#remus lupin needs therapy

[loonyloopylupin96]

My favourite part about this untitled Remus-therapy fic I'm writing (about 1/3 written now) is that I haven't planned what's coming up in the sessions themselves. I just have to sit there and imagine it's really happening.

I also think we made good progress in today's session and I'm proud of him.

[roseleviosaoriginal]

The Promise

This is a companion piece to Chapter 27 ("Small Talk") of Penance - Year One, but can be read as a stand-alone.

The room was spinning.

Faces, familiar but unplaceable, floated in and out of his vision. Some of them spoke to him but their words became jumbled somewhere between his ears and his addled brain.

He stood in the back of the crowded little chapel, swaying on unsteady legs and trying to look somewhat sober. Two coffins rested at the front of the church, their lids flung open, a long line of mourners queued to say final farewells.

A small, cool hand grasped his own and he did not resist as it pulled him to a side room.

Alice gently eased him down onto a low sofa and Frank pressed a steaming cup of coffee to his reluctant lips. Remus shook his head, immediately regretting doing so as the world tilted in a nauseating rush.

“Come on, mate,” Frank said in a voice that made Remus want to punch him in the face. He would have shouted not to patronize him if he weren't afraid of being sick if he opened his mouth.

Alice's chilled fingers brushed the hair from his eyes, relieving some of the heat that he had not realized had built in his face.

“Please, Remus. For James and Lily, alright? They wouldn't want you to be like this.” Her voice was teary and something about her tone, more so than her words, caused him to crack open his lips just enough to permit Frank to tip the bitter coffee into his mouth.

“That's it,” Frank said, sounding again as though he was talking to his baby.

When he finished the coffee, Alice encouraged lukewarm water down Remus’ throat. With each passing moment, he became more aware of himself and the scene around him. They were in some sort of parlor - perhaps for the vicar between services - where a small table had been set with hot beverages and paper cups. The most ugly set of curtains he had ever seen hung from the only window.

He tried to focus his eyes on Alice but he had to turn away. He couldn't bear the pity he saw etched into her round face.

“Drink up,” Frank said encouragingly. Remus’ temper flared.

Continued...

[loonyloopylupin96]

~written October 31, 1981

Lily, talking to the group: Don’t add to the population, don’t subtract from the population. Don’t drink if you’re underage, and don’t apprate if you’re drunk. Stay out of the morgue, the Profit, and Azkaban.

Sirius, whispering: Well there go our plans for the night

Remus: Which part?

James: All of it

[rose-leviosa]

Penance Year Three, Chapter Twenty - Ink 

Snippet

He sat at his desk, the way he had every night since Elaine suggested he take up journaling. The house creaked and groaned around him as he stared at the book laid open on the wood surface. The page was half-filled with half-hearted attempts from the past few days. It looked pathetic, to his eye. Too little, too late. 

His posture was stiff, his hands braced on his knees, his back board-straight, like a subject in an old-fashioned photograph. The clock ticked, each mechanical click like a nudge, urging him to get a move on. 

He took a deep drink before setting down his glass, amber liquid shimmering in the lamplight. With a hand that felt ten times heavier than it should, he reached for his quill, dipping it in ink with a heavy sigh. 

His hand hovered over the creamy paper as he steadied himself, determined to do it right this time. With the tip of the quill barely scratching the page, he wrote. 

I'm afraid. 

The words stood out, black and glistening and realer than anything he had ever committed to paper. He felt his stomach sour and flutter with nerves, as if he was standing on a precipice. 

With a surge of resolve, he bent over the desk, scribbling out the feelings he was so used to denying to himself. 

I'm angry. 

I'm sad. 

I'm lonely. 

I'm tired. 

He found himself swept up in the skittering of the quill as deeper truths spilled out of him like blood from a wound. 

Selfish. Irredeemable. Weak. 

The words poured from him, each one an accusation, a weight he had carried for longer than he could remember. His hand moved faster now, the ink smudging in places as his resolve wavered between release and restraint. 

Waste. Burden. Coward. 

The quill shook in his grasp, but he didn’t stop. The act of writing, of giving shape to his thoughts, felt like something vital. Painful. Necessary. 

Shit dad. Shit son. Shit friend. 

Monster. 

