[lostlibrarybook]

june 2026 update

masterlist

releases this month

knacker’s yard

chapter 2 — released 6/5

out of time

chapter 9 — soon

author notes:

happy pride month! this blog is owned by a queer (serial girl lover who gets confused for a teenage boy). i like my men fruity and with long hair (im looking at you sirius black). no terfs or homophobes allowed (f*ck jkr).

im looking forward to the summer solstice & hoping for the first snow-free month (fingers crossed).

i took an mbti & enneagram test again (i use similarminds)... still an intj 5w4. my results were brutal but relatable, humorous, & honest (“would rather be friendless than jobless” & “does not think they are weird but others do”). i’ve started to incorporate mbti and enneagram in my writing to help develop strong characters (example here).

here’s to a productive june everyone! *cheers*

[lostlibrarybook]

chapter 2 of KY is out! now ive gotta heavily edit the 10k sugar rush fueled chapter 9 draft of OOT. wish me luck

[lostlibrarybook]

Knacker's Yard

series masterlist // ao3 // previous chapter // next chapter

pairing: newt x female glader!reader

chapter 2: oranges like olive branches

word count: 2k // read time: ~10 minutes a/n: i quoted a lot of the book here so if you think my work is bad knock on mr dashner's door and not mine.

The room looked as if no one had ever attempted to make the place look inviting. 11 chairs arranged in a circle occupied the largest room of the Homestead. Besides the chairs, there was no other furniture. The walls were made of wood, as was the floor. No windows decorated the walls. Only the uncomfortable fluorescence provided light.

Typically, the chairs were arranged in a semicircle facing a single chair. With the topic of the gathering being comatose in the infirmary, the 12th chair was removed. The center chair was designated for the glade’s leader Alby. The chair to his right contained Newt, Alby’s second in command. The remaining chairs held the nine keepers, who were the individuals in charge of the jobs around the maze—runners, builders, cooks, slicers, track-hoes, med-jacks, sloppers, map makers, and baggers.

“Alright, alright, you shanks. Slim it. I hereby call this gathering started,” Alby crossed his arms and sat in his chair.

“I just don’t know why the creators would send a girl up.” A freckly-faced boy with black hair muttered to no one in particular.

“What does it shucking matter?” Minho exclaimed, “she’s here so we deal with it.”

Alby’s scowl deepened. “All right. We all know the drill. Everyone gets a turn to speak their mind.”

“Good that,” a few of the keepers responded.

“Minho,” Alby said, “since you seem to have an opinion already made, why don’t you start us off?”

“Okay, but this isn’t a sharing circle. We aren’t going around sharing our feelings like a bunch of sissy girls just because there’s a girl in the maze now,” Minho responded.

“Just bloody get on with it,” Newt prompted. He was holding a pad of paper with a pencil in his other hand, ready to take notes.

“Fine,” Minho said. “Let’s treat her like any other shank in this place. No slacking. Work a job. Wake at the wake-up. Eat meals with us. Sleep in a sleeping bag on the lawn. Treating her special is the fastest way to make sure every other shank in this place hates her.”

Alby nodded to the next keeper, the freckle-faced boy with black hair. His name was Alex, the keeper of the sloppers. Alex shrugged.

“I don’t know. We’ve been up here for almost a year, only boys coming out of the box… what if the creators made a mistake?”

“The creators don’t make mistakes,” Winston answered quickly.

“If not a mistake, then what?” Alby prompted.

“A test.” Winston said.

Newt put his pencil down. “What kind of test?”

Winston, the keeper of the slicers, scratched crusted blood on his fingernail. “The bad kind.”

Minho interrupted. “What? Is she gonna wake up and eat our faces off?”

“Why wait and find out? Let the grievers have her,” Gally said, voice low and cruel.

Alby pursed his lips and turned towards Gally, the keeper of the builders. Alby was never fond of Gally, even before the changing. After Gally was stung by the grievers, he became utterly and obtrusively unlikeable. Only Gally’s disciples could stand to be around him.

“Wait your turn, Gally,” Alby said.

“You didn’t say that to Winston,” Gally retorted, sinking into a defiant slump.

“Well, I could tell Winston wasn’t about to say some stupid klunk like you,” Alby said. Alby turned away from him. “Zart the fart, your turn.”

There were a few sniggers as Zart, the quiet and large glader who watched the gardens, shifted in his seat. He looked more out of place than a carrot on a tomato plant. He fixed his eyes on the floor as a bright blush bloomed to the tips of his ears. “Well…what if they expect us to, uh, you know, procreate?”

“What the bloody klunk do you mean, glader?” Newt demanded.

“I wouldn’t mind a chance,” Billy, the glader in charge of disposing of the dead, said. No shame in his voice.

Alby sat up sharply. His nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed at Billy. Alby’s mouth pulled into a tight grin that had nothing to do with humour. “If you or anybody else touches this girl,” Alby said, “you’re gonna spend the night sleepin’ with the grievers in the maze. Banished, no questions.” He looked around at the rest of keepers. “Got it, nobody better touch her. Nobody. Write it down, Newt. New rule. We announce it tonight at dinner.” Alby stood. “Shuck this. If you’re all gonna be a bunch of klunking freaks, this gathering is over. We’ll do what Minho says. I’ll give her the tour myself once she wakes. Adjourned.”

The keepers filtered out until only three boys remained—Newt flicking through the notepad, Minho crossing his arms while watching Newt, and Alby collapsing into his chair.

“Well, that was a shucking waste of time,” Alby said.

“You thunk?” Minho responded.

Alby turned to Newt, more than his best friend, his confidant and advisor. “What do you think?”

“Must be something special about her or they wouldn’t have sent her here,” Newt said. He closed his eyes and murmured, “Somethings gotta change. She’s special. She has to be.” He hoped this girl would be his northern star, guiding him to freedom. Newt knew that if no change came to the glader’s predicament soon, then his hope would be depleted, a desert that forgot what rain was. He did not know how far his desperation would take him exactly, but it was nowhere good.

——

She drifted in and out of consciousness, her senses picking out random sensations, old and current—the scratchy linens of the bed, argumentative voices that sounded as if she were underwater, a stinging antiseptic smell when someone dabbed at her wounds, the jarring sounds of machine alarms, the hum of overheating computers, eyes sore from blue light, a woman screaming... With the pounding in her head and the distressing thoughts, she did not fight the waves of blank sleep that repeatedly dragged her under.

——

One and a half days after she fell from her tree, consciousness was no longer avoidable. Her vision blurred in and out while she blinked. Her eyes were caked with a day’s worth of crust. Light peaked through the moth-eaten curtains. She groaned and rolled.

“Jeff!” a boy shouted, “she’s awake.”

“Go tell Alby,” another responded.

She listened as footsteps approached her. Her instincts were screaming for her to run, but she did not have the strength. Everything hurt. When she rolled, the urge to vomit took over. She gagged.

“Pass me a bucket,” the boy next to her said.

The sound of a handle knocking on plastic assaulted her ears. She gagged again. If there was anything in her stomach, she was certain she would have vomited. She gasped for air between dry heaves. After what felt like hours to her exhausted body, the heaving finally stopped. Air shuddered in her sore lungs.

——

The door to the homestead bedroom where the med-jacks operated opened. Alby, Minho, and Newt shuffled inside.

“I heard she’s awake,” Alby said in place of a greeting.

“Almost puked a minute ago,” Jeff, the med-jack keeper, said.

“I thought maybe she was a goner after that fall.” Minho chuckled. “Girl must be tough.” He nodded his head with respect.

“Well, she is not out of the woods yet. She’ll need some more time to recover. Head injuries are never cut and dry,” Jeff answered.

“Keep her comfortable,” Alby said, “let me know if any of the boys try to come here. You heard me yesterday. Anyone tries anything with her, immediate banishment, no if or buts.”

“Let’s leave her alone,” Newt suggested softly. He tilted his head and studied her body. He could not see her face, but her tense back betrayed her pain. She groaned as if agreement with Newt.

Minho chuckled. “Welcome to the glade, greenie.”

The boys turned and left. Newt was last. He kept his eyes on her until the door clicked closed.

——

Newt opened the door slowly. Even sleeping, she looked uncomfortable, her fists twisting into the pillowcase. At dinner, Jeff told Newt that the greenie was stubborn, unfriendly, and hostile. She had refused food and scratched poor Clint when he held out a glass of water to her.

Newt sat on the bed across from her. He placed a fresh glass of water on the bedside table. In his hand was a large citrus. Digging his nail in, he split an opening into the spongey skin. A citrus smell perfumed the room. In his peripheral, he saw her shift. He kept his vision down, focusing on neatly stripping the orange’s peel.

“Evening sleepin’ beauty,” Newt said, laying his accent on thick.

She turned towards him. Her eyes squinted even though the room was dark. “You know I wasn’t really asleep.” She paused, squinting further. “Newt,” she recalled, speaking his name like an insult.

Her voice was hoarse. She looked at the glass of water then back at Newt. She snatched the glass, raising it to her lips hastily then jerked to a harsh stop. She sniffed the water and glanced over at Newt.

“Greenie, are you that bloody stupid that you think I would poison your water?”

Her cheeks flushed. She shot him a defiant sneer. Once the first droplets of water kissed her lips, she lost all self-control. The glass was gone in a few painful gulps.

“More.” She panted.

“Hold on. None of that. Don’t want to be pukin’ it all up. Good that?” Newt gently chided. He reached for the glass, but she pulled her hands back sharply. He thought of a feral cat again. Newt switched tactics. He held up the peeled orange like a peace offering. “I brought you an orange, considerin’ you never got to eat that one the other day.”

