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bittercoldbrew · 3 years

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PLEASE tell me about the alien plant girls im so gay for anthropomorphic fem plants

omg thank you SO MUCH for asking and i apologize in advance for the infodump because i have been thinking about these alien plant people for literal years now, i love them so much. I first started thinking about these guys a little after TFA, because of an oc i was working on for a lil star wars fic that i have mostly abandoned by now--so sorry to the like 3 people who were reading my sidon ithano fic but tlj/tros really killed whatever passion i had for the franchise for a good long time :/ but Mando is great so i've been thinking about them'st again...

anyway i am sticking this under a cut because a) im very attached to these characters and if someone steals my shit i will kermit and b) sweet jesus this got so long, i am so sorry

in the SW universe at least, these plant people (that i still for the life of me cannot settle on an actual name for) were the primary inhabitants of a dwarf planet way out in wild space; they had a pretty symbiotic relationship with a race of sentient insectoid people (basically human-sized bees) who could travel between the planet and their home on one of its three moons (affectionately called the Honey Moon). what the plants didn’t know was that the bees were also able to travel to different planets, and had been doing so for a couple centuries before everything went to shit--but we’ll get to that in a bit.

the plant people weren’t particularly interested in the galaxy around them--they had a decent understanding of astronomy and cosmology, but little cultural interest in journeying to the stars. since the planet was pretty small and distant from the galactic core, it was pretty rare that a visiting ship would even pass them by, and scanners didn’t register them as genuine life-forms separate from the natural flora, so even if someone happened to end up out there it’s not the sort of place anyone would really choose to land. on rare occasions, a pirate or smuggler would try to hide out on what they thought to be an unoccupied planet, and would return to the Outer Rim with tales of mobile, sentient trees and bizarre, organic cities found on some uncharted world; likewise, occasionally a plant person would turn up at the local bar with tales of crashed space-ships and strange aliens that seemed almost like people. neither would ever be taken seriously.

the plants aren’t a particularly verbal people. they understand spoken language (a somewhat-modified Basic, at least, which is what the bees speak hmm i wonder where they picked that up from) and many can talk, but most don’t really bother learning to do so. mostly they rely on an ESP-like combo of pheromones and body language, highly attuned to the point that it’s essentially a kind of telepathy. i think i mentioned in the tags on that post that my character Antheia is sorta kinda a jedi? for these people, force sensitivity tends to manifest as an extra-extra-sensory-perception that causes you to be hyperaware of every living thing in your environment, not just the other sentient ones.

this made her uhhh extremely off-putting as a youth, easily distractable and often disinterested in the other people in the small community she grew up in, where she was already pretty disliked to begin with. there’s quite a lot of diversity among the plant people (a wide variety of skin tones/textures and body types, though few if any secondary sex characteristics; four limbs are most common, though occasionally some have two or more sets of arms; different types of leaves/vines/blossoms/etc in lieu of hair), and though they have a barter-based economy there’s still a lot of classism that’s mostly based around lineage (and thus evinced by one’s appearance and the traits one manifests). to protect (or attempt to bolster) those lineages, prospective parents can apply for a spot in a nursery, where their offspring are propagated and tended--mostly just through infancy before going to live with parents, though sometimes longer, and the very high class have private nurseries that will do all the rearing so they don’t have to.

But, on very rare occasions, certain wild plants will spontaneously develop sentience, and even more rarely will survive on their own long enough to find their way to a community. Hundreds of years ago (or “before the bees could speak”, which is their version of “once upon a time”), these spontaneous growths were revered and cherished, and whoever was first to encounter one would see it as a great honor to be responsible for their care and upbringing. now, with a much more striated society, these “weeds” (derogatory) are considered inferior, feral, dangerous. fortunately for Antheia, the man who found her, tangled in marsh reeds under the light of the Honey Moon, didn’t buy into any of that bullshit. he was a really sweet dad, very attentive and doting on his increasingly-strange adopted daughter; they were very close. but the older she got, the more her unusual ability developed, and the more he realized he was well out of his depth to help her understand that part of herself. eventually, she’s sent away to a kind of temple/convent for other people like her, where she’s trained to hone and control her extra senses, rather than be overwhelmed by them.

many years later, the sudden appearance of several large starships in their atmosphere turns their society on its head. it turns out, the bee-people have been traveling to other planets, forging alliances, brokering deals; they claim they just want to facilitate inter-planetary trade. Antheia is among the first to mistrust these invading aliens and their fleet of well-armed droids who seem hell-bent on mining their planet (which is, apparently, rich with cortosis, which--thank you wookiepedia--is apparently capable of repelling lightsabers and blasterfire alike). She flees her convent, joins up with an underground network of resistance fighters, discovers that her hyperawareness makes her a truly formidable force on the battlefield, and helps lead her people in defending the sovereignty of their home. And then things take a turn for the worse...but we don’t need to get into that right now.

ANYWAY.

my other oc, Shoal, is from the same planet but not even remotely star-warsy; either from a different time period well before the droid incursion, or just like an AU of my own stuff, idk. but she’s great, i love her deeply even though i dont really know what i even want to do with her yet. i mostly just was thinking about what a normal, average person in this world would be like, but then i got too attached. she’s also one of the spontaneous “weeds”, a semi-aquatic plant girl that washed up on a sandbar that occasionally connects a small island with the mainland when the tide is out. she was sort of “found” by multiple people at the same time, since they were making their way across to go trade goods at the mainland market, so to avoid the confusion of who should be responsible for her, she’s just sort of raised by the village as a whole. they name her Shoal, since that’s where they found her (it started as a joke, but then no one could agree on anything else to call her so it just sort of...stuck).

she grows up without realizing that it’s a pretty unusual upbringing. as a teen, she gains the reputation for the island’s best fisher (it helps that she can breathe as well underwater as above, and she’s always been a good swimmer). one thing that’s pretty consistent among all the plant people are their teeth--they all have long, sharp incisors and canines because sexy and also as more of a defense mechanism than a dietary one. they don’t eat much, typically absorbing nutrients from the sun/water/air/soil (mud baths are such a beloved experience, like for the most part they are very dignified people but find them some good mud and they will wallow for days) but when they do it’s pretty meat-heavy. they don’t really enjoy the process of eating very much, especially because they don’t have much gut bacteria so they typically have to swallow some stones to break up their food and nobody wants to do all that. but, at least in the coastal towns near where Shoal grew up, fresh-caught fish is considered a delicacy, and they can trade for quite a lot in return.

as she gets older, though, she starts getting restless. she loves her village, but it’s all she’s ever really known. also, it is so hard to even consider dating when literally everyone your age is practically your sibling, i mean, yeesh. so one day she just packs her bags and says her goodbyes and waits for low tide, then sets off to find her own way in the great wide world. she stops wherever she can, sees everything she can, but eventually settles down working at a tavern in a medium-sized town that’s mostly acclaimed for being a crossroads between bigger and better places. she likes it there, likes getting to know lots of new people and hearing about someone else’s travels more than she actually liked traveling herself. after a few years, the tavern-keeper retires and decides to leave the place to her, and she finds she’s become a permanent fixture in this new community. that’s really all i have for her so far, and i have no idea whether i’ll ever actually do anything with this character lol, but still she is very precious to me so i hope i find a story she’d be a good match for sometime soon.

