jencala reblogged

CANJY Head canons

So first of all, yes I still love Wolfstar and ship it as much as always, but lately Canjy (Caradoc Dearborn/Benjy Fenwick) have taken over my heart. I’m in a text rp group with some amazing friends and @meektheraccoon and I have fleshed out these boys so much that they own my heart. I’ve published one Canjy fic already, am working on another, and have a massive collab fic Meek and I are working on that I am so excited about. But yes, I’m still working on my Wolfstar fics as well. My time has just been super limited lately so I haven’t been able to write as much as I want to.

Here’s a few of the HC’s @meektheraccoon and I have for our favorite boys, and remember they’re just our versions, ALL versions of these characters are valid and need some love!

- Benjy was a Gryffindor and a star Quidditch player, he was signed to the Falmouth Falcons immediately upon graduation from Hogwarts.

- Benjy got seriously injured in a match and had to quit playing professionally. He has some permanent damage to his spine, but it’s not severe thankfully.

- He’s always been a bit of a bookworm and after his injury works at Flourish and Blott’s, but dreams of owning his own book store one day. A lot of people didn’t take his intelligence and love of reading seriously because he’s a blond pretty boy athlete, but those that know him well know he’s much more himself with his nose in a book, reading glasses perched on his nose, than he is on a broom, even with his considerable talent.

- My boy has a serious issue with rambling and word vomit which is endearing and adorable, but drives him batty. He just can’t help himself sometimes and just spews what’s on his mind. He’s a bit of an awkward mess at times, really.

- The one thing he holds in is his love for his best friend, Caradoc though. He’s been in love with Caradoc for ages and even though they’ve been “fuck buddies” for a long time, Benjy believes Caddy could never think of him as more than a good shag and his best friend.

- My boy is so wrong.

- Caradoc is a mountain of a man, handsome and looks intimidating because of his size, but he’s a softy who works as a baker in his sister’s bakery. He was a Hufflepuff and a few years ahead of Benjy in school and they actually “met” when Benjy came into the bakery to pick up some pastries for his sister.

- Caddy was actually Benjy’s “gay awakening” when he was in Hogwarts and when he sees Caddy at the bakery he makes an excuse to come back almost every day for a week before he gets up the nerve to ask Caddy out.

- They end up becoming best friends, hooking up occasionally, neither of them realizing that the other wants more. Both letting their insecurities and fear of messing up the friendship blind them to the other’s feelings.

- Honestly, they’re just pining oblivious idiots and I’m so here for it.

- Benjy actually dates Remus, who he meets at an Order meeting, for a while pre-Wolfstar, to try and move on from Caddy. It doesn’t work though because obviously his heart belongs to Caddy and Remus is in love with Sirius.

- They part as friends though and have a really close bond for the rest of their lives, much to Sirius’ chagrin.

- Sirius and Benjy can’t stand each other really, it all stems from jealousy when Remus and Benjy were dating and Caddy and Sirius were casually hooking up during that time. They put up with each other though because of their respective partners and Remus and Caddy just roll their eyes at their rivalry and laugh at their antics over firewhiskey.

I could go on and on and on about these babies, but I’ll save more for the fics we’re working on. ;-)

@martelldoran

martelldoran

Oh these are absolutely wonderful headcanons! I love that you have them as the same age as the marauders and totally intertwined with their lives.

For me I see them as older, maybe in their 50s or 60s by the time the first war comes around. As I said in my tags, Caradoc is the more fleshed out of the two but here are some of my musings so far! Caradoc is Euphemia Potter’s brother, younger brother, and James’s godfather. He absolutely dotes on him and whenever James needs to get away from his parents, he’s always welcome at Caradoc’s place in Cokeworth where he has his own bedroom. His house is actually not that far from the Evans’ and Lily knew of Caradoc before she ever went to Hogwarts but she always just knew him as a doctor. The Dearborns are originally from Yorkshire, with the family home located located within York itself.

He’s a healer working in St. Mungo’s but also has a small practise that serves Cokeworth County and the surrounding area. He knew he wanted to be a healer from a young age but was not a natural potion maker so out of all his studies he applied himself the most here so that he would be able to get the necessary grades. It paid off and in the end he became quite competent and found a lot of enjoyment in it once he ‘cracked the code’. He’s a very skilled healer and is often drafted in to deal with the more complex cases whether it’s a nasty case of dragon pox, memory charms gone awry, or curses with horrible side effects. He treated Andromeda Black after Bellatrix curses her for her relationship with Ted. The fact she’s been left with chronic pain and fatigue as a result is a sore spot for him and he’s still trying to find someway to help her. (ofc with canon, he is disappeared before ever finding a cure. Sob)

Benjy Fenwick is Irish by way of Brixton. His parents moved to London when he was a kid and the Fenwicks became close friends with the Meadowes family who also live in Brixton. He’s a Slytherin half blood and as i said in my tags, I don’t have much more than that. He and Caradoc were in the same year at school but they didn’t have much of relationship there. Caradoc found him irritating and self absorbed but begrudgingly admitted he was an excellent Keeper and Quidditch captain. They met again once out of school and Caradoc was treating him for ???? something either a bad case of dragon pox or an injury that required more specialist help. At this point they’re maybe in their mid to late 20s and there’s an instant connection that throws them both into the back foot.

I have so much more I want to explore with them. But I think I’ve rambled on enough now lmao

jencala

Ahhhh I love these head canons @martelldoran ! I can’t wait to read what you’ve got planned. I love any and all hc’s for these boys, they need all the love and attention.

ashes-and-ashes

Ahhhh Canjy!!! I love all of these!

My interpretation is (heavily) influenced by Jen and Meek haha.

They’re both a year older than Sirius and Remus, and both in Gryffindor!

Caradoc is huge and intimidating and has the biggest brain ever. (If you piss him off he’ll beat you up with his fists and then utterly humiliate you with his words!) He’s hugely competitive and super logical - often the only person actually thinking things through, especially compared to the crackheads of the Marauders gang. He immediately befriends the Prewett Twins and Kingsley in first year, the Marauders and co in second and spends most of his time at Hogwarts with Remus thinking up ways to pizzaz up pranks (and devious ways to not get caught!) He makes prefect in fifth year and deliberately abuses his privileges by sneaking in huge amounts of food from the kitchens at night and having swim parties with everyone in the prefect bathroom. So he’s pretty much having a ball until fifth year when Benjy Fenwick drops in from Ilvermony in America.

Benjy moved to England from America. He’s a POC and a halfblood, which lead to a lot of racism from the muggles and discrimination from the wizards. He’s an insanely good quidditch player and decides to move to England in the hopes that he can go pro and send some money back home for his parents and younger sister. The first thing he does in England is buy a whole thing of makeup and he proceeds to sashay into Hogwarts with lipstick and eyeshadow and the works. He’s spent 15 years being closeted in America and what does he have to lose? It’s his only chance to be out and proud and he does so unabashedly. He immediately gets onto the Gryffindor Quididtch team as a Seeker (pissing off Caddy who spends most of his time hitting Bludgers at him) and proceeds to spend most of his first year at Hogwarts teasing Caddy, befriending the Marauders and training like crazy.

They both basically manage to piss each other off until the middle of sixth year, when the annoyance starts turning into pining. It’s pretty much what one would expect - little glances and winks and origami roses. They kiss for the first time in a Muggle bar, on the night that Benjy gets scouted and agrees to go pro.

Once they leave Hogwarts, it’s the best year of both their lives. Benjy gets a lot of bad press for being gay but he’s so incredibly good that there’s not much else to say. Caddy trains to be an Auror, and quickly looks like he’s going to be the youngest in over a century. They spend one beautiful year and then the rumbling starts - Voldemort had grown in power and everything is shattered.

I love to picture a scene in my head where Caradoc pleads for Benjy to go home, back to America, away from all the fighting. Benjy refuses though - “I’ve seen things like this before, people who think they’re better than others simply because of their skin or gender or ability to do magic. How can I let that happen here?”

“You’ll die,” Caradoc had said. “He’ll go for people - for halfbloods first - “

“And what if he wins?” Benjy had shaken his head. “You think he’ll stop in England? What if he reaches America? What if he reaches my family?”

They’re one of the first people to sign up when Dumbledore asks for volunteers, along with Sirius and Remus and James and Lily, all the other people that they had grown up with. They form the best of the Order, people ruthless and cunning and skilled enough to hold off the Death Eaters, paying in blood as the war advanced.

I think that Benjy’s magic is slightly different, being raised in America. I always headcanon him as being great with defensive magic - wards and barriers and wickedly lethal traps. The two of them make a great team - Caradoc’s brain and Benjy’s ingenuity, making it nearly impossible for the Death Eaters to find the Order for almost 2 years. They were good enough that Voldemort knew that if he were to have any chance of finding the Order, they would have to go.

They kill Caradoc first, sets a trap with Muggle-borns as bait. He manages to get them out but dies in the process, Benjy screaming at him to wake up. Benjy manages for almost 3 months after that, holding up the wards and the traps himself. He helps James and Lily shield their house, sets hundreds of deadly traps for the death eaters and tries to remember what life was like with Caddy.

But even he’s not strong enough to manage so many places at once, not with a Spy. When the Death Eaters find the Order Headquaters, Benjy buys everyone enough time to get out, to run. He locks the Death Eaters inside a house and then blows it up, with him inside of it. They never find his body.

They would be the first. Marlene and Dorcas go down barely a month after, the Prewett’s and Mary after them. It’s only after the protections are gone that James and Lily finally agree to do the Fidelius, and ask Peter to be the Keeper.

jencala

GIF by blesstale

@ashes-and-ashes I love this so much but it hurts!! Obviously the version of Canjy that Vern and I have been working on is like my primary HC, but omg I love this so much too! I love any and all love that these boys get and every interpretation is so amazing!!

#my babies #CANJY #I love this #damn it Ash #this hurts #but it's so good #Caradoc/Benjy #Caradoc Dearborn #Benjy Fenwick

jencala reblogged

ashes-and-ashes

Fallen

He hits the ground in a blaze of light.

Fire, golden and white, scorching the earth in a ghostly spiral. Flames, so high that he thinks it might touch the stars, might burn the heavens, all glorious heat and flickering brightness.

He’s never known pain like this, burning him, scorching him, heaven’s wrath and hell’s delight and he thinks he might die.

He didn’t know Falling would be this bad.

When he finally manages to pull himself to his feet, there’s a crater. It’s seared into the ground, deep into the rock, a shape of hands and feet and something else. The slightest imprint, a sudden breath, and he thinks it looks like wings.

His shoulders hurt, like something had been ripped out, like his bones had been melded together with blazing-hot rivets. Every breath stung, acid flowing into his lungs, like shards of shimmering glass forcing its way down his throat.

He coughs, collapses onto his knees, the shards of rock pressing into his flesh, deep indents like fingerprints. He’s left plenty of them; embedded into the mud around his feet, smeared onto the trees and all over the boulders.

With a sound he didn’t know he could make, the boy stares at his hands.

Remus, he thinks. My name was Remus.

He stands on shaking legs, blood running down it from all the gashes in his legs. Remus stares at it, ruby red, vibrant against the rock.

He remembers palaces, huge golden ones, white silk and stars like gemstones against the dark sky. Arching ceilings and floors made of glowing rock - moonstone, he thinks, hewn from the glowing surface itself, glistening white and radiant.

He doesn’t know where that thought came from. He can’t remember any more.

There’s something hollow inside of him, something strange and twisted, something dark where there used to be light. He can feel it, twisting into his heart, all jagged thorns and iron.

He doesn’t know why the thought makes him want to cry.

Sirius.

The word makes him bolt upright, from where he was curled on the rock. Arms wrapped around himself, biting back his whimpers, his ribs screaming with every movement.

Sirius.

He didn’t know where that name came from.

But he hears whispers now, faint nudges at the edge of his consciousness, voices that told him he used to be more.

He can remember wings now, huge fiery ones, golden feathers and golden skin. He can remember whips of flames, crowns of some strange white metal.

And he can remember him, dark hair and darker eyes and a smile that reminded him of the devil.

He doesn’t know why the boy kept appearing. He doesn’t know why he left.

When Remus closes his eyes, he sees stars.

Huge ones, whirling gas; purple and blue and green, ghostly auras and streaks of diamonds. Floating, in a void so dark he sees flashes of light - or wings of fire, he’s not sure.

The feeling of marble underneath his hand, cool against the burning of his skin. Another hand against his, and God, it burned, hot enough that Remus would have tried to pull away.

He didn’t though. He grasped the hand tighter, let it sear into his skin, let golden ichor flow out of his wounds.

Sirius’ eyes were silver.

Silver, like the moon, hollow orbs of burning ice. He remembers holding his gaze, with eyes of bronze, remembers winding strands of hair against his finger. He remembers Sirius, his hand against Remus’ face and it’s still fire, still flames and lava and lightning.

And fear. That gut-wrenching feeling, like watching a wave appear over the horizon. That’s what he associated with Sirius - fear. Absolute terror, that made his heart stutter, made it stop beating.

Remus bites his lip. He doesn’t remember having a heart.

Something inside of him, definitely. Twisting, ripping, burning, something other.

But not a heart. He doesn’t remember anything beating.

Remus lies curled up on his side, watching the flames.

Red and orange and yellow, the colours so foreign to Remus. He’s only ever seen gold, pure and holy and blinding, bright enough to be seared inside his head forever.

He’s always been able to hold fire, to shape it, spheres of light and spheres of wrath. He’s always loved it, pressing the flames into objects - spears and swords and arrows.

Sirius was never able to hold Fire, not like that. He’d pull light out of the sky, into whirling masses of darkness tinged with silver, would look at Remus with those eyes full of elation and Remus would have followed him anywhere.

