snapped Pencil in half. Match tried to defend her friend but Leafy ended up using Book as a matchbox and set Match on fire to melt Ice Cube.

Ice Cube: *screams in agony as she is melting*

Match: Oh well, I didn't even like Ice Cube anyway.

Leafy turns to the oven and turns it on to light the place on fire. Ruby saw that Leafy uses Match to turn on the oven to pour it with gasoline. She then would light up Match and throw her in the gas covered oven as Bubble ran away.

Ruby: Oh no! That creature is about to burn this place to the ground! don't worry Match, I'll sa-

But before Ruby could finish her sentence, the oven exploded; killing the Freesmart gang (except Bubble) instantly. And you are probably wondering, what happened to Leafy? Well Leafy quickly left the steakhouse before she heard the explosion and Ruby's last words before dying to the impact of the explosion. Leafy watched Bubble run away from the explosion and think about plotting revenge on the entirety of the contestants, as she slowly smiles and laughs quietly to do it all over again...

I've written the continuation of the story, a picture to accompany it will be at the bottom of the post. Also I don't have a reference for Cowbird yet, i'll post it later

It’s been two days since Leopard found the body, he’s unable to fathom the information he’d seen right in front of him. Queen Treefrog was dead, that was confirmed…but who in the three moons was the rainwing in charge?!? She clearly was similar enough to mimic the Queen in bodyshape, that’s for certain. Yet Leopard had no clue who she was, any rainwing can change their colors. He’s seen them use the ability for theatre productions a million times.

The worst part of nobody else knew, Leopard had seen the body. He’d recognized his Queens face lying in that clearing. None of the other dragons had found it and he had a sinking feeling that something had somehow gotten worse. Nothing seemed to change, the Queen hadn’t made any major changes since before he had investigated.

The rainwings were still their same old pacifist selves, the nightwings were hunting food for both villages as normal. Yet Leopard couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes on him. The impersonator surely couldn’t have seen him, He was in the bushes up until she was out of earshot.

Leopard was so lost in thought he didn’t notice someone had approached until an older rainwing gently tapped his shoulder, startling him so much he made a little squeak as he turned. “Sorry! Didn’t mean to startle!” The rainwing stated, she had a warm smile on her face. “I’m just here to say the Queen wanted to see you, Isn’t that exciting!”

No, oh no. no no no! She must know, why else would she want to see him…wait he needed to calm down. There a hundreds of different reasons to be called upon by the Queen, Leopard’s still in school she might just be changing up his classes. Wouldn’t hurt to ask, he assumed. “Do you know what the meeting’s gonna be about?” He tried his best to fake a smile, it didn’t appear to be working.

“There’s no need to panic, I know meeting a Queen for the first time can be scary.” Good at least she didn’t know why he was nervous. “Anyway Queen Treefrog said she wanted it to be a surprise, but I promise you it's a good thing!” The rainwing seemed excited, whatever this meeting would be about must be innocent enough. Leopard knew typical rainwing citizens to prefer good news anyway.

“Alright, I guess I’ll head to the throne room…” He said, forcing a more convincing smile this time.

“See ya! Oh! Almost forgot my name’s Cowbird!” The cheerful rainwing waved before flying off in the other direction, Leopard kinda admired the carefree nature of her life. He’d seen Cowbird occasionally, always dressed up in fancy cloaks and bathing in the sun. He wished life was that easy for him. 

Once Leopard reached the entrance to the throne room he took a deep breath…he was safe, everything was fine. He was just waltzing right into the sight of a murderer, what could go wrong? He quickly shut down that train of thought, she may have killed the Queen. Nobody would dare harm a dragonet, Leopard was only 6 years old. He entered the room, immediately bowing down like he’d seen others do before.

“Hello Leopard, take a seat. There’s much to discuss!” She says with an aura of excitement. She was a lot taller compared to him, he felt like an ant in comparison. Leopard stopped bowing and sat up, avoiding eye contact as if his life depended on it.

“Hello, your majesty” He struggled to come up with something to say, so simple formalities might lessen the eerie silence.

“I’ve heard your feeling rather paranoid lately, my guards say you’ve been significantly less social” She begins, her smile creeped him out a bit. It was warm and welcoming, but her eyes showed an entirely different mood. They were halfway to a glare for a moment, or perhaps Leopard had imagined it in his panic. “It’s not good for a dragonet’s development to stray from their peers, I worry for your health”

“I’m sorry, I just get startled easily and-” The Queen cut him off surprisingly fast, going onto her next point it seemed.

“I understand, it’s hard to talk to others. Especially since I’ve heard the medics discuss your paranoia.” Oh, Leopard had been telling everyone about his suspicions before he found the body. The medics obviously would’ve told their Queen about it! “I know a new Queen is a big change in your life, before I was crowned my mother was Queen your whole life”

“Yeah, it’s a big change” Play dumb, just keep pretending. There was an awkward silence, Queen Treefrog staring at him for a good few moments.

“Leopard?” She asked, a hint of hostility mixed into her voice.

“....yes?” Leopard replied, failing to hide the nervousness in his voice.

“I’ve arranged for you to take extra battle lessons, I want you to know there’s nothing to be afraid of” She smiled, this time more genuine.

“Ok, that’s-” He was cut off again, the Queen's voice radiating malice.

“Meet me at the river at sunset, we’ll begin our first lesson. You are dismissed” As Leopard left the throne room, something in the back of his mind told him that shouldn't attend that lesson.

The Doll

He didn't expect to die so quickly.

Scott usually managed to survive a while. Not all the time, mind you, he was only mortal after all, but it just came as a surprise.

When he died, aside from the intense pain that came with being burned alive, Scott could almost feel his bones fracturing. Which was strange since he no longer had any bones to break. It was as if, in his third death, he had died as a Transporter too.

He felt a baby zombie sink its teeth into his non-existent flesh. Its fists collliding with his ribs. He felt that, as well.

Scott tried to shake the feeling off. He wasn't a Fungal Mage anymore. It was a new life, a different life. He wasn't like the others before him.

It was as if he was being pulled apart and pieces of him were scattered through lives he'd lived in the past. Glimpses of a sword thrust through his heart in snowy mountains, of dying to a friend's hand, of standing atop a mound of TNT and lighting it.

Of waking up in the flower fields again with a blurred face smiling at him.

Shivers crawled over his body.

He was dead now, wasn't he?

An emptiness crept inside him. The others would be gone soon. Properly gone. Would he be the last one left?

Scott thought about Sausage, his new life as an assassin. Of all his friends. Jimmy. Sparrow (although sometimes he thought he was Owen instead. Maybe he just had one of those faces). Lizzie. Martyn. Everyone he had cared about, gone.

Dead. Just like he was.

Something seemed familiar. He couldn't tell what it was.

"Home."

"Are you coming?"

"Martyn!"

"I'm giving you ten seconds to run."

Scott's eyes snapped open.

Hi, dear! I'm sorry if you don't write character death, I read your 'rules and disclaimers' and I didn't see death at either yes or no so this is just me shooting my shot and ask you if you would write an Regulus x reader where, preferably the reader, dies, and Regulus goes through grief? Again, I'm sorry if this made you feel uncomfy, I absolutly love your writing. All the love <3

Where you are

Regulus knew he wouldn’t survive, but he didn’t mind. Death meant seeing you again.

pairings: Regulus Black x Dead!Fem!Reader

word count: 4.6K

warnings: Angst, mentions death, torture, drowning, implied depression. Read on your own accord

note: I usually write fluff rather than death, so this is definitely outside my comfort zone, but in a way I enjoy. To answer your question, I see death as a natural part of angst, so no need to apologize. Again, PLEASE READ ON YOUR OWN ACCOUNT. I changed the way I post my stories. Do you think it looks good? Yes or no?

more here: masterlist, Regulus masterlist

requested by anon.

Regulus Black sat before your grave, his back hunched, his once-impeccable robes now wrinkled and dusted with dirt. His hair, usually neat, hung in unruly strands around his pale face. He hadn't left since your funeral, unable to tear himself away from the cold stone that bore your name. The world had moved on, but he had not. He could not.

