#it’s be easier if i could ask anyone but an invisible force for help

[viagracex]

pls could you do one where r doesn’t drink- maybe because of childhood or something else, and is worried what the boys (like the Arthurs, Chris, batch) will think, but George just supports and loves her? comfort and fluff omg 💔

Beyond the Bottle

george clarkey x reader

summary: At game night, your choice not to drink sparks supportive gestures and honest conversations

warnings: brief mentions of childhood trauma, alcoholism, and abuse

note: this one was a bit harder to write for me for personal reason. so i kept everything on a lighter note. sorry if it isn't exactly what you wanted.

2.1k words

Masterlist

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You fidgeted nervously with the hem of your sweater as you stood in George's kitchen, watching him grab drinks for the rest of the boys. The sound of laughter and chatter drifted in from the living room where Arthur, Chris, and the others were hanging out. Your stomach twisted with anxiety.

George turned to you with a gentle smile, his warm brown eyes crinkling at the corners. "You alright, love?" he asked softly.

You nodded, trying to force a smile. "Yeah, I'm fine."

George set down the bottles he was holding and stepped closer, gently taking your hands in his. "Hey, what's really going on? You can tell me anything, you know that."

George waited patiently, giving your hands a reassuring squeeze. Taking a deep breath, you finally met his eyes.

"I don't drink," you confessed in a rush. "And I'm worried what the boys will think. I don't want to be a buzzkill or make things awkward."

Understanding dawned on George's face. He pulled you into a tender embrace, one hand rubbing soothing circles on your back.

"Oh, love," George murmured softly, his breath warm against your ear. "You don't have to drink if you don't want to. The lads won't care one bit, I promise."

You pulled back slightly, searching his eyes. "Are you sure? I don't want to be the odd one out."

George cupped your face gently, his thumb brushing your cheek. "You could never be the odd one out. Not to me, not to them. We love you just as you are. They're good guys, yeah? They'll understand."

His words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, easing some of the tension from your shoulders. You leaned into his touch, drawing strength from his unwavering support.

"It's just..." you started, your voice barely above a whisper. "After what happened with my dad, I can't... I can't be around alcohol without feeling sick."

George's eyes softened with understanding and a fierce protectiveness. He knew about your childhood, about the nights spent hiding from your father's drunken rages. The scars it had left, invisible but deep.

As if on cue, Arthur's booming laugh echoed from the living room, followed by Chris's playful jab "Oi, Clarkey! Where's those drinks, mate? We're dying of thirst out here!"

You tensed, but George just chuckled and called back, "Keep your pants on, lads! Be there in a moment!"

Turning back to you, he said softly, "Listen, you don't owe anyone an explanation, alright? But if you want to tell them, I'll be right there with you. And if you'd rather not, that's fine too. I'll just grab you a fizzy drink or whatever.

Your eyes welled up with a mixture of relief and gratitude, your voice thick with emotion as you responded. "Thank you, George. Really, it means so much to me, you always know how to make things easier."

"I've got you," he said, his voice full of quiet conviction. "And I've got an idea."

George turned to the fridge, rummaging around for a moment before emerging with a bright smile. In his hands were two cans of sparkling water, festively decorated with fruity designs.

"How about we make our own special mocktails?" he suggested, his eyes twinkling with excitement. "We can get all fancy with it - add some fresh fruit, maybe even those little umbrellas I've got stashed away somewhere."

You couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm. This was the George you had fallen for - the one who could light up a room with his infectious energy, who always found a way to make you feel special and included.

"That sounds perfect," you said, feeling a wave of relief wash over you.

George set about gathering ingredients - fresh strawberries, lime wedges, and orange juice. As he worked, he regaled you with stories from his latest YouTube video shoot, his animated gestures sending drops of juice flying as he squeezed the limes.

"And then," he said, barely containing his giggles, "Arthur decided it would be a brilliant idea to try and backflip off the sofa. Ended up with his legs over his head, stuck between the cushions!"

With practiced ease, he mixed them together in a tall glass, adding a splash of grenadine syrup for color. He garnished it with a slice of orange and a cherry, presenting it to you with a flourish.

"Your very own mocktail, love," George said with a wink. "It'll look just like what the lads are drinking, but it's all safe for you."

Your heart swelled with affection for this wonderful man who always seemed to know exactly what you needed. You took a sip, the sweet and tangy flavors dancing on your tongue.

"It's perfect," you said, smiling genuinely for the first time that evening.

George beamed, clearly pleased. He gathered up the other drinks and gestured towards the living room. "Ready to join the others?"

You nodded, feeling a surge of courage. With George by your side, you could face anything.

As you entered the living room, the boys greeted you warmly. Arthur's face lit up when he saw you, his grin wide and welcoming. "There you are! We were starting to think George had kidnapped you for himself."

Chris chimed in, raising his beer bottle in a mock toast. "Cheers, love! What's your poison tonight?"

You felt a flicker of anxiety, but George's steady presence beside you gave you strength. "Actually," you started, your voice stronger than you expected, "I've got a special mocktail tonight. George made it for me."

The room fell silent for a moment, and you felt your heart skip a beat. Then, to your relief, Chris’s face broke into a wide grin.

"Well, well, well," he said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. "A mocktail, eh? God, did he knock you up or something?”

Your face flushed crimson, and you stammered, unable to form words. George quickly stepped in, his arm protectively wrapping around your waist.

"Oi, chill out, mate," he said, his tone light but with a hint of warning. "It's not like that."

You took a deep breath, drawing strength from George's steady presence. The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for your response. The soft glow of the lamp cast a warm light over the gathered friends, their faces a mix of curiosity and concern.

"I... I don't drink," you explained, your voice barely above a whisper. "Because of some things that happened when I was a kid. It's just... it's not for me."

The words hung in the air for a moment, and you braced yourself for their reaction. But to your surprise, Arthur was the first to react. His face softened, and he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

"Hey, no worries at all," he said, his voice gentle. "We're just glad you're here with us."

Chris nodded emphatically, looking a bit sheepish. "Yeah, I'm sorry about that comment. Didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

The tension in the room dissipated like morning mist, replaced by a warm, accepting atmosphere. You felt George's arm tighten around you, and when you glanced up at him, his eyes were shining with pride and love.

"See?" he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. "Told you they'd understand."

As the evening progressed, you found yourself relaxing more and more. The boys didn't treat you any differently, including you in their jokes and conversations as if nothing had changed. They even started asking about your mocktail, genuinely curious about the recipe.

At one point, Arthur disappeared into the kitchen, returning with a tray of glasses filled with colorful, non-alcoholic concoctions. "Thought we'd all give it a go”

As Arthur set down the tray of mocktails, the living room erupted in a chorus of excited chatter. Chris reached for a vibrant blue drink, garnished with a pineapple wedge and a tiny paper umbrella. He took a tentative sip, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

"This is actually quite good!" he mentioned, taking another hearty gulp.

The others followed suit, each selecting a colorful concoction. The room filled with the sweet, fruity aroma of tropical punch and freshly squeezed citrus. You couldn't help but smile as you watched your friends enthusiastically compare flavors and debate which mocktail reigned supreme.

As the night wore on, the atmosphere grew increasingly jovial. Bach suggested a game of charades, and soon the living room was filled with raucous laughter as everyone took turns acting out increasingly ridiculous scenarios. You found yourself doubling over with giggles as Isaac's attempted to mime "The Lion King" while balanced precariously on the arm of the sofa, his arms outstretched in a comical imitation of Simba being presented to the animal kingdom.

The warm glow of the lamps cast dancing shadows on the walls as the night deepened. The air was thick with laughter and the sweet scent of fruit from the mocktails. You found yourself swept up in the joy of the moment, your earlier anxieties melting away like ice in the summer sun.

As the charades game wound down, Chris suggested a round of board games. Soon, the coffee table was covered in a colorful array of game boxes, their contents spilling out in a cheerful mess. Monopoly money fluttered to the floor as Arthur dramatically declared bankruptcy, while Bach meticulously arranged his Scrabble tiles, a look of intense concentration on his face.

The room was alive with friendly banter and playful accusations of cheating. You couldn't help but marvel at how seamlessly you had been integrated into this tight-knit group of friends. Their acceptance warmed you from the inside out, like a cup of hot chocolate on a cold winter's night.

You found yourself nestled comfortably on the plush sofa, your legs tucked underneath you. George sat beside you, his arm draped casually over your shoulders, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm. The warmth of his touch and the genuine camaraderie surrounding you melted away the last of your earlier anxiety.

George glanced over at you, his eyes soft and full of love. "Did you have a good time tonight?" he whispered, his voice just loud enough for only you to hear over the gentle murmur of conversations tapering off around you.

You nodded, feeling a warmth in your chest that had nothing to do with the room's laughter-filled atmosphere. "I really did, thanks to you," you replied, your voice tinged with heartfelt gratitude.

George's smile widened, and he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Anything for you," he murmured. As the others began to gather their things and say their goodbyes, George turned to face you more fully. "You know, I'm really proud of you tonight. You opened up, and that's not always easy. But you did it, and see? They all love you just as much as I do."

The room had mostly emptied, leaving just the two of you in the cozy aftermath of a night well spent. The gentle clink of dishes being gathered and the soft closing of doors punctuated the quiet.

"Thank you for being so supportive," you said, your voice soft but steady. "It means the world to me, knowing I can be myself around you and your friends."

George's hand caressed your cheek, his touch tender. "Always," he promised. "You never have to be anyone but yourself around me. That's the person I fell in love with."

The two of you sat there for a moment, wrapped up in each other's presence, the comforting silence enveloping you like a blanket. Outside, the night grew deeper, the moon casting a silvery glow through the windows, bathing the room in a soft, peaceful light.

Finally, George stood, offering you his hand with a charming grin. "Let's call it a night, yeah? I think we could both use some sleep after all this excitement."

You took his hand, squeezing it gently, and let him pull you to your feet. As you headed toward the bedroom, your heart felt light and your spirits lifted. The evening had started with anxiety, but it ended with laughter, acceptance, and the unshakeable support of the man you loved. Tonight wasn't just another social gathering; it was a reaffirmation of everything wonderful in your life.

In the quiet of the bedroom, with only the soft rustle of sheets and the distant hush of the city at night, George pulled you into his arms, holding you close. His heartbeat, steady and reassuring against your ear, was a reminder of the constant strength and comfort he provided.

"Goodnight, love," he whispered, his breath warm against your hair.

"Goodnight, babe," you replied, your voice a contented sigh. As you drifted off to sleep, wrapped up in the love and warmth of the man beside you, you knew that no matter what the future held, with George, you would always have a place to belong.

[saturnsentx]

my tarot cards keeping telling me i’m not taking care of myself and that mental blockages are causing my suffering like i’m not already in this bitch

[shiinata-library]

Imagine: First kiss with them

Thorin, Fíli, Kíli, Bilbo's first kiss with you

[ 📚 Main Imagines Masterlist 📚 ]

Thorin

Thorin often thought about kissing you. A lot, in fact. Alright, too many times. Maybe because you’re often very close to him. Physically. Maybe because he likes how you are with him. Or maybe because he is in love with you. But he is a dwarf, a dwarf prince actually, so he shouldn’t do it on an impulse, without courting you first. It wouldn’t be proper, right? Yet, it would be easier, if you wouldn’t be so attractive. It’s your fault! Why do you smile like that every time you look at him ?

Everytime you’re alone with Thorin, in the evening next to the fire or in the morning when everyone packs their things while you’re already done (it’s fast when you have nothing), you wonder how you could be more than friend with him. Do dwarves have any rules about dating? One evening, you ask for advice from Fíli and Kíli. Worst decision ever. As soon as you see their smiles, you regret asking them. Between their “why?”, “which?”, or “tell us everything!”, you will never have your answer, and you don’t dare ask anyone else. Maybe Balin could help you, but he already has a lot to do. 

When things start to be serious with Goblin-town, orcs and Eagles, you decide to focus on the quest, trying to survive. Thorin notices something has changed when he talks to you, as if an invisible wall has been built. You’re not distant, but he doesn’t catch your eyes as often as usual, or you go to sleep as soon as you eat, no longer spending time chatting together. Things like this made his days better during this long, dangerous quest.

“Are you alright?” he has the courage to ask you a night as he closes the front door of Beorn’s house while you’re sitting on a bench. “Yes, I just need a little fresh air. It’s so peaceful here, so I try to enjoy it the most I can,” you say, barely looking at him as he sits next to you. “Dwarves can be loud outside, but it’s worse inside, right?” he says in his usual serious tone. “Yeah, wait! I didn’t mean…” you hurry to say, looking suddenly at him as you raise your both hands in panic. Despite his serious tone, his eyes are smiling like his nephew used to after a joke. Once you chuckle, Thorin gets back to his usual behaviour with you. Then, you both talk like you used to when you can’t fall asleep some night during the journey, before the goblins, orcs and eagles, before even Rivendell. A long time ago…

It’s quiet and dark as you open your eyes slowly, feeling a weird sensation of falling. Thorin is just above you, his face close enough for you to smell the pipe-weed and leather. You slowly blink. His tempting lips just a few centimetres from yours. It could only be a dream, right? 

Someone will tell you later that you fell asleep on Thorin’s shoulder and he carried you to your makeshift bed. He was about to put you in your bed when you opened your eyes. Thorin’s hands are still holding you, one on your back and the other on your hip. But you don’t know that. So you do as you used to in your dreams : with your hand on his cheek, you move your lips forward to kiss him, as slowly as a half-awake person could.

Thorin didn’t see it coming. Not at all. His hands drop you suddenly and you fall on your bed, forced to wake up now. The surprise quiets you as you understand it wasn’t a dream. What could you say? What could you do? Raising your head doesn’t help since you can’t read his eyes with the darkness of the room. Yet, his eyes don’t leave you, and he hasn’t left either.

“I-I’m sorry!” you eventually stammer. Oh it’s hard to speak! “I thought… I thought I was dreaming.” Remaining at the same place, Thorin clears his throat. “Of kissing me?” he says in the deepest voice you ever heard. “Well, hm, yes… But I’m sorry. I don’t know anything about Dwarves' customs about dating stuff. Please just forget it.” You stare at him, waiting nervously for his answers. He doesn’t move, but he eventually asks, “Was it better than your dreams?”

You don’t know how much time passed before you speak again, but it seems Thorin wasn’t joking, so you quietly answer him, “It was so much better…” The silence resumes again, yet you eventually notice his hand in your hair. Since when does he stroke your hair? It’s dark, but you see him smiling. Genuinely smiling. “I don’t know about Men’s culture either. Can I kiss you now?” he asks, hesitating. “Only if you want to…” you reply, hoping you have chosen the good words. 

“Mahal, if you know what I want to…” he sighs before leaning a little to feel your lips again. As he could have barely tasted them before, he takes his time now to devour them. ‘His time’ until Dwalin bursts in, telling Thorin about the latest mistake his nephews had just made.

Kíli

Who knew that escaping a goblins’ horde would be scarier than facing them? As soon as they got out of Gobelins’ town, Kíli was free but it missed something. Or someone. You. He looked for you but didn’t see you anywhere. Only you and Bibo were missing. His brother and the others tried to reassure him but it was no use since they didn’t find you. 

When you finally join them, totally breathless, Bilbo is finishing his speech. Kíli runs to you and hugs you as soon as he joins you. “I thought I’d lost you…” he sighs. “You won't get rid of me that easily,” you laugh. You always wanted to say that. In other circumstances, Kíli might have laughed, but not now. When he pulls back just enough to see you, you notice how scared he was. There's something different about his eyes. His hands on your arms tense but you stay quiet. The only thing you’re focused on is his lips approaching you slowly…

Too slowly! You both jump when Thorin is yelling for everyone to run away. Then, everything happens fast. Orcs, Bolg, wargs, eagles!

Are The Carrock safe? You really hope so because you’re so tired that you remain sitting on the ground, trying to tell your heart to calm down. Then, Thorin wakes up and hugs Bilbo under the eyes of everyone. You look at Erebor from where you are, enjoying the calm of the morning sunrise.

When you’re feeling better, you stand up, tapping your clothes to remove dust and twigs trapped inside. Erk you never have been so dirty! As you remove the last leaves in your hair, you’re thinking about joining the company until you hear someone approaching you. 

“Amrâlimê?” Kíli says, just in front of you, close enough to see the fatigue on his face despite his bright smile. First, you think you've heard wrong. Obviously. He continues to walk toward you, then he hugs you as if it was the last you see each other. You close your arms around him. “I’m glad you’re alive,” he murmurs, his head still hidden in your neck. The warmth of his breath makes you shiver, but his smell comforts you. When he moves back a little, you notice how his hair is messy. You smile as you remove some leaves from it. Kíli looks at you as if you were the most beautiful thing he has ever seen despite the layer of dust still covering your face. But you don’t see it. You stop when he puts his forehead on yours. “As I said, you won't get rid of me that easily,” you say, this time making him laugh. “I hope so, Amrâlimê,” he murmurs as he moves back just enough to see your eyes. You try to say his Khuzdul word, and his smile confirms he understands you. 