You did, whispers the voice at the back of his head. You followed him to the ends of the earth.

Remus wishes he could stop the screaming.

He used to wonder.

What would it feel like when all he is, all he was was ripped away?

When halos of thorns replaced crowns of light, when torn flesh ceased to mend? When the golden ichor that leaked from his wounds turned to the glistening ruby of an open heart?

And he used to ponder. An eternity left to regret what he never would. An eternity left spent searching the heavens, looking for that one star who he knew was all that remained. An eternity of wandering, with no home to return to. An eternity spent knowing that the stars were the only things left in the night sky.

He knew he had fallen. He just didn’t know how far.

They were above emotions, above those lower, human tendencies. They were soldiers, warriors, meant to serve instead of question. They were weapons, holders of God’s wrath and they were holy.

And he had always wondered, watching humans, watching them fall apart into pieces, always wondered what use love was. What pushed them, to the absolute breaking point, what made them shatter apart like glass?

He’d never loved before, never known that feeling, never known anything besides anger and wrath and the barest hint of curiosity. He’d always followed what he had been told, always obeyed without questioning and sometimes he hated himself for that.

He’d never known temptation, not until he had met Sirius, all darkness instead of light, all defiance instead of obedience.

He had always been in love with Sirius. He just didn’t know what it meant.

They had chained him. One finger, one fucking finger, pointed at him as he knelt on the floor in front of that goddamn throne.

They had cut his wings, with a saw that burned through his bones. He had refused to scream, though, had refused to do anything but stare at them, at the angels who ripped his wings out,

He felt them, the crack, the snapping of what made him holy. They took his crown too, tore it to shreds and scattered it on the floor of the palace.

Sirius had watched, his beautiful face impassive. Remus had begged him, begged him before They took him, pleaded with him to keep his mouth shut.

Let it be me. I’ll take the Fall.

He wouldn’t curse both of them, wouldn’t risk the rebellion that would follow. Better to let one Fall then both, separate them so completely that they would never see each other again.

He remembers the pain, the way he had tumbled, the way ichor had streamed from his back like starlight, the way he had landed hard enough for him to scream. He never did, even as they cut him, even as they took his wings.

Heaven had never felt farther then it did now.

He used to sneak out, back when he could fly, used to trail golden wings across the earth. Used to watch the Humans, in all their mortal glory, used to watch them build their paltry fires. Watched them chant, hurling angel names at the sky, falling on the deaf ears of those who watched.

Sirius used to come with him, would fly close enough to the ground that his wings would scorch the dirt. They would fly together, in eternal silence, their hands barely touching.

Even the stars were His spies. He saw everything underneath them. The Earth was His domain.

Still, sometimes, when the stars faded and the sun started to peak above the horizon, when the mist swept in in streaks of silver and gold, sometimes they would allow their fingers to brush together.

They only ever had one kiss.

Against the fountain, hidden in the corner. His palace was eternal after all - endless hallways, endless windows, endless balconies. Sirius’ hand curled around Remus’ hip, the soft slide of their wings shielding them from view.

And time was meaningless, was useless, time meant nothing to angels but by God, Remus wished this moment could have lasted forever.

They both knew they could Fall for it. They both didn’t care.

It was still a shock when the angels came for them the next morning.

He lights the fire at his feet. Flames, so mild compared to the ones he used to wield.

He used to talk with Sirius, before he fell. Is it better to be the creator, the undertaker? The one who knows all and sees all, the one who can never escape the prophecies given. The one who is forever bound by the glittering strands of starlight. The one who is free to create, but never escape. The one who is doomed to walk amongst the stars, and never feel the sand beneath their feet.

Or is it better to be the created? The shaped, the molded. To hold a simple life. To rejoice in the comfortable poetry of an ordinary existence.

To live the life of thousands, to love that one person you never could. To have but one life to fill with the hopes of millennia, the forgotten dreams of time.

To see the magic and the destruction in the everyday things. To watch the wind beat against the cliffs, to hear the waves unleash upon the rocks. To stand on the deck of a glass-bottomed boat as the waves loom in the far-off distance.

To never make, but create. To never fly amongst the stars, but to forever walk upon the ground.

He would never know the answer now.

~ The wind whips at the flames, the heat making him wince. The flames are as high as he can manage, as close to the power he used to wield.

Remus stands there, stares up at the sky, all glittering stardust and flames, and he remembers when he used to walk amongst them. He knows that Sirius still did.

Remus takes a deep breath. He knows that he’s mortal now, that Sirius isn’t, know that he’ll die and that Sirius will live forever. He knows that they’ll never see each other again, that he’ll always be haunted by his lost glory.

But he’s been an angel, seen all the lit fires. He’s seen both Heaven and Hell, had wings of fire and a heart that beat. He’s spilt both blood and ichor, had feathers ripped from his back, bathed in the fires of Heaven until everything turned gold.

So Remus dries his tears, lets the blood that pooled in his palm drip into the flames, watch the fire turn a beautiful, ghostly gold.

And he knew that every shooting star that fell was Sirius, watching him. Every twinkling star, every spinning galaxy that appeared above his head, every flame that burned bright like molten silver and he knew that Sirius wouldn’t abandon him.

Remus stood, his back straight like wings still grew and watches the stars fall around him.

#oh my heart #DAMN IT ASH #angst #Wolfstar #this is gorgeous #but so painful #ashes-and-ashes-dust-and-dust

jencala reblogged

ashes-and-ashes

The first full moon was terrifying.

It was fangs and claws and screaming, wood splintering underneath his feet, the panicked whining of the dog lying next to him. It was the look on Sirius’ face, sorrow and anger and rage when he saw the heavy iron chains, the thick leather restraints. It was pain - it always was, the agonizing feeling of bones compressing, of skin tearing and claws growing and feeling his muscles rip along the seams. It was the moon turning everything silver, the light glistening off of Sirius’ hair, the final flash of white before he turned into the dog.

The last full moon was hopeful.

It was perhaps the worst part about it, the ignorance, the lack of knowledge about the future. It was different, this time, painful but bearable. It was locked inside of a room, hidden away in a decaying mansion, chains and shackles and iron. It was Sirius’ face, gaunt and hollowed, the thinness from the years of starvation, the new scars covering his back and legs. It was hope, though, hope as he transformed, hope that perhaps they had a chance at last. A chance to live, to be free, to have a world where they could be together.

And that was the most heartbreaking part about it. Neither of them knew it would be their last.

#DAMN IT ASH #this is what I wake up to??#break my heart why don't you?#I LOVE IT #how can something be so beautiful and painful at once?#my friends are so talented #ashes-and-ashes-dust-and-dust #Wolfstar

jencala

ashes-and-ashes

The Date

I got a bit carried away with this haha. Oh well. Hope you all enjoy this!

He’s curled up on the couch, the blanket pulled over his legs. He’s got his book propped up against his knee, his head resting across the back of the sofa, the fire crackling in the grate. It had taken him 2 hours to settle into this position, 2 bloody hours, and Remus lets out a content sigh as he turns the page.

He can hear thumping coming from above, the sound of trunks being slammed shut and items being heaped onto the floor but Remus ignores it. Living with James and Peter and Sirius had enabled him to master the ability of tuning out noises, the constant explosions and curse words and the sound of items being hurled across the room. Remus smiles as he nestled deeper into the blankets, wishing he had a bar of chocolate to nibble on as he scanned the page in front of him.

He’s almost finished the book when he hears the shouting coming from the top of the stairwell. “Re?”

Remus rolls his eyes, not bothering to look up from his book. “No.”

He can practically hear the sigh that Sirius lets out. “Please?”

“No.” Remus turns the page. “I’m reading.”

“What. Smut?”

Remus shrugs. “Who knows? I’m expanding my repertoire.”

“Re - “

“Shhh!” Remus says. “They’re about to start making out.”

He holds back a laugh as Sirius sighs. The silence stretches on, Remus smirking as he finished the chapter he was on. He’s about to turn the page when Sirius calls out again. “Remus? Please? Can you help me?”

Remus groans. “What do you want?”

“Just…help.”

With a growl, Remus yanks the blankets off. He closes his book, aiming a kick at the couch leg as he stormed up the stairs. “It took me two bloody hours to find that position,” he mutters, kicking the wall on his way up. “2 bloody hours. Do you know how hard it is to find that perfect reading spot - “

He stops dead at the doorway. “Sirius. What the hell?”

It’s as if something had exploded, clothes strewn everywhere. Stacks of them, on the floor and on the beds, hanging down from the silk curtains and on the door frames, coats and shirts and pants. Lying in the middle of the mess is Sirius, methodically flinging various bits of clothing over his shoulder. “Goddamnit!”

Remus sighs. “What the hell is wrong now?”

Sirius gestures towards the clock. “What time is it?”

“You dragged me all the way up here just to read the clock?” Remus shakes his head. “I can’t even read it. Seeing as a pair of very interestingly colored boxers are currently lying on top of it.”

Sirius scowls, yanking the orange shorts off the top of the clock. “Oh shit. It’s 5. The date is at 7.”

“Two hours.” Remus starts to sit on the floor but thinks better of it. He leans against the wall, crossing his feet at the ankles. “You have two hours, Sirius. It’s fine. Relax.”

“2 hours to get ready? I don’t even know what I’m going to wear!” Sirius flips backwards, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m doomed, Remus! Utterly and completely doomed! What do I wear for dinner tonight?”

“You picked the restaurant,” Remus reminds him. Sirius flips him off. “Shut up Re! I have a reputation to uphold!”

“Your reputation disintegrated the moment you walked around wearing Marlene’s bra,” Remus tells him. He sighs. “All right. Show me your ideas and I’ll pick the best one.”

Sirius sits bolt upright. “A fashion show?”

“For the love of….” Remus mutters. “Sure. Whatever. Hurry up.”

Sirius clears Remus’ bed of all the clothing piled on top of it, and Remus sits down. He stretches his legs out, pulling the curtain down so that he couldn’t see Sirius. “Whenever you’re ready.”

He can just barely see the Sirius’ shadow, hopping around the room pulling various garments on. Remus rolls his eyes, crossing his legs underneath him. Sirius and his dramatics, he thinks and a smile forces it’s way into his lips.

“Okay, option number one….” Sirius trails off as he pulls the curtain back. “Yes?”

“Do you want me to be completely honest?” Remus asks him. Sirius nods. “Then no. Definitely not. You look like a bloody vampire.”

Sirius is wearing dress robes, made out of some sort of charcoal grey fabric. It drapes off of him, folding and pleating, the light seeming to make the fabric shine. In all honesty, he looked pretty bloody beautiful, but Remus wasn’t about to let him go for dinner wearing robes. “No. Next.”

Sirius sticks his tongue out at Remus, pulling the curtains shut.

When he shows Remus the next outfit, Remus sighs. Sirius had put on a muggle suit, harsh lines of black and white, his hair brushing his shoulders. The blazer made him seem taller almost, his shoulders wider and his legs longer, aging him up by 5 years. He looked imposing and mature and definitely not a 16 year old boy. Remus shakes his head. “God, it’s a bloody Japanese restaurant, Sirius! You’re not going to a ball!”

Sirius sighs, but goes back out to change.

“Are you stealing clothes from Marlene?” Remus throws his hands in the air. “No!”

“I like it,” Sirius says, looking down at himself. “I think it’s bold.”

Remus glares at him. “No.”

Never mind the fact that Sirius filled out the top really well. Never mind the little flutter in Remus’ chest when he saw that strip of skin above his waist, the way his mouth went dry as he rolled his eyes. Sirius Black was not allowed to go out wearing a leopard-spotted crop top. “You have to be kidding me.”

Sirius frowns. “I like it!”

At the look on Remus’ face, he grumbles, yanking the top off and hurling it on the ground.

The hour passes. Remus vetoes golden disco pants, a navy blue tank top, a grungy sweatshirt and a pair of booty shorts that were so tight Remus thought that it probably would have been better if Sirius was naked. He groans, banging his head against the wall as Sirius comes out wearing fishnet stockings and a dress so short that it could only belong to Marlene. “No! For God’s sakes, Sirius, I thought you had good fashion sense!”

Sirius looks down at himself. “I like this!”

“Rubbish,” Remus tells him. “You just wore that to annoy me.”

Sirius flashes him a wicked grin. “Fine. You dress me then.”

Remus rolls his eyes, getting to his feet. He stretches, the muscles in his back popping as he kicked aside a pair of boots that Sirius had left on the floor. “Fine. Maybe that’ll knock some sense into your thick head.”

He sorts through the piles of clothing all over the floor, finally managing to procure a plain white shirt. There’s a crumpled heap of jeans that he grabs as well, adds some red converse to the collection in his hand. He has to stand on his tiptoes to reach the leather jacket on the doorframe as he tosses the bunch at Sirius. “There. Wear this.”

Sirius frowns. “This is what I always wear though.”

“Exactly.” Remus folds his arms. “Stop pretending to be someone you’re not. Put it on.”

When he opens his eyes, Sirius had just finished shrugging on the jacket. There’s something beautiful about this last outfit, something defiant and powerful, something that had Sirius written in every stitch of fabric. Remus lets himself stare, at the way Sirius’ shoulders filled out the leather, at the way the jeans hugged his legs and how the white shirt rode up just slightly. He can see his scars, dark streaks pressed against the thin cotton, can see them crawling up kid neck and around his side, where they were hidden by the jacket.

Sirius clears his throat. He’s blushing, slightly, and Remus realizes that he’s been staring for far too long. He looks down, cheeks burning as Sirius bites his lip. “Yes?”

“Definitely yes.” Remus cocks his head. “Actually, wait . Tie up your hair.”

