#we already have this pillock

[birdsthatsingaftermidnight]

UK Politics 22/05/24

You have to play this whilst looking at these memes. Trust me; there are reasons.

Fingers crossed that it's only 43 sleeps until we vote the Tories out!

[mariacallous]

Salman Rushdie has just published Knife: Meditations After an Attempted Murder. In August 2022, he was giving a talk at the Chautauqua Institution in New York. Hadi Matar, a 24-year-old from New Jersey, rushed the stage and stabbed him 15 times. It was astonishing that Salman survived. He lost the sight in one eye and sustained terrible injuries, but he’s still with us and he’s still writing, and unlike Hadi Matar, he’s still worth hearing.

We think of fanatics as stalkers with an obsessive knowledge of their targets.  Like the antisemites who compile lists of Jews in the media or the homophobes who so focus on the details of gay sex they might almost be closet cases

Most terrorists and bigots are not like that. They are like soldiers in an army who kill and hate for no other reason than tradition or men in authority have told them to kill and hate. If we were less fascinated by the pseudo-glamour of violence, we would see them for what they are: dullards and jerks.

In Knife Salman is almost as angered by the sheer lazy stupidity of his wannabee assassin as his violence.

“I do not want to use his name in this account. My Assailant, my would-be Assassin, the Asinine man who made Assumptions about me, and with whom I had a near-lethal Assignation … I have found myself thinking of him, perhaps forgivably, as an Ass.”

The ass “didn’t bother to inform himself about the man he decided to kill. By his own admission he read barely two pages of my writing and watched a couple of YouTube videos”.

That was enough, apparently, along with a little light indoctrination in the Levant.

We know from Matar’s mother that her son changed from a popular young man to a moody religious zealot after visiting her ex-husband in the Hezbollah-controlled town of Yaroun in Lebanon, a mile or so from the Israeli border.

“I was expecting him to come back motivated, to complete school, to get his degree and a job. But instead, he locked himself in the basement. He had changed a lot. He didn't say anything to me or his sisters for months.”

Salman quotes a wonderfully perceptive line from Jodi Picoult

“If you meet a loner, no matter what they tell you, it’s not because they enjoy solitude. It’s because they have tried to blend into the world before, and people continue to disappoint them.”

Rushdie is openly contemptuous, as he has every right to be.

“I see you now at twenty-four,” he writes, “already disappointed by life, disappointed in your mother, your sisters, your father, your lack of boxing talent, your lack of any talent at all; disappointed in the bleak future you saw stretching ahead of you, for which you refused to blame yourself.”

This has always been the way. Readers old enough to remember 1989 when the Ayatollah Khomeini ordered Salman’s execution for writing a blasphemous satire of Islam’s origin story in the Satanic Verses,will know that Khomeini had not read it. Nor had the furious demonstrators in the streets or the regressive leftists and Tory ministers who upbraided him for the non-crime of causing offence.

Those of us who had read the book pointed out that it was a magical realist fiction which contained sympathetic accounts of the racism Muslim immigrants in the UK suffered. Indeed, the Tories of the day loathed Salman, we continued, because of his confrontations with official racism.

But after a while we fell silent. Pleading with his enemies felt demeaning. It gave them undeserved credit, as if they were reasonable people, who could be swayed by evidence rather than just, well, pillocks.

In Knife Salman attempts an imaginary conversation with his persecutor.

OK, he says, Islam, unlike Judaism and Christianity, holds that man is not made in God’s image. God has no human qualities, it says.

But isn’t language a human quality? To have language, God would have to have a mouth, a tongue, vocal cords and a voice, just like a man. The terrorist’s understanding is that God cannot be like a man, however. So, God could not have spoken to Gabriel in Arabic. Gabriel must have translated his message when he came to the prophet.

The angel made it comprehensible to Muhammed by delivering it in human speech which is not the speech of God.

Thus, the version of Islamic instruction Matar received in his basement when he switched from playing video games to listening to Imams was an interpretation of a translation.

“I’m trying to suggest to you that, even according to your own tradition, there is uncertainty. Some of your own early philosophers have suggested this. They say everything can be interpreted, even the Book. It can be interpreted according to the times in which the interpreter lives. Literalism is a mistake.”

For a while, Rushdie says he wants to meet Matar again at the trial, as if he wants to have the argument in the flesh.

He tells a story about Samuel Beckett, which could only have happened to Samuel Beckett.

Beckett was walking through Paris in 1938 when he was confronted by a pimp named Prudent, who wanted money from him. Beckett pushed Prudent away, whereupon the pimp pulled out a knife and stabbed him in the chest, narrowly missing the left lung and the heart.

Beckett was taken to the nearest hospital, bleeding heavily. He only just survived.

You will never guess who paid for his treatment. James Joyce, of course, he did.

Anyway, Beckett went to the pimp’s trial. He met Prudent in the courtroom, and asked him why he had done it. This was the pimp’s reply: “Je ne sais pas, monsieur. Je m’excuse.” (I don’t know, sir. I’m sorry.)

But the more he thought about it, the less Rushdie had to say to his enemy. The idea that you can have theological arguments with a man who wants to kill you for writing a book he hasn’t even read felt ridiculous.

Although popular culture is full of stories about murderers, and true crime podcasts top the charts, killers and fanatics are nearly always less interesting than their victims. More often than not they are just thick. Nasty and vicious, but thick first of all.

We are about to see the stupidity of fanatics deployed on a mass scale. Two thirds of Republican voters (and nearly 3 in 10 Americans) continue to believe that the 2020 election was stolen from Donald Trump, and that Joe Biden was not lawfully elected. They think it because that is what Trump told them to think.

Islamists told Matar that Salman was an apostate, and that was all he needed to know. Trump told Republicans the election was stolen and ditto.

If Republicans were consistent people, they would not vote for Trump in 2024. What would be the point? They would have every reason to fear that the deep state would rig the 2024 presidential election as it rigged the 2020 presidential election.

But they will vote for him because, once again, that is what he tells them to do.

In the end there is a limit to how much attention you can pay the vicious and the stupid.

They are not interesting enough, as Rushdie concluded with marvellous disdain as he contemplated the life sentence Matar will face.

"Here we stand: the man who failed to kill an unarmed seventy-five-year-old writer, and the now 76-year-old writer. Somewhat to my surprise, I find I have very little to say to you. Our lives touched each other for an instant and then separated. Mine has improved since that day, while yours has deteriorated. You made a bad gamble and lost. I was the one with the luck… Perhaps, in the incarcerated decades that stretch out before you, you will learn introspection, and come to understand that you did something wrong. But you know what? I don’t care. This, I think, is what I have come to this courtroom to say to you. I don’t care about you, or the ideology that you claim to represent, and which you represent so poorly. I have my life, and my work, and there are people who love me. I care about those things.”

[antiendovents]

actually, since i already commented on your post about tulpas and how they pissed me off; im gonna do it again. in detail.

note: i am a former buddhist, i live in a buddhist country. (95% of thais are buddhists) and pretty much been surrounded by it. im asian. saying it before people jump at me because im terrified as shit

as i mentioned, tulpas are stolen and bastardized completely from a tribe of tibetan buddhists, and the practice itself isn't even a system thing. while thai buddhism and tibetan buddhism are different in their own way, i am very fucking pissed off that they just saw the concept of a thoughtform spirit that helps you meditate, overcome your fear and guide you to nirvana (because that's the main purpose of buddhism) and turn them into "oh! we make alters because we can due to our meditation and we're spiritual so that totally excuses using a generally closed practice! we're not harming anyone!" total bullshit.

i don't want (and sorry if i'm a bit mean) those bigoted fucks stealing basically my culture since im attached to buddhism in general, i grew up with it. and "tulpa systems" slapping it on themselves for the sake of being "unique". i have seen countless comments and posts about how its always the white/non asian people that say "no its not a closed practice, its not cultural appropriation :) actually you should be glad we're appreciating your culture in the first place" fuck off! appreciating culture is fine, but you bastardize it so much and dumb it down to just "making alters/imaginary friends" are you just hearing yourself? are you stupid? are you braindead? god, im getting so angry again.

i have also seen "tulpamancers" insulting actual asians like me who speak against tulpas, saying that we're just "asian token of a character" or that we're "closed minded" and should accept these assholes who dont know what theyre doing into my culture and blatantly disrespecting it, spitting on it and just taking one practice that fits their narrative. wow, talk about being appreciative while half of your community does shit like this to actual buddhists, huh? real nice of you. way to go, you cultural appropriating fucks. /vneg

i cannot count how many times asian culture is so whitewashed on the internet, people that just take our tradition and do whatever the hell they want with it, including making a system out of thoughtforms, which is not possible whatsoever. and for what? FOR WHAT? for your own sick entertainment and enjoyment of having a imaginary friend in your head? try dissociating so hard you cry yourself to sleep you absolute pillock. this is a very angry submission, but it just frustrates me so much. all of the insulting "yous" are directed towards "tulpamancers" that they proudly call themselves. by the way. sorry if it sounded like it was directed at you, im just so angry at the moment.

one last thing. Stop. Using. The Term. Tulpa. For your system. Please!!!!. tulpa systems are not a thing and will never be. End of story. Nothing will change that. Endos fuck off. im sick of your shit. thanks for reading my angry rant.

-azriel for the majority of this, rox/virus proofreading some of the parts, thanks for letting us vent ^^

i dont have much to add, please read this ^^

[thesleepyfable]

~ SWTD: Still Here AU Part 6 ~

Rennick's Comeuppance:

And here we are. The last chapter to wrap up this 'Lifting the Fog' Arc. Yes, I'll keep writing more in the future but I have art to post and I want to focus on my own writing. Thank you to everyone who's continued to read these chapters, and I hope you enjoy!

TW: Blood.

Part 7:

'Oi, McLeary!' Muir called. 'Give Rennick a good kick up the arse.'

Caz wasn't going to give Rennick a good kick up the arse.

Along with Brodie, he hid behind a filing cabinet and waited for Rennick to pass. When they arrived into Administration, Caz could feel something. It didn't cause a splitting headache or his vision to blur, but he assumed it to be The Shape trying its best to tempt him. Neither saw Rennick turn. As far as they were concerned, the old fud was happily tucked away in his office before trying to get to the helipad. That must have been his point of infection. They had noticed The Shape reaching over the handrail, but not much. Rennick must have touched it by accident then fell when the rig began to shake. In a twisted way, turning saved his life, and that wasn't in Caz and Brodie's plan.

They just wanted to find Rennick, drag him to Accommodation and get a verbal beat down by everyone there. Gregor was gone, Davros was missing and even if they didn't like Rennick, they had to try. Caz had brought Trots back from the brink. Douglas found Gibbo and Innes with Muir. Unknown to them, O'Connor had a role to play with Addair. Now, it was Rennick's turn. There was just one problem. No one knew anything about him, nor did anyone like him. Could the reflection trick be enough? Apparently not, because they either heard a mirror or a glass door shatter and Rennick scream in frustration which bled into disgust. He gagged and began to hyperventilate. The pair almost felt bad for him, until he turned back to blind rage and broke into the wall.

They left their hiding spots, awkwardly clambered over the collapsed door that kept them safe and followed the destruction Rennick left in his wake. The further apart they were, the less Caz could sense him.

'The state of this place...'

The men's eyes constantly moved in all directions. Caz looked over his shoulders at the slightest noise. Brodie stared at the floor for any glass they could avoid. Both awkwardly shuffled pass a piece of the discoloured Shape in single-file. It was eerily quiet. Had Rennick gone into the under rig? Or was he lying in wait?

Caz turned his head. He could sense Rennick to the left. Looking through a giant hole in the wall revealed the site manager, standing in a crumbling office, where its outerwall had been bulldozed, allowing the cold yet crisp air in. He grabbed Brodie's shoulder and nodded in the direction. A shiver ran up their spines. They watched Rennick stare out to the sea with a distant look in his eyes. Seemed he's tired himself out.