The sickness had taken you swiftly, cruelly. One moment, you were laughing with him, teasing him about his brooding nature, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. The next, you were weak, burning with fever, and he was powerless to stop it. Even the best healers could not save you. And now, Regulus was left in a world that no longer made sense, with only memories to replay over and over again in his mind.

He closed his eyes, and for a moment, he was back in the candlelit glow of your shared bedroom, your laughter ringing in his ears. "Regulus, you're staring again," you'd tease, poking his chest as he smirked down at you. "Can you blame me?" he'd reply, pulling you into his arms. But when he opened his eyes, he was alone. Always alone.

The two of you had been caught outside during the season’s first snowfall. You had thrown your head back, eyes wide with delight as you stuck your tongue out to catch the falling flakes. Regulus had only watched, mesmerized. "You look ridiculous," he muttered, but his lips twitched in amusement.

You grinned, tugging on his scarf to pull him closer. "Admit it, you love it."

"I love you," he corrected softly. And as the snow fell around you both, he sealed his words with a kiss, his hands cupping your chilled cheeks.

Regulus lay beside you in bed, staring at the ceiling, while your fingers lazily traced patterns along his arm. "If you could be anywhere, doing anything, where would you be?" you asked.

He turned his head to look at you. "Here. With you."

You rolled your eyes. "That’s a cop-out answer."

He smirked. "It’s the truth."

You huffed, but he could see the warmth in your eyes, the way your lips curled slightly at the edges. You leaned over, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "You’re such a sap, Regulus Black."

One evening, long after the world had fallen asleep, you had pulled him to his feet in the sitting room. A record played in the background, its melody soft and crackling with age.

"I don’t dance," he had grumbled.

"Then stand there and let me dance with you," you countered, resting your head against his chest as you swayed gently. Slowly, hesitantly, he moved with you, his arms wrapping around your waist. The world outside did not exist in that moment—only the two of you did.

Regulus had never felt fear like this before. Not in battle, not in the presence of the Dark Lord. Nothing compared to the helplessness that gripped him as he knelt beside you, his hands trembling as they brushed against your fevered skin.

"Love, please," he whispered, his voice raw. "Stay with me. Just a little longer."

You offered him a weak smile, your fingers curling around his wrist. "Reg… don’t look at me like that."

"Like what?" he choked out.

"Like you already think I’m gone."

His throat tightened. He wanted to argue, wanted to tell you that you weren’t allowed to leave him. But even as he held your hand tightly in his own, he could feel you slipping away.

"I don’t know how to live without you," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

You exhaled softly, the weight of exhaustion evident in your features. "You don’t have to. Just… just promise me you’ll keep living. Even when it’s hard."

Regulus swallowed past the lump in his throat. "I can’t."

You gave his hand a faint squeeze. "You can. You’re stronger than you think."

But he wasn’t. He was weak without you. And when your eyes finally fluttered shut, and your grip on his hand loosened, something inside him shattered beyond repair.

Days turned to weeks. Regulus stopped attending Death Eater meetings. The Dark Lord sent summons, but he ignored them. Nothing mattered anymore. He barely ate, barely slept. It was as if he had died with you; only his body remained, trapped in this hollow existence.

The Dark Lord’s patience began to wane. He could not tolerate insubordination, not even from the Black heir. At the next gathering, Regulus's absence did not go unnoticed.

"Where is Regulus?" Voldemort’s voice cut through the room, cold and sharp.

Silence.

Lucius Malfoy cleared his throat, exchanging a glance with the others. "He has… not been well, my Lord."

Voldemort’s expression remained unreadable. "Not well? Or unwilling?"

A heavy tension filled the chamber, the air thick with unspoken fear. Then, with a slow, deliberate nod, he turned his gaze to Narcissa Malfoy.

"Go to him," he commanded. "Remind him where his loyalties lie. And if he refuses to remember… persuade him."

Bellatrix Lestrange let out a sharp laugh, the kind that sent a chill down the spine. "Oh, dearest cousin has lost his spirit?" she cooed, her dark eyes glittering with amusement. "Mourning a little lost love? How... pathetic."

Narcissa shot her sister a warning look before bowing her head to the Dark Lord. "I will see to it, my Lord."

Bellatrix sneered. "And if he does not listen?"

"Then we ensure he does," Voldemort replied simply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Narcissa arrived at Grimmauld Place within the hour, her expression composed but laced with concern. She knew grief. She knew how it twisted inside a person, warping their reality, making the rest of the world fade to nothing. But she also knew the cost of disobedience.

She found Regulus where she expected—by your grave. His head was bowed, his fingers tracing the etched letters of your name. He did not look up as she approached, did not acknowledge her presence.

"Regulus," she said softly, kneeling beside him. "You have to come inside. You’ll make yourself ill."

He did not move.

She reached out, placing a gentle hand on his arm. "She wouldn't want this for you. She loved you, Regulus. You think she would want you wasting away like this?"

His voice, when he finally spoke, was hoarse from disuse. "Don’t. You don’t understand, Cissy."

"I do understand," she countered, squeezing his arm. "But I also understand that the Dark Lord does not tolerate weakness. He sent me here to remind you of that."

Regulus exhaled sharply, finally lifting his gaze to her. His eyes were hollow, void of the sharp intellect that had once defined him. "Let him kill me, then. It would be easier."

Narcissa’s stomach clenched at his words, but before she could respond, the fireplace in the house roared to life, signaling another arrival.

Bellatrix.

She strode into the clearing like a phantom of death, her wand twirling between her fingers as she observed the pathetic sight before her.

"Look at you," she taunted, tilting her head. "The great Regulus Black, reduced to nothing more than a lovesick fool." She sighed, shaking her head dramatically. "What a waste."

Regulus did not react, not even as she stepped closer. Bellatrix crouched before him, her dark curls falling over her shoulder as she studied him with twisted fascination.

"You think grieving makes you noble?" she whispered mockingly. "It makes you weak. She’s gone. Dead. Nothing you do will bring her back."

Regulus's jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists. "Shut up."

Bellatrix grinned. "There’s fire in you still. Good. You’ll need it when the Dark Lord decides you are no longer worth keeping."

Narcissa rose to her feet, stepping between them. "That’s enough, Bella."

Bellatrix huffed, rolling her eyes. "Enough? Oh, dearest sister, our cousin here needs a lesson in duty."

Regulus finally looked up, his gaze meeting Bellatrix's with something dangerous simmering beneath the emptiness. "My duty?" he echoed. "Tell me, Bella—what would you do if it were Rodolphus? If he was the one buried here?"

For the first time, Bellatrix faltered. It was brief, barely noticeable, but it was there, a flicker of something human beneath her insanity.

She scoffed, straightening up, mask falling back into place. "That’s the difference between us, dear cousin. I would not be weak enough to let love ruin me."

Regulus gave a hollow laugh, shaking his head. "Then I pity you."

Bellatrix’s eyes darkened, but before she could retort, Narcissa stepped forward, voice firm. "That’s enough. We came here for one reason."

She turned to Regulus, her expression softening. "Come back, Regulus. At least pretend, for your sake. If you keep ignoring the Dark Lord’s summons, it will not be my voice or Bella’s he sends next."

Regulus looked at her for a long moment before exhaling, the weight of his grief pressing down on him. "Fine," he murmured. "I’ll come."

Bellatrix smirked. "Smart boy."

But as Regulus stood, casting one last glance at your grave, he knew the truth.

He would never truly return. Because a part of him had died with you, and no amount of pretending could change that.

A few days later, the night was thick with smoke, the air filled with the distant echoes of screams and the crackling of fire. The raid was nothing new, another display of the Dark Lord’s power, another night of violence. Regulus moved through the wreckage like a specter, his wand gripped tightly in his fingers, his expression empty.

The mission had been simple: take down those who resisted, leave an example behind. It should have been nothing more than another task to complete. And yet, something in Regulus had cracked.