#my ocs #oh my god this is...way too much i am so sorry #the sad thing is this is me trying to restrain myself there was more i wanted to talk about for both #and still i somehow wrote like 1500 words of backstory orz #but yeah i am hoping to have a bit about antheia and mando written up soonish if anyone is interested?? 👀👀#and wow i really wanna write something with shoal i just. dont know what that something is yet #ugh #thedragonagelesbian #thank you so much for indulging me anthropomorphic plant girls are SUCH an underutilized monster girl its so sad #but i am doing my part to rectify that injustice

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9uk · 6 years

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Let Me Stay Close To You part: 4

⌲ summary : you were finally free from the worst nightmare of your life in high school. the doors of college welcomed you with open arms, you were set on living your best life in here, away from the toxicity back at home. that shimmer of hope in restoring your life, was somehow effortlessly crushed by a tap on your shoulder. “Hey Y/N, why don’t you say we catch up for a moment?”

⌲ pairing : bully!jungkook x reader

⌲ word count : 5.2k

⌲ genre: a cup of weird fluff, a tablespoon of bitter angst

⌲ warnings : mentions of abuse, wrestling in bed & almost dying (strange combination, i know.)

⌲ a/n : hoho sorry for being late, and boring as well, for always ending with a cliffhanging dialogue, but hey. it’s merely a type of means to keep you guys sticking around ;> all in all, enjoy while i prepare for the amount of hate coming into my inbox for this. and hv a feeling many of you will drop this series after this chapter ;;;

part three > part four > part five

The hallways of this mansion seemed to never end.

Running as fast as your legs could take you, your heavy boots stomping hardly on the red carpet and wooden flooring with every step in your sprint. As you feel the exhaustion take over your legs, breath beginning to quicken, your eyes lay on the second room on the right of this hallway you have turned into. You’re not too sure if you have been in this one before, because this hallway seemed to be a little less well-lit, that you sharply took note of amidst your frantic dashing. They all looked the same anyways—his mansion was an enormous labyrinth. You can hear the distant sound of his footsteps, hunting your running form down, causing the thudding sound of your frightened heart to streamline its way to your ears, interrupting your hearing with heavy thumps like a staccato of a hummingbird’s wings. You have to hide now. Your run casually slows to a small jog as you twist the doorknob of the second room on your right, opening it and slamming it shut behind you. You closed your eyes and steadied your breaths, before making your way to find a suitable place in this rather large bedroom to conceal yourself from him.

This room was strange. It was dark. You noticed it was particularly different from all the other rooms as you walked further in, looking at the features of within its four walls under the faint moonlight that shone through the thin curtains. This one had Ironman theme bedsheets, toy cars scattered across the floor, and a game console on the table. It was like someone, was occupying and living in this room. And this definitely wasn’t his room.

Your initial fear of being found had been replaced instantly as you reverse your steps backwards, eyes witnessing even more evidence that this room indeed, belonged to somebody else. Someone you have never known of, despite your frequent visits in this house. As the darkness of the whole room engulfs you, and the slight movement of the rocking chair at the corner as the breeze from outside blew into the creepy room, you almost felt like screaming. Tears almost spilling out with trepidation, you swiftly turned to escape from this scary room.

“You’re leaving…?” A hand tugs at your wrist and you stood rooted to the ground, horrified. The fingers encased tightly around your wrist were icy and filled with desperation.

You were too caught up with observing the furnitures of the room, that you failed to notice and realise the boy quietly and stationarily located at the side of the bed, who has now stood up to stop you from leaving.

Intimidated, you carefully turn on your heel to face him. The boy stood around your height, his black fringe hung loosely on his forehead, the ends of it hiding his dark eyes. He looked rather pale with his chapped lips and skinny frame, cuts and bruises littered across his forearms and legs. You had never seen him around in this house before, not that you’ve encountered before. He almost looked like a ghost, but you knew he wasn’t. He was real and he was badly hurt, in need of help. Was he trapped here or something?

“D-Don’t leave..me,” He starts begging, “please.” His cheeks was now glistened with streaks of tears as he tugs on your arm with even more strength.

Here you were, in anatomy again, this time without anyone sitting beside you and basking in the comfort of having this whole space at the back to yourself. One thing you liked about situating at the back of this hall, was that it was a few shades darker than the rows in the front. Though it wasn’t completely pitch-black like you wished, the lack of lighting was more than enough to appease your nocturnal self and accompanied by the bright light of your laptop screen—a perfect environment to concentrate on the lesson beforehand.

Until the lecturer walked into class, followed by Jungkook, who still has his airpods stuffed in his ears. He didn’t give a damn—not now, and never before. His presence ignited a few giggles and teasing between a few girls at the front and you weren’t even one bit surprised.

You were thrown back to last Monday when he sent you home, saying he’ll see you around—you mean of course, the both of you were definitely going to see each other around, not until this whole tedious project on the structure of the human body was completed. He eyes the empty seat beside you and scurries to your side, only to come face to face with your pink stubborn bag taking up his place.

Jungkook is so tempted to grab your stupid backpack and fling it down the steps, to then plummet down on the seat with ease—but he knows he shouldn’t, he wouldn’t, and he couldn’t treat you in that manner anymore.

You weren’t letting up either, placing your undivided attention on the screen of slides in the front of the lecture hall. Disregarding his existence entirely.

Was he supposed to ask you to move your bag?

“Uh, I want to sit here.” He realised that that, wasn’t asking. It came out more like a demand.

He could easily spare the effort and sit somewhere else, somewhere with those girls at the front who’d loved to have him there—but Jungkook actually tried asking if he could sit there, and if you would move your bag for him.

You almost let a laugh slip out as the words come out of his mouth. Jeon Jungkook actually seeking your permission. Moving your bag to your lap, he smiles and occupies the seat, muttering a barely audible ‘Thank you’ and you shake your head in utter disbelief. This was too much to bear. He was being suspiciously too nice for your liking. But it was a great change and you weren’t complaining. It turns out that you too, had many questions for him. You don’t even recognise him now.

The class passes by smoothly, without Jungkook laying a finger on you or speaking a word.

Instead, you could sense the way he shook his legs abnormally faster, the way his fingers were clasping onto the pen like a vice grip, and the occasional hard clenching of his jaw.

He looked like he was struggling with some kind of inner conflict, wanting to so badly untangle the dead knots of ambivalence towards something. You choose to close one eye to what you noticed about him, reminding yourself to 1. Stop staring at Jungkook like that. and 2. Get Jungkook out your mind and life. You don’t think you are emotionally stable enough to handle another catastrophe rolling into your life like a giant boulder down a steep slope.