'Stay here.' It was no secret that Brodie was someone Rennick respected to some degree. He never had been called to the office in the six years he's been stationed at The Beria for the insults. The only time he has was to introduce Raffs and make sure he signed the correct paperwork. If anyone had a chance to talk to him how Douglas did for Gibbo, it was Brodie. Or Finlay, but she wasn't here.

'Rennick?' The older man instantly turned and stared at the diver who held his hands up to show he wasn't going to hurt him. Not like he could. 'It's okay. But, can you move away from the edge? This place is falling apart.' Right on cue, a piece of the ceiling landed between them. Rennick stared. 'It's me. It's Brodie.'

'Yes, I know it's you, you pillock. Stop talking me to like I'm some fuckin' wild animal!'

Well, that was unexpected. The fog had already been lifted from Rennick. His voice hadn't been tainted by The Shape trying to copy him. He showed chronic pain, but all of the infected did during and after being brought back from the brink. Brodie began to relax, or as best as he could when your boss could literally eat you alive.

'Okay, that's good. Look, everyone's meeting up in Accommodation. Archie and Roper are taking care of the rescue.'

'As they fucking well should.' He huffed and noticed Caz poking his head around the corner. Anger quickly boiled to the surface as Rennick pushed pass Brodie in the most gentle way he could. 'You have some fuckin' nerve still being here, McLeary.'

'Well, I wasn't gonna swim back to Scotland now, was I?'

Brodie game him a look. It basically said 'Please shut up and let me handle this,' but Caz didn't notice.

'I still expect you to fuck off when we get back to shore. Do you underst-'

'What the fuck is your problem?!' And there goes any little progress Brodie made. 'We practically keep this rig afloat day and night, whilst you stay nice and cosy in your little cabin. The only time you see us is to give us lip. And look us now. Even after we hit whatever the fuck that is out there, you're still hiding away whilst we do all the work. You told me you had more hairs on your fat crack that can bring more positive contributions, so fuckin' prove it!'

Silence.

All the colour in Brodie's face vanished. Rennick glared. Caz glared back. Even the sea fell quiet.

'...I told you to go, McLeary.' Rennick's voice twisted. He began to snarl between his words and contorted his face.

'Rennick, don't!' Brodie's words fell on deaf ears.

Caz took a quick glance in the direction of the door. If this was going to get Rennick outside, then so be it.

'I'LL MAKE YOU FUCKIN' GO!'

Caz didn't wait to hear the end of Rennick's sentence. He turned and ran. With a roar, Rennick followed. Brodie ducked and held his head as more ceiling tiles fell around him. He watched the pair leave. 'Rennick, stop. Rennick!'

You could say this was a bad idea. Why bring Caz along when Rennick was rightfully pissed he had used The Beria to hide from the police since August? Well, in all honesty, no one wanted to go. Plus, Caz had hoped whatever was happening would be enough of a distraction. What Caz didn't take into consideration was the fact he used The Beria to hide from the police since August.

Rennick followed Caz with little thought. He didn't stop to think that he was luring him outside. He crashed into walls at tight turns, smashed the interior windows and trampled chairs. A tendril set off the fire extinguisher that bounced off the walls and nearly hit Brodie, who was falling behind as he had to navigate the floors to not fall through.

The double doors were in view. Caz picked up the pace. Rennick's screams of frustration could be heard outside. Archie and his crew, Roper and the rest of Marine Control and Engineering, everyone on Deck and some in Accommodation turned in the general direction. They all knew and nearly everyone's face turned as white as a ghost. The last thing they needed was for Rennick to be infected. They screamed for Caz as he appeared, nearly falling as he made a sharp turn along the catwalk to his right. His body got low as he turned with a slide. Rennick, still with tunnel vision, smashed into the railing that caused his infection. The railing bent under his weight and he nearly fell with it, but he regained hit 'footing' and followed. Brodie still had the long corridor to get through. Every step had to be perfectly calculated.

Caz could feel Rennick practically breathing down his neck. He was too close. The old man was fast. Getting down the ladder, let alone to it impossible. In a sudden act of desperation, he grabbed the railing and jumped. He didn't think how high the fall would be, just as long as he gained some distance. A tendril from Rennick reached out to pull Caz back, but another caught him first. A tendril from Muir wrapped around Caz's waist and pulled him to safety, landing between the group. It all happened so fast, when he touched the ground, the leccy fell to his knees as he tried to catch his breath. 'Let's not do that again,' he told himself.

Innes patted his shoulder and with O'Connor, pulled the man up.

There wasn't anytime to talk. Caz didn't have time to register Addair before they all felt a bang. Rennick jumped onto the Deck and stared at Caz with a wild look in his eyes, also catching his breath. He didn't show it, but he realised how he'd been tricked to come out of hiding. He glanced at everyone he could see. A part of him was relieved he wasn't the only infected. Compared to Addair and Muir, he started to feel less disguisted with himself. At least he still had his head and his organs weren't exposed.

'Not bad, McLeary.' Brodie watched from the catwalk. 'Not bad.' He felt all eyes on him. There was no reaction. No one going to comfort him or even ask if he was alright. Just staring with empty or angry eyes. Rennick remained strong, but he could tell this was a losing battle. 'What?!' He snapped and turned to his left where O'Connor and his group stood with Roper above. He turned to the right. 'Don't you dare look at me like that. I'm not the one who got us into this shit. I'm not the one who activated the drill. If you want someone to blame, then you should all be looking at Gibbo, or Roper. They're the ones who decided to drill through this stuff.' Everyone stared. They could tell Rennick was grasping at straws. Anger bubbled. Trots and Gibbo made their way down to the Deck. 'I'm the one giving you all a roof over your heads. The one who makes sure you have money to pay your bills or send back to your families. And this is how you thank me? By turning me into this thing?! I should fire each and every one of you-'

A tendril slapped Rennick across the face, with such force his head jerked to the side, leaving a deep cut. With one of his 'arms' he touched it and noticed his blood dripping. He turned. It was Gibbo. The man had a both a hurt and angered look in his eye. He was trying to hold back his tears.

'Because of you...' He tried to be strong, but he began to cry. The chain was still wrapped around a tendril. 'My boy has to see his father look like this for the rest of his life!' Rennick gritted his teeth.

'Get to fuck, Gibson! It's your fault that oil got on y-' Another slap from Gibbo. This time, it cut above Rennick's eyebrow and this time Rennick didn't fight back. He felt everyone's eyes on him. His usual tactics of verbally abusing his crew into making themselves carry the blame wasn't working. A sense of anxiety spread across his body. It tensed and Rennick couldn't bring himself to look away from the floor. He kept one eye covered from Gibbo's cut. His lips tightened and turned in on themselves. His breath became shaky. Rennick wanted to be sick. There was no convincing. The King had lost his followers and his Empire was in ruins.

'Stop looking at me! Stop it. Don't you dare look at me like that. Go away. Go away!' The words flooded his mind. He didn't know who it was, but hearing footsteps was enough. He turned and dashed across the Deck, before climbing back to Administration, nearly hitting Brodie as he vanished over the building.

Silence.

There was no cheers. No one said anything. To answers your question, it was Roper's footstep that caused Rennick to leave. Trots placed a hand on Gibbo, who didn't feel guilty at all for slapping his boss twice. In fact, he felt relieved. It felt good. Still didn't stop his tears. Caz shared a glance up to Brodie who gave a thumbs up before climbing down the ladder. Archie and Roper exchanged a look. The pilot nodded and moved back to the helipad, ready to fly back to the mainland to enforce an emergency rescue. Finlay turned and noticed.

'Oi, you lot. Is it supposed to be doing that?'

The Shape had now gone completely grey. It's pulse stopped. Then it began to crumble. Slowly flakes chipped away, before pieces no bigger than a finger nail followed at a much faster pace. Everyone on The Beria. D Oil Rig watched The Shape disintegrate into a dust cloud. The wind carried it back to sea, leaving only the dust inside to be swept up by someone later.

A sensation came over Caz. He held his head, but passed it off as him removing his hard-hat to run a hand through his hair. Since being rescued by Brodie and Douglas, he had a splitting headache and blurred vision whenever he got close to The Shape and the infected. He could faintly hear Suze calling for him like a song, but since the rig began to shake, it all seemed to stop. All he could feel was the presence of the infected. What he just felt was The Shape finally being put to rest. He was free from its grasp.

'It's...dead.'

For a brief moment, the infected waited to be turned back into their human form, but to no avail. A crushing blow. On the bright side, seeing whatever The Shape was dissappear was a huge weight off everyone's shoulder.

'...What now?' Trots asked. Caz shrugged and put his hard-hat back on.

'Well, we do have a darts tournament to finish.'

[alottodix]

if South Park was British (lmao) what would the main fours’ favourite insults be. I can so vividly imagine Kyle calling someone a pillock or a knobhead its so funny. I think Cartman

OHHHHH ANON HOW MUCH I LOVE YOU

Okay, so. First, Stan Marsh. He’d definitely be more fond of the blunt ones, the ones that are so simple they’re reflexive for most of the nation – tosser, prick, twat, all of those fun ones. HOWEVER, I also see him having an awesome time with “bloody hell” to portray how fucking fed up he is, like when he does the pinch bridge of nose + look down + very defeated “Jesus Christ” combo in the show. I ALSO IMAGINE HIM BEING SUPER FOND OF HOW BLUNT STUFF LIKE “sod off” IS TO TELL PEOPLE TO LIVE HIM ALONE OR EVEN JUST TO REACT TO DUMB SHIT LIKE THE LITTLE CYNIC HE IS

Now, onto Kyle. Every single time I see the Jersey episode, I mentally have to compare the reality TV show element to shit like Geordie Shore, so if it was a show based in the UK I can only imagine him being Geordie – proper Ant and Dec style. Americans, if you haven’t already, go listen to the accent and tell me it doesn’t have Kyle vibes – it just does. SO, WITH THIS IN MIND, I can totally imagine him whipping out gobshite as an insult, or what a load of bollocks in response to Cartman being an asshole, fun clipped shit like that. There was also a moment of time where I sat down and started plotting a Hogwarts AU, in which I realised I’d have to make these guys vaguely British, and I had such a strong mental image of Kyle jokingly calling Stan a daft git so I feel like he’d love the ones like that – and I agree with anon I think he’d have a lot of fun with knobhead

I feel Kenny would enjoy basically all of them, but for the sake of this dude being muffled as fuck I think he’d get a real kick out of the backwards peace sign – like whenever possible. Also “get stuffed”, for vibes. LISTEN I FEEL I SHOULD BE MORE SCIENTIFIC IN MY METHODS BUT LEAVE ME ALONE LMAO WE GO OFF VIBES HERE

Now, when I think of a British Cartman, I can only imagine a younger Del Boy from ‘Only Fools & Horses’. This is both a blessing and a curse. It’s the shared entrepreneurial spirit and lack of dignity I think. Also the fur coats. And con-artist swagger. And also how well Del Boy takes the piss out of Rodney – if you were to replace Rodney with Butters or Kenny in their search for wealth; this is such a niche reference but somebody reading this is gonna be so fucking happy with it. Because of this, I can only imagine him with the strongest cockney accent known to man, and so, a list of ones I feel he would use:

“Berk”

“Muppet”

“You jammy prick”

“Bleedin’ hell”

“You daft cow”

“Shut your cakehole”

“He’s a right tosser”

“You bleeding mug”

“Wazzock”

Also unrelated but with this guy being the gayest homophobe around, he’d totally be one of those guys to call everyone “babes” (the mental image is making me cackle, he fucking would don’t lie)

ANYWAY LMAO FEEL FREE TO DISCUSS, THANK YOU ANON – THIS WAS INCREDIBLY FUN TO DO, I APOLOGISE FHDKFN

[not-a-taken-username]

just make out already

by: notatakenusername

chapters: 4/4 complete, 20.2k words, drarry

summary: After the war, Hogwarts students are ready to start another year to make up for what they lost. However, some things simply don’t change. Snape (his portrait) is still a git, Malfoy’s still a pillock, and Rita Skeeter’s articles have only gotten worse. Like, way worse. When Harry finds himself getting caught in rumors from an out-of-context photo of him and Malfoy, he’s forced to defend himself, and all the while, reconsider his own feelings. Little does Harry know, he’s not the only one who’s noticed these things, and unpredicted friendships are working behind the scenes.

snippet from chapter two:

“Shut up , Malfoy! I’ve never done anything of the sort!” Potter said, fisting his robes. The crowd, which had slowly been getting larger as their argument got louder, let out a collective gasp. Draco’s stomach twisted. 