Sirius nods. He reaches up, scooping up the dark mess in one hand then pauses. “Actually, can you….can you tie it for me?”

Remus swallows, past the lump in his throat. “Of course.” He accepts the hair tie from Sirius, reaches up to tangle his hands through Sirius’ hair. He lets the locks wrap around his wrist, lets his fingers trail through the knots as he twists the strands into a bun. He coughs, trying to stay casual, trying not to burst into flames. “So. Excited for the date?”

“Yeah.” Sirius seems slightly subdued as he picks at his nail. “Can’t wait.”

“How many is that now?” Remus yanks the hair tie over the bun, steps away quickly. It was like a fire under his skin, one that flared up whenever he touched Sirius. He shoves his hands into his pocket.

Sirius just laughs. “5th one now? I don’t know.” He looks down. “They don’t seem to work out, do they?”

Remus forces a smile onto his lips. “You’ll find someone.” I wish it was me.

Sirius holds his gaze. “Maybe someday.” He coughs. “Um….do you mind?” He holds his wand out to Remus.

It takes a second for the request to click in, Remus blinking. “Uh….” He nods. “Yeah.”

“Thanks.” Sirius shucks off the jacket, pulling his shirt over his head. “I just don’t want….you know. Then to see my scars.” He forces a laugh. “I don’t want them to think….I don’t know. Less of me I guess?”

“I get it.” Remus traces the tip of the wand over the largest scar, the skin around it appearing to ripple and cover the mark. “You don’t want them to judge you. To think you’re damaged.”

Sirius lets out a shaking breath. “Exactly.”

I wouldn’t, Remus thinks. I wouldn’t think you were damaged.

The scars told a story. A tapestry, carved into Sirius’ skin, a tale of blood and tears, of hiding and rubbing and fighting, of shielding a brother from a mother’s rage. How could Sirius ever explain that to anyone, the history of what was torn into his flesh? How could he explain the marks?

He wouldn’t have to hide them with Remus. Remus knew every scar, like the back of his own hand, could trace each one of them with a finger. Sirius would never have to hide. Not with Remus.

The skin ripples over, the marks completely hidden, and Remus lets out a breath. “Okay.” He goes to pull away, but Sirius grabs his hand.

It’s dizzying, the bed swaying underneath him,, and dimly Remus wonders if Sirius can tell. He stares into Sirius’ eyes, the cool grey of them, the way it shifted into different colors around the edges. He could stare into Sirius’ eyes for hours.

He’s aware of Sirius’ hand around his wrist, shivers going up and down his arm. “Sirius?”

“Thanks.” Sirius looks down. “You know. For everything.”

Remus shrugs. “It was nothing.”

“No, I - “ Sirius sighs. “Thanks. Am I….am I good now?”

Remus steps back. “Yes. No. Wait.” He reaches up, teases a few strands of hair from Sirius’ bun, the soft locks framing his face. He swallows, his heart pounding in his chest. “Yeah. You’re good.”

Sirius smiles, each breath sending pangs through Remus’ chest. “Re, I….”

He breaks off, notching the clock. “Shit! It’s 6:30! I have to go!”

He jumps up, yanking his jacket from underneath him. “Thanks Re!” he calls, over his shoulder, sprinting out the door in a blur of grey.

Remus stares down at his hands.

What did you expect, he thinks. That this is a fairy tale? That you’ll get a happy ending? He scoffs. Grow up. Who could ever love a monster like you?

Alone in the room, Remus lets his head drop into his hands, the tears starting to flow.

of-stars-and-moon

Fuck!!! I had thought this would have a happy ending!!! My heart is shattered now! 💔💔💔

blitheringmcgonagall

@ashes-and-ashes-dust-and-dust

💔

I WAS TEARING UP EVEN BEFORE THE END, I NEED A SEQUEL

GIF by jupiter2

jencala

ASH!! What the hell? I know you’re the Queen of Angst, but holy crap, you killed me with this!

I Need More!!

@ashes-and-ashes-dust-and-dust

#oh my heart #this was so sweet #and then it killed me #DAMN IT ASH #ashes-and-ashes-dust-and-dust

jencala reblogged

ashes-and-ashes

Don’t Leave Me

“Don’t leave me!”

They are running down the hallway, sides aching from laughing, the wooden floor smooth underneath their socks. Remus is ahead, rounds the corner and sprints up the stairs, Sirius behind him.

“Don’t leave me,” Sirius calls out. “Seriously, don’t. I don’t want my ass to be put in detention- “

“If we don’t fucking move, they’re going to catch us.” Remus giggles as he pushes open the door, holding it open for Sirius. “We have to get back to the - “

“To the common room.” Sirius skids in front of the wall, panting. “Asmodeus,” he says, and the bricks start to crumble, rearranging to form a doorway. “Come on!”

Remus nods, grabs his hand and they are sprinting down the secret passageway, up a level of circular stairs to the top of Gryffindor tower. “I swear,” he says, panting, “I can’t wait to see their faces tomorrow - “

“Red and gold hair,” finishes Sirius. “Just in time for the Quidditch Championships - “

“Classic.” Remus laughs as they finally reach the portrait, the Fat Lady peering down at them suspiciously. He smiles, glancing over at Sirius. “Thanks for coming with me.”

Sirius smiles. “Anytime.”

“Don’t leave me!”

He’s clutching onto the handle of his broom, the wind whistling through his hair as he hangs in for dear life. Beside him, Sirius is laughing, zooming around the Quidditch Pitch in huge circles. Remus curses, wrapping his frozen fingers tighter around the wood. “Sirius Black, if you let me fall - “

“Relax Moons!” Sirius swoops down next to him, the stars reflecting off his hair. Strands fall down, onto his face and he impatiently tucks them behind his ear. “You have to be fluid. Let your body take over.”

“Great advice,” grumbles Remus. “Let your body take over. What is this, a B grade romance?”

Sirius flips him off, spinning his broom so he shot off towards the sky. He looked vaguely like a demon from that distance, all flying hair and shattered light and his cloak streaming behind him. Remus grits his teeth. “Bugger off,” he calls, and Sirius laughs. “Come on Re! Follow me!”

Remus swallows, looking up at Sirius, who was rapidly disappearing into the darkening sky. He ground his teeth, glancing down towards the ground, and swallows. “Bastard,” he mutters, gripping his broom tighter and pointing it towards the heavens.

“Don’t leave me.”

Tight words from gritted teeth, Remus’ hands squeezing Sirius’ as he lies on the floor. He’s panting, sweat plastering his hair to his face, curled up in a fetal position on the hard boards, trying not to cry out as the moon rose higher in the sky. “Please. Don’t….don’t go.”

Sirius’ heart breaks, watching Remus writhe on the ground. His back arched, a strangled sob tearing out of his throat, his teeth gritted. Blood wells from his lip, where he had bitten down, and Sirius watches it trickle down his chin. He knew that trick, of biting down, of letting blood replace the screams. He’s done it many times before, swallows down the agony and locks it away.

Remus lets out another moan, and Sirius swears. He’s always been able to do something, always been able to give Remus a potion or a spell or a compress but this time there’s nothing. He had done everything he could and Remus was still on the ground, screaming as his body broke apart.

He curses, tightening his hold on Remus hand. Remus doesn’t react, just squeezes Sirius’ fingers, so hard they go white, and Sirius swallows. “Shit, Re. There has to be something I can do. Can I - “

“Don’t.” Remus takes a shaky breath. “Please. Don’t leave me.”

“Never,” Sirius promises him. “I won’t go.”

“Don’t leave me.”

Remus nods. He’s sitting, on the edge of the bed, staring down at the bloody gashes in Sirius’ back.

Scarlet lines, dripping blood, the pale edges of torn skin where the spells had caught and ripped at the flesh. Some of them were shallow, a long, wide gash, but others were deep. Remus swallows, one hand hovering over a huge mark stretching from Sirius’ shoulder to his waist. It oozed blood, staining the cloth underneath him, red muscle and the gleaming white of bone.

Sirius grits his teeth, his fingers wrapped around his pillow. He takes a shaky breath, his body trembling, the bed vibrating underneath him. “God. I never knew….”

“Bitch.” The word is tight, a mere hiss of air really, as Remus stares down at the wounds on Sirius’ back. “Bitch. What the hell….how long….”

Sirius closes his eyes. “Does it matter?”

Remus just shakes his head. “Bitch. She should be sent to Azkaban.”

“She won’t be.” Sirius winces, letting out a strangled moan as the wounds on his back pulsed. “She’s too….high up. They won’t sentence her. Not without concrete proof.”

“Those - “ Remus flings out his hands. “Proof? Those fucking gashes aren’t good enough?”

Sirius shakes his head. “Not unless you can prove she did it.”

Remus is silent, the room spinning around him. When he finally swallows, he barely recognizes his own voice. “I’ll get her. I swear it.”

Sirius just sighs. “I wouldn’t stop you if you did.”

“Don’t leave me.”

Sirius is sleepy, the sounds of the battle raging around him. He’s aware that he’s lying, in a warm and sticky pool of red, his fingers dripping in it. He stares at the crimson, the way it completely covered his hand. Gryffindor colour, he thinks, and a drowsy smile forces its way onto his face.

“Shit.” Someone swear from where they are kneeled above him, but he’s too tired to care. He ignores it, focusing on the red drops, the way it slid down his hand like a ruby rope. “Shit. Shit shit shit shit - “

“That’s a bad word,” Sirius says. He frowns. “There a are lots of bad words. Like Ass and Dick and Crap - “

“Shut up.” The voice is louder now, and Sirius winces. “That’s not nice.”

“I don’t particular fucking care.”

The words holt him, as if someone attached cables to his brain, and the world suddenly sharpens around Sirius. He’s lying on his back in the middle of some desert, Remus’ anxious face looming over him. There’s a piercing pain in his side, the edges tingling with every breath he took, and Sirius coughs. “Re?”

Remus curses. “You fucking idiot! What the hell - why would you jump in front of me?”

“You were about to get hit,” Sirius says. He tries to turn onto his side but fails, wincing. “Jesus. What did I get hit with?”

“Some sort of purple fire.” There’s the sound of a bottle being uncapped, a metal tin being forced past his lips. “Drink.”

Sirius does, and Remus puts the bottle away. The world starts to spin again, the shadows lengthening, and Remus swears. “Shit, Pads. Stay awake - “

He says more, but Sirius is too tired. Remus is still talking when he falls asleep.

“Don’t leave me.”

They are standing in the hallway, Remus carrying a bag in his hand. In the other, he holds a file, a Black-and-white picture of himself on the cover.

Remus John Lupin. Werewolf.

Underneath the title, there were a bunch of small, white words.

Assigned to camp 1839FG. Arrival: Priority.

Sirius swallows hard. “You don’t have to do this.”

Remus shakes his head. “I’m not stupid, Si.”

“I never said you were - “

Remus cuts him off. “The order needs intel. Badly. We have no idea what’s happening, no idea what’s going on. If I can get just a smidgen if information, just enough to predict where they’ll attack next - “

“You could save lives.”

Remus meets his gaze. “Exactly.”

The silence between them stretches out. Sirus coughs. “Be safe. Please. I….I can’t lose you too. First Reg and then Marls and Dorcas and Mary - “

“I’ll be safe.” Remus leans forwards, brushing his lips against Sirius’. “I promise.”

“Don’t leave me.”

He whispers the words, traces the moon on his forearm with shaking fingers. The cell is cold, water collecting in puddles around him, and Sirius shivers.

They hadn’t bothered to give him shoes, his feet raw and exposed to the air. The brand on his shoulder ached, the skin around it still raw from the iron they had pressed into his skin. He presses his arm against his stomach, wincing at the flare of pain from his ribs. When they broke his wand, they broke a part of him too, bent him double with the pain. He wonders if that was a thing, dying from your wand being snapped.

If he squints, he can just barely make out the moon, glowing in the darkness of the sky. He hates his teeth, looking back down at his tattoo, the light making his cell glow silver.

143. That’s how many moons he’s missed, how many moons he’s abandoned Remus. 143 moons, spent rotting away in this shithole of a cell, his body aching and feet bleeding and he didn’t care. He would do it again, would happily spend the rest of his life in this place if it meant Remus was happy.

But Remus didn’t know. Remus thought he was a murderer, a traitor. Remus thought he was the Spy.

Sirius grits his teeth, slams his fingers hard into the wall. The impact sends a shockwave of pain up his arm but he ignores it, pounding the wall again and again.

“Don’t leave me,” he pleads.

But of course there’s nothing but silence in his cell.

jencala

*sobbing*

Damn it, Ash! Is there one day you can go without breaking my heart with your beautiful words?? @ashes-and-ashes-dust-and-dust

#DAMN IT ASH #I love this so much #even though it breaks my heart #ashes-and-ashes-dust-and-dust

jencala reblogged

ashes-and-ashes

therealrjlupin asked:

Confession time... I live for people treating Remus like shit because of his lycanthropy, and Sirius (and the others) being really protective and losing their temper when they see it. So if you were to write that, know that it would end me, but I'd die happy 💙

ashes-and-ashes answered:

Whoops. I got carried away. Hope you like this Rosie (and I hope it is angsty enough!!)

tw for alcohol, implied self harm and depression

Bar fights

Sirius stares down into his glass.

He scowls. It was called the Dragon, supposedly the “fiercest drink in all of Wizarding Britain” and he can already tell that it wouldn’t be strong enough. Firewhisky and gillywater and something that made it turn bright blue, all mixed into a glass. It steamed slightly, bubbles floating to the surface and the barkeeper smirks over at him.

“A little young to be drinking eh?” He laughs. “You sure you can finish that?”