His wand was raised, the curse spilling from his lips before he had even registered the words.

“Crucio.”

The man collapsed instantly, his back arching off the ground as if an invisible force had seized his spine and twisted it. A raw, guttural scream tore from his throat, his fingers clawing desperately at the dirt, nails breaking as he convulsed. His legs jerked uncontrollably, his body writhing like a trapped insect beneath a magnifying glass, unable to escape the unbearable fire coursing through his veins.

Regulus didn’t blink. Didn’t waver. His arm remained steady, his grip on his wand firm. The screaming filled his ears, louder than the roaring flames consuming the house behind them, louder than the shouted orders of other Death Eaters in the distance. It should have been enough. But it wasn’t.

“Crucio.”

Another wave of agony slammed into the man’s already broken body. He choked on his breath, gasping as though drowning, his limbs seizing up before thrashing violently against the cobbled ground. His skin was slick with sweat, his face contorted into something beyond recognition—beyond human. A broken animal, screaming for mercy that would never come.

Regulus’s heart pounded against his ribs, his fingers twitching as he tightened his hold on his wand. The pain in the man’s eyes—it reflected something back at him. Something raw. Something that made his own grief flare like an open wound. He wanted to stop feeling nothing. He wanted to make the world feel what he did.

“Good,” a voice purred from behind him.

Bellatrix.

Her presence slithered through the smoke like a serpent, her dark eyes gleaming with sadistic delight as she watched him work. She stepped closer, her breath warm against his ear. “Again.”

Regulus hesitated for only a second before his grip tightened once more. The man on the ground barely had the strength to whimper, his body twitching, his consciousness fraying at the edges. His breaths came in wet, strangled gasps, his eyes rolling back in his head. He was close to the edge, teetering between agony and oblivion.

Bellatrix chuckled, her voice dripping with approval. “Yes, dear cousin, let him suffer. Make him beg.”

Regulus’s expression was unreadable, his heart hammering. He lifted his wand once more, ready to cast again, to drag the man deeper into suffering. To let the pain swallow them both whole.

And yet, as he stared down at the broken body beneath him, something twisted in his chest. The man’s face was a mess of blood, sweat, and agony. His fingers twitched, his body barely responding to the torture anymore. He was nothing but a shell now.

Regulus took a slow breath and lowered his wand.

Bellatrix’s smile faltered, her excitement giving way to scrutiny. “Why did you stop?”

Regulus didn’t answer. He turned away from the broken man at his feet and walked past her, his expression void of anything. Bellatrix watched him go, amusement flickering in her gaze.

“Oh, cousin,” she whispered, laughter dancing on her lips. “The Dark Lord will be so pleased.”

Regulus didn’t react. He just kept walking, the man’s screams still ringing in his ears, merging with the ghosts of the past he could never escape.

Another raid. Another night drenched in screams and the scent of burning wood. The world around Regulus was a blur of fire and shadows, but none of it truly touched him. He moved as if in a trance, detached from the chaos that once might have rattled him. Nothing mattered anymore.

The target of their raid had been reduced to a heap of trembling limbs, barely clinging to consciousness. A once-proud wizard, now on his knees in the mud, his body wrecked with exhaustion and pain. Regulus stood over him, wand still raised, breath slow and measured. He didn’t even remember how long he had been casting.

Death Eaters gathered in a loose circle around them, the flickering firelight illuminating their masks, their dark robes shifting like shadows. Some watched in silence, arms crossed, their expressions hidden but their satisfaction clear. Others smirked, whispering amongst themselves, reveling in the spectacle. This was entertainment. A lesson. A show of power.

“Crucio.”

A gurgled scream ripped from the man’s throat, his head snapping back as another wave of unimaginable pain consumed him. He twitched and writhed, his fingers digging into the dirt as if the earth itself could save him. But there was no salvation. No mercy.

Bellatrix’s laughter echoed through the ruined village, a sweet and cruel melody that slithered into Regulus’s ears. She stood nearby, watching him with an indulgent sort of pleasure.

“That’s it, darling,” she cooed, stepping closer. “Feel it. Let it consume you.”

Regulus tightened his grip on his wand, watching the way the man’s body spasmed, his eyes rolling back, his screams hoarse and broken. He should have stopped. This should have sickened him. But all he felt was the void.

“Again,” Bellatrix urged, voice thick with delight.

Regulus obeyed. The curse tore from his lips once more, and the man shrieked, though his body was barely responding now. He was slipping, teetering on the edge of death, barely holding onto life by the frayed strings of his shattered nerves.

Bellatrix stepped around Regulus, her movements slow, predatory. She knelt beside the broken man, running a gloved finger through the blood seeping into the mud.

“See how beautiful suffering can be?” she murmured, her gaze flicking up to meet Regulus’s. “You understand it now, don’t you?”

From the corner of his eye, Regulus saw some of the Death Eaters nodding approvingly, their postures relaxed, satisfied. Others murmured to one another, their voices thick with amusement, speaking as if this were nothing more than a game.

Regulus didn’t answer. His wand was still raised, his heart hammering beneath his ribs. He wasn’t sure if it was from exhilaration or sickness. He wasn’t sure if he cared.

Bellatrix smirked, her dark eyes dancing with a manic sort of glee.

“The Dark Lord will be pleased,” she said, almost sing-song. “You’re finally becoming who you were meant to be.”

Regulus swallowed hard, his fingers tingling from the magic coursing through him. His chest felt hollow, his veins filled with ice. He didn’t look at the man he had broken. He didn’t want to.

Instead, he turned away, stepping over the crumpled body as if it were nothing more than debris in his path.

Bellatrix followed him, still smiling, still watching.

The Death Eaters parted as he passed, some murmuring words of approval, others giving him silent nods of respect. This was his place now. This was who they believed he was becoming.

But Regulus felt nothing. Nothing at all.

The first time Regulus killed someone after your death, it wasn’t intentional. At least, not in the beginning.

The raid had gone as all the others did, rushed movements, shouts, spells flying through the air like lightning, the scent of burning wood and flesh thickening the night. Regulus had been moving on instinct, his mind caught somewhere between the present and the past, the ghosts of his memories keeping him at a cruel distance from reality. He barely registered the man he had cornered, barely recognized the wand shaking in the desperate grip of someone who had already lost.

It should have been over quickly. Stun him. Leave him. Move on. But something snapped.

The man had looked up at him, eyes wide, pleading, and there was something—something in his expression.

It was the way his lips parted, the way his chest heaved, the way his entire body braced for the worst but still hoped, still begged for mercy. It was the same way you had looked at Regulus once. The same way you had reached for him in your final moments, fingers weak, trembling, before they had gone cold against his skin.

His wand moved before he could think.

“Crucio.”

The man screamed.

Regulus had cast the curse before, had heard the sound of agony a hundred times over. But this was different. This wasn’t calculated. This wasn’t controlled. It was raw, vicious, and desperate. He poured everything into it—his grief, his rage, his emptiness. He watched as the man writhed beneath the force of his magic, body twisting unnaturally, breath choking in his throat as his screams turned ragged.

And Regulus didn’t stop.

He barely noticed when the others fell silent around him, when the fight moved on, when the only sound left in the alley was the crackling fire and the wet gasps of a dying man. His hand was shaking, grip tight around his wand as though it were the only thing tethering him to the world.

The man stopped moving. His chest barely rose. His fingers twitched, his mouth opened, whether to speak or to breathe, Regulus would never know. Because, in that next instant, the last thread of life snapped, and he was gone.

Regulus stared down at him, at the way the light had left his eyes, at the way his body had gone slack in the dirt, at the way his blood soaked into the ground as if the earth itself was eager to erase his existence.

He waited for the guilt. He waited for the satisfaction. He waited for anything at all.

But there was nothing. No regret. No triumph. No relief.

Just emptiness.

A void where something should have been.

And as the night stretched on, as the echoes of death faded into the wind, Regulus realized that maybe, just maybe, there was nothing left of him to save.