She raised an eyebrow and held a hand, palm up, towards him expectantly. One by one Newt placed orange slices into her hand. She chewed slowly, occasionally throwing Newt a vicious glare when she spit out a seed.

“I’ll grab another,” Newt offered. He turned to stand but she reached out, placing a hand on his forearm.

“I, uh, you don’t need to—” she said, bravado briefly slipping before she corrected herself, “—I’m fine. I can do it myself.”

“Greenie, I watched you fall 20 feet out of a tree. I’d be an idiot to believe you.”

She huffed and twisted away from him quickly, like an insolent child. The movement made her wince. Her neck was stiff. Motion sickness took over. The world slanted under her like a boat in a violent sea. One of her hands locked onto the cool metal of the bed frame; the other lifted to her forehead.

“Fuck.”

“Shuck. Would you like me to get Jeff?” Newt leaned forward. He did not touch her.

“No,” she snapped, “just give me a damn minute.” She took deep breaths until the world stopped spinning. Her eyes opened and locked on him. “What’s a greenie?”

He was at a loss for a moment. Of all the things to prioritize right now…but he felt ignoring her question would be a mistake. He feared she would turn away or even try to run if he did not do things on her terms. And he needed her, needed what she could represent—hope. So, he answered her. He told her all about the maze, how they got there, the creators, the rules, beetle blades, what it was like to be a runner...until the questions slowed.

“How do you survive it, Newt? The maze…the not knowing, not understanding…” she whispered.

“We just have to work, live, survive... That’s how things work here. The other alternative is death,” Newt whispered back.

“Death,” she muttered, like it was a word she was trying to learn. Newt knew that feeling, remembering how it felt when the first few gladers died. Death gained a new meaning when it became a close companion. Either you backed away slowly until you were cornered or you watched it remain just out of reach.

“Death.” She said more conclusively this time, like she mastered the meaning. Her eyes, determined, clear, and for the first time, calm, bore into Newt. “Can I have that second orange now?”

“Only if you tell me your name first.” Newt smiled. His eyes crinkled sweetly, warm sunlight peeking through the canopy.

“Y/n.”

“Newt.” He put his hand out for a handshake. “Nice to meet you, y/n. Welcome to the glade.”

[lostlibrarybook]

newt & drag path by twenty one pilots

1: drag path lyric // 2: newt’s letter to thomas, the death cure film // 3: quote from crank palace novella // 4: remembrance rock in the safe haven, the death cure film // 5: drag path lyrics // 6: thomas turning back to looking at newt whose back is turned, the maze runner film // 7: thomas turning back to looking at crank newt whose back is turned, the death cure film

[lostlibrarybook]

The Maze Runner: Parallels & Firsts/Lasts

1: quote by david jones @ storydj

2: thomas promising chuck will give his carving to his parents, the maze runner film

3: chuck’s first and last appearance, the maze runner book

4: a dying chuck telling thomas to give his carving to his parents, the maze runner film

5: teresa and thomas, WICKED flashback in the maze runner film

6: thomas sees teresa for the last time, the death cure film

7: newt’s first words to thomas, the maze runner book

8: parallel shots of thomas looking back at newt from the maze runner and the death cure films

9: newt’s last words to thomas, the death cure book

[glutengoblin]

THE FATE OF OPHELIA (Part 9)

(Sebastian Sallow X Reader)

Word Count: 3.3 k

Previous Part, Next Part

Summary: When Sebastian first broke her heart at Hogwarts, Y/N swore off becoming attached to anyone ever again. Now, years later, Sebastian is a professional Quidditch player and she's a renowned physician. When Sebastian breaks his wrist during a match, he turns to her for help. Though she's the one who can mend his broken body, he's determined to mend her heart.

A/N: Huge thank you to @barnabyjr and @cheywritesfanfics for helping by beta reading and brainstorming with me! Love you both <3

Themes: One-sided enemies to lovers; Fake Dating; eventual smut

Sebastian’s POV

In the quiet hours before dawn he sat, contemplating his choices. This was typical of Sebastian, his mind seldom giving him a quiet moment. While he often seemed impulsive, the truth remained shrouded in layers of increasing complexity. It was certainly true that he ran into situations without thinking them fully through before taking the first movements, but it seemed that he was cursed to consider them afterwards, turning them over in his mind until the thoughts were as smoothed as a river-worn stone.

This morning was no exception. No quidditch game day ever did seem to be. What was he doing with his life, he would ask himself as he rolled out of bed far too early, chased out by the nightmares that made the simple act of sleeping seem unsafe. He would ask himself again as he splashed water on his face and moved through the required motions of waking. He would consider it more heavily as he sat at his counter, the caffeine from his now-cold dregs of coffee working their domestic magic. 

He told himself that at this point it was simply a pre-game ritual, reminding himself why all of this was so important. It wasn’t very Slytherin-like to have to talk himself into being ambitious, he was fully aware. But regardless he tried.

Today felt easier than usual, and although he didn’t want to admit it, the most likely culprit was you. The simple knowledge that you were going to be there, watching him, perhaps even judging him with the clinical precision you could never completely shake, was like a jolt of adrenaline through his blood stream. The sight of you in the stands, something he hadn’t experienced since his Hogwarts’ days, was already playing in his mind. Today he had a tangible reason to do well, no need to plead with himself, remind himself of why he was doing all of this. Of why this was his only option.

“Only a few more years,” he had said like a prayer before each game, head dipped. “Only a few more years and then I can live exactly like I want to.” The taste lingered on his tongue now, the bite of ocean air laced with salt. The feeling of grass biting at his ankles, his only companion the clear sky, nearly periwinkle blue over head. Soon he wouldn’t need to resign himself to summers and few rushed weekend trips to field locations. Soon he could spend as long as he wanted pressed between the book shelves of libraries of old, spending countless hours reading in the hope of finally unraveling the mystery of dark magic a bit farther.

Today, there was no conversation with himself, no rehashing of purpose. Today, his only focus was you.

As the light began to crawl its way through the cracks in the curtain and onto the counter before him, Sebastian finally shifted. He had spent enough time lost in his head this morning to last a week. He had a pitch to get to.

Your POV

You found yourself standing in front of the mirror once again. It seemed to be one of your favorite places as of late. You were wearing a pair of jeans and a long sleeve white shirt. Perhaps a bit simple, yes, but you weren’t really sure what else would go with the sweater that Sebastian had loaned you. You really needed to add more green to your closet if this was going to become a run-of-the-mill outing for you. 

You had waited to pull on the sweater until the absolute last moment you could. Despite your feeble attempts to keep reminding yourself that it was simply an article of clothing, your treacherous brain kept insisting that it was something more. Like the instant that you pulled it on, donned it and showed it to the world, that this somehow would all be real. That your relationship with Sebastian would be real, at least on your end. At that point, the only person you would be lying to would be yourself.

You let out a sigh, trying your best to trace the root of your nerves. Sure, this whole experience had worn on you thus far, but you could never admit that out loud. You had become so practiced at pretending throughout your life. 

Pretending you were a normal child, when the strangest things kept occurring with no explanation.

Pretending you were a typical student when you joined Hogwarts in your fifth year.

Pretending you were fine when you lost Sebastian and Professor Fig within a 1 month span.

Pretending you were prepared to be an adult when you graduated, despite having just started to feel like you had found your footing at Hogwarts, right before it was all yanked away.

Pretending you were a better doctor, a caring one, an intelligent one, one who could cope with the emotional free-fall your career seemed to encourage.

So why was pretending to be in a relationship proving to be so difficult? Why did you struggle to keep your emotions under check?

You could reasonably blame it on pressure. Agatha had emailed you the night prior, with a ‘friendly’ reminder of how much today mattered for appearances.You and Sebastian had been photographed together, sure, but this day would be different. There would be cameras everywhere. Practically everyone would know who you are. Today your performance would have to be flawless to keep up the ruse. Your job practically depended on it.

A part of you, perhaps a bitter one, hoped that Sebastian was feeling the same way. It may have been harsh, but it seemed more likely now, that he was more anxiety-ridden than he let on. The existence and subsequent acknowledgement of his nightmares had broken something within you. It was now impossible to pretend that he had simply had a way of surviving difficult times better than you. Instead, you now knew that the downfall had caused scars. Bleeding together didn’t seem quite as dangerous as bleeding alone.

So you told yourself that Sebastian did feel the same way, even if it was potentially a lie. In your mind, he was equally as nervous about today, equally as nervous to see your face. You repeated it like a mantra as you finally took a breath and pulled his sweater over your head. You made a mental note to ask him how he managed to continuously make everything he owned smell of pine - it couldn’t have been a normal cologne, the scent was simultaneously too subtle, but lingered for too long for that to be the case.

You were finally pulled from the grasps of your mind by a short rap at the door, followed by a few muffled words from your roommate. “Y/N, are you about ready to go? We should leave now if we’re going to meet Poppy and Natty on time.” You took one more deep breath, steading yourself.

You could treat this just like being in clinic. You could slip the mask of calm over your features, cool your reactions. You could look invested in this game, smile in the way that the cameras wanted to see. 

“Coming,” you responded a moment later.

⋆｡°✩

The pitch was slightly less rowdy than you had expected. Back in your Hogwarts days, every game seemed as if it was a chance to demonstrate house loyalty. The louder someone screamed, the more outrageous outfits people wore, were viewed as a sign of how much you cared. If your own house wasn’t playing, people seemed to take notes on who you were cheering for.