Sirius just raises an eyebrow, downing the drink in one shot. “Not strong enough,” he mutters, rapping his knuckles on the bar.

The barkeeper blinks at him, then turns away. Sirius sighs.

He supposed it wasn’t fair. He’s a Black. Judging by the amount Walburga drank, he’d been ingesting alcohol in the womb.

Sirius scrubs his hand over his face, staring down at the bar. It’s stained, from the rings of some drink long dried, and he picks at the marks with his fingernail.

He had sworn to himself, a few years ago when he was 12 that he would never drink again. Sworn it while huddled in his room, biting back his sobs as he tried to heal the gashes in his back and the waves of pain all over his body. Walburga was bad enough sober - the cuts on Sirius’ arms and legs were proof of that. But she only ever used Crucio when she was drunk.

He snatches the glass from the barkeeper, downs it again. He had only really started drinking a month ago, to keep away the nightmares and the thoughts and the images. Sobriety was hell. Better to wash it away in the haze of drink then linger on what his life had become.

The Prank. Even thinking the words made him shudder. He had replayed that night in his head, over and over again, turning over every second until the memories were seared into his brain.

If only I hadn’t read the letter. If only I was strong enough to resist the torture. If only I was faster, smarter, quicker. If only I hadn’t been so stupid.

He slumps in his chair. It was over now. Him and Remus were done. He still couldn’t help but feel that it was punishment, punishment for running away, punishment for leaving Reg with his parents.

And it was Remus’ birthday today, his 16th. Sirius’ heart aches as he imagines it. Everyone crowded around Remus, everyone singing Happy Birthday to him. He had spent ages planning the events for Remus’ birthday, the picnic and the candles and the secret spot by the lake.

He laughs bitterly. Everyone thought they’d be forever, him and Re. The Prank had torn them apart.

Good, he thinks, tightening his grip on the empty glass. He’s rid of me now. He’s free.

Sirius knew he could never be free of Remus. He loved him too much, a burning, aching pain inside of him, so much that it hurt. There would always be a part of him that loved Remus, no matter how many days passed, a part of him that could never be filled by anyone else.

How many moments did they have together? How many whispered secrets and shared kisses, how many times had they traced each other’s scars?

He’d thought they’d last forever.

Sirius hears the door bang open, the sound of laughter filling the bar. He turns on his stool, half-paying attention when he freezes.

Remus stares at him, surrounded by people. James and Lily chatting animatedly, Dorcas and Marlene with their arms around each other, Gideon next to Fabian who was holding Kingsley’s hand, Peter talking to Mary. His best friends, all of them, the ones who he’d die for and they all hated him.

Sirius curses under his breath, standing in a fluid motion. He turns, grabbing his cloak, hoping that Remus would ignore him, would look away.

He’s wrong. Halfway to the door, Remus steps in front of him. “What,” he hisses, “Are you doing here?”

Sirius drops his gaze. He’s heard that steel in Remus’ voice before, heard it used on Snape and the Slytherins, to his mother and his father and everyone else who crossed him. But he’s never had it directed at him before.

Sirius swallows, hard, trying to clear the lump in his throat. “I’m….I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were coming here - “

Around him, he can feel the life going out of the party, near-identical glares being turned in his direction. He looks down. “I’ll leave now.”

Part of him still hopes. Hopes that Remus will shake his head, ask him to stay. That he can celebrate the birthday of the boy he loved most, that he could pretend just for one night that everything was okay again.

But instead, Remus just nods. “I think you should.”

Sirius bites his lip, walking towards the door. He slips out then closes it behind him, managing to make it to the alley behind the bar.

He drops to the ground, perched on the balls of his feet, his head in his hands. The night is cool, the air crisp, and he takes a deep breath.

He can feel it, the numbness, the way he was slowly drowning in it. It was as if a sheet of plastic had been placed over the world, blurring everything together, muting out all sounds. He supposed he deserved it.

Sirius lets his head rest against the wall. His lungs burn, a blinding headache forcing its way into his head and he wishes he had a cigarette.

Sirius clenches his fists, his nails digging into his palm, carving bloody half-moons into his flesh.

He scared himself sometimes, when the numbness came down and his heart ached and all he wanted to do was bleed. Something stronger, deeper than just a blade against skin, when he wanted to fight.

There’s a flurry of movement to his left, two guys walking into the alley. They’re sketchy looking, dirty and high, and Sirius ignores them. Behind him, a window opens, and he can hear laughed pouring into the alley.

He recognizes the laughs - Kingsley’s low rumble and Lily’s high-pitched giggle, James’ snort and Peter’s squeak and Marlene howling as someone banged the table. And Remus, the huff of breath as he smiled, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed. He would recognize Remus’ laugh anywhere, would recognize him even if he was blind.

The two guys on his left are mumbling, and Sirius barely makes out a few words.

“Piece of shit…”

“Just mug him then…”

“Nah don’t want to get busted….”

He ignores the words, yanking on his hair with his hands, so hard his eyes begin to water. His feet ache from crouching, his neck stiff and he winces as he he forces himself to his feet. He turns, snarling as he starts to exit the alley.

“Asshole. Won’t pay up.”

“At least he’s not a queer.”

There’s a low laugh. “Well. Or a werewolf.”

The other person snorts. “Werewolves. Filthy half breeds, ought to be put down the load of them. Always biting people and rutting around everywhere.”

“As if they’re good for anything else.”

The anger rises in Sirius, so fast he almost falls over. He turns around, clenching his fists together. “Don’t talk about werewolves like that.”

The two men pause, then look up at Sirius. The first one smiles. “What the hell you doing kid?”

The other one laughs. “Trying to be tough. Spoiling for a fight.”

“Fucktard.” The two of them snort. “Go away kid. Won’t ask again.”

Sirius doesn’t. He carefully widens his stance, one foot in front of the other. “I said. Don’t talk about werewolves like that.”

“Why?” The man winks. “Ahh. I see. Fucking one are you? Taking it straight up the ass like the fag you are, I’m sure. Probably enjoy it too.”

“Is it beastiality if he’s in human form while you fuck?” The man shrugs. “Or is it just - “

Sirius snaps.

His wand is in his hand in an instant, pointed directly at the first man. “Stupefy!” The man crashes backwards, directly into a bunch of boxes, and Sirius whirls. “Diffendo!”

Gashes appear in the floor and in the man’s skin, blood welling up from the cuts as he snarls. “Bastard. What the fuck?”

Sirius laughs, the sound slightly unhinged. His heart is pounding in his chest, his muscles tense and he loves it because finally. Finally he’s free, not thinking about Remus or Snape or the Prank, finally his head is clear. He just smiles back. “I warned you. Don’t talk about werewolves like that.”

“Fucking son of a bitch.” The man spits at Sirius’ feet. “Gay fag.”

Sirius raises an eyebrow. “Flipendo!”

The spell hurtles toward the man, who just flicks his wand. “Protego.”

Sirius steps to the side, the bolt careening past his leg. He raises his wand, fire dancing at the top. “Incendio!”

He’s not sure how long the fight lasts. The man is good, handling multiple spells with ease, managing to slice Sirius’ arm, repel his spell and revive his unconscious friend on the floor. Sirius curses, blood running down his arm, pouring into his eye from a cut on his forehead. He blinks furiously, trying to get the thick liquid out, anger burning in his chest. Without thinking, he points his wand straight at the man, right at his chest. “Cru - “

“Sirius no!”

And suddenly a hand is wrapped around his wrist, the crimson jet at the tip of his wand flying wide. He turns, yanking his arm away, about to curse the person when he stops dead.

Remus stares back at him, panting and covered in blood, the moonlight making the lines on his face glow. Sirius swears. “Shit, Re, I….” He trails off. “Re. Re, there’s blood all over you - “

“It’s yours.” Remus’ voice is steady. “I’m fine.”

“But…” With a start, Sirius remembers the men. He turns around, his wand raised, only to have Remus step in front of him. “Sirius. No.”

Sirius whirls, fury burning in his chest. “What the fuck do you mean, no?”

Remus glares back at him. “No.”

There’s a bang. Sirius whips around, in time to see the man’s fingers close over the handle of his wand. With a pop, both men disappear, vanishing to god knows where, leaving nothing behind but a trail of blood.

“This close.” Sirius’ throat is tight, like someone was slowly strangling him. He coughs, swallowing hard. “I was this close to defeating them Re, this close! I had them!”

“You were about to use Crucio on them.” Remus’ voice is cold. “You were going to use an unforgivable curse on them.”

Sirius looks down. He feels something wet on his head, on his face. Rain starts to trickle from the sky in steady streams, darkening the pavement where he stood. He meets Remus’ gaze. “Yes.”

“God Sirius.” Remus runs his hands through his hair. “How could you? You know what it was like, being tortured. How could you wish that into someone else?”

Sirius bites his lip. He can taste blood, coating his tongue and cheek, salty and metallic. “They were insulting werewolves.”

Remus stares back at him, his face draining of colour. Sirius continues. “Saying things like…like they deserved to be put down. That they were monsters. That - “

“No.” Remus’ voice is shaking. “No. Y-you.”

“Re - “

Remus shakes him off. “No. Not for me. Never for me.”

Sirius frowns. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m not worth it.” Remus is trembling, his voice cracking on the words. “I’m not worth it Sirus, I’m not worth you attaching them! I’m not worth a fucking unforgivable curse, God, Sirius, you could have been thrown in Azkaban for that!”

“I don’t - “

“Don’t you dare.” Remus glares at him. “Don’t you dare say that you don’t care about going to Azkaban, don’t you dare say it. I am nothing, Sirius, I am nothing but a half breed, and you are a Black! You are practically a Prince and I swear, you cannot throw your life away for me!”

“I’m not throwing my life away.” Sirius keeps his voice calm. “I love you Remus, I know you don’t anymore but I do. I love you so damn much - I would go to Azkaban in a heartbeat if it would make you happy - “

“We are over,” Remus spits and the sound breaks Sirius’ heart. “We’ve been done for a month! How can you - how can you risk your life for something so stupid - “

“You’re not stupid! You mean something - “

Remus shakes his head. “I mean nothing. I am nothing in this world, nothing in this story! I am a small mark on your book Sirius, and you should leave and forget about me.”

Sirius closes his eyes. It’s pouring now, plastering Remus’ hair to his head. It soaks the ground, washing away the blood, rivlets of water dripping down his back.

“How can I forget about you, Re? I still love you.”

Remus closes his eyes. “Do you think I don’t?” He laughs bitterly. “It’s been almost a month now and I still find myself longing for what we had before.” He looks up. “But you see why we can’t, right? It’s not just…just what you did. You’re a prince, Sirius, you have your whole life ahead of you. As soon as I’m 17 I have to register. I’ll be put into a Werewolf Camp. I’ll probably die alone and starving in some alleyway somewhere.”

“Bullshit.” Sirius shakes his head. “I don’t give a damn about you being a werewolf, Re, I still love you - “

Remus just shakes his head. A small, choked noise escapes his throat, maybe a sob or maybe a laugh, and Sirius’ breath hitches. “Re - ?”

Remus just presses him against the wall and kisses him.

The rain pounds against the sidewalk, filling the air with the scent of rain, and Sirius leans back. Hungry, open mouths and roaming hands and God he’s wanted this for so long, wanted to feel Remus against him again, their lips pressed together, the steady rise and fall of the scars on their skin. He feels Remus’ fingers on his back, moving unfalteringly over the gashes, and Sirius closes his eyes.

Slowly, carefully, Remus pulls away. He steps back, his arms falling to his side, his hair sticking up in spikes. It’s hard to tell from all the rain, but Sirius thinks he sees tears in his eyes. “God. I’ve wanted…”

“Me too.” Sirius swallows. “Re - “

“No.” Remus takes another step back. “We can’t - we can’t do this - “

“Yes we can!” Sirius shakes his head. “I don’t care, Remus, I don’t give a damn that you’re a werewolf or that you’re not high-born or that you’re poor!”

“How could you fall in love - “

“I fell in love with Remus Lupin.” Sirius closes his eyes. “The kind, brave, beautiful boy who comforted me on my first night away from home. The boy who helped me with my projects and let me copy his homework. The one who taught me stitching spells when my mother started cutting me, the one who came when I woke up screaming from nightmares. I fell in love with the boy who kissed me for the first time just before a transformation, who always gave second chances. I fell in love with you, Re. Fuck the werewolf.”

“You - “ Remus’ voice cracks. “You deserve the world, Sirius. I…I don’t know if I can give that to you.”

Sirius just reaches forward. He presses his palm against Remus’ cheek, the fluttering in his heart growing as Remus leans into the touch. “You are my world, Re. I don’t need anything else.”

Remus bites his lip. “Sirius - “

“I love you.” He laughs. “God. I love you so much.”

Remus swallows, hard. He nods, pulls Sirius up closer against him. “I love you too.”

jencala

Damn it, Ash! How can you flay me alive like this???? @ashes-and-ashes-dust-and-dust

#oh my heart #DAMN IT ASH #this is so damn gorgeous #i'm not crying you're crying #Wolfstar #ashes-and-ashes-dust-and-dust

jencala

ashes-and-ashes

stargazing-enby asked:

Prompt: Drarry + "I miss you."

ashes-and-ashes answered:

I need to edit this later, but I’m too lazy. Sorry for typos!! This is a short story of Draco in Azkaban, and I may decide to expand this into a longer fic if enough people like this - let me know in comments!

tw for depression and dark thoughts

3 Months

They transport him to the island in a metal box.

It’s tiny, practically molded to his body, his head brushing the top of the box and his hands pressed against his side. There’s a small hole, covered by bars near his nose - he can barely make out rushing water and grey rocks through it. Runes are carved into the metal, runes of containment and restraint, runes to keep him from escaping.