Regulus hadn’t looked at himself in weeks. Maybe months. There was no need. He already knew what he would see—someone who wasn’t really alive anymore. A hollowed-out thing, a ghost wrapped in skin.

But tonight, something had drawn his eyes to the mirror.

It was accidental. He had stumbled into the Black family bathroom after another sleepless night, reaching for the basin to splash water on his face. But then his gaze flickered up, and there he was.

He froze.

The man staring back wasn’t him. He looked sickly, his once-pale skin now ashen, stretched thin over his sharp cheekbones. The deep shadows beneath his eyes made them look sunken, like the empty sockets of a corpse. His lips were chapped, bloodied in places where he had bitten them raw without realizing it. His dark curls, once so carefully combed, were a tangled, matted mess.

His mother would have been horrified. His father, disgusted. He might have cared once.

Regulus gripped the edge of the sink, his knuckles turning white. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, staring, unable to look away. A thought flickered through his mind—how much he looked like you in the last days before you died. How the sickness had drained the life from your body, how your eyes had dulled, how you had wasted away until there was nothing left but a fragile shadow of the person you once were.

You were dead.

And he was still here. Why?

Something cracked inside him, something he had been holding together for too long. His breath hitched, his vision blurred, and suddenly he was moving, his hand lashing out before he could stop himself.

The mirror shattered.

The pieces clattered to the floor, sharp fragments catching the dim candlelight, scattering across the black-and-white tiles. He stared down at them, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths, his fingers shaking. Blood dripped from his knuckles where the glass had sliced him, but he barely felt the pain.

It was quiet now.

Too quiet.

His reflection was gone. No more proof that he was still here, that he was still breathing when you weren’t.

He slumped to the floor, his back against the sink, staring blankly at the broken shards surrounding him. It felt fitting. Like his body had finally caught up with the state of his soul.

He wasn’t sure how long he had sat there. Minutes. Hours. Maybe forever. The thought of moving, of getting up and continuing like nothing had happened, felt impossible. The weight in his chest, the crushing emptiness inside him, was too much.

And for the first time, he didn’t want to fight it.

The thought came slowly, creeping in like a whisper in the back of his mind, curling around him like smoke.

It would be easier. To just… stop.

To close his eyes and never open them again. To let go.

He wasn’t scared. He had nothing left to be afraid of. No one left to disappoint.

You were waiting for him. Somewhere out there, beyond all of this, you were waiting.

Regulus let his head fall back against the cabinet, his bloodied hand going limp at his side. He exhaled slowly, almost peacefully.

Maybe it was time to go home. Go back home to you.

The cave was silent, save for the rhythmic lapping of the dark lake against the stone. The air was damp, thick with the scent of decay, of something ancient and long-forgotten. Regulus stood at the water’s edge, his wand raised, the golden locket heavy in his trembling hand.

This was it. His final act of defiance.

He had spent so long lost in grief, spiraling deeper into the abyss of the Dark Lord’s service, hollowed out by your absence. He had tried to fill that void with cruelty, with violence, with mindless obedience. But none of it had numbed the agony of losing you. And now, he stood here, at the edge of his own demise, finally understanding what you would have wanted for him.

He wasn’t meant to be this. He wasn’t meant to be a monster.

“Kreacher,” he whispered. The elf trembled beside him, eyes wide with terror. “Take this. Go. Destroy it.” He forced the locket into Kreacher’s small hands, curling the elf’s fingers around it.

“But Master Regulus—” Kreacher’s voice cracked.

“Please,” Regulus breathed, kneeling before the only soul who had remained loyal to him. “You must live. You must finish what I started.”

Tears burned his eyes as he thought of you, of the way you would have scolded him for throwing his life away, for giving up. But this wasn’t giving up, was it? This was finally doing something right.

Kreacher vanished with a crack.

And then, the water stirred.

Cold fingers clawed at the air, skeletal hands breaking through the surface. The Inferi moved unnaturally, jerking toward him with silent, gaping mouths. He lifted his wand, but he already knew—there was no escaping this.

His body screamed to fight, to run, but Regulus let himself sink to his knees. A hand gripped his wrist, another clawed at his shoulder, and suddenly he was being pulled under, the icy water swallowing him whole.

Darkness wrapped around him, numbing his limbs, slowing his heart. He exhaled a shuddering breath, bubbles escaping his lips as the last remnants of air left his lungs. He didn’t fight. He didn’t thrash. He simply closed his eyes and let the memory of you carry him away.

Your laughter. Your warmth. The way you whispered his name like it was something sacred.

He saw you waiting for him in the depths, reaching out, just as you had before you were taken from him. And as the abyss claimed him, for the first time since your death, he felt peace.

Your name was the last thing that left his lips before the darkness took him forever.

When Regulus opened his eyes, he was somewhere else. The cold was gone, the suffocating weight of water no longer pressing against his lungs. Instead, there was light—soft, warm, golden light. The kind he had only seen in dreams.

And then he saw you.

You stood before him, untouched by time, just as he remembered you—beautiful, radiant, alive. His breath hitched, his chest tightening as he stumbled forward, almost afraid that if he touched you, you would disappear.

But you didn’t.

The moment his arms wrapped around you, the dam inside him shattered. A sob ripped from his throat, raw and broken, and he clung to you as if he were drowning all over again. His fingers dug into you, desperate, needing to make sure this was real, that you were real.

“I’m so sorry,” he choked out, burying his face in your shoulder. “I’m so—so sorry.”

Your hands came up, running through his dark hair, soothing, grounding. “Shh, Regulus,” you murmured. “It’s over. You’re safe now.”

But he wasn’t sure he deserved to be. He had done terrible things. He had let grief consume him, let it turn him into something unrecognizable. He had been lost for so long.

Yet, in your arms, he finally felt found.

You pulled back just enough to cup his face, wiping away his tears with your thumbs. “You did the right thing,” you whispered. “You’re here now. With me.”

Regulus let out another broken sob, pressing his forehead against yours. For the first time in what felt like eternity, the void inside him wasn’t empty anymore. He was home.

With you.

Forever you

Lee is cursed with immortality, and he finds Y/N's reincarnation every time.

Vampire!Lee x Reincarnation!Reader

words: 3.5k

warning: mentions of death, blood, m*rder, reincarnation, abuse , war (brief)

note: school is taking up my time. Unedited

find more here: masterlist

It was the year 1060, the village sat on the edge of a dense forest, untouched by war but not by whispers of creatures that lurked in the dark. Lee had no business here, yet he found himself drawn to the small stone hut at the heart of it.

A storm had rolled in, and with it, the gnawing hunger he had grown to hate. He needed to leave before he did something unforgivable. But then, the door to the hut creaked open, and she stood there—Y/N, her lantern’s glow illuminating wide, cautious eyes.

“You look half-dead,” she remarked, stepping forward.

He nearly laughed at the irony. “I suppose I do.”

“Come inside before you freeze.”

She wasn’t afraid of him—not when he stumbled in with wounds that should have killed any normal man, nor when his skin remained ice-cold even by the fire. She asked no questions, only tending to him as her mother once had for wounded knights.

Over the weeks, Lee stayed close. He helped gather wood, watched her mix herbs, and listened to her hum old songs that stirred something ancient in him. Y/N was kind, but sharp-witted, never failing to call out his silences.

“You always look like you’re carrying a burden.”

He glanced at her, stirring the pot over the fire. “Maybe I am.”

“Well,” she huffed, leaning against the table. “You should set it down every once in a while.”

It happened by the river. The sun was dipping below the trees, setting the sky on fire. Y/N stood barefoot on the bank, watching the water swirl between her toes.

“You’re staring.”

Lee blinked. “Am I?”

She turned to face him fully, something unreadable in her gaze. “You always do.”

Before he could think, she reached for him, fingers curling in the fabric of his tunic. When she kissed him, it was nothing like the hesitant, fleeting gestures of courtly lovers. It was warmth, life, the taste of honey and herbs.