…In anger, and nothing else.

“ You shut up! This is all your fault!” 

“How is it my —” 

“Aww! They’re in a lover’s quarrel!” a Ravenclaw third-year exclaimed from the crowd. Potter’s face burned from mortification. 

“No!” Potter said, immediately dropping Draco’s robes. “No, we aren’t even—” 

“If only you just shut up, Potter, maybe this would’ve never—” 

“Me?!” Potter practically shrieked, cutting Draco off. “Oh fuck you, Malfoy—” 

“No, fuck you , Potter—”

“Is this foreplay?” a Slytherin seventh-year nearby deadpanned. Potter’s face got impossibly redder. 

“No! No, it’s not! I’m not gay—” 

“I’d never date this prat—” 

“Aww! They’re trying to keep their relationship a secret!” 

“NO! No, we aren’t dating! I’d never date him!” 

“Guys, it’s okay! You can make up your lover’s quarrel with a kiss!” 

“NO! NO!”

[reinekinthos]

fine milkers  — about sirius, obsessing over her moony's tits (pt.2) pt.1 here

lesbian wolfstar | hogwarts | getting together | it will definitely get explicit.

—

“She's so beautiful Jamie, her hair smells like… apples. How can her hair smell like apples?”

Sirius might as well have hearts beating out of her eyes. Jamie lifts hers to the ceiling in a silent prayer for fortitude as her best friend keeps talking. “Her tits... they are so—“ big. Sirius doesn't finish her sentence. Instead, she makes a vague vulgar hand gesture around her chest, as if she is holding onto two Bludgers.

Jamie wrinkles her nose but can’t help but laugh. Remus' breasts are huge, and Sirius has wanted to get her mouth on them for a long time now. This is not new information.

Sirius wails.

“Don't laugh at me!” Sirius leans over the table, smacking the side of Jamie’s head. “How could you be so cruel to your best friend? Have some sympathy— I'm in love with a straight girl!”

Jamie outright cackles at this. “You daft pillock.”

Sirius is not a daft pillock, thank you very much. Jamie Potter's just a bitch.

“What about Moony makes you think “this is a heterosexual woman”? Are you blind?”

Sirius narrows her eyes into a disdainful stance. “What are you talking about?”

Jamie shrugs. “Moony is a lesbian. Everybody knows. Probably even McGonagall,” she pretends to think for a second. “Kreacher too.”

Sirius makes a face. “How would Krea—Moony is not into women. If she was, Binns would have looked for a Sirius Lupin when he called the roll earlier.”

“You are so embarrassing,” Jamie informs her. “It’s been years, just ask her if she wants to shag already.”

Sirius kicks her.

It is not just a physical thing. Sirius loves Remus. Loves her patience. Her maturity. Her unperturbed calm. Her unwitting eroticism. Her unearthly, lunar beauty. Her secret, hidden pain. She loves Remus. She wants Remus.

Sexually, obviously. But there's… a strong romantic component to that want, too. She wants to date her. To take her to Hogsmeade and hold her hand. To stargaze together. To blow her a kiss from the pitch after a successful Quidditch match. To cuddle her. To fall asleep in her arms.

It's not just about wanting to shove her up against a wall and get a hand inside her knickers.

“Okay, fine, ask for her hand in marriage already!”

When Jamie opens her mouth to add something, Sirius can only imagine it will be another lie, Binns scoffs from the other side of the room and Sirius doesn't have the strength to pretend to not be guilty.

The professor, with an irritated expression on his face, swings his arm to point in their direction and says, “what are you doing there in the last row, laughing?”

He pronounces the word “laughing” with the same tone someone else might use to say “torturing half—bloods” or “summoning evil spirits”.

Since Sirius can't be bothered to answer, it's Jamie who stands up to speak. “Well, Professor, it’s true that we were laughing. You should know that we were laughing because, in fact, we found the subject we were discussing amusing, but there was nothing life-threatening or legally actionable in our amusement, I assure you...”

Sirius can see three rows ahead Remus slapping herself in mortification.

James is still talking. “… Now, it’s clear to me as to anyone else that has been laughing loudly and uninterruptedly for the entire class period that this might suggest that we were being inattentive, or insolent, or even cheerfully moronic, but I myself find that a bit of drollery in this austere context does the heart good and therefore, necessarily, only deepens the joy of learning. As for the relationship between laughter and the Second Goblin Revolution…”

He doesn’t let Jamie complete her thought. Binns barks: “Cut it out, Potter!” and luckily the bell rings.

Remus waits for them leaning against the wall outside the class with her trademark expression of disapproval. It makes her look like a disappointed mum.

Sirius giggles at the thought. If Remus was a lesbian, they would be already married and Remus would be pregnant with their third child — Sir Padfoot III Lupin Black.

“Had fun?” she asks when Sirius approaches her and presses her forearm against the wall above Remus' head. Remus' hair is in a high bun with a few pieces framing her face delicately. So pretty, Sirius thinks, absolutely besotted.

Too bad Remus is probably thinking that she is a buffoon.

“Not really,” Sirius says, trying not to blush at the way Remus peers up at her through her thick, dark lashes. Sirius plays absentmindedly with a tear in her skirt. “We were talking about you.”

“About me?” Remus gives her a sidelong glance, and Sirius giggles.

Remus' lip twitches at the sound. Sirius reaches out to poke her waist playfully before settling back onto her previous position; as they lounge lazily in the hallway the students split up towards their next classes. Sirius watches Jamie wink at her suggestively as she leaves for practice with Mary and Marlene.

Sirius hums, barely acknowledging Jamie's antics to not encourage her. “Prongs think you’re a lesbian. Don’t worry, I told her you aren’t.”

Remus stills and Sirius looks around to see if someone casted a freezing charm. “Why would I worry?” she shifts, turning her head towards Sirius and staring curiously.

“I know you’re not homophobic or anything, I didn’t mean it like that,” Sirius rushes to assure.

Remus looks conflicted for a moment. “No, I mean,” she says slowly. “Why would I worry? It’s true.”

Sirius lets out an awkward laugh before the meaning of her words actually hit her and she freezes as she is.

“Huh?” she asks dumbly.

“I am a lesbian,” Remus says slowly again, like when she had to explain to Sirius how muggle currency works.

“What?”

“I’m a lesbian,” Remus repeats. No one moves. “I don’t hide it.” The way she says it makes it sound like she thinks she's quite obvious about it.

Her eyes remain on Sirius' frozen face until they hear a student scream somewhere behind them.

The student can die, for all Sirius cares right now.

“I— I didn’t know?” she stares silently at Remus wondering what she's thinking. Her ears have gone pink and her chest goes up and down gently with her breaths. Sirius has to force herself not to stare at her tits.

Suddenly she feels like their entire friendship has changed, she sees everything through a different lens. It all has a different context now.

A lesbian? Remus is a lesbian? Sirius could have been worshiping her body this entire time, but she hadn’t been? Granted, being a lesbian didn’t mean Remus reciprocated her feelings, but still!

She could have been seducing Remus this entire time and what was she doing? Calling her tits fine milkers?! 

“I—I thought you knew and that you have been just teasing me about it,” Remus says.

Sirius shakes her head but says nothing.

Remus sighs. “Listen, it changes nothing. I know you were just joking— it’s not like I've ever taken it seriously...”

It changes everything.

“… Or taken you seriously.”

Sirius can’t think of a good reason they’re not scissoring instead of having this conversation. She exhales sharply.

Finally Remus smiles tentatively and says: “Alright, I’m glad we had this talk.”

Sirius feels a bit like she’s floating but she nods nevertheless.

She covers her eyes with one hand as Remus leaves. She thinks of her challenging look as she repeated “I am a lesbian” as if she was waiting for Sirius to do something about it.

Well, Sirius feels the inexplicable urge to do something about it; to grab Remus’ hand, drag her in their dorm room, throw her down onto the floor and eat her alive.

Sirius swallows, her eyes huge.

She wants to yell it at Remus right now, hey guess what, I love you, but she can’t do it yet. Can’t do it like this, as Remus is walking away down the hallway and they can clearly hear a Gryffindor shooting hexes at Snape. Jamie, probably.

She rubs at her eyes, lets the warm feeling in her chest pool outward. Yeah, she knows what she has to do.

Despite making a life-altering decision, nothing much changes over the next few days. Sirius goes to class as normal, but she feels a lot farther from the emotional mess she’s been before.

Something different has begun sparking in her chest after an undetermined period of time. It takes awhile for her to pinpoint what it is, and when she does, she blushes like a stupid.

It’s excitement.

There’s nothing wrong with being excited.

She’s looking forward to declaring her undying love to Remus, and that’s normal. Well, not entirely normal; Sirius envisioned a few concessions that she will never recount, even under threat of death, but still. It’s mostly normal.

What do people do to show their affection? Sirius is tempted to search for answers in the library, but she doesn’t think her pride would ever recover.

She’s a simple woman. Remus knows this. And there’s no way she would be able to misinterpret the gesture of Sirius showing up with chocolate.

When she goes to Jamie for advice, her best friend laughs in her face, reminding her that she has been gifting Remus chocolate since they were eleven. It won’t take her anywhere.

Sirius wants to do something nice. A little bit romantic, maybe, if she dares to use the word. Something to show Remus how much she cares.

Jamie is more practical, seduce her, she tells her. “She already knows that you love her. You transform into a dog for her. What’s missing is seduction.”

Seduction?

Seduction.

[engie-ivy]

@wolfstarmicrofic Just Fluff, Remus waiting for that first kiss.

13th: Magical

The right moment matters less when it's the right person. Which is a good thing, since Sirius is expertly ruining the moment.

When It's Right

Lily looks up from her essay as Sirius and Remus enter the common room. Sirius is laughing, Remus looks rather miffed.

“You never guess what sharp observation Moony just made.” Sirius grins, as he sits down on the other couch.

Lily puts down her quill, glances at Remus, who’s staring pointedly at his shoes, and then looks at Sirius questioningly.

“We were on top of the Astronomy Tower,” Sirius says. “Looking out over the Hogwarts grounds, and Remus goes and says ‘it’s just magical’. Like, really, Moony? A magical castle, that serves as a magical school, where they learn how to perform magic, and you have noticed it’s magical?”

Sirius starts to laugh again, and Remus raises his head to glare at him, his cheeks flushed. “Yes, well, excuse me for making such an evidently pointless statement. The way you started laughing at me already made that perfectly clear, thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to bed.”

“Moony...” Sirius says, but Remus already stomps off, and up the stairs to their dorm.

Lily crosses het arms over her chest. “You, Sirius Black, are a massive plonker!”

Sirius blinks. “I just thought it was a silly thing to say! Wasn’t trying to be mean or anything.”

Lily sighs. “These last weeks Remus has been talking a lot about having his first kiss.”

Sirius’ cheeks turn red. “W-what d-does that have to do with m-me?” He splutters.

“It carries a lot of weight for Remus,” Lily says calmly. “He wants it to be right, and he’s been constantly saying that, when it happens, he wants the moment to be ‘just magical’.”

Sirius stares at her wide-eyed. “Are... Are you saying you think Remus wanted me to kiss him back there?!”

“It’s no coincidence he used that exact phrasing in that moment. He must’ve thought that was it, that moment he had been waiting for.” Lily shrugs. “Well, at least until you started laughing at him.”

