up-to-some-good

[up-to-some-good]

A chaotic shift at St Mungos - a wolfstar microfic

@wolfstarmicrofic - June 20: Conflict - words: 329 - warning: blood, injuries

“Remus!” Sirius yells at the top of his lungs.

“Easy now”, James tries to hold Sirius down on the stretcher in the middle of the emergency room. “Remus is fine. You, however, will bleed out if you don’t let the healers do their job anytime soon.”

“I don’t care. Where is he?”

Sirius finally fights his way out of the combined grip of James and the nurse whose name he didn’t have time to catch. Blood really is slippery.

“By Merlin, Sirius! Come back right now!” James pleads.

Sirius hesitates a moment to look at him, but that is all he gets before he takes off running. James and the nurse share a look and then follow Sirius out into the corridor. He is opening doors at random, yelling “Remus?! Where are you?!” and leaving a sticky, red trail behind.

“D-did he hit his head?” the nurse asks.

“No.” James sighs, "I don't think so". He never imagined he would have this conflict with his best friend. James had seen Remus after the explosion, bruised and battered but all right. Why couldn’t Sirius just trust him? Then again, maybe he should choose his battles.

“I think the fastest way to get him to cooperate is to actually let him see his boyfriend. Any chance you know where Remus Lupin is?” James asks the wide-eyed nurse.

She doesn’t have time to answer before James hears Remus' voice around the corner. “Good Lord! You are bleeding!”

When James gets there, Remus is sitting on the floor with a more or less collapsed Sirius in his arms.

“Get the stretcher,” James tells the nurse and crouches down to look at Sirius, who at least is alert enough to meet his eyes. “Don’t ever do that to me again. Now let’s get you patched up.”

Sirius has the audacity to smile, but he doesn’t resist anything after that point. Doesn’t even complain when he is ordered a double dose of blood replenishing potion.

[up-to-some-good]

New Chapter 💛

Chapter 3 of In Lieu of Flowers is now up!

"Need a hand with your jacket?" It was easy to feel a little whiplashed, around Fabian. A larking jokester one moment, and an earnest best friend the next.  "I'd love to get you undressed." Fabian leered, ruining it immediately, and Sirius sighed, letting Gideon pull his borrowed oversized jacket off instead. "Bellatrix can have you then, you ass."   "Oh, can I now?" A familiar voice purred, from somewhere awfully close by, and Sirius froze. And then all four of them, in a terribly predictable move that they probably should have discussed not doing, looked up guiltily.

[up-to-some-good]

Chapter 4 of the Castle AU is up! A bit of progress on the case, and a bit of progress between Sirius and Remus. Click to read the latest chapter, or to start from the beginning.

Chapter excerpt:

“We got two bodies in quick succession – Josephine was found only a day after Elaine. If they were copying my book, there should have been another body, and we should have found it by now. So where is she? Where’s the third body?” “Maybe there isn’t one,” Lupin reasoned. “Maybe he only committed two murders.” “But why?” Sirius continued. “Why copy my book if you’re only going to commit two murders? Why kill two strangers and then just stop?”

[up-to-some-good]

[up-to-some-good]

Sirius and hand kiss

"Come on, Harry, please calm down. I know everything’s awful and wrong and I’m not James or Lily—but you have to sleep so I can sleep," Sirius begged as he paced the narrow floor of his flat, carrying the crying toddler in his arms.

The flat had never felt too small before. It was just enough space for a bed, a battered sofa, and a kitchenette. But now that Harry was here, Sirius couldn’t help noticing how cramped it suddenly seemed. Harry would outgrow his cot soon, and he’d probably need a real bedroom. That was a problem for another day, though. Right now, Sirius had one mission: coax Harry into sleeping.

Which, frankly, felt like a fool’s errand.

He’d begged him to sleep last night. And the night before that. Why should tonight be any different?

“One hippogriff went out to play… in a dragon’s den one day…” Sirius murmured into the top of Harry’s hair, aimlessly pacing under the pale light of the moon that spilled through the window. “It had such enormous fun… that it called for another hippogriff to come…”

To his surprise, Harry’s cries softened into a hiccup. Then—miraculously—a giggle.

“Oh,” Sirius blinked, startled. “You like that one, huh? Alright then…”

“Two hippogriffs went out to play…”

He gently tickled Harry’s tiny fingers, kissing each one as he counted aloud, letting the rhythm of the silly song carry them both. It reminded him, unexpectedly, of something his own mother used to do, back when he was still small enough to fit in her lap.