For the first time in centuries, Lee felt human again.

The night was still, but Lee knew danger when he felt it. He woke to the scent of blood, not Y/N’s, but the slaughtered lamb outside the hut. A warning.

He knew he couldn’t keep this from her any longer.

That night, he found her sitting by the fire, waiting for him. Her eyes followed him as he paced, struggling with the words.

“I need to tell you something,” he said, voice low.

She curled a brow. “Oh? You’re secretly a nobleman? Or—gods forbid—a bard?”

He almost smiled, but the weight of the truth held him back. “I’m not… like you, Y/N. I haven’t been for a long time.”

She tilted her head, curious but unafraid. “Go on.”

He took a breath, then met her gaze. “I don’t age. I don’t die—not in the way humans do. I… survive on blood.”

The silence stretched between them. Then, to his utter shock, she smirked. “You’re not about to tell me you sparkle in the sunlight, are you?”

He blinked. “What?”

“You know,” she waved. “Shimmering skin, brooding forever, that sort of thing.”

Despite himself, a laugh escaped him. “No. I avoid the sun because it weakens me, not because I… glisten.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” She leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm. “So, are you going to eat me?”

His amusement faded. “Never.”

She studied him for a moment before shrugging. “Good. Then I see no reason to be afraid.”

“You should be,” he murmured. “You don’t understand what I am.”

“I understand enough,” she said, softer this time. “You’re Lee. You help me gather wood, you listen to my terrible singing, and you burn the stew when I let you cook. That’s enough for me.”

They stayed together after that. Y/N made jokes about his brooding and inhuman coldness, but she never feared him. They danced under the moonlight, shared whispered stories between breaths, and Lee let himself love without fear for the first time in his immortal life.

But time was cruel.

Sickness took her slowly. Lee tried everything; fetched herbs, stole medicines, pleaded to gods he didn’t believe in. Nothing stopped the inevitable.

“Stay,” she whispered, voice weak in the flickering candlelight.

Lee clutched her hand, pressing his forehead to hers. “I’ll find you,” he swore. “Every time.”

And as her last breath left her lips, Lee sat in silence, knowing this was only the beginning of his endless search for her.

He wandered for years, waiting for the pull, for the feeling deep in his bones that would lead him back to her. And then he found her again. Different life, different name—but it was her. It was always her.

He never told her, not at first. He let her fall in love with him the way she always did—slowly, sweetly, as if for the first time. But the truth always came out. Sometimes she laughed when she learned what he was. Sometimes she was afraid. But always, in every life, she stayed.

And always, in every life, she left him in the end.

And still, he searched.

The year was 1300s and this time he found her in the bustling market square, the scent of fresh bread and spices filling the air, the chatter of merchants blending into a steady hum. But it was her laughter that cut through the noise, clear and familiar, sending a shiver down his spine.

He knew her the moment he saw her. He always did.

For two days, he followed at a careful distance, watching the way she moved, how she spoke with ease, and how she tossed a playful remark to the baker’s apprentice. He wanted to approach, but how could he? How did one explain centuries of longing?

It was she who finally ended his hesitation. Spinning on her heel in a narrow alleyway, she caught him lingering in her shadow.

“Are you following me?” she demanded, hands on her hips. Her sharp stare knocked the breath from his lungs. It was her, through and through—that stubborn courage, that fire he had loved before.

“I was hoping to talk to you,” Lee admitted, voice low, almost reverent.

She raised an eyebrow. “Then speak.”

And somehow, he found himself walking her home that evening, conversation flowing as if they had known each other forever. In a way, they had.

Lee learned that Y/N was headstrong, witty, and too clever for her good. She spoke of faraway places with longing, of adventure and stories that she dreamed of living by herself. She was restless in this life, much like she had been before, though she didn’t yet know why.

He became her shadow, not out of fear but out of need. He couldn’t leave her, not again. He helped carry baskets when she let him, stole apples from carts to hear her gasp in feigned disapproval, and listened to her hum old songs that stirred something ancient in his chest.

“You don’t talk much,” she mused one evening as they sat by the river.

“I talk when it matters.”

“And when does it matter?”

He looked at her then, the last light of the sun catching in her hair. “When it’s with you.”

The spring festival soon came with laughter, dancing, and the scent of blooming flowers. Y/N had dragged him into the square despite his protests, her hand warm in his as she spun them into the crowd. The music was fast, the world around them a blur, but Lee only saw her—her flushed cheeks, the way she bit her lip when she laughed.

When the dancing ended, they stumbled out of the crowd, breathless. Lanterns glowed above them, flickering light casting golden patterns on her face. Without a word, she grabbed his hand and kissed him.

It was sudden, impulsive, her laughter still on her lips when she kissed him again.

“You’re trouble,” he murmured against her mouth.

She grinned. “Then why are you still here?”

Because I always am, he thought, but he only kissed her in response.

Summer turned to autumn, and as the leaves fell, so did the last of his resolve. He had to tell her. He owed her that much.

They sat by the fire in her family’s home, the warmth doing nothing for the chill in his bones. Y/N watched him, something unreadable in her gaze, as if she already knew.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” he began. His hands clenched into fists. “Something about what I am.”

Y/N tilted her head. “You say that like you’re about to confess to murder.”

His silence stretched too long.

She blinked. “Lee?”

“I’m not human.” The words felt heavy, final. “I haven’t been for a long time.”

She studied him, quiet for a moment, before crossing her arms. “You’re not about to tell me you’re some kind of… what do they call them—creature of the night, are you?”

He let out a breath. “Something like that.”

To his utter shock, she only smirked. “You’re not going to start lurking in dark corners and calling me ‘mortal one,’ are you?”

He stared. “What?”

“I mean, if you start hissing at garlic, I might reconsider our whole relationship.”

Despite himself, he laughed, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

“But you love me.”

“Yes,” he said, softer this time. “I do.”

She reached for his hand, squeezing it. “Good. Because I know who you are now. And I don’t care.”

They spent that autumn wrapped in each other, in whispered words and secret smiles. She asked him endless questions—what it was like to live forever, if he had met kings, if he missed the taste of food.

“I don’t remember the taste,” he admitted one night, tracing patterns on her bare shoulder.

“That’s tragic,” she murmured. “I’d die if I couldn’t have honey cakes.”

He chuckled. “You say that as if you haven’t eaten five today.”

She gasped, shoving him playfully. “How dare you keep count?”

“I can’t help it. You get this look—like a fox that just stole from the henhouse.”

She laughed, burying her face against his chest. “Maybe in my next life, I’ll be a baker.”

He smiled, but the words sat heavy in his heart. There would always be a next life. And she would always leave him behind.

The winter was cruel.

She fell ill not long after the first snowfall. It started with a cough, then a fever that wouldn’t break. Lee tried everything; stole medicine, bribed healers, prayed to gods he didn’t believe in. Nothing worked.

He held her through the fevered nights, whispering stories she had loved, pressing cool clothes to her burning skin. He stayed when her strength faded, when her voice turned to a whisper.

One morning, just before dawn, she stirred. Her fingers curled weakly around his, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

“Lee?”

“I’m here.”

Her lips parted in the faintest of smiles. Her eyes softened, full of something deep, something knowing. “You’ll find me again,” she murmured.

Tears burned his eyes. He kissed her hand, pressing it to his cheek. “Always.”

And with a final, shuddering breath, she was gone.

Lee sat in silence, holding her long after her body turned cold.

The cycle would begin again. It always did.

And when it did, he would find her.

Because he always did.

It was the 1800s and in this life, she was a noblewoman.

Y/N.

Distant. Unreachable. A vision draped in silks and adorned with jewels, moving through candlelit halls as though she belonged to another world entirely. But Lee had seen her in every world, in every life. And even if she did not remember him, he knew her. He always did.

She was wed to another. A man of power, of wealth, of status. Someone safe. Someone human. Lee had seen him once, standing beside Y/N at a lavish banquet, fingers pressed possessively against the small of her back. It should have been him. It had always been him. But in this life, she did not belong to him.