The air at this game didn’t hold the same tension. Sure, people were dressed in green for Scotland and red for Wales. A few people had face paint, and you even saw a group of men with Wales written across their chests in bright body paint. But, the overall feeling was more relaxed. You felt a bit calmer as you looked around, observing the other attendees as you waited for your friends to collect their drinks. It didn’t seem like anyone had noticed you yet and for that you were thankful for that fact.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything?” Poppy asked as she approached, beer in hand and snapping you out of focus.

“I’m fine, thanks Pops.” Poppy simply nodded and smiled, leaving it at that. Your friends never pushed the issue and for that you were thankful. Truth be told, some part of you always felt a responsibility to be sober when in public. Perhaps it was some twisted sense of responsibility that came naturally with being a physician, but someone needed to be sober to make sure everyone remained safe. You were perfectly happy to play that role.

“Are we ready to head to the stands?” Natty asked as she and Ominis rejoined the group.

You nodded and began to lead the group in the direction of the seats. Always the planner, you had looked up the layout of the stadium the moment Sebastian had sent you the tickets. When you finally approached the correct area, you were surprised to find a guard standing there, a rope beside him blocking off access to the seats.

“Er, hello.” You greeted the man, flashing him the best, most confident smile you could muster. “I believe that our seats are in this area… or perhaps I’m mistaken?” You handed over the tickets and upon inspection, the guard removed the rope, ushering your rag-tag party in. 

“Welcome, Dr. L/N. I hope you enjoy the game.” 

So, at least one person did know who you were. You tried not to focus on the snickering comment Poppy made, “Sebastian is really giving you the VIP treatment, huh?” You couldn’t admit that you wished he would give you that in all regards. Instead, you choose to sit down in your seat, straightening out your clothes and looking over the field. It was a grey, overcast day so you were thankful that Sebastian had loaned you such a warm sweater.

There were a few players lingering about, walking the pitch and likely chatting about strategies for the game. Your eyes grazed over them subconsciously, trying to spot a certain brunette. When your eyes finally caught on his freckled face, you couldn’t help but smile. It only took a few moments before he seemed to notice you watching him, and he returned your smile. He quickly turned back to his teammate, muttering something before turning to jog towards you instead.

“Hi,” Sebastian said when he reached you, cheeks flushed from the jog and the wind. The smile on his face was genuinely bright. He looked so ecstatic to see you that you worried your expressions wouldn’t look nearly as real. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“And I’m so happy to be here. Thank you again for the tickets.”

“It’s really no problem, anything for you.”

The air caught in your throat. Something in the way he said it made child-like butterflies appear in your stomach and a blush cover your cheeks. Sebastian just continued to look at you, his eyes passing over each of your features, taking his time as if he was studying you. Eventually his eyes met yours again and somehow both of your smiles grew bigger, despite the odds. You were so lost in each other, in the silent communication that passed between your forms, that neither of you seemed to register the blow of the whistle that signaled that the game would be starting momentarily. 

It was only when Poppy bumped you with her shoulder, that you snapped back to reality and realized what was happening. “I believe that’s your signal,” you shared sheepishly. “Good luck, Seb. Don’t disappoint me.” You didn’t even process your use of the nickname. It had been years since you had last called him that, the name reserved only for moments that the two of you had been alone, tucked in the undercroft or room of requirement. Its presence in this moment felt both right and novel, like you were extending an olive branch that neither of you had sought out before.

“I’ll do my best for you, I promise.”

“OI! Kiss her for good luck mate. We need to win this game!” Neither of you had noticed the audience you held, but as you turned around your eyes landed on a group of men, all dressed in Scotland attire. One of them was grinning maniacally and you could see his friends trying to hold back laughs as they tried to shush him. 

You turned back to Sebastian, who had his eyebrow raised, as if silently requesting permission. Before you could think any better of it, you gave him a slight nod. You could feel your whole body heat as he stepped forward, closing the space between you and putting his hand on your cheek. As he leaned in, your eyes fluttered close. 

The feeling of his lips on yours was electrifying, a feeling only rivaled by a surge of ancient magic coursing through your veins. You weren’t sure which one of you deepened the kiss, but it only took a moment for Sebastian’s form to be pressed against your’s, his other hand finding purchase in your hair.

It was only when the second whistle sounded, and Ominis cleared his throat, that you two finally parted. Sebastian took a step back. “I believe that’s my signal to get going.”

You could only nod, your throat growing dry. Sebastian smiled at you again and you were thankful that at least one of you seemed to be handling this well.

“I’ll see you after the game, sweetheart.” He offered one last smile, before turning around and jogging to the rest of his teammates.

The moment he left, you practically collapsed back into your chair, feeling intensely out of breath. 

“Do you need some water?” Poppy asked, clearly trying her best not to laugh at your state.

“Please.”

⋆｡°✩

The game was afoot, the players spiraling in wide arcs overhead. Theoretically you knew the rules to quidditch. You had watched quite a few games during your time at Hogwarts, but you were still at a disadvantage compared to most of wizardkind. The feeling had grown less uncomfortable over the years, as you had become more accustomed to the wizarding world. Regardless, your friends’ comments on the game left you feeling dazed and slightly confused.

You did your best efforts to focus on Sebastian, figuring that someone in the crowd must have had a camera pointed at you. It would sound a little self-obsessed if you were to admit those thoughts outloud, but these days, you could never be sure.

The score was 100 to 60, with Scotland in the lead. The snitch had yet to be caught, so it looked likely that the game would continue for a while, much to your dismay. Although you enjoyed watching Sebastian play, and could see the passion he had for the sport with every swing, the kiss had left you reeling. You felt a combination of content, dizzy, and slightly nauseous. You wanted to lay down and think through your feelings, process the fact that Sebastian had finally kissed you. The man that you had been in love with since you were 15 years old had kissed you and it felt world shattering. But, as your treacherous mind wanted to keep reminding you, it was fake. It was part of the ruse, and Sebastian had only done it because of pressure from the spectators. You couldn’t fully accept that explanation though, no matter how hard you had tried. Sure, the relationship was technically fake, but the kiss had felt so real. The way Sebastian had flushed himself against you, ran his fingers through your hair… it felt real to you.

The world had grown more damp, a slight drizzle falling from the gray sky. Your attention kept wandering, until you suddenly heard a commotion, and shouts overhead. Your eyes quickly snapped up, and to your horror you saw a bludger, shot from across the field, racing in the exact direction where you and your friends were sitting. Most of the players’ attention had been focused on the far goal, which belonged to Wales, where the quaffle was currently being passed back and forth. There was no way that any beater would be able to make it down field in time.

You knew the saying well, that in high intensity situations people often choose fight, flight, or freeze. Your years of using ancient magic to clear out poacher camps, fight goblins, etc, had left you as the fight type. But something in you, in this moment of time, froze. 

It was like you were seeing the scene in slow motion, first spotting the bludger, the recognition it was headed towards your part of the crowd, and the acceptance that, with your horrible streak of luck lately, that it would probably hit you.

But it didn’t. You didn’t spot Sebastian racing down the field, until he was in front of it. His bat was extended and the bludger should have hit it. It didn’t. Instead, somehow, Sebastian took it straight to his chest. You heard the sickening crunch of bone. Before you could even let out a gasp, Sebastian was plummeting towards the ground, hitting with a hard thud. A whistle was called, pausing the game.

You jumped to your feet, your momentary frozen state resolved. You needed to get to him, you needed to make sure that he was okay… You needed to make sure he was alive. 

Poppy tried to grab your hand, explaining that they certainly had medical staff on the sidelines, but you barely registered her pleas. Soon enough you were running, the slick turf coming up to meet your feet with each step.

You made it to him before anyone else. He was slumped on his side, eyes closed, curls damp from the game. You quickly rolled him onto his back, doing your best to assess the damage with a clinical eye, despite the fact your hands were shaking. He was still breathing, thank Merlin.

“Sebastian… Seb, can you open your eyes for me?” Your voice shook as you made your plea, hope intertwining with desperation.

It took a moment, but he did. He stared up at you, concern etched in your face, and the bastard had the audacity to smile. It was then that the other medical staff finally reached you.

“Ma’am, please step aside,” one of the medics urged, as you began running your hands down his chest, using your magic to check for fractured ribs.

“I’m a physician,” you stated calmly, continuing to probe. There were at least four separate fractures from what you could tell. He would need treatment as soon as possible.

The medic began to argue, but Sebastian responded instead, voice strung with pain. “Listen to her. Whatever she wants to do, do it.” You startled for a moment, surprised by his trust in you. Regardless, you listened, and returned to the conversation with the medic.

“He has numerous fractures in his rib cage. We need to get him to St Mungo’s, now.” An attempt at an argument had died with Sebastian’s statement, so the medic just nodded. 

“If we can get him over to the medic tent, we have a port key.” You simply nodded.

“Perfect, now, help me lift him.” Sebastian began to protest, but upon finding that he was unable to sit up on his own, he resided in being placed on a stretcher. 

You barely noticed the murmur of the crowd, the worry etched on everyone’s faces as you made your way with him to the medic tent. Your sole focus was Sebastian, who was now gripping your hand tightly as grunts of pain left his lips. You just need to get him to St Mungo’s, and he would be alright. At least, that was what you told yourself. You needed desperately for it to be true.

[lostlibrarybook]

like the bludger, i did not see this coming 😭

[fictionalthooughts0]

Chapter 13) Intruder in the Tower.

(Fred x Reader) Broken Promises.

Rated: Mature

Word Count : 5K

Previous Chapter: Here

Sleep wouldn't come. 

Not properly.

