spookymoth1012

[spookymoth1012]

i'm just thinking about the marauders' first year on the train ride to Hogwarts but it's a slightly traumatized french boy Sirius Black, an over hyped latino James Potter yapping constantly using the line between english and spanish as a jump rope, a very intimidated german Peter Pettigrew trying to ask for help via blinking in morse code to anyone who walks by the compartment and a welsh Remus Lupin that is stepping in England for first time that day and only knows how to swear in english

James: and so, mamá y yo were running late, no? Nuestro Flu worked so wrong that dad had to make todos estos spells to the chimenea para que funcione, but do you know lo que tuvo que hacer in the end???

Sirius: *blowing in the window, drawing a question mark*

James: then he tuvo que pedir the Knight Bus for us to llegar a tiempo!

Remus: fucking shit

James: exactly!

Peter: --• • - -- • --- ••- -

[spookymoth1012]

This Regulus seems so much like me. I always start conversation with half my friends then the other half will reach out but sometimes I'm mad or just annoyed so it makes it hard to deal because I hate confrontation.

Sirius: Why are you home? Didn't you plan to go out with some of your friends today?

Regulus: I can't go out with anybody. I'm not speaking to them.

Sirius: You're not speaking to your friends? Why?

Regulus: Half of them are mad at me and I'm horrible at talking about conflict, so I'm avoiding interaction until somebody starts a conversation which I have no choice but to engage in. Or forgets about it. I know they won't forget about it, but I really want them to, so I'm pretending it's an option even though it's obviously not. I also know that this situation is entirely my fault and that the morally correct thing to do is to apologise and explain my side of the story, but I don't want to because I'm afraid of making everything worse. Therefore, the most likely scenario is that I put off the discussion until they're even more upset and end up cornering me just to yell at me for it, which will send me into a three-day emotional spiral that will end in some of the worst self-hatred I've ever experienced – not that I'll tell anyone about it, because I'll still be terrified of interacting with the people I'd normally rely on for assistance. After that, we'll half-heartedly apologise to each other and never speak about this again.

Sirius:

Sirius:

Sirius: Why are they mad at– nope, scratch that. Don't want to know. What about the other half?

Regulus: Oh, my other friend group. I realised that most of the interactions I have those friends are started by me and not anybody else in the group, and that made me feel as though I'm putting in more effort than anybody else. I usually navigate social intercourse by copying the people around me, so it makes me uncomfortable to notice that I'm behaving differently than my peers, and I'm now anxious that they think I'm weird or annoying. Therefore, instead of talking about what's making me uncomfortable and dealing with it as a group, I've dropped all communication with those friends and am waiting for them to notice that something's wrong. They will not notice, because they have important things to think about at the moment and I am not exhibiting any outward signals of distress. This will only strengthen my belief that they don't care about me, and our friendship will inevitably deteriorate into nothing.

Sirius: Okay, that makes no sense. Have you tried talking to anybody about these issues?

Regulus: I have not. Normally, when something's wrong with one of my friend groups, I go to the other for help. Unfortunately, I'm not speaking to either group, so I have nobody to talk to about these things. That's why I'm wallowing at home instead of dealing with my issues like a normal person.

Sirius:

Sirius:

Sirius: Please get a psychologist.

[spookymoth1012]

wishing I could freeze time so fanfic writers could write all of their slow-burn enemies to lovers and gay porn and fix-it fics and all of their WIPs and prompts without having to worry about life and other responsibilities

[spookymoth1012]

Saw this license plate earlier today though y'all would enjoy it just as much as me confused the fuck out of my mom when I shouted "LOOKS IT'S PADFOOT" on the way home though

[spookymoth1012]

Gay is all I can say to this

slow - april 21 - jegulus - NSFW but not explicit - @taylorswiftmicrofic - word count: 394

The moment James felt it, he jumped. The slow, light, gentle caress of his inner thigh under the table, a hand smoothly running up his leg and squeezing, sending a jolt of heat through his body.