Sirius looks horrified for a moment. Then he groans and hides his face in his hands. “Merlin, I’m such a bloody pillock!”

“Moony?”

Remus, lying with his face pressed against his pillow, doesn’t look up when Sirius gingerly sits down at the foot of his bed. “What do you want, Sirius?”

“Were...” Sirius begins hesitantly. “Were you hoping, just now up the Astronomy Tower, for me to kiss you?”

“Don’t worry,” Remus says. “You’ve made it perfectly clear how ridiculous that idea was.”

“No!” Sirius exclaims. “No, I didn’t realise that was what it was! I wasn’t thinking any further than the whole ‘magical castle being magical’-thing sounding funny... If I had realised, I definitely wouldn’t have laughed.”

Remus pushes himself up and looks at Sirius. “What would you have done then?” He asks in a small voice.

“Well, hopefully, I would’ve swept you off of your feet and kissed you breathless,” Sirius says. “Realistically, though, I would’ve swooned and you would’ve needed to pick me up from the floor, or I would’ve gotten nervous and panicked, kind of like I’m doing now, and you would’ve been laughing at me instead-” Remus starts to laugh “-kind of like you’re doing now.”

Remus reaches out to take Sirius’ hand, and pulls him closer. “Come here, you daft git.”

Sirius wraps his arms around Remus’ neck, as Remus wraps his arms around Sirius’ waist.

Sirius glances around the messy dorm. “This isn’t exactly the magical moment you were hoping for.”

Remus shrugs. “Maybe I’ve learned that the right moment matters less when it’s the right person.”

So Sirius swoons. Remus has to quickly tighten his grip on his waist to keep him upright.

“Panicking and swooning,” Sirius mutters. “You really had to have both?”

Remus laughs again. Then he leans his forehead gently against Sirius’. “Thank you for making me feel better.”

“I like seeing you laugh,” Sirius says sincerely. “I never want to be the reason you’re upset.”

Remus gives him a soft smile. “At least you’re always the one who can cheer me up.”

Sirius returns the smile. “Maybe next time I can cheer you up like this.” And he leans in.

[noforkingclue]

Hello! I was wondering if you could do a request where reader gets possessed by a ghost of your choice. Bonus if ghost and reader hated each other, so they have to get along since they’re stuck with each other for a whole day?

If you can, please, thank you and have a good day.

Note: request are currently closed

Of course I can! I went with Julian for this and went with enemies to kind of friends. So this is a platonic fic.

Hope you like it!

Title: Pranks

BBC Ghosts tag list: @violetlucreziastuff, @mxacegrey

Everything tag list: @greenrevolutionary, @byebyebreezywrites, @spngingerbread21, @layazul, @lov3vivian, @simonsbluee

“Alison,” Alison winced at the sound of yours and Julian’s voices, “Something terrible has happened.”

You marched into Alison and Mike’s room. Alison clutched her mug of tea and shrunk back into the pillows. Julian’s hand was on your shoulder and you waved an angry hand at him.

“Why the fuck doesn’t he have any trousers?” you snapped

“Wait,” Alison sat up, almost spilling her tea, “You can see him?”

“I’ll find you find that plenty of people have died in worse ways than me.” Said Julian

“Oh yes,” you sneered, “But none more embarrassing Mr Died in a Sex Scandal.”

“I-“

“How, how can you see him?” asked Alison

“No fucking clue. Probably something to do with his hand on my shoulder.” You said

“Look, Alison-”

Julian tried to raise his right hand and at the same time pulled your shoulder with it. You let out a frustrated cry and glared at the ghost. Mike stuck his head in the room when he heard the commotion. He glanced between you and the exhausted looking Alison who just said,

“Ghost stuff.”

*

“So,” you said as you marched through the halls of Button House, “What made you think it was a good idea to try and touch me.”

“Well, you see-“

“And no politician bullshit,” you said, “Have enough of that already. I don’t need any more coming from you.”

Julian fell silent and you could see he was trying to work out an answer. You smirked at the ghost you just glared at you.

“I thought politicians were good at thinking of their feet.”

“We are.”

“Then why are you so shit?”

“I am not!”

Julian tried to raise his hands but grumbled when he realised it was still stuck to your shoulder.

“And nothing like this has happened before?”

“No.”

You grumbled as you continued to stomp around the Hall. Julian glared at you as he had no choice but to follow you. You were stuck like this for God knows how long so you had to make the best of a shit situation. You came to a sudden stop, smirking.

“Do any of the others know about this?”

“Oh no,” said Julian, “No one else was around and we went straight to Alison remember? It wasn’t that long ago that it happened. Didn’t realise you had such a poor memory.”

“No,” you said after taking a deep breath, “What I was thinking about was maybe we could prank the others.”

*

“Ok,” whispered Julian, who was surprisingly up for your idea, “So Thomas is sitting in the room by the window.”

“Right.”

“Look left a bit more.”

“This good?”

“I suppose it’ll do. And you remember what you need to say to him.”

“I’m not the person who has an issue remembering lines.”

“Just hurry up and get on with it.”

“Right.”

You took a deep breath and walked into the room. You looked directly at where Julian said Thomas was sitting and said,

“Afternoon Thomas. Awful business with this,” you waved a hand at Julian, “And completely unexpected. Never knew that this was a side effect of Julian’s powers and now I’m stuck with this pillock for who knows how long. Oh well, I suppose it’s nice to finally see you guys and see what Alison has to put up with.”

You nodded and continued walking. Just before you left the room you turned around and said,

“By the way, I’d appreciate it is you stopped watching me sleep. Kinda creepy.”

You had to stop yourself from bursting out laughing when Julian said,

“You should’ve seen the look on his face!”

“What’s he doing?”

“Running to Alison.”

“Great!”

You grinned at Mike as you passed him by. He was standing on the staircase and raised his eyebrows at you. Part of you felt bad that he couldn’t see that ghosts.

“So,” Mike folded his arms as he watched you talking to yourself, “You can’t actually see them right?”

“Just Julian.”

“And now I feel like the odd one out!”

“Don’t worry, you’re not missing much,” you tried to re-assure him, “So, who do you want to prank next? The Captain?”

[collymore]

War! What is it good for?

By Stanley Collymore

The egos of self-entitled, totally   unwarrantedly privileged and   invariably also exceedingly   wealthy, power hungry and rather evilly   obsessed men and women, who have   in spite of what they already crucially   unnecessarily have, still quite simply   literally avariciously feel that they're   so absolutely and unstintingly also,   personally and obligatorily, fittingly   entitled to undeniably much more;   and consequently all those whom   they readily utilize, as their Useful   Idiots, likewise too their distinctly   evidently, fatuously brownnosing   sycophants and the plethora too   of disturbingly sick, significantly   intellectually challenged, simply   brainwashed, and unmistakably   pathetically gullible pillocks are   perfectly, therefore, appropriate   specimens to literally arbitrarily   and repeatedly use in their very   compulsively recurrently quest   for that unquestionably, wholly   distinctive influence; a fervent,   crucial step towards acquiring   greater wealth and undeniably   untrammelled power; vis-a-vis   the heartless outcome of war.

Very well aware - of course - that   it wouldn't be themselves who   will essentially, really suffer   either physically or psychologically as   a result of these pre-planned, military campaigns of theirs that they clearly   patently rather needlessly effectively   shouldn't be organizing but crucially   all the same do simply aggressively initiate; but conflicts that literally of   themselves are also, never inimical   to those who're instigatory of them   although the same, very irrefutably   can not be honestly said for all the   sane and effectively other hapless victims, that through the ludicrous   virtue signalling behaviour; simply   outright hypocrisy and undeniably   really compulsive, war mongering   activities, of these influential men   and women, irrefutably do ensure   that not only themselves but also   similarly and very specifically too   their rabidly avaricious billionaire   controllers, and clique of wealthy   one percenters remain in literally   excellent good health financially!  

And who most essentially are to be blamed for all of this? Well,   as I see it, those who're very   knowledgeably so governments; clearly   people rather undeniably, in essentially   rather powerful positions of authority;   also the ones basically making those   decisions that crucially relate to war;   while absolutely, in marked contrast   it's always the innocent civilians, on   both sides of such stupid conflicts,   who pay the price with unrelenting,   and similarly philosophical regrets.

(C) Stanley V. Collymore 13 October 2023.

Author's Remarks:   Everyone needs to be educated with facts; not through dishonest, deceitful, disingenuous and outright lying, virtue signalling. As all honest, well-informed persons know the true origins of what's going on in Palestine, a continuation of what's been occurring for quite some time now. And no amount of blatantly contrived mass hysteria by hypocritical media outlets: the print as well as the electronic versions, is going to change that! Just the truth, and quite honestly also rectifying past and still discernibly ongoing wrongs.

No different, this state of affairs, from the vestiges of uncaringly and thus as well, the obvious, purposely unresolved injustices, unquestionably pertaining to the Transatlantic Slave Trade barbarity which most consciously and for profit similarly and barbarically began in my ancestral homeland of Barbados. And we know who started and profitably too benefitted quite enormously from that!   And not to even acknowledge let alone seek to honestly rectify the wrongs that have been perpetrated, and still literally are, in Palestine while vaingloriously as well as hypocritically virtual signalling for one's own preferred side is actually therefore as patently crass as basically deliberately ignoring the odious and evil crimes of Jimmy Savile on the evidently ludicrous basis that he effectively also did lots of charitable work and was too involved in many good public causes!

Only in the sick minds of the viciously and acquisitively psychotic is justice for the justly aggrieved ever seen and regarded as unquestionably unrealistic!

[cherievol6]

newborn dadrry

harry with a newborn would just be..ugh. this is a little one (unedited), hope you enjoy, and i hope this makes up for the angst in not waiting around (which has NOW has a part 2) happy reading! - M x

harry takes over feeding time

word count: 631

warnings: none! just cuteness

.

“Harry…Harry!”

He looks at you with an alarmed expression, fumbling with the baby bottle and blinking away the sleep from his bleary eyes. The small baby lies fussily in her dad’s arms, small whimpering leaving her mouth as she searches for the teat of the bottle that had barely touched her lips.

“What?” He whispers in a panicked voice, and you’d find him endearing if you weren’t panicking about your newborn child lying in his hold.

“Have you checked the temperature of the milk?!” You whisper-shouted again, wary of the other new mothers sleeping behind the curtains surrounding you. It must have been three, four in the morning when your precious daughter stirred in her sleep. Usually, you breast fed the baby, but you’d pumped an hour or two before and left it in a container on the side, ready to be dipped in warm water and fed to your baby by Harry (he was on night duty, given you’d had a total of 4 hours sleep in the past two days). However, the paranoia that came with being a new mother kept you wide awake, monitoring Harry’s every move to make sure he was learning in case you weren’t awake to do it in the future.

“Of course I have, you pillock.” He sighs, “bloody hell, scared the life out of me, you did.” You squint as he tilts his head back on his neck and he blows out a breath of relief.

“I wouldn’t call a sleep-deprived-post-partum mother a pillock…if you plan on keeping your pretty teeth.” You warn, raising an eyebrow at him. The side of his mouth raised in a cheeky grin before he tries his best to pour a bit of the milk on to his wrist that was tucked under the baby to test the temperature (purely for your peace of mind despite him already checking it five minutes prior) before finally connecting it to her mouth. She hums lightly, making Harry smile adoringly down at her. Despite your anxiety, you stare at the pair and sigh in contentment at the scene. Your little family.

The dad role had come quickly and smoothly to Harry, as you’d expected, given he was just so naturally good with kids - something you’d observed that made you unbelievably broody, winding up with this little one as the result. He just knew what to do, when to do it and was always on hand if you were struggling or having an off day, needing someone to take over. He was all you could have asked for.

“Take a picture, will last longer baby.” He chuckles, adjusting the crook of his arm easily and leaning completely back against the hospital chair.

“Oh! Thanks for the reminder!” You grin, grabbing your phone from the side table and snapping a picture of Harry gazing down at a little piece of both you and him.