The screen of your phone lights up and you pick it up, reading the incoming texts from Sooyoung.

[10:39] Sooyoungie : will be staying over at sungjae’s today

[10:40] Sooyoungie : feel free to bring that kook guy home!!!

[10:40] Sooyoungie : o and rmb to stay safe & use a condom ;)

Your eyes grew wide at her wild insinuation, mouth opening wide before turning into a soft giggle at her messages. As if he was interested in why you had a silly grin plastered onto your face, you can feel Jungkook leaning his head closer to you as you’re typing, trying to peer at your conversation with your friend. What was he being so intrusive for? You quickly type out a reply, before clearing your throat—causing him to return to his initial form casually, spinning his pen like he didn’t just try to look at your phone.

“Who were you texting?” He questions with an unimpressed tone.

You turn to look at him, confused for a second. You almost wanted to throw an ‘Is that any of your business’ to his damn cocky face but for peace’s sake, “My friend.”

Jungkook genuinely feels this burning desire to know the gender and name of your friend, but he chooses to not pursue anything so that he doesn’t seem like he was more than necessarily interested in who you were talking to. Or in your life, generally.

It was until everyone started packing their belongings to head for the exit of the hall, that Jungkook’s hand flies at the speed of light to grip your wrist as you turn to leave. Your arm jerks slightly, turning to face him with wide eyes of shock.

“Can we talk?” Jungkook looks at you with pleading eyes, somewhat afraid of your possible objection. You are hyperaware of the touch of his fingers grazing against your skin, feeling a shimmer of light flashing through your heart as the electricity of the skin contact flows through your veins. Looking at his fingers encased around the small of your wrist, you blink, stiff arm relaxing in his grasp and pulses settling in aftershock. When you give your silence as consent, he quickly suggests and releases his hold.

“Let’s go outside, there might be a class coming in.”

“No, there aren’t any classes conducted here until 4,” You hurriedly provide him with a reason to stay. You didn’t wish to be seen with Jungkook outside—especially by your friends or anyone else—because the last thing you wanted was for the obsessive girls to throw bitter looks at you, or his friends to check out the girl he was talking to—for the bad light to be shined on you. Hard pill to swallow, but you were still the old you who cared a lot about what people thought of you, just that you don’t express how bothered you are from it well.

Where was Namjoon? He rarely skips lectures.

Jungkook doesn’t open his mouth, eyes shifting everywhere but your own, with arms crossed tightly like he was protecting himself from something—to actually show how uncomfortable he was feeling. The lights in the lecture hall slowly dims to a low light due to the lack of motion in its sensor, but you could still make out the outlines of everything around you—and the Jungkook right in front of you was now looking to the ground, shaking. His breathing starts becoming ragged, and his chest begins heaving up and down rapidly like he was short of oxygen and you instinctively reach out to him.

“Jungkook, are you okay?” You gently place your hands on his shoulders, which were tensed to the brim. He explodes all of a sudden, slapping your hand away so harshly that he stumbles a few steps backwards, causing you to involuntarily squeak in surprise. His brows are knitted to the center, eyes burning with rage and jaw screwed tight.

“I fucking said to go outside!” He yells through gritted teeth, voice rough and boiling in infuriation.

He doesn’t do anything to you, despite the privacy given to the both of you in this empty room—he only busts out of there, leaving you to follow behind like a helpless duckling.

Jungkook has his hands on his hips, the same gaze trained onto the concrete ground, but this time he is slowing his erratic breathing, focusing on calming himself down. Your mind is a blank, as you backpedal to what you had said earlier on to him, searching for anything offensive or rebelling—ah, right. You didn’t comply to his request of having the chat outside. Half of you thinks that you did nothing wrong, that insisting on staying in there was perfectly reasonable, but the other half is telling you that he was being polite enough already, and you were being a stubborn bitch intentionally poking at his buttons you knew best you shouldn’t even touch.

He cools down at last, turning around to face you—who is currently toying with your own fingers in nervousness.

“Are you free right now?” Jungkook steps closer to you once he is out of his fit.

You stumble on your words at the change in his demeanour. “U-Uh, I’m-I’m free.. erm, until-wait I mean the whole day I have nothing-“

“Then great,” Jungkook already heard what he needs to know, “let’s go to your dorm to do this project.” You open your mouth to retort, “But-“ But your words are sucked back in when you remember how he shouted at you back in there. Jungkook challenges you with a lift of his brow, anticipating the excuse that wasn’t going to work on him. “-okay.” You let out a breath you didn’t realise you had been holding.

The journey to your place is quiet and the tension in the air is thick. You did not want to say anything stupid to rile Jungkook up—for the second time of the day—Well, you never did in the past (except for once, and it did not end up well as clearly stated on your forehead) so you should remain as it is in the present. You shove your earpiece in, drowning yourself in soothing melodies away from this eventful day, preparing for more that was bound to happen later on. It was no doubt that Jeon Jungkook never failed to make your life as interesting as ever. You were tailing behind Jungkook, and he looks back to you to make sure you were tagging along. He shoots you an unreadable expression at you harmlessly listening to music, before facing front again. What.

Reaching the lift lobby, a word hasn’t left his lips yet. You never knew he could actually keep this quiet. If only he put that skill to good use back in high school. Yet.

“Tell me there isn’t anyone in your dorm.” He says, as if he was planning to do something to you. In your own fucking dorm.

“There isn’t anyone in my dorm,” You submit to his request this time.

He nods in approval and the lift doors open.

You are startled when the platform of the lift slightly sinks as you step foot into it, weight pushing it down. It further descends when Jungkook enters, but is able to barely support the both of your weights, starting to rise as you press the button of your floor.

This was strange, the lift had never acted this way before.

And just when the unsettling doubt is pushed to the back of your mind, it fully pops out again—

“What the fuck!”

“AHHHHH!”

You can hear something akin to a metal clanking and a harsh snap of a wire, legs weak from how fast this small box you and Jungkook were confined in had just speedily went down. The elevator abruptly jerks to a stop, sending the both of you crashing onto the ground. The lights and ventilation dies out. You assumed the two of you were currently dangling on the edge of death —because once this thing falls to the very bottom, the both of you were fucked. As well as your corpses.

But it grows to be the least of your worries when you see Jungkook at the opposite corner, crouching his smallest and hands covering his ears in fear. Maybe it was because you had always wanted to die the second you knew how to communicate with the world, but you weren’t as afraid as he was at the moment. Maybe pampered kids never encountered incidents like these before with their luxurious high-end elevators.

Nonetheless you carefully creep to his side, making sure to not cause a sudden tilt shift in the lift.