Shocked, he looked to his left. But Regulus, who was in the middle of a conversation, never turned his way, or even acknowledged him. He just continued to talk, nodding thoughtfully then smiling politely, all while turning James to mush with his hand.

Of course now, Regulus was all he could think about. Wrapping his arm around the other man’s waist and pulling him flush to his side, James teased up Regulus’s shirt, playing with the now-bare skin by his hip, teasing his fingers on the edge of his waistband, eagerly peeking toward his boyfriend to react.

Nothing. He just kept talking. “Yes, and then she said she was right, which was absolutely ridiculous…”

James almost pouted, but before he could, Regulus’s fingers trailed higher up his leg, making him inhale a soft hiss. Fuck, that wasn’t fair. How was Regulus so unaffected? His whole body was on fire, now…

Determinedly, he tried his best to act casual as he slipped his fingers under Regulus’s waistband, trailing them over his hipbone, touching the soft skin there almost reverently.

The problem was, as much as he wanted to drive Regulus crazy, he was also going crazy over what he was feeling. Which meant he wasn’t paying attention.And he probably wasn’t doing well at hiding it.

“James? Are you okay?”

“I…”

“What the–”

Sirius’s sharp voice made him jump again, and Regulus’s hand instantly pulled away from his leg, but James wasn’t quick enough. Sirius narrowed his eyebrows, looked under the table,  then surfaced with a gasp. “James Potter, are you groping my baby brother in public?”

He felt himself going red. “He’s not a baby, Sirius, he’s 22..”

“Still, how dare you corrupt him like this! He’s innocent, Potter!” Sirius cried, causing many patrons of the restaurant to look their way.

“Wait–he started it!” James tried to defend himself, flustered.

“Oh, James, don’t lie,” Regulus said smoothly, fluttering his eyelashes. “Of course I liked it, but it was hardly my idea…”

And as Sirius jumped back in to yell at him again, James gaped helplessly at his boyfriend, who sent him a small, secretive smirk. 

This wasn’t over.

[spookymoth1012]

James Potter holding baby Harry in one arm, a beer in the other hand, dancing expertly in the dining room to the upbeat music, Harry giggling and bouncing to the beat on his own.

Effie trying to cook and wonderful Cuban dish for them, but Monty keeps getting up behind her to dance and make her laugh. Harry cries out to Papa Monty to dance with him, and he moves his feet with perfect rhythm over to his only grandson.

It's a riot in the house with love and noise and smiles and Regulus just leans against the door frame, arms crossed, feeling warm and content and so happy. This was his family now. His husband, his parents, their baby! And soon, his brother and brother in law would show up and it would get even louder and happier and his heart could just explode.

He doesn't stay there long. Soon James and Harry come for him, pulling him off the wall and into the dancing, even if he thinks he has no rhythm himself. James still kisses him and holds his waist and moves to the beat of the sounds of family.

[spookymoth1012]

I too would be disgusted I agree Reggie.

James keeps his phone on light mode and Regulus is disgusted by him

[spookymoth1012]

when everbodys like jegulus breaking up and regulus thinking that james didn't care because he masks around his friends, let me introduce you to:

regulus being the pnly one who james has opened up to so after they break up, he sees the slight shadow in his eyes, the vacant look, the tension in his shoulder, the tightness on his face when smiles. all regulus wants is to hold james, to assure him that everythig will be okay but he's the last person james wants around rn, he's the one who broke his heart afterall.

[spookymoth1012]

ghost - @black-brothers-microfic - wc: 1.3k - jegulus

James doesn’t believe in ghosts. Not really. He believes in memories, in the weight of things unsaid, in the way grief can rot a person from the inside out. But ghosts—real ghosts—those are something he’d always filed away into the parts of magic he didn’t dare touch. Until he starts seeing Regulus.