Then, the very next moment, his both hands slide over your cheeks to guide your face towards his. He waits a short time before kissing you, a long, tender kiss. “I’m so glad you’re alive,” he says before kissing you again. “I’m glad too,” you say before pulling him to a new deeper kiss, not noticing everyone is already leaving without you.

Fíli

Fíli and Kíli never left your side during the quest. They were always with you, protecting you or teasing you. From the Shire to… Rivendell.  

In Rivendell, you feel safe enough to explore outside or inside alone. Everything is unbelievable. There is so much to see that it's a pleasure to explore both day and night. After some days here, you usually take a short walk after dinner, then you sit at a table in Elrond’s library. Not that you don't like the company, but it’s nice to spend a quiet evening reading an interesting book with the light of a candle.

“So you like books…” you hear as Fíli sits down on the chair next to you. After blocking the page you were reading, you turn back to him. With your finger over your mouth, you shush him, pointing at the elves reading at other tables. Thanks to a quill and a bottle of ink already on the table, you write on a piece of paper, “Once I finish this book, I'll join you outside.” After showing him the paper, he takes the quill and writes back, “I wait here”. 

You frown first, but knowing he's one of the dwarves who can behave, you resume your lecture. Well, he usually behaves, but tonight, you don’t know why, he had decided otherwise. While you try to read the book, he does everything to distract you : making a hat with the paper, tickling you with the quill, blowing on your ear, … You resist until he touches your hair, making braiding a lock of your hair.

You’re sure everyone can hear your heart beating loudly. Wait, where’s everyone? Are they all left? Are you alone in this library with Fíli braiding your hair? When did it get so hot here? 

As you still don’t pay attention to him, Fíli leans toward you. You know he is smirking. You know he is enjoying it. “What can I do to make you stop reading?” he whispers in a chuckling tone. Teasing you is one of his favourite things during the journey. Especially when you’re alone. But here, now, you don’t know how to react. It’s not teasing, for you it’s flirting. And he never flirted like that.

You pretend you’re reading the book but all your senses are on Fíli. So, when he suddenly kisses your cheek, your body reacts alone, turning your head toward him. In no time, his lips are on yours. Even though you’re surprised at first, you’re totally melting then. The book falls off your hand and you feel Fíli laughing. Yet, since you grab his jacket and kiss him back, he deepens the kiss, leaving both of you breathless when he pulls back. “If I'd known…” he starts before you kiss him again, not letting him speak with his teasing tone.

Bilbo 

Danger was everywhere during your journey, but when you arrived at Beorn’s, you could finally relax. It has been a long time since you felt safe, so you truly enjoy it. 

An evening after dinner with everyone, you’re both sitting outside on the grass, in the allowed area that Beorn told you. Thanks to the usual sounds of the night, it’s quiet and relaxing. Bilbo had joined you with tea and Beorn’s cakes, and now you’re chatting. For once, you look at the sky without worrying of the weather…

“It couldn’t be better,” you say while a light breeze blows on your hair as you drink tea. “I don’t remember the last time we were in a safe place. Safe with tea and cake! And that diner! Perfect! What more could we ask? Wine maybe.” Bilbo laughs with you. You both talk until it’s totally dark except the light coming from the house’s windows. Bilbo and you are used to chatting in the evenings. Just with him or with some other dwarves. Silence eventually takes over when you run out of things to talk about. It’s a peaceful landscape on the horizon if you don’t think of the orcs in the east or the spiders in the west.

Lost in your mind, you grab another piece of Beorn’s cake. With all the honey on it, you can't help but lick your fingers. A sound coming from Bilbo makes you turn towards him instinctively. He stares at you, while you –not elegantly– struggle to chew the large piece of cake in your mouth. Trying to understand him, you analyse him, your eyes remaining maybe too long on his lips, but anyway! Why is he staring at you? Did you eat the last cakes? Oh, he wouldn't be happy… He breathes silently before asking you, “Can I kiss you?”.

He almost looks as surprised as you by his own courage. “Wh-what?” you could only say with your mouth full of cake. After swallowing everything quickly and with difficulty, you resume, “Kiss? Who? Me? Now? But I’m eating.” Bilbo is not moving a bit, waiting for your answer. Does he even breathe? Do you breathe? Then, he tries a smile, “Is that a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’?”

With your sleeves, you hurry to wipe your mouth, then you reply to him, “Yes! Absolutely yes!”. In no time, he slides his hands on your cheeks to pull you to his lips. He starts with a shy kiss. Progressively, Bilbo deepens it, making you fall backwards on the grass. He follows you, staying above, not stopping the kiss for a moment. 

While a hand keeps him from falling on you, his other grips your waist firmly. You didn’t know he could be so eager to kiss you. Maybe you should stop him… “Beorn’s cake tastes better on your tongue,” he pants just before resuming the kiss. Alright, who would stop him, right? Forgetting everything except him, you slide your arms around his head and continue to taste his delicious lips, until you hear something far away. An orc’s cry. An orc dying. Then, nothing, not even a night animal. You both stopped when you heard it. “We should go inside,” you whisper. “Yes, indeed…” Bilbo says, looking where the cry was coming from. “I’m sure we can make some tea,” you try as you put everything Bilbo brought on a plate. He stands up, takes the plate, and kisses you quickly. “You’re right. Let’s go inside,” he says, walking to the house with a cute, cocky smile.

[cripplecharacters]

Hi! I'm making a character who uses a cane for stability as they're often dizzy / unstable and in pain when walking too long or simply standing without something to lean on, especially in certain warmer conditions ( haven't yet figured out the specifics, mainly just basing how their symptoms are shown using myself lol ), and I was wondering what sort of cane related side effects(?) I should be aware of for this character ?? I've never used a cane myself, but I still want the character to seem realistic in a " this character utilizes their mobility aid realistically and for necessity other than physical injury, and using it has after effects because it's not a 100% fix-all, they're not just a character who happens to have a cane for diversity points " I suppose ??

Maybe just things like they get sweaty palms after a while and it effects grip ( is that a thing ?? ) or their shoulder might ache if they lean on only one arm for too long ( again, listing these for examples that could make sense / make sense in theory, not sure if these are smth that can actually happen ? ), etc !! Just things I should maybe consider to make them feel more real and also to more accurately represent cane usage, etc ( I also want to mention they're quite clumsy, but more of difficulty memorizing where things are placed / ADHD related bad object permanence than general clumsiness, yk. So maybe they bump into things with it or even misplace their cane a lot ?? Is there any issues with this ?? )

Thanks so much in advance for your response !

Hey!

As a cane user, here are some suggestions on showing issues that come with using a cane;

Sweaty palms in the summer, freezing in the winter. To help with the latter, some will wear gloves, others might switch hands to warm the cold one up (in their pockets... or in their partner's hand).

Shoulder can ache, same for the actual hand if they're like me and grip the handle way harder than they need to. Your character might have to stretch their arm if they're using their cane for a long time.

If they use it for dizziness then they could switch it from side to side to prevent a lot of the above. Most people without coordination problems prefer to hold it in their non-dominant hand but if their shoulder hurts then they would probably switch if that's an option.

The character now only has one hand to do stuff with. This slows stuff down and somewhat affects clothing choices (e.g., a bag that goes on the side of the free hand is easier to use than a backpack). Eating most things is harder when walking, if they wear glasses, good luck cleaning them with one hand etc.

In a warmer climate specifically (since you mentioned it) good luck getting all the mosquitos away from you with only one hand.

Sometimes you can kick your cane out of your hand, and it sucks. I actually don't know if this happens to anyone else other than me since I haven't seen it mentioned much by other users, but if your character's cane-side leg is strong then this is a possibility.

Sometimes (but feels like always) the cane is affected by evil forces (gravity) when you lean it against something, and it's annoying to deal with. It can be easier to just hold it between their legs if they're sitting down.

Because of this I might ask someone I'm with to hold my cane when I go to the bathroom. You don't want the handle hitting the floor. (If your character can't go without their cane then disregard this, obviously.)

Everyone bumps into things at the start. Usually you learn how big your new hitbox is with time, but it can still happen once in a while, especially if they deal with dizziness or vertigo. You can also misjudge distances and accidentally put the end of the cane off the sidewalk and that can make you trip.

You can also put it in a Mysterious Crevice (always invisible), and it can range from being mildly annoying to really scary. It can also make you trip.

The tip of the cane needs to be replaced once in a while. If your character uses their cane daily, walks a lot, and puts a lot of weight on it, they will need to do it more often.

If they get dizzy often then a wrist strap (exactly what it sounds like) would probably be good so that they don't drop it when getting up, etc.

Cane doesn't get rid of all the symptoms, it just makes walking easier/safer. If your character has issues with stability then they probably aren't gonna be running around just because they have a cane.

And, obviously, annoying people. Arguably the biggest issue when it comes to using a cane. It obviously depends on what setting the character is in, but random ableism encounters are unfortunately a part of the experience. It absolutely doesn't have to be some sort of hate crime (!!!!), including a microaggression here and there ("What happened to you?", "I'll pray for you", "Why are you using this?" etc. unprompted) is enough if your story aims for realism but doesn't focus on ableism.

I don't have ADHD and can't really speak on how that would affect anything, so I will leave it to other mods who actually have relevant experience. Hope this helps,

mod Sasza

Hello!

Oh, the perils of ADHD and a cane. I leave my cane laying around all the time at home and end up tripping over it at least twice a day. Admittedly, this could also be impacted by my low vision.

Other ways my ADHD interacts with my cane usage:

Forgetting to change the tip until it's basically flat and I'm faceplanting all the time.

Terrible sense of spatial awareness. I do kick my cane out from under me occasionally but I also miss a step very often, smack into pillars or counters or chairs fairly frequently (Either with my cane or my body), and just generally make a nuisance of myself in tightly packed spaces.

I live in a very small flat and tend to use my counters and walls more for support than my cane when I'm home so I am ALWAYS leaving it propped up somewhere and forgetting where.

Fidgeting by picking at the stickers I have on it and also picking at the wood of the handle. Also by pressing in the 'buttons' for adjusting the height.

Another spatial awareness issue: I have an ice attachment on mine because I live in the frigid lands of Canada and I am constantly kicking it when I walk. I imagine this would be a similar problem with any other attachments.

Terrible impulse control often leads to me getting stuck places because I'm able to easily get there but getting out/down/up from wherever it is is more difficult and didn't cross my mind. For example, the other day I went up a steep hill in the forest and was able to do it just fine but couldn't get down easily on my own (Eventually I ended up just butt-scooching down rather than risking a fall).

Mod Sasza covered a lot of the general cane-usage issues but just to add a few more that I encounter:

The crevice thing is a real pain and if your character lives somewhere with street cars, it can be really scary to cross the road. I always have to alternate between looking down so I don't get my cane tip caught in the tracks and looking around so I don't get hit by an impatient driver.

I can't go without my cane in the washroom so something I do is have hand sanitizer on me constantly (As well as disinfectant wipes if I can). It helps to kind of clean my hands a bit before I grab my cane again and it also helps if I do end up dropping it on the floor.

Adding onto the ableism issue: I frequently encounter able bodied people using things such as the accessible seating on public transport, accessible washrooms/stalls, ramps, etc. when there are other options for them available. This is the biggest problem for me when I go out.

This may be specific to my cane but I find that whenever I fold it up (It's collapsible) or adjust the height, I end up with grease on my hands which is a bit annoying.

The height! That's another thing. If your character uses their cane indoors and outdoors, they may need to adjust the height frequently. The other reason I don't use my cane at home is because I wear heavy boots outside and would have to adjust it every time I take them off otherwise. That said, if their shoes are thin or don't give them much height, they may be fine without adjusting it.

Hopefully some of this is helpful!

Cheers,

~ Mod Icarus

[leighbaye]

— CINNAMON GIRL ⁵

written by mina leigh ୨ৎ , johnny cade 𝔁 f! reader | wc 1000

summary. johnny’s perspective on y/n, showcasing her role as a source of comfort and hope in his life. through johnny’s eyes, we see how her kindness and warmth help him navigate the darkness he faces, giving him a sense of belonging he’s never had before.

labels. johnny’s point of view.

warnings. mentions of abuse, trauma, and johnny’s feelings of worthlessness; themes of comfort and healing.

‧₊˚ ୨୧ mina speaks. how is everyone enjoying this project? i hope previous and new readers are enjoying this as much as i am. are you having a great new year so far? lots of love, mina leigh ♡

most people look at me and see nothing. a kid who’s scared of his own shadow. a nobody. it’s easier that way, i guess. less expectations, less disappointments. but y/n’s never looked at me like that. not once.

she’s got this way about her — soft, sweet, like sunlight breaking through the clouds. it doesn’t matter how dark things get; when she’s around, it’s like i can breathe again.

the first time i met her, i was sure she’d ignore me like everyone else. i was sitting on the curtis’ front steps, trying to make myself invisible while the guys joked around inside.

she walked up the driveway, her arms full of books and groceries, and i tried not to stare. she was beautiful in a way that didn’t make sense in our world, like she belonged in a painting or something.

❝hey, you must be johnny,❞ she said, her voice soft but certain. ❝i’ve heard a lot about you.❞

i blinked up at her, unsure how to respond. people didn’t usually talk to me unless they had to, let alone someone like her.

❝uh … hi,❞ i mumbled, looking down at my shoes.

❝a shy one are you? you’re so cute, you remind me of my little brother charlie.❞

she smiled, and it wasn’t one of those fake smiles people give when they feel sorry for you. it was real, warm.

❝it’s nice to finally meet you,❞ she said. ❝the guys talk about you all the time. they care about you a lot, you know.❞

i didn’t know what to say to that, so i just nodded, my throat tight.

y/n’s different from anyone i’ve ever known. she doesn’t treat me like i’m broken, like i’m some kind of charity case. she treats me like i’m just … me.

there was this one time when i showed up at the curtis house after another fight with my parents. my dad had hit me again, and my mom had screamed at me until i couldn’t take it anymore. i didn’t know where else to go.

y/n was there, sitting on the couch with ponyboy. she looked up when she saw me, her expression softening.

❝johnny,❞ she said, standing up and walking over to me. ❝what happened?❞

i shrugged, trying to act like it wasn’t a big deal. ❝nothing. just … needed to get out for a while.❞

she didn’t push, didn’t ask any more questions. she just took my hand and led me to the kitchen, where she made me sit down and handed me a glass of water.

❝you don’t have to talk about it,❞ she said, her voice gentle. ❝but you’re safe here, okay? no one’s going to hurt you.❞

i nodded, the lump in my throat making it impossible to speak.

she’s always been like that, y/n. never forcing me to say or do anything, just letting me be. it’s not something i’m used to, and sometimes it scares me.

i remember one night when we were sitting outside, just the two of us. the stars were out, and the air was cool. i was quiet, like always, and she was humming some tune under her breath.

❝do you ever wish you could just … disappear?❞ i asked suddenly, the words slipping out before i could stop them.

she turned to look at me, her eyes full of something i couldn’t quite place.

she hesitates.

❝sometimes,❞ she said softly. ❝but then i remember all the people who’d miss me if i did.❞

i looked away, my chest tightening. ❝i don’t think anyone would miss me.❞

she reached over, her hand resting lightly on mine. ❝that’s not true, johnny. i’d miss you. the guys would miss you. you matter more than you know.❞

her words hit me like a punch to the gut, and i didn’t know what to do with them. no one had ever said anything like that to me before.

❝oh johnnycake! don’t make me cry ..❞

y/n’s got this way of making you believe things you didn’t think were possible. like maybe, just maybe, there’s something good in the world after all.

there was this one time when we were all hanging out at the lot, just messing around. i was sitting off to the side, watching the guys goof off, when y/n walked over and sat down next to me.

❝why don’t you join them?❞ she asked, tilting her head.

i shrugged. ❝i’m not really good at that stuff.❞

she smiled, nudging me gently. ❝you don’t have to be. they’re your friends, johnny. they like having you around, even if you’re just sitting here.❞

i didn’t say anything, but her words stuck with me.

y/n’s like a light in the darkness, and sometimes i wonder how someone like her ended up here, with us. she’s too good for this world, too good for me.

but she never makes me feel like i don’t belong. when she looks at me, i don’t feel like a scared kid or a screw - up. i just feel … safe.

and that’s something i’ll never take for granted.

© MINA LEIGH 2024 - 2025

. . . prologue darry curtis sodapop curtis ponyboy curtis

dallas winston you’re here! steve randle two - bit matthews

[airybcby]

hii! My top artist was Linkin Park. Happy Spotify wrapped and thank you^^

happy spotify wrapped!!

if your top artist was linkin park, i'd pair you with...

ikki niko

જ⁀♡⊹｡° close to something real

♡ a/n — for my spotify wrapped event

♡ content — ikki niko x gn! reader, gn! reader, insecure niko, probably ooc bc he doesn't get enough screentime

♡ synopsis — a force to be reckoned with on the field, but as shy as a mouse off. ikki niko has never felt like he belonged anywhere for as long as he's been alive, and you're deadset on changing that.