Not in the way it was supposed to—where your thoughts softened and drifted and carried you somewhere quieter. Instead, it hovered just out of reach.

You lay still beneath the covers, your body heavy with exhaustion, your mind stubbornly awake.

The canopy above your bed blurred in the dim light, its fabric shifting faintly as shadows from the corridor outside flickered against the stone walls. Every so often, the light would change—brighter, dimmer—like the castle itself was breathing.

You watched it longer than you meant to, counting the slow movements in a rhythmic pattern that should have calmed you. Tracing the shapes, trying to anchor yourself to something simple.

It didn't work.

Your thoughts kept circling back.  Back to the sky, the fall, the cold, Harry's limp body plummeting towards the ground and the murmurs that overtook the crowd despite the roaring storm. That apathetic feeling that crept and cracked into your bones and skin like a cleaver.  

You could still remember it—how it hadn't just touched your skin, but something deeper. Something that had settled into your chest and hollowed it out from the inside. 

You shifted slightly under the blankets, you could feel a frown etched into your features that no matter how hard you tried you couldn't relax.

Beside you, Ginny stirred, he own brows knit tight together in her sleep.

Her arm tightened instinctively where it had been draped across your waist, pulling you a fraction closer without waking fully. You stilled and waited. Her breathing steadied again, slow, perfectly even.

She had insisted on sleeping beside you that night.  

Not in a way that invited discussion, she had simply dragged her pillow across the narrow gap between your beds, muttered something about it being "colder than usual," and climbed in beside you before you had the chance to argue.

Now she was sprawled across the mattress like she belonged there. One leg thrown over yours, her hair a tangled mess across the pillow. Her face turned slightly toward you, soft in sleep.

You studied her for a moment. There was something about it— the familiarity- the certainty. After everything that had happened on the train... after the way the world had felt like it had tilted slightly off its axis- this remained steady.

You exhaled slowly, eyes drifting back to the familiar tapestry above your bed. 

 Another sound echoed faintly through the castle, you froze.

It wasn't loud, not obvious. 

But it wasn't... normal.

Your brows furrowed slightly. 

You listened, nothing followed. 

Just the usual creaks of the castle settling into itself. Pipes shifting, wind brushing faintly against the windows somewhere high above. You told yourself that was all it was, your imagination. It had to be nothing.

 You let your head sink deeper into the pillow and closed your eyes firmly.

And then— a shout. 

Loud.  Too loud.

Your eyes snapped open. 

This time there was no mistaking it.

Footsteps followed immediately after—fast, uneven, echoing sharply up the spiral staircase. Your heart jumped. 

Ginny stirred beside you again, her fingers tightening reflexively around your sleeve.

"What—?" she murmured, her voice thick with sleep.

You pushed yourself upright, "I don't know," you whispered, eyes locked towards the sound.

The footsteps grew louder, grew closer and then the dormitory door busted open. The sound cracked through the room, sharp enough to pull the other girls from sleep in startled confusion. 

You blinked against the sudden movement, for a moment, nothing made sense.

A figure stood in the doorway. Tall and rigid with flaming red locks that stung to look at in the panic.

Percy.

Your brain struggled to catch up. 

He shouldn't be there, not here. Not in the girls' dormitory of all places.

"Get up!" he shouted.

His voice wasn't just loud, it was tight. Controlled in a way that made it more alarming than shouting.

Around you, the room stirred into chaos, "What's happening—?"

"Why is he in here—?"

"Percy—?"

Ginny pushed herself upright beside you, "What are you doing?" she asked, her voice sharper now, fully awake, her eyes decidedly locked on her elder brother.

Percy didn't answer immediately, "There's been a break-in".

The words landed but they didn't settle. They hung in the air like something that shouldn't have ever been mouthed, "A what?" someone whispered.

Your grip tightened unconsciously in the blankets and Ginny's hand found yours. 

 "What do you mean break-in?" she pressed. 

Percy glanced toward the staircase, "Just come downstairs."

That was all he said. No explanation, no reassurance, just— come downstairs. You and Ginny exchanged a look. It lasted barely a second, but it said everything. Something is wrong. 

You threw the blankets back. 

The air felt colder than it should have.

Your hands moved quickly—too quickly—as you pulled on your shoes, your fingers clumsy with the sudden rush of adrenaline. Around you, the other girls scrambled in similar confusion—robes thrown over shoulders, whispered questions going unanswered.

The room no longer felt safe, not the way it had earlier. Not the way it should have.

Ginny stayed close and so did you. Neither of you said it, but neither of you let go of the other.

The staircase seemed longer than usual. Each step creaked beneath the weight of too many people moving too quickly. Voices drifted upward from the common room. 

By the time you reached the bottom— it had already begun.

The common room was full. Students clustered together in tight groups, their voices overlapping in sharp bursts of confusion and fear.

"What happened—?"

"Did someone get hurt—?"

"They said someone got in—"

"How is that even possible—?"

The fire in the hearth flickered too brightly, casting long shadows across the walls that seemed to move faster than they should. You scanned the room instinctively. Looking for something—someone— and you found them.

Fred and George stood near the fireplace, still. Their usual energy—gone, replaced with something sharper and more alert than you were used to seeing them. You moved toward them before you could think about it, "What's going on?" you asked.

George shook his head once his eyes found yours, "No idea." he said flatly, his hands stuck in his pockets.

Fred's gaze shifted to you and Ginny upon your approach, "You alright?" he asked the pair of you. The question was likely directed to both of you, but his eyes locked on yours as Ginny clung to your arms, eyes searching the room for something unusual.

The question caught you off guard slight, but you nodded automatically, "Yea."

It wasn't convincing, you knew that. 

He probably did too. 

A sharp voice cut through the room, "Quiet!" 

Professor McGonagall stood near the center of the room. Her presence alone was enough to still the noise. But tonight— It wasn't just authority. 

"Mr. Weasley," she said. 

Ron stepped forward slowly, a pitiful expression wilted into his brows "Professor?"

Her gaze was sharp, focused, tense, "Would you care to explain why you think Sirius Black was found inside Gryffindor Tower tonight?"

The words hit like a physical force.

Ron blinked.

A break-in? Inside the tower? Inside the place that was supposed to be safe? Ginny's grip tightened again, her voice came out smaller than you had ever heard it, "How?"

No one answered, because no one knew. 

Ron swallowed hard.

You could see it even from where you stood near the fireplace— the way his face had gone pale beneath the glow of the firelight, the way his fingers twitched nervously at his sides like he didn't quite know what to do with himself.

The room had gone almost entirely still around him, even the younger students had stopped whispering.

Ron looked miserable. "He—" Ron started, his voice cracking slightly before he cleared it. "He- well he was just standing over me professor,"

A murmur rippled through the room immediately and Ginny stiffened beside you. Your stomach twisted unpleasantly at the thought, and you gritted your teeth down hard.

McGonagall's expression didn't soften, "And you saw this man yourself, Mr. Weasley?"

Ron nodded quickly, "Yea— I woke up and—and heard something." He swallowed again, glancing briefly toward Harry like he was grounding himself there before continuing. "I thought maybe Harry or something because I heard movement near the beds."

The room stayed silent, every student listening, every face tense.

Ron shifted uncomfortably under the attention, "And then I looked over and—" He stopped.

You watched his face pale further at the memory.

"There was someone standing there."

Fred's posture beside you had gone entirely rigid now, his jaw tight as he listened. George no longer looked remotely amused either.

McGonagall's voice remained calm, though tighter now, "You are absolutely certain it was Sirius Black?"

Ron nodded immediately, almost too fast, "I saw him properly this time."

A younger girl near the staircase let out a frightened noise acute to a whimper. You felt Ginny edge slightly closer into your side, she was tense, as though she was holding her breath.

"He was standing over me," Ron continued quietly. "He had this big knife and—and he looked..." Ron visibly struggled for the words, "Mad."

The silence deepened and you could hear the fire crackling through the silence. The wind brushing faintly against the windows high above the tower. And somewhere in the room, Neville breathing far too quickly.

"But why?" another student asked suddenly, "Why would he break into Gryffindor Tower?"

Ron's expression twisted uneasily as his eyes flicked toward Harry again. That alone made your chest tighten, because everyone knew, or at least— everyone suspected.

McGonagall's mouth tightened faintly and the common room erupted again.

Students whispering frantically over one another now.

"How did he get inside?"

"The Fat Lady would never let him in—"

"Unless he threatened her—"

"He probably killed her!"

That last comment sent another nervous ripple through the room.

Ginny's fingers tightened hard around your sleeve but you barely noticed because your own thoughts had begun spiraling now too.

Inside the tower, inside the dormitories, inside a place that was supposed to be safe. Your eyes drifted unconsciously toward the boys staircase, toward the dark opening above, trying not to imagine someone standing there in the shadows holding a knife. Trying not to imagine waking to find him beside your bed, a cold feeling crept unpleasantly beneath your skin.

Beside you, Fred suddenly spoke for the first time since McGonagall had started questioning Ron, "Did he say anything?"

The room quieted slightly again and Ron's eyes shifted toward his brother.

For a second, he just looked shaken, then he slowly shook his head, "No."

Fred's jaw tightened visibly but he didn't say anything else. George crossed his arms beside him, expression darkening.

"He just stood there," Ron muttered, "Watching."

A horrible silence followed that, because somehow—that was worse.

McGonagall drew herself up straighter, regaining control of the room before panic could spread further, "Enough," she said sharply.

The whispers died immediately and her eyes swept across the gathered students.