It begins with small things, the sort you can lie to yourself about. A jumper laid out on the bed, sleeves folded, as though someone expected him to wear it. The kettle boiling when he hadn’t turned it on. His old record player crackling to life with no hand near it, playing music he hasn’t heard in years. Regulus’ music. That soft, orchestral waltz he used to hum under his breath while reading. The one James had never known the name of but now hears at midnight, echoing through the house.

At first, he thinks it’s stress. Or memory. Or maybe grief that never really left—just settled, like dust, into the corners of his life. It’s been over ten years since Regulus Black died in that godforsaken cave. Ten years since he’d kissed James in the kitchen, pressed a shaking hand to his face, and said, “Stay here. I’ll come back. I promise.” Ten years since James learned what a broken promise tastes like.

He never came back. No body. No burial. Just silence, and that haunted look in Sirius’ eyes when he said, “It was his choice.” But choices don’t keep you warm at night, and they don’t explain why Regulus’ coat appears at the foot of James’ bed in the dead of winter, crisp and cold and carrying the unmistakable scent of sea air and sandalwood.

He doesn’t tell anyone at first. What would he say? I think my dead ex-boyfriend is folding my laundry. Sirius would just give him that look—tight-lipped, too-knowing. Harry would worry. Remus would go quiet and sad. So James keeps it to himself, watches the patterns build. Regulus never shows up outright, not in the early days. It’s always just the edges. The feeling of being watched, not in a menacing way but with gentle intensity, like being read by someone who knew every word of him already. A mirror that flickers wrong. A shadow where there shouldn’t be one. The faint indentation on the other side of the bed.

It becomes a routine. A second mug of tea placed beside his own, even though he drinks alone. His favorite jumper laid out before big meetings. The soft, familiar press of weight on the couch cushions beside him when he reads, though no one is there. And James, idiot that he is, starts talking.

He tells the air about his day. About Harry, who’s thriving and too brave for his own good. About Sirius, still angry in all the same ways, still healing in others. About Remus, who writes long letters from the cottage and asks too gently how James is sleeping.

James never lies. He just says, “I’m managing.”

Then one night, sitting alone in the garden with a bottle of wine and too much silence, James mutters, “Why did you leave?” The wind answers with a gust that rattles the trees, and the porch light flickers once—twice—then steadies. When he goes inside, there are wet footprints across the kitchen tile. Bare, narrow feet. Walking toward the fireplace.

He stares at them for a long time. Then, quietly, he says, “If this is a dream, don’t wake me.”

After that, Regulus gets bolder.

It’s still not direct. James never sees his face. But he feels him. A cold hand ghosting over his shoulder when he’s reading. A brush of breath at the back of his neck when he lingers too long in front of a photo. Sometimes, he wakes up with tears on his cheeks he doesn’t remember crying, the scent of the sea so sharp it makes his lungs burn. Once, and only once, he sees Regulus in a mirror.

Not a reflection. Not really. More like a memory bleeding through—pale skin, sharp collarbones, dark eyes full of some ancient sadness. James turns too fast, and just like that, he’s gone.

“Coward,” James says, but there’s no heat in it. Only longing.

The house feels fuller with him in it. Lonelier, too, in a way James doesn’t understand. He begins to live around the haunting—leaving space on the sofa, buying Regulus’ favorite tea even though he never drinks it. He stops seeing people. Stops trying to explain the lines under his eyes or the way he sometimes forgets what year it is. The past is loud here. It fills the rooms, saturates the walls. And Regulus, whatever’s left of him, is a constant presence.

James dreams of him. Not the way he was in life—guarded and elegant, all quiet fury—but softer. More honest. Regulus in the dreams reaches for him. Says things he never had time to in life. Sometimes, he apologizes. Other times, he just looks at James like he’s the most beloved thing in the world, and James wakes up aching.

Then, the voice starts.

It’s faint at first. A whisper. One night, sitting at the table flipping through old letters, James hears: You haven’t changed.

He freezes. “Reg?”

