justalilfandomguy

[justalilfandomguy]

🎠

[justalilfandomguy]

Drew this back in March and I still really like it <3 could function as a non-magic modern au but also within the wizarding world I guess bcs they are inseparable

[justalilfandomguy]

wolfstar

I love sirius' shirt, I feel like he learnt the hard way that dog treats only taste good as a dog

and/or he's wearing James' shirt who learnt that same lesson

[justalilfandomguy]

conan grey ha influito assai

[justalilfandomguy]

On Purpose

The worst part about living with chronic pain, Remus thought as he tried not to scream at a piece of lint on the carpet, wasn’t the pain.

It was the being perceived.

And right now, he was being perceived by a very beautiful, very loud, very not supposed to be here Sirius Black.

“You didn’t answer your texts,” Sirius said, standing in the doorway like a rockstar who’d stumbled into the wrong green room but stayed because there was free champagne. His motorcycle helmet hung from one tattooed hand, black curls wild and a bit sweaty.

“That tends to happen when I throw my phone under the couch out of spite,” Remus said, not looking up from where he was half-folded on the floor, an arm brace beside him and a heating pad nowhere near the socket.

Sirius blinked. “Do I want to know?”

Remus squinted up at him. “My shoulder tried to secede from the union. I decided to pretend the couch was Switzerland.”

Sirius grinned. “You’re an idiot.”

“I’m disabled, actually,” Remus snapped, immediately regretting it. But Sirius just raised an eyebrow, unbothered.

“I know,” Sirius said softly. “You also didn’t answer my texts for four days. So I assumed either death, abduction, or, more realistically, a spiral of Netflix and apathy.”

Remus grimaced. “It was a mild spiral.”

“You watched five seasons of Hell’s Kitchen, Remus.”

“…I stand by that.”

Sirius crossed the room, tossing his helmet onto Remus’ ancient armchair. “Get up. We’re making pasta.”

“I can’t get up, hence…” Remus gestured vaguely at the brace, the heating pad, the general aura of despair.

Sirius knelt beside him without a word, scooping up the brace with practiced hands. “Do you want help?”

Remus hesitated. The line between “want” and “need” had always been blurry. But Sirius never made him feel like a burden—just a very sarcastic houseplant with medical accessories.

“Yes,” he muttered.

Sirius nodded and helped him up with the kind of gentle ease that made Remus feel seen, not exposed. “I brought garlic bread,” he said as they shuffled toward the kitchen. “And James.”

Remus froze. “What?”

“James is in the car. He insisted. He has theories.”

“About my pain?”

“About why you ghosted me for four days,” Sirius said cheerfully. “One involves aliens.”

Remus sighed. “James Potter is a human migraine.”

“And yet, you adore him,” Sirius said, smirking as he slid the brace into place with a practiced twist.

Remus didn’t say it out loud, but Sirius wasn’t wrong.

The kitchen was small, dimly lit, and currently filled with the scent of garlic, basil, and tomato.

James had let himself in and was setting up a Bluetooth speaker like he lived there. Which, to be fair, he nearly had during uni. Peter was texting in the corner with a cat on his lap—Remus’ cat, who betrayed him instantly and fully the moment food arrived.

“I’ve solved your mystery,” James announced, holding up his phone. “Remus hasn’t been abducted. He’s just deeply, tragically in love with you, Padfoot.”

Peter didn’t look up. “We knew that in 2018, mate.”

“Shut up,” Remus groaned, already regretting not faking a coma.

Sirius beamed. “I knew I felt eyes on my ass.”

Remus gave him a look. “That was the cat.”

“You named the cat Virginia Woolf. You don’t get to talk.”

Virginia purred smugly.

They cooked like idiots. Burnt one batch of garlic bread, turned the pasta water into a volcano, and used enough parmesan to offend an entire Italian village. But Sirius was relaxed, sleeves rolled up, tattoos peeking from under flour-dusted skin, talking to Remus like they hadn’t been orbiting each other for years.

Like he knew.

And maybe he did.

Remus leaned against the counter, shoulder aching but tolerable now. “You didn’t have to come over.”