"No one is to leave Gryffindor Tower unaccompanied until further notice." Her voice was clipped now, firm enough to cut through the fear steadily growing in the room. "The castle will be searched thoroughly. Professors Dumbledore and Snape are already investigating."

The mention of professors should have been reassuring.

It wasn't.

Because Sirius Black had still gotten inside, somehow. And as the room dissolved once more into frightened murmurs and anxious whispers, you couldn't shake the awful feeling curling low in your stomach—that despite what your father said, Hogwarts no longer felt untouchable anymore.

***

You didn't remember falling asleep. 

Only that you hadn't, not really.

The night blurred into morning without a clear edge between them, your thoughts never fully settling, your body never fully resting. By the time you reached the Great Hall— everything felt distant, muted. 

Like you were slightly removed from the world around you.

Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, spilling across the tables in warm, golden streaks that should have felt comforting. 

They didn't. 

They felt too bright, too normal, as if the castle had decided to continue as usual— while everything inside it had shifted. You sat beside Ginny, your posture slumped slightly forward, your hands loosely wrapped around a cup you hadn't touched.

Your eyes drifted tiredly cross the room, across the ceiling, across nothing in particular. 

Voices rose and fell around you.

"...they say he had a knife—"

"...in the dormitory—"

"...how did he even get past—"

The words blended together. 

Your head dipped, just slightly, your eyes closed- only for a moment.

"...hey."

The voice felt far away, you didn't respond, it didn't process it was for you.

"...hey."

A nudge this time. 

You blinked, the world snapped back into focus slowly.

Ginny was there watching you. 

"You fell asleep," she said.

You frowned slightly, "I did?"

Her lips pressed together firmly, brows knitting together, "Yes."

You straightened slightly, rubbing your eyes tiredly "Oh."

Around you, the table had gone quieter-stiller.

 Ron was staring at you, mouth slightly agape with whatever he'd managed to shove in his mouth, "You look awful," he spoke.

"Thanks," you muttered with a huff.

Hermione leaned forward, pushing away the parchment she had strung across the table "You didn't sleep?"

You shook your head slowly, "Not really."

Ginny shifted closer, "Neither of us did," she added.

A pause settled over the group. 

 "It'll be alright," Hermione said gently, "They're increasing security."

You nodded. But your thoughts didn't follow, they drifted. To your father, to the Ministry, to everything he knew— and wasn't saying.

"They shouldn't have let it happen," you said quietly.

Ron frowned, "What?"

"He said Hogwarts was safe," you murmured tiredly, eyes swiping at your eyes again.

Ginny watched you carefully, "You're thinking about your dad again."

You didn't deny it. "I just—" you exhaled slowly, rubbing your eyes, "he knows things."

"And he's not telling you," Hermione spoke. 

You nodded.

A silence followed, heavier this time. Then— "I just want it to be Christmas," you said. "I want to go home."

Ginny's hand found yours, "You will."

But it didn't feel soon enough. It didn't feel like it would fix anything.

***

The castle didn't slow down, that was the worst part. 

It should have.

After something like that—after a break-in, after the realization that someone dangerous had been inside the very walls meant to protect you— the world should have paused. 

Just for a moment. 

But it didn't.

Students still moved through the corridors in steady streams, books tucked under arms, voices rising and falling in conversation that felt too normal for what had happened only hours before.

Classes still began, professors still lectured. 

And somehow— you were expected to sit still and listen.

Charms felt farther away than usual, not physically, but in the way everything seemed just slightly out of reach. Professor Flitwick's voice carried across the room, bright and precise as always, his wand flicking through the air in small, controlled demonstrations that normally would have held your full attention.

Today— It barely registered.

You sat near the middle of the room, your parchment spread neatly in front of you, your quill resting loosely between your fingers. 

The ink had dried at the tip but you hadn't noticed.

"...and with proper concentration," Flitwick was saying, "the charm should produce a consistent—" 

Your eyes drifted, toward the window. 

The sky outside had darkened again, not storming, not yet. 

But heavy.

Clouds stretched thick across the horizon, their edges blurred together in slow-moving layers that seemed to press downward over the grounds. Your chest tightened slightly, you looked away. 

Back to your parchment.

There were words written there, you didn't remember writing them. 

They didn't make sense.

Your thoughts lagged behind everything else, like they were struggling to keep up with the world around you. 

You shifted in your seat, tried stretching inconspicuously, tried to sit up straighter. 

It didn't help.

The lack of sleep had settled into your bones. 

Not just tired—but worn. Like something had been pulling at you all night and hadn't quite let go. "...now, if you'll all try—"

The class stirred around you, chairs scraped lightly against the stone floor, quills lifted, wands were raised. 

You didn't move.

Your fingers tightened slightly around the edge of your desk.

Your father's voice surfaced in your mind. 

Hogwarts is the safest place for you.

You frowned slightly. The words didn't sit the same way anymore, not after last night, not after everything.

 If this was safe— then what wasn't?

Your head dipped, slowly this time. Your eyes closing before you realized it, the room faded. 

"...hey," A whisper.

Distant, unclear. 

Your mind didn't register it fully.

"...hey."

Closer now, a nudge against your arm. 

You jerked awake, your head lifting sharply, your eyes blinking against the sudden return of light and sound.

The classroom snapped back into place around you. 

Parvati, leaning slightly toward you, her brows raised in a mix of amusement and concern. "You fell asleep," she whispered sympathetically. 

You blinked, "Oh."

Your voice came out quieter than you meant it to. 

She gave you a small smile, "Again."

Heat crept up your neck and you scrunched your eyes. You straightened quickly, glancing toward the front of the room. 

Professor Flitwick hadn't noticed or had chosen not to. 

You exhaled slowly, "Sorry," you murmured.

Parvati shook her head lightly, "You look exhausted."

"I am."

She studied you for a moment, "Is it because of last night?"

Your fingers tightened slightly around your quill, "Yes."

The word came easier than you expected. Because there was no point pretending otherwise everyone knew, everyone felt it. 

Parvati nodded slowly, "I didn't sleep either," she admitted.

 You glanced at her, "Really?"

She shrugged, "Padma kept waking me up every time someone walked past the dormitory."

You huffed softly, "That sounds about right."

A small silence settled between you. Not uncomfortable but understanding. 

You looked down at your parchment again, the words still didn't make sense.  You dipped your quill back into ink trying to focus.

 The letters came out uneven. Your hand wasn't steady; it shook unevenly and flexed awkwardly.

This was ridiculous, it was just one night, one break-in. 

Nothing had actually happened to you. And yet— your body refused to settle. 

Your mind refused to move on. You shifted again in your seat, your gaze drifted, across the room. And then— without meaning to— you thought of him.

Fred.

Your eyes flicked toward the window again. The clouds had thickened, the sky darker now. 

He hated storms.

The thought came uninvited, you frowned slightly. 

Why did that matter?

You shook your head faintly, forcing your attention back to your parchment. 

The exhaustion hadn't lifted, it had settled deeper, your body heavier now, your thoughts slower. It must've been the sleep prompting your mind to wander.

As you gathered your things, your movements felt delayed, like you were always a second behind yourself. 

Students filed out of the classroom in small groups, their voices returning to their usual rhythm—laughter, complaints, casual conversation that felt almost jarring after the tension of the morning.

You stood, your bag slipping slightly from your shoulder as you adjusted it.Parvati paused beside you, "Are you going to be alright?" she asked.

You hesitated, then nodded with a sorrowful attempt at a smile, "Yeah."

It wasn't entirely true but it was enough. She gave you one last look before heading out into the corridor. 

You followed more slowly.

The hallway stretched out in front of you, long, stone, familiar, and yet— It didn't feel the same.

 Not anymore. 

Not after knowing someone had walked these same corridors— unseen. 

You needed to write your father. You needed to say something, because this— this wasn't something you could ignore.

***

By the time evening settled over the castle— you were done.

Not in any dramatic way, not visibly, but in the quiet, internal sense of something being worn thin.

The corridors had emptied gradually as the day gave way to night, the steady flow of students thinning into scattered footsteps and distant voices that echoed less frequently against the stone walls.

It should have felt calmer. 

You leaned back against the wall in one of the quieter corridors, the cool stone pressing through your robes as you let your head fall lightly against it.

For a moment— you closed your eyes. 

Not to sleep, just to stop, to pause.

The silence here was different from the dormitory, less alive and far less forgiving.

 No soft breathing beside you, no shifting blankets.

Just— stillness.

Your hand rested loosely in your lap, fingers brushing absentmindedly against the folded parchment tucked into your pocket.

Your father's letter.

You hadn't taken it out again since that morning, hadn't read it twice.  

Because you didn't need to- you already knew what it said. You're safe, stay out of trouble, continue as normal. 

Normal. The word sat wrong.

You let out a quiet breath, your head tipping slightly forward now as your thoughts began circling again—slower this time, but no less persistent. You should write back, you knew that. You should say something— ask something—push. 

But every time you tried to form the words in your mind, they slipped away from you.

What would you even say? You told me I was safe, you told me not to worry, you told me to trust you. 

And now— this.

Your jaw tightened slightly. 

You wanted answers, not reassurance, not careful half-truths wrapped in polite distance.

 Real answers. 

Your fingers curled faintly against your sleeve, and yet— even thinking about writing the letter felt exhausting. Like it would take more energy than you had left. Y

You sighed quietly, letting your head fall forward slightly, your eyes closing again. You just needed a moment, just one moment where you didn't have to think.

Footsteps echoed softly down the corridor but you didn't move, didn't open your eyes.

 Let them pass.

But they didn't, they slowed- stopped- close.

"Wasn't sure if you were asleep or just avoiding people."