Silence.

He starts talking to the voice when it comes. Little things. “You’d hate the wallpaper. Sirius picked it out.” Or, “I found that ridiculous shirt you liked. Still ugly.” And once, quietly, when the house was too dark and his hands were shaking: “I miss you so much I can’t breathe.”

That night, a note appears on his nightstand. Familiar, slanted handwriting. Ink on parchment. Just four words: I never really left.

James cries so hard his ribs ache.

After that, Regulus becomes part of the house. He doesn’t speak often, but when he does, it’s with that same old sharpness, laced with tenderness. He corrects James when he forgets a date. Knocks over books when James lies to himself. Leaves notes with facts only Regulus would know. It should be terrifying. It isn’t.

It’s home.

And James—well, James begins to let go of the idea of “moving on.” Maybe he’s gone mad. Maybe this is what grief does, makes gods of ghosts and lullabies of memories. But Regulus is here. Not whole. Not warm. But here.

Once, James whispers into the quiet: “Why me? Why are you still here?”

The mirror fogs over, and a word appears in the condensation: Love.

James presses his forehead to the glass and whispers, “You were always such a sap.”

But his hands shake.

He starts writing letters to Regulus. Just in case. Tucks them into the pages of his books. Fills them with stupid things—complaints about the weather, how Remus still insists on signing his letters with too many commas, how Harry’s laugh is exactly like Regulus’ when he used to let go of things. Sometimes the letters disappear. He never sees them go.

On the anniversary of Regulus’ death, James wakes up to find the house sparkling clean, a candle lit on the windowsill, and his wedding band—long thought lost—resting on the pillow beside him. He picks it up and closes his fist around it.

“I would’ve married you, you know,” he says into the silence.

The piano starts playing in the other room. That same haunting waltz.

James doesn’t cry this time. He just stands, walks to the source of the music, and whispers, “Dance with me, then.”

He sways, alone, in the empty room. But for a moment—just a moment—he feels arms around him, cool and steady. A chin on his shoulder. The faintest pressure of lips on the curve of his neck.

And when the music ends, he says, “Don’t go.”

The silence that follows feels almost like agreement.

Maybe this is what love looks like, when death doesn’t stop it. Not closure. Not healing. But cohabitation. A life lived with echoes. A bed with one warm side and one cold. A teacup left full for someone who doesn’t drink anymore. A ghost who never really left, and the man who never really wanted him to.

James doesn’t believe in ghosts.

But he believes in Regulus.

And that’s enough.

[spookymoth1012]

Idk if my migraine would allow him to survive because I have a really high pain tolerance and my migraine is a 6 for me rn on the 'pain scale' and I've almost had it for a week straight even going to the ER hasn't helped me

reblog to give your headache to elon musk instead

[spookymoth1012]

novel - april 4 - black brothers - background jegulus - slightly NSFW - @black-brothers-microfic - word count: 527

“Who’re you writing that novel to?” Sirius quipped, looking over to his brother, who was tapping away on his phone, composing the longest text that must have even been written.

Gray eyes flicked up from the screen, sending a death glare that could have rivaled Walburga’s. “None of your business,” Regulus muttered, his cheeks turning slightly pink.

But before Regulus could disappear in the other room or under a blanket, Sirius decided to intervene. “Little brother, you need to be taught how to flirt. It’s obvious you’re awful at it,” he said decisively, frowning toward him. Sure, Regulus had had a few relationships in his life, but they were both in their twenties now–freshly graduated and in their own flat. It was time for Regulus to figure out how to get a man.

This time, the younger man’s expression was slightly amused. “Yeah? What should I say then, oh wise one? I mean, you have so much experience. How many men have you dated? One?”

It was true. Sirius had plenty of experience with women, but Remus was the only man Sirius had so much as kissed. Once he’d realized he wanted Remus, there was no going back.

“It doesn’t matter,” he scoffed, hiding his blush. “I still have a boyfriend. The trick is to send pictures, Reg. Men like visuals.”