Sirius didn’t glance up. “You didn’t have to answer the phone either, but here we are.”

“I mean it. You don’t have to—”

“Moony.” Sirius looked up. “Stop. I wanted to. And I’ll keep showing up, even when you don’t ask.”

Remus swallowed.

There it was again.

Being perceived.

But this time, it wasn’t unbearable.

It was Sirius, seeing him with all his broken pieces, and not flinching.

That night, after everyone left and the dishes were mostly done and Remus was curled up on the couch with Virginia on his chest, Sirius hovered by the door.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Define ‘okay,’” Remus replied.

Sirius gave him a look.

“I’m better now,” Remus added. “Less pain. Less… apocalypse.”

Sirius hesitated. “I could stay. If you want.”

Remus blinked. “Like… stay?”

“Not in a weird way,” Sirius said quickly. “Just… hang out. Watch something awful. Make sure you don’t throw your phone into another abyss.”

Remus considered it.

Then patted the couch beside him.

Sirius grinned and dropped his bag, slipping off his boots. He settled beside Remus carefully, their shoulders brushing.

Virginia stretched dramatically between them.

“I’m not good at this,” Remus murmured after a while.

“At what?”

“Letting people in. Asking for help.”

Sirius didn’t look away from the screen. “Good thing I already broke in.”

Remus laughed, quietly.

They sat there for a long time, the flicker of some terrible sitcom lighting their faces, silence easy between them.

And for once, being seen didn’t feel like a burden.

Sirius had never been good at sitting still. He liked movement—liked the hum of an engine under him, the buzz of a crowd, the rhythm of his own restlessness.

But right now, pressed shoulder to shoulder with Remus on a secondhand couch that smelled like lavender he didn’t want to move at all.

Remus’ hair was mussed. Virginia was purring on his chest like a tiny engine. And something in the air felt raw and good and a little dangerous.

Because Sirius had seen Remus Lupin vulnerable before—post-surgery, post-breakup, post-epic-migraine-that-laid-him-out-for-three-days.

But this was different.

This was soft.

Unarmored.

And Sirius was not okay about it.

He watched as Remus drifted—eyelids half-shut, pain visible only in the way his hand twitched occasionally near his brace. He always tried so damn hard not to let people see. Like it was a moral failing, being in pain. Being tired.

Sirius wanted to punch every person that had ever made him feel that way.

“Still awake?” Remus murmured, eyes fluttering open, voice low and rasped.

“Yeah,” Sirius said. “Too wired. Adrenaline. Garlic bread. Cat.”

Remus’ mouth quirked. “She did try to smother you earlier. Consider it a warning.”

“I’d die a noble death,” Sirius replied solemnly, scratching behind Virginia’s ear. “Tell my story.”

“Here lies Sirius Black. Mauled by an overeducated feline while pining pathetically for a sarcastic literature professor with chronic joint issues.”

“Catchy.”

Remus blinked slowly, his smile turning softer. “You don’t have to stay.”

“I want to stay,” Sirius said immediately.

He could tell Remus was gearing up to argue, so he cut him off with the quiet truth.

“I like being around you, Moony. Even when you’re cranky and sore and smell faintly of eucalyptus oil. You’re still you. That’s the bit I like.”

Remus looked at him, then. Really looked.

Not a glance.

A seeing.

And Sirius let him. Let himself be perceived too, for once—tired, anxious, hungry for something he hadn’t named out loud yet.

Remus’ voice, when it came, was quiet. “You always do that.”

“Do what?”

“Make me feel like I’m not broken.”

Sirius’ throat closed.

He leaned forward, carefully, slowly—just enough for their foreheads to touch, not quite a kiss, not quite platonic either.

“You’re not broken, Remus,” he whispered. “You’re just real.”

Remus closed his eyes. And for a moment, everything felt very still.

Later, they ended up horizontal. Not in the fun, R-rated way Sirius would usually be hoping for—but wrapped under a threadbare blanket, Virginia curled at their feet, some absolute garbage show droning in the background.