He gasped, his lungs burning from holding his breath, and stared at the list. The words stared back, unrelenting. A lump rose in his throat as shame settled over him, heavier than before, faced with the portrait he had built. 

His hand hovered again, unsure, trembling. For a long moment, he stared at the page, at the jagged lines of his faults and failures. Then, slowly, he dipped the quill once more, pressing the tip firmly at the bottom of the page. 

Trying. 

He let out a breath and collapsed against the back of his chair as a familiar feeling settled over him, like he had just come through a vicious battle, torn and tattered, but alive. 

The house settled around him as he sat back, staring at the final word. It sat there like a lifeline, fragile but defiant, anchoring him to something he couldn’t quite name. Trying. 

He closed the journal with care, his ink-stained fingers lingering on the leather cover. The room felt heavy, the clock continuing its relentless ticking, marking time that felt both wasted and hard-won. 

With an overwhelming sense of fatigue, he laid his head on the desk, shoulders shaking until he collapsed into the world of dreams. 

[stupidnpoetic]

If you know what we are talking about, congratulations, you need to go to therapy

(the photo is not mine, belonging to @/www.y0urmomsgf.com on tiktok)

[caspervi]

Wolfstar for the soul

[loonyloopylupin96]

Remus, sweet boy. We'll get you there!

@Sirius Black

[wolfstardaughter-jj]

Remus who hasn't slept in days: WHY CANT I SOLVE THIS EQUATION?!

Sirius, who's very concerned: have you ever considered sleeping?

Remus, glares: have you ever considered therapy?

James and Peter: *bring out the popcorn*

Peter: oh he did not just go there.

James: oh he did.

Sirius: ALL OF US NEEDS THERAPY! *Points at everyone*

[brigid-faye]

Wolfstar/marauders Drabble

(not part of something bigger, forgive me, this is as much teenage headspace as I can handle)

James is just barely 17 and two of his best friends have been acting weird, so he does something very stupid. As the moon is setting, he turns back into himself and - at a distance - follows the wolf and the dog up to the second floor of the shrieking shack. The rat squeals warnings; James ignores him and tip toes up the stairs.

Those two have always done this - Padfoot always chases Moony into an upstairs room to turn back, where Prongs (too big) and Wormtail (too small) can’t follow.

Despite what Lily says, James isn’t a complete idiot. He crouches in silence at the far end of the second floor hall until Remus’ cries of pain end. It sounds much worse to his human ears than it does to his animagus ones.

He’s starting to feel ill, but curiosity wins out. He sneaks quietly to the half open door and peaks inside.

Remus is collapsed on the floor, unconscious. Sirius is on the floor beside him, gingerly tucking an old blanket over him. Sirius is on his side, up on one elbow; Remus’ head is on his forearm.

James can’t think. He’d always imagined Remus was the one who wrapped himself up before James and Peter reached them.

James had guessed that something was going on with these two. The way they look at each other, the times they disappear, the intensity of their fall out the year before…

But he hadn’t expected this. They are teenagers; he’s expecting a crush. The aching tenderness in Sirius’ face right now reminds James of his parents, that kind of expansive, lived-in love he thinks he’d be lucky to grow into in a couple decades, not now.

James holds his breath and backs away. He goes back downstairs and says nothing to Peter, and pretends to be surprised six month later when Sirius comes to him terrified and defiant, and says he has something to tell him.

[messervixen]

Just listened to the lyrics specifically of Bohemian Rhapsody and 0/10 would not recommend. Absolutely awful. If you kin Sirius Black AT ALL do yourself a favor and never go with 500 feet of that song because it is rough. TCOPTP Sirius had every right to start sobbing the first time he heard it because it’s genuinely horrific.

[loonyloopylupin96]

Let's be real - canon Remus needs to go to therapy too

Remus, I like.

Fanon Remus, I dislike. Like so much, that guy really sucks. Needs to go to therapy, counseling, and anger management.

~

[loonyloopylupin96]

omg

happy I-seem-to-have-written-30k-words day!

four chapters left to write (although I have a tendency to write in two at a time depending upon how I'm feeling)

this is wild

I'm so excited to eventually share this

[roseleviosaoriginal]

Penance, Chapter Twenty-Four - Elaine

Snippet

The man could not have looked more uncomfortable if he had tried. She could always tell which patients came to her under pressure from family and friends, and Remus Lupin was firmly in that category.  