“Pictures?” Regulus replied with a smirk.

“Not–no!” Sirius shot back. He wasn’t about to tell his brother how to do that. “Not naked pictures! Just something attractive! Enough to make him interested!”

Regulus’s expression was thoughtful, but there was a hint of mischief there. “Okay. Say I was going to send a picture. How might I go about it?” he asked hesitantly.

Sirius sighed. He had to do everything. “Here, let me,” he sighed, pulling out his own phone.

He then began to guide Regulus through a makeshift photo shoot, directing him to turn this way and that, make this face and that one, all while, in his opinion, being very supportive and helpful. God, he was such a good brother.

“Okay,” he said after a while, sending the pictures to a slightly annoyed-looking Regulus. “Now, send him that one where you’re leaning back a bit, and your shirt's riding up. It’s suggestive, but not slaggish. There’s no way any self-respecting man wouldn’t love it.”

The younger man gave him a long, disbelieving look before tapping at his screen for a few moments and making eye contact again. “Done,” he announced.

“Good! Trust me, Reg, he’ll love it. A whole lot more than a ridiculously long text, that’s for sure,” Sirius chuckled, pleased with himself and his generosity. “Now, tell me. What’s his name? Do I know him?”

Regulus shrugged, a hint of an amused smile on his lips. “James.”

He balked. “I–what?”

“It’s James,” Regulus repeated, looking like he was about to burst into a fit of laughter.

“Not–not James Potter,” Sirius asked, voice rough and hollow. His ears were ringing. This had to be a joke.

“That’s the one! And…judging by his reply,” Regulus said casually, glancing at his screen and standing up, “I’ve got myself a date. Don’t wait up!”

Sirius could only mumble incoherent syllables as he watched Regulus walk away smugly.

[spookymoth1012]

fire - April 3 - jegulus - @taylorswiftmicrofic - word count: 312

“Fuck–stop. No, Reg, stop!”

James Potter had never hated himself more as he peeled a very drunk Regulus Black off of his body and held him back at an arm’s length in the dark of the tiny closet.

No, scratch that. He hated himself more now, as Regulus gave him a glare, eyes filled with fire, jaw set.

“It’s the fucking game, Potter. The bottle landed on us, we snog in the closet. Let’s go,” Regulus insisted, slurring slightly and lurching toward him again. “Isn’t this what you’ve wanted for weeks? You’ve been teasing me enough.”

It was true. James Potter was as gone for Regulus Black as the day was long or as Snivellus’s hair was greasy. But…

“I can’t. Not like this,” he murmured, heart clenching. Gods, Regulus looked good like this. Hair disheveled, cheeks pink, eyes glazed. He wanted to wreck him. But he couldn’t. “You’re drunk. You didn’t…”

“Didn’t what?” the younger boy snapped, clearly fuming. 

“Didn’t choose it. Didn’t choose me,” he mumbled, thankful for the dark that hid his blush at the vulnerable words.

Regulus was silent for about ten seconds before he scoffed and threw his hands in the air. “Bloody hell, Potter! You’re an idiot! D’you think that bottle would have gotten anywhere near you if I didn’t want to kiss you? Barty and I charmed it this morning!”

He gaped. “You…?”

Regulus’s expression–what James could see of it–was impatient and angry, but also a tiny bit anxious. “Yes. So is that good enough? Can you stop being a gentleman and–?”

He was cut off by the blinding light as someone opened the door. “Time’s up!”

“Fucking hell, I’m going to kill someone,” Regulus whispered as he stepped out.

But James just grabbed his hand, pulling him back. “We’re talking about this tomorrow,” he promised, ignoring Sirius’s suspicious glare.

Regulus blinked, expression unsure. “Alright.”