Sirius couldn’t sleep.

His mind kept running.

Not about the usual—his job, his family, the existential dread of aging—but about how peaceful Remus looked when the pain eased. About the fact that he had shown up, and Remus had let him in.

And Sirius wanted that. Wanted in. For real.

Not just the “occasional pasta and banter” level. The hard stuff too.

The days when Remus couldn’t get out of bed. The weeks when the pain flared and he shut everyone out. The dark spirals he never quite admitted to.

Sirius wanted in on all of it.

Which was terrifying.

Because Sirius didn’t do long-term. He was chaos, and people liked him in small doses. Fun, funny, charming Sirius. Not the version that stayed up at 3 a.m. reading disability blogs so he’d stop asking stupid questions. Not the version that wondered if he could find a heating pad that didn’t suck.

But Remus made him want to be better.

Not different.

Just better.

“Hey,” he whispered in the dark. “You awake?”

Remus shifted slightly. “Mmhmm.”

“I like you,” Sirius blurted. “Like… a lot.”

Remus huffed a quiet laugh. “Is this your idea of a seduction? Because it’s very NPR at midnight.”

Sirius chuckled. “I’m serious.”

“I know you are. That’s why it’s terrifying.”

Sirius turned to face him. “What if we tried it?”

“Tried what?”

“This. You. Me. Us.”

Remus was quiet for a long beat.

Then: “You sure? I’m… a lot.”

“So am I.”

“Yeah, but you come with leather jackets and Instagram thirst traps. I come with joint instability and a pharmacy in my kitchen.”

Sirius leaned in, eyes soft. “Then we’ll make room for both.”

Remus looked at him like no one ever had—like he wanted to believe it, like he almost did.

“Okay,” he whispered.

And Sirius smiled.

Because for the first time in a long time, the world wasn’t ending.

It was just beginning.

There were good days.

Days where Remus made it through an entire morning lecture without having to pop a shoulder back into place like a goddamn haunted action figure. Days when his joints played nice, his head stayed clear, and he didn’t have to put on the smiling “No really, I’m fine” mask he usually wore around students.

Today was not one of those days.

Today was the kind of day where just breathing felt like a chore. Where the soft ache in his back had graduated into a sharp throb that made putting on socks feel like an Olympic event. Where his knee had decided to dislocate while he was brushing his teeth, and he ended up sitting on the bathroom floor with a mouth full of toothpaste and a deep, dull resentment of gravity.

He hadn’t texted Sirius.

Not yet.

Not because he didn’t want to—but because he did.

Because Sirius had that look when Remus was hurting. The one that said he wanted to fix everything and couldn’t. And Remus hated being the problem someone couldn’t solve.

So he stayed on the couch, curled up like a comma, watching reruns of Taskmaster with the volume low and Virginia sleeping traitorously on his bad hip.

The front door clicked.

He’d forgotten Sirius had a key.

“Moons?” came the soft voice, a little muffled, like Sirius had a grocery bag in his mouth.

Remus didn’t answer.

Sirius appeared in the doorway, wearing joggers, an oversized hoodie, and the worried expression that came standard whenever Remus was quiet for too long.

“I brought oranges. And those crisps you like that taste like regret and vinegar.”

Remus made a noise that might’ve been a laugh. Might’ve been a sigh.

Sirius set the bag down and crossed the room without ceremony. “Where are we at, pain-wise?”

“Seven,” Remus said. “Maybe an eight if I sneeze.”

“Mobility?”

“On strike.”

Sirius nodded. “Right then. Cuddle triage.”

Remus blinked. “What?”

“Tri-age, Remus. Three stages of care.” Sirius held up a finger. “Stage one: reposition the invalid.”

“I will smother you with this cat.”

Sirius ignored him, sliding onto the couch and gently shifting Remus’ legs across his lap. His hands moved with practiced care, adjusting the throw pillow, rubbing a thumb behind Remus’ knee.

“Stage two,” Sirius said, “is soup. Which I did not bring, because you hate canned soup, and I cannot cook soup. I did, however, bring crisps and those stupid gummy peaches that rot your teeth.”