You never thought much about where you fit in. It was never something you needed to question until the moment you met him.

Ikki Niko was a puzzle. On the field, he was a force—his technique precise, his mind sharp. Off the field? He was a different person. Always on the edge, never fully engaging with anyone, his eyes betraying a sense of confusion, like he was still looking for something.

You could tell something was off the moment he joined the team. There was an underlying frustration in his movements, as if he was searching for something he couldn't quite grasp.

At first, you chalked it up to his competitive nature, that desire to always be the best. But then, you began to notice the way he kept his distance from everyone. How he’d drift in and out of conversations, never staying long enough to truly engage. How he pushed everyone away, like he was terrified of letting anyone too close.

The same walls he built to keep others out seemed to trap him inside.

It wasn’t until late one night—after a tough loss and a quiet, uncomfortable silence between the two of you—that you found out what he was really feeling.

"Why do you always act like you don't care?" you asked, breaking the silence, your voice soft but laced with concern.

He didn’t look at you, his focus on something far away—some invisible point beyond the room. "I don’t," he muttered, his voice rough. "It’s just easier that way."

You tilted your head, watching him carefully. "Easier to do what? Pretend you don’t want to belong?"

There was a beat of silence before he finally met your gaze. His eyes were dark, guarded, but there was something else too—vulnerability, a quiet longing.

"I don’t know where I belong," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "I’m good at pushing people away, but... it’s lonely. And I hate it."

A rush of empathy hit you. You could see the weight he carried—the constant battle within himself, trying to prove he didn’t need anyone when deep down, he just wanted to be understood, to have a place where he could finally belong.

"I get it," you said, taking a step closer. You didn't, not really. You've never had to worry about these types of things, but the idea of ikki having no one...it made a strange feeling sit in your gut. "But you don’t have to do it alone."

Niko’s gaze softened, just slightly. "I don’t know how to stop," he admitted. "I’ve been doing this for so long, it’s... it’s like part of me."

"Then let me help you," you said firmly, your voice steady. "You don’t have to be alone tonight. Let's start with us, me and you." You smiled as you stuck your hand out to him, "Hi, I'm Y/N, and I want to be your friend."

For the first time in a long while, Niko let down his guard. It wasn’t much—just a crack in the armor he’d built around himself—but it was enough for you to see the person he really was. Someone who was lost, yes, but still searching for his place in this world.

And you were determined to help him find it.

niko doesn't get enough love, so i made sure to give him some

i hope you enjoyed it!

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

[malthemagnifisent]

Plot: Cyrus goes to Aerin’s cell, and somehow Aerin still has a sway over him.

Tag list: y’all asked to be tagged, so hope you enjoy. If anyone wants to be tagged in future fics please do ask. @ladylamrian @zhoras-bitch @alegria1580

Notes: Yeah, I just wanted to write the Aerin reunion scene with a bit more drama too it. I also changed the fact that Aerin didn’t know MC was gone, cause I don’t think it made any sense?!

Cyrus hadn’t known what to think when he made his way down through the halls of the white tower to find Aerin in the dungeon. Logically, he knew he should hate the man and not be buzzing with excitement to speak with him, but he couldn’t deny feeling almost giddy. Perhaps he could pass it off as fear, but he would still know the truth deep down: that he truly wanted to see the man.

He knew his friends would judge him for such a desire, but right now his friends weren’t here; he hadn’t gotten around to seeing them yet.

Finding out what had happened to him was more important, at least at the moment; only after that would he allow himself to track down his friends.

When he arrived at the dungeon, he grimaced. It was dirty and reminded him a bit too much of his narrow escape from imprisonment in the shadow realm, but when he saw Aerin, it was hard to think about anything else.

For having been locked in a dungeon for a year, he didn’t look bad, though perhaps that was just because Cyrus’ thought he was incapable of really looking bad.

Aerin didn’t notice him for a moment, and Cyrus took that opportunity to really study him. I looked him up and down, trying to see if there was any sign of his past corruption, but no, he looked as human as he had been that night by the lake, the night they’d kissed, the night that Cyrus almost wished he could forget because it would make this so much easier.

"Hello, Aerin," he said, his voice stiff and rather unsure. He didn’t know what Aerin might think of seeing him again. If anyone had a right to be angry, then it was Cyrus, but still, he couldn’t stand the idea of Aerin hating him.

Aerin, who had been looking out the small window of his cell, spun around and looked at Cyrus with wide, disbelieving eyes. "Cyrus," he said, stepping forward to the bars of his cell, his dark eyes tracking up and down Cyrus’ body, looking over him with abject shock, which he supposed was to be expected when he’d been trapped in the shadow realm for a year.

"You’re here; I didn’t think-" He broke off and wrapped his pale hands around the bars of his cell, holding on so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He seemed at a loss for words, which was strange to Cyrus; because Aerin had always seemed so well spoken, he didn’t seem like the type to stumble over his words.

Cyrus crossed his arms and stepped up to the cell, so close that he would be able to touch the prince if he dared to reach forward. He didn’t dare; he just kept his face schooled into careful neutrality. "I am; I take it you knew I was gone," he muttered.

It made sense that the prince would have been aware of his disappearance; his friends undoubtedly would have interrogated him to try and get information, but seeing as Cyrus had been lost to the shadow realm for an unknown amount of time, clearly he hadn’t had any information that would help. Either that, or he knew and simply refused to help.

Cyrus hoped it was the first, because the thought that Aerin could have saved him but refused to do so was not something he even wanted to consider.

"Yes, your friends told me; they wanted to know how to get you back," Aerin explained, still looking at Cyrus like he was something unbelievable, and maybe he was.

"And what did you tell them?” Cyrus asked and stepped a bit closer, as if he were being pulled forward by an invisible force. Even back when he’d first met Aerin, he had been drawn to him; it hadn’t really made sense then, and it makes even less sense now, but something about the man pulled Cyrus in; it ensnared him, and he wasn’t sure he wanted it to let go.

Aerin smiled a little sadly and met Cyrus’ eyes, his gaze holding so much truth that Cyrus thought he would have believed whatever came out of his mouth. "I told them the truth, that I didn’t know how to get you back," he explained, and Cyrus didn’t question the answer; he believed him.

Maybe it was a sign of his own weakness that he was so easily trusting someone who had betrayed him before, but he couldn’t help it.

Cyrus clenched his jaw and looked back at the door behind him, checking to see if anyone was lingering in the doorway, but when he saw no one around, he stepped forward, and like he had done in the shadow realm, he concentrated hard before he slipped through the bars and into Aerin’s cell.

He had done it both out of a desire to be closer to the man and because he was curious whether he could accomplish it again. In the shadow realm, he had been under pressure to get it right, so it actually proved to be easier this time.

Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to put himself inside a locked cage with a man who had hurt him in the past, but the shocked look on Aerin’s face was enough to make up for that.

"How did you do that?" He asked, leaning forward with abject curiosity, and for a moment he seemed very much like he had when they had first met. It sent a pang of hurt through Cyrus’ body.

Cyrus shook his head and just stepped to the side, leaning himself against the wall of Aerin’s cell. "I’m not here to talk about me, Aerin; I need to know about the Ash Empire," he said, something in his shoulders tightening as he said the name, because after an untold amount of time in their clutches, the name alone was enough to set him on edge, and the thought of Valex was worse.

The mention of the Ash Empire was enough to shut Aerin up, his dark eyebrows drawing up in something like concern, but Cyrus doubted it was real.

"That’s who had you?" Aerin asked, and Theo screwed his eyes shut, fighting off a wave of anger and annoyance that were manifesting themselves into a pounding headache behind his eyes.

He stood up straight and began to pace back and forth in front of the bars of the cell. "I told you we aren’t talking about me; just tell me what you know, Aerin," he snapped, drawing in a deep breath to try and calm his racing mind.

A year of life was weighing on his shoulders, a year he had missed and would never get back, and under the haze of blocked-out memories, he was starting to realize that his time in the shadow realm must have been much worse than he could remember, and he wasn’t sure whether to be glad or angry that those memories were missing.

"I’ll tell you what I know, but it isn’t much," Aerin said, seemingly picking up on Cyrus’ discomfort with ease as he stepped back and situated himself on a bench in the corner, the golden light from the window filtering down onto his face, shrouding his head in a halo of light.

It made him look almost like Cyrus remembered him, standing by a shining lake, kissing beneath the moonlight as if time meant nothing.

Cyrus shook his head, refusing to get lost in the memory. "Thank you," he muttered, nodding for Aerin to continue and explain whatever he knew about the Ash Empire.

Unfortunately, it didn’t seem the prince knew much of the empire—at least nothing truly helpful—though he did help fill in some details that had been nagging at Cyrus’ head. It wasn’t what he would have hoped to learn, but it was better than nothing.

He knew well enough not to believe that Aerin had told him everything; he knew the man was probably hiding things, but Cyrus decided those secrets could remain just that for the time being. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to know, but because if he let the man keep his secrets, then Cyrus would have a reason to come back, and he refused to give that up.

Cyrus knew he should leave now; he should turn away and exit the cell the same way he had entered, but instead he looked toward Aerin. "Do you regret it?" He blurted it out, hating himself for asking because he was sure he knew the answer and didn’t want to hear it.

"Which part? Working with the dread lord, or hurting you?" Aerin asked, and Cyrus drew in a sharp breath as he realized the implication of the question. That the answer would change depending on the meaning of the question.

"Both," he responded, stepping a bit closer as Aerin stood from his seat and moved as well. They stopped at the same time, painfully close together, the sunlight between them creating a barrier of light between Cyrus and the man who had the power to pull him toward corruption.

"If you hadn’t come into my life, I would have taken the throne without any remorse; I would have killed my brother without guilt, but thinking about you and the pain I caused you, that I do regret," Aerin said, the words falling from his lips and trailing off into a sigh that sent a shiver down Cyrus’ spine.

He knew Aerin was not a good man and that the things he’d done were not forgivable acts. It should make Cyrus hate him, but he was weak; he was idealistic, and he thought perhaps the man could change, that the prince could pull himself into a better man, one who Cyrus could be proud of caring for, not a monster that he felt ashamed of loving.

"I would have had you as my consort, Cyrus; you would have been king alongside me."

Cyrus’ eyes grew wide, and he swallowed thickly. Their eyes met, and Cyrus shook his head, forcing himself to look away, over at the window, out at the light. "I wouldn’t want that," he whispered, tensing up as Aerin stepped closer to him.

"No, I suppose you wouldn't; you dream of adventure and glory, but not power or majesty." Aerin’s voice was soft, gentle, and warm, like the sun.

Cyrus wanted to bask in that warmth, to lose himself in the feeling and forget all the troubles he’d ever known.

A hand touched his cheek, and Cyrus couldn’t pull away; he just accepted the touch and told himself it would be the last one he allowed, though he knew that was a lie.

"Will you visit me again?" Aerin asked, his hand drifting across Cyrus’ blue skin, brushing across his lips and up toward his cheekbone, where warm fingers pushed a strand of hair behind his pointed ear before pulling away entirely, leaving Cyrus cold.

He took a step back, the sounds of his shoes the only noise in the air as he turned his back on the prince and slid his way through the solid bars.

Pausing outside the cell, he stood up straighter, forced his shoulders back, and spoke, but didn’t dare look back. "I don’t know," he answered, but once again, it was a lie.

He knew he would be back, whether it was for information or simply because he couldn’t resist the temptation. That was the only factor that was unknown.

[reviewinghiccup]

BECOMING CHIEF || HTTYD MOVIES | BREAKING DOWN HICCUP (DEEP TALK)

Blog Post Title : Breaking Down Hiccup (Deep Talk)

Blog Post Series No.: #1

Title : How to Train Your Dragon 2

Disclaimer: This isn't a full review on HTTYD 2 the movie.

Once again, Hiccup floating in the air, gliding through the skies on Toothless, seamlessly flying on invisible currents is cathartic. I just wish I could breathe air that clear and fresh. I wonder if some time away from everything will make it easier to make tough decisions.

So far, I don't think I address the question on whether Hiccup wants to be chief. My reviews on Riders of Berk refer to the village's changing perspective of Hiccup and them taking to him as leader. I don't think I've discussed whether Hiccup wants the job. Besides, that question isn't material at the time and space ROB was just yet. Hiccup was still, a kid.

In HTTYD 2, we know he doesn't want to be chief because he still feels lost. Incomplete. His thirst for adventure continues and he will harken to anything calling his name (apart from his dad). But Astrid's advice rings true. He has had so many missions, adventures, discoveries in ROB, DOB and RTTE but they did not quench or answer the inner call to "Who am I?"

Even for us, sometimes wanderlust is just a distractions to the grand scheme of responsibilities we are suppose to take on to answer the question we keep asking.

Believing that being chief isn't innately him, is the very doubt that causes him to discount how much of a born leader he is.

"I was so afraid of becoming my dad, mostly because I never thought I could. How, how do you be someone that great, that brave, that selfless? I guess, you can only try," Hiccup says at his father's funeral.

Self-doubt is the thief of destiny. As such, even after his father's passing, Hiccup struggled to step into the role, to feel worthy of it, until Valka said that his father always knew he was going to be great.

"He always said you would become the strongest of them all and he was right. You have the heart of a chief and the soul of a dragon only you can bring our worlds together. That is who you are, son."

A CHIEF PROTECTS HIS OWN

You see. This may sound like news to Hiccup, but for those who have been following his story, he has always been brave and selfless. He protected Berk and his riders, diving to their rescue even at the expense of precious treasures.

Even to the extent of protecting day-to-day relationships. Like what he did for Snotlout at Thawfest, the encouragement he brings to Fishlegs, the validation he gives the Twins. Training dragons to live w Berkians. Defending Berkians. Saving anyone that needs saving. Helping anyone that needs help. Without question or quandary.

He thought that the answer to Who am I was out there, but it was in him all along. And when you are this blind to all your attributes, the only way to answer the all-asking question is by stepping out of your comfort zone.

He has always protected his own. It started w his undying loyalty to Toothless, protecting him from day one.

I hate that Stoick's death had to happen, but it was that drastic nudge forcing Hiccup into the shoes he was always meant to fill.

Parts of me feel like I understand Hiccup, 15-year-old Hiccup and 20-year-old Hiccup because I AM HICCUP. Sure, I don't have a village to run and no legacy to fulfil, but boy am I afraid to do something because I don't think I can.

This show just speaks to me because I hear that same internal struggle tugging at my heart. Where do I fit in this world of very definable squares?

But maybe that's the answer I need to hear. That to find it, I have to go towards it. And to believe, that "this destiny" was mine all along.

[cataschism]

Beth verses below the cut.

THE CLASSIC. ✦ BETH LIVES.

On the tin. Prank never happens, Beth (&. Hannah) never falls, never dies on impact, never gets eaten. Beth goes to college, gets internships and residencies, and becomes a psychiatrist. She prefers research over clinical work during most of her schooling, but ends up really enjoying psychiatry as an adult. She even acts in Josh’s movies, if he needs a psychiatrist who can act.

THE CREATURE. ✦ BETH IS THE WENDIGO.

Beth is the one who survives and eats Hannah, though even post-transformation she is timid and remains the same size as the rest of the monsters. Her destruction style, unlike Hannah’s intentional and symbolic killings (inspired by some stuff Hal has said) is what I call “panic killings,” where she doesn’t mean to, doesn’t want to, but ends up shredding people in the process of trying to undo her harm.

Sub verses, but no tags:

THE CREATURE. ✦ JOSH DIES.

In an attempt to cradle Josh upon recognizing his smell / warmth, she pierces his arms at the shoulder / armpit, and stakes him through the chest. Attempting to get him removed from her claws, she rips him apart, crying all the while.

THE CREATURE. ✦ JOSH GETS TAKEN.

Beth takes her best friend to the mines, less so grabbing him than just herding him further into the mines. To do what, exactly - force him into her position (cannibalism), or “protect” him from their friends / the pranksters, her mind is foggy &. unclear. She sees her best friend through the haze of the Wendigo, and can do nothing except get him back to where they used to hang out, their secret place - a dark &. wet spot, deep below past where anyone could find them.

THE CREATURE. ✦ JOSH SURVIVES.

The confusion of the mines being so cold, &. the water being so cold, disrupts Beth’s wendigo heat-reading eyes. Josh seems almost invisible. She thrashes, scaring him deeper into the mines. But lost in her confusion, fear and despair, she does not attack him. She leaves for easier prey, above - ground.

THE STRANGER. ✦ HANNAH TURNS BUT BETH DOESN’T DIE.

Separate from the Creature Verse, Beth does not follow Hannah into the woods, to the Stranger, or the mines. Hannah runs and Beth pointedly does not follow nor wake Josh: she stares into the night and something screams at her: DON’T GO! &. she is unable to move. Her sister “dies,” &. she feels her guilt &. Hannah’s “spirit” (or is it just her own guilt, doubling - up, weighing her down?) mesh, like a physical weight upon her.

