#lycantied

[mast7r]

lyric inspired sc / through me (the flood), hozier

               "   i   almost   forget   -   then   i   wake   up   and   remember   again   .   this   war   /   all   the   graves   /   all   the   losses   ,   and   how   many   more   ...   i'm   sorry   ,   @lycantied   .   i'm   thinking   of   loss   and   how   to   measure   it   ;   i   didn't   even   think   about   WHO   i   was   talking   to   .   "

[gr8twar]

                                   @lycantied asked  :  " come on , sirius , we're going to be late . "

The room had been pitch black when Sirius had collapsed onto the bed, but now the morning sun had crept in around the edges of his curtains (black-out - as if, he wanted his money back) and he groaned, throwing one arm across his eyes. His head was pounding, his mouth dry; when he squinted at the dim clock on his bedside table he could see he'd gained about four hours of sleep, give or take. Can't complain, he thought grimly. Could be worse.

Remus's voice had woken him, but it was the slam of his bedroom door against the wall that had really dragged him from sleep. "'m up," he managed, groggily, though his eyelids were so heavily they threatened to slam shut again. He forced them open. If he settled back into the pillows he would definitely fall asleep, and Remus wasn't above just leaving him there. Then he'd have to face Moody's wrath alone. The thought made him grimace, and provided enough impetus that he got himself onto his feet, though the world dipped and swirled around him. The glass by his bed was empty. Water, he thought robotically. Shower. Remus? He wasn't sure where Remus came into that list, but he always snuck in somehow.

The kitchen was too bright; he squinted painfully, scratching the back of his head, the tiles cold on his bare feet, the morning air cold on his bare chest. "Jesus," he said. "Why does Moody always make us come in so fucking early for a bollocking? It's not like we killed anyone." This time.

[renmidnightbunny]

I made my own Kamen Rider. His name is Lycanti (Lycan+Argenti). He is based on wolves

[myanthill]

Lycantis Rage of Wolves by Malaena Medford Ward Rating: 3.5 Stars

[gar-a-ash]

Ever look at a typo and wonder if that’s how authors come up with their fantasy names?

[mast7r]

what's your role in a found family dynamic? 

the silent sufferer

you love your friends, but the truth is, you go through most of the real things alone. it's better that no one sees you like this. you'll be fine, really, because you're used to feeling this way. it'll pass. it always does. that's what you believe, anyway. you're more likely to give someone advice on a lesson you've learned without telling them how you learned it. you've come to realize that, if they're coming to you for advice, they'll be too preoccupied to ask. it stings, but it's... that's just the way feelings work sometimes. when you're around others, most of these problems seem to vanish, and you're better able to love the person you are. only on the worst days do you continue to hear that insistent whisper that it's, "all a lie because they don't know what's *really* going on." it's not a lie. you are loved. those moments together are real. there are times when you can afford not to be so strong.

tagged by: @modelscience

tagging: @slashedjock @lycantied @vanstabbed @salvatoraes

[mast7r]

         a   dull   pang   -   he   could   almost   dismiss   it   as   the   kind   that   came   with   hunger   ,   he's   been   getting   those   pains   all   day   .   everything   was   dull   ,   it   had   become   unremarkable   ,   better   to   be   muted   now   than   the   alternative   .   there   were   stages   of   grief   ;   ANGER   ,   he   had   tried   after   cedric   .   it   hadn't   helped   .   then   ,   he   tried   out   DENIAL   with   sirius   ,   pretending   a   letter   would   come   ,   getting   angry   when   it   didn't   .   that   helped   even   less   .   and   ...   the   other   ones   don't   even   come   to   mind   .   despite   what   everyone   seemed   to   think   ,   hari   had   never   been   particularly   good   at   emotions   .   well   .   maybe   not   everyone   .   mostly   the   body   in   the   grave   just   ahead   .   the   other   stages   don't   matter   ;   hari   has   probably   skipped   over   them   all   ,   settling   in   some   kind   of   resignation   that   this   was   inevitable   and   he   should   have   seen   it   coming   .      (   should   have   been   better   /   smarter   /   finished   the   job   in   that   bathroom   all   those   months   ago   .   )      nothing   else   has   felt   real   ,   and   this   mental   trip   considering   grief   in   all   its   forms   just   brings   him   back   to   the   pain   .   the   kind   that   comes   from   a   shaky   touch   /   from   defeat   all   around   them   /   from   slumped   shoulders   and   survival   .   because   there   was   a   special   kind   of   loss   that   came   with   still   standing   over   and   over   besides   a   fresh   grave   .