Your eyes opened.

Fred.

Of course it was.

 He had an abnormal knack for finding you, leaning casually against the wall a few feet away, one shoulder resting against the stone, his posture easy in a way that felt almost out of place in the stillness of the corridor.

You groaned softly, your head tipping back again, "Don't start".

"I'm serious," he said, pushing himself off the wall slightly, "There are rumors."

 You blinked, eye peeling open once more, "Rumors?"

He nodded solemnly, "Falling asleep at breakfast. In class. Possibly mid-sentence at one point."

You dragged a hand over your face, " Ugh, I hate all of you."

"Bit harsh," he replied lightly, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth "We're very entertaining." 

You let your hand drop back into your lap, your shoulders slumping slightly, "I'm exhausted."

"Yeah," he said, softer this time. 

You glanced at him briefly. He had moved closer now, not too close. 

But closer than before.

 Enough that his presence filled the space in a way that made the corridor feel less empty.

You exhaled slowly, "Try sleeping," you muttered, "when there's a mass murderer walking around the castle."

Fred tilted his head slightly, "You're worrying more than Ginny."

You frowned, "That's because Ginny sleeps through everything."

"She does," he agreed. 

A small pause followed, the quiet settling between you again, but not the same kind as before.

 Less heavy.

You shifted slightly against the wall, your shoulder brushing faintly against the stone, "I don't feel safe," you said after a moment.

The words came out quieter than you intended. But once they were there— you couldn't take them back.

"Fair," he said.

His words were simple, not trying to sell you on a story of security you didn't buy. You glanced at him again, his expression had changed- subtly- still relaxed. 

But more focused, more... present.

You looked away first- you always did. Your fingers fidgeted slightly in your lap, brushing again against the folded letter in your pocket, "I just—" you paused, searching for something that made sense, "I keep thinking... if he can get in once—"

You didn't finish, you didn't need to. 

"Yeah," he said quietly.

Another pause, the corridor felt smaller now, quieter. But not in the same suffocating way as before.

You let out a slow breath, "I snapped at you," you said suddenly- the words came out more abruptly than you intended, "The other day."

"I noticed," he responded casually. 

You winced slightly, "I didn't mean to."

That made him smile, small, but real. 

Something in your chest eased slightly, just a fraction.

"I was tired," you added, though it sounded weak even to you, unsure if you should admit to him the truth about the letter-the idea almost too vulnerable for comfort.

"And now you're not?" he said, raising an eyebrow as if a part of him didn't believe you.

You huffed softly, "Shut up."

He laughed quietly. The sound was softer than usual, less performative, more... natural. 

The silence that followed felt different again, not empty, just... steady.

You shifted your weight slightly, your shoulder brushing faintly against his as you adjusted. 

You stilled, so did he. 

The contact was brief, barely anything- but it lingered. 

You straightened slightly, it was too close. You cleared your throat. "I should go back," you said.

Fred nodded once, "I'll walk you."

You blinked, "What?"

"To your dorm," he said, "Since you're clearly incapable of staying awake long enough to get there on your own."

You narrowed your eyes slightly, "That's not—"

You stopped. Because— you were tired. And the thought of walking back alone suddenly felt heavier than it should have.

You exhaled, "Fine."

His lips twitched slightly into a smirk, "Brilliant." 

The walk back was quiet. 

Not awkward. Just... calm. Your footsteps echoed softly against the stone as the two of you moved through the corridor side by side, the distance between you small but intentional. You were aware of it, of him, of the way the silence didn't feel uncomfortable. Of the way your thoughts— had finally slowed.

By the time you reached the common room— it almost felt normal again. 

Almost.

George spotted you immediately, "Well, well," he said, leaning back in his chair with a grin, "Look at that. Fred's taken up escort services."

You groaned, "Don't encourage him."

Fred smirked, "Too late."

You shook your head, turning toward the staircase, "Goodnight."

"Night," Fred replied.

You paused, just slightly. Something tugged at your thoughts. 

The quiet, the way the moment lingered just a second longer than it needed to. Then— you looked away and kept walking. Because whatever that was—you didn't have the energy to figure it out. And it was easier— to pretend it was nothing. 

Just— Weasley charm. 

That was all.

***

The dormitory was dim when you returned.  The kind of quiet that only existed late at night, when most of the castle had finally settled and the world seemed to move a little slower, a little quieter, as though it too, was tired.

The door creaked faintly as you pushed it open. 

You paused in the doorway for a moment, listening. 

The room breathed softly around you, low, even breathing from the other beds. The faint rustle of blankets shifting and the quiet creak of wood as someone turned in their sleep.

Familiar sounds, safe sounds. You stepped inside carefully, letting the door close behind you with a soft click. 

Your movements were slower now, not rushed. Just tired. The kind of tired that settled deep into your bones and made everything feel just a little heavier than it should. 

Your shoes slipped off quietly near the edge of the bed.

Your robes followed, folded more out of habit than intention, your fingers moving automatically through motions you didn't need to think about. The room was warmer than the corridor. 

Warmer than it had any right to be after the day you'd had.

You exhaled slowly. And then— you looked at her. 

Ginny strung tiredly in your bed.

Curled slightly toward your side of the bed, her blanket twisted loosely around her legs, one arm stretched across the space where you had been the previous night. As if she had expected you to come back. 

 Careful not to wake her as you slipped beneath the blankets again, easing yourself into the space beside her. The mattress dipped slightly under your weight. Ginny stirred almost immediately, a small, unconscious shift.

Her arm moved, found you again, and then settled. 

You stilled instinctively and waited. 

She didn't wake but she moved closer.  Enough that her shoulder pressed lightly against yours. Enough that the space between you disappeared entirely. 

You let out a quiet breath, the tension you hadn't realized you were still holding eased slightly.

Your eyes drifted to the ceiling. The same canopy, the same soft shadows shifting across it.

But it didn't feel the same as before. 

You shifted slightly beneath the blankets, careful not to disturb her. Your thoughts moved slower now, less sharp. The events of the day drifted through your mind again—but softer this time, like something already beginning to blur at the edges. 

The common room, McGonagall's voice, the word break-in.

Your stomach tightened faintly. You turned your head slightly into the pillow. You were still afraid, you could admit that now. 

The castle didn't feel as untouchable as it had before.

And that— that lingered. But it wasn't as overwhelming as it had been earlier. 

Because here—in this small, quiet space— it felt different. 

Your gaze shifted slightly. Ginny's hair brushed faintly against your arm. You focused on that, the warmth, the familiarity. 

She had been scared too.

You had felt it in the way her hand had held onto yours that night. In the way she had stayed close all morning. In the way she hadn't asked you to explain anything—you had both simply understood.

You exhaled slowly. As long as she was there— it didn't feel as heavy.

It didn't feel like something you had to carry alone. 

Your eyes drifted shut for a moment.

And then— your thoughts shifted again. 

Uninvited.

Fred.

The corridor, the quiet. The way he had looked at you— not joking, not teasing. Just... there. 

You frowned faintly against the pillow. It hadn't been anything, not really, just— a conversation. An apology- a walk- that was all.

You shifted slightly beneath the blankets. 

The memory lingered longer than it should have. The way the silence had felt, the way your thoughts had slowed. The way— you stopped. 

No, you exhaled quietly.

Weasley charm, that was all it was. 

They were all like that, easy, confident. 

It didn't mean anything.

Your brow relaxed slightly as you settled deeper into the pillow. The exhaustion finally began to win. 

The edges of the day blurred further, the fear, the questions, the frustration. 

Still there. 

But quieter now. 

Ginny's hand tightened faintly around your sleeve. A small movement that was obviously instinctive. 

You didn't move away, didn't pull back. You let yourself settle into it.  And as sleep finally began to take hold— One last thought lingered. Soft but simple. 

As long as Ginny was beside you— you didn't feel like you had to be afraid.

And somewhere beneath that— quieter still—the memory of a quiet corridor. Of steady footsteps beside yours, of someone making the walk back feel less heavy than it should have. 

You frowned faintly in your sleep but didn't follow the thought. 

You didn't question it, didn't try to understand it. Because it was easier—to let it fade.

And for the first time since the night before— sleep came.

 Slow, steady and without interruption.

Next chapter : Coming soon.

[lostlibrarybook]

currently reading…

masterlist // fic recommendations

starryeyed - author - ex & bandmate!sirius black x popstar!reader - social media au

pushing it down and praying - author - remus lupin x reader - ao3 link - angsty, slow burn, age gap, starts at goblet of fire

broken promises by fictionalthooughts0 - fred weasley x reader - angst, fluff, SLOW burn, ginny's best friend!reader, 2 year age gap, starts at chamber of secrets

thy love is better than wine by sephoutlet - newt x reader - SLOW burn, angst, female glader!reader, starts in the maze

the fate of ophelia by glutengoblin - sebastian sallow x reader - angst, post hogwarts, healer!reader, quidditch star!sebastian, one-sided enemies to lovers

memory games by traumadumpwriter - newt x female oc - cw suicide & selfharm

last updated 6/3/26

[lostlibrarybook]

every author on my current reads list has updated within the last week. best week of my life 🫶🏻

[traumadumpwriter]

Memory Games Masterlist

Maze Runner Newt × Female OC🐰

A dark romance between a very damaged girl and our soft boy Newt. With trigger warnings for self harm, abuse, assault, PTSD, mentions of suicide and general violence. Also written in the style of multiple POVs.

"All that was clear was that they were all boys - all of them - and it filled me with even more dread, instinctually defensive and fearful of the opposite sex. Even if I couldn't remember anything specific about where I'd come from, I knew that men were dangerous."