The darkness may have engulfed the entirety of the lift capsule, but you can tell how white Jungkook’s face has gotten. He is trembling harder than the cranky washing machine you used to own, the ends of his dark fringe damp with cold sweat and he is softly crying out murmurs of pleas. For as long as you known him, Jungkook never shows his weak side to anyone. Everybody saw him as a buff and dashing successful athlete, rich, powerful and perfect. And here you were, witnessing him curled up in the corner of a lift, on the brink of tears.

You are taken aback by the entire situation, too many things were happening at once for you to handle. You could feel your heartbeat practically punching at your ears as anxiousness got the better of you. Panicking, you try your best to get the first thing done, and that is to comfort Jungkook out of his traumatised state. Normally you would ring the alarm, but you’re afraid it would send his trepidation spiralling.

“Jungkook..” You attempt to call out his name in the most delicate manner, scared of his outburst.

He was like a ticking bomb, waiting to go off any time and you don’t even dare touch a fibre of it.

He doesn’t respond, only shaking his head and letting out pained whimpers.

Tears are rapidly forming in your eyes and you forcefully suck them back in.

Now’s definitely not the time to have a freaking breakdown, Y/N!

You needed to get a proper hold of these distressing emotions.

“Jungkook, I’m here.” You had honestly no idea why you said that to him in efforts to comfort him— you were always the cause of his uncontrolled fiery temper, and you’re not too sure if your presence will bring him comfort in any way possible.

“Out..” You could hear how badly he was quivering from his shaky voice, soft and weak. You have never seen him this afraid before—and part of your heart aches for him.

Without him having said another word, you find his hand and lightly holds it with assurance. His palms were covered in a sheen of cold sweat, and you thought it was drained of all energy from how limp it felt. It was probably too stuffy for him in here. Did he suffer from claustrophobia? Your questions could wait, because your main priority at hand was to get this guy to stop trembling.

But all you could do when he is frightened stiff and feels alone, was to make your presence known. That somebody was here for him.

You reach for his elbows, in attempt to soothe him with physical contact—only for him to shrug your hand away with full strength, like you’ve touched an open wound. “Please..!” He cries out, “N-No more.. I beg of you!”

Jungkook is now sobbing, in his fullest vulnerability—like he has given up on fighting the demons in his head, succumbing to every one of them. He was paralysed with fear, never leaving the solace of that corner.

You resort to none other than the last plan, hand slamming hard on the red button of the panel.

He jumps in surprise at the blaring sound, and groans loudly in annoyance. You rush to his side again, the lift teetering on the edge of splitting from the measly grasps of the wires.

He was having spasms now, mind oversensitive and body overly reactive to the blasting shrills of the alarm. There was no point trying to talk him out of this seizure, so you spat a ‘fuck it’ under your breath, and to your better senses—you boldly wrapped your arms around the crying boy. He struggled in your hold, trying to wriggle his way out of your persistent arm cage, but only to fail as you bring him closer to your chest and caressed the back of his head with a rhythmic pace for him to focus on and calm down. You hugged his quaking form securely, hoping it feeds him with some sort of reassurance, till he quits shivering in fear. You can feel Jungkook leaning into your embrace, his hand coming out to hold you by the waist like a baby koala.

“It’s okay. Everything’s alright.” You assure him as you stare at the opening of the lift with worry.

Jungkook was still chasing his own breath, eyes shut tight as he tries to relax in your arms and absorbs the warmth you radiated to save his icicle-stabbed heart. Your body smelt like the familiar wild berries and white violets—a scent he recognises and is quite accustomed to—which guides him back to reality as he inhales more of you. It was there to tell him that he no longer lived in the terrifying past, and he is currently free of all the torture back then.

His eyes fly open. The only thing he sees is your arms circled around him, the softness of your breasts cushioning his lower cheek and the curve of your waist on his hands. Strangely, Jungkook wants to stay in this comfortable position for a while longer. It felt nice to be hugged like that, with a hand stroking his disheveled hair with utmost care. Noises and muffled shouts can be heard from the outside of the stuck doors, and Jungkook slowly, reluctantly abandon the comfort of your arms.

He feels humiliation seeping in when he immediately misses your cradling like a baby, but he opts to observe the look on your face. You were exhausted from doing so much all at once—from trying to pacify his wailing ass, to managing your own composure to finally successfully seek help from being near the margin of death.

When the both of you were safely rescued out, finally seeing light, your mind goes off to wonder about the way Jungkook acted back in there. He looked like something was in control of him, beating his incapacitated self to pulp. Wiping the beads of perspiration off your forehead, you walk over to his worn out form, sitting by the stairs of the lobby.

“Are you feeling better?” You sit beside him, hands rubbing the ball of your knees.

Everyone had fears. Even the tough-looking Jungkook did, and he was completely overthrown by the traumatising accident. Sadly, he was one of your fears.

Thus it felt extremely conventional to see the powerless side of him. And to be fair, Jungkook had been treating you like an ordinary person but not some garbage bag by the dumpster. To that, you can’t help but feel a pinch of gratitude swelling in the pit of your stomach—at how maybe Jungkook, wouldn’t mess up your life again.

Although you’re still uneasy at how he switches back to a monster at times, said monster is now going through a rough time and it intensifies your soft-heartedness for him.

He grazes his thumb over the other, tongue pushing at the insides of his cheek.

“Yeah, I’m good now. Let’s..” He stands up, eyes flicking between the lift and the stairs, “..take the stairs up to your room.” If Jungkook says he’s good, means he’s good. You don’t question any further, hopping onto the tortuous climb with him.

The incident is never brought up again, and you sure as hell dare not bring up something that upsetting for Jungkook. The both of you carried on with the project at hand like usual, a few discussions here and there, just that his voice sounded like it was drained of all energy and emotions. His hair is slightly tousled, cheeks still mildly stained with the tears of perturbation. And when the work was finished, it was time to either have a real talk or act like nothing happened.

Jungkook scratches the back of his head. “Can I stay for the night?”

Could you say no? Honestly, you feel yourself being sucked into this pool of poison, slowly eating up at your organs and killing you from the inside. Jungkook, in one way or another, was still tormenting you into allowing him to do whatever the fuck he wants.

“Urm, okay.” You think to yourself that this will be the first and last time you’re listening to him—you would care less if he threw a tantrum at your rebellion—and for the sake of him looking so sad and pitiful. Besides, you perfectly empathised with him not wanting to be alone after that incident. It is only normal to seek the company of another soul in your darkest moments.

“You’re taking the floor. My roommate doesn’t fancy anyone touching her bed.” His lips part, almost wanting to argue with that, but beggars can’t be choosers. He had rather slept on the floor with you around then to suffocate in the emptiness of his cold room.

You toss him a spare towel and some oversized clothes you owned, like a host showing great hospitality to her (unwanted) guest. He stares at you with confusion blanketing his features. Jungkook has really lost his mind after being trapped in the lift for fifteen minutes.

“You don’t need to wash up?” Like a small kid, he scurries to the bathroom.

