sacredfire

@itswasteland​

“No one got hurt. You didn’t hurt anyone, Remus.” Though it had been a close call, a near miss.

For the third time in his life, Sirius was face to face with Remus after being absolutely positive he would never see him again.

The first time, they’d been fifteen, and after the prank, Sirius was sure the other boy would write him off entirely–and indeed, the years after had been awkward, to put it lightly. The trust between them had been shattered, their friendship only strung together enough to keep their group whole on the surface, but not enough to tell him when Peter became the secret keeper, when they’d each suspected each other of being the spy.

The second time, he was hardly standing, mad and desperate, shaking as Remus pulled him into his arms in the Shrieking Shack, stood up for him, forgave him, helped him explain to Harry what had truly happened that awful night that his life ended.

And now, here they were: an escaped convict, a condemned Hippogriff, and a werewolf out of work–the set up to a perfect joke. Sirius planned to get out of the country–and he would–but he had needed to make sure, just one last time, that Remus would be alright. The night had gone so terribly wrong: the moonlight, Remus’ sudden transformation, Peter’s escape, the dementors. Sirius’ stomach turned over as he looked at the scratch marks on Remus’ human arms, marks Sirius himself had left when, as a dog, he’d had to subdue him, to attack, to protect the kids: Harry, Ron, Hermione.

“It was an accident. So you forgot the potion one time–” Sirius waved away this information, as if it had not been nearly a deadly mistake. “You were fine all year long, month after month. You don’t have to punish yourself. You don’t have to leave. There’s nowhere safer for you–for anyone–than close to Dumbledore.” Except for me, he thought bitterly. Dumbledore, who had known all these years that he wasn’t the secret keeper but believed all the same that he’d killed all those people–or simply hadn’t bothered to fight for him and prove otherwise. Dumbledore, who had helped Harry and Hermione save him that night. Sirius didn’t know what to think anymore.

“Go back, Remus. Go back to Hogwarts. Go have the life you deserve.”

“I could have killed them.” It was a roar that had his own ears ringing. He had never been a loud person. He didn’t need to be with friends like James, Sirius and sometimes even Peter. No, he enjoyed the quiet, he enjoyed speaking in hushed tones, a low timbre that calmed himself down when he read out loud or reassured people whenever they needed reassuring. Now though, he could not help but yell. “I could smell his blood, Sirius. I could smell it. And all I could think about... All I w-wanted...” He felt bile claw up his throat, the mere thought making him sick to his stomach, so bad that he stumbled backwards, eyes unfocused as he tugged at the clothes he had on, as if he was being suffocated by its confines. 

“And you know this wasn’t the first time, Sirius. I had missed my potions before. This isn’t going to be my last either. I... They’re only children...” He dug both his hands in his pockets to keep from tugging, instead clenching them into tight fists, so hard he could feel his nails digging into his palms. He took another step away from the man before him, eyes glued to the floor as he tried to clear the storm in his mind. 

“And if it were so safe, you would stay too...” He couldn’t help but grumble. 

He stiffened at the implied admission. Admission of what? Did he want Sirius to stay? Well of course, they had just found each other. Of course he would want him to stay. 

“I can’t go back. I don’t want to.” 

tagged by @beauwrixtes (a very very very very long time ago)

CANON MUSES

name of your favorite muse: I don’t have a favorite muse because they’re all my children, but Hades (Velia) was the muse that definitely held onto me the longest. Fuckin’ idiot (but I love him). Writing for him was a very unique experience, and that was largely thanks to the group of people I wrote with. Wow. A+. Chef’s kiss. 

name of your very first muse: It was an OC that I don’t want to remember HAHAHA. My first canon muse, though, that I can remember was my bebi Lucius Malfoy. 

name of your meanest muse: UMMMMMM I feel like Felix could be considered mean, but also he’s a wittle bubu softie on the inside.