         "   it's   not   but   ,   really   ,   i   would   still   be   runner   up   .   "

         he   was   usually   good   at   masks   .   always   had   been   .   a   learned   skill   ,   the   foundations   built   before   he   can   even   remember   .   but   ,   he   imagines   ,   his   mask   isn't   that   good   right   now   .   the   attempt   at   levity   falling   flat   /   smile   frayed   at   the   edges   and   a   ghost   of   what   it   was   .   a   traitorous   mind   whispering   reminders   that   while   he   was   busy   watching   the   skies   for   letters   never   to   come   ,   the   thought   that   it   was   a   loss   they   shared   hadn't   even   crossed   his   mind   .   where   nothing   hurts   and   he   can   remember   every   moment   since   the   tower   in   perfect   clarity   ,   the   days   /   weeks   after   sirius   never   came   out   the   other   side   of   the   veil   were   a   blur   from   which   he   can   remember   NOTHING   besides   the   way   even   breathing   had   felt   like   swallowing   razor   blades   .   had   he   even   written   to   remus   /   asked   if   he   was   okay   ?      some   part   of   him   wants   to   ask   .   how   can   he   take   the   mans   sympathy   and   comfort   if   he   never   offered   it   back   ?      because   they   are   not   teacher   and   student   anymore   ;   remus   has   no   obligation   to   him   .   no   reason   to   offer   an   ear   to   hari's   ,   admittedly   ,   volatile   moods   .   and   ,   now   ,   was   there   anything   left   connecting   them   together   ?      just   ghosts   ,   it   seemed   .   ghosts   that   seemed   to   lay   at   hari's   feet   -   he   looks   at   remus   for   what   feels   like   the   first   time   in   hours   but   can't   be   more   than   minutes   .   can't   meet   the   mans   eyes   ,   whether   because   of   guilt   or   grief   or   fear   he   would   see   blame   there   .   because   when   it   comes   to   these   ghosts   ,   there   were   lines   of   blame   and   all   roads   lead   back   to   hari   .

         "   you   don't   need   to   be   .   "      no   one   could   be   ,   he   thinks   ,   because   sirius   had   been   more   than   a   person   to   him   .   a   refuge   and   a   family   and   the   promise   that   to   at   least   one   person   he   mattered   .   and   maybe   remus   could   be   some   of   those   things   but   he   knows   better   now   ,   that   no   one   should   have   to   be   .   just   like   remus   shouldn't   have   to   be   on   call   for   one   subpar   chosen   one   .      "   i'll   be   fine   -   i   have   ron   and   hermione   ,   and   things   to   ...   you   don't   have   to   worry   .   that's   all   .   no   point   in   bothering   you   at   all   hours   'cause   it's   a   rough   night   ;   there's   this   thing   called   bullet   journaling   now   ,   probably   better   than   sending   letters   to   be   burned   .   "      but   he   probably   won't   do   any   of   the   above   .   asking   for   help   didn't   exactly   come   naturally   .   and   then   half   formed   words   are   spilling   out   ,   a   question   that   has   no   right   to   spoken   here   or   now   .      "   how   did   you   STOP   ?      doing   it   all   alone   ,   i   mean   .   "

𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐟 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧 , and in his mind's eye it takes the shape of a familiar profile and a sly , cutting mouth . sirius . with his arms draped genially over their doleful , sinking shoulders . not the first and not the latest casualty , with the white tomb of dumbledore's newly erected grave a silhouette to their conversation , but one that still weighs presently and heavily . ❝ now , it’s hardly a competition , hari . ❞ he tries for half - hearted levity and hopes it sticks where it counts . hopes the despondent slump of his countenance goes unobserved . what platitudes does he fill the empty air with ? that it gets easier to bear with time ? it doesn’t . that it’s a comfort to know their deaths served some greater nebulous purpose ? it isn’t . that he's itching , hounding for the respite of a full moon so he can surrender it all to The Wolf ? and is he even in a position to dole out advice when hari has known nothing but loss , has lived an existence marred by death , shadowed by it ? no . not a competition at all . remus would lose by far .

a hand to the boy's arm is raised , hovers , finally finds an almost shaky purchase . and this was easier to do by far when he was professor lupin and hari was wide - eyed and thirteen and touched but not yet embraced by the then distant thrumming of war . how do you console a mirror . ❝ the important thing is that you don't shoulder it alone . i've been there … i did for a time and - ❞ the decade long self imposed exile after 1981 of benders and bodies and distant lands , anywhere that wasn't britain . ❝ i know i'm not sirius . ❞ or james or lily or dumbledore . i can't give you what they did . ❝ but anytime you wake up and it's a bit of a shock . or you don't want to get out of bed , or the loss is just too much . write me . you can even instruct me on the envelope not to read it if you'd like , and i'll burn it . or call me . you know , i was raised by a muggle mother , i don't snub the marvels of modern technology . but don't lose yourself alone to this hari . ❞