So he watched from afar.

For months, he lingered in the shadows of her world, a ghost haunting the edges of candlelight. He caught glimpses of her in the garden at dusk, her face turned toward the dying sun. He listened to the sound of her laughter carried on the wind, a cruel reminder of all he had lost before. He kept his distance, even when the ache in his chest became unbearable.

And then he saw the bruises.

Dark, blooming things hidden beneath the high collar of her gown. The way she flinched when her husband reached for her at the next banquet. The hollow look in her eyes that had never been there before.

Lee had always told himself he would never interfere. That she deserved to live these lives as they came, untouched by the monster that lurked in the dark.

But this time, he couldn’t stay away.

He followed the man through the winding streets of the city, footsteps silent on the cobblestone. The nobleman was drunk, swaying as he staggered down a deserted alley, humming a tune that grated on Lee’s nerves. He reeked of wine, of expensive perfume, of cruelty. The kind of man who took pleasure in his power. The kind of man who believed himself untouchable.

Lee stepped out of the shadows.

"Who’s there?" the nobleman slurred, squinting into the darkness.

Lee didn’t speak. He let the silence stretch, watching as unease flickered across the man’s face. Then he moved.

It was over in seconds. A hand around the nobleman's throat, squeezing just hard enough to feel his pulse thrumming beneath his fingers. The man barely had time to gasp before Lee struck, fangs piercing flesh, warm blood spilling over his tongue. It had been so long since he had fed. He had denied himself for so long.

But this kill was not for hunger.

It was for her.

When the man finally went limp, Lee let his body crumple to the ground, blood staining the stone beneath them. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, but the coppery taste lingered. The taste of vengeance. Of justice.

Then he looked up—and saw her.

Y/N stood at the mouth of the alley, candlelight from the street casting a golden halo around her. Her expression was unreadable, her eyes locked on the lifeless body at Lee’s feet. Then, slowly, she met his gaze.

"You killed him," she murmured.

Lee swallowed, his throat thick with something he couldn’t name. "He hurt you."

She stepped closer, unafraid. "You’re dangerous."

"I am."

She should have run. She should have screamed for the guards. Instead, she looked down at the man who had tormented her for months, the man she had been forced to smile for, to obey, to endure. And then she exhaled a long, shuddering breath, as if some unseen weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

When she looked back at Lee, her eyes were softer. "But you’ve saved me more times than I can count."

Weeks passed, and the rumors of her husband's mysterious disappearance faded into whispers. Y/N remained in the estate, and Lee remained in the shadows, always near, never too far. But this time, he did not watch from a distance.

One evening, beneath a sky heavy with rain, she found him waiting on the balcony of her chambers. The city stretched below them, lanterns flickering against the darkness. The air smelled of wet stone, of lavender, of her.

She stepped closer, the silk of her nightgown whispering against the cool night air. "You always find me."

"Always."

She reached for him then, fingers tracing the curve of his jaw, as if memorizing him for the first time. And then, slowly, deliberately, she kissed him.

It was not rushed, not desperate like their first kisses in other lives. It was steady, filled with understanding. As if she had known him for years rather than weeks. As if, deep down, she had always known.

Lee stayed with her.

As the years passed, he remained by her side, a silent guardian in a world that did not know what he was. He held her at night, pressing kisses to her skin as she murmured dreams of other lives. He traced the lines of her face, memorizing every expression, knowing one day, he would lose her again.

And when time finally caught up to her, when the silver in her hair outnumbered the gold, he never left.

He sat at her bedside when she grew frail, holding her hand, whispering stories from their past. Some she remembered. Some she did not. But she listened all the same, her fingers curled around his, as if afraid to let go.

One night, as the fire burned low in the hearth, she turned to him, eyes heavy with sleep. "Will you find me again?"

Lee pressed his lips to her knuckles, breathing in the last traces of her warmth. "Always."

And when she passed, he kissed her brow one final time before slipping away into the night, the cycle beginning once more.

It was now the 21st century and Lee hadn’t meant to talk to her. He had spent months ensuring that their paths never truly crossed, keeping his distance like he always did.

But fate had a cruel sense of humor.

It was late, the city washed in a misty drizzle, the glow of neon signs reflecting off the wet pavement. He had been trailing her like always, keeping a careful distance.

Then, without warning, she turned around.

Lee barely had time to react before she was standing before him, eyes bright with something unreadable.

“Hello, Lee.”

His breath caught.

No.

She couldn’t have just—

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

The world tilted.

It took everything in him to stay still, to keep his expression unreadable even as his mind reeled. His name. She had said his name.

She remembered.

For centuries, it had been the other way around—him searching, him finding, him remembering while she moved through life unaware of their past.

But now…

Now, she was the one who had been looking for him.

Lee’s pulse pounded in his ears, though he knew it was just a phantom sensation, a habit leftover from when he had been human.

He forced himself to meet her gaze, searching for some sign that he had misheard. That this was just some cruel coincidence.

But her expression held no doubt. No hesitation. Only quiet certainty.

She knew him.

Truly knew him.

“Say something,” she teased, tilting her head. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

He let out a shaky breath, barely managing a smirk. “Funny. That’s usually my line.”

Her lips quivered in amusement, but her eyes remained steady, waiting.

“How?” Lee finally asked, voice hoarse. “How do you remember?”

She hummed, crossing her arms. “Not all at once. It started as dreams—flashes of things that didn’t belong to this life. You were always there, though.” She smiled softly, like she had finally solved a puzzle that had been plaguing her for years. “Your face was the clearest thing.”

He couldn’t breathe.

For so long, he had carried their past alone. Shouldered the weight of lifetimes of love and loss, knowing she would never share the burden.

But now…

Now, she was standing in front of him, looking at him like she had been waiting for him just as desperately as he had been waiting for her.

“You were watching me,” she said suddenly, breaking the silence. “Every night. Weren’t you?”

Lee stiffened.

Caught.

He should lie. Should tell her she was mistaken. But what was the point? She already knew.

“Yes,” he admitted. “I was.”

She didn’t look surprised.

“Why?”

Lee swallowed, debating how much of the truth he was willing to give her.

Because I couldn’t help myself. Because I’ve lost you too many times. Because I swore I wouldn’t get close, and yet I can’t seem to let you go.

Instead, he settled for, “Old habits die hard.”

Her gaze softened, seeing right through him.

Lee hated how easily she had always been able to do that.

“Will you keep running?” she asked.

The question settled between them, heavy and unspoken for far too long.

Lee had run for centuries—run from getting too close, from the pain of losing her, from the cruel hand of fate that always wrenched them apart.

But this time was different.

This time, she remembered.

And she had been the one searching for him.

He exhaled slowly. “I don’t know.”

Y/N reached out then, her fingers curling around his in a way that felt so natural, so achingly familiar, that it nearly unraveled him.

“Then let me find you,” she said, her grip steady. “For once, let me be the one who stays.”

Lee looked down at their joined hands, at the warmth seeping into his skin.

For the first time in lifetimes, she wasn’t slipping away.

And for the first time, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to let go.

Harry's post-Hogwarts

Harry's life after the battle of Hogwarts.

Regulus Black x Fem Potter! reader

word count: 1.8k

warnings: mentions of war, death, nightmares, PTSD

note: A Regulus and Harry moment hihi

The house felt quieter without Danny.

It wasn’t something they ever said out loud, but they all felt it.

Y/N noticed it in the way Regulus lingered by the breakfast table, drinking his tea a little slower, his sharp eyes drifting toward Danny’s usual seat. She noticed it in the way he took a few extra minutes in the morning to check the post as if expecting an owl from her—even though they’d just received one the day before.

Harry noticed it in the way the house felt less chaotic. No more exasperated sighs when he tried to rope Danny into one of his antics. No more cutting remarks that were both brilliant and scathing. No more of her curling up in the chair across from Baba, nose buried in a book far too advanced for her age.