Remus softened despite himself. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And stage three…” Sirius leaned down, kissed the top of Remus’ head, just above his temple. “...is the most important. Which is reminding you that you don’t have to hide on days like this.”

“I wasn’t hiding,” Remus lied, immediately and unconvincingly.

“Right. You were doing highly visible floor yoga with a dislocated knee and depression snacks.”

Remus chuckled, quietly. His body still hurt, but it was different with Sirius here. The pain didn’t shrink, but it didn’t swallow him whole either.

“Do you regret this?” he asked suddenly, the words escaping before he could filter them. “Being with me. Like this.”

Sirius didn’t answer right away.

He just took Remus’ hand, running his thumb over the knuckles—gentle, reverent.

“I chose this,” Sirius said finally, voice soft but steady. “Every part of it. I want the good days and the crap ones and the days when you can’t move, and the days you make fun of my Spotify playlists.”

“They’re criminal, Sirius. You have Limp Bizkit and Phoebe Bridgers on the same playlist.”

“Eclectic taste, baby.”

Remus smiled. Tired. Honest.

“Do you remember,” Sirius continued, “that day in March when you couldn’t leave bed, and you let me sit with you for like, six hours while we watched Great British Bake Off and bullied Paul Hollywood?”

“Yes.”

“That was one of the best days I’ve ever had.”

Remus blinked at him.

“I’m not with you despite the hard days,” Sirius said, leaning down again. “I’m with you through them. On purpose.”

There it was again.

Being seen.

Being chosen.

And this time, Remus let himself believe it.

That night, Sirius cooked pasta while Remus supervised from the couch like a very opinionated monarch. They ate curled up under a shared blanket, Virginia curled between them, the room filled with the smell of garlic and the quiet sounds of two people who had finally, finally stopped running.

When Sirius dozed off, Remus watched him sleep.

He thought: I never thought I’d get this.

He thought: I want this forever.

And he didn’t feel broken at all.

He felt loved.

He felt home.

[justalilfandomguy]

a part-time poet and his frontman. thank you endlessly @motswolo ♡

[justalilfandomguy]

James Potter 📸

(My Tcoptp design)

[justalilfandomguy]

Platonic Lilypad Scene – 689 words

"It smells weird," Sirius said, looking at the small red bottle resting next to his hand.

Lily shrugged, focused on her task. They were in the common room, which was unusually empty, and she was painting his nails.

"Some people love it, some people hate it."

"Nah, I like it, it's a good weird."

"I like it too."

They fell silent. Lily finished with his right hand and started with his thumb on the left. Sirius licked his lips a couple of times, the words forming in the back of his throat.

"Hey, Lils..." He murmured.

"Hmm?"

A couple more seconds. He cleared his throat.

"Do you think...?" He began, but cut himself off with a self-deprecating laughter. "No, it's nothing."

Lily pointed at him with the little brush, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Don't do that. Now you have to tell me."

Arguing was stupid, so Sirius sighed and shifted in his seat, careful not to move his hand.

"I- I was just thinking. About us."

"Oh my god, Sirius," Lily said theatrically, putting a hand to her chest. "Think about James! This is not-"

"Oh, come on, don't be stupid. Not like that."

"Fuff," she pretended to be relieved. "Well, continue, then."

"I should leave you with the doubt."

"And I still can paint your finger instead of your nail."

"Okay, okay," Sirius gave in. "It's just... Just... Do you think there's something out there that... I don't know. That made us meet to balance... You know."

"I know?" Lily asked, arching her left eyebrow.

"Yeah, like..." He swallowed again and looked away, focusing on the spot where his nail was turning red. "Like a little sister. And an older brother."

Lily stopped her movements and looked straight at him.

"Oh..."

"I know, it's stupid, just-"

"No, no, Sirius," she said, recovering and returning to her task. "I get it. It's just... You need to know that I'm not a replacement for Regulus, and you're not-"

"Oh, no, I know, really," he assured. "It's not... I'm not talking about that. We have our siblings, with all that implies, but... Like, we also have each other."

