anonymouse-notarat

[anonymouse-notarat]

My very short take on how Remus reacts to Sirius’s death in the Department of Mysteries🤗

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CW: MCD, dissociation/derealization

Remus screams, although he is not aware of it at the time. He is not aware of his body, of anything, except grabbing Harry by his shirt to prevent him from lunging forward and following his godfather through the veil. This is not real. He is not real. The hand that limply holds his wand belongs to someone else. It is an odd feeling, watching your fingers twitch and move of their own accord. Somewhere deep down, Remus has to suppress the violently inappropriate urge to laugh.

[anonymouse-notarat]

Short 163 word one-shot!

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CW: panic attack

He will never make it out of this goddamn house. The thought strangles him; suddenly he cannot breathe. Sirius leans over the side of his bed, heaving, as the urge to throw up nearly overwhelms him. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. He closes his eyes, trying to will his mind to just be quiet. It’s no use. “Regulus,” he whisper-screams. Reg is down the hall and will not hear him, but he calls for him anyway. He slips out of bed and his vision pinpricks black as he stands up. Breathe. Sirius steadies himself on the bedpost before staggering blindly down the hall. The door is fucking locked. “Reg,” he whispers harshly, leaning against the door. His chest hurts; his skin feels too tight for his body. “Regulus,” he says again, increasingly desperate. “What,” a disembodied voice hisses impatiently on the other side. “Let me in.” There is an agonizing moment of silence before the door creaks open, and Sirius Black falls into his brother’s arms.

[anonymouse-notarat]

A bit different from my usual Wolfstar content, but I had so much fun making the other collage that I decided to do one for Regulus Black (but specifically based on the vibes I feel he gives off in @zoemillinwrites’s Brave Face, which everyone should go read asap: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59000302/chapters/150408475?view_adult=true)

*quote: “If I cannot make it out, I’ll make it through” is from Brave Face (all other photos/quotes were taken from Pinterest)

**painting on the left is of Cain & Abel, which I think is esp fitting for the Black brother dynamic🙃

[anonymouse-notarat]

Curse(d) • @wolfstarmicrofic • word count: 350

A solitary cloaked figure stands outside the Lupin cottage as a biting wind whistles through the leaves of the surrounding trees.

The boy is so young. Still, anyone who crosses me must suffer the consequences.

The silhouette approaches. The boy does not cry out when the window shatters.

Twelve years later.

Remus Lupin is a quiet young man. He is kind, and intelligent, and has a terrible secret. He tells no one, for his kind are not welcome in society—no; they are shunned, hunted, and slaughtered. Only he and his father know of his affliction, for his mother died long ago.

He and his father have seen many healers, who all say the same thing—“there is nothing I can do. I’m sorry—but you will eventually die a drawn-out and agonizing death.” Remus, after many years of dwindling hope, has come to a bitter acceptance of his fate.

………….

One day, the door to the cottage slams open, and Remus’s father comes bursting through the door. He says, a bit breathless, that he has encountered a strange woman—a very strange woman indeed—on the forest path on his way back from the village. She had been walking the opposite way, he explains, and had suddenly grasped his arm as they passed each other, forcing him to stop. “She told me, son, you’re not going to believe me—she told me that she knew of your condition, the curse that ails you.” Remus’s mouth goes very dry at this. “What?,” he says, but it comes out as a hoarse whisper. “She said,” he continues, as he does not hear Remus, “that the curse may be broken—but only by true love.”

Two weeks later.

Remus is in the village square, shopping with his father when he sees the boy. At first, just his boots—finely hewn leather with decorative embroidery. Then, tan breeches and a flowy linen shirt. Shoulder-length hair that is black as midnight. As he turns around to fully face them, silvery-blue eyes meet Remus’s, and a small smile plays on the beautiful boy’s mouth. “And what can I get for you lads?”

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this was such a fun prompt! <3

[anonymouse-notarat]

Decided to fuck around on Canva & make a collage for religious Wolfstar AU! (Yes I did this to procrastinate doing other stuff). Also listened to this choral version of “Let Down” by Radiohead the entire time; would highly recommend: https://youtu.be/ui3keFVsuTg?si=f-DvXDD7MCX6UgPG

[anonymouse-notarat]

2nd installment of the religious Wolfstar AU! (I haven’t come up with a title for it yet😭). I’m thinking about making this into a cohesive one-shot/microfic instead of just posting snippets on Tumblr if I can get my shit together & I find/make the time for it & I don’t lose interest (those are all really big “ifs”). Will also probably end up editing this part to oblivion like the last one, but here we go:

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CW: internalized homophobia/homophobic behavior, mention of conversion camps, sexual content