“She loves her dad.” You sigh, rubbing his shoulder lovingly and setting the picture as your lock screen.

“She loves her mum more.” He looks at you pointedly. You shake your head with a frown.

“Let’s call it equal, hm?” Your nails scratch at his scalp and he hums in delight.

You stare at him for a few moments before leaning across the gap between the bed and the chair to kiss him on the cheek, prompting him to turn his and and kiss you sweetly on the lips.

“Hmm. Love you s’much.” He breathes, green eyes gazing into you.

“I love you so much more, my Harry.” You smile, kissing his once again before stroking his cheek, repeating the action on your newborn’s cheek also. You couldn’t believe how much she resembled her dad at such a young age.

“You made this little thing.” He mumbles and very gently rocks the baby in his arm.

“We made her. Together. She’s ours, baby.”

.

[my-unmanageable-mischief]

Cold

For the lovely anon who requested : Hey! Can I request Sirius letting the reader use him for body heat or to warm her hands up? Thank you!!

Sirius Black x Reader

James and Lily were some feet in front of you, bickering lightly. Occasionally one of them would smile or laugh so you knew they weren’t actually having a row, but those two bickered like it was sport. The rest of your group joked and laughed as you walked down the winding path to Hogsmeade. 

You weren’t paying attention to the conversation around you as you huddled further into your coat, pulling your scarf up over your mouth and nose. It was snowing only lightly, but the harsh winds whipped it into your face. You shuddered, making another attempt to pull your coat tighter around you. 

“Alright Y/N?” Black asked, shortening his stride momentarily so he was walking beside you. You huffed slightly, lips pouting behind your scarf. It wasn’t fair, he didn’t even have a hat on and he looked more than content. 

“Alright.” You assured quietly trying not to be obvious as you rubbed your hands together to try and keep them from going numb. You were intending on making a beeline to Gladrags Wizardwear to go buy new gloves once in town. The ones you currently wore were threadbare and from almost three Christmases ago. They weren’t doing their job anymore. 

“Cold?” He asked, smirking broadly at you, you did your best to make sure he knew you were glaring. 

“I said I’m alright, Black.” You gritted out, teeth chattering slightly to prove you wrong. He just continued to smirk wildly at you. Ever since Lily and James worked their stuff out and started dating your friend groups had merged. You, Lily, Mary and Malrene now spent an intolerable amount of time with Black, Potter, Remus, and Pettigrew. During this merging Black had decided that if Lily and James were going to bicker constantly, he supposed you two ought to too, as their best friends. At least that’s why you assumed he found enjoyment in riling you up all the time. 

“Well you sure do look cold, Y/N.” He continued. You rolled your eyes as dramatically as you could at him, but didn’t dignify the comment with a proper response. “Do you want my coat?” He asked, wiggling his eyebrows at you. 

“As much as I’d love you to catch your death, I’m alright.” He tossed his head back and laughed and you allowed yourself a small smile from behind your scarf. As you continued to walk towards town you suddenly felt something slung around your shoulders. You looked over to see the heavy object belonged to Black. His arm was now casually around your shoulder as you walked, smirk still on his face. And damn him. Because it definitely helped. 

“You’re a human heater.” You grumbled, put out that you felt warmer already. Your cheeks became slightly rosier, and not from the cold. 

“I knew you were cold.” He said triumphantly. 

“Shut up, Black.” You murmured, allowing yourself to momentarily lose sanity. You huddled closer to the man, allowing his body to take most of the wind, sheltering yourself beside him. You were currently at the back of the group, Mary, Marlene, Remus, and Pettigrew ahead of you still chatting and joking around. You continued your walk in silence with Black’s arm around you. 

Marlene looked over her shoulder back to you and nearly tripped over her own feet at the sight. Her eyebrows raised practically into her hair as she looked at you incredulously. Remus noticed and looked over his shoulder as well. He merely shook his head and turned back around again. You felt yourself really flushing now. You watched in horror as Marlene elbowed Mary and pointed back towards you. Mary took her turn to look, letting out a bark of laughter, calling back to you.

“Alright Y/N? Has he got his wand to your back?” She asked mockingly. You glared. 

“Shove off, Mary.” You muttered not loud enough for anyone but Black to hear. He snorted slightly but didn’t make another comment. As you were almost at town you rubbed your hands together again, lowering your scarf enough for you to blow hot air onto them. 

“Do you want my gloves?” 

“No.” You answered shortly, lifting your scarf back up before dropping your hands again. 

“Put them in your pockets, you pillock.” You pouted at the insult. 

“I don’t have pockets you git. Check your privilege, ladies clothes don’t always come with ‘em.” He laughed at that and again you allowed yourself a small smile as long as it was hidden by the scarf. “I plan on buying new gloves when we get to Hogsmeade.” You added on quietly. 

“Good.” He nodded before adjusting his position. He took one of his gloves off and handed it to you, taking your other hand and shoving it into his own pocket. “Better?” You frowned. 

“Why are you being nice, Black. Are there dungbombs in your pocket?” He smirked, shaking his head. 

“Can’t I be nice to you?”

“No?” You laughed. “You act like it’s a full time paid job with benefits to be an arse to me.” 

“No I do not!” He argued but the look on his face said otherwise. As you finally reached the village, your group of mates began to regroup deciding where to go first. Black slowed his walking down slightly and looked down at you. “Why don't you call me Sirius?” He asked and it surprised you, leaving you speechless momentarily. 

“I don’t... You’re Black to me. Sirius is too...” 

“It’s my name.” 

“Too friendly.” You shrugged. 

“Aren’t we friends?” He asked, seeming genuinely curious this time. You had stopped walking several feet from your friends, who weren’t doing a good job not being obvious that they were watching the two of you. 

“Think they’ll kiss?” James asked in a hushed voice, Lily rolled her eyes.

“No chance. She can’t stand him.” 

Black continued to look at you as the question hung in the air. You cleared your throat, withdrawing your hand from his pocket. You used the now free hand to take his glove off, handing it back to him. 

“I don’t know. Are we?” You asked, skeptical. 

“I like to think we are.” He admitted, and you found none of the usual teasing in his voice and face. You smiled slightly and shrugged. 

“Alright, then I guess were friends.” With that you turned, walking towards your group. “Gladrags Wizardwear calls to me my darlings. Let’s go there first.” Sirius smiled and followed you back to the group, his arm automatically going around Remus’s shoulder as he made a joke, causing everyone to chuckle. Maybe being friends with Sirius Black wasn’t the end of the word.

[mi6-cafe]

THE DRABBLES ARE IN! COME READ THEM AND VOTE!

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Now, here are the drabbles!

#1

Title: Arson Author: artsytarts / Misha Warnings: None

Summary: If there is one talent James Bond has, it’s to give his Quartermaster a headache.

“Can I ask you a question, 007?”

“Not like you’d respect my wishes if I said no, Q. Go ahead.”

“Why is it that you always, without fail, find some way to cause an explosion? I’m starting to believe you have an arsonist streak.”

“I don’t do it on purpose, it just… happens.”

“You do know that you’re supposed to keep things quiet, right? ‘Secret’. It’s in the job description.”

“Not my fault their base lay beneath a firework factory.”

“Wouldn’t have been a problem if you didn’t blow it up!”

“Debatable.”

“I’m sure you mean ‘yes, Q’.”

“Yes, Q.”

#2

Title: Occupational Hazards Author: storm-of-sharp-things Warnings: none Summary: Q would willingly pay extra for the option to have a boring vacation…

Q sat back against James in the little rowboat and stared across the lake as bright jets of sparks shot up from the island. The fiery glow amid the trees was beautiful in the reflection of the dark water. James settled the blanket more comfortably around them, keeping the chill off their bare skin.

“I liked that cabin,” Q finally said.

James sighed. “What’s the probability that our rental cabin would be a hidden entrance to a secret arsenal of explosives?”

With a splash, Alec finally surfaced next to the boat, grinning wickedly.

Q scowled. “One hundred percent, I’d say.”

#3

Title: Postcard Author: sunaddicted Warnings: none Summary: Bond stops in the middle of a mission for a view Q shouldn’t absolutely miss.

“Bond, stop dallying”

“Look, Q”

He sighed, squinting at the screen broadcasting the grainy images coming from the small camera that he had managed to disguise as a lapel pin “What exactly am I looking at?”

“Wait for it”

“Bond, need I to remind you that you’re on- Oh”

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Q was enraptured in the blue fire shooting up towards the dark of night: he couldn’t remember the last time he had looked up at the sky, eyes full of awe “Yes, it really is” he admitted “Thank you, James. Move along now: your contact is waiting”

“Yessir”

#4

Title:Flare Author: Hexiva Warnings: Angst Summary: Alec and James on a stakeout. One moment of hope.

What James remembers from that night in Canada is the fireworks. Fireworks reflecting off the lake as he sat in the dark waiting for morning when their target would walk by. Fireworks reflecting in Alec’s eyes, a manic gleam as he leaned in to adjust Bond’s hand on his rifle. And in the darkness between displays, they looked at each other, the instruments of their bloody work forgotten.

Years later, after everything, after the betrayal, James doesn’t remember who reached out first. All he remembers is the sound of fireworks as they kissed, clinging to each other in the darkness.

#5

Title: Rest & Relaxation Author: SouffleGirl91 Warnings: None Summary: James and Q kiss goodbye to yet another security deposit.

“This was fun. We should do it more often.”

James watched an explosion illuminate the sky, showering white sparks on the carnage below.

“Did you hit your head?”

“What?” Q frowned. “No! Why?”

“You want to do this-” James gestured at the flames, “more often?”

Another loud crack, and the cabin roof collapsed, sending up a plume of smoke.

“Well, maybe not the part where your ex-boyfriend tries to burn us to death in our sleep…”

“So just the murder, then?”

“Pillock.”

James laughed. “If this is what holidays with you are like, I’d love to do it more often.”

#6

Title: Efficiency Author: Anyawen Warnings: None Summary: Bond appreciates competence, whatever it wears.

James ignores the cold of the Canadian spring night, attention focused on the far side of the lake.

“I can get closer,” he offers quietly over comms.

“Stay where you are, Bond. I’ve got this,” Q answers.

Q’s frenzied typing stills, and James hears satisfaction in the silence a moment before an explosion rocks the lodge. He watches, bemused, as stray fireworks streak into the sky.

“The security on their firework storage facility needs work,” Q remarks dryly before utterly failing to stifle a yawn.

Another firework explodes, illuminating James’ fond smile.

“Not bad for a man in his pyjamas.”

#7

Title: Isle of Bond Author: Warnings: none Summary: No man is an island.

They say, “no man is an island,” and they’re right.

Bond would disagree; would claim the title for himself.

He would say that he is a man for himself, as he trusts his life in the hands of friends. He would build a fortress of solitude, only to fly from it in a blaze of glory. He would fence his heart with spikes, spark, smirks, and sex. Until someone is unafraid to get stung.

Bond would lay life, death, heart, and gun at the feet of true love.

“They say, no man is an island, and they’re right,” Bond says.

#8

Title: forget the past Author: scarytheory Warnings: none Summary: In the woods, in the middle of the night, two friends are trying to make peace with everything.

“This is ridiculous,” says Q, looking at Moneypenny. “It’s not New Year’s. Also, do you know how harmful it is to animals?”

She gives him the side-eye: “Your complaining already scared everything within ten miles of here. And it’s symbolic, actually. Because he’s not coming back, not to me, not to you. We need to start over, with a bang. Help me set this off.”

With a sigh, he does.

And here they are, watching fireworks in the middle of March, both feeling lost.

But as she slips her hand in his, he thinks that maybe they will be alright.

#9

Title: Inferno Author: oldestcharm Warnings: fire Summary: Q appreciates the scenery. Bond isn’t pleased.