Beth does not survive the incident mentally - sound, but she does survive. Beth considers genuinely hurting their friends, unable to explain why she feels so weighed - upon. It’s a twin thing. You’d feel it too, if part of your soul died.

She eventually becomes like the Stranger, and without knowing why, knows there’s something out there keeping her sister alive - dead - neither. Is it to kill Hannah, to make her rest? Or to kill the things that did “it” to her - this unexplainable thing?

THE LAST ONE STANDING. ✦ BETH - JOSH SWAP.

Instead of Beth and Hannah dying, Josh is awake and follows Hannah into the night, taking Beth’s stead and dying in her place. Beth is the one who lives. She asks her friends involved in the prank, though her brother &. twin sister are dead, to come back to the lodge for a remembrance day &. to tell them how well her psychiatry studying is going. Maybe she can help them heal. 

But Beth is still her brother’s sister, &. has something fear - inducing in mind.

[quarantineddreamer]

As a Shadow | Chapter 3 - An open wound

Posting even though I’m nervous -ah! This chapter is pretty dark so I did add some tags to be extra cautious, please be mindful and take care. (Next chapter things will start to look a bit and this as dark as the fic goes, whew!) 💙 (Click title for AO3, or read below)

Jyn’s mind is in overdrive repeatedly going over every second of the day Cassian had moved into his new room on Hoth. She scans her memory, examining each detail as carefully as she would a fragment of glass, willing it not to betray her and shatter into jagged, painful shards in her hands while she tries to put the pieces of an impossible puzzle together.

That day, Cassian had snapped to attention quickly, suddenly, and yet she could trace no obvious impetus for such a startled reaction. There had been no noise in the hallway, no pests crawling across the floor like there might have been on Yavin 4; he hadn’t moved for the door, he hadn’t gone to the desk, hadn’t reached for a weapon or a comm… 

He had looked back. 

As if he had known, as if he had felt…

So what? Jyn asks herself. Even if it’s true, what difference does it make? If their roles were reversed and she felt an invisible hand suddenly reach out and touch her, she would be convinced she was losing her mind. And she can’t–won’t–inflict that kind of torment on Cassian. 

It’s the right thing to do, but knowing this makes it no easier for her to bear the temptation. It is ever-present, a siren’s song that echoes through her mind, easy and inviting and ringing with promises that are no less beautiful for their falsity. 

But for Cassian’s sake, she continues to resist. 

Then the nightmare comes. 

It’s the end of his first day weaning off the hardcore pain meds that the medical team have had him on and it has not been a good one. Hour by hour Jyn has seen Cassian stubbornly soldier through what is clearly no small amount of pain, and it is only in the safety of the empty hallway leading to his room that he finally surrenders–posture slipping as he hobbles the rest of the way to the door. 

“You’re an idiot,” Jyn mutters sadly, but as much as the sight frustrates her, she can’t say she wouldn’t be doing the same in his position. She’s always tried not to be reliant on anything or anyone outside of herself. To never show or admit weakness. 

Cassian would see right through her though, the same as she sees through him, and he would insist on helping her in spite of any protests (or curses) she might throw at him. 

She wishes she could do that for him now. Place his arm across her shoulders the way she had on Scarif, have him lean against her for support; make their way back together. 

You could, the siren’s voice says, but Jyn ignores it. 

In the end, she is certain all she is capable of doing is causing more harm. 

Not long after he has at last crawled into bed, Cassian’s exhaustion does him the mercy of easing him to sleep, granting him a respite from his pain. While he rests, Jyn sits at the desk and falls into her usual nighttime habit. Allowing her attention to wander, encouraging her senses to stretch and explore, until she is a part of the shadows that pattern the walls, a fraction of light spilling out from under the door, blended with the thin coat of snow that slowly melts from the hood of Cassian’s jacket and drips onto the floor. 

But her focus snaps back into place abruptly, her body buzzing with fear. 

Cassian is writhing in his sleep, his heart frantic, face twisting in panic.

Kneeling beside the bed, she tries with little hope to use the sound of her voice to soothe him, “It’s okay, you’re okay…”

He’s gritting his teeth, his jaw clenched tightly, his fists clenched even tighter, a fine sheen of sweat coating his face. 

“Cassian,” she tries again, to no avail. 

Talking to him won’t work. Of course it won’t. The Force won’t allow him to hear her when he’s awake, why would it allow him to when he’s asleep? Why would it give her anything to hold onto when it has made it clear she is meant to suffer?

Except, that isn’t quite true. 

It has given her one thing. One impossible sliver of hope that she might be able to use.

But, it’s not worth it. It’s not worth the risk. 

She grimaces as she watches him continue to fight, alone, the sight driving a hurt like the blade of a knife straight through her center.

“Jyn! No!” 

She remembers these words. The last ones she heard before the waves of Lah’mu came for her, and even though his voice is muffled now, that raw, desperate shout reverberates like thunder in her heart. 

Only he’s not calling out to her. He’s calling out to the past, to someone who no longer exists.

“Cassian, you shouldn’t be there. I…. I’m safe now, I’ll be okay.” She hesitates for only a moment–worried that she might be about to frighten him more than any nightmare ever could–before she gently places her hand upon his shoulder. 

If she had breath, she would hold it. Instead, she stays perfectly still, and waits, brow furrowed and expecting the worst, prepared for this to startle him awake and plunge him into an even deeper state of turmoil.

That’s not what happens. 

The first thing she notices is his pulse gradually returning to the peace of its regular rhythm. His shoulders drop, muscles relaxing beneath her palm. When the distraught lines begin to disappear from his forehead and mouth, she hopes it means he has escaped the dream, that he’s no longer in pain. 

Only then does Jyn allow herself a moment to savor the feeling of him, solid and certain and alive, the heat of his skin seeping through his shirt and gracing her palm. 

She has felt what it’s like to coast amongst the cosmos, and yet it is nothing compared to this.

If given the choice between the dazzling infinity of the stars or the warm comfort of Cassian, she would choose him, again and again. 

Draven claims it is a simple mission, intel collection in a low-risk area, with no physical challenges anticipated. 

But Jyn trusts Draven about as much as she would trust a fire not to burn you if you stand too close. Sure, he’s only doing what’s in his nature, but that does nothing to lessen the damage he’s capable of dealing. 

She’s on edge the entire time she watches Cassian prepare to depart, tucking a familiar-looking blaster into his bag alongside some Intelligence issued clothing and a datapad. 

“Cass, it’s too soon. What about your back?” He’s only just managed to start sparring again, he’s still learning his limits. And then there’s the nightmares–the same horrible dream, the same memory, tormenting him on a nightly basis. Under the relative safety of unconsciousness Jyn has been giving him what comfort she can, soothing him with a touch, but she knows he’s still carrying Scarif with him, and, “We both know you’re not ready for this yet…”

He moves towards the door and she steps after him. “At least take someone with you!” she shouts, voice falling flat when it should be echoing down the hallway. “Someone other than a pointless ghost…” 

But Cassian is alone when he leaves Hoth and alone when he lands on Naboo and begins to get ready for his assignment.

Jyn has gotten into the habit of turning away when Cassian is changing to give him privacy he doesn’t know he’s lacking–it just seems like the right thing to do–but before he can pull on the shirt he will be wearing during the mission something compels her to turn and stare.

There’s a scar running down his back from his operations post-Scarif that even bacta will never entirely heal. 

It’s not the only mark he carries, but it’s the one she fixates on, because she can’t help but feel it is her fault he was there and her fault he fell and her fault that even now this injury puts him in further danger. She feels sick, responsible, as though she had placed a knife against his spine and carved the line herself. 

The scar burns in her mind, tangling with her increasing unease, even after Cassian is fully dressed in Imperial uniform–tugging at his jacket, adjusting his cap–looking so like he had the day they marched into the Citadel Tower.

At least she can take some solace in the fact that he truly does have a gift for this, blending in. He’s a talented spy, she knows this, and with his skills everything should be fine. 

Everything should be fine.

She repeats it to herself over and over as she walks alongside Cassian into a bar crowded with Imperial officers. 

He orders a drink (the specific one Draven instructed him to order) and goes to sit at a table (the specific one detailed in his briefing). 

Jyn tries to shake the dread that poisons her core, tainting her ability to enjoy anything of the buzz of life around her, clouding her senses. She places herself across from Cassian so she can follow his eyes as they scan the room. 

“You have no idea how jealous I am of that drink,” Jyn tells him as he takes a sip. She could really use something to settle her nerves. But all she has is the stupid mantra she’s picked up; everything should be fine, everything should be fine. 

Simple mission, low risk-area. That’s what Draven had said. 

Surely he wouldn’t have put his best operative in danger knowing what he knew about where Cassian was in his recovery? 

After about an hour of waiting, a man pauses by their table. He does not turn to face Cassian. Instead, he taps his knuckles three times against the surface in signal, before briefly pointing his finger towards a nearby exit. Then, he slips away. 

That’s not right. Draven had said the informant would meet Cassian in the bar. A simple passoff. Now he’s trying to shift things to a second location?

Jyn reads Cassian’s expression in an instant. “Don’t you kriffing dare, Andor.” 

It’s too dangerous. Maybe he was used to this sort of thing before, plans changing, being forced to adapt. He was probably excellent at it. (Of course he was, it’s Cassian.) 

But that was before. 

Cassian throws his drink back and stands, moving towards the door the man indicated. 

She chases after him, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” 

He has to know the danger he is putting himself in. He has no idea what’s beyond that door. It could yield the intel he is there for–yes, that is still a possibility–but events are also not going the way he was expecting, and what if he needs to run or fight? She’s watched him train, he’s not there yet. His back won’t cooperate, it works against him, another enemy he’s not accounting for. 

If she tries to stop him he’s going to think he’s lost his mind. He’s going to feel someone that isn’t real, isn’t there and it could break him. But she’s never been more tempted as she follows him through the door into a stairwell, follows him as he winds his way up and up, until he steps out onto a rooftop cluttered with humming machinery.  

Naboo’s three moons cast too many shadows, insidious, confusing shapes that seem to take on a life of their own, drawing attention to all the wrong places. 

It’s the perfect spot for an ambush.

The man from downstairs, Cassian’s contact, is standing at the edge, looking out on the city’s twinkling lights. 

To Jyn, his silhouette is sinister, wrong, and all her instincts scream at her to turn around and run. 

But Cassian continues his approach.

She knows he’s smarter than this. She knows he is aware of the peril he is placing himself in–yet, he is proceeding without hesitation, without so much as a brief pause to draw his blaster.

He’s taking a chance with his life and he doesn’t care. 

She remembers his hand on her shoulder on Jedha, guiding her safely through the live wires of a city on the verge of catastrophe. She remembers a man capable of apprehending disaster and weighing odds, of making snap-decisions that still lent a shot at self-preservation. 

This is not that man.

This man, this stranger, is not doing anything to try to mitigate the risks or find another way. He’s letting this happen, surrendering to this fate like it is some inevitable destiny when in truth it is one easily avoided. 

And for what? The intel? She was in the brief with Draven too. She knows that it’s not worth this–even Draven would agree with her on that.

“What is wrong with you?!” Jyn demands as Cassian comes to a stop next to the informant. 

A blaster comes to life in the dark corners behind them, the men turning in unison towards the sound. 

And the Cassian she knew would have his own weapon drawn immediately, would already be prepared to confront his enemy and get moving, get out. 

But this Cassian just stands there. Doesn’t move a muscle, not even a finger twitching in the direction of the weapon at his side. 

She can sense when the enemy in the shadows pulls the trigger, but she knows with a horrible certainty that Cassian is not going to defend himself. 

He’s going to die. He’s trying to die. 

In the same instant that the blaster fires, she shoves Cassian to the ground hard, her arms tangling with his so that they land together in a disheveled heap, the bolt screaming just over their heads and out into the night.

The action seems to evoke something in Cassian. Before Jyn can decide her next move, the spy’s hands have flown to his gun. She watches with a small rush of relief as he rolls from his fallen position beside her to take aim–first at the would-be assassin and then at the informant turned traitor, both enemies eliminated in the blink of an eye. 

But it’s not enough.  

He’s slowly rising, looking around either for more enemies or the mysterious person who pushed him, it’s hard to say. Could be both. 

“Cassian, get out of here. Or I swear to the Force I am dragging you off this rooftop myself even if it costs you your sanity.”

How could you? She watches him with a fury she didn’t know she was capable of, finds herself trying to catch breath she doesn’t have, panting in the sheer, icy panic that has grabbed ahold of her. 

A raw, aching sensation burns at her chest, an open wound. She realizes this is the pain Cassian has been carrying ever since Scarif–through his recovery and all the long nights she’s spent watching him. It tears a gaping hole in a person, leaves behind an empty space, impossibly heavy with longing… Longing for a different world, one in which they are still there, alive, and ready to embrace. Loss. 

I almost lost you…

Jyn certainly doesn’t consider herself ‘friends’ with the Force at this point, but she still sends her thanks when Cassian makes it off Naboo without further trouble. She counts it another miracle when they discover via coded transmission that he has apparently missed trouble on Hoth. (Force knows if she could have saved him from the death wish he might have tried to pursue there). 

The transmission directs him, and other rebel stragglers, to a rendezvous point on the outer reaches of the galaxy. 

As they travel, Jyn simmers, fighting the urge to shake him for what he just put her through, for how he has betrayed her. She places herself as far away from him as she can manage–on a bench in the cabin–and passes the time with her eyes shut, knees squeezed tightly to her chest, as though making herself smaller might also reduce the enormity of the emotions crashing through her. 

Melshi is there to greet Cassian when they land in the hangar of the medical frigate, Redemption. “I wanted you to hear it from me. Rogue One all made it off Hoth. Bodhi’s out with the fleet at the moment, but everyone’s alright.” 

Jyn allows herself a moment of relief at this news and catches the same feeling reflected on Cassian’s face. 

Rather than comforting her, it sets her nerve on edge again, reminding her just how close Cassian had been to denying Melshi and the others that same relief. She knows that they would understand how she’s feeling. That they’d be just as disturbed as she is to discover their friend’s sudden lack of interest in survival. 

Jyn moves to stand at Cassian’s shoulder and crosses her arms, glaring at him expectantly. “Well?” she demands. “Aren’t you going to tell him how much of an idiot you were on Naboo?”

But Cassian’s expression reveals not a hint of his self-destructive behavior. It is only because she has spent so much time around him that she is able to recognize the tell-tale signs of his exhaustion, barely manifesting at the surface. He pulls his aching shoulders back into the briefest of stretches and proceeds to lean casually against the ship’s side to disguise the fact his back is beginning to bother him.

Jyn’s exasperation only grows. If she could storm away from Cassian she would. It would serve him right. He doesn’t give a damn about his own safety? Fine. His choice. But why should she have to watch as he needlessly puts himself in harm's way?

“I need to debrief with Draven, is he here?” Cassian asks, quickly scanning the commotion of the hangar.

Melshi shakes his head. “Not yet. Think he’s on one of the later evac shuttles.”

Cassian accepts this news with a short nod. 

“Quit acting so normal,” Jyn hisses.

“So how did it go?” Melshi asks carefully. “First mission since-”

“It was fine,” Cassian replies tightly, as he pushes himself off the side of the ship and straightens his posture. 

Jyn clenches her fists at her sides to keep herself from shoving him. She’s still not sure what exactly he thinks happened on Naboo when she saved him, and she’s not about to risk anything. Not when he’s like this…

“Really, Cass,” Melshi says. “No K2, no…” he stops himself before saying her name at Cassian’s hard look, but she’s thankful when he doesn’t let the matter go entirely, “How are you doing?”

“I’m okay, Melsh. Just a bit tired.”

“Okay? Okay?!” Jyn yells, her hand already halfway to his arm before she catches herself. “You are clearly not okay and you karking know it.”

She turns to Melshi hoping for backup, but he seems to have accepted Cassian’s answer as the most elaborate he’s going to get. “I’ve got to go check in with Mothma. Rooms are first come first serve,” he explains. “Grab a bunk while you can, but don’t get too comfortable. It’ll be a tight fit. We’ll probably have to rotate this time round.”

Cassian bids farewell to Melshi and manages to find a private bunk to seal himself away in. He hits the fresher, scrounges up some clean clothes, and collapses onto his new bed. Routine behavior. Like Naboo never happened. 

All the while, Jyn stares at him in icy silence from her seat on the floor. Not that he would know, but she hopes maybe he can feel her anger, her fear, her hurt. She hopes it’s settling in the room like smoke, that he is forced to breathe it in, to have it course through his body the same way it does hers. 

He turns out the lights and rolls away from her to face the wall, but she can sense his eyes are still wide open, absorbing the dark of the empty room. It is only once she feels a tentative squeeze at her hand, that she realizes he is holding the kyber crystal–the same as she used to. 