Harry gave a sleepy sigh and nestled his head against Sirius’s shoulder, eyes fluttering shut.

Sirius rocked him slowly, quieter now.

He brushed a kiss across Harry’s cheek. “Yeah,” he whispered. “We’ll be alright, won’t we, mate? Maybe not tonight. But eventually… we’ll be alright.”

[up-to-some-good]

Day 8:

The bottom bunk in James’ room was more comfortable than Sirius had remembered. Maybe it was because this time the bunk came with the certainty that he would never have to step foot in his mother’s house again, or because of how warm the home around him felt. Or maybe it was a combination of the two. In any case, he was certain that it was the safest he had felt in years. “Hey Sirius?” James’ voice was husky with sleep.

“Hmm?”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

For a moment the room was silent, save for the sound of their breathing. Sirius swallowed, trying to blink back the water pooling in the corners of his eyes and steady his breath.

“Do you think you’ll stay long?”

“I don’t know.” Sirius’ voice cracked. He pursed his lips, trying not to sound weaker than he felt.

“Hey James?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

“S’no problem,” James muttered, sounding half-asleep. “It’s what brothers do.”

I asked @writingblot if we could do a little collaboration, because I had been eying her writing work for a little while. She’d write up a small little dialogue between Sirius and a James and I’d make a comic of it. I’m not very good at comics but I wanted to challenge myself. I hope you like it!

(If you like the writing, definitely follow @writingblot for more!)

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Happy Father’s Day, Wolfstar!

Anyone who reads my fics knows how much I LOVE Wolfstar dads. It’s my absolute favorite thing to write and I do it A LOT, from Let’s Play Pretend to Dear Mr. Black. When I write them as dads, I’m writing myself, my partner, and my own dad, all rolled into one idealized, yet still flawed and funny, version of parenting. They’re everything I hope to be as a parent.

And happy Father’s Day to James Potter, too, of course! Even though I don’t always let you live, I love you so much.

Here are my Wolfstar-as-dads (and once as a grandpa) fics!

Dear Mr. Black

My Moony

And Baby Makes Three

Let’s Play Pretend

Second Generation

It’s a Nice Day for a Wolfstar Wedding

Wolfstar House Husbands

A Cup of Sugar

Extra Credit

Stray Dogs

Stray Dogs: Happily Ever After Scrapbook

The Courtship of Harry’s Godfather in Five Parts

Locks

Harry Potter and the Terrible Twos

[up-to-some-good]

I like to imagine wolfstar being so tactile. Sirius can sit in remus’ lap at any given moment and Remus won’t even flinch. He’ll just adjust slightly, one arm automatically curling around Sirius’ waist.

Remus will tug Sirius’ shirt straight without looking, kissing the back of his neck. Sirius, casually kissing his shoulder in the middle of a sentence.

like it’s the most natural thing in the world. like second nature. always so comfortable with each other’s touch, they don’t even realise they’re doing it.

until one day in the common room, peter sits next to them and asks, “moony, why is pads licking your wrist?”

Remus, without looking up from the book in his other hand: “oh. he’s just bored.”

James, sitting across: “gross. get married.” Sirius, smiling with no hestitation: “working on it”

[up-to-some-good]

OK, here we go. For @wolfstarmicrofic June 15 (414 words)

Father's day was going to be perfect. Harry had planned everything, down to the tiniest details, to ensure that his godfathers would have the perfect day. He would be going to Hogwarts soon, receiving his letter later that summer, and he wanted to make sure this father's day would be the best one.

In previous years, Sirius and Remus would plan it all for him. Each of them would buy a small gift for the other and let Harry make cards. Then, Remus would make breakfast in bed with Harry for Sirius, and Sirius would help Harry sort out lunch for the whole family while his partner rested. Harry barely had to do anything. This year, he insisted on planning it all for himself.

He was practically an adult anyway, about to go to Hogwarts and learn magic properly. The days of reading stories before bed about castles and drawbridges and trolls were over. It was time for him to do things for himself.