Lily's expression softened, a small smile appearing on her face. She returned her gaze to his.

"Of course."

"And... It feels kinda fair," Sirius continued. "Not like- Not a cure, or a fix, just... Fair. That we have each other."

That time Lily nodded and she squeezed Sirius's forearm in a comforting gesture.

"Yeah, it feels fair. You're right. I feel it too."

"Well. That was it."

Her expression became mischevous again as she painted the nail on his left ring finger.

"It's a good way to tell me you love me, Pads."

"Oh, fuck you."

"I love you too!" She exclaimed, laughing. Sirius frowned and looked away. "Don't pretend to be angry."

"Pretending?"

"Yeah, when you are really angry your eyebrows do... something... Ask Remus, he explained it to me."

At this Sirius raised his eyebrows, but tried to appear casual about it.

"Remus?"

"Yeah, he looks at you..." She smirked. "A totally normal amount of time."

Sirius felt his cheeks turn red.

"Evans..."

"Ey, a little sister you said, right?"

He couldn't avoid smiling too, but pointed at her with his right hand.

"Don't make me regret it."

"That's the thing, you can't." Then she lowered her voice. "Or that is how it's supossed to be, at lest."

It was Sirius' turn to comfort her, caressing her wrist with his free hand.

"It's going to be like that, with us."

Lily smiled at him before finishing with the nails.

"I really love you, Pads."

"Oh, Lillian, but James-"

"Shut the fuck up," she said, laughing. "I'm done, but I'm not putting a dry charm on it. You take care of it."

She stood up, casting a spell to gather her things and turned towards the stairs that leaded her to her room.

"Love you too!" Sirius exclaimed.

He really liked his new nails.

[justalilfandomguy]

what if we were weird teenage boys and we kissed about it

[justalilfandomguy]

just a thought, but dare i say drag queen sirius being the queer awakening for audience member remus ...

[justalilfandomguy]

you and I !

[justalilfandomguy]

FOUR FUCKING DAYS FROM NOW I'LL BE SEING HOZIER LIVE LIKE WHAT THE FUCK

[justalilfandomguy]

silly wolfstar

[justalilfandomguy]

casanova of gryffindor tower ca. 1976

[justalilfandomguy]

sanriooooooo x marauders

[justalilfandomguy]

really truly in need of steve harrington putting murray bauman on blast. joyce is there, so steve can’t beat murray up with his fists, but he absolutely will do so with his words.

I want steve and eddie to be at dinner with joyce and the lot and murray makes a comment like, “oh, how long have you two been at it?”

and steve, busy devouring whatever joyce made that night, is like, “how long have you been at being in people’s business?”

anyways I think murray, eye twitching, would be asking more and more personal questions and steve just keeps deflecting him with increasingly bitchy responses.

eventually, steve's like, "I'm not gay, but if I was, I would've told you if you'd just asked nicely." and murray's humiliated by now and he's like just nodding silently.

and then steve kisses eddie's cheek and says, "I need to grab something from the car, I'll be back." and leaves.

murray's like wtf ??? didn't he just say he wasn't gay ??? and eddie's like, "it's 1986, murray, bisexual people exist."

(they are dating. everyone knows this except murray.)

[justalilfandomguy]

Sirius found the letter buried in a drawer beneath old birth certificates and pure blood family trees. It was crinkled and yellowed, not meant to be read. Not by him.

"Male, by parental choice," it said. Words clinical. Detached.

He read it three times before the words lost shape, swimming behind the sting in his eyes. His hands trembled, the paper fluttering like wings caught in a storm.

He had always known something didn’t fit quite right. The mirror never felt like a truth teller. His body, his voice, his bones, none of it quite belonged the way it seemed to for James, or Remus, or even Regulus.

But this? This was a decision. A fork in the road taken without him.

“They chose for me,” he whispered into the silence of the room. “They looked at me and decided what I’d be.”

Anger bloomed like fire in his chest. How could they? How could they hold that power and never think to let him hold it too?

It wasn’t that he didn’t love being Sirius. It was that Sirius should have had the choice to become himself. Not be sculpted by parents who only saw heirs and legacies.