There is a faint vibration against her skin, his hand trembling. Though there are still traces of anger in her, she slowly approaches the bed and finds herself carefully, gently, laying down beside him. She presses herself against the wall, mindful not to make contact with his body, and stares at his face, wishing he could meet her eyes, read her thoughts. 

“Please don’t make me go through that ever again,” she whispers.

A few moments pass before the shaking begins. She recognizes the dry sobs that clutch at his chest, leaving him gasping for air–the way his muscles all tense and quiver and his hands curl into fists so tight his fingertips must be turning white. 

Jyn inches closer, wraps her arms around him, and holds him with as much pressure as she dares until the panic finally exhausts itself.

At first she’s scared she has once again put his sanity at risk, but if she has, there is nothing to indicate any harm has been done, because he falls peacefully asleep with no acknowledgment of her presence. 

Jyn stays, curled against him, her head resting on his chest so she can feel his heart–still beating. 

[sleepyowlwrites]

Mother Dearest I hope this Blorbsday finds you well. How are you and the Blorbos? Will you tell me a story about them? Maybe one where it’s Jet’s birthday and the other characters want to buy him a present. What will they get him? Will he like it?

[I've been thinking about this, and wondering what on earth they could get for him that wouldn't make him want to like, run away.]

Jet likes to imagine that he still has fine lines running through his liminal spaces. That he has fences set up between him and the world, and thinner, more invisible fences between him and the people who have decided they're his friends. And maybe he also considers him friends, but that means reordering his priorities and he doesn't want to bother. It's bad enough that Rune has emerged triumphant at the top of the list, scowling and shrugging him off even while he makes space for her and her chains. Copper sits next to him, not even on the list, too important to order and too precious to hold onto.

What he has in his life is a set of fence-breakers, and ones that he's becoming increasingly fond of, and it’s tearing at him underneath his armor. They smile at him and tell him jokes and insist that they want to help him out of the fights he puts himself in, as if he ever asked for such a thing.

"You don't have to ask," Yarrow tells him the day after the bloody fight with Rune, when Jet is pretending he's the only person in this garage.

Jet continues ignoring him despite the tingling in his fingers.

"Because we see you being alone when you don't have to be," Yarrow goes on, unbothered as always by Jet’s non-participation. "So even if you don't ask, we'll support you."

"Why." Jet just says it, because it's not really a question so much as a challenge. "If I haven't asked, that means I don't need you."

Yarrow crouches down beside Jet, and, in a blatant display of foolhardy bravery, takes hold of Jet’s chin with paint-stained finger, turning it to face him. "No."

Jet freezes where he sits, elbows balanced on his knees as he holds a rag in one hand and a wrench in the other.

"You need it, you just don't ask because you don't think anyone cares. Which is incorrect, as I have just told you."

The wrench taps Yarrow’s fingers away without force, but they release him and Jet can breathe easier.

"By the way, Copper says it's your birthday soon, and I know you'd hate a party, but if I bring my mom's gingerbread cake and stick a candle in it, will Copper blow it out?"

"Copper would love that," Jet says as normally as he can manage. "Don't you dare get me a present."

"What about a very soft flannel shirt with your favorite colors?"

Jet bounces the wrench in his hand. "You've already gotten me one."

Yarrow smiles, blindingly so, as only he can. "I won't wrap it. I'll just give it to you, like it doesn't even matter."

It would matter, and it would hurt, but Jet recognizes somewhere inside him that this is just what friendship entails, and that he was stuck inside one regardless of how good or bad he was at it, and so he shrugs.

Yarrow pats his head- the absolute gall of this menace- and leaves.

Jet doesn't bother trying to reset his fences. Yarrow can clearly just climb over them anyway.

(So congrats, Rainstorm, you got me to write a city story scene after...3? Months?)

Oh, I guess taglist: @zoya-writes @selene-stories @enchanted-lightning-aes @oh-no-another-idea @diphthongsfordays @wildswrites and also @drippingmoon @klywrites @kaiusvnoir @blind-the-winds

[sinvulkt]

Angstpril: 21. You're ON YOUR OWN, KID

@whumpril - 21. Scars

We stood, bloodied and bruised, in the ruins of the Governor’s Palace. The Force shifted in agitated current, its sensation new and foreign under my fingers. The slave horn rang one last time. A strange feeling of emptiness filled me. This was it. 

It was over.

"You are free. You can go home now."

"What about you, Liberty?" Ikite asked.

"Some may call me old, but I like to believe I still have some golden years in front of me," the scarred twi’lek answered. "I shall see if some planet needs a former-slave-revolutionnary."

Ikite asked the question I didn’t dare ask. "Can I come with you?" Would I even want to go where that man with so much blood on his hands went?

"I can’t take you with me."

"Why?" Ikite stepped up. "I’m strong! I can help!"

A part of me buzzed to come in the conversation. 

I stayed back. 

I knew it wasn’t my place. Not when Ikite was seconds away from attacking me, his rage almost palpable in the Force. He may have been raised at the Temple like me, but he had already proven not to care for the Jedi path. The blood of the defenseless tainted his hands. Only Liberty’s presence made him behave right now.

The twi’lek smiled.

"I know you do. But I believe you could help more if you took your own path." He turned towards me. "You were Jedi, weren’t you?"

I nodded.

We weren’t. We were cut before we ever could be.

Liberty whispered in his comm, the noise too lost in the freed slaves’ cheers for me to hear. "I got you both an appointment. Someone should come to take you home soon."

Home… but what was home?

I nodded again, fists clenched so hard my hooks had broken skin. The collar around my neck was gone, and everyone around shouted that we were free, and yet, it didn’t feel like it. Instead of a weight removed from my shoulders, it was as if a weight had been added instead. Invisible chains filled with authorities and expectations. 

If I ran away now… would anyone stop me?

Would I survive if they didn’t?

I let the chains wrap around my wings, close around my ankles. There was a time when I believed in ’Freedom’, but now I knew better. As a ’free being’, I had better survival chances than a pretty slave… I may have more free time, too. But I was still bound in many ways; by Ikite’s rage, my own guilt, my body’s need for food and water… By the memory of the Jedi Order.

"Liberty!" Ikite’s shout cut through my thoughts, and I raised my head again. The twi’lek had stopped in front of an old shuttle, its ramp deployed. "Let me come with you!" Ikite cried, running behind Liberty.

The twi’lek stepped onto the ramp, his features hardening. "No. I’m sorry, but you are on your own, kid."

Ikite froze.

(A part of me curled in satisfaction at seeing him so hurt. It stirred the Dark, brought its whispers to my ears— I snuffed it out. I had no use of it. Not yet.)

Liberty disappeared into the shuttle, and far before Ikite could reach him, he was gone, the ship a dark spot on the horizon. I looked away, doing my best to ignore the sobs of my unfortunate companion.

My wings were flattened against my back, my body instinctively trying to make me appear as small as possible in the hostile environment. It was only a matter of time before Ikite’s sobs quieted down, turned into rage towards the world. Towards me, who was near, weak, and distasteful enough to prove a satisfying outlet.

Ikite, or any of the former slaves around.

To my relief, another shuttle soon landed. A cheerful weekay exited it. Our ride, the Force current immediately provided.

I had yet to be used again of it intruding so easily my thoughts, permanently begging for my focus and battling with my sense for dominance. It had been easier when there had been nothing else to focus on, in The Room.

"Liberty asked me to play taxi. To AgriCorps, that’s right?"

Ikite didn’t move, his eyes still glued to where Liberty had disappeared, so I stepped up. 

"Yep. Rumors are that I got quite the green thumb," I smirked. The weekay stared at me for a second, then welcomed us into his ship.

This person didn’t know who I was. What I had done. How I had betrayed.

We chatted on, and they showed me how to copilot, while Ikite stayed silent in the back.

 It was nice.

I tried not to think about where we were going. To the same place I had been forced into, years ago. It couldn’t be worse than slavery, could it?

A part of me wondered if I should have insisted on following Liberty instead- perhaps put in a Force-suggestion, like Ikite had neither the will nor the strength to do, but… I knew it wouldn’t have changed anything. I wouldn’t find what I looked for- neither with Liberty, nor at the AgriCorps. In the end, the destination didn’t truly matter.

Everywhere was the same.

[mirclealignr]

dance partner | c.d

cedric diggory x gn!reader

requested by @ewatson21 - laughing into the kiss.

warnings; swearing, fluff.

word count; 800+

to be notified when i post, fill in my tag list form or follow @mirclesjournal

Merlin, he looked so perfect standing there. The candle and firelight throwing cascading shadows across his cheeks and eyes, the vibrant colour in them exacerbated from each gentle touch of this light.

Every smile he flashed brought more rosy dusting to his cheeks, yet they never seemed forced, only ever genuine. Such as it was with Cedric—some people couldn’t stand it, and thought it was all an act from the boy who had everything and arrogantly displayed it for all those who could never obtain it. But they knew, behind their hatred and falsities, that he was real. Perhaps it only exaggerated their disdain, to know that he was genuine.

It didn’t have that effect on you, not in the slightest. If it had done, it might have been easier. Had his every movement not caused your pulse to race, had his every word to you not left you listening eagerly for more, had his every touch not left your skin as hot as the burning stars, perhaps it would have been easier. His authenticity, his compassion and humanity only amplified these feelings, it didn’t make you feel an ounce of resentment, like so many others.

The music censored almost every voice from your ears, from everyone’s ears, but Cedric’s was clear as day as he approached you, moving his hips to the beat. Had everyone else left the room, or were they blurring out around him, leaving him the single object of your attention? But Cedric only laughed (he could not hear you questioning your sanity) while he watched the smile stretch across your lips—he had succeeded.

“Dance with me,” he bent down to whisper in your ear, above the music.

“I don’t really- How do you dance to music like this?” You lifted onto your tiptoes to speak into his ear.

“I don’t think anyone really knows,” he chuckled, “Just do what you want,” he shrugged, moving his body and bobbing his head to the rhythm.

Finally, after many moments of Cedric dancing alone in front of you, but encouraging you relentlessly through every minute of it, you began to move side to side, feeling awkward and out of place. But he didn’t seem to notice what you felt, only looked at you with soft, pooled eyes that soaked your being, and let it fall with grace through an abyss.

It warmed you.

It burned him. If he were a dying ember lashed with rain in his last days, breathing in his own smoke, he could be restored to the prime of his youth, an ardent, fervent flame, if only he could lay eyes upon you.

Were you dancing? It didn’t feel like it. It sort of felt like a tame frenzy, a chaotic cry for help, as you jumped and shook to the upbeat rhythm of Fred’s questionable music taste.

“There you see, you’re getting the hang of it,” Cedric encouraged with a laugh, moving closer to you, his own once wild movements becoming less animated.

It was a subconscious response to let your body slow down too. “Cedric.”

“What?”

Now? he thought. He asked this question to you in three movements. First, he stopped dancing completely, no matter how out of place it made him look. Second, he placed a hand over your cheek, cupping it gently, feeling energy run from your skin into his fingertips. And third, his lips parted slowly so he could wet them with his tongue.

Two eager and desperate lips collided, finally, after months of waiting. Had he always felt the way you felt about him? Had you both been so blind? It didn’t matter now, as his sweet lips impressed upon yours, leaving a feeling there that could never be replaced nor replicated by any love you had again. His hands were imprinted on your waist and back, soon to sink in and become invisible to the naked eye. But you would always know they were there, and so would any future lover who would try to take his place. You were his.

'IF YOU WANT MY BODY AND YOU THINK I'M SEXY, COME ON SUGAR LET ME KNOW!' Sang the radio from the corner, it’s speakers blaring an entirely new song, helped from the red-haired menace who controlled it.

You could feel the disappointed, yet amused smile spreading across Cedric’s lips, and in turn, yours reciprocated, leaving you both to laugh softly and agonisingly pull away from each other.

Tearing your eyes away from the person who’d sealed your happiness, you shouted over Fred's deliberate choice of music. “Fred, you fuck!”

“-ing legend!” He screamed back, earning a cheer from his guests.

Cedric too cheered, leaning his forehead against yours when you turned to face him again, and snaking a hand around your waist. He pecked your cheek and reached for your hands, moving his body to the music again and dragging you along with him.

Wherever he would go.

[spaceman-earthgirl]

Supercorptober 2021 Day 3: Luthor

Lena is intriguing, that’s the first word she thinks when she meets the other woman, besides the obvious word, which is beautiful.

Rao, is Lena beautiful

But yes, she is also intriguing, and Kara feels this pull, this invisible force that almost feels like it’s drawing her to Lena.

She wants to learn more, wants to know more about the woman standing in front of her and Clark, wants to ask what her favourite colour is, wants to ask where the slight accent she can hear is from, wants to ask how she appears so calm yet Kara can hear how fast her heart is beating in her chest.

She doesn’t learn much in their brief conversation, but she believes Lena had nothing to do with the crash, believes her when she says she just wants to make a name for herself outside of her family. 

It’s not until Kara gets home later that evening, when she’s getting ready for bed, that her feelings suddenly make a bit more sense. The name takes her by surprise, tattooed across her ribs, but it’s not the name itself that surprises her, something sitting so right in her chest at the sight of ‘Lena Luthor’ written on her skin.

No, it’s the fact that she wasn’t sure she’d ever get this, a soulmate, not after she’d lost her whole world, she wondered if she’d lost this too.

But she hasn’t, it’s right there in black, she has a soulmate, and she can’t help but smile at the prospect.

Just as quickly, other feelings start flooding in. Namely, nerves. Because she’s on a planet that doesn’t have soulmates, how is she meant to explain to Lena what it means. Rao, she’s going to have to tell Lena who she really is too.

And not only that, it’s not just anyone, it’s Lena Luthor, and she knows at least her cousin is going to have a few opinions on that fact.

She flies straight to her sister’s apartment, because that’s what she does when she needs help, she finds Alex.

“Jesus!” Alex exclaims, hand flying to her chest when Kara flies through her window

“Sorry,” Kara says, smiling sheepishly at her sister. “I’ll text you next time?”

“Please,” Alex says, walking into her kitchen, pulling a bag of potato chips from her cupboard and tossing them at Kara.

Rao, she loves her sister.

“What’s up?” Alex asks.

“Umm…” Kara says, not looking at Alex as she speaks. Kara has told her about the idea of soulmates on Krypton, told her when she’d had to explain to Kal why he had ‘Lois Lane’ written on his shoulder, but she’s not exactly sure her sister will be on board with a ‘Luthor’ as her soulmate. “Do you remember when-“ the bag of chips tears in her hand, Kara managing to catch most of the chips but a few fall onto the floor.

“Is everything okay?” Alex asks, eyeing Kara uncertainly.

Kara puts the food down on the coffee table and decides to just say it. “I found my soulmate.”

Alex gasps, eyes wide. “You got a name?”

Kara nods, feels some of the excitement she’d felt earlier thrum through her. “I did.”

“Who is it?” Alex asks, eyes flittering over Kara’s body, like she might be able to see the name through her clothes.

Kara takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. “Promise you won’t be mad?”

Alex is the one that looks nervous now. “Why would I be mad?”

Kara pulls up her t-shirt, revealing the name on her ribs.

Alex’s eyes somehow widen even more than before. “Lena Luthor? Kara, you can’t, she’s-“

“Please don’t,” Kara cuts in. “I already know what you’re going to say, don’t you think I haven’t thought about that? But Alex, I trust her, I trusted her before I saw the name. I can’t explain it, but I could tell she was telling the truth earlier. She’s not like her family, I can feel it.”

Alex sighs, pinches the bridge of her nose. She suddenly looks tired. “Okay, I guess I can’t argue with that,” she says, pointing to the place where her tattoo is, now covered by Kara’s shirt once again. “You’re going to have to talk to her, right? She’s going to have your name on her skin and that’s going to be a bit of a surprise, just like Lois got one too.”

“Oh Rao,” Kara hadn’t considered that part of it.

She definitely has to talk to Lena.

She goes to talk to her the next day, easily getting another meeting with her. She’s nervous and excited and all it does is make it hard for her to talk when she sees Lena again.

“Miss Danvers, back so soon?”

“I…uhhh…yeah…hi…” Kara manages to get out, adjusting her glasses as she does. She can already tell this conversation isn’t going to go as well as she’d been hoping.

“Or is it, Miss Zor-El?” Lena asks, tone shifting to something much less confident.

“Oh,” Kara breathes, she hadn’t considered that, what her name might actually say, and there’s no avoiding it now, she knows.

Lena has Kara Zor-El tattooed on her too.

“Should I ask why I woke up with your name tattooed on my back?” Lena asks, genuine curiosity in her eyes.

“I…I’m not exactly from here.” Kara swallows. “Earth, I mean.”

It takes Lena less than a second to figure it out, sees it in the widening of green eyes. “Supergirl?” Her eyes widen even more. “And Clark Kent is Superman.” It’s not a question. “Some things make a lot more sense now.” The last sentence is quieter, Kara thinks it’s mostly to herself. “So,” she continues. “That’s one mystery solved, but it still doesn’t explain why I suddenly have a tattoo.”