It still felt too revolutionary for you. You still find yourself feeling perplexed whenever you are near Jungkook—mind reeling back to the past, where he was still that guy who pulled childish stunts on you and hurt you. The scar on your temple—a constant reminder of how he dragged your self-esteem down and obstructively blocked your road to something as simple as, happiness.

He was the guy who denied you of all the blessings in the world, the guy who caused you to lose the ability to find the love in yourself or anything. He was also the guy sleeping on your floor right now. You shake off these thoughts and faced the other side of the bed. The whole room reeked of him and you stuffed your nose in pillows.

The night falls and the whole campus quietens down, nothing but buzzing street lamps and silence taking over your bedroom.

Until,

“I really can’t sleep on your bed huh?”

“Not really.”

You feel the mattress sink on the empty space behind you and you sit up instantly, seeing a Jungkook propping his folded arms on your bed, looking at you with the big deceiving round eyes which you hated so much. It was such a strong deception and a poor representation of his true personality.

“You didn’t actually say no.” He nibbles on his bottom lip in anticipation and bubbling excitement, ready to prance onto your comfortable, bouncy bed at any second.

Oh my god.

“I didn’t mean-“

And then he’s climbing onto your sheets, making himself comfortable in your quilt covers. It was your turn to lose your mind. No way in hell were you going to share a bed with this creature.

“Get off my bed you freak!” You’re backed against the window grills as you wildly kick him in a cycle.

“Ow-ouch! Wait, you’re hurting me!” He manages to catch and grab onto one of your ankles, tugging harshly at it, causing you to shriek in surprise as you get dragged across your bed.

So much for helping him back there?

In a swift, he picks your body up and dunks you onto the mattress hard, locking you tightly in place with veiny hands gripping on your shoulders. Your legs start wrestling again, attempting to kick him in the balls and send him tumbling off your safe haven—but his quick reflexes has his leg pinning your limbs down unforgivingly. You’re too tired to fight a battle you know you would surely lose—to a Hercules-like body of Jungkook—so you let go of all willpower and strength to escape his clutches.

Huffing, you closed your eyes and painfully accept the fact that you were going to sleep with Jungkook beside you. Truthfully, you preferred the distance he gave you back in high school.

Now he’s hovering over you, panting from the effort to keep you still, looking at you sprawled out defeated beneath him. “Do whatever you want Jungkook, goodnight.”

You’ve accepted your fate. In fact, you’ve already did a long time back.

So just like that, you gave Jungkook the permission to do as he wished, to which he slowly lowered himself on the bed, on the top of your body he rests and buries his face into the crook of your neck. When you feel his hard chest and puckered abdomen against your body, you realised how Jungkook had incinerated every bit of lucid logic in your mind. Concluded from how you’ll let it slide this time, allow him to be this close to you and fall asleep. And you wonder just how many times, you will keep submitting, submitting and submitting to him. How many ‘last times’s’ will it take for you to bulk up the courage to go against his wishes. And when exactly, will Jungkook stop having you at the very tip of his fingers.

You subconsciously follow the rhythm of his breathing, the overdue fatigue finding its way to your heavy lids, effectively fluttering them shut.

Placing your hand over his, you shudder at the feeling of his freezing skin.

“I won’t leave you..”

The boy begins sobbing even harder as his right arm flinches.

“Why are you crying? Does it hurt?”

You carefully inspect the wounds inflicted all over his body and winced when you twist his arm gently, seeing a fresh open cut on the side of his elbow. There was blood dripping out of the sliced flesh, and the surrounding was badly swollen and bruised violet.

“I need to go get help for you!” You weren’t a doctor, and you really needed to cling onto your mom at the sight of all this gore.

Shaking his head vigorously, he is fixed on not letting you leave his side. Why didn’t he want to escape?

“They’ll hit me.” His voice is cracked and shaky, like he has been crying for hours.

It was because he couldn’t, and you felt so, so sorry for him. Being trapped in this room, suffering and dying. Your thoughts arrow towards the owner of this house, you start suspecting them of being kidnappers who held this poor boy around your age as hostage. How could they do that, when they were endearingly offering you cookies and milk every time you stayed over?

You start doubting everything around you.

“Who are you?”

The final question and the main point of this whole conversation comes out.

What in the world was a fatally injured boy doing in a random room of your bestfriend’s house? And why didn’t your bestfriend come to his rescue like you thought he would?

“I’m Junghyun’s brother, Jeon Jungkook.”

The moon today shines exceptionally bright, transcending all stars. The soft glow of the moonlight filters through your thin curtains, a replacement for the nightlight you lacked, bringing the both of you serenity.

Like someone was watching over the both of you.

The room now was filled with luster and tranquil, it almost lulls you back to sleep. Shoving Jungkook off your body, you can feel a layer of sweat sticking your shirt to your skin, and you flip over to the side, letting the cool air dry your skin. He sleepily connects his body to yours in no less than a second, pressing against the damp skin of your back and you cringed away. Jungkook is now spooning you from behind, arms wrapping tightly around your waist with his nose nuzzling at your hair.

You prayed that someone would save you from this torment.

He’s murmuring incoherent noises softly into your nape now. One, which you were able to make out.

“Don’t leave me…”

#jungkook #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook scenarios #jungkook smut #bts scenarios #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts angst #bts smut #bts fluff #bangtan scenarios #jungkook fan fiction #jungkook fanfic #bts fan fic #s: lmscty #💌

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ajab-leher · 3 years

Text

i think there's something to say about how much english is valued in the whole entire world, in different parts, and how it's undeniably a status symbol.

in india, of course it is, english (the language) and furthermore english (the culture!) are relics from our colonial past that cannot be classified as 'relics' because your knowledge of english does determine your opportunities.

beyond aspects of like the job market, that i admittedly don't know anything about, it's really important to recognise how your knowledge of the english language can function as a sort of unconscious bias?

as in, how there's always some element of shame (that you're forced to internalize in schools many times) in not being able to speak english fluently. how english as a language is accorded such a central position in determining your intelligence, and in extension many times, your worth?

at how teachers treated you more respectfully, or rather more favourably if you spoke good english.