Chapter One | Chapter Two

Chapter Three | Chapter Four

Chapter Five | Chapter Six

Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen | Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen | Chapter Eighteen

Moodboard

[ch4momile]

Does anyone know if we have the impending doom tomorrow?

[goth-queen]

[lostlibrarybook]

keep writing your cringe fanfic girlies

[sephoutlet]

"Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth, for thy love is better than wine." —  Song of Solomon 1:2

Newt x Fem!Reader Series 𑣲 Chapter 20 𑣲 WC: 2,965 A/N: I hate this chapter with all my heart. Let's just pretend it doesn't exist and move on.

"Aris said they bring in a new batch every night."

"Who the hell is Aris?" Minho mutters, and Thomas lifts his chin slightly, pointing across the cafeteria. You follow his gesture. Slowly. Yet, even that feels like too much effort.

There's a kid sitting alone in the corner, hunched over a tray he hasn't touched. His grey hood is pulled low over dark hair, and his eyes flick around the room like he expects to be mugged.

You look away.

You don't really give a shit about who Aris is.

You don't give a shit about much of anything, lately.

You haven't been here long, but this place feels like it's swallowed years of your life. You eat, barely. You sleep. You endure medical testing. You sit in a room full of strangers and pretend you're fine.

That's it.

You could stay here forever. Floating. Suspended in some strange limbo where nothing matters. Nothing can hurt worse than it already does. Is that a blessing, or a curse?

Outside this facility, the world is waiting. A cruel, unforgiving world where Chuck doesn't exist anymore. You're not ready for it. You can't just 'keep living' like everyone else seems to be content with.

They put you in a separate bunk from the others: A dorm full of girls you don't know, and don't care to. They're strangers who whisper to each other at night while you lie awake, staring at the ceiling until it swallows you whole.

You've never felt more alone, and that's saying something, because the Maze was supposed to be the worst thing that's ever happened to you, but even the Glade wasn't this lonely.

Not with Chuck there.

"Until we know anything for certain," Newt says in a hushed voice, leaning over the table. "We should just keep our heads down and try not to draw attention to ourselves."

In that moment, Thomas slams his palm so hard against the metal table, trays rattle. He's on his feet in an instant, eyes already locked on you.

He stares with the same reckless certainty he always does, like the space beside him has your name on it. Like you're guaranteed to follow, as you always have.

You always have.

You've been present for every terrible plan. Every impossible sprint towards danger and death. You are the inventor of such thoughtless action.

You can still remember how that spark felt sometimes, and the adrenaline that once constantly rushed through your veins, but now, your body belongs to someone else.

You stare back at him, guilt pressing sharp in your stomach, because he's waiting for you to stand too. To stand with him. He's waiting for you, and all you can think about is how tired you are.

Everywhere you go, you turn into a weight that drags behind everyone else like a chain tied to their ankles. You feel like a curse. So, instead of moving, you lower your head onto the table.

The metal is cool against your forehead. You hear Thomas exhale long through his nose. It's not an angry sound, and somehow, that makes it worse. His footsteps fade into the noise of the cafeteria, and you close your eyes.

You don't want to watch him have the strength you've lost.

"What's that dumb Shank doing?" Frypan murmurs beside you.

"Dunno," Newt answers. "But he looks bloody determined." Something taps the top of your head. Twice. You crack your eyes open and rise enough to see Newt's index finger retreating. "You're not going with him."

It's not a question, but an observation.

"Good to know your eyes still work." You whisper.

"She speaks!" Minho exclaims from the other side of the table. "Some words would've been nice a couple night ago, instead of the violent assault I got."

You glare at Minho.

In all fairness, you did smack an entire tray out of his hands and onto the floor hard enough to send soup splattering across his clothes. Minho's been dramatic about it ever since.

"Leave her be." Newt sighs tiredly.

"I am now." Minho shoots back. "Not exactly eager for more second-degree burns." Guilt would've followed a comment like that. Fortunately, you don't have to sit with the words long, because raised voices cut across the cafeteria.

"Woah! Hang on. You weren't called." 

"Just gonna be a second—"

"This is a restricted area, kid."

Your eyes drift towards the noise. Thomas stands near one of the guarded doors, arguing with a guard who looks to be built like a concrete wall.

His shoulders are tense beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, hands moving sharply while he talks, too restless to stand still for even a second.

He's insane.

Maybe this is what it looked like when you did this:

Running ahead without thinking. Dragging everyone else after you whether they wanted to follow or not. Making people watch with dread heavy in their stomachs.

Crazy. 

That's what they called you.

You don't feel crazy anymore. You feel nothing. Empty. Like you could fold inward and disappear completely. The world wouldn't even flinch at the empty space.

You don't have the energy for this. For Thomas' reckless heroics. For another fight. For anything. You're a worthless, hollow shell of the girl you were.

"I just wanna see my friend." Thomas insists sharply. "Let me through."

"Get your ass back in the chair." The guard jabs his finger hard into Thomas' chest. Thomas rocks back a step, hands lifting in a surrendering motion.

"Oh, thank God." Minho groans beside you, eyes trailing Thomas as he takes a couple convincing steps back. "I thought we were about to watch him get tased."

Thomas glances back toward the table.

Towards all of you,

And your stomach drops instantly.

You know that look. You see the microscopic shift in his stance. The weight settles in the balls of his feet like a runner waiting for the gunshot.

"We still might." You mutter, dragging yourself from the chair.

Your body protests.

Your bones feel filled with wet sand. Every movement is heavy and slow. Too slow. You should've gone with him earlier. Maybe you could've stopped whatever he's about to do.

Thomas lunges.

The guard swears loudly as Thomas slams into him, both of them crashing sideways into the doorway. Chairs screech against the floor as the others surge to their feet.

"Thomas!" Newt snaps.

You're slower to move across the cafeteria than the others. It's pathetic what you've become. You once prided yourself on the fact you could outrun the Glade.

Now, you're left behind.

You reach them just as Newt hooks both arms around Thomas' chest, yanking him backward before he can swing again. Thomas thrashes against the hold hard enough for Minho to join the restraint.

You catch his arm before he can wrench free. Thomas stumbles slightly from the added force, turning toward you with wild, uneven breathing. His eyes flash over your face, looking both startled and relieved that you followed at all.

"What's happening here?" Janson barrels through the crowd, irritation flashing before it smooths into something practiced. "Thomas!" He says, like they're old friends. "I thought we could trust each other. You know we're all on the same team here." 

"Are we?" 

The question hangs there, and for split second, nobody moves. Janson's smile falters. A twitch at the corner of his mouth most people wouldn't catch.

"...Get them to their bunks." Janson says. No raised voice. No anger. Just an eerie coolness that floods you with unease. The guards move. You don't resist when rough hands close around your bicep.

The hallway is a bustle of motion.

Shoes squeak against the polished floor. Someone protests. Someone else swears. A guard shoves between your shoulder blades, steering your direction.

"The hell was that, Tommy?" Newt's voice echoes harshly down the corridor. "We finally end up somewhere halfway decent, and you're eager to whittle it down to rubbish?"

Thomas doesn't respond.

Or maybe he does.

The guards are shoving you in a different direction, and whatever Thomas mutters gets swallowed by the noise of the hallway before it can reach you.

The group splits apart.

You're alone again.

Well, mostly alone. The guard beside you falters in step. Your pace is significantly slower than his, and he struggles to find footing that matches yours.

"Could you walk any slower?" He exhales through his nose. Apparently, you can, because he's force to once again shorten his stride when you lag behind with legs moving through invisible mud. "Pick up the pace."

You try.

By the time the guard drops you off at your dormitory, he looks more frustrated than anything. The door shuts behind you with a harsh metalic clink.

He's glad to be rid of you.

Isn't everyone?

The room is empty. No whispering strangers to pretend you're not there. No lingering stares from girls who survived different horrors. Just rows of bunks and buzzing overhead lights. You drift toward your bed and sit on the edge of it.

The girl in the bunk beside yours had been whispering about you the other night. Nothing inherently cruel, but her curiosity felt so. You're the only one from a different maze, after all.

If only Teresa were here. You don't even know where she is. You should, shouldn't you? She's another girl from your Maze. They should've placed you together.

Instead, you're here. Alone in a room that belongs to people you barely speak to. Just another place where you don't fit in. There's a surplus of places like that, apparently.

A metallic creak cuts through the air. 

Your eyes shift downward slowly. The vent near the floor rattles once before the grate pops loose. You stare at it without reacting, thoughts lagging sluggishly behind the sound.

Maybe it's a rat. 

A really big rat. 

Maybe it'll crawl out and chew you to pieces.

Honestly, that sounds exhausting for the both of you. You're significantly bigger than a rat. Even a big one. How many bites would it take for a rat to eat you?

Something moves inside the vent. A hand pushes through first. So, not a rat. Then, a grey hood and pale skin. You blink slowly. That's Thomas' little friend.

What was his name again?

"Come on." He whispers urgently, and you stare back at him.

"...What?" 

"Thomas told me to come get you."

You frown.

"...Get me?" 

"Yes. Get you." He shifts impatiently. "I don't have time to explain. He's waiting." He holds a hand towards you. You look at it. Then at him. The back at the hand.

Of course, Thomas is waiting. 

A long breath leaves your lungs. You don't ask questions. You don't argue. You don't have the energy to really think about it. Besides, life can't exactly get worse from here.

You push yourself up, a flicker of pain shocking your knee as your leg straightens. You steady yourself by taking advantage of the vent-boy's hand.

Aris.