Q’s eyes are glued to the live feed from the helicopter. “This is very scenic,” he comments. Bond huffs. “Are you talking about the forest fire, the flare guns, or the volcano that’s about to burst now that I obliterated this guy’s lair?” Q hums, considering. “All of the above.” “I’m pleased to know you care so much for my safety.” “You’re just fine, 007,” Q assures him. “I’m standing in the middle of burning debris,” Bond points out. “There is a lake right beside you. Grab a bucket.” “You didn’t equip me with a bucket.” “Maybe next time then.”

#10

Title: Birthday Celebration Author: Nana-41175 Warnings: n/a Summary: Q is gifted with spectacular fireworks for his birthday by Bond

Q was sure he would dislike camping. He did not feel kindly toward the idea of a million insects descending upon him while they roughed it out in the woods. Plus, no internet. Hideous.

But he liked fireworks at dusk, especially when viewed over water. He was touched that Bond wanted him to see this: the lake, the dark circle of trees surrounding the warm, cheery glow of a campfire, the slender strands of bright light as they shot up toward the night sky.

Most of all he adored being in Bond’s arms as his boyfriend whispered, “Happy birthday, darling.”

#11

Title: In the End Author: Venstar Warnings: none Summary: One last goodbye.

Bond stared as the island of Mr. White burned away in a final fiery glow. So many things had been set in place there. Thoughts of Vesper slid through his mind, like a dark oil slick on water. Never to truly be erased. He felt something slide into his hand. A weapon. Something strong and flexible. He squeezed and felt bones move. Q. Something else that had been set in place. A gift, from one madman to another. Silva’s little cogwheel in the bigger scheme of things had inadvertently delivered Q to MI6…and James. He kissed those fingers. His weapon.

#12

Title: Miscalculation Author: Merc/moon_of_mercury Warnings: none Summary: Bond makes a strategic mistake. Q improvises to save the day.

“Gorgeous, aren’t they?”

“No, not really. They’re an unnecessary waste of money, spread heavy metals and other contaminants in the environment, cause noise pollution, not to mention the stress to animals and people who don’t like them–”

“Alright! Fine. I should have asked you first.”

“Or used your head for once. I told you; the cats and I are a package deal. If you plan for me you plan for them. I’m not having fun when my darlings are terrified.”

Before the mood sours, Q pulls James into a kiss.

“But we can always stay in. I’ll show you fireworks.”

#13

Title: How Does He Do That? Author: IrishWitch58 Warnings: Things blowing up, Canon typical violence, 006 and explody stuff Summary: Bond and Q watching the end of a 006 mission

Bond watched intently as Q focused on the terse commentary from the extraction team. Trust 006 to find one of the few primary forests left in Europe to play hide and seek with terrorists. Injured, bleeding but in possession of valued intel he’d been sent after, Trevelyan was being sought by both sides. One of the drone cameras blazed with light, flaring streamers rising from a central explosion. Q blinked, eyes watering before the screen dimmed.

“How does he do that every bloody time? I never issued him any explosives.”

Bond just shrugged, grinning. “When has that ever stopped Alec?”

#14

Title: Beacon Author: solarmorrigan Warnings: None Summary: Q is very good at reading even the smallest signs.

“Come on,” Q murmured.

Images flashed by on his screens: satellite feeds, CCTV stills, personal security system hacks, social media posts – anything he could think of. Windows overlapped, flashed, jockeyed for space and called for attention as new information poured in. Then, at last, a filter-covered photograph from one website or another, a tiny island lit up by a few explosive columns of light, drew Q’s notice.

Unexpected fireworks off the coast, the caption read.

Q checked the location. He checked the time. He smiled.

“There you are,” he sighed, and began the work of piecing together Bond’s trail.

#15

Title: We Don’t Need Fireworks Author: MrKsan / starrboned Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence Summary: Bond makes things explode. Q watches from afar.

The skies were ablaze with stardust and fire. It could’ve been beautiful, Q thought, had it not been his job to clean up the mess after.

Damn Bond and his dramatics.

Footsteps approached from behind, and Q couldn’t help but smile as an arm looped around his waist.

“007,” Gareth sighed. Q snorted, leaning into the warmth. Something exploded in the distance.

“Wish you could join him?” Gareth asked. “Share the action?”

Q turned his head, watching the fireworks reflect in his eyes.

“I got all the fire I need right here,” Q smiled, and leaned in for a kiss.

Go vote!

[engie-ivy]

When Sirius wished for a birthday kiss from Remus, he really should've specified that he meant for him.

(Short happy birthday fic for Sirius!)

Birthday Kiss

James Potter is furious.

Remus doesn’t know Sirius’ best friend that well yet, but the thunderous expression on his face can only mean one thing. And if his expression wasn’t telling enough already, how he grabbed Caradoc’s arm and roughly pulled him away from Remus makes it all too clear.

Caradoc looks just as stunned as Remus does. “Potter, what the hell?”

“That’s exactly what I wanted to say!” James snaps. “What the hell do you two absolute bloody pillocks-”

“James.” Lily Evans steps forward and places a hand on his arm. “We agreed that we would stay calm, and calmly ask them-” she turns to Remus and Caradoc. “-what in god’s name these two utter and complete blithering idiots think they were doing?!”

Remus blinks. He only recently met Sirius’ friend group. Maybe they consider it impolite to snog at someone’s birthday party? But it didn’t seem to matter when Frank and Alice or Marlene and Dorcas were doing it!

“Look Remus,” Lily sighs, seeing his confusion. “You’re not obligated to like Sirius back. If you don’t want to date Sirius, that’s you’re decision.”

“A dumb decision,” James mutters.

“If you see him as a friend and nothing more, that’s fine.”

“And your bloody loss,” James mutters.

“But don’t you think it was rather unnecessary to snog one of Sirius’ friends, right in front of him, on his birthday party?”

“Sirius’s into him?” Caradoc asks, surprised.

“Oh, come on, Dearborn,” James snarls. “Sirius won’t shut up about the cute guy in his Research Ethics class whom he meets for coffee almost every day, and you think ‘oh, how nice, Sirius made a new friend, and if he really is cute, maybe I can hook up with him!’ God, and to think Sirius was planning on asking him out tonight...”

Caradoc awkwardly scratches his head, looking guilty. “Yeah, that’s... I didn’t... Shite.”

Remus finally gathers his wits enough to speak. “Wait. Sirius fancies me?!”

“Good god, everyone and their nan knows Sirius fancies you!” James exclaims. “Well, everyone except you two berks.”

“I... I had hoped,” Remus stammers. “Truthfully, I thought he was out of my league, but he seemed so genuinely happy with my company and sometimes looked at me like that... I had hoped. But then I arrived at his birthday party and he introduced me to Caradoc, and Caradoc started hitting on me, so I kind of assumed he was trying to set me up with Caradoc. I though ‘You see, Lupin, if Sirius liked you himself, they wouldn’t be doing this. You have once again been fooling yourself.’ I was so upset, and Caradoc was there, giving me attention, so I... God, I’m such an idiot!”

James seems to calm down a bit. “Okay, I guess I can see your side. Sorry for attacking you. It’s just that, Sirius has been through a lot, an he was so excited about you.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” a short guy with mousy brown hair chimes in. “But may I remind you that Sirius walked out of his own birthday party, no one knows where he is, and no one can reach him?”

James curses, and looks out of the window, where a cold November wind has picked up.

Message from: Regulus Black to: James Potter

Regulus: Whats a Remus.

James: Regulus! Oh my god, Regulus! Is Sirius with you??

Regulus: You know, when I said I couldn’t make it to my brother’s birthday party because I needed to study for my exam, I wasn’t counting on him showing up on my doorstep, to cry on my couch and moan about some Remus.

James: Remus is this guy Sirius has kind of been talking to. I mean, surely Sirius must’ve been talking your ears off about him these last weeks as well?

Regulus: Ah, that. Yes, I mostly tune out when he starts about that. Does this Remus need to be taught a lesson? ‘Cause I know some people...

James: No, no, it’s just a misunderstanding. I’ll send Remus your way, and I’m sure they’ll hash it out!

Regulus: Hmmm, alright then. But you better tell him that if he ever makes Sirius cry again, he’s going to regret it.

Regulus is clearly Sirius’ brother. He has the same dark hair, silver grey eyes and sharp features. Regulus is shorter, and so is his hair, and while Sirius is more muscular, Regulus is a bit scrawny. Where Sirius’ eyes are always sparkling with mischief, Regulus’ eyes are calculating, like he’s assessing and filling away all Remus’ flaws.

“He’s in the living room,” Regulus says coolly. “And for your own sake, you better not make it worse.”

Sirius had been staring at the wall, but quickly looks up when Remus enters. “Hi. I thought you were at the party.”

“Yes, your birthday party. We kind of noticed you left.”

“Ah. Yeah. Right.”

Remus sits down on the couch next to him. “I’m sorry about Caradoc.”

“Don’t be. You and Caradoc are both single, and both free to do whatever you want.”

“I thought you were trying to set us up.”

Sirius laughs wryly. “If I had known he’d be coming at you so hard, I would’ve kept you miles apart.” Then he shakes his head. “No, that’s not fair. If you like each other...”

“I like you.”

Sirius smiles sadly at him. “You don’t have to say that just because I was being dramatic and it’s my birthday and you feel sorry for me.”

“I’m not!” Remus argues. “I was upset when I thought you were purposely leaving me with Caradoc, and it was a distraction.”

Sirius looks at Remus for a moment, and Remus determinedly meets his gaze. Eventually, Sirius says softly “I wanted to ask you out tonight.”

“I wanted to give you a birthday kiss tonight.”

“But I was occupied, so you gave it to Caradoc instead?”

Remus groans and hides his face in his hands.

Sirius thoughtfully taps a finger against his chin. “Hmm, maybe I should ask Caradoc if he can pass it on...?”

“Absolutely not,” Remus protest, jerking his head up.

Sirius smiles at him. “Then I guess you’re just going to have to give me a new one.”

Caradoc was skilled and experienced, and Remus and Sirius are much more nervous than Remus and Caradoc were. Still, the kiss is infinitely better, because they are Remus and Sirius.

Until a pillow comes flying at their faces. “What the hell do you people not get about me having to study for an exam?!’

[spiltscribbles]

The One With The Soulmate

~Notes: Hiya loves! This is a one shot from my The One With The Marauders series and I’m just moving it here to Tumblr<3 

.-

Send ME A Friends Episode/Storyline  |  A Reblog Means The World!!

.-

“You are seriously insatiable tonight,” Remus rebukes, swatting Sirius’s hand away from where he was eagerly grabbing at his arse for another round of fun, positively delicious, bloody remarkable, mind-blowing fun. God Sirius thanks every deity above that he fell in love with such a secretive, little wildcat.

“Oi, wasn’t the whole purpose of this getting married shtick so we could do that whenever we please?” Sirius harrumphs, flopping back on their bed, starfished out as he watches his ridiculously beautiful husband dropping his towel to the floor and digging through their shared drawer for a new pair of pants. He really tries his damndest to not focus on how the dying evening light filters through their room’s open window, bathing Remus in this resplendent, almost heavenly glow, turning the tips of his eyelashes as golden as his hair and caressing the dips and valleys of his lithe muscles, accentuating the smattering of freckles on his thighs and the dimples he’s got on the small of his back. God Sirius can’t take his eyes off of him for even a moment. “Because if not I reckon I can sue for false advertising.”

Remus only sniffs at him, affecting a lofty air as he pulls on the green, turtle net sweater that Sirius especially likes on him for how it brings out the amber flecks in Remus’s emerald eyes and how it hugs his physique in the exact right breath to show off how bloody good looking he is. “We did that right when you came home from the firm, and then again in the shower less than five minutes ago. Don’t tell me it was that forgettable?” He asks with a pointed hiking of the brow.

“Never my lovely little croissant,” Sirius contends hurriedly, popping up from his lounging position to snatch for Remus’s boney wrists, and dragging the shorter man down to sit in his still very naked lap. “You are the best shag and handsomest fellow and—“ Remus claps his hand over Sirius’s mouth, probably trying to come off stern, but Sirius could totally catch the way the corner of his lips begin to flinch upwards— he’s endeared and Sirius knows it.