(i'm sure and also hoping that my experiences aren't universal, but i spent my early years of schooling at a convent and there is no denying that the whole 'convent educated' and 'english medium' student is seen as something very desirable, in india.)

apart from that, after internalizing the apparent worth of the english language, one comes to the point of thinking for themselves. and what followed, in my case at least, was this sort of pride in my ability to speak the language, or having some command over it?

the school that i grew up in, it was common practice to poke fun at someone's mispronunciations, any muddling of tenses or grammar, and it did take me a long time to unlearn that and realise how disrespectful it is to mock someone for how they speak.

but what i'd like to emphasize is that we would do this only for english, even if there were jokes made about anybody's lack of fluency in any other language, it was clear that there was no malicious intent behind it. this i can say for sure is because the authority figures, our teachers, would very openly mock students who would make mistakes while speaking english.

it's important to note how knowledge of the english language is equated with being smart and capable; it's an unconscious bias and god, it's so difficult to be rid of it considering how engrained it is in our psyche.

i think something i've continued to struggle with, especially now, is how i have gone from being somewhat proud of my ability to speak better english than other languages (and that i consumed english media!) to being rightfully disappointed that i couldn't write anything as long as what i have written up till now in my mother tongue.

in a lot of the content i consume, even if passively, i see how this bias seems to exist in people of indian/south asian origin in u.s.a or the u.k (just generally the 'west').

it's treated as a joke, a very central part of these skits that among other things highlight the difference between the parent and the kid, and these are the classic kind that lilly singh popularised a long time ago.

i can't help but be hyperaware of how the more indianised parent (who has a very distinct 'indian' accent, mispronounces words, and just has this very identifiable manner of speech) and the more westernised kid (who usually has a british/american accent, speaks more calmly).

i don't mean to hate on these content creators, and genuinely, i don't!

i lack any experience to really dictate what their experiences with their families are like and the inter-generational nuances of assimilation to another cultural environment, but it is a little strange.

another thing about the whole english-as-a-status-symbol thing is that something very central in the indian 'i'm not like the other girls' phenomenon was that the 'cool' kids consumed british/american media (tv shows, music, cinema, youtubers!).

(i emphasize on girls because i don't have any clue about how it affected guys, because my school had none.

and also that my phase occurred at the same time as my sister's did (and she was five years older so).

i used to think i was special or somewhat smarter than other kids my age because i was involved with lord of the rings and sherlock, pirates of the caribbean, x-men etc. and musicians like lorde, troye sivan, imagine dragons, one direction.)

i think it still exists, but in a different form now. my friend and i were once talking about how everything is considered 'cool' only after it's popularised in the USA.

i could name so many pieces of media (from other parts of the world) that i began to consume only after they were popularised in USA. and i can also see it in how a very vast majority of all the content creators i watch and interact with are american, canadian, or british (or rather, of origins from other countries who are citizens of one of these countries!).

i may have started this whole essay thing with some conclusion in mind but it's just how english is a force that's way too powerful for any language.

sure, it's a global language that is spoken all around the world, it has taken in and absorbed features of other languages and developed into distinct dialects.

(and um, that's at one level because virtually most of the world was colonised by england. or rather, in the present scenario, influenced widely by USA which emerged from the whole european/primary british colonisation of the americas)

but it really doesn't seem like a good idea to have this one language act as a force of bringing about cultural change, as a weapon of soft power exercised by the west.

firstly, the predominance of english starting to cause the disappearance of languages and dialects spoken in different parts of the world because people just simply stop learning and speaking them.

(my mother tongue, konkani, is starting to die slowly because people from my generation onwards are starting to communicate exclusively in english, and the kids being born now, in all probability, will never be fluent in konkani as i am.

and i too, speak a very anglicsed version of my mother tongue, because i don't know words or phrases for everything.)

and secondly, no cultural force yielded predominantly by one society should become so powerful.

no language should be considered a mark of refinement! classes of people should not be judged by their fluency in a language!

and finally, we really really don't need another round of one group moving ahead to 'civilise' another by forcing them to give up their own cultures and languages and adopt those of a more powerful society!

#let me acknowledge how ironic it is that i've written this whole thing in english #YEAH #english shouldn't be a status symbol anywhere please #and i need to properly get rid of all my unconscious biases!#no superiority complexes over something as superficial as langauge fluency is allowed anymore!#mine 🎑

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fritillus · 7 years

Text

heleddi stormfist

race: half-orc half-dwarf alignment: lawful neutral [tending towards good] background: guild artisan class: barbarian

const: 17 (+2 racial) = 19, +4 bonus //// str 14 (+2 racial) = 16, +3 bonus dex: 13, +1 bonus /// wis: 13, +1 bonus int: 12, +1 bonus // char: 12, +1 bonus

speed: 30 feet max carry: 210 lbs

hit dice: 1d12 per level lvl 1 hp: 12 + const = 16 // hp per level: 1d12 or 7 + const (4)

ac: 10 + dex + const (class bonus) = 10+1+4 = 15 passive perception: 10 + 1 bonus + 2 proficiency = 13

personality

rolled / selected largely from the guild artisan tables and embellished:

personality trait: 1 and 3 and 5

i believe that anything worth doing is worth doing right. i can’t help it — i’m a perfectionist.

takes pride in her work, but tends to progress slowly and carefully. a firm believer in measure twice, cut once.

i always want to know how things work and what makes people tick.

observant; won’t attempt a new task or behavior until she’s seen it executed successfully enough times that she’s sure she understands how it works.

attentive to the emotional states of the people around her; wary and somewhat emotionally closed off herself.

i’m rude to people who lack my commitment to hard work and fair play.

somewhat judgemental. tends to assume the worst of other people’s motivations; especially so towards people she judges as motivated strongly by chaotic self-interest.

ideal: one and five and six

community. it is the duty of all civilized people to strengthen the bonds of community and the security of civilization. (lawful)

people. i’m committed to the people i care about, not to ideals. (neutral)

the above two: not necessarily the security of civilization, but the security of the places and people she considers hers.

aspiration. i work hard to be the best there is at my craft

to further her craft

but also to master and channel her emotional rages, so that she can go home and settle down with a nice dwarven boy

bond: one, secondarily three

the workshop mountain where i learned my trade is the most important place in the world to me.

i owe my guild a great debt for forging me into the person i am today.

character flaws: [not rolled]

paralyzing self-distrust, second-guessing

she does not trust her own judgement, her own emotions, and is concerned with how she appears to others. she has no desire to be intimidating, and she is frightened by her culturally proscribed emotionality.

wary and insecure.

she spends a lot of time watching others and attempting to fit in socially as she could not physically. this has made her unusually discerning of others’ emotions, but she isn’t always the most accurate at determining why people react the way they do. she has a tendency to assume the worst of others.

character and background

orcish name “elet” dwarficized to heleddi

grew up in a dwarvish metalworking community; she is the result of a an ill-conceived tryst between her dwarven father and orc mother. her mother reappeared in the mountains with a toddler a few years later, and left her behind. she barely remembers her time in the orc tribes, and may or may not have any mementos from her mother1; her command of orcish - once fluent - has lapsed over the years (reads/writes fluently, speaks without an accent and can pass among orcs without detection for simple sentences; complex conversations require a saving throw to determine whether she fucked up a grammar).

she grew up in lawful good dwarvish society, very aware of her status as an outsider both by appearance and temperament. her branch of the clan was seen as unusually modern, her father was already considered impulsively experimental even before her birth. hyperaware of the fact that her existence caused a tremendous scandal and badly damaged her father’s reputation, she isolated herself from her peers in early childhood, and no one tried hard to stop her (aughts). she was kept away from combat training for much of her adolescence2 (teens) due to fears that her increased size and strength, emotional volatility, and orc blood might make her a danger to herself or others.