He knows not to try. It was part of the deal.

He still remembers the trial, the sentencing. The punishment from Shacklebolt’s lips. 3 months in Azkaban for his crimes. After he completes his sentence, his criminal activity records will be destroyed.

It was part of the plea deal that Harry made for him, the result of 10 witnesses and countless bargains, the result of 5 months trying to keep him from death. They wanted to kill him, at the age of 18, kill him and make an example out of all who chose to follow Voldemort.

He was thankful that he wasn’t dead.

There’s a clank, the box dropped onto hard stone, and Draco rolls his shoulders back. 3 months. He could survive 3 months. He had to survive 3 months.

So he lets the Auror grasp his shoulders, lets the guards clasp irons around his neck and ankles and wrists. He holds his chin high, keeps his gaze steady as he walks into Azkaban.

3 months. It was only 3 months.

2 months, 2 weeks and 5 days.

He’s grateful that the cell didn’t face the ocean.

It was all he could hear, the relentless crashing of the waves beating at the shore, the howl of the wind as it sped through the sharp towers of Azkaban. It had been days since he had heard another voice, days since he had spoken.

Even facing away from the water, the cell was still damp.

He remembers Harry telling him something, those months before the trial, those precious moments of privacy. Something about his Godfather, Sirius, and how his cell faced out onto the rocky coast.

He told me that every time a wave broke over the shore, it released a spray of water into his cell. He said that during his 12 years in Azkaban, there was never a single day when he was completely dry.

Draco’s cell is small, a perfect square with rounded corners. Everything in his cell had rounded corners, from the edges of the bed to the surface of the table. He supposed they didn’t want him killing himself.

The bars were long iron rods, diamonds carved onto them. They had a burning charm attached to them - he had learnt that the hard way, when his elbow had accidentally brushed the metal. The light was constant, a dim, yellow glow casted over the darkness of the cell.

Draco sits back on the bed, the blankets wrapped around his feet. He lets his head lean back against the wall, lets his eyes drift shut.

2 months, 2 weeks and 4 days.

1 month, 3 weeks and 6 days.

It’s driving him mad in here.

The constant dripping of the water pounds into his skull, drilling a hole into his head. It echoes maddeningly, a constant pulse, and Draco hates it.

He wonders if he is going insane. It was strange, that he didn’t care about much, ignored the coldness and the dampness, the fact that his hands and fingers were numb and he hadn’t felt his toes for 3 weeks. He didn’t care about his mouth, the bloody sores from gnawing at the flesh, or about how his clothes hung loosely on his slender frame, or how his hair was brittle, breaking off in strands.

No, all he cared about was that goddamn noise.

Draco shakes his head, a budding headache starting to grow, returning his gaze to the smooth stone wall. Everything was numb, covered by blissful fog, and he can feel himself drifting away.

He remembers what he was like before the trial, burning up, the guilt and anger, the regret and longing, the love he felt for Harry and the hatred he felt towards his parents eating him up inside. He was a walking bomb, burning too brightly, too fiercely, an inferno of emotions. He remembers sitting inside the courtroom, watching Harry and Pansy, Blaise and Theo, Greg and Millicent, Granger and Lovegood and Weasley and Thomas and Finnigan all speaking for him, trying to save him, and he remembers wanting to scream because how could he deserve it?

He remembers the horror and shock when the prosecution announced they were aiming for maximum punishment, the way Harry’s hand had tightened around his own when Shacklebolt had announced the verdict, the feat that filled Harry’s eyes as Draco was taken away.

He wished he had been able to kiss Harry, just one last time.

1 month, 1 week.

Just get through the week. Just get through the week.

It had become his daily mantra, the only phrase keeping him clinging on to sanity as the days wheeled on. He knew he was going crazy, knew already he was changing, but all he could do was hold tighter onto that crumbling ledge, ignore the pain and keep fighting.

There’s a clang at the bars - someone throwing themselves at his cell. He barely looks up, at the Aurors struggling to hold back a rabid prisoner, all ragged hair and tattered clothes and bleeding skin. He looks feral, like a wild animal, and when he catches sight of Draco, he laughs.

“Filthy muggle-loving auror-fucking traitor,” he spits, globs of blood flying out of his mouth. “You betrayed us. Betrayed us!”

Draco doesn’t even look up, the aurors grubting as they tried to pry the crazed man off the bars. There’s a hiss as the man tightens his fingers around the cell door, the spell of burning flesh filling the air, and the man is shrieking. “You think they’ll forgive you after you get outa here? You think your pretty little boyfriend will still love you?” He laughs, maniacally. “They’ll never forget! They’ll never accept you! All you’ll ever be is Draco Malfoy, the double-sided queer.”

Draco looks up, staring into the mans eyes at the words. His voice is hoarse, creaky from weeks and weeks of silence, of being left only with his thoughts. “I’m not a Malfoy. Not anymore.”

The man laughs, starting to shriek something back at him, until he slumps forwards. The auror behind him lowers his smoking wand, shooting Draco a sympathetic gaze. “Sorry, kid. Guy’s on death row. About to be executed. Don’t listen to him.”

Draco says nothing as he watches the aurors drag the convulsing prisoner away, leaning his head against the wall.

I’m not a Malfoy. Not anymore.

3 weeks.

He’s sitting on the bed, head bowed when he hears footsteps.

They sound unfamiliar, different to the normal, hard clanking of the boots of the guards. He frowns, closing his eyes, listening closer. High-heels and sneakers, coming down the hall, and briefly, he remembers hearing the sound somewhere.

There’s a small commotion, the sound of someone stumbling and then -

A girl swears. “Ahh, shit. I think I scuffed my shoe.”

Draco’s eyes fly open, because he knows that voice! He almost runs to the bars, his heart beating double time as he catches the sight of Pansy and Blaise.

Pansy’s in heels, ridiculously high ones, a dark black coat wrapped around her, while Blaise looks like he always does, in his jacket and jeans and $500 sneakers.

He looks down the hall, hoping to see Harry, praying to see Harry, but the corridor is empty, the only figure the guards on their daily rotations. His heart sinks, just a little, as he turns to face his friends.

Pansy’s voice is quiet. “He wasn’t allowed. They were scared he was going to try and attempt to break you out.”

Blaise nods, one hand in his pocket. “He fought tooth and nail to allow you to have visitors. Almost lost his badge for it, and even then, they only allowed us to come.”

Draco’s throat is tight, his voice hoarse and gravelly when he speaks. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

There’s tears in Pansy’s eyes, spilling over her cheeks as she swears. “Fuck, Draco. You look like - “

“Shit.” Blaise cuts her off. “Jesus Christ, Draco. What the hell are they doing to you?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. They aren’t doing anything.” He forces a laugh, brittle and thin. “I mean… they aren’t torturing me or anything…”

He recognizes the look in Pansy’s eyes, the bubbling rage and simmering anger. They used to call it the Pansy-about-to-murder-someone glare, back in 4th year, after she almost put a 7th year it St. Mungos after she hexed him. It’s like this now, a deep, furious glare, filling every bone in her body. “I swear, Draco, if they’ve lain one fucking finger on you - “

Draco swallows, hard. “I’m telling you, they didn’t do anything. It’s just…quiet. Screws with your head.”

Blaise snorts, one hand raking through his dreadlocks. “Your head was already screwed.”

And he’s grateful, so grateful for the teasing, that little bit of normalcy there, and Draco lets himself be swept away in the chatter as the day turns to night.

1 week.

Just make it through the week. Make it through the week.

He’s staring to dream again.

Vivid dreams, clear dreams, the kind of dreams that swallow you like water and leave you to drown in them.

He recognizes a few of them - memories of Hogwarts, the Great Hall, sitting on the Astronomy Tower with Theo and Pansy and Blaise and Greg and Vincent. Lying on the grass on the lawn, his head on Harry’s lap, Harry’s fingers cool against his face. Kissing people - Pansy in 4th year, Blaise in 5th, Harry in all the others. Dancing under the stars, shooting spells from his wandtip and standing in the rubble as the castle settled after the battle.

But most of them are nightmares, half-truths, Voldemort returning, the Dark Mark getting burned into his arm, his father standing above him as he screamed on the ground. Images, dark and sinister, edged with fire and tipped with shadows.

He turns in the bed, pulling the covers with him.

Please. Let me survive one more week. Let me see Harry again. Please.

Release.

It’s so different, the way he leaves.

The aurors no longer grasp at his arms, letting him walk on his own. His legs shake, his hands pale, but he keeps his head high as they escort him out of his cell.

He’s taken to a small room, where a stern-looking witch glances over him. She purses her lips at the Dark Mark on his arm, before shaking her head. “Well…. Mr. Malfoy -“

“Don’t call me that.” Draco’s voice is quiet, but steady. “My name is Draco.”

The lady sighs. “Very well, Draco.” She slides a file over to him, then gestures at the door to her left. “The only remaining copies of your previous…. misdeeds. It is yours to decide what to do with it.” She sniffs, glancing at the clock. “Please enter the room to my left. After the clock had struck 12, you are free to leave.”

Draco nods, numbly, entering the room. It’s bare except for a single chair and a heavy grandfather clock, ticking slightly in the silence. Draco notes the time (11:50) before he sits down in the chair, gingerly wincing at the stiff back, and opens the file.

It’s several pages long, and he feels his heart stutter as he reads the first line. Draco Malfoy. Death Eater. He turns the page, swallowing at the list of text sprawling over it. Slytherin House. Father and Mother in consort with Lord Voldemort. Accused of Muggle Hunting as well as participating in the Battle of Hogwarts on the Death Eater Side (see side note). 18 years old -

He shakes his head, snapping the file shut, glancing at the Grandfather clock. 11:58.

He closes his eyes slightly, imagining what it would feel like to finally see Harry again, to be able to press his lips against Harry’s, hold him again -

The noise shakes him to his core, a loud ringing noise echoing through the room, and Draco jumps as the door flies open and Harry rushes in. There’s no hesitation, none at all, and suddenly Harry’s holding him and they are kissing.

It’s the first time he’s been touched in 3 months, and Draco feels himself sinking into it. He reaches up, burying his hands in Harry’s hair, letting the warmth deep into his bones, Harry’s lips soft as they move against each other.

It’s all he’s dreamt of, in Azkaban, the chance to kiss Harry again, and suddenly it’s real and Draco’s flying as Harry kisses him again -

Harry breaks off, panting slightly. “Draco. Draco, God, I’ve missed you, I’ve missed you so much and they wouldn’t let me come and see you - “

There is a very pointed cough from behind them - Draco looks up to see Pansy and Blaise. He’s barely aware of Harry, letting him go before he’s hugging Blaise, Pansy squealing beside him. “Draco!! Holy crap, you’re so thin!”

“Shut up Pans,” Draco grumbles, Harry squeezing his hand. Harry gives him a wicked smirk. “Besides, maybe I like my boys - “

“Don’t even finish that.” Blaise mutters, shooting Harry a dirty glance. “Don’t you dare.”

Pansy laughs, snatching the file out of Draco’s hand. “What’s this….” She trails off, noticing the thick black letters traced upon it. “Oh.”

Harry glares at it, turning to Draco. “They destroyed it?”

Draco nods, his grip on Harry’s hand tightening. “Yeah. Last copy.”

Blaise raises an eyebrow. “So. What are you going to do with it?”

Draco swallows, hard. He glances at Harry, then at Pansy, then at Blaise. It’s amazing, the changes he’s gone through, the love he’s found and the mistakes he’s tried to correct. He remembers the stilted silences, the pointed looks, the judgement and the formality and he feels his lips curve into a small smirk. “Destroy it. Fucking burn it.”

Pansy lets out a small whoop as Harry smiles. “Want to help?” He holds out a familiar black wand, warm in Draco’s hand as he wraps his fingers around it. “On the count of three?”

Blaise nods. “One….two….”

And Draco can feel himself relaxing, glancing around the room at his new family, his future bright and untouched, for him to decide as he watches that file, the only remainder of his past life burn to ash.

Hey remember this?!?!

#oh my heart #this is painful but beautiful #damn it Ash #you are so talented #Drarry #ashes-and-ashes-dust-and-dust

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ashes-and-ashes

Chains and Shackles

Their footsteps echo in the hallway.

1. 2. The sounds of Sirius’ boots and Remus’ bare feet, bouncing off the walls. He looks up, at the clumps of dirt falling on top of them, the roots of the Willow barely holding back the stones. He always hated this part, the feeling that he was descending, into the heart of the earth, the feeling that he was being burried alive.

Remus can feel his heart start to pound, feel the nausea and terror set in. He swallows, hard, trying to will the feelings away, shove it deep inside of him. He’s done this so many times, knows that thinking about it only made it worse.

It didn’t stop the flicker of terror inside of him, the frantic beating of his heart, the way the tunnel around him seemed to flicker. His mouth is dry, his lips cracking and he can taste metal.

Sirius reaches for his hand, intertwing his fingers through Remus’. He clutches it tighter, like a drowning man desperate for rope, presses their palms together and holds fast. Sirius winces, but doesn’t pull away, lets Remus maintain his strangled grip on his hand.

Foolish. The word echoes through his head. How many times have I done this? How many moons have I spent here?

He knows he should be used to it. He’s 16 now, for God’s sake, has endured hundreds of moons and transformations. He’s been cut and scarred, has had every bone in his body broken thousands of times, has been torn apart and put back together. Over and over again, time after time, the moon high in the sky above him.

But still, the fear lingered.

Sirius stops, dragging Remus out of his thoughts. They are at the end of the tunnel, at a set of heavy metal doors. The tunnel was dark, making them look dull, but Remus knew what they were made of.