He let Sirius take him to Diagon Alley, knowing his godfather wouldn't let him Floo by himself even if he was perfectly capable, but he made sure he got to walk around the shops by himself, so both gifts would be a surprise. He used his own money, saved up from the past few months of pocket money, and bought each of them a present of candy he knew they liked. He made cards the next day, making sure he drew his best pictures to make up for the poor wrapping on the gifts. He'd never had to wrap a gift by himself before, and it was much harder without a second person to hold the paper down while he taped.

On the morning in question, he got up earlier than ever, when the sun was just rising, and went down to the kitchen. He assembled a tray of scrambled eggs and toast for his godfathers and headed upstairs, just avoiding spilling the coffee as he got into their room.

Remus was already awake, as always, and gently prodded Sirius until he woke up and they enjoyed the food together and opened their gifts, smiling and praising Harry for his excellent cooking and planning.

It would be years before they told him that the coffee was so strong it was almost undrinkable, the eggs slightly slimey and lacking any salt. It didn't really matter, in the end. Father's day, the first one Harry ever did on his own, was perfect.

Happy fathers day to all! Will be posting some fluff later...

[up-to-some-good]

On Purpose

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

It was the being perceived.

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

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

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

Sirius blinked. “Do I want to know?”

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

Sirius grinned. “You’re an idiot.”

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

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

Remus grimaced. “It was a mild spiral.”

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

“…I stand by that.”

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” he muttered.

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

Remus froze. “What?”

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

“About my pain?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Virginia purred smugly.

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

Like he knew.

And maybe he did.

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

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

“I mean it. You don’t have to—”

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

Remus swallowed.

There it was again.

Being perceived.

But this time, it wasn’t unbearable.

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

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

“You okay?” he asked.

“Define ‘okay,’” Remus replied.

Sirius gave him a look.

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

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

Remus blinked. “Like… stay?”

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

Remus considered it.

Then patted the couch beside him.

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

Virginia stretched dramatically between them.

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

“At what?”

“Letting people in. Asking for help.”

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

Remus laughed, quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But this was different.

This was soft.

Unarmored.

And Sirius was not okay about it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Catchy.”

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

“I want to stay,” Sirius said immediately.

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

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

Remus looked at him, then. Really looked.

Not a glance.

A seeing.

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

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

“Do what?”

“Make me feel like I’m not broken.”

Sirius’ throat closed.

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

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

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

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

Sirius couldn’t sleep.

His mind kept running.

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

And Sirius wanted that. Wanted in. For real.

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

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

Sirius wanted in on all of it.

Which was terrifying.

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

But Remus made him want to be better.

Not different.

Just better.

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

Remus shifted slightly. “Mmhmm.”

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

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

Sirius chuckled. “I’m serious.”

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

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

“Tried what?”

“This. You. Me. Us.”

Remus was quiet for a long beat.

Then: “You sure? I’m… a lot.”

“So am I.”

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

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

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

“Okay,” he whispered.

And Sirius smiled.

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

It was just beginning.

There were good days.

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

Today was not one of those days.

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

He hadn’t texted Sirius.

Not yet.

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

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

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

The front door clicked.

He’d forgotten Sirius had a key.

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

Remus didn’t answer.

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

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

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

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

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

“Mobility?”

“On strike.”

Sirius nodded. “Right then. Cuddle triage.”

Remus blinked. “What?”

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

“I will smother you with this cat.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sirius didn’t answer right away.

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

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

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

“Eclectic taste, baby.”

Remus smiled. Tired. Honest.

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

“Yes.”

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

Remus blinked at him.

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

There it was again.

Being seen.

Being chosen.

And this time, Remus let himself believe it.

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

When Sirius dozed off, Remus watched him sleep.

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

He thought: I want this forever.

And he didn’t feel broken at all.

He felt loved.

He felt home.

[up-to-some-good]

Sirius Black and Harry Potter. Forehead kiss.

“Sirius?”

Sirius stirred and rolled over, squinting toward the door. The soft shaft of golden hallway light cut across the shadows of the bedroom, illuminating the doorway like a stage. There, silhouetted against the warm glow, stood five-year-old Harry.

His hair was a wild, inky tangle—sticking up in every direction, just like James’s used to. In his arms he clutched his stuffed deer, the plush antlers bent and well-loved from constant squeezing. The toy’s stitched-on eyes caught the light, glinting faintly as Harry hugged it close, his small fingers curled tightly around its worn velvet neck.

His green eyes—those unmistakably familiar eyes—looked too wide for his face.

