unspeakable | jegulus

and in the heat the flies come down

chapter title: butcher's tale (western front 1914) by the zombies

TW: casual implication/discussion of rape

if you'd like you can add:

'zombie girl' by Adrianne Lenker / 'New Horse' by Slow Pulp / 'Abstract (Psychopomp)' by Hozier

to your queue <3

James was freed from the infirmary on a Saturday. They didn't have  anything to do or anywhere to be, so in the absence of direction they wandered the grounds aimlessly side by side. Snow fell over them so gently it was like the sky itself was treating them with an undeserved  tenderness. The entire castle and the sprawling grounds seemed to be  inside of a snow globe. Everything looked picturesque, and almost  surreally beautiful. This felt like the longest winter James had ever lived through, and he was learning to love ice as he'd once loved sunlit  heat. The absence of smell of winter was everywhere, only thwarted by  the smell of snow melting against their skin and seeping into their  clothes. There was cold in his belly and the end of his nose. The apples  of his cheeks were frostkissed, James relished the ice under his skin  the way he relished burns.

"Here, open your hands."  Regulus stopped him, and held his hands open as if to demonstrate, an  oddly unassuming gesture. As if communicating a silent: please. His pale eyes shimmered in the dim, slate grey sunlight. As ever, he looked lovely in winter. His nose was pink with cold, and his eyes  looked vivid, the absence of colour stark amongst the sea of untouched,  perfect snow in every direction. A single black ringlet, tangled and  soft, fell into his face, over his eyes. He shoved it back impatiently.

James held his hand open. Regulus reached into the snow beside them, whispering something under his breath, then placed a flower in the  middle of his palm made of ice. The petals were soft, made of delicate yet unmelting snow. James looked from the flower to Regulus. It was a  perfect carnation with a stem no longer than his index finger.

Regulus didn't smile. His cheeks turned a little pinker. "It's you."

"Thank you," James whispered. He spun the little icy stem between two fingers and watched the powdery petals move with the breeze of the motion. "What spell did you use for this?"

"I'm sure you'd like to know, but I don't think I'm going to tell you." Regulus had snowflakes  caught on his dark eyelashes. He was looking at the ground, not James. The ankle-deep snow bit at them. Neither wore boots. Their twinned sets  of footprints led into the forest. They didn't talk about where they were going, but they both knew.

James plucked one of the petals off of the strange flower in his hands. "He loves me," he said  softly, when they were under the sparse cover of leafless trees. The petal drifted to the snow beneath them and was lost in an instant. "He  loves me not..."

"You can play that game as much as you'd like, you know both answers would be true. If I played it about you, the same rules would apply. He loves me, he loves me not. What does it matter?" Regulus fit his foot into one of James' footprints. James  turned and walked backwards to look at him, slowly over the icy tree roots. Regulus was smirking to himself, watching the ground. He only  looked up when he saw the place where James' footprints turned to face him. "How long have you been staring at me?"

"A while. You have snow in your hair."

"So do you. I don't know if you happened to notice, but it's snowing."

"Really?" James plucked another petal off of the flower. "He loves me not."

"You're supposed to alternate them, you know. He loves me, he loves me not. Back and forth. You're not playing correctly."