she spent much of her time watching others and attempting to pattern herself after dwarvish behavior, but still found herself wracked by worryingly strong emotional whirlwinds: tantrums and rages, bouts of sobs or laughter so intense her body was wracked with them, immobile, while they siezed her. most of her emotions were fleeting as summer storms, disturbing the steady and slow-moving dwarves around her. worse, her emotional disturbances sometimes stuck with the same powerful certitude that defined a typical dwarven emotional range, but with depths and peaks rarely reached by dwarves outside of isolated moments. her rage wasn’t the slow simmer of a dwarven grudge, but a shrieking boil that would refuse to abate; her worry would sink into her bones, leaving her sorrowful and weeping for weeks at a time before the next emotion hit.

eventually, she learned to focus her emotionality through her metalwork, to find some regulation of her excesses. here she finally found connection: her increased strength and passionate emotional range caused her to struggle with inconsistent craftwork her dwarven peers did not face, but her willingness to redo her work until it was perfect, her struggle to ensure that she would make a perfect piece on the first try no matter how gripped she was by emotion: this struggle and her deep, stubbornly-held dedication to this craft helped other dwarves relate to her and resulted in artistic and technical discussions that were the seed of her first true and lasting friendships. (twenties)

**figure out her eventual weapons training - she’s proficient with light hammers and hand-axes just because... you’re dwarf-raised you learn how to use them, but possibly not AS proficient using them in combat (doesn’t have practice hitting a Moving Bleeding Target with them). her actual weapons are likely to be larger/heavier than typical dwarvish warhammer/battleaxe - ideally greataxe & maul3

[[something happens that brings out her Rage in combat - possibly a sparring accident in which she injures or kills someone close to her, possibly acting in defense of her friends but terrified with the violence with which she lashed out.]]

either way, it both frightened her enough to cause her to remove herself from the community which she had been raised to value above all else, in order to learn to master - or at the very least channel - her rage, until she feels she can safely return home.

1 - at dm’s discretion, possibility of backstory for future plot, etc. 2 - possibly trade some forms of proficiency for others - she’s late to the game and somewhat banking on natural talent but also likely to use heavier/larger weapons 3 - at dm’s discretion but holy shit PLEASE

skills & proficiencies

species: half-dwarf, socialized dwarf (no orcish skill proficiencies beyond the language itself)

languages: dwarvish (primary), common (accented secondary), orcish (tertiary semifluent; roll a deception during involved speech).

see background for additional language skill (gnomish)

resilience: resistance to poison; 1/2 poison damage

stonecunning: advantage in history (int) throws => history of stonework; add double the normal proficiency bonus to the roll

tool proficiency: smithing

combat training: proficiency in battleaxe1, warhammer1, hand-axe, light/throwing hammer

mountain dwarf armor training: proficient with light and medium armor

1 - again, trade for greataxe / maul proficiency at the dm’s discretion

class: assumes a Barbarian Tribe training background not relevant 2 her.

proficient with light and medium armor

proficient with use of shields

proficient with simple and martial weapons

skilled in (choose two): animal handling, athletics, intimidation, nature, perception, survival

all of these overlap with dwarven proficiencies with the exception of shield usage, which i’m not sure i can justify her taking given that she probably largely relies on two-handed weapons.

also, given that she’s fairly sheltered with very little real-life battle experience the only skills i’d feel make sense would be perception (people-watching! she’s an observer!) and maybe athletics.

her barbarian classing is like an innate characteristic of how she fights, not representative of her character background or training.

background: guild artisan

skill proficiencies: insight, persuasion

she’s probably got insight from Peoplewatching but maybe not persuasion? poorly socialized? half a proficiency bonus?

tool proficiencies: one type of artisan’s tools

smith’s tools (overlaps with dwarven training)

languages: one of your choice

limited conversational and written fluency in gnomish - enough for trade, but possibly not to discuss philosophy.

feature: guild membership. guaranteed food/lodging from members; funeral paid for; guild halls to make connections (jobs!). political connections. will help you @ trial.

cost: 5gp per month in dues to remain in good standing

equipment

barbarian starts with:

(a) a greataxe or (b) any martial melee weapon

ideally a maul (10lb/2hand/2d6 bludgeoning)

failing that a greataxe (7lb/2hand/1d12 slash)

(a) two handaxes or (b) any simple weapon

handaxe (light, thrown 20/60, 2lb/1d6 slash) 4lb total

an explorer’s pack (59lbs)

backpack, a bedroll, a mess kit, a tinderbox, 10 torches, 10 days of rations, a waterskin, and 50 feet of hempen rope.

four javelins

trade javelins for light hammers?

light hammer: (light, thrown 20/60, 2lb/1d4 bludgeon)

guild artisan starts with:

a set of artisan’s tools (one of your choice)

weaponsmith’s tools: 20gp / 8lb

a letter of introduction from your guild

a set of traveler’s clothes

a belt pouch containing 15 gp

trinket:

roll closer to play

math for ability scores:

2 5 5 1 = 12 5 2 3 4 = 12 3 1 6 4 = 13 6 3 4 2 = 13 2 5 4 5 = 14 4 6 5 6 = 17

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orderofdeathrp-blog · 7 years

Photo

Faceclaim: Osric Chau || Age: 19 || Pronouns: He/hm/his

Order of the Phoenix

Cisgender Male

Half-blood

Former Gryffindor

Employee at a Muggle bookstore

Taken

Possible triggering content of blood, death, mental illness, violence, and war

The first five years of Remus Lupin’s life were a charmed existence, centered around the semi-detached home on the outskirts of Newcastle proper, with the tiny bedroom tucked away within an alcove and the small parcel of land in the back. His mum had even tried to keep bees one year, but there’d been a cold snap in July and they never really took. His dad said she was a good cook, although Remus always thought his dad made a better cup of tea, nice and strong, like they did at the Ministry, but Remus always got extra sugar in his.

Whenever he went into London with his dad, he always got to sit at his dad’s desk and look at pictures of the most recent finds from the Pest Advisory Board; he recognized gnomes because he had seen them in their garden before and wanted a pet Nogtail, but he liked the more exotic creatures his dad had shown him, rare and dangerous, the ones his dad made him promise he’d never go looking for.

Remus nodded, eyes wide, and swore he would never, ever go looking for trouble, and he meant it.

He remembered the small bedroom, with the old quilt folded at the foot of the bed, and he remembered the sound of a window shattering and wood splintering and the sharp smell of blood that welled from a cut across his eyebrow, and he remembered a sharp pain where his neck met his shoulder, and thankfully, he did not remember anything else when he woke up in a Muggle hospital, a thick white bandage under his pyjamas. His parents told the doctors that Remus had been playing outside, that a wild dog, perhaps a fox, had attacked him, and no, they had no idea where the animal had gone, that it had all happened too fast. It was a lie, but he was too small and too tired to argue back, and he never asked what actually happened or where his quilt had gone, or why there was a new hand-crocheted rug on the floor that had never been there before.