Lena’s not mad, or upset, she just genuinely does look curious about the whole thing, which makes it easier to just tell her the truth.

“On Krypton, when you meet the person you’re destined to be with, you know because their name appears on your skin."

Lena gasps. “We’re soulmates?”

Kara bites her lip. “Essentially, yeah.”

“You…have my name too?”

Kara untucks her blouse, undoes the bottom buttons, enough that she can lift it to reveal her tattoo.

Lena gasps again when she sees it, reaches out. Her fingers brush lightly over Kara’s ribs, red hot, yet Kara still shivers at the touch.

“But how?”

Kara shrugs. “I’m not sure how it works exactly, only that it does.”

Green eyes look up to meet hers, even closer now. “A Super and a Luthor? Is that really wise? My family-“

“You’re not your family,” Kara cuts in. “And I’m not mine. We’re our own people, and all I know is that I like you. This doesn’t have to mean anything yet,” she says, gesturing to her ribs. “We can be friends for now, see what happens. I just want to get to know you better.”

Lena’s smile is small but genuine when she replies. “I’d like that.” 

Fic link: ao3

Series link: ao3

[hyuckssunchip]

Reputation

Pairings: Johnny x Reader, ft. nct 127

Words: 4.3K

Warnings: Language (there is almost always language in my writings), angst, some fluff

Request:  Angst 42 and 48 ➵ “You promised.” “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t leave.” / @jungcherie​

(im so sorry i took so long.... i turned a drabble into a story... oops)​

Johnny Suh had a reputation that was unmatched.

There was no other way to put it.

And a reputation like his left trails of tears.

A pool of tears that you were currently drowning in.

It was obvious Johnny was dangerous, perhaps that’s why you were drawn to him. While every single one of your instincts had you fighting and rejecting him, you were desperate for him all the more.

It was March 13th that you lost your first will.

“Y/N, right?”

You turned around to find a familiar face towering over you.

“Yeah.” 

It was that stupid smile that had you. 

“Hey, we have have Communications together. I was wondering if you wanted to do that project together?” He scratched the back of his neck like he was embarrassed. “I just know that you’re insanely smart so... Sorry, wait, that sounds like I’m just talking to you for your grades.”

You giggled nervously, a habit that you did when you were uncomfortable.

“Look, I just... do you? You know, wanna do the project together? I mean, I’m a pretty smooth talker so I can do the presentation. I get good grades too...”

Stupid smile.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright. There’s actually a little party at my frat tonight, you maybe wanna come? Get to know each other before we drown in work?” 

Fucking stupid smile.

“Yeah. I’d like that.” You blushed at the idea, cursing at yourself for being so obvious. 

Parties weren’t really your thing. 

But at the time Johnny Suh was.

Your ears were pounding because of the insanely loud level the music was at. You were actually shocked that no one had called the cops with a noise complaint, but the fact that they were on frat row made more sense.

“Y/N. You made it.” A arm was flung over your shoulder and, thankfully the lights were both dim and flashing enough that he couldn’t see the way that you blushed at the action.

“Yeah. Is it always this loud?” You asked, still not so comfortable with the atmosphere.

“What?” Johnny yelled, pointing at his ear, indicating that he couldn’t hear you. Of course he fucking couldn’t. Then he jerked his thumb to the right, nodding at the backyard, which was seemingly empty.

With his hand placed on your back, he guided you outside, your head already thanking him from the escape of noise pollution. It was far better outside of the house.

The two of you collapsed onto the swinging chair, sighing as you cleared your head.

“So parties aren’t really your thing?” Johnny leaned closer, noting the look of relief that you had donned the moment you exited.

“It’s not that I hate them... I’m just not a fan. I mean a bunch of sweaty, horny drunk people grinding on each other. I just like smaller things.” You explained, staring up at the dark sky, shivering slightly at the cool breeze.

“You didn’t have to come.” Johnny suddenly looked guilty, “I didn’t mean to force you into coming, I just... thought I’d invite you.”

You quickly backtracked, “No, you didn’t force me. If I didn’t want to come, I wouldn’t have.” You ignored the voice in the back of your head that begged to differ.

“Right.” He grinned, as if he could read your mind. “You’re not great at lying, but I’m gonna pretend that I believe you.”

You felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

“Were you playing beer pong?” You asked suddenly, causing him to look at you in confusion.

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

You laughed, looking away from him, “You have quite the reputation Mr. Suh, even someone like me knows the extent of your skills.”

Johnny smirked, liking how easy you were making it for him. “Is that so? Is that the only skill of mine you’ve heard about?”

You raised your eyebrows, hating the turn that your mind took. “W-what kind of other skills did you have in mind?” You stuttered out.

Suddenly it felt like you were caged in, his arms tense around your frame, causing you to lean back against the back of the swing.

“Tell me what you’ve heard.” 

You averted your eyes, unable to take his heavy gaze. His eyes had turned dark, full of lust, and you tried desperately to forget the effect they were having on you.

As if sensing how uncomfortable you were getting, he backed off, dusting off some invisible dirt on his shoulder. He cocked his head to the side with a sly smile, happy with a new challenge. 

Things weren’t going to be as easy as he thought they were, but that’s what made it fun.

“No that’s so stupid. Are you kidding me? Robin could absolutely never beat Batman. Is that even a question?” Your hands were waving animately, far too much for an argument about fictional superheroes.

“Sure. I’m just saying that Robin could totally catch him off guard, like out of the blue, you know.” Johnny slurped on his drink shrugging his shoulders like he didn’t care. 

“No. Absolutely not. First of all Robin doesn’t have the guts to do something like that and second of all Robin doesn’t have any powers. How on Earth would he beat him?”

“Umm... Batman doesn’t have powers either.” He made a duh face at you, which you chose to ignore.

“Yeah, well he’s got money, and that’s basically a super power.”

“Let’s be real, Batman isn’t even really a real superhero. He’s just a hero. Period.” 

You huffed, rolling your eyes at the argument. “That’s a whole different story.”

“I’m just saying.” He sang back teasingly.

“And I’m just saying that this is stupid. How did we even get here?” You laughed, trying to remember how this conversation came about.

“Uh, you made the bold choice of saying that the Batman vs. Superman movie was shit. Very controversial by the way.” He frowned at the memory.

You let your bag fall heavily on the library table, earning you a few glares as studying students dug into their books.

You sent an apologetic look before sliding into your seat. “Let’s just get this presentation done. Our presentation date is the 23rd and I don’t even have a clue of what to write it on.”

“Well the topic is influencers that change your life. Do you have anyone in mind?”He asked, flipping through his notebook, which didn’t really have anything but drawings in them.

“Not really, is there anyone for you? I mean influencer is kind of vague isn’t it? We could pick like an athlete too, or a musician. Those are technically influencers right?”

He nodded, resting his chin on his hand. “Yeah. Influencers don’t even have to be famous do they? Like they can just be someone in your life that made a huge impact on you. Like your parents or something.”

“Yeah, I guess. But that’s kind of hard when you’re working in groups. Like you’re not gonna want to talk about my grandma, you know. Like you don’t even know her. It’s probably just easier to use a famous icon.”

“Okay, so who?” He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling like it would give him inspiration. 

“Hmmm... maybe we could do someone like Michael Jackson. Like he may not have affected us personally, but he affected the way that the music and performance was seen afterwards. That’s influential and life changing right?”

“I guess.” He cocked his head, “We could at least start with brainstorming ideas for him and then if we feel like it’s not working we can change it.”

“Cool. I guess we can start with that then.”

And you did. You spent every afternoon for the next week and half with each other in the library, and a little more outside of it.

“That one’s the big dipper.” 

You grinned following his finger, but had more difficulty finding exactly what he saw. 

“How do you know it’s not the little dipper?” You teased, squinting in to the dark, the scattered stars really just looking like paint splatters to you.

“Because that’s the little dipper.” He laughed, moving his index finger slightly to the right.

“Oh.” 

Johnny leaned back into your space, smiling at you look of concentration quickly falling as you gave up.

“Where’s the North Star?” You asked turning to face him, but sucking in a harsh breath when you found your nose just centimeters from his. 

Johnny lowered his voice, whispering and pointing without even turning away, “Right there, it’s the tail of the little dipper.”

It took more effort than you thought to pull away, eyes searching for it.

He leaned back, resting his body weight on his hands. “See it? It’s the brightest one.”

“No,” You pouted scooting forward, as if that would help you see it. “Oh, wait! I see it!”

Johnny couldn’t stop himself from grinning as he saw your face light up.

“Wow.” Suddenly your tone turned more mellow, still in awe. “I’ve always wanted to find the North Star.”

Johnny’s chest rumbled with laughter. “Why?”

“Well you know. They say if you get lost, just follow the North Star home.” You turned to face him, eyes sparkling with excitement, but the sound of your voice had gone quiet, almost somber. The smile on your face faded into a sad smile as you all but whispered your next words. “Now I can go home.”

Johnny frowned next to you, not liking the sudden turn in mood. He sat up, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you against his chest.

“What makes you think that you’re not home right now?” He mumbled on the top of your head, staring straight out in the dark.

“I don’t know. I can just feel it, you know? Like I’m just constantly uneasy.” You sighed, digging your face into his jacket. “I think I’ll be able to tell when I get there.”

There was something in Johnny’s chest that suddenly ached, and he felt a sharp drop in his stomach at the thought.

“Maybe you’ll only ever know once you’ve left home.” He muttered, “Then you’ll know that this is actually what it feels like, and it’s so much worse when you leave.”

You stilled against him for a moment before relaxing, mulling over the thought. “That’s so sad though. Why do we only know we’re happy once we’re sad?”

Johnny shook his head slowly. “I don’t know. Why does God make us hurt to only to help us heal?”

The sound of the wind passing through trees was the only thing that comforted you at the thought.

“I don’t want to have to heal, I don’t want to hurt in the first place.” You whisper out, feeling the most vulnerable you had in a long time.

“I’ll never hurt you.” He rubbed at your arms soothingly, feeling a lump in the back of his throat, but he pushed it away not liking the unfamiliar feeling.

“Promise?”

“Of course.”

You let your eyes fall, enjoying just the silence and comfort of each other’s arms and minds.

You woke up wrapped in Johnny’s arms, although it was an unfamiliar feeling you welcomed it with open arms. 

Lost in your thoughts for the time being you were suddenly reminded of the conversation you had a couple nights ago. 

Was this home?

You had never felt so safe before and it scared you. But you weren’t one to run.

“Good morning.” Johnny mumbled out beside you, his morning voice raspy to the ear.

“Morning.” You whispered back, letting his arm flop over your waist.

“Do you like pancakes?” He asked, letting his eyes fall close again.

“Pancakes?” 

“Yeah. Taeyong makes some bomb ass pancakes.” 

You giggled, “Yeah, I like pancakes. Especially bomb ass pancakes.”

But he didn’t move and it was only after you tapped him questioningly did he speak up. “Do you think he’ll bring them up if I yell loud enough?”

You smacked his chest. “Stop it. We should go down.”

“In a bit.” He answered, nose buried deep in the crevice of your neck.

A few minutes later you heard the clinking of kitchen tools from downstairs and you stirred. “Johnny?”

“Hmmm...”

“Johnny. Let’s go.”

“Five more minutes.” He mumbled, but he let you out of his grasp anyways.  

“Fine. I’ll meet you downstairs.” You paused as you passed by the mirror, eyes tracing over the marks on your neck that Johnny had left the night before. You blushed, realizing that you didn’t have anything to cover it up with, but quickly moved on, attempting to find your shorts that were discarded in the frenzy of last night.

“Check under the desk.” Johnny said, sitting up and watching you.

Sure enough that’s where they were, although you weren’t really sure how they managed to get there. 

You shrugged on the last of your clothes, turning to find Johnny doing the same. It took him less than three steps to get to you, landing a soft kiss on the top of your head. 

“Let’s go.”

Taeyong was undoubtedly the closest of Johnny’s frat brothers to you. He had this really calming and sweet aura about him that just made you want to be friends. 

“Good morning Y/N. Blueberry or chocolate?” He asked grinning as he took his eyes off the pan for a second. 

“Blueberry please.” You slid onto the bar across from him. “Do you need any help?”

Johnny rubbed your lower back comfortingly, “No, you don’t want to get in his way. That’s when he loses his temper.” He whispered the last bit to you, but Taeyong obviously heard it, sending a sharp glare at him.

“Only when there are incompetent people in my kitchen.” Taeyong muttered back.

Johnny ignored the comment, shaking his head at you, “I’ll have chocolate.”

“You’ll get what you get.” Taeyong piped at him, still not over Johnny’s teasing, who grinned in response. 

Both of them knew that Johnny was getting chocolate, Taeyong was really bad at being mean.

“Where’s the others?” Johnny asked, sipping on a cup of coffee.

“At school, as they should be because they are college students.” Taeyong answered, sliding a plate towards you. “Enjoy.”

You thanked him and bit into a piece, almost moaning at the taste. “Damn, Johnny told me they were good but I didn’t think it would be this good.”

Johnny swiped a piece from your plate. “What are you talking about? I told you he made bomb ass pancakes.” 

Taeyong slid a plate towards Johnny.

His grin widened. “Thank you. You’re my favorite Taeyong ever.”

“I’m the only Taeyong you know.” He put his hands on his hips. “I should be the favorite.”

Johnny sent a wink in his direction before stabbing a piece. 

“So I was thinking, that little bakery next to the park, do you wanna go? They just opened and I’ve been dying to try it.” Johnny asked around a mouthful of pancake.

“Yeah, sure. That sounds good.” You felt your stomach flutter, you were sure whether it was the pancakes or Johnny, but you had a pretty good guess. 

“Sweet, we can swing by your place first if you want to get a change of clothes or something.” 

You nodded, “Yeah, sounds good.”

“I’m glad that sounds good.” He teased you with a smile.

“Sorry, but it just sounds good. What else do you want me to say?” You pushed back, opting to add another piece into your mouth.

“I don’t know, maybe-”

“Okay, sorry to interrupt your little flirt fest, but can you start that after I leave?” Taeyong asked, making a few pancakes for himself.

“Sorry.” You giggled, sending him a genuine apologetic look.

“I’m not sorry.” Johnny said, shrugging.

You smacked him lightly.

“I’ll take away pancake privileges for a month.” Taeyong quipped, focusing on flipping the pancake.

“Sorry.” Johnny mumbled out under his breath, not one to admit defeat easily.

You laughed at the sight of a pouty Johnny, enjoying the view for the time being.

Waiting for Johnny had become a routine, but honestly you didn’t really mind it. Hanging out on the couch, you had met and befriended quite a few of his frat brothers. 

Currently you were sprawled out on the couch with Jungwoo, who was retelling a very interesting story about his trip to the grocery store last week that involved a cereal box and a banana. Although it was a bit of a reach, you nodded and smiled at the right times, not really following the order of events, or really the importance of them.

“What does the fact that you were wearing- and I quote - ‘an incredibly sick pair of joggers’ have anything to do with your story?” You asked, tilting your head in teasing confusion.

“Oh, it doesn’t. I just thought you should know.” He replied matter-of-factly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Right. And I’m so better off now that I know.” You taunted him, voice dripping in sarcasm.

Jungwoo shot you an annoyed, and yet hurt look, before finishing his story. “And that’s how Johnny found out he was allergic to shellfish.”

“Okay. What the fuck? I’m literally so confused.” You cut him off before he could recount his story again. “I don’t really need to hear it again though. Thanks.”

He whined before laying his legs over yours, giving up.

For a few moments, things were quiet as you checked the time. It had already been thirty minutes, where was he?

You rolled your head to the side, finally focusing on the whiteboard that had what scribbles of writing over it. 

“What’s the tally for?” You asked, scrunching your nose at the whiteboard that was situated on the far wall of the room.

“Hmmm? The tally?” Jungwoo glanced around looking slightly nervous which had you even more curious. “It’s just a game.”

“Game? What game?” You laughed turning back to see the strikes adorning the board. “It looks like Johnny’s winning.”

“Uhh...” Again with the nervous glances.

You giggled, “You’re losing, aren’t you?” The spot under his name had the fewest tallies and you figured that’s why he was being so shy about it.

Jaehyun entered the room, seemingly in a very important conversation by the way that he was speaking animatedly.

“The game’s over on Friday and Johnny’s gonna win.” 

“That’s so stupid. He hasn’t bagged any since Y/N, how is he still gonna win?” Yuta complained all but scowling at the floor, neither of them had yet to notice your presence.

You frowned at the mention of your name, not liking the term ‘bagging’ to be in such close proximity with your name.

“Oh, Mark has a new strike, looks like he finally got Claire into bed.” Yuta continued snorting, “Took him long enough.”

“Wait, what the fuck? How the hell did Taeyong get two strikes?” Jaehyun, squinted at the board.

Yuta snorted, “He had a threesome last night. Can you believe it? This close to the end? It’s like he’s actually trying to compete now.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” You muttered, effectively catching their attention.