[spookymoth1012]

you read stuff on wattpad for shit and giggles where most of the fics there are reader-inserted ones written in 1st person pov where y/n is a barely legal white girl with blonde hair and blue “orbs” who’s so smol and fragile that she’s dependent entirely on this morally questionable guy who’s killing people for a living but for some reason happens to have a soft spot for her.

you read real actual literature on archive of our own where it’s two middle aged men, who are each other’s sworn enemies, with tragic past, trauma and strong homoerotic tension. and while they’ve made each other bleed, killed each other’s friends and loved ones out of jealousy / possessiveness, lied and betrayed and manipulated, the rawness, depth, complexity and slow burn will keep you up all night, haunt you during your day and possibly change your life forever. and also the sex isn’t just smut. the sex is poetry that puts Shakespeare to shame

[spookymoth1012]

I sure hope you kissed the blade before you twisted it 😭

Rosekiller but it’s both of them having to work through trauma. Rosekiller but it’s Evan being ace and not knowing how Barty, who has a reputation of hooking up with anyone and everyone, will love him despite that. Rosekiller but it’s Barty admitting that the hookups were a coping mechanism and a distraction from the fact he couldn’t have Evan. Rosekiller but it’s Barty being soft and loving with Evan and protecting him because he knows Evan hasn’t had that before. Rosekiller but it’s Evan learning Barty’s little habits and nervous ticks and knowing exactly how to calm him down. Rosekiller but it’s Evan knowing how reckless and self destructive Barty is and loving him despite that. Rosekiller but it’s Barty getting the dark mark to piss off his dad and only after realizing that means he’ll lose Evan as well. Rosekiller but it’s Evan not leaving after Barty gets the dark mark and instead getting it as well because if Barty goes down Evan goes down with him. Rosekiller but it’s Evan dying in battle and Barty seeing it happen. Rosekiller but it’s Barty cradling Evan’s body sobbing and regulus keeping watch providing cover. Rosekiller but it’s Barty years later taking the form of the man who killed the love of his life in order to serve a lord he hates more than anything. Rosekiller but it’s the fact that no matter how you twist it, in all time lines, in all possibilities, they will always be tragic.

[spookymoth1012]

People complaining about headcanons and saying shit like ‘Sirius would NEVER wear a skirt’ or ‘james would never date regulus/sirius/sybill/literally anybody’ will never not be funny

Like girl. You respect these characters too much if you think they have any free will. They don’t! They are my Barbie dolls and I am a bored 7 year old girl that asked for a lego set and got dolls instead. Plastic hair will be cut. Arms will be broken. They are mine to do with as I please

And frankly, you’re ruining the vibe by insisting that I shouldn’t contort these dolls into horrors beyond comprehension. You could have so much more fun if you were as fucked up as me. Cmon girl. You only live once

[spookymoth1012]

James, just chilling on the couch.

Regulus, approaching him out of nowhere and hugging him tight.

James: aw, what was that for?

Regulus: the therapist told me to embrace my mistakes.

[spookymoth1012]

harry who is a very possessive baby, especially towards regulus.

he's maybe 10 months old when luna is born, and while everyone tried to warm him up to the idea of having a little sister, he wasn't able to commit.

so the first time he saw regulus holding the tiny bundle, he just started shrieking like he was dying.

regulus was so confused, and both lily and pandora couldn't stop giggling.

harry was a perfectly good and cute baby, thank you very much. he didn't mind when anyone else was holding little luna (though he did look a bit mad the first times he saw pandora nursing her).

but regulus is forbidden.

harry could be dutifully playing with his toys like the perfect baby he is, or just crawling all over the house, not minding anything at all. however, the second luna is in regulus arms, he suddenly needs his appa, immediately.

james likes to comment his genes are at fault for that. lily can't help but agree.

they have to live like that for a couple of weeks until harry is able to understand that regulus is perfectly capable of loving and holding both of them at the same time.

it's funny, especially because as they grow, harry ends up absolutely adoring luna. and they love to tease him with the videos they have of harry absolutely screaming his little lungs out.