Silver. Silver, meant to hurt him, burn him if he tried to escape. He stares at the doors with disgust, at the small veins shaking through the metal.

Sirius holds out his hand, palm facing towards him. “Re. The key.”

Remus nods, faintly, reaching up to his neck. The key hangs from a chain, long and complex, the edge worn shiny from all the times it’s been used. He unhooks it from under his shirt, drops it into Sirius’ hands. He can hear his hand shaking, the metal rattling against each other, and he quickly lets go.

He wasn’t able to unlock the door himself. The silver burned too deep for that, carved lines into his flesh. Remus steps back, trying not to collapse as Sirius opens the door.

The Shrieking Shack is familiar, so horribly familiar as Remus steps into the room. The wood scratches at his feet, the paint peeling from the walls, and Remus shivers as he heads towards the corner. They had learnt, long ago, not to dress him in anything warm. The Wolf always ended up shredding through them, scattering them in scraps under his feet.

He’s wearing a simple pair of trousers, torn and threadbare at the knees, his chest and feet bare. It’s freezing in here, the night dark through the cracks in the wall, and he presses himself into the corner.

He’s grateful, grateful that Sirius hangs back as Remus starts to attach the chains. Grateful that Sirius pretends, that he still has some form of control over his life, grateful that Sirius can still pretend that he wasn’t an animal.

Remus bends down, clamps the shackles around his ankle, attaching the chains to the wall. Three per leg, on on his ankle, above his knee and at his thigh, the metal cold and biting. Sirius watches him, his eyes unreadable as Remus pulls on the chains, fastens the left shackle to his wrist.

It’s only after Remus has turned the lock that Sirius steps forwards. He holds out a final chain, meant to go around his right wrist, helps Remus into it like he’s putting on a pair of gloves. The metal is horribly, bitterly cold and Remus shivers.

“Why won’t they let you have a fire in here?” Sirius tilts his head. “Would improve the atmosphere. Make everything seem a little less….damp.”

“Too visible?” Remus chokes out. He tries to suppress a shudder as Sirius crouches, pulls the final chain from the wall. It’s a thick, metal band, fastened across his stomach, and he winces as Sirius turns the key. “Also if the house burns down, I can’t really do anything about it.”

Sirius shrugs. “I mean. You could piss on the flames.”

“Great idea.” Remus rolls his eyes. “I’ll just whip out my dick and piss on the fire. No wonder you almost failed Potions.”

“What does me failing potions have to do with any of this?” Sirius stands back, staring down at Remus. “Potions and fire have nothing in common.”

“We has to brew the Fire’s Bane. The one where you could spray it and the fire would instantly burn out?” Remus smiles. “When it was time to test our potion, you emptied your water jug on it instead.”

“It extinguished though.”

“You got us a T.”

The banter is silly, empty, but Remus clutches to it desperately. Anything to forget the horrors that faces him, the knowledge of pain looming over him. Anything to relax, just for a moment, to pretend he wasn’t chained to the ground in a shack half-naked and waiting to transform. He’d do anything for it, the feeling of normalcy, the knowledge that he could look up at the moon and not feel afraid.

So even as they talk, even as they gossip Remus can still sense the undercurrent. The fear, the terror, the what if’s.

What if something breaks permanently? What if I manage to escape the chains?

What if I don’t survive this time?

Sirius knows it, too. He can tell by the look on his face, the emptiness of his eyes. Remus tried to imagine what it would be like, if Sirius was against the wall, chained up and about to face excruciating pain.

He shakes his head. Better him then Sirius. Better anyone then Sirius. He had already suffered enough, more then his fair share. Remus would go through a thousand full moons just to ensure that Sirius would never be hurt again.

Sirius clears his throat, glancing out the window. The moon is almost at its peak, round and full and beautiful, and Sirius winces. “All right. Ready?”

Remus takes a shaking breath. He closes his eyes. “Ready.”

There’s a click, then a pop, and he can feel the spikes on the inside of his cuffs spring out. Jagged, sharp edges, designed to slice through bone and flesh in an instant.

He didn’t mind the spikes. He had requested that Dumbledore put them in himself.

“Is it okay?”

Remus flexes his wrists, then ankles. When they had first put the spikes in, he had fastened the chains tight, right against his skin. That night, when he Turned, his body grew, expanded, until the spikes cut into his ankles and rists, snapped through bone and tendon. He had lay there in agony, every movement sending waves of pain through his body, wishing, begging for the sun to come back. He still carries the scars, a row of even, raised punctures around his ankles and wrists.

He shrugs, or tries to. The metal clanks around him and Remus sighs. “Yeah. Fine.”

“Okay.” Sirius lets out a trembling breath. He was trying to hold it together, Remus could see, trying not to let any fear show. He bends down, brushes his lips against Remus’, a lingering whisper and a hidden promise. “I’ll be there. The minute you finish turning. I’ll be here with you.”

“I know.” He tries not to let his voice shake, but Remus winces at the crack. “Thanks.”

There was so much to say to Sirius, so many things to tell him. I don’t want you to go. I don’t want you to see me like this. I don’t want to transform.

I’m scared.

He shakes his head, chokes the words down. It wasn’t fair to Sirius, to speak the words. To pile all of his terrors onto his boyfriend’s shoulders, when they already bore so much pain of their own. It wasn’t fair.

So Remus swallows down the screams. He would take all his tortures and bear them. He would not beg for Sirius to stay, for him to be with Remus as he changed. He would not ask him for another kiss or smile or even a glance at those grey eyes. He would not plead to God, who had never answered him and never would. He would not call out, to ask Sirius to leave the lamp on, the small burning flame, the reminder that there was something good in this world, despite all the darkness. He would not ask him.

But he was still grateful, so grateful that Sirius left the light on anyways.

#DAMN IT ASH #it is too early for these feelings ok?#oh my poor heart #this is gorgeous #wolfstar #ashes-and-ashes-dust-and-dust

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ashes-and-ashes

remus-lupin-black asked:

82 from the angst/fluff prompts please ❤️

ashes-and-ashes answered:

Hope you like it :)

There was something wrong with Remus.

Sirius watches, from behind the door, watches as Remus slumps onto the table. The flickering candlelight turns his hair gold, like the edges of a flame, burning and burning. His fingers curl around the edge, white-knuckles against the wood, his eyes half closed. Behind him, people rush back and forth, carrying bandages and supplies, trailing ribbons of blood all over the stone floor.

They must have just gotten back from the raid, Sirius thinks.

Sirius had gotten injured, a curse to the leg, and was ordered out of all raids until it had fully healed. He had tried to fight it, argued that he was okay, that he was fine, that everything was better but Dumbledore wouldn’t listen. I appreciate your enthusiasm, Mr Black. But I will not risk more lives then I have to.

Sirius coughs, a taste like ash in his mouth, winces as his leg throbs slightly. He wasn’t used to it, being forced to stay behind.

He takes a deep breath. There was something wrong with Remus, he could feel it, something that had happened to him. He curses, curses his leg and Dumbledore and himself, because it was Remus’ first raid and by God, he should have been there to help him.

With a slight cough, he enters the room, brushing Remus’ shoulder with his hand. Remus cracks open an eye, the firelight making them glow, but otherwise he doesn’t react. Blood flows from a cut on his arm, in shifting streams onto the floor and Sirius winces. “You should get that checked out.”

Remus shrugs. “It’s fine. Dorcas is already too busy. Others are more injured then I am.”

“Who?” Sirius can feel his throat closing up, his mouth turining bitter. “Anyone seriously hurt?”

“No.” Remus pauses. “Fabian took a curse to his chest, but he should be fine. Marlene busted her ribs up too. Everyone else got out with minor injuries.”

“Not everyone.” Sirius’ voice is soft. “What happened, Re?”

Remus hesitates, then shakes his head. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

Remus looks up at the words, his eyes darkening. There were instances, sometimes, when Remus got mad, when his eyes hardened and his face closed and his fingers curled into fists. Times when he looked terrifying, vicious.

Times when he almost looked like a Wolf.

Sirius swallows, hard. “Re. I know something happened.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Remus spits the words out. “What happened happened. Move on.”

“Re - “

“Drop it.”

Sirius holds his gaze. “Something happened to you, Remus. You don’t have to tell me, but don’t deny it. I can feel it, under my skin, I know you’re hurting. So you don’t have to tell me, but don’t even fucking deny it.”

Remus goes white, the blood draining from his face. He locks eyes with Sirius, amber meeting grey, before he finally looks down. “What was it like?”

“Sorry?” Sirius raises an eyebrow, and Remus coughs. “What was it like, Sirius, when you first killed someone?”

The air goes out of his lungs, something like a wall hitting them. He coughs, struggling to breathe, the cold feeling settling over his body. Breathe, Sirius, he thinks. Just breathe.

For a moment, he remembers. A dark forest and an outnumbered force. Sneaking through the trees, trying desperately not to alert the Death Eaters in charge when one turned. He barely even hesitated, shot the man dead before he could scream.

Sirius coughs, his hands curling into loose fists. “Quick. So, so fast. A single spell and he was dead.”

Remus shakes his head. His gaze is far away, staring past the grey walls, his fingers perfectly still on the wooden table. “It wasn’t fast. Not for me.” He shakes his head. “I keep replaying the moment in my mind. Over and over again. I keep wondering what I could have done differently, what I could have done to save him.”

“You didn’t have a choice.” Sirius brushes Remus’ arms. “You didn’t have a choice, Re.”

“I never do.” Remus’ voice is bitter. “Never.” He scoffs. “Have you ever heard that saying, about how taking one soul damns your own?”

“Yes.” Sirius whispers the words.

58. He’s taken 58 souls, ended them in a heartbeat, cut them short so he could live longer. 58 people that he’s killed, through curses and traps and once with a knife. 58 people who were mourned, who were loved, who’s bodies lay in a deep grave.

He wondered how damned his soul was.

The edges of Remus’ mouth curl up in a bitter smile. “How much more can they take from me? My childhood, my body, my soul.” He shrugs. “Sometimes I wonder. If I’ll ever pay off the cost.”

Sirius’ voice cracks. “What was the prize?”

Remus shrugs. “Meeting you.”

The moment stretches on, fragile like glass. Quiet, so easily shattered into hundreds of broken pieces. Sirius leans forward, brushes Remus’ lips with his own, cradles him in his arms. “Would you change it? If you could take back everything?”

“And never meet you? Never fall in love with you?” Remus pauses. He reaches up, his fingers brushing Sirus’ hair. “No. I wouldn’t.”

of-stars-and-moon

@ashes-and-ashes-dust-and-dust This is what you did to me:

#DAMN IT ASH #this is so good #but oh my heart #Wolfstar #ashes-and-ashes-dust-and-dust

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ashes-and-ashes

of-stars-and-moon asked:

2 for the prompt

ashes-and-ashes answered:

So, this went from a fluffy fic to a full blown whumpy angsty fic. I swear, I try to write other things but apparently angst is the only think I’m good at.

Hope you like it!!

tw for abuse and blood

Concealment

Remus is reading, comfortably nestled under the covers when the storm hits.

It’s violent, pounding one, rain and wind and lightning torn from the sky. Water howls against the glass of the window, turning outside into a mess of swirling grey, periodic streaks of lighting slicing across the clouds.

For as long as could remember, he’s always loved storms. The wildness, the unpredictablity, how even after it was long gone you could still smell the hint of rain in the air. He remembers when he was five, just before the Bite, standing outside in the garden and letting himself get soaked under the clouds and the water and the wind.

Beside him, the door opens. He’s always complained about that, having the bed closest to the door, the sounds of the common room downstairs filling his ear. He rolls his eyes, turns another page, keeps reading as Sirius enters the room.

He doesn’t even bother to look up. Sirius was Sirius - if he wanted something, he’d ask for it. Remus merely turns the page, pulling the covers up around himself as Sirius stops. “Re.”

Remus cocks his head. “Yep?”

“Can I….can you help me with something?”

Remus sighs, placing the ribbon to mark his page. “I swear Sirius, if you need to copy my Transfiguration homework again I’ll hex you…”

He trails off, finally glancing at Sirius. He looks terrible, his face pale, hair pulled tightly back. His robes were bundled up in his arms, so that he was just wearing his white shirt and tie, his sweater tangled in the robes. Remus frowns. “Are you okay?”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he curses. Of course Sirius wasn’t okay. The Break had just ended.

He remembers last year, when Sirius came back to school, the way he almost fainted when he tied the tie around his neck. Everyone brushed it off, saying Sirius was just being dramatic, but only Remus noticed the thin scars around his throat, the skin pale like all the colour has been leeched out of it. The year before, when Flitwick had told them that they would attempt to charm their way out of chains and Sirius almost threw up in the middle of class.

Everyone knew that things were rough at home with Sirius. Remus didn’t think they knew just how rough.

He climbs out of bed in an instant, wrapping his arms around Sirius. He’s shaking, so hard that Remus can feel it, trembling and trembling like he’s about to break apart. Remus moves his hands, presses one against Sirius’ chest and flattens the other at his stomach. He can feel the frantic pulse of Sirius’ heart under his palm, feel his shallow breaths between his fingers, and Remus buries his face into Sirius’ hair. “Sirius. Sirius, talk to me. Are you okay?”

Sirius just grips Remus’ hands, shaking his head. His mouth moves, just barely, the tiniest breath of air. No.

Remus presses a gentle kiss to Sirius’ forehead, trying to ignore how slender he had become. He can feel his rib cage underneath his palm, the bones sticking out against his wrist. “Hey. You’re alright now. She can’t get you.”