“Y/N.” Jaehyun breathed out, eyes wide and darting between you and Jungwoo who was obviously trying to get them to stop talking. “Hey... what’s up? When did you get here?”

“Ummm.... no. What the fuck is going on?”

“What do you mean?” Jaehyun cocked his head, doing his best to pretend like he wasn’t panicking.

“No, I don’t want your bullshit. Just tell me what this game is.” You were using anger to hide your fear. You could feel the pounding of your heart in your head, a throbbing sensation that gave way to a sinking feeling of realization. 

At that moment, when his eyes finally met yours. Not Jaehyun’s, not Yuta’s, but Johnny’s as he walked in the room with that fucking stupid smile you felt your last will got out the window. It was at that moment that everything came crashing down. 

“Y/N, please can’t we just talk?” Johnny chased after you, begging you to turn around.

“You promised.”

Johnny’s heart dropped at your words, and his chest started closing in in fear. The burning feeling in his throat had him choking, panicking in belated realization.

It wasn’t just the words that you said, it was the way that you said it. So defeated, so broken. So betrayed.

“You promised that you wouldn’t hurt me. Do you remember that? Did you even mean that?” You felt the tears brimming, and you fought the best you could to keep them down. But your wobbling voice let him know.

“Of course I meant it.” He answered breathlessly. “You know me, I don’t say things that I don’t mean.”

“Do I? Do I know you?” You huffed out. “Because I really thought you were someone different.”

“No, I- I’m still me. I’m still Johnny. I just...”

“You just what? You just lied about our entire relationship? If it was even that, because I was just another tally to you wasn’t I? Just another tally on a stupid whiteboard for a stupid game.” 

You choked back the tears that were burning in your throat, not bothering to wipe at the ones that managed to escape.

“You know what hurts the most? I actually thought you liked me. I actually thought that you meant all those things that you said to me.”

“I did mean it. I meant every single word, and I still do. Nothing was a lie, my feelings were real. Please just listen to me, I can explain.” He stepped closer, but you took a step back, keeping the distance.

“Explain what? I already heard everything for myself. What are you gonna say, that Jaehyun and Yuta were lying? Hmmm? That it wasn’t a game? That that’s not the reason that you approached me?”

“I...” He couldn’t find any words, because you were right. Every single word that you said was right. He struggled to catch his breath, panicking. “Please don’t leave me.”

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t leave.”

“I love you. I need you. I can’t- I can’t imagine life without you.”

“That’s not enough.” You clenched your jaw, face going slack. It was as if you were losing the will to even be heartbroken over this.

“Please, I-I’ll do anything, what do you want me to do?” He begged, eye brows nearly touching as they furrowed.

“I don’t want anything from you, just stay away from me.” You mumbled out, avoiding his eyes.

“Baby, please.”

“Don’t fucking call me that, I’m not yours, I never was.” You snapped at him, backing away.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled under his breath and he wasn’t sure if it was meant for you or himself.

“So I’m kinda going rogue here. I know you already hate me, but try not to hate me anymore than you already do.”

Johnny didn’t look anywhere except for you.

The professor seemed to humor him, allowing one of his favorite students to continue with an amused smile on his face.

You on the other hand did not. 

You stared at Johnny with a straight face, trying your best to not look flustered.

“The whole point of this assignment was to find someone that changed our lives. But my partner and I struggled to find someone. It’s not that we didn’t have great people around us, its not even that we don’t have people that we admired. It was because no one we came up with really seemed genuine to us. But I found someone. I finally found someone that I could trust, that I let in. But I did something really stupid and fucked it up- excuse my language.”

You watched him stand behind the podium, looking smaller than he ever did.

“You know, before I met you I didn’t think that my life needed changing. I thought I was doing just fine. But then I realized that I wasn’t. I was struggling to even feel normal, to feel like I was living for something. Y/N you helped me find home. Remember when I said that you only understand that you were already home until you lose it? Well I feel it now. And it feels like shit.”

You sucked in a sharp breath, a feeling in the back of your throat burning.

“Y/N. You’re the person who changed my life. And I don’t even deserve that. But I’m here, standing in front of you like a fool because I’m whining about losing the best thing that ever happened to me.” 

For a moment you thought he was done, because the silence was deafening.

“Even if you sill hate me after this, I want you to know that you mean more to me than anything else. You are the person that changed my life. You are my person, and I want so badly to be yours.”

There was a beat of silence as he ended abruptly, taking a seat on the other side of the room, eyes still locked on you.

Your professor stood up with a clap. “Well, thank you Johnny for that... interesting presentation.” A wide smile was still on his face despite his word choice. “I guess we should end on that then. Second batch of presentations is on Friday, please be prepared.”

The students of your class stood, shuffling out the exit, voices murmuring to each other. 

You sat on the bench outside your lecture hall, watching as Johnny made his way nervously to you.

“You’re an idiot.” You told him as he approached you, bottom lip wobbling against your will. Eventually you broke. “But you’re my idiot.”

Johnny felt a drop of relief in his stomach as he felt like his heart would burst.

“You’ve totally botched our presentation by the way. If we fail it it’s on you.” You shoved him away teasingly.

Johnny grinned, throwing his arm over your shoulder. 

“Yeah? Well, I think we did better than you think. I think that things are gonna turn out just fine.”

(sorry, i was supposed to write a full angst, but i couldn’t help myself.)

© Copyright 2021. hyuckssunchip. All rights reserved.

[embrassemoi]

Surrounded by the Moon and Stars ✷ 29

Pairings: Sirius B, F!Reader, Remus L Warnings: Language, angst, insecurities, blood, darkish thoughts (self-hatred), fighting, violence Author's Note: heavy chap. if you’re having a bad day, take a moment, be kind to yourself and put off reading this until you feel better 💜

【 Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Playlist 】

Chapter 29: That Pet You Just Couldn't Keep

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Remus woke up to a bright, white light. He squinted, head lolling to the side of his lumpy pillow. The chair near his bedside was empty, saved from a pitcher of water along with a few potions Madam Pomfrey must’ve left for him, were placed on the stand beside his bed.

Something wasn’t right. Peter or one of the other Marauders were always there waiting for him after his transformations.

Too hot for a blanket in June, he ripped off his covers and noticed the bumpy, large material hiding beneath his nightgown. He licked his lips, letting air whistle down his dry throat while a sharp, burning sensation flooded his abdomen. Remus winched, groaning out while stretching to drink the potions and water. Although, as he brought the glass vials to his lips, he noticed that his arm was littered with scratches and bruises. Curious, he lifted the slit of the gown to see a large wrapping across his lower stomach and bruises in the shape of lopsided circles and rectangles travelling across his body.

Remus felt his face scrunch. Ever since the Marauders had become animaguses, he hardly sustained any injuries aside from the occasional limp or flimsy scratch. There was usually an absence of pain nowadays, not an overload of it.

What caught his attention was the scent of human blood. His senses were always heightened the week leading up to the full moon and the week following, so it was particularly strong. It caused his head to spin like planets performing a celestial dance.

Preoccupied with the scent, Remus didn’t notice someone slipping into the room.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” A fuzzy Peter came into view. He went to sit on the edge of his bed sporting a nervous look.

“Was wondering where you were.” Remus relaxed at his appearance.

“Yeah… Erm — been busy.”

Soon enough, another sharp pain stabbed at his abdomen again. “Fuck — what happened last night?”

Wormtail sucked in sharply as he wiggled in his seat uncomfortably. “I… something terrible happened. Bollocks, Moons — I’m sorry...”

Remus felt his spine prickle with needles. “What?”

“We should wait until Dumbledore or James comes back.”

“Dumbledore?!”

Ghostly pale, Peter was on the verge of fainting. Remus took another deep inhale. This time, he smelt blood, but it was coming off of Peter and a few other foreign scents lingered on him. Was that… Y/N? And… Snape? Remus scanned Peter, noticing the droplet of red on his shoes.

“Pete,” his voice dropped to an icy whisper, “Whose blood is that?”

He remained quiet.

Remus moved to prop himself up on the bed. “What happened?”

As Peter spoke, every word made Remus recline into himself and he was left unsure of how to feel. The overload of information put him into a state of complete shock. His vision faded in and out, suddenly feeling very cold and dizzy compared to the hot weather.

He distantly heard Peter trying to gain his attention but stared blankly at the metal bed frame.

“Say something,” his friend tried, sounding desperate. He didn’t even know how long he’d been quiet for.

Remus worked through the betrayal in nine steps. It helped make sense of his emotions. To categorize them — making it easier to file away.

1. Shock & denial

“No,” he said, barely moving a muscle in his face. “That's impossible! Padfoot would never…”

Peter watched him pitifully. Remus’ eyes blinked rapidly, heart pounding. “I’m sorry.”

2. Process what happened (or try to)

“He… told… Snape?” He asked despite Peter repeating the story multiple times.

“Sirius was mad at Sniv — Snape, and he was provoked by —”

“I didn’t hurt him, did I? I didn’t hurt anyone?”

“He’s fine.”

“Then why won’t you tell me what happened to me? Why was I bleeding?”

He refused to look him in the eyes and Remus felt terror ebb it's way through his skin. “Answer me!”

“As I said, L/N and Snape got into a row… she heard Sirius tell him and she went to save him…”

“Don’t you dare lie to me.”

Wormtail took a deep breath. “You… nicked her a bit and James’ antler broke off in you because… he was trying to get you off of her…”

Remus was rooted in place. What Peter just said was unreal. His stomach twisted painfully. He blinked. “Y/N’s hurt? I hurt her?”

“Yes — no! That was Snape —” “Is she here? Did I bite her?”

“You didn’t and yeah but —” “Move out of my way.” He pushed himself up wobbly.

“You lot a lot of blood, sit —”

“Get out of my way!” He threatened. Remus pushed Peter to the side, clambered to his feet. Remus gripped the bed tightly and felt a few seams rip open and blood began to faintly seep through his white bandages.

He staggered around, ripping back the curtains until he saw Y/N. Limping up to her bed, Remus almost burst into tears when he saw her. She looked so tiny, curled up and engulfed in blankets and pillows. Her ankle was propped up, head bandage and skin dull.

It felt like Peter had poured a bucket of freezing cold water on him.

He hurt her. Almost got her and Snape killed or infected. Could have hurt Prongs and Wormtail…

He was a fucking monster.

He should be put down.

From how loud he was, running around the wing, Y/N’s eyes fluttered open. She attempted to stretch, groaning out in pain. But then, her eyes flickered up to him and she froze. Her hand shot up protectively to her chest and face as instinctively went for her wand but stopped. Genuine fear flashed through her, making Remus instantly want to cry. It felt like an eternity passed as she gripped her sheets and opened her mouth.

She was going to scream — to take him away — call him a monster — to cry or yell for Madam Pomfrey or —

But Y/N’s body relaxed. A tried smile twisted and gaze dissipated with fear, replaced with nothing but understanding and softness; she even went as far to touch his hand but Remus wrenched it back.

“Ta-da!” She croaked. “I lived.”

Remus didn’t smile, only staring horrified.

“Yeah, that was a hit or miss...” Peter interjected. He stood behind him, ensuring that if he fell, he’d be there to catch Remus. He continued to stare like she grew another set of eyes.

“What?” Her grin deflated. “Am I that irresistible?”

That pulled a breathy laugh from Remus as he shook his head. Why wasn’t she disgusted with him?

“Thank Merlin, you’re both awake.” All their heads turned to James’s floating head before he pulled off the invisibility cloak.

James moved to pull Remus into a large hug, whispering an ‘I’m sorry’ into his ear. He held him for a while before breaking off, going to embrace Y/N who wheezed.

“Ouch.”

“My bad, my bad!” He pulled back and slipped into bed with her. Peter forced Remus to sit on the edge of her bed while he stood.

A million thoughts ran through his head. He wanted to get away, to run — not even be in the same room as her. Remus wanted to think, to make any sense of what happened.

What the fuck happened? He couldn’t even process it.

She remembered everything, right? Surely she wouldn’t be this calm had she.

“Oh, wait — Lupin, are you alright? I swear a deer came at you last night.”

James chuckled out loud, breaking Remus out of his thoughts as he looked at him and Peter. “I guess there’s no point for secrets anymore.”

Y/N looked at them questioningly, her eyes squinting from the bright light before Peter went to close the blinds shut. James got off the bed, smiling widely at Remus and Peter got onto the bed instead.

“Ugh — Pete? James? What —”

A loud gasp ripped from her mouth as she jerked away from James who turned into a very large stag and Peter into a fat brown rat.

Remus could almost cry at how comical her face looked.

James was so large that he had to take a few steps back to prevent his antlers from poking one of their eyes out and Remus noticed that one was gone.

He felt sick again. A hand drifted to his stomach.

“Holy shit! Oh my god!” Y/N went to graze a finger on Peter’s fur before turning to James with shaky hands to touch one of his antlers and patting him on the head. She was speechless as her mouth open several times before forcing out, “You're really Bambi!”

James turned back, taking his glasses off to clean. “I wanted to be a lion — for Gryffindor, y’know.”

“You can’t choose, I wouldn’t be a rat.” Peter grimaced.

“They’re highly intelligent. Nothing to worry about.” James reassured and ruffled his hair.

“When did you guys learn to do this?”

“We’ve been at it for three years now. We finally were able to do it in August before school started.”

She shook her head, staring in awe.

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Dumbledore came to speak to everyone later that day.

Remus had been dreading it once he came into the wing and began speaking to Y/N, a buzzing sound filling his ear. All Remus was left to do was twiddle his thumbs, waiting and completely disoriented.

When he finally approached him, Dumbledore lost his usual twinkle in his eyes. He made sure to close the long vertical blinds and again, the room filled with a low buzzing sound.

“How are you doing?” He asked. Remus, had he been in the right mindset, would have prevented the scoff escaping him. Dumbledore didn’t react but continued. “Miss L/N is recovering well and Mr. Snape didn’t receive any injuries. Just a fright.”

Remus nodded, that was good, but he remained quiet.

“Snape’s been persuaded to act accordingly for the best interest of his fellow pupils and L/N gave her word.”

Remus choked back a laugh. Snape was going to, no matter what, let his secret slip somehow.

“You’re also exempt from the Transfiguration exams, both you and Miss L/N. You’ve both sustained a degree of varying head injuries and you’ll be graded on a cumulative from McGonagall.”

Dumbledore was forcing Remus to the edge as he bit down on his inner cheek. It was useless to listen to him. “Are you expelling me?”

“No. You should not bear any blame.”

“Dumbledore, no offence, but are you mental?” Remus sputtered adding, “I endangered four students last night.”

“Yes but —” “The next time we won’t be so lucky. I’m a monster, sir. I should be.”

The headmaster sighed. “Remus, give yourself a bit of credit. Think highly of yourself.”

Remus gave a dry laugh, almost baffled at how Dumbledore was acting. Did he just gloss over the fact he could have gotten students infected? He wouldn’t be able to live with himself had he. “How can I?”

“Well Y/N seemed to think very highly of you. She made you a very compelling case along with your friends, Potter, Pettigrew and Black.”

“Black’s not my friend,” Remus countered. He didn’t care about how rude he was being.

“Remus —”

“Is he expelled?”

“No.” The answer had Remus wheeling, anger spiking. “He’s not.”

“Why not? If it isn’t my fault, that I’m not to blame then why isn’t he? He told them how to find me.”

“I understand that this is a very difficult situation and rest assured, Sirius will be punished. I can promise you. But expulsion isn’t the answer.”

Remus refused to look at Dumbledore and he must've realized he was getting nowhere with him. He stood but before leaving, he gave a pitiful look.

“I have done terrible deeds, indulged in foolish pranks that I have lived to regret, but each has been a valuable learning experience. It’s a pity that it came to this. Learn in your heart to forgive, Remus. The world is already filled with too much hate.”

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June 16th, 1976

3. Sadness & pain

Remus had been avoiding the Marauder’s dorm. He’d gone as far as begging Madam Pomfrey (who’d taken pity because she knew what happened) to let him stay another two nights before getting kicked out. Remus always healed physically faster and his wounds were already healed by the third day. Pathetically, he’d been sleeping in dingy passageways or the prefects’ bathroom before relocating after being harassed by the ghosts.

Remus had a plan, avoid them; skip classes, get longer prefect duties, never staying in one spot for too long. He wouldn’t know what would happen if Snape saw him. Although, whatever Dumbledore told him, it kept Snape quite so far. But tonight, he got tired of Moaning Myrtle sobbing.

Before curfew, Remus made it a habit of visiting Y/N, who was still stuck in the wing; both out of guilt and because she was his friend, but he couldn't stay for long — seeing her like that made him wallow in guilt.

Similar to him, Lily had visited, along with the other girls, every day. Today, Lily stayed a little longer, bleeding into the time Remus usually dropped by. He watched as Lily whisper into her ear, causing Y/N to laugh and Lily blush madly as she sat snug by her side. Not wanting to ruin their moment, Remus went to leave before they had the chance to see him.

Remus had another pressing matter anyway.

He entered one of the nearest bathrooms to give himself some sort of pep talk and stared at the mirror.