Regulus would never admit it, of course. But Y/N caught the way he looked up expectantly every time the fireplace flared, just for a second, before masking it with that cool indifference he’d perfected years ago.

“She’s only been gone a week, Baba,” Harry said one evening, arms crossed as he leaned against the doorway. “You act like she moved across the world.”

Regulus, sitting in his usual chair, turned a page in his book without looking up. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Harry smirked. “Right. And you totally didn’t check for an owl three times today.”

Regulus flicked a glance toward Y/N, who was smirking into her tea. “I was checking for Ministry correspondence.”

“Sure you were.”

Regulus exhaled through his nose, closing his book with a soft thud. “Is there a reason you’re standing there, or did you just come to irritate me?”

Harry shrugged. “Mostly the latter.”

Y/N chuckled, setting down her cup. “You two are hopeless.”

Regulus sighed, rubbing his temple. “If this is what I have to deal with when Danny is gone, I’ll just send a Howler telling her to come home.”

Harry snorted. “She’d ignore it. Or worse, she’d send one back telling you to stop being dramatic.”

Regulus didn’t argue, which meant he knew Harry was right.

It was strange—this new phase of life. Hogwarts had always been a part of their routine, but now, with only one child at home, the house felt just a little too still.

Y/N reached over, placing a hand on Regulus’s. “She’s fine. And she’ll write again soon.”

Regulus hummed, squeezing her hand lightly before pulling away. “I’m aware.”

Harry smirked. “You miss her.”

Regulus shot him a look. “Shut up, Hazzy.”

Harry’s grin widened. “You miss her so much.”

Regulus glared. Y/N just laughed, shaking her head.

The house was quieter. But they’d adjust. They always did.

-

It was strange—falling back into a routine that hadn’t existed in over a decade.

With Danny at Hogwarts, the house felt smaller in a way. Not physically, of course, but something about it brought them back to the days when it was just the three of them—Regulus, Y/N, and Harry.

So, they decided to lean into it.

One evening, Harry came home from work at Chuddley Cannons, stretching his arms over his head. "It's weird without her here," he admitted, dropping into his usual seat at the dining table.

Y/N chuckled, setting down the plates. "You mean it's quieter?"

"Exactly," Harry grinned. "No broody six-year-old correcting my spelling or outdueling me in chess."

Regulus raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of his tea. "She hasn't been six in quite some time, Harry."

"Yeah, but she still acts like she is sometimes. Always reading, always judging me—"

"Wonder where she got that from," Y/N muttered, smirking at her husband.

Regulus scoffed. "I do not judge."

Harry and Y/N both gave him a look.

Regulus rolled his eyes. "Fine. Perhaps occasionally."

That night, it was just the three of them for dinner—like it had been all those years ago. It didn’t take long for them to slip into old habits.

Regulus and Y/N sat beside each other, discussing their respective days—her work at Hogwarts, his at the Ministry. Harry, ever the troublemaker, stirred his soup absentmindedly before blurting, “Remember when I used to sit on the table instead of a chair?”

Y/N groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose. “You were a menace.”

Harry smirked. “Still am.”

They spent the rest of the evening reminiscing—about the time Harry had insisted on flying inside the house and knocked over an entire bookshelf; about the time Regulus had tried to teach him etiquette, only for him to use a soup spoon to launch peas across the dining room; about the nights when Y/N would return home from Hogwarts, exhausted but still determined to tuck Harry in.

After dinner, Regulus and Y/N sat by the fireplace, Harry sprawled across the floor like he was still a teenager instead of a grown man.

"You know," Y/N mused, watching the flames flicker, "this is nice."

Regulus glanced at her. "What is?"

"Just... us. Like this. It reminds me of when Harry was little."

Harry, lying on his back with his arms crossed behind his head, smirked. "So you do miss me being a little kid."

Y/N rolled her eyes. "I miss you being manageable."

Regulus chuckled. "He was never manageable."

Harry grinned. "True."

They sat there for a long time, basking in the warmth of nostalgia. The house may have felt quieter, but it didn’t feel empty. cv

Because no matter how much things changed, they were still them. And that was enough.

It was strange—falling back into a routine that hadn’t existed in over a decade.

With Danny at Hogwarts, the house felt quieter. Not empty, just… different.

Harry, now a professional Quidditch player, had been staying over for the week while he had a short break between matches. It almost felt like old times—just the three of them, like it had been before Danny was born.

Y/N leaned against the kitchen counter, watching as Regulus sat at the dining table reading the Daily Prophet, his usual cup of tea in hand. Across from him, Harry was stretching out his sore muscles, rolling his shoulder as he groaned.

"Merlin, I feel ancient."

"You’re twenty," Regulus said flatly, not looking up from his paper.

"Exactly. Ancient."

Y/N smirked, setting plates down on the table. "Try being in your forties and teaching a bunch of teenagers Ancient Runes every day. Then we’ll talk."

Harry grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. "You love it."

"Most days." She sat beside Regulus, nudging his arm. "And you? Still terrorizing the poor souls at the Ministry?"

Regulus didn’t dignify that with a response, merely taking another sip of his tea.

Dinner felt like stepping into the past, their usual banter slipping back into place effortlessly.

"Remember when I used to run around the house with my toy broomstick, knocking things over?" Harry mused as he dug into his meal.

Regulus exhaled sharply, setting down his fork. "You were a menace. Nearly took my eye out when you were six."

Y/N laughed. "Oh, and that one time you crashed into the Christmas tree—"

"That was one time!" Harry defended himself.

Regulus smirked, crossing his arms. "And then you joined professional Quidditch. Clearly, you learned your lesson."

Harry grinned. "What can I say? I'm consistent."

After dinner, they moved to the living room, the fire crackling softly in the hearth. Harry sprawled across the couch like he owned the place, tossing a Quaffle into the air absentmindedly. Y/N curled up in her usual spot, while Regulus sat beside her, a book in his lap that he had no real intention of reading.

"You know," Y/N said after a moment, watching the fire, "this feels nice."

Regulus turned to her. "What does?"

"Just us. Like this. It reminds me of when Harry was little."

Harry smirked. "So you do miss me being small."

"I miss you being manageable," Y/N corrected with a roll of her eyes.

Regulus chuckled. "You were never manageable."

Harry tossed the Quaffle in the air again, catching it easily. "True."

The night stretched on, filled with warm conversation and laughter. It wasn’t often that Harry had time to stay home like this, and even though things had changed over the years, some things never would.

They were still them. And that was enough.

However, the nightmares started again.

Flashes of green light. Screams that were cut short. Rubble and fire. The feeling of losing people, of not being enough.

Harry woke up with a sharp gasp, his breath coming in ragged, uneven bursts. His chest ached like he’d run a marathon, and the darkness of his childhood bedroom felt suffocating. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, willing the images away.

He wasn’t at Hogwarts. He wasn’t in the war. He was home. Safe.

But his body didn’t believe it.

A knock at the door made him flinch. He didn’t answer, but the door creaked open anyway, the hallway light casting a long shadow as Regulus stepped inside.

"Another one?" Regulus's voice was quiet, steady.

Harry exhaled shakily and nodded. He didn’t need to explain. Regulus had always known.

Without a word, Regulus crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. It reminded Harry of when he was little—when he would have nightmares about his parents, about loud thunder, about monsters under the bed. Regulus would always be there, brushing his hair back, sitting with him in the dark until he calmed down.

Harry hated that he still needed this. After everything, he still felt like that scared little boy in the dark.

“I should be over this by now,” Harry muttered, his voice thick.

Regulus let out a quiet breath, the ghost of a sigh. “You don’t just ‘get over’ something like war, Harry.”

There was a moment of silence before Regulus reached out, hesitating for only a second before resting a hand on Harry’s head, running his fingers through the messy black strands. The touch was grounding, familiar.

"You used to do this when I was a kid," Harry said quietly.

"You used to calm down when I did," Regulus replied simply.

Harry let his eyes drift shut, focusing on the steady motion, the way it slowed his breathing. The memories of battle still lurked in the corners of his mind, but they felt a little further away now. Less sharp.