name of your nicest muse: My bb Elia Martell is way too nice for her own good. Also my bb Jared. UGH. Jared owns my whole fuckin’ heart, and he can’t even reAD. REMUS IS ALSO MY SOFT CINNAMON ROLL THAT THE WORLD DOES NOT DESERVE. I don’t follow instructions.

name of your most troubled muse: Felix is p troubled. Hades is just... *pinches nose-bridge in distress* He needs to calm the fuck down. 

character you have the most muse for atm: Elia still will not leave me alone. I love her with my whole heart. Remus pops in every once in a while. I force Hades to be around because I can and I want to. 

two of your muses that would never get along: Lucifer won’t get along with anyone. I feel like Jared and Lucifer especially. 

two of your muses that could be best friends: Hades and Elia are my headcanon bffls. 

two of your muses that would make a cute couple: HMMMMMMM. Lucifer is a little shit and would be cute with Marcus Flint or Remus. 

two of your muses that are most similar: Hades and Salazar. 100%. 

name of the muse you’d be best friends with irl: Pansy and I would get along bc we’re both baby but also will step on people’s throats with our heels. 

name of the muse you’d probably hate irl: Marcus Flint would prob piss me off. 

a faceclaim you’ve been eager to use: I JUST WANT TO USE DIEGO BONETA, BUT HE IS SOLIDIFIED IN MY BRAIN AS ALEX CLAREMONT DIAZ. 

For my new bb muse Remus 

1. What does your muse smell like?: He smells of worn pages and coffee, of the sprig of rosemary he keeps tucked in his breast pocket, earl grey tea, and chocolate. 

2. What does your muse’s hands feel like?: They’re rough with scars and callouses, and unusually warm. He explains that its because he keeps them tucked in his pockets most of the time, for he didn’t like it when people looked at them. He didn’t like to think that it might be the wolf blood that coursed through him... 

3. What does your muse usually eat in a day?: Remus is very strict when it comes to his meals. He’s a creature of habit, and considers himself to have rather bland taste. 

4. Does your muse have a good singing voice?: No. He’s too shy to try, and will most likely not do so unless truly coerced by his friends. Even then, he will most likely sing so soft no one would hear him. 

5. Does your muse have any bad habits or nervous ticks?: He gnaws at his lips to the point that they tend to bleed, he reads to himself out loud (much to the annoyance of the people around him), and he sleeps with his hands curled into fists so tight he’d wake up with bright red crescent marks on his palms. He’s also a very angry sleeper, and sleeps with a frown on his face. 

6: What does your muse usually look like/wear?: He likes looking put together, even if it means having to work with what he had. He’d stitch up his own tears, polish his shoes when he could, and kept his hair relatively neat. He likes being in control of his appearance when he can, because when he can’t... 

7. Is your muse affectionate? How much? How so?: UGH he has a v complicated relationship with affection. While he craves genuine affection and wants to be able to show his appreciation and friendship physically, there are so many factors that keep him from doing so. When coaxed and reassured, tho, he luvs warm hugs. 

8. What position does your muse sleep in?: He curls up in a ball, hands closed into fists, shoulders hunched and all in all, he’s a v tense sleeper. 

9: Could you hear your muse in the hallway from another room?: Nope. He’s quiet, and keeps to himself. When he’s with James, Sirius or Peter, however, he finds that his laugh is a touch louder, his retorts a tad sharper, and his presence a bit bigger. 

Tagged by: @itswasteland​

Remus’ smile wavered. He wasn’t allowed to do this. Sirius wasn’t allowed to stand there, apologize, and look at him like that, because curse him, he knew, more than anyone, that he wasn’t strong enough to withhold forgiveness. He pressed his lips together and forced that painfully polite smile back up, hands clenched into fists in his pockets. His eyes moved back to the ugly paper weight on his desk, not trusting himself to truly look at the man directly. 

“You have nothing to apologize for, Sirius. I’m not mad.” 

He wasn’t mad. He never allowed himself to be.