You can do this. A voice echoed in his head.

Typically, memories from the full moon came back to Remus a few days or even weeks later, his brain usually too foggy a couple of hours after and even then, he would never fully remember everything. He vaguely remembered seeing a flash of Snape’s face and Prongs but Y/N’s screams were one of the clearer memories from that night.

“REMUS! PLEASE REMUS! STOP!”

Remus looked to stare at himself in the mirror. He observed the scar on the bridge of his nose, feeling bile rush up his throat at the sight.

He was a freak, littered with scars covering himself.

He was disgusting.

Ugly.

Pathetic.

Dangerous.

A monster!

4. Anger

Sirius Black had always been loyal, so what changed that night?

He needed to leave. It was no good staying here anymore.

Remus was shaking with rage, twinged with hurt. He paced outside of the common room door and had a few options running through him. Either start a huge fight with Sirius or just… ignore it.

Avoidance.

Maybe he could ignore Sirius forever? Impossible, surely. Sirius would get bored, anxious within a couple of weeks — that was too generous — a few days sounded right.

With his mind made up, Remus crept up to his room. He could hear the faint shouts of James and pondered about just sleeping in the common room or prefects’ bathroom. Even if he did have to listen to Moaning Myrtle.

Maybe because his senses were still coming down from its peak or James was just brash, but Remus didn’t even have to press his ear on the door.

“— done ENOUGH! — hear me? You better — why are YOU crying? You bloody — understand? Understand?! You will not talk — him — best friends my —”

The only person he's told he was coming back was Wormtail and it sounded like he told Prongs.

Remus didn’t care to listen anymore as he pushed open the door. Pete was sitting on his bed, eyes wide at Remus’ presence surrounded by unwrapped wrappers. He always tended to eat while stressed.

Sirius was looking down at the floor as James stood in front of him, scolding him like a child. But, his head shot up once he walked through the door. Out of his peripheral vision, he could see his eyes bloodshot, puffy and circles dark. He didn’t dare look at him.

Remus didn’t acknowledge them, instead moving robotically to the bathroom, changing into his holey yet comfortable clothes before scurrying off to bed, swinging his curtains shut before casting a silencing spell around.

He’d plan to adhere to his avoidance strategy. It worked so far.

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June 18th, 1976 | 1:29 am

“Psst… Moony.”

Remus turned over to face him. “What do you want Peter?”

“Just wanted to check up. You okay?”

“What do you think? Please, leave me alone.” And then closed his bed drapes.

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June 19th, 1976 | 11:37 pm

Peter had crept up to his bed again as Remus laid there awake, thoughts swarming him.

“I’m not in the mood. I’m tired.” He moved to turn over and forced his eyes closed.

Peter had been nothing but amazing. Always thinking about him and his needs but what Remus wanted most was to be alone and Peter's pity and worried features did nothing but make Remus feel like shit.

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June 21st, 1976

In life, there are few things that are certain. Getting older, death, taxes… No matter how hard we try, no matter how good our morals are or our intentions, we all will eventually make mistakes. It’s either as small as burning your food or writing the wrong answer down on a test, but you’re also going to fuck up pretty bad and hurt people. Say something — do something you don’t mean and it’ll end up with both sides hurt. If you want forgiveness, there’s multiple solutions to gain that back, but the two words — obvious, there, waving in front of your face — can be the hardest words to say.

“I’m sorry.” Black muttered for the hundredth time that night. His voice was pushing Remus to the edge as he kept his face straight. Dead. Not once taking Sirius’ shitty apology baits. He continued to stare down at his book, reading silently in his dorm. His teeth hurt from how hard he was clenching his jaw.

Remus was right, of course, he was fucking right. Black had grown anxious as he ignored him.

“I’m sorry.”

Remus never really considered himself violent. Sure, he’s gotten into rows that ended with a punch or hex here or there, but Remus didn’t have violent thoughts. If anything, he prided himself on not being a bonehead like Black and Prongs. But, it took every ounce not to beat the shit out of Black right there and then.

Bastard. Scumbag. You mother fucking betrayer.

Remus never liked not being in control. Not having it scared him too much, feeling more animal than man. He did everything to avoid being violent, the wolf was already violent enough and had too much control and Remus refused to let it dictate human him. There was already too much violence, he never wanted to contribute more.

He did everything not to be a monster. But it's like the wolf roared from deep within, scratching and begging to let him pounce.

Remus wasn’t violent — anyone who met him would vouch for that. Fuck, if he saw a spider, he would open a nearby window and release it. But now, he wanted to slam Sirius against a wall and wrap his hands around his neck and squeeze.

You piece of shit. Wanker. Twat. I want you to feel as much pain as I do.

“Moony, please let me explain —”

All the words suddenly blurred before Remus slammed his book shut, causing to become still and quiet.

Sirius trying to explain — excuse his actions — pushed him over the edge. Remus sent a venomous glare at Sirius, waiting for him to talk. His quietness made everyone uneasy.

Selfish bastard.

Any sympathy Remus held for him this past year, along with any logic, evaporated to the point where he felt a rabid thump spread through him. There was a desperation to relieve himself of it — lash out, scream, cry —

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it,” the rest of the Marauders watched the scene, knowing not to get involved. “It was a mistake and —“

“A mistake?”

Sirius perked up at this. That was the only word he’d spoken to him since the incident. “Honest. I did it because —” “Shut the fuck up.” Remus stood, tall and loomed over Sirius. He could almost smell the fear off him.

He had never been so mad before.

“I — I… I,” stutters Remus. But instead of it being out of shyness or nerves, it was out of pure wrath that he wasn’t able to articulate his emotions properly. He took a deep breath in, attempting to regain control over his emotions but failed as he burned with deep, seething hatred. “I am the monster that mothers tell their children to keep them in at night.”

“Moony —”

“Don’t call me that!” His voice boomed so loud that everyone in the room had to take a step back and shrink down. Remus was always so reserved, only ever lashing out in annoyance close to the full moon but nothing more.

“Living up to your name, aren’t you?” There’s a sarcastic, bitter humour lilt to his voice.

Someone so in control of his emotions, someone with an unbreakable exterior, the only glimpses they’d ever seen of Remus losing control was him snapping at someone close to the full moon but would later apologize within mere seconds. But to see him like that… it was an intrusion, something the Marauders hadn’t ever seen or wanted to before.

“Please, just calm down so we can talk.”

Remus paces around the room. “You — y’know I’ve never understood why everyone lets you get around treating others like shit. First, it was Marlene, James, me, Peter, Lily and Y/N — we all let you get away with it. Outburst after outburst, we all sat back because you were going through shit. But I can’t? I’m not allowed to get angry?!”

Sirius wouldn’t look at him.

“Look at me.” Remus kept his voice low throughout the ordeal, only ever raising if Black interjected. “You coward, look at me!”

5. A lot of anger

He couldn’t meet his eyes so he settled to stare at the scar across his nose. It only angered him more as Remus picked Sirius up and pushed him against the wall as he fisted his shirt.

“I’m sorry.”

Sorry is nothing but a word to you. I gave you my most trusted secrets. I confided in you. I was there for you when you needed it. I loved and cared for you like my own brother but I was nothing more than a pet that you discarded when you got bored. You’re only guilty because of the repercussions you’re facing. Your guilt isn’t nearly enough. Bastard. I trusted you. You’re a Marauder. My best friend. I would’ve done anything for you. You fucking ruined it.

“You did this! You did!”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

He laughs, mocking and loud, void of any emotion. “No, you aren’t. You’re never fucking sorry!”

Stupid fucking selfish arsehole.

“For years you’ve told me that you accepted me — cared for me — loved me like your own brother! That what I am — a-a monster — that it didn’t matter!”

“It didn’t mean anything, I promise! It was a shitty, fucked up prank —”

“A prank?! You used me as a weapon! A toy because how could anyone ever love a werewolf?” Remus’ voice was so low. “You’ve never respected me. If you had any, you wouldn’t have — you - wouldn’t....”

Everything came crashing on Remus at once.

6. The realization settles in

And after nine days, Remus Lupin had finally realized what Sirius Black had done. Before, everything he felt had been true but he hadn’t fully realized the gravity of what happened, as silly as it sounds.

Sirius turned his worst fear into a living nightmare.

In the background, one of James’ Quidditch posters, encased in glass exploded, shattering into millions of pieces from the amount of pure magic radiating off Remus. He didn’t even flinch at the sound.

James finally interjected, placing a hand on Remus’ shoulder. “Lay off him… He isn’t worth it.”

Remus eased off Black instantly. “You had no right… no right…” He pointed. Remus turned his face down as he felt tears build up.

“I trusted you,” he whispers. “Every bit.”

Remus stormed out of the dorm, going to sleep in the common room.

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June 22nd, 1976

7. Depression

When Remus finally let himself cry, he didn’t make a move to leave his bed. Even skipping meal times, leaving James or Pete to bring him food.

Everything felt suffocating, a gnawing feeling that made every part of him ache. Remus couldn’t handle anymore pain or emotions from ‘the prank’ as he felt himself slip into a temporary void.

He hugged his pillow tighter and closed his eyes once more.

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June 23rd, 1976 | 11: 37 pm

Remus had gone straight to bed again, effectively shutting up the rest of the dorm. James was ignoring Black, leaving Remus surprised that he hadn’t made a move to defend his actions. Nonetheless, he was appreciative still. Peter had been trying to appease everyone, not taking sides but still must’ve thought Sirius was in the wrong because he hadn’t talked to him much.

He didn’t ask James to choose between him or Black. Remus was never one for ultimatums but even then, it seemed like James picked him. He was beyond furious, seemingly more than Remus at this point who pathetically wallowed in his depression. He wouldn’t spare Black a second glance, wouldn’t talk to him, shut him down if he tried to speak to him. Hell, he’d even gone as far as to make it very clear to the entirety of Hogwarts that they were no longer friends, making sure to not sit with him, ever. Always choosing to sit by Remus.

They chose his side and a part of Remus felt elated to know they had his back.

This left Black alone, looking at them through tearful gazes. Remus had been ignoring all of them and they seemed to be understanding, avoiding crossing the wordless boundary Remus set in stone.

But, both James and Peter had been checking up on him nightly, always there and he could tell they were getting impatient.

When the lights went out, he heard James crept out of bed. Usually, Remus would find some sort of comfort in knowing who was approaching him, but now, it only left him feeling uneasy.

And then he felt the bed dip and James muttered out a spell.

“Hey, Moony.”

Remus didn’t face him. “Prongs?”

“Hey,” there was a loud sigh, “Do you need anything?”

What was he supposed to say? A hug? To talk? He’d much rather use his avoidance strategy, although he realized it left him alone with too many thoughts and nobody to confide in.

“M’good.” He felt James place a hand on his shoulder.

“I’ll always be there for you. That’s what Marau - that’s what friends are for, no?”

Remus didn’t answer and felt James move to leave. But before he had the chance to slip out, Remus peeked his head from the drapes, announcing just loud enough for Sirius to hear.

“Thanks for saving all of us, James. You’re a true friend.”

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June 24th, 1976

People had their poisons.

Alcohol can make you forget. It blocks out everything and makes the rest of the world fade away until you can’t remember. People gambled to feel a rush, only to realize they dug themself into irreversible debt. Shopping, food, the high from risky behaviour…

But how we manage our poisons is up to the person.

People love to deny that they have addictions. They deny they’re hooked, they deny that they can’t put it down, they deny that they’re scared or want to stop. People only see what they want to see, believe what they want to believe.

And then the truth becomes muddled with lies that it’s hard to recognize the poisons sitting right in front of us. And all we want is more.

For Remus, his poison, his bright red self-destruction button, was smoking.

Granted, he never was a big smoker, typically only smoking when stressed or bored. But he still did it, filling his lungs with poison. But maybe he was wired like that. Besides, what werewolf lives past thirty? Might as well die revelling in the poison that brought him ease…

Remus conjured a ball of bright fire from his hand; fishing out a pack of cigarettes, slipped it past his lips and lit it. He inhaled, feeling the familiar, comforting feeling before dragging it from his lips, blowing out the thick cloud of smoke that left him wanting more.

He’d been sticking to his avoidance tactic strictly now. The Marauders were hovering over him, worry evident on their faces. A few times, Lily and James both invited him to sit. They never fought anymore, or at least in front of him, and it probably was his doing — a group effort into getting him to talk.

So even Lily knew something was wrong… Snape probably told her…

The door clicked open and Remus didn’t have to turn around to know how it was.

“Leave me alone. I’m not ready to talk.”

“Wasn’t gonna make you.”

He spun around, that wasn’t James or Peter. His face softened.

“Well… I’m not,” Y/N said simply, “But the others are about to.”

Remus groaned at that but Y/N smiled and turned around, ushering him over with a little wave. In one hand, she raised the Marauder’s map. “C’mon, I know a place and that they won’t be able to find.”

Remus was intrigued. He stepped out the butt of the cigarette, flicked it into the trash and followed her. Surely he’d already been there but being with Y/N seemed ten folds better than being around the other Marauders.

He followed wordlessly, passageways flying through his head but she never stopped by them. Instead, she climbed onto a ledge, slipping into an area under a large curtain. He followed, eyes lighting up in awe. He’s definitely never been there before.

“Get comfortable,” she said, flinging him a pillow and lighting a few candles.

They sat opposed to each other in complete silence. Y/N flicked back and forth, watching James and Peter scrabble around the castle looking for him. A few times, they passed by, each time leaving Y/N amused.

Remus tapped his leg anxiously. The question remained: Why wasn’t she disgusted with him? Why was she helping him? Why wasn’t she afraid?

Now alone together, those questions dangled on his tongue.

“Why aren’t you afraid of me?”

She looked up at him, finally putting down the map. “Because you’re Remus.” She said, like it was the most obvious answer. “You’re not scary.”

8. Hold onto doubt

The answer irritated him. Another memory unfolded then and he blurted it out. “Why didn’t you cast any spells at me?”

Her brows rose, “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m dangerous.” His voice was bleak and cold. “Why can't you grasp that?”

She stays quiet for a long time, her head turning to look out the large window. Y/N watched the owls and labyrinth of ancient trees of the forbidden forest and Remus was painfully aware of time slipping by.

“Do you remember that night on the astronomy tower on Halloween? I said that there’s bound to be someone looking at the moon at the same time?”

It takes Remus a moment to remember, but he does. “Yeah. You said that it’s like you’re not alone.”

Y/N turns around to face him. “Exactly. You don’t have to be alone in this.”

He looked away, deliberating. “It’s one thing for me to be alone but then drag you and others down with me.”

“Remus, I’m not going to lie and say I wasn’t scared. I was terrified. I thought that was it.” He gulped. “But I could never be scared of you. The real you - the you right now. I don’t care about what you are. You are more than just a werewolf. I feel safe with you.”

The dark shadows surrounded them as she reiterated herself. “You don’t have to be alone in this.”

He soaks in her words for a while. This time, peering out the window as he breathes in deeply.

Okay. He decided.

“Do you want to know how I got —” he pointed at a scar on his upper forearm. “— this?”

She nodded her head.

“When James turned into his animagus form to show me for the first time, his antlers pierced my skin. I had to lie to Pomfrey and say I fell while playing Quidditch.”

Any invisible barrier between them crashed instantly as she smiled brightly and laughed. So infectious, Remus couldn't help but flash a real grin.

He never realized how beautiful her smile was.

“Oh, and if you ever tell anyone about this place, I’ll skin you.”

“I would never.”

Remus scouted over to her, pressing his back against the cool stone as they sat together in a comfortable stillness. But then she shifted, opening her arms wide. He lent in without hesitation and her arms flung around his neck, pulling him into a tight embrace.

He felt salty tears stinging in the corners of his eyes and let himself soak in her warm.

He really needed that.

Over her shoulder, he returned to watch the stars.

9. Acceptance

Remus learned from a young age that it was better to keep people at an arm's length. Get too close, they’ll dig, find out his condition, fear him and run.

He hates to say it, but he’s not surprised that his secret slipped out. He got too comfortable, got too close... It’s just that the Sirius component was surprising.

But maybe it wasn’t surprising. Ever since the beginning of the year, especially since winter break, Sirius had been reckless more and more lately, and he probably should have seen it coming. He was wild as a result of being freed from the confines of his rigid upbringing.

Sirius Black was unpredictable.

Sirius Black was dangerous when it came to secrets.

Sirius Black was one of his best friends.

Sometimes betrayal is so profound that there’s no way to fix what was lost. The damage is done, irreplaceable, unfixable.

If Remus was sure of anything by the end of that week was that,

a) James Potter and Peter Pettigrew were still his best friends,

b) He almost killed Severus Snape and Y/N L/N,

c) Y/N knew his secret and despite everything, continued to talk to him, support him, be there for him — she accepted him,

d) His walls went up a higher, became stronger and insecurities ran deeper,

e) Lastly, Remus Lupin would never, ever forgive Sirius Black for what he did. Never.

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【 Next Chapter 】

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