Right.

That's his name.

The metal vent is freezing under your palms as you pull yourself inside. The space is immediately too tight, walls pressing around your shoulders while your injured knee drags awkwardly behind you.

You keep crawling anyway. What would complaining accomplish? Aris moves quickly ahead of you, barely checking to make sure you're still following.

It's irritating, the way none of them will leave you alone. Especially Thomas. He doesn't let you quietly disappear into yourself. He still thinks there's something left in you. Something worth being hopeful about.

Chuck thought that too.

Look where that got him. 

Aris finally stops, pushing another grate open with a quiet scrape. Light spills through the vent, and you squint, crawling out after him, emerging onto solid ground. 

Oh. 

This is the boys' dorm. 

"Hey Thomas." Aris says quickly. "You got it?" Thomas turns to face you and Aris, holding up a white keycard between his fingers. He must've swiped it from the guard earlier.

"What the—"

"Who is this kid?" 

Voices overlap and confusion emerges as the others try to make sense of whatever insane plan Thomas has concocted. Aris shrinks slightly under the attention, hood pulling lower over his head.

"Alright, look," Thomas steps as a shield between Aris and the others. "Maybe you guys are right. Maybe I'm just being paranoid, but I gotta find out for sure. Just cover for me." Before anyone can argue, he's already motioning at the open vent, ushering both you and Aris toward it. "We'll be back as soon as we can."

You blink, then point vaguely at yourself.

"...Me too?"

"Uh," Thomas looks at you as though the answer is obvious. "Yeah, you too. Come on." He motions again more urgently toward the vent. "Move."

"I don't even know what you're doing."

"You'll figure out what we're doing on the way. Let's go. Let's go."

"I don't wanna figure it out on the way."

"You'll be fine."

"Thomas, I don't want to."

"Yes, you do."

Huh?

"Uhh, No? I really don't."

"Why?"

"Because I'm tired." Your voice cracks slightly. "I don't feel like crawling through weird vents or— Or stealing things from guards or— Anything." You fold your arms across your chest. "I don't even wanna be here."

Thomas goes still in a way that you rarely ever see from him. The whole room is still, every eye on Thomas, waiting to see if he's willing to take 'no' for an answer.

He doesn't.

"Yes, you do."

What?

"What?" Your eyebrows knit together, frustration sparking in your ribs. "You can't just say that. You can't just say stuff and make it true. These are my—"

"Yeah, I can."

Did this fuckass just interrupt you?

"You literally cannot." You shout, irritation festering into a flame that consumes your lungs. "For Shuck's sake, do you just like to hear the sound of your own voice? You're the most ignorant, arrogant—"

"There!" Thomas cuts you off, exclaiming as if you've just proven his point. "If you've got the energy to yell at me, you've got the energy to come with me."

"What?" You stare at him in utter disbelief, feeling as though you've just been dropped into an awful sitcom. "That's the stupidest thing you've ever said."

"You've got a bunch of energy now, don't you? Let's use it." He speaks, and you scoff. He's deliberately scraping at your nerves until you give reaction.

You hate that it's working.

Your fury burns. You hate how he pushes. You hate that he won't accept your exhaustion. You hate how he still looks at you with the certainty and faith Chuck used to give you.

Chuck.

Chuck, who would grin at you through scraped knees and terror. He believed in you with a vigor you never deserved. He thought you could save everyone.

You can't.

You don't want to go through that vent. You hardly want to go anywhere. You want to stay in a foreign room forever. Alone. Safe from having to care about anyone too much ever again.

Stupid Thomas won't let you wither.

Stupid Thomas.

Your eyes flick to the others, waiting to see the irritation you keep telling yourself they feel for you. Waiting for a look that will confirm that Thomas is the idiot for seeing something more.

You don't find it.

Frypan and Minho look more curious than anything. Winston— Well, you sort of forgot he was even here, but he doesn't look bothered either. Newt looks worried. Not irritated or disappointed, but worried.

They aren't looking at you the way you keep envisioning they do. They look at you the same way they look at Thomas now: They're waiting for you to move.

They followed you here, didn't they? Chuck isn't the only life which rested on your shoulders. These people trusted you enough to leave their home behind.

They still do.

You glance back to Thomas and his waiting expression. Even after the days you've spent barely talking, ignoring him and giving up on yourself, he hasn't.

Idiot.

You owe something this to this idiot at the very least.

Get over yourself.

Quit being selfish.

Just go.

"Okay." An empty sound escapes your lips, the remnants of reaction to the absurdity of Thomas' ragebait method.

"I still think this is a bloody awful idea." Newt says, and Thomas groans, already ushering you toward the vent and ignoring Newt. "S'Always the two of you, 'innit?"

Seriously?

That passive aggressive comment is a perfect testament as to why you and Newt have never gotten along.

"They're hiding something." Thomas argues. "We don't have time to argue about this. If you're right, you're right. If you're wrong, you're welcome."

"You're going to get us all killed someday."

"But not today." Thomas nods confidently before crouching near the entrance of the vent. He speaks your name, waving a hand for you to join him.

Before you commit, you glance to Newt. He's already watching you. His gaze moves over you slowly, lingering on details that make the heat crawl unpleasantly under your skin.

He scans your face, most certainly absorbing the exhaustion on it. His eyes move lower still, to your waist, your hands, and finally your knee, where your weigh shifts unevenly to avoid the pain.

"You don't have to go." Newt says quietly, void of pressure and dripping in concern. Your eyes flicker to the vent again, where Thomas is waiting for you.

You shake your head, taking a step back from Newt and in the direction of the vent. He watches you for another long moment before giving a small nod.

A nod.

Maybe he's not so bad.

You lower yourself carefully into the vent, metal biting cold against your palms once more. Yet, the warmth of Newt's understanding keeps the journey bearable.

[lostlibrarybook]

ahhhhhhh so so goodddddd

[traumadumpwriter]

My messy Masterlist <3

Outer banks Masterlist

My Moodboards & Video Edits

Peaky Blinders

John Shelby:

Freedom 📖- An extremely traumatised woman finds herself tangled up in the lives of the Shelby's again and through John's love is able to find some peace. Though that peace can never last long.

Wizarding World:

Fred Weasley:

Accident - Fred finds out that the sneaking suspicions he had about you are true.

Sirius Black:

Loving you Hurts - After spending years locked away in Azkaban, the man that you thought was the love of your life suddenly escapes, leaving you reeling as his potential reemergence into your life opens up old wounds and brings old friends back into your life. (Slight Remus Lupin X Reader also)

Haunted - Sirius had suspected that Y/N was hiding something from him and the rest of their friendship group ever since they'd gotten back from Christmas break, he just had no idea how bad that thing was.

Old Habit - You’re absolutely and utterly devoted to your fiancé; Sirius Black. It would all be perfect, if not for the old habit that seemingly can’t stop coming back to haunt you.

James Potter:

Unrequited - Whilst suffering from an eating disorder, the reader’s change in habits catch the attention of none other than James Potter - one of her best friend’s and unfortunately her crush.

Maze Runner

Newt:

Memory Games 📖 - A girl is sent into the Glade, lost and confused like everyone else but maybe even more so - having to deal with the peril of being the only woman in such a space, the hidden scars on her body, the gaps in her memories, and the fact that she even has any memories at all.

[ceruleanheaven]

[looking at people younger than me] you have your whole life ahead of you [looking at people older than me] you have your whole life ahead of you [looking at myself] its over

[catchymemes]

MANIFESTING A GOOD JUNE MANIFESTING A GOOD JUNE MANIFESTING A GOOD JUNE MANIFESTING A GOOD JUNE MANIFESTING A GOOD JUNE MANIFESTING A GOOD JUNE MANIFESTING A GOOD JUNE MANIFESTING A GOOD JUNE MANIFESTING A GOOD JUNE MANIFESTING A GOOD JUNE MANIFESTING A GOOD JUNE MANIFESTING A GOOD JUNE

[lostlibrarybook]

june 2026 update

masterlist

releases this month

knacker’s yard

chapter 2 — released 6/5

out of time

chapter 9 — soon

author notes:

happy pride month! this blog is owned by a queer (serial girl lover who gets confused for a teenage boy). i like my men fruity and with long hair (im looking at you sirius black). no terfs or homophobes allowed (f*ck jkr).

im looking forward to the summer solstice & hoping for the first snow-free month (fingers crossed).

i took an mbti & enneagram test again (i use similarminds)... still an intj 5w4. my results were brutal but relatable, humorous, & honest (“would rather be friendless than jobless” & “does not think they are weird but others do”). i’ve started to incorporate mbti and enneagram in my writing to help develop strong characters (example here).

here’s to a productive june everyone! *cheers*

[lostlibrarybook]

more about the research process for knacker’s yard…here’s my character building for alby.

i chose to portray book alby rather than movie alby. i find book alby much more interesting because he’s flawed and has a deeper connection with minho and newt. plus, ive read the fever code so i have more attachment to book alby.

(click on the images to view them in full)

ive started by going through the books. i highlighted quotes i thought were important about appearance, speech patterns, personality, and plot points (as shown here). then, i added those quotes to a table for me to refer to as i write.

i also added a section for mbti and enneagram. i wrote down attributes, functions, fears/desires, etc for his type then bolded words that apply to alby’s behavior in the books.

while this has been time consuming, i’m really enjoying the process. i feel like its added consistency to the characters. before, i tended to lose track of motives and behavioral patterns halfway through the story.

i’m really looking forward to continue working on knacker’s yard! i hope everyone enjoys it as much as i enjoy writing it.

[saradika-graphics]

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