The black-haired boy is desperate, Remus thinks when he first sees him. Desperate to be loved, desperate to be fucked—it doesn’t matter; it’s the same thing. What’s more important is what he started coming to church in the first place for: to be fixed, to be cured. To have the sin siphoned out of him until there is nothing left. He will not indulge in these sick, twisted fantasies, these temptations of the flesh. Not even when he can feel his pulse rushing like a second heartbeat in his head, or his palms suddenly becoming very sweaty, or his face overly warm when he meets this boy’s eyes from across the church. Nope. No no no. His father’s voice reverberates around in his skull, echoing from the last time he caught him with another boy. The neighbor kid’s head had been bobbing between his legs, Remus’s head thrown back in white-bliss ecstasy when the lock clicked and Lyall walked into the room. Remus didn’t remember much from the rest of that god-awful night—just the frantic doing-up of jeans, “Dad, it’s not what it looks like, I promise!,” tumultuous yelling—“Get the fuck out of my house!,” hushed voices behind cracked bedroom doors—“you know, the McKinnons sent their daughter to one of those places.” In the end, his parents settled on this: Remus and the boy were never to contact each other again, and at the end of the school year, the Lupins would move to a new town a few counties over. “It’ll be a fresh start,” his mother had reassured him as they pulled out of the driveway, boxes stacked in the back of their cramped sedan. And Remus, the oblivious fool he was, had believed her.

[anonymouse-notarat]

First try at writing wolfstar and fic writing in general! I’ve been grappling with my feelings toward religion/faith the past few years, so I thought—what the hell, why not spin this into a one-shot and construct a snapshot of Sirius’s fucked up, cult-like family! (Can you tell religious trauma & internalized homophobia are like my favorite tropes)? Might delete later when I get self-conscious of my imperfect writing being out on the internet, but without further ado:

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CW: reference to the physical abuse of a child, brief suicidal ideation

“Nothing tamed or broke her, nothing touched her, neither kindness, nor scorn, nor hatred, nor love. She had never thought of prayer. It was unimaginable that she would ever bend her knees and come crawling along a dusty floor to anybody's altar, weeping for forgiveness.”

~James Baldwin, Go Tell It On The Mountain

“You will not make a fool of me again, Sirius, do you hear me?” Walburga hisses into his ear, manicured nails digging into the back of his skull like talons, a bird of prey. She is nearly a head shorter than him now but still elicits the same amount of fear she did when she towered over him. “Yes, mother,” Sirius forces out through clenched teeth—making sure to emphasize the last word since they both know she will never be one. “Good. I’m glad to know we understand each other,” she coos, releasing him as they march into the church behind his father and brother, heads held high under the guise of a united front.

Underneath his shirt, Sirius fiddles with the small cross he wears around his neck, squeezing it between the tips of his fingers, feeling the pressure of the chain pulled taut. He imagines wrapping it noose-like around his throat in a fit of self-hatred, a final “fuck you” to his mother. See what you did to me. See the drastic measures you have forced me to take. At the pulpit, Pastor Riddle continues his droning, the sermon occasionally punctuated with murmured “amen”s from the congregation. Beside him, his brother Regulus is gripping the hymnal in his lap, the picture of prim propriety. His hair is oil-slick with gel and carefully plastered back from his face, his trousers neatly pressed. He sits rod-straight as if he has just been hit with a jolt of electricity—Sirius has to suppress the urge to smirk at this—and his lips are pursed in a flat line as his eyes flick over to Sirius. Stupid cunt. He’s not as smart as Sirius thought if he thinks he’ll make a scene like last Sunday. The long lines of his father’s belt across the backs of his legs still pulse where he beat him raw. He and the familiar whooshing noise that fucking belt makes as it flies through the air are well-acquainted with each other by this point. (He deserved it he deserves it he never deserved that even when he was a right dick nobody deserves that not even him). Sirius stretches his legs so they extend underneath the pew in front of them to relieve some of the pressure, fingers tapping frenetically against his side. Reg continues his game of pretending to ignore this behavior as long as possible. Sirius wonders how he can best antagonize him without attracting Walburga’s attention. He turns around to see if he can get a glimpse of the clock towards the back of the church when he sees the boy.

His figure rises a bit above the sea of other church-goers, head bowed over his hymnal as he mumbles along to "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing." The stranger is tan with a dusting of freckles across his face. He must spend a lot of time in the sun. Sirius continues to watch the boy—young man, really—half open-mouthed as he shifts his head ever so slightly. Mousy-brown curls catch the fractured light streaming through the stained glass windows, creating a golden, halo-like effect encircling his head. Without warning, the boy suddenly looks up and meets his gaze. Brown eyes meet blue, and it feels like Sirius's world has imploded upon itself in what he can only describe as a moment of divine intervention.

*Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing = famous Christian hymnal written by Robert Robinson in 1757

~edited as of 6/16 for minor additions & corrections