He sat, fiddling anxiously with his sleeve, appearing to be reading the titles of the volumes on her bookshelf.  

“Hello Mr. Lupin. May I call you Remus?” He nodded politely, if distractedly.  

“My name is Elaine, it is lovely to meet you.” She offered her hand, which he shook with some trepidation.  

“I understand that therapy is a new concept for many wizards. Do you have a general idea of what we will be doing in our time together?”  

He nodded, then spoke in a hoarse voice. “Yes. Yes, I understand the concept.”  

“Excellent. I would like to start with getting an idea of what brought you here, and then get a bit of a background. Is that okay with you?” He nodded again, now looking as though he was counting the stone blocks in the ceiling.  

She waited patiently for him to begin. It took several seconds for him to realize he was expected to start talking.  

“Yes, well. I am here because Minister Shacklebolt told me to.” His words were snappish, and he must have realized it because he immediately looked at her apologetically. “I am terribly sorry. I would be lying if I said I was here of my own accord, but that is hardly your fault.” She took a note on his overly formal way of speaking and quick apology.  

“Yes. Do you know why Minister Shacklebolt asked you to come here?”  

Remus look away again and muttered what sounded like “ he didn't ask.

[losver07]

was working on my wip and realised this scene is so wolfstar coded so ummm here ya go (sorry in advance for the awful translation lol)

also this is veeery long so i'm putting most of it under the cut

tw: mention of death, harsh(ish) lenguage

★

"Then came the ambulance and the police,” he murmurs, his eyes fixed somewhere in the room, mind showing him once again the image of Sirius' tired smile. "They gave me a blanket. I felt stupid in it."

John, observing him with deep eyes, full of compassion, nods. Remus figures he can't show it, the pity. That it's part of his job not being able to say Oh, you poor thing and that, instead, he must be professional. And it's not that John is bad at it, at hiding what he thinks; it's just the eyes.

It's impossible to lie with one's eyes. Sirius' always shine, even if he insists on wearing the blackest clothes.

Shined. Not anymore. And he doesn't dress in black anymore, it's Remus who has to mourn now, instead of him. And for him.

"How are you feeling?" the psychologist asks, and Remus makes an effort not to cry.

"I don't know," he answers, honest. He doesn't know what words to use. "Bad."

Not enough. John gestures at him to keep talking, to elaborate. He always does that. It's cruel.

Remus looks down at a ring he takes off his finger, and proceeds to watch it turn in his hands as he fidgets with it. It was Sirius'. Everything he owns was either his or reminds him of him in some way. Even the smallest of things, the silliest of details.

If only he could get rid of it all. If only he knew that'd make him forget.

"It's like I don't really believe this is real,” he says, without lifting his gaze from the steel ring. It's carved in a checkered pattern, a chess board that extends and hugs the owner's finger like a ribbon. It's not excessively visible but, if you brush your finger against the metal, you can feel the shapes against your skin, kissing your fingertips like he once did. That feels like so long ago, though. “I... I'm sad, obviously, but also angry. I think it was selfish of him."

Before it had been his, Sirius', the ring had belonged to Regulus. It had been silver then. Sirius turned it into steel when he'd received it from his brother, who got it from their father, whose father had gifted him it, and so on. It must be hundreds of years old.

"Selfish?"

He'll probably ask to be buried with it. If it's not worn on his left hand, it will be trapped on a chain around his neck.

"Yeah, I dunno," he shrugs. He doesn't know how to explain himself. He knows how he feels, he just finds it difficult to believe that anyone could understand it. He tries anyway. "He's gone and he's left us all here as if we didn't have enough problems of our own," he says. "Like, now I have to be myself, which is already tough enough, and also be him for James and Peter and Harry and... Oh, God, Harry..." He shuts his eyes. He needs to breathe. He closes his hand over the ring, and looks at John. "But I need him too. And I don't have him. I don't have anyone to treat me like he did. So, I don't know."

The therapist nods again. When he started the sessions, Remus thought it was weird that John didn't take any notes, like in the movies. It might sound stupid, but he imagined someone constantly writing on a notepad, making a record of every word that came out of his mouth.