Remus did not ask when, one month after the attack, his father and mother borrowed a Muggle car that made funny noises and drove out to the Lake District, to an old mineshaft, long abandoned, and waited outside as the whole moon burned in the night sky.

It was something they never talked about, just another routine that happened once a month, and Remus grew used to it, assumed it was something other children did. It wasn’t like he knew of many other children to ask, after all. His world was contained within the small bedroom, the plot of land, and the mineshaft. There were his books as well, but Remus knew they were Muggle fantasies, imagined worlds that he could lose himself in but would never quite exist.

Hope against hope, he waited for his Hogwarts letter, more a story from his childhood than a reality, and felt a bitter sting of anger and disappointment when his eleventh birthday came and went with no letter. Midway through the summer, when Remus was starting to feel too big for his own skin even though the moon was two weeks away, he heard voices downstairs and teacups clattering, and he could not help but sitting on the stairs, silently listening, when the guest looked at him and smiled kindly and invited him to join them and asked if he would like to go to Hogwarts in the fall.

Remus never knew what strings Albus pulled or how he convinced his parents, but come September, Remus was on board the Hogwarts Express, a shabby trunk packed full of books and a set of new, if threadbare robes on his shoulders. Never in his life, even when he had been small and scared in the hospital bed, had he felt so alone.

For the first few months, Remus felt that nagging loneliness at every moment, from when he shakily walked to join the Gryffindor table to polite applause to when Albus woke him up in the middle of the night once a month to take him to an abandoned home on the outskirts of Hogsmeade to when other students, Slyhterins mostly, shoved him and smirked every time he was caught sleeping in class. Some of the older ones especially seemed to follow him wherever he went, watching him a little too closely. But Remus couldn’t keep his guard up forever, and a group of sixth years followed him into the bathrooms, tugging at his shirt and threatening to test new hexes on the little mutt. It was the closest Remus had ever come to losing control, to allowing the wolf in him to take over, and he was so close to biting one of the older boys, to letting his teeth sink into skin, when his saviors came.

They weren’t much bigger than Remus, and in the case of Peter, shorter than he was, but they had come in at the right time, with James loudly complaining about needing to piss and Sirius immediately lunging at the older boys, adolescent fists raining down and hands grabbing him and a voice yelling at Remus to run and come on then. They had raced as a pack back to Gryffindor Tower, and when they caught their breath, Sirius cheerfully told Remus that he liked beating up Slytherin wankers and that he was pretty sure he had made Lucius Malfoy cry.

And just like that, Remus had friends for the first time in his life.

There were still things they did not know, could not know, like why Remus crept out of the dorm once a month like clockwork, and if Remus had his way, they never would have found out. He did not count to stumble into the common room, exhausted and shaky after a transformation in his third year, only to find James, Peter, and Sirius eagerly waiting for him. None of them spoke, and then Remus burst into tears and told them everything, or what he could remember, told them about the quilt and the broken window and the blood and the mineshaft and the shack that became his home once a month. When he was finished, blushing and wiping his nose on his sleeve, Peter blinked slowly and Sirius grinned, wolfish, at him, and James clapped him on the shoulder and said that if Remus became an animal, so did all of them and that way, he’d have someone to keep him company.

Over that long summer before what was supposed to be his fifth year, Remus read his friends’ letters eagerly, easily picturing Peter melt down into a rat, laughing at the image of James with a rack of horns, and wondering what Sirius looked like as a dog. There was one more moon to go alone, Remus told himself, one more month, and then he and his friends would be reunited, and he would never have to spend another transformation alone. When a letter, thicker than one he had ever received arrived, postmarked from Hogwarts, Remus’s heart rose and then fell as soon as he opened it, as soon as he skimmed the first paragraph and his eyes were drawn, magnetic, to that damning phrase, closed until further notice.

September came and went, and Hogwarts’s doors remained shut, and Remus’s life returned to the small bedroom, the plot of land, and the mineshaft, interspersed with letters from his friends. He lost himself into his textbooks, reading and rereading the potions and spells until he knew them like the back of his hands, studying for O.W.L.s that he would never take. Hyperaware of the grey streaking his father’s hair, the fact that his trips to London were far less frequent, the cough his mum had that never went away, her face drawn and gaunt, Remus beseeched his parents to let him take up a job, to do something, anything to help out around the house before it felt like his skin was tightening and he lost control, and somehow, they had agreed to let him work odd jobs, delivering packages on an old Muggle bike around the city.

And yet, Remus still felt restless. It was a matter of time, Remus knew, until he would have to leave, but he waited it out, unwilling and unable to break his mother’s heart. He held her hand as she died and helped her father dig her grave in their little plot of land, among the herbs she had so loved, and then, within the week, he packed up his shabby trunk and the money he hadn’t had the chance to send to Gringotts and bought a train ticket to London and his friends, a second birth at the age of eighteen.

London was loud and bustling and lonely in ways Remus did not know possible, but he fell in well enough, finding a job at a Muggle bookstore that paid enough for a tiny one-room flat with enough left over to send back home each month, so his dad wouldn’t have to take a job in a Muggle mine or factory. It was tough work, on his feet, with little thanks for the long hours he worked, but Remus liked it well enough, blending in with the other Muggles. And on the rare day he had off, if he wasn’t exhausted, he met up with James and Peter and Sirius down at the Leaky Cauldron, or spent the day with Lily, learning to cook eggs and sausage on his hot plate and shopping with her for second-hand clothes to replace whatever he wore out.

It was an existence, tough and relentless, and Remus loved it.

He hadn’t expected to come home one night, bone tired, to find Albus seated comfortably in the old arm chair he had squeezed into his room, wedged into a corner opposite his bed and trunk, and he had almost hexed his old savior, but Albus had smiled calmly and Remus lowered his wand. Albus asked Remus if he had been following the news, if he was aware of the disappearances, the tortured corpses, the dead Muggles, and Remus nodded, feeling something ugly and cold in his throat, reminded of that day in the bathroom from so many years ago. His eyes gave something away, because Albus smiled, cold, and asked if he would want to find the man who had attacked him all those years ago, and Remus was unable to speak, just nodding furiously.

Still, at night, as Remus drifted into uneasy sleep, he often wondered if being part of the Order of the Phoenix was worth it, if Albus had played him, if he had made some sort of horrible mistake. And then, he remembered that his friends, that Sirius, were there with him, and then could close his eyes at last.

Connections

Fenrir Greyback, Regulus Black

Wand

10 and ¼ inch, cypress wood, unicorn hair core

Patronus

Wolf

Boggart

Full moon

Amortentia

Breakfast tea and wet dog

#remus lupin #osric chau #rp #rpg #roleplay #t #op #hb #g #blood tw #death tw #mental illness tw #violence tw #war tw

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