“Yeah, mate?” Sirius murmured, his voice rough with sleep. “I’m awake.”

Harry hurried across the room and scrambled onto the bed, burrowing close to Sirius without a word.

“I had a bad dream,” Harry whispered.

“That’s okay,” Sirius said gently, wrapping an arm around him. “You’re awake now. It’s all over.”

Harry sniffled and buried his face in the pillow. “You need to make room for Nibbers.”

“Oh—sorry,” Sirius said, scooting over to make space on the massive bed. It never failed to amuse him how much room tiny Harry could take up when he slept—especially with his plush deer in tow.

“There was a green light,” Harry murmured after a long moment. “It was big. And then everything went dark.”

Sirius’s heart gave a dull thud in his chest. He exhaled slowly, brushing a hand through Harry’s messy hair.

“Yeah?” he said softly.

A pause.

“Sirius?”

“I’m here, Harry.”

“Can you tell me a story about Prongs in the forest?”

Sirius shifted, sitting up a little straighter. He pressed a kiss to the top of Harry’s head. “Of course I can,” he said, his voice warm and steady. 

He paused, letting the silence stretch just long enough to feel like the beginning of something important.

“Deep in the dark Forbidden Forest, Prongs was walking under the moonlight,” Sirius began, speaking softly as Harry closed his eyes. “His hooves made almost no sound on the soft moss. He was looking for someone—one of the centaurs, the one with the silver mane who knew how to read the stars…”

[up-to-some-good]

Happy fathers day to all! Will be posting some fluff later...

[up-to-some-good]

Fic Update 🌻

Chapter 2 of In Lieu of Flowers is now up on ao3 💛

Regulus watched him in turn, silver eyes nearly black in the harsh lighting. His eyebrows knitted, and he silently took Sirius's hand in his once more. "I'm sorry." Sirius murmured, eventually, eyes slipping closed as he leaned his head back. "You're an asshole for leaving." Regulus said, lowly, but squeezed his hand in gentle forgiveness. "But the rest wasn't your fault."

[up-to-some-good]

They’re so clingy

[up-to-some-good]

Chapter 3 is up! A new character brought in and interviewing Sirius’s stalker...

Chapter excerpt:

“He knows he’s smart and talented, and he’s not afraid of it, but he’s also surprisingly kind and funny. We interviewed his stalker this morning, and he was so calm and kind to the guy where I’d be running for the hills. He talks a lot, about nothing and everything, but we seem to be on the same wavelength a lot of the time. He’s not what I expected.”

Lily smiled.

“You like him, then?”

“Mostly,” Remus answered. “I could do without having to babysit him while looking for a serial killer. He’s okay company, but I find myself thinking more about him than the case, and that’s not good for anybody.”

[up-to-some-good]

[up-to-some-good]

10th June - Myth - @wolfstarmicrofic - word count: 300

I read, against my will, that JKR was now attacking the ace community.

To my ace followers and readers. I see you. I am with you. I stand with you. I am one of you.

And so is my Remus.

This is for you.

Love at first sight was the stuff of myth, although Remus had read enough to know that it was a myth that endured.

It wasn't confined to the pages of the novels he devoured. It was there in the black and white matinee films his mum so dearly loved. The sophisticated, worldly men and breathless, beautifully-lit women seemed to know all about it. Their eyes would meet across a crowded room, and the rest of the party would disappear in a swirl of soft focus and swelling score.

It was in the music that he listened to, sprawled out on the rug in his bedroom at home, watching the shadows the rain cast from the skylight above.

The twang of the guitar, the soft keys of the piano, the moody voice of Roberta Flack expressing a fullness of emotion that Remus desperately wanted to experience one day.

But perhaps some part of him was broken? A consequence of the lycanpthropy, perhaps, or fear?

Whatever it was he couldn't help but feel empty, always reaching for a fullness of emotion he feared he'd never feel.

The first time ever I saw your face....

Where were the songs about the love of a thousand glances? The incremental, gentle, unfurling of a feeling, that was both fierce and tender? Where were the poems about everyday gestures, that one day add up to so much more than the sum of their parts? Where were the films that were slower than slow burn, where love comes as naturally and instinctively as breathing...until the time comes to hold your breath and finally take that jump...

...into the unknown of uncertainty...

...into the depths of what might be...

...scared of risking all that they had for the hope they could be more....

...and write a myth of their own in the stars.