It turns out John only uses his notebook to write dates and appointments down; that he actually listens to what he says, instead of analysing every sentence as if it were a mathematical problem.

He's been lucky, and he knows it. At least in this, he's been lucky.

"Do you feel responsible for what happened?" He asks, and Remus thinks about it for a second. Now that the unease has lessened, he's left with just the cold on the tip of his nose and the metal on his fingers. He misses hugging Sirius on cold days like this one.

"Yes," he answers. No point in lying.

John stares at him. Elaborate, he's probably thinking. He always looks at him like that when he wants to make Remus talk.

"I'm the one who was supposed to take care of him," he says then. "And, instead of that, what I did was use him to make him help me with my shit. And even after he's gone I'm still whining about him not being here to give me cuddles. I don't know. Maybe I'm the one who's being selfish.

The psychologist, whose diploma is Remus now observing, makes a face.

"Wanting love is not selfish, Remus," he says, so soft and kind it almost makes Remus feel small, vulnerable and about to break. Or already broken.

"But taking the love away from someone and keeping it to yourself is," he objects.

"You think that's what you did? Taking the love from him?"

"I don't know," he says, and before John can ask him to explain, he continues: "I think maybe if I'd made things right he'd still be here."

The air is still for a few seconds, both in the room and in the street across the window, as well as inside of Remus' lungs, who holds his breath in an attempt to make the ache on his chest go away. It doesn't work.

"It wasn't your fault that he suffered," Josh tells him, but he's been told so many lies he doesn't need to think to detect the lie.

"But it was that he didn’t stop suffering," he tells Mr Too Good For Taking Notes. He should've had that noted. "I should've done something. It's what I'd to have done."

John, wanting to understand but being apparently incapable of it, furrows his brows a bit. The expressions only last a second, and is not even that exaggerated, but Remus sees it anyway. The doubt.

"You think it was your purpose?" He asks. He acts interested. Sometimes he almost even makes Remus forget that he's paid for what he does. That he wouldn't be there if it weren't for the money. That he's got better things to do than...

"Helping him?" Remus asks, trying not to sound too aggressive, but probably failing. "Yes."

"And do you think you were, say, destined to save him?"

"Yes," he agrees. A bit cheesy his personal taste, but, yes, that's what he believes. Why lie, if he's not going to write it down, even.

"But, if it was destiny, how could you have avoided it?"

That feels like a boot to the stomach. He doesn't quite know wether it confuses him or it makes him angry but, either way, he doesn't know what to answer. Perhaps not having thought of it earlier is what irritates him and puts him, once again, in front of a mirror in which a disappointment shines.

He thinks for a bit. Then speaks.

"Trying harder," he says. "Being better."

"No, Remus; is not about trying," his confidant tells him, with a smile that could either indicate complicity or compassion. "You did all that you could, and more. And, still, you couldn't change it, nor can you now."

For some reason, that hurts. Rather, it stings. Both in his open wounds and his sore eyes.

"And what do I do?" He asks. His voice doesn't seem to want to know the answer, as it doesn't cooperate in making itself heard. He swallows and takes a deep breath, letting Sirius' ring slide back into his finger, where it should always have stayed.

"Think about what you did achieve," John offers, so careful it seems almost meticulous. "You made him happy for a time, you gave him peace. You made him feel safe, too. Confident. You helped each other. That's good."

"But he's dead," Remus says. He's not sure he's used that word since it happened. It's not likely, seeing how much it hurts pronouncing it. He's spent over a month circling around and avoiding one of those damned words, the ones that feel like mines in an already ruined field. He presses his lips and looks at John, cheeks wet with rivers of salty water. "That's bad."

"Yes," the therapist agrees. "That is bad."

[loonylupin2]

Remus hasn’t seen sirius in 14 years

And the first thing he says to him is

“So finally the outside reflects the madness within”

And your fucking boyfriend responds with “oh and you would know a lot about madness wouldn’t you Remus?”

Is this how homosexuals talk to one another? Like what the fuck is this

[marauders-incorrect-quotes-0]

James: I can't believe I lost it

Remus: What? Your trust?

Sirius: Your sanity?

Regulus: Your will to live?

James: I was talking about my glasses, but we're having a talk after this.