They sat in silence for a while.

Eventually, Regulus spoke again, his voice softer. "You are not weak for feeling this way, Harry."

Harry swallowed his throat tight. "I just... I feel like I shouldn't—like I should be moving on."

"You are moving on," Regulus said. "But healing isn’t the same as forgetting."

Harry took a shaky breath. He wanted to believe that.

Regulus stayed with him until his breathing evened out again until the tension in his shoulders finally eased.

Just like when he was a child, Regulus didn't leave until Harry was asleep.

previous chapter <- -> next chapter

Mom and Dad.

While Regulus is at work, Y/N brings Harry to his parents' grave.

[Regulus Black x Fem Potter!reader]

word count: 558 words.

warnings: Angst, mentions of death

note: This is the fourth chapter of my Potter-Black series but Regulus is hardly mentioned. This is because the chapter is focused on Harry, Y/N, Lily, and James.

-

The morning was crisp, the air carrying the scent of damp earth as Y/N wrapped Harry’s scarf snugly around his small frame. The autumn leaves crunched beneath their feet as they walked up the familiar path leading to the graveyard in Godric’s Hollow.

Regulus was at the Ministry, drowning in paperwork, leaving Y/N with the quiet decision to visit her brother alone—well, almost alone.

Harry, bundled up in his coat and mittens, clutched her hand tightly. “Mama,” he asked, his voice soft, “why are we here?”

Y/N knelt beside him, brushing a few stray leaves from his curls. “We’re visiting your parents, love.”

Harry’s brow furrowed slightly, his young mind trying to piece it together. “My real mummy and daddy?”

Y/N swallowed past the lump in her throat and nodded. “Yes. Your Mama Lily and Daddy James.”

Harry’s grip on her hand tightened as he looked around. “But I never met them,” he whispered.

Y/N gave him a sad smile. “No, sweetheart. You were just a baby.” She cupped his cheek gently. “But they loved you so much.”

Hand in hand, they walked through the graveyard, past old, weathered headstones, until they reached the one she knew by heart.

Y/N let out a slow breath, kneeling before the headstone. Harry hesitated before mirroring her, his tiny fingers tracing the carved letters of their names.

“James Potter…” he murmured, then looked up at Y/N. “That’s my name too, right?”

She smiled softly. “Yes, love. Harry James Potter. Your daddy wanted you to have his name.”

Harry was quiet for a moment, then looked back at the grave. “Do you think he’d like me?” he asked hesitantly. “Daddy James?”

Y/N’s heart clenched, and she pulled him into a hug. “Oh, Harry,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “He would have adored you. You’re just like him—kind, brave, full of mischief.” She chuckled softly, stroking his messy black hair. “And you have your mama’s heart. So full of love.”

Harry’s little arms wrapped around her neck. “I wish I could meet them.”

Y/N closed her eyes against the sting of tears. “I know, sweetheart. Me too.”

For a long moment, they sat in silence, Y/N’s arms wrapped protectively around the little boy she had sworn to raise, to love, to keep safe.

After a while, Harry shifted in her embrace. “Do you think they can see me?”

Y/N let out a soft breath, glancing up at the sky. “I do,” she said firmly. “I think they watch over you every single day.”

Harry thought about that, then looked back at the grave. After a moment, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled something out.

A small, slightly battered toy stag.

His favorite.

Carefully, he placed it at the base of the headstone, patting it gently.

“You can have Prongsie,” he whispered. “I think you’d like him.”

Y/N had to bite her lip to keep herself from crying.

As the wind rustled through the trees, Harry turned back to her and asked, “Can we come back again?”

Y/N smiled, cupping his face. “Of course, love. As many times as you want.”

She took his hand once more, pressing one last kiss to the headstone before leading him away.

As they left, the autumn wind carried the sound of distant laughter, like a whisper of the past. And for the first time in a long time, Y/N swore she could feel her brother’s presence—warm, watching, proud.

-

previous chapter <- -> next chapter

My family is deathly allergic to wasps. Like, I see the point you're trying to make, but if my 7-year-old cousin gets stung by a wasp, her airways will get blocked and she could suffocate to death. Same with my aunts, other cousins, my brother, and my mom. It's cool that your garden is a fairy tale and you feed birds out of your hand but that's not the reality for some people.

zoologist: This species plays a vital role in its ecosystem and it won’t hurt you unless you provoke it.

some of you lot: Yeah, but I don’t personally like them so they should all die, sorry.

The common room was empty only occupied by the marauders, and a couple random Gryffindors who were working on homework on a Friday night in hopes of going to Hogsmad in the morning. It was peaceful with Remus reading and Sirius leaning against his shoulder flipping the pages when he'd finish. Peter laying against the couch James was also occupying until he got up to thoroughly reenact a story.

The portrait opened up the common room breaking whatever peaceful moment that was unraveling. A boy with curly hair and gray eyes stepping through.

James eyes zoned in on him completely forgetting whatever story he was in the middle of "Hi love" his lips tugging on the corners threatening to already pull into the doppy smile he constantly carries around Regulus.

"Hmm" is all the younger boy says as he steps into his boyfriend's space. James arms automatically wrapping around his middle while his go up to hold the Gryffindors face in place and bring they're foreheads together. Recharging. It goes without saying.

"Thank you for loving me" He whispers into the small space eyes still closed and foreheads still pressed together. James doesn't respond just pulls him in closer by the waist and leans in even more kissing Regulus and humming into it. A silent continue.

When the kiss breaks apart Regulus takes soft breath before continuing. "When we were younger Sirius used to say that he wouldn't make it to 18, that our parents would kill him before then. I'd tell him to stop being a dramatic cunt because I knew if anyone was gonna get out it'd be him." It's not just James listening now Regulus has caught that attention of every marauder in the common room but he doesn't even notice because James is rubbing soft circles under his shirt easing him to continue.

"and he got out. Not unscathed but alive. When I was younger I didn't think I'd make it to 18" He takes a deep breath before continuing his sentence. "I didn't think I'd make it to 18 because I was sure I'd kill myself before then if my parents hadn't done yet." Everyone takes a sharp inhale at that. Everyone except for James who slowly breaths in through his nose and pulls Regulus impossibly closer.

"You saved Sirius he turned 18 this December. I've got two years left before my 18th birthday but that's closer than I ever thought I'd make it. Thank you for loving me because I don't think I'd be here if you didn't. You saved me." He says with a shaky breath.

"Oh baby, I didn't save you. You saved yourself." He breaks they're faces apart to kiss his forehead before pulling him to a hug Regulus goes willingly. "You have so many people in your life that helped you. Don't give me all the credit."

Regulus shakes his head before he continues talking. "They're people that I'd die for. But I want to live for you. And it's so hard and it's exhausting because my entire life I was ready to go so willingly. But now all I want to do is stand here with you because the thought of being somewhere without you is so much worse. So thank you for loving me."

"Hmm thank you for loving me too" "It's too hard not to" is the reply James gets in return which makes them both chuckle even with watery eyes. "It's easier than breathing"

adore how fascinated the masses are of lighting this procedure, i am amongst the masses here awed by humankinds idea of repairing living creatures, it always come to us, testin the limitations of what can fly back into the midst of the atmosphere is just one astoundin factor whether we’re fidgeging with a butterfly wing or a bird’s test peoples workin materials

living to dead, inanimate redeemed what gifts are given getting passed down, not wasted to these birds carrying on

it all takes time, shows how much more delicate these creatures anatomic arms are, though the bones themselves are not bein focused on here, the mending processes are not always so light even in regards to feathers, it is a relief many now have access to lighter materials as to not weigh down the birds flighty takeoffs

while slightly outdated from comin out of the high middle ages, frederick II’s “the art of falconry” ❨orig: de arte venandi cum avibus❩ is one interesting long read for anyone looking to gain more insight into how falconry care was handled within a span of roman times, hell, this the man took over thirty years to complete the work, dedication of eons from a falconer for such observations shared