“Enough of that bollocks, else I’ll get a cavity.”

“But my beautiful crumpet, I want to sing your praises,” Sirius pouts mockingly, kisses the tip of his nose, while one of his well built arms slings around Remus’s slender waste, with his free hand slowly crawling up his inner thigh, thwarted nearly immediately by Remus standing up in a huff. 

“Like a bloody mutt.” He scolds.

“Only for you my delightfully delectable cabbage,” Sirius leers, finally standing up and taking the proffered slacks so to get ready for this little soiree Lily’s law firm is holding for their fiftieth anniversary.

“When do you reckon these awful nicknames will drop off?”

“You’re the one who said you like it when I speak French at you,” Sirius goads, smacking Remus’s pert arse as he struts into their master-bath.

“Oi, when it’s spoken in the ruddy language, and not some awful accent you’ve conjured up.” Remus counters moodily before he grabs for one of the colognes on their vanity, and Sirius only smiles privately to himself, so beyond besotted with him that it’s getting detrimental for his health, exhibit A being how he very nearly squirts his aftershave right into his eyes.

But God Remus is so worth it.

 .-

 The ballroom of the swanky, Mayfair hotel is dressed up in all the opulence that should be expected for a soiree made up of the throng of stuffy, stuck up solicitors that are present. Sirius is not impressed in the slightest, even if he can work the room for one of these parties as effortlessly as breathing thanks to his upbringing as the son of a Lorde and Countess; though he still hates the ambiance of it all, so much so that it makes his skin crawl to this day, but he promised to be here and at least Remus is right besides him, with Sirius’s hand in his back pocket and hazel eyes flickering to him every few minutes or so, as if attuned to Sirius and all his mercurial moods.

God he loves him.

“Alice and I have been shagging non stop,” Frank says, which works well enough to bring Sirius’s attention away from wanting to drag Remus behind the champaign fountain so to have his wicked way with him, and back to the conversation they’re all having; even if that means that instead of looking passive, Sirius is sneering over at Frank.

“Dacorum man.”

Frank apologizes, beyond glum. “We just don’t know what to do. The doctors say that we shouldn’t have this much difficulty with it, but we just checked before coming and still, nothing.”

“I’m sorry mate, that’s awful.” Remus tells him, and Dorcas nods along, but Sirius just rolls his eyes.

“We’re not even thirty yet for fuck’s sake,” he tells him. “Maybe ’s a sign for you both to stop trying to ruin your lives with a baby.”

“Shut it Sirius,” Dorcas hisses, kicking at his ankle hard enough to make him wince.

“Ouch, hey! I’m just saying, a kid’s a lot of responsibility, and commitment.”

“I’ve been with Alice since we were seventeen Black,” Frank tells him hotly . “I think I’m already properly committed.”

“Then what’s the point of the kid!”

Frank raises his brows, floundering with no words as if he just could not comprehend Sirius and all his Sirius-ness, which is fair, the only two people who’s been able to do as much turned out being his brother, (James), and his lover, (Remus)… Speaking of which…

“I’m sorry he’s acting like such an arse Frank, he doesn’t mean it.” the sandy blonde says cooly, giving Sirius one of his looks that he usually keeps designated for his more rowdy students. “Do you.”

Sirius glares at him before looking back at Frank and nodding stiffly. “Sorry mate, you and Flores would be marvelous parents, I’m just being prickish.”

“Nothing knew then,” Frank says, but it’s coupled with an amiable grin so Sirius knows he’s off the hook.

“Right, well why don’t I make it up to you by grabbing you a drink? Yeah?”

“See if they’ve got an iced white?”

“Me too Black,” Dorcas scoffs, doesn’t even bother to look at him to make the command.

“Righto,” Sirius claps Frank’s shoulder with a friendly squeeze, winking at Dorcas and glancing over at Remus before he goes. “Vodka tonic?”

“With lemon please.”

Sirius nods, still pecks him on the lips even if they’re sorta in a fight, as if Sirius could ever stay away for too long.

.-

By the grace of God, the open bar is mostly vacant, except for a familiar head of messy hair he’s considered family for over half his life.

“All right Prongs?”

James pivots around, drinks already in hand and grinning at the sight of him. “Wow, didn’t even recognize you for a tick there Pads, you don’t even have your hand plastered to Moony’s bum!.”

Sirius smirks, tossing him a covert two finger salute as he saddles up besides him and orders the round of drinks. “What can I say Prongsy, the cheeky bugger made me vow to have it there constantly, can’t just jilt my bloke like that, can I?”

James grimaces with a roll of the eyes, and Sirius’s far accustomed to that look of exasperation from him by now. “You’re a mutt.”

“Would you believe you aren’t the first person to say that to me within the last hour?”

“God save our poor Moony.”

“Oh God doesn’t have to worry, I’m taking care of him just fine.”

“Are you being gross about my best friend,” Lily asks as she struts up towards them, looking like an absolute diamond, even if her nose is wrinkled indelicately.

“Aren’t I always in your opinion?” Sirius asks cheekily, trying to balance the four drinks in his grasp before she just rolls her eyes and grabs the flutes of wine for Frank and Dorcas.

“Your impossible prat-ness aside, I actually think you being all grossly territorial over Remus tonight is actually a good thing.”

“THat’s a first,” James says, but Sirius can only glare, suspicious.

“Why’s that? Oi! Don’t tell me that absolute plonker Dearborn is here!”

“Oh God no,” Lily startles, shaking her head as if the thought was too insane to even fathom. “’S just the firm’s just hired this new bloke and I’m really quite positive that he’s Rem’s soulmate.”

“Lily! Don’t say that!” James balks, glancing over at Sirius worriedly, but he in turn only laughs at the magnitude of the statement.

“Jesus, Evans, didn’t think you believed in that ridiculous shite?”

“’S not ridiculous Sirius! And yeah, ‘course I do, like James and I are definitely soulmates.” She twists slightly so to kiss the curve of James’s jaw, making him go a bit blotchy. Poor git’s wrapped around her littlest finger.

“And what? You reckon Remus and I are just here to kill some time?”

“No, don’t be a pillock,” Lily reproves. “’s just he’s his soulmate is all.”

Okay, Sirius’s amusement has officially given way to irritation, and he twists his head so to scowl down at her as they make their way to the others. “Alright Evans, explain yourself then, yeah? Tell me how he’s Moony’s supposed soulmate.

“Well he’s French.”

“I speak French.”

“He’s got amazing, blonde hair.”

“I’ve got amazing, black hair.”

“He majored in literature just like Remus.” Lily says airily, knowing that Sirius can’t match that being an architect himself.

“Well— I read all that snotty shite Remus asks me too.” He huffs, and Lily answers with a shrug to her delicate shoulders.

“Fine then, I’m wrong. You’ve got nothing to worry bout.”

She struts off to their little lump of friends as if to cut the conversation off completely, and Sirius is perfectly find with that. She’s acting off her bloody rocker. But, if Sirius stands closer to Remus than usual for the rest of the night, or if he ends up kissing his temple whenever he feels like someone is watching them, or if he glares at one of the blokes working catering after deigning to offer Remus an empanada— Well that’s Sirius’s business and his alone. He’s not intimidated by this soulmate shite, for fuck’s sake. It’s not like he’s trying to stave off the bastard or something. He does all of that simply because Remus is his husband now, and he loves getting to show that off to all onlookers, even the ones who may or may not be Remus’s soulmate.

 .-

 “We’ve got dinner with Reggie and his latest girlfriend tonight,” Remus tells Sirius the following Tuesday, tossing the scarf his mother had gifted him last Christmas— with a matching one for Sirius— over his shoulder as they stroll around to the front of the Three Broomsticks for their morning coffees, hands linked and the early winter snow catching in both sets of their lashes. 

And God does Sirius love the sound of that, of their schedules overlapping, becoming one almost. Loves the idea that where ever one goes the other follows. Sirius knows that they’ve both have their demons, from Sirius’s neglect and emotional abuse as a child— occasionally sprinkled with a good smack or two if his mother was particularly fuming. To Remus’s complex of never feeling like he can ever be enough, and the way Lyall had acted for years after Remus had come out to his parents as gay, coupled with his multiple hospital visits as a lad until they finally figured out his lupus diagnosis. But they’re better, so much fucking better now. Plenty of the credit going to the remarkable group of friends whom they’ve picked up along the way, but another huge chunk was finding one another, and Sirius knows it in his bones. Knows that there couldn’t be anyone else for him, and sure he knows Remus sometimes deserves more, deserves better— But he’s chosen him, he’s chosen Sirius. He loves Sirius. And it’s remarkable and unbelievable and amazing, and Sirius holds onto the sensation of it with hungry piety.

“Love? Did you hear that?”

Sirius jolts back to the moment, and smiles softly down at him, kissing the corner of Remus’s mouth in penance. “Yes, of course gorgeous. I didn’t forget, I’ll be home early and maybe we can have a lie down before leaving if you’ve finished grading those papers?”

Remus’s laugh right then is like the most splendid instrument Sirius has ever heard, light and magical and warm as a bonfire. “Try to be good and maybe.” He tells him with a cold fingered tapping of his nose before he flounces off to the main counter to order for them.

Sirius doesn’t know how long he stares after him instead of grabbing the gang’s typical seats up front, but is startled when he hear’s a choked out noise coming from behind him and sees Lily, panic faced and eyes wandering frantically.

“Oi, what’s squirming up your arse Evans.” He asks her suspiciously, thick brows furrowed.

“I didn’t know you guys would be here,” she explains so quickly that her words begin to crash into one another. “Oh bloody hell, the one time I have a late start!”

She stomps her foot and Sirius shoots her a fully fledged glower. “What is making you so damn barmy for Christ’s sake.”

Lily parts her lips, but no noise comes out, because right then someone follows her indoors, a very familiar someone if only based off of descriptions. A very tall, very blonde, very smiley looking someone.

Sirius hates him right on sight.

“I’m sorry I took so long at that shop Lily, my mother loves these, how do you say, snow globes?” The stranger says, shaking one for emphasis with Big Ben set in the center.

“Ridiculous tourist trinkets is more like it,” Sirius practically snarls, which earns him a confused look by the blonde and a tired one by Lily.

“Right then, well Sirius this’s Thomas Martin, Thomas this is Sirius Black.”

“Lupin-Black now, ta Lils.”

“Oh,” Thomas says, blue eyes blinking wearily. “Nice to meet you, ah, Sirius.” He extends his hand, and when Sirius shakes it he makes sure to feel the bloke’s bones crushing together, just so he understands who exactly he’s speaking with.

The French arse eventually pulls away, pinning Sirius with a one eyed squint as he curls and stretches his fingers.

“Oh God,” Lily groans, leading them to their spot and depositing herself onto the sofa with absolute exasperation, and Sirius only continues to glare at Thomas as he sits besides her, growing stiffer once Remus returns.

“Oh, hiya Lils,” he smiles, handing Sirius his drink before flickering his gaze to the fucking Frenchman.

“‘lo love, this’s the newest hire at the firm, Thomas. Thomas, this’s my best mate, Remus.” She introduces quickly, the fucking trader.

“Remus?” Thomas asks, dimpling down at Sirius’s fucking husband with bright eyes. And Sirius has to curl his fists so not to punch him right in the sodding face, only growing angrier when Remus chuckles and ducks his head, like he was nervous by him! Like he thought he was in fact very good looking and very charming and his damn soulmate.

“Yeah, blame that on my mum, she was big into the classics.”

Thomas’s grin widens even more and Sirius feels the pulse on his neck beginning to throb. “No, it’s very charming. My Grandfather was very, erm, focussed on those studies as well? Begged my parents to name me Enkidu. They thankfully refused.”