Sirius lets out a muffled sob, and Remus clutches him tighter. “I mean it, Sirius. She can’t get you here. She can’t hurt you here.”

Sirius is still trembling, breathing too fast and too hard, and Remus winces. “Breathe, Sirius. Take deep breaths. You’re going to pass out otherwise.”

He feels Sirius’ hand on his wrist, so tightly it hurts, but Remus doesn’t pull away. He just stands there, listening as Sirius’ harsh breathing gradually slows, feels his body start to relax in his. Sirius coughs, his voice quiet and hoarse. “Sorry.”

Remus shakes his head. “You never have to be.” He pauses. “What do you need my help on?”

Sirius swallows, hard, his hand drifting to ghost over his shoulder. “I - “ He cuts himself off. “You’re the only one I can speak to. I can’t to anyone else.” He sniffs. “They’d tell me to speak to someone. To tell an adult, someone who can help. But no one can. Not really.” He glances up, into Remus’ eyes. “Some scars can only be hidden, not healed. You’re the only other person who knows this.”

Remus bites his lip. “Did she - “

Sirius lets out a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Left a hell lot of marks too.” He swallows. “And I don’t know - a few girls asked me about them today and I panicked. I don’t know how to hide them - they’re curse wounds and - “

“Hey.” Remus keeps his voice gentle, soft, even though he wants to scream and cry and murder Walburga on the spot. “It’s the same with werewolf scars. They can’t be hidden using normal magic.”

“But you can hide them right?” Panic fills Sirius’ eyes, his body starting to tremble again. “I can’t…I can’t handle all the questions, it’s bad enough what she did to me - “

“What did she do, Sirius?” Remus’ voice is deadly quiet. “What the fuck did she do?”

Sirius just shakes his head, and Remus nods. “Okay. And yes, I can cover these.” The corner of his mouth twists into a bitter smile. “I’ve been practicing this since I was five.”

“Thanks.” The words are quiet, and Remus reaches for his wand. Sirius stands there, like he’s bracing himself, before his fingers go to the bottom of his shirt. With a sudden, violent yank, he pulls it over his head and turns.

Slash marks. That’s what they are, hundreds of them. They stretch over his back and shoulders, down past his hips, dark and livid and deep. Most of them are still fresh, not even crusted over yet, blood trickling down his spine.

Remus swears. “What the hell?”

“Please don’t make me talk about it.” Sirius closes his eyes. “I don’t think….not yet.”

“Only when you’re comfortable,” Remus murmurs. He raises his wand, touches it to the tip of the longest gash. “Celare vulnera mea.”

Slowly, he watches as the skin on Sirius’ back ripples. It lightens, appearing to stretch over the gashes, though Remus knew they still lay there. This was a spell of concealment, not healing, and the pain still remained, though it was invisible.

He continues to circle around Sirius, pressing his wand against the patches that seemed to be fading, erasing the blood and scars and cuts. Around and around he went, until everything was gone, hidden under the layers of spells. With a groan, he stands, pressing his finger against Sirius’ shoulder blades. “Can you feel this?”

Sirius sucks in a breath. “Yes.”

“Good.” Remus glances up at him. “This is just a concealment spell. It hasn’t healed anything. I’m not good enough to do that, and I don’t want to screw anything up in your back - “

“You’ve already done so much.” Sirius’ voice is hoarse, worn out and Remus wonders if it was from screaming. “Thank you.”

“Anything.” Remus straightens, reaching up to tangle in Sirius’ hair. “You look different with your hair up.”

“Good different?” Sirius whispers back.

Remus tilts his head, considering, then reaches over and unknots his hair. The locks fall down around his shoulders, rough and tangled until Sirius almost looked like the boy he was before. “There. That’s better.”

“Thank you.” Sirius’ voice breaks on the words, cracks like a piece of glass. “I’m…I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Remus shakes his head. “She’s torturing you, Sirius! What the hell do you have to be sorry for?”

“I don’t know.” Sirius lets out a bitter laugh. It was interesting and heartbreaking seeing Sirius like this, stripped of his arrogance and wit and charm. It was easy, with the war looming on the horizon, so easy to forget that Sirius was only 15.

Remus closes his eyes. He reaches out, pulls Sirius’ face close to his, presses his lips against Sirius’. They are bloodied, with old wounds and fresh ones, and he tastes like Sirius, of outside and pine needles and copper and Remus parts his lips. “Tell me. What can I do, Sirius, how can I save you?”

Sirius just pulls away. The smile on his face is sad, heartbreaking, as he shakes his head. “Nothing, Re. There’s nothing.”

#DAMN IT ASH #breaking my heart twice in one day #my poor little heart #my poor babies #Wolfstar #ashes-and-ashes-dust-and-dust

jencala reblogged

ashes-and-ashes

Anonymous asked:

omg if you wrote the 'Sirius gets tortured by Death Eaters' scene the angst would absolutely kill me. please do it.

ashes-and-ashes answered:

Ugh, I tried.

I’m too tired to be writing. This is basically whump with no plot or anything because I love torturing Sirius Black.

Apologies for the crap writing. I need to sleep.

tw for torture and blood

Chained

His head hurts.

God, everything hurts.

Sirius wakes up to the throbbing in his skull, located right at the base of his spine. Constant, almost rhythmic, a steady pounding that made his teeth ache and head spin.

He’s been in enough battles by now to know what pain feels like, the severity of the injuries, and he runs through them in his mind. He’s definitely scraped up, though it’s the kind caused by being dragged over rough ground. There are slices up and down his forearm, his fingers slightly numb, but nothing too serious.

But God, his head. Why did it have to bloody hurt so much?

Dimly, he remembers shouting, yelling at a group of people to Go, Run! while hooded figures in silver masks closed in around them. He racks his head, and he remembers that one of the people was Remus.

He sighs. He saved Remus. That was all that mattered, anyways.

Sirius grits his teeth. He’s about to lift his hand to his head, check the damage out before he realizes he can’t.

He’s chained to a chair, heavy metal cuffs around his wrists and ankles, a blindfold tied tightly around his eyes. There’s a thick band around his waist, keeping him fastened to the wooden chair, and he strains against it for a moment before sinking back into his seat. He pushes against the cuffs with his wrists as well, bruising the skin, but that fails to open as well.

He gives up. Whoever did this knew their stuff.

There are other people in this room, watching him. He can feel it, from the way the air sounded different, the heaviness and thickness and the slight rustle of a silken cloak. Sirius grits his teeth, pressing against the bonds again, fear turning his mind to mush.

There’s a low voice to his left, gravelly and rough, and Sirius winces as the voice says, “The prisoner is awake, My Lord.”

My Lord. The words strike a chill in him, over his body and down his spine. My Lord. There was only one Lord here.

He hears footsteps, the raps of scales against marble, and he squeezes his eyes shut. Not like this, he whispers. Not like this.

The voice is high and clear and cold, like a shard of ice under the winter moon, making his heart stop and his spine go rigid. “Well. The famed Sirius Black.”

He hears laughter from all around him, and he knows how he must look. Weak, starving, tied to a chair surrounded by killers. Anger starts to pour through him, anger and fear.

The voice continues. “Yes, we’ve heard much about you. Responsible for the deaths of 15 of my loyal followers.”

Another voice shouts out from the crowd. “Take off his blindfold, my Lord! Let him see who he is talking to!”

The voice sucks in an amused breath. “But of course.”

There are suddenly fingers on his head, pressing into the wound there and Sirius winces. The blindfold comes off, revealing the scene, and Sirius almost passes out again at the sight of it.

He’s surrounded in a dark room, the flickering robes of the Death Eaters around him. His vision is blurry at the edges, black spots dancing in front of his eyes, but even he can see the tall, dark figure standing in front of him.

Voldemort smiles. “My Spy has told us a lot about you, Sirius Black.”

Sirius coughs. His voice is hoarse, raw, and he forces the words out through a tight throat. “Oh, did they? Did they say how nice my hair was?”

He hears the murmurs rub through the assembled Death Eaters, and he lifts his chin. “Pity. All this information and they left out my best characteristic.”

“Silence.” Voldemort’s voice is cold. “The Spy unformed is of your arrogance, Black. They did not inform us of your stupidity.”

Sirius just spits a mouthful of blood on the ground in front of Voldemort.

Seconds later, his vision goes white. Something hot and burning streaks across his eyes, gouging a long line in his chin. He rolls his head back, glaring at Voldemort once again.

Voldemort chuckles. “Interesting. You hope to provoke us, to manipulate us into giving you a clean end.” He smiles. “It will not work.”

Sirius gives him a half smirk. “Can’t blame me for trying.”

The words are ignored, Voldemort drawing closer to him. “Tell me where the location of the Order is.”

Sirius bares his teeth. “Go. To. Hell.”

A second later, another jet hits him, and he doubles over in his chair, coughing. Voldemort lifts up a pale hand. “Do you really care so little for yourself, that you are prepared to die without ever seeing any of your loved ones again?” He pauses. “What about the werewolf? Will you die without saying farewell?”

“Who - “ Sirius grits his teeth. “How - “

Laughter echoes across the room. “Our Spy is very well placed.”

His mind races through all the people, James and Lily and Remus and Peter and Marlene and Dorcas and Mary and Gideon and Fabian and Kingsley and -

He cuts himself off, viciously. “Fuck off.”

Searing pain blooms across his wrist. He looks down, to see blood, coating his fingers and arms, dripping down onto the floor. The room spins wildly around himself and he can barely hear the words. “So he bleeds like a human after all.”

Sirius gasps, heart racing. He’s fought and killed and been tortured so many times but not like this. Never by so many people, hacked to death by thousands of little spells. He bites down, hard on his lip, hoping, praying that he was strong enough, that he didn’t break -

Voldemort just tilts his head. “Use Crucio on him,” he says.

And he can’t stop the shaking, the sudden terror that fills his bones. His vision flashes white, streaks of red and silver and suddenly he’s 16 again, dragging himself up those stairs while spasms racked his back. He hates it, the fear, the utter crippling terror and he knows he’s weak, so damn weak but he can’t hide the tremors. He swallows, hard, pressing his wrists into the cold metal of the chains because damn it, he knows what’s coming and -

No matter how many times Crucio is used on him, the pain always catches him off guard.

It’s burning, ripping, shredding, tearing his skin apart, splintering his bones and he can feel his hearts uttering, feel the bones his his wrists cracking as he presses his hands tighter into the cuffs. The tendons in his neck stretch, his teeth clamped down so hard it hurts and hens dying, dying because Walburga had used Crucio so many times before and the pain only got worse and -

The wand lifts and Sirius doubles over, pressing his arms to his sides. Blood pools onto the floor from his still-dripping wrist, the room still spinnings around him as Voldemort cocks his head. “Well?”

Sirius closes his eyes. He knows he can’t take it, the pain, knows that he is going to die in this room and he doesn’t care. He shakes his head.

“Very well.” Voldemort shrugs. “We’ll have to do it this way then. Tell me where the base is and the pain stops.”

Sirius lifts his eyes up, stares into the red skits where Voldemort’s eyes should be. “I’m not afraid of pain.”

Those pale lips curve up into a smile. “Oh, you will be, Sirius Black.”

His last thought before the pain begins is of Remus, and Sirius knows he will never see him again.

of-stars-and-moon

@ashes-and-ashes-dust-and-dust You just killed me 😭😭😭

jencala

I am torn between bowing down to your mastery of angst and wanting to shake you for hurting my poor baby @ashes-and-ashes-dust-and-dust! You, my friend, are frakkin’ amazing.

#DAMN IT ASH #WHY???#my poor heart #I'm crying into my coffee here #so good #BUT IT HURTS #ashes-and-ashes-dust-and-dust

jencala reblogged

ashes-and-ashes

Anonymous asked:

40 for the kiss list

ashes-and-ashes answered:

Finally, some angst.

40 - Hiding / Hoping not to get caught kiss.

Goodbyes

He repeats the words in his head.

Shit shit shit shit shit shit.

It’s almost like a mantra, a bit of poetry that keeps him going as Sirius sprints down the long corridor. Beside him, Remus is panting, probably also chanting a bunch of swear words in his head.

Shit shit shit shit shit shit.

It was supposed to be a simple mission. Pop into the Death Eater’s headquarters, incapacitate a few of them and then pop right back out. They had done this hundreds of times before, easy, low risk assignments, usually given to people much less experienced then Sirius.

But new recruits had dwindled. Their supplies were stolen. People weren’t coming back from seemingly simple missions.

Everyone knew it. The Spy was still on the loose, still passing secrets around despite everyone’s best efforts. Sirius was pretty high up on the chain of command, despite his age, and so no one objected when he decided to go on this mission.

Shit shit shit shit shit shit.

He didn’t know how. Didn’t know how the Death Eaters knew. One minute they were sneaking into the base, the twisting stone castle where the Death Eaters had set up camp, and then suddenly all the windows were locked, all the doors barred and they were trapped.

Thank God. That was the only thing he could think right now, other then the constant string of cuss words running in his head. Thank God it’s just me and Remus. Thank God it’s only two of us.

War made you grow up fast. It was becoming easier and easier, to think in numbers instead of faces, to think in statistics instead of people. He was only 19, and already he had killed too many people and watched hundreds more die.

Sirius curses, flattening himself against the wall as a streak of pure white shot past his ear. Remus hurls himself down the corridor, his hair matted and coated with sweat. “Crap. They’re getting closer, Pads.”

Sirius scrubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah. I know.” He bit his lip. “There’s no way to get out?”

Remus shakes his head. “I mean, I’m sure there’s a way, but I can’t think of it. Windows are all warded. You can’t get out that way - it would burn the skin right off of your bones. I’m sure all the doors are heavily guarded too.”