He stood at the mirror now, shirt lifted, fingers tracing the lines of his body, not hating it, but questioning for the first time what it could have been. What it might still be.

Later, when he told Remus, voice cracking around the edges, he braced for confusion. Or worse, pity.

But Remus just listened. Quiet, steady.

“That was never their choice to make,” he said, voice like a grounding spell. “But it’s yours now. Whatever you want. However you feel. You’re still Sirius. And I love all the versions you’ve ever been or will ever be.”

Sirius breathed out. Shaky. Relieved.

James found Sirius on the Astronomy Tower. Legs pulled up, arms wrapped around his knees, hair tangled from the wind. It was too late for him to be up there alone, too cold not to have cast a warming charm. But Sirius hadn’t. He just sat there, eyes locked on the stars like they owed him answers.

James didn’t speak right away. Just sat beside him, shoulder to shoulder.

Sirius didn’t look at him. “You ever feel like your body isn’t really yours?” he asked softly.

James blinked, thrown by the quiet vulnerability. “Not… not really. Why?”

Sirius pulled a folded parchment from his coat pocket, crumpled from being read too many times. He handed it to James without a word.

James read it once. Twice. And slowly, his throat tightened. “Sirius—”

“I didn’t know,” Sirius interrupted, voice shaking. “They made the decision before I could even speak. Before I could be anything.”

He laughed, bitter and wet. “I always thought there was something wrong with me. That I wasn’t man enough. That maybe I was just broken.”

James looked at him, really looked. Sirius’ face was red, jaw clenched like he was holding back a scream. But the tears still slipped free, traitorous, and aching. He wiped at them harshly.

James put the paper down and wrapped an arm around him.

“You’re not broken,” he said. “You’re Sirius. You’re my brother. You’re the best person I know.”

Sirius choked on a sob and leaned into him, burying his face in James’ shoulder.

“I didn’t get to choose who I was supposed to be,” he whispered.

“But you do now,” James murmured. “And no matter what you choose, I’m not going anywhere. Alright?”

Sirius nodded, clinging a little tighter, as if he’d finally allowed himself to be held. The stars above kept shining, but for once, Sirius didn’t need them to light his way. He had James.

The next few weeks passed in subtle shifts. Nothing dramatic. Sirius didn’t burst out in the common room with a declaration or change his name overnight. But something in him loosened, like a thread finally freed from a too tight knot.

He started experimenting. Borrowed eyeliner from Marlene. Let Lily charm his hair into waves. Wore his shirts a little more open. Painted his nails black one day and didn’t say a word when someone asked. When Remus told him he looked cool, Sirius smiled like it actually reached somewhere deep.

The Marauders noticed, of course. James was the first to start referring to Sirius as “our hot mess of chaos and beauty.” Remus started calling him “love” instead of “mate” without missing a beat. Peter was awkward for about a week, then shyly asked if he could learn to braid Sirius’ hair for him.

Sirius didn’t always know what he wanted to be called. Some days, he was fine with “he.” Some days, “they” fit better. Once, when Remus called him “gorgeous girl” as a joke, Sirius surprised himself by not flinching.

But the important thing was that no one made him pick. Not right away. Not at all.

One evening, when they were sprawled out in the Gryffindor common room like always, Remus reading, James practicing wand twirls, Peter sketching something chaotic, Sirius spoke without warning.

“I think I might be both,” he said. “A boy and a girl. Or neither. Or something… in between.”

Remus looked up. “Okay,” he said, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

James grinned. “Mate, you could tell me you were a sentient cloud and I’d still throw hands for you.”

Peter blinked. “Do we still call you Sirius?”

“For now,” they said. Then smirked. “Unless you want to call me Empress Black.”

James clutched his heart. “I kneel, my liege.”

Remus rolled his eyes but leaned over to kiss Sirius’ temple. “Whoever you are,” he said quietly, “you’re ours.”

Sirius, for the first time in a long time, felt like maybe that body, however complicated it was, was finally starting to feel like theirs.