Remus laughs fully now, and Sirius wants to a punch a wall. It took him literal months to make Remus laugh like that— genuine and glimmering and gorgeous. “Lucky bloke. Though I do have to admit that Gilgamesh is a favorite of mine, I think I’ve read the epic twenty times over.”

“Oh mine too,” the fucking Frenchman says, stepping closer to Remus and now in front of Sirius fully, gambling bravely that Sirius wouldn’t try to cap him right here. “If you ask me however, I do believe that he and Enkidu are more than just, friends.” His eyes flicker down to Remus’s lips for a split second and when he looks back up his face is positively leering.

Sirius sees red.

“God, so nice to finally talk to someone who gets it, the professors I work under are usually so painfully heteronormative that it’s crippling.” Remus tells him, smiling kindly.

“Oh, I’m the furthest away from that, I assure you.”

He winks! He fucking winks! Sirius swears to God! He sees the bastard winking at his husband! His fucking husband! What the bloody hell does he think that platinum band on Remus’s finger matching Sirius’s own is suppose to represent! Holy shit!

“I’d love to read anything you have on the subject, most things translated to French are a bit clunky.”

He’s trying to ask him out! Right here! Right in front of Sirius! Sirius is going to strangle his snail swallowing neck! Thankfully, Lily must sense his inner turmoil because she interjects their conversation right then, asking Thomas to grab her a jasmine tea.

“Oh yes of course,” he nods congenially, rounding back on Remus before he leaves. “Would you like a pastry? On me.”

Is he trying to ask Remus to eat it off of him? What the hell! It took nearly a year of them fucking for Sirius to get Remus to bring food in the bedroom, to get to watch Remus lick the chocolate syrup off his cock. And what? Does he think he’s even got a chance so quickly!

“Oh, that’s sweet,” Remus grins and a part of Sirius dies on the inside. “But I’ll come tag along, yeah? I love talking about this stuff and Sirius absolutely hates this ancient rubbish.”

“I do not! I think these dead blokes are very interesting,” he harrumphs, heated, with pouting lips and crossed arms. But Remus only tosses back his head with uninhibited laughter in response, which makes the fucking Frenchman beam that bit brighter.

“After you,” he says with a swish of the hand.

Sirius is going to be tried for murder, and he’s not even sorry about it.

“’s okay love,” Lily reassures him, patting his head dotingly. “We’ll find you someone new.”

“I hate you Evans!”

“Don’t blame the messenger!”

Sirius is about to tell her just how much he does exactly that, but then he catches on the fucking Frenchman putting his hand over Remus’s to prevent him from sliding over his card and all the fight leaves him in an instant.

 .-

 Sirius ended up not even going to the on sight location for the latest project he’s heading at the firm. He instead spent the bulk of the morning and part of the afternoon grinding his teeth as Remus spoke and barbed and giggled with the fucking Frenchman, like he was enjoying himself. And it was torture, watching the way they naturally clicked and got on— Literal fucking torture.

Sirius is still fuming as they sit in front of his younger brother and his newest bird, a pretty girl named Amal, who’s just graduated from a posh, fashion institute in the north of France. And Christ it’s like he’s being bombarded with the idea of that country all day.

“God that must’ve been such a wonderful experience,” Remus says, smiling as she leans forwards with a grin, speaking louder over the chatter of the busy sushi joint they had all agreed upon.

“Oh yes, the cuisine was simply unmatched, even if I did end up missing London, being home and all. Though I’m afraid my French is seriously dwindling compared to my English and Arabic now.”

“You should ask Reggie to practice with you, I know I love it when Sirius speaks the language.” He winks right then, making Amal crow with laughter and Regulus roll his eyes fondly. But Sirius stays peeved off with his hinged jaw, absolutely seething.

“Bet my hopeless brother recites poetry to you and everything, rose in his mouth and all.”

Remus laughs and Sirius suddenly has the horrid image of the fucking Frenchman doing as much outside the window to their bedroom, and is furious all over again.

“Well Reggie, Remus here does fancy all things French, foods and wines and blokes and just the whole lot.”

“Well good, we have something in common,” Amal snickers, lacing her hand through Regulus’s own over the tabletop. Sirius and Remus haven’t held hands since the waitress brought out their drinks, and remembering as much makes Sirius take a swig of his ail, hating everything.

“Yes well, you can say it’s Remus’s soulmate, France I mean.” He says, words beginning to slur. “He’s meant for French food and wines and blokes, innit true love? You’d prefer a French bloke?”

Amal frowns and Regulus pins him with a one eyed squint, befuddled. But Sirius only gathers his wits about him when Remus clammers noisily out his chair and tugs on his arm to follow suit.

“Reg order us the specials yeah? And a round of spring rolls,” he instructs, words clipped, and a small dent peeking out between his brows, like it does when he’s especially annoyed. “C’mon Sirius we need to talk.”

“But that’d be awfully rude,” Sirius retorts, already hates the flat, fuming tone Remus is speaking with, and feels good and properly nervous for the impending argument.

“They have one another, ’s fine. Now let’s go.”

Sirius concedes and pretends it doesn’t feel like he’s being lead to the gallows.

.-

“All right prick,” Remus huffs, rounding on Sirius right after he locks the door to the single user loo. “What has gotten you in such a bloody awful mood.”

Sirius sniffs, arms crossed against his chest and his head tilted imperiously. “I’m peachy.”

“You’ve been acting like an arse ever since we had coffee with Lily,” Remus counters, reproving.

“Actually love, if you didn’t notice, Lily left about halfway through you and the blonde’s little clucking session.”

Remus furrows his brows now, pillowy lips pinched and looking lost as hell. “You’re angry because Lily left for work?”

“Oh for bloody hell Remus!” Sirius erupts, tossing his arms in the air. “I’m angry because you met your ruddy soulmate and now you’re going to ride off into the sunset with’m and read French poetry together while eating cheese and bread and talking about highbrow shit like Aeneid!”

Remus startles backwards, long lashes flapping and mouth gaped open. “Oh Christ, you’ve gone absolutely barmy. You’re mad.”

“You’re not helping.”

“I feel like I should call someone about my husband going bloody mental.”

“I repeat. Not. Helping.”

“What in hell has convinced you that this random bloke is my soulmate?” Remus asks, back to being patient as ever.

“Lily!” Sirius shouts. “She told me that you and the fucking Frenchman are soulmates! And she’s right okay! She’s bloody spot on.”

Remus rolls back his entire head now, groaning out, “You are such an idiot.”

“Real nice Moons,” Sirius frowns, doesn’t even know how to feel now, the anger seeping out of him the longer he’s standing besides Remus, leaving an awful, clawing abandonment in its wake.

“Did you ever once think to ask me what I think of the damn concept of soulmates? Hmm?” He asks, single brow hiked with pure condescension.

And oh.

Sirius is stuck for a minute there, doesn’t see an out to the question. “Well…. Erm—“

“Well if you had asked, like a normal sodding bloke! I wold’ve told you that I married you because I know your my soulmate you arse! And it isn’t because of some ridiculous notion of stardust or providence or whatever else. It’s because we grew together, and we fight for one another, and even when you’re being a complete prick or we’re arguing like mad you’re the only one I want. Only person I can ever see myself with, the only person I want to try this hard for. The only fucking person I ever want to call my husband! My partner! lover!”

“Oh.” Sirius breathes out, all his fears being strangled by the conviction embedded into Remus’s words. 

And it’s like all of Sirius’s insides melt, like all the adoration and love and reverence he holds for Remus is pooling in his stomach and threatening to pour out his every orifice. And God he can’t even inhale, only scrambles to lock his hands around Remus’s cheeks and press his head against Remus’s own.

“Yeah? You really think that.”

“Hell, I thought the wedding and all would’ve made that clear.”

Sirius chuckles, only lightly, his thumb dragging beneath Remus’s eye tenderly. “God I love you, so endlessly. Please forgive me for being an idiot?”

“Yeah, I suppose I’ll keep you around,” Remus teases, bouncing on the balls of his feet to kiss Sirius’s nose and lock his arms around his neck, and the sensation of it— them knotted into one another— could never be replicated in a thousand years, not like this, not like them. 

.-

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[the-pen-pot]

A Fresh Start - For The-Reading-Lemon

‘Perhaps,’ Irene Adler said with a smirk, ‘we should make a fresh start.’

She looked good, for a dead woman, John thought, his teeth clenched hard enough to crack. Just when they – he and Sherlock and Rosie – had found some kind of balance in their lives, she turned up again to ruin it all.

‘Hmm.’ Sherlock’s response was beautifully non-committal, and John tried his best to ignore the stab of hurt. It was better than agreement, he told himself, but it was no refusal either.

A cold sweat itched between his shoulder-blades, and all John could think was that he didn’t learn his bloody lesson. All this time: all these years of almost only for Sherlock to be taken away from him one way or the other… He should know by now to act on his feelings, rather than taking his time. They didn’t have time.

And now all he could think about was the other day, when he had come a hair’s breadth from kissing Sherlock, from making all this nebulous possibility into something concrete. Instead, he had backed off, backed down, lost his courage and kept his distance like a complete and utter pillock.

Now The Woman as here, and John could scream at the unfairness of it all.

‘Your clothes are several seasons behind the current fashion. Your shoes have been repaired and you would never normally allow your manicure to fall into disrepair.’ Sherlock mused, walking around Irene in a steady circle. It took John a moment to realise he wasn’t looking at her, though, not really. A glance, here and there, to take in the details, but the rest of the time that brilliant gaze was fixed resolutely on him.

The hook of her smile quirked up, just a fraction, her eyes carefully warm. A moment later, her expression became a mask as Sherlock continued.

‘Your phone, though, is new. Top-of-the-line and the latest model. You thought I didn’t see it when you came in. You tucked it away, but not quickly enough, I’m afraid. Your perfume, too, tells a different story than your appearance. It’s the same one as when we first met. A deliberate choice. All of it. An effort to appeal to my sentiment.’

He enunciated the last “t” as he brought himself to a halt at John’s side, his body completely at ease as their shoulders brushed. ‘Nice try, but I’m afraid you’re fooling no one. You wanted to look as if you had fallen upon hard times when, in fact, I doubt nothing could be further from the truth. You’re doing very well for yourself. I suspect you are merely bored.’

‘A problem we both share,’ she pointed out, one eyebrow lifting.

‘Not any longer.’

And there was something final and absolute in Sherlock’s tone, as if he were setting it in stone. The fact he also calmly and subtly took John’s hand in his only added to that affect, leaving John and Irene as breathless as each other, though for very different reasons.

‘Oh.’ A tiny frown creased Irene’s brow, here one moment and gone the next. ‘I suppose congratulations are in order.’

Sherlock merely smiled at her. Not the bright, shamming thing he still used from time-to-time, but something slow, secretive and satisfied.

‘Goodbye, Irene.’

He did not open the door to show her out, nor made any move to hasten her departure. John watched in fascination as Sherlock simply closed himself off to her, making her irrelevance to him, personal and professional, completely clear.

And for once, Irene admitted defeat.

‘I apologise,’ Sherlock murmured when she was gone, turning to John with something soft and unknown in his gaze. ‘I needed to demonstrate that her particular methods would be fruitless. I could not think of a compelling alternative.’

He was saying sorry for giving Irene the idea they were a couple. As if he still thought, after all this time, that John would object. His hand still rested in John’s grasp as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and John hastily tightened his grip before Sherlock could pull away.

‘No.’ He sucked in a breath as Sherlock raised a questioning eyebrow. Already he could feel those same old uncertainties flooding back, but for once he shoved them away. He’d been a coward too often when it came to Sherlock, and he had paid the price for it again and again.

Not any more.

Words would have been best, maybe, but John didn’t have any at his disposal. If he tried to talk – or explain – he’d just make a fucking mess of it. Instead he did what he had wanted to do since that day, all those bloody years ago, when he and Sherlock had been laughing breathlessly in the front hall of Baker Street, high on the chase and life and each other.

He kissed him.

And slowly, sweetly, Sherlock kissed him back.

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