Sirius just glares down the darkened hall. They had gotten ambushed, halfway into the fortress. Sirius was a damn good dueler, and Remus was no slouch, and they had fought off the small group of six Death Eaters easily.

They hadn’t realized that the castle was warded, that stepping in meant you weren’t coming out.

An hour. That’s how long they had been playing, this deadly game of cat-and-mouse. It felt like so much longer to Sirius.

He glances up, where Remus was leaning against the wall. His face was deathly pale, cuts marring his neck and cheeks and arms. He gripped his side with one hand, bracing himself against the wall with the other, and Sirius curses. “Re. Re, you okay?”

Remus nods. “Yeah. Got grazed by some spell back there.” He swallows hard. “Burns like hell, but I can get through it. We should go.”

Sirius nods. The thought of more running was exhausting, his wand so heavy in his hand. Bile rises up in his throat, along with the bitter taste of fatigue, and he pushes the pain aside. “Let’s go. Down this hall, I think.”

The two of them sprint down, wands held high. They turn the corner, sprinting through an open door, Remus killing the hooded figure on guard almost instantly. Sirius doesn’t even glance at the corpse as they fly through the room and down the narrow stairs.

They are almost at the bottom when Remus trips. He stumbles, landing hard on the stone steps, and he crumples on the ground. “Shit. Oh, God.”

Sirius kneels down next to him. Sweat and blood drip off his face, onto the floor, and he knows panic makes his voice sound rough as he grasps Remus’ hand. “Damn it Re. What happened?”

“Twisted my ankle,” Remus gasps out, and Sirius swears. He pulls the pant leg up, to reveal a large bruise spreading over Remus’ leg. The ankle is already swollen, puffy and tender, and Remus hisses. “Leave me behind. Get out of here.”

Sirius shakes his head. “Not a chance - “ he begins, before a small click cuts him off.

The voice fills the castle, echoing against the hard stones, and Sirius instantly steps into a fighting stance as he listens. “Well. You’ve lead us on quite a chase, haven’t you Commander Black? Interesting, how someone can kill that many Death Eaters and still have strength to keep running.”

Sirius swallows, hard. He glances back down, where Remus is still on the ground. “Re. Re, can you stand?”

“I - “ Remus struggles to his feet, his hands braced againsg the wall, his face draining of blood. He manages a few steps before his ankle buckles, and he’s down on the ground again. “No. I’m sorry, Pads.”

Sirius swears. “Fuck. I don’t have enough energy, to keep shelling and to heal you.” He glances up at the tip of the stairs, then back down the hallway. “Shit, Re, I don’t know what to do.”

As if in answer, the voice speaks again. “You must be tired, Commander Black. So, so tired, injured and weary. Why not stop the fight? Surrender now, and save yourself a great deal of pain.”

“Not a chance you fat bastard,” Sirius mutters. He kneels down, slinging Remus’ arm over his shoulder. “Come on Re. We need to get out of these stairs.”

Together, they manage to limp out of the stairwell, down the hallway and to the left. There’s a small corridor, a tiny alcove built into the wall, and Sirius pushes Remus into it as he pants beside it. The voice keeps speaking, gleeful and silky. “Of course, you could fight. I am interested to see how many of ours you can take out. What was it again, the Moor Massacare? You and that blonde haired girl - took out 3 Quaters of the forces sent. But there’s no where to hide Black. Even you can’t take out 200 men singlehandedly.”

The words jolt Sirius, making everything go beautifully, terribly clear. Even you can’t take out 200 men singlehandedly….

He shakes Remus, pulling him closer until his forehead rests on Remus’. “Re. You have to go.”

Remus looks up, brow furrowed. “Uh…that’s kinda what we’re trying to do now?”

Sirius shakes his head. “No.” His throat is sore, shredded from all the spells he screamed, and he swallows hard. “You have to go, Re. They don’t know you’re in here with me.”

“What the fuck do you mean?” Remus is panicking now, Sirius can feel it. His heart beats under Sirius’ hand, a rapid tattoo against his flesh.

Sirius bites his lip, his grip tightening on Remus. He grips the flesh, digs his nails deeper into the skin as if he can merge their bodies together. “No. The guy up there. He said it - Even you can’t take out 200 men singlehandedly. Singlehandedly, Re. He thinks I’m alone.”

They are inches apart from each other, Remus’ eyes darkening as he pulls away. “No. No, Sirius, no, please. No!”

Sirius swallows, hard. “You have to survive, Re. There has to be one of us who survive. Go back to headquarters. Tell them…”

He falters. How do you compress an entire life into a few words? How do you convey all the messages that needed to be shared, the hidden jokes, the memories that made up a person? “Tell James…tell him thank you. Thank you for everything - for saying hello to a petrified boy on the train to letting me stay with him after I got kicked out. Tell him that I may have saved his life once or twice, but he saved mine more times then I can count.” Sirius’ voice is trembling, but he keeps talking, the words spilling over each other. “Tell Lily that I love her, that there’s no other girl in the world that is able to put up with James. Tell her that I’m so grateful that she took the time to put up with a blood-status bastard, and that her positivity and generosity kept me going.”

Sirius’ throat is closing up, from the tears and the pain, and he coughs. “Tell Peter that those days at Hogwarts were the best parts of my life. That I always valued his opinions, and that he was the most loyal friend I could ever wish for. Tell Marlene that I took her red lipstick, and that it’s in the second drawer of my chest. Tell her that I went down fighting, but at least she’s now the best duellist in the Order. And tell Dorcas…” Sirius lets out the small noise in his throat. “Tell Dorcas that I’m sorry. So, so sorry that I couldn’t see the wedding, but I know it will be beautiful. Tell her that her and Marlene are the best, most beautiful couple ever, and that once this war is over, they will remake the world.”

There are tears running down both of their faces, dripping into the floor, and Remus shakes his head. “Sirius. Sirius, no.”

“Re…” Sirius looks at him, at the bold, brave, beautiful boy in front of him, the one who had gotten him through the darkness nights and coldest moons, the one who kept him breathing even though he wanted to stop.

How could you condense it, 8 years of hoping and loving and wishing? How could you explain, how much Sirius loved him because goddamn it, Sirius loved him, loved him so much he would have done anything for him. He would have killed and slaughtered, tore the mountains apart with his bare hands because he loved Remus Lupin, more then life itself, and he had to let him go. “Re, I…”

And suddenly they are kissing, hard and fierce, Sirius’ hands running over Remus’ back, tracing over every scar, every cut, every raised line of flesh, paths that they had learned almost 4 years ago. Remus’ hands tangle in Sirius’ hair, like they always do, burying deep into the dark strands and it’s not perfect. There’s too much clutching, too much gasping, filled with the taste of blood and tears and that darker, deeper tang, but they cling to each other like the world is falling apart.

And it is. The earth is shattering, breaking apart around them, pieces falling from the sky and Sirius is crying and Remus whispers, “Oh God,” and it’s all over too fast.

8 years. They’ve known each other for 8 years, and Sirius has loved him for every damn minute of it.

They’re still wrapped up in each other, Remus’ hands biting into Sirus’ back and by God he doesn’t want to let go, doesn’t want to turn around and face his death, face the agony and the pain and the torture he knows is coming, but Sirius has never had the luxury of choice. He pulls away, lips puffy and swollen, whispers one last set of words against Remus’ skin. “Go. I can’t lose you too.”

And there’s agony, agony on Remus’ face as he nods and Sirius’ heart is breaking apart, shattering apart into millions of pieces as he whispers, “I love you.”

Remus looks down, at their intertwined fingers, squeezes it so tight Sirius can feel the bones grate together in his wrist, then finally lets go. “Me too. I love you.”

And there’s no more time, no more chances for goodbyes, so Sirius nods. And as he watches Remus disappear down the hallway, towards the doors, Sirius closes his eyes and drops his wand.

jencala

ASH! What fresh hell is this? This is so utterly gorgeous, but you’ve ripped my heart out you beautiful monster, you!

@ashes-and-ashes-dust-and-dust

#oh my heart #it's in pieces #I did not need to cry into my coffee damn it #DAMN IT ASH #I love this #but it hurts #Wolfstar #ashes-and-ashes-dust-and-dust

jencala reblogged

ashes-and-ashes

I’m trying something out. Feedback is appreciated!

The first time the Prince says, “I love you,” he is laughing.

It is a jest, a joke, a casual word flung from a pair of lips in exchange for a list of potion ingredients. It flies from the Prince’s mouth without thinking, an unashamed phrase to an quiet friend. Said out loud in a dark classroom with a distracted teacher, prompting laughter from the lips of the Knight and the Spy, a proclaimation of adoration all because the Wolf has an extra instruction guide.

The Wolf just ducks his head, lets a small smile grow on his lips. He expects nothing more and nothing less, but even he can’t control his heartbeat when it starts to flutter.

The next time the Prince says, “I love you,” he is deadly calm.

They are still young, all of them, the Prince and the Knight and the Spy. They are whole and they are unbroken, without the cracks and bleeding cuts marring the Wolf’s flesh.

He studies them all, the kindness of the Knight, the arrogance of the Prince, the cunning of the Spy. The Wolf still wonders how he managed to find them, wonders what made him burn so brightly that the star itself noticed him.

The Prince’s voice is steady, unbreaking like the rocks on the shore. “I’m not scared of you. I know you. I love you.”

They are still children, still too young to know how deeply Love can cut, but something loosens in the Wolf’s chest at the words. He nods, not breaking eye contact with the Prince, and closes his eyes.

The third time the Prince says “I love you,” he is crying.

The Wolf finds him on the tower, staring down at the rocks. It’s cold outside, so cold that the air seems frozen, the stars twinkling down from the night sky. The Prince is breaking, like the trees when they fall in a winter’s storm, cracking apart into hundreds of strangely pointed shards.

“I can’t do this,” he says. “I can’t live with them.”

The Wolf wraps his hand around the Prince. He is shaking, shoulders bent underneath the heavy black robes, his ribs thin under the Wolf’s fingers. “You can. Don’t let the bastards win.”

The Prince sniffles. “Thanks.” He pauses, staring down at where their legs intertwine. “I love you, you know.”

The Wolf doesn’t know if he is joking or not, so he nods. “Thanks.”

The fourth time the Prince says, “I love you,” he is angry.

It was the night after the Full Moon, when the Prince transformed into a dog and the Wolf transformed into a monster. The cracking of bones, the spilling of blood, the snarls and the bites and the scars fill the Wolf’s head, and he winces.

“You shouldn’t have come,” he says, to the Prince leasing against the wall in the Castle. “I could have hurt you, I could have killed you.”

The Prince just shakes his head. “Well, get used to it. Because I’m coming from now on, whether you like it or not.”

The Wolf bites his lip. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

The Prince shrugs. “You won’t.”

“You don’t know that, though.” The Wolf is snarling now, the cuts on his back aching. He sees the slices covering the Prince, and he swallows. “Why do you come? Why do you tempt fate, every though you know it may get you killed?”

“Because,” the Prince starts, but the Wolf cuts him off.

“I am nothing to you! I am a monster, the very thing that I used to hide under the bed from! I am a killer, I am a freak, I am nothing but a curse to the world. So why do you keep trying?”

The Prince is quiet now, holds the Wolf’s glance. “Because,” he says. “I love you.”

The words hurt the Wolf’s chest, making him close his eyes. “If you love me,” he whispers, “then you should find another.”

The fifth time the Prince says, “I love you,” he is dying.

The Wolf had not realized how bad War was, had not anticipated the yelling and the screaming and the blood. He shoots curse after curse, spell after spell, killing and killing and killing and it is still not enough. Every breath he took ached, every step he took burned and yet he kept killing.

The Wolf dives behind a rock, calling out for the Prince and the Knight and the Spy. “Hey, where are you - “

He is cut off by the image of the Prince’s body on the ground, his hair spread around him like a swath of silk, and the Wolf screams. “No. No!”

He lunges forward, covering the Prince’s body with his own, cradles his head. “Please. You can’t die, don’t die.” He looks around for the Knight. “Someone, help!”

The Prince cuts him off. “Hey. Hey, it’s okay.” His eyes start to flutter shut, his breaths slowing. “You’ll be okay.”

The Wolf slaps him. “Don’t you dare close your eyes.”

The Prince just reaches up, brushes blood-soaked hands over the Wolf’s cheek. “I love you,” he says. “Always.”

And no matter how many times the Wolf pleads, nothing can make the Prince open his eyes again.

The sixth time the Prince says, “I love you,” the Wolf is not there to here it.

The cell is tiny, iron bars and iron walls, rusted and cold. It seeps into the Prince’s bones, makes him cough violently. There are cuts on his hands and all over his back, blood welling over old scars.

The Prince does not remember how he got some of the scars.

His cell faces the ocean, the waves beating at the shoreline, the sprays of water that still managed to soak him, no matter how high up he was. The water is cold and crisp, stinging his face, his neck, his hands. The Wolf used to love the water, back when the Prince was still free.

The moon rises up beyond the bars, far away and so cold. The Prince thinks of the Wolf, and prays he will be alright.

Not to God, because He never answered the Prince. No, the Prince had learned long ago to stop hoping. There was no God. There had never been one.

But it doesn’t stop the Prince from hoping, as he gazes out from his cell into the cold water, that the Wolf would be alright, would live for one more day.

The Prince traces the moon tattoo, carved on his forearm. “I love you,” he whispers.

He doesn’t expect an answer. The silence is the only sound.

The Prince lets his head drop. “I love you,” he says again, to the darkness in his eyelids.

He closes his eyes.

#ouch #damn it Ash #so painful this early #your writing is gorgeous though #ashes-and-ashes-dust-and-dust