#for me personally i neeeeeed to write things with tension!

[chocosvt]

what's your favorite trope? :3

SLOWBURN!!!!!!!!!!!! 📢

[spiltscribbles]

Oooo it’s my birthday today and I neeeeeed my sweet boys, is it too greedy if I ask for you to write something absolutely adores like you always do. I can wait there’s no rush. It would really make my day a whole lot better

~Notes: HI HI BABY!!! I’m so so fucking sorry this is like two days late 😭😭😭 I am a piece of shit and I had an idea and then I scrapped it and then I came up with this crack shit! But I included singling like you wanted!! And ILU endlessly!!! I hope your birthday was at least filled with sunlight and friends and all the adoration you deserve🎉🎉🎂🥳🎈🎈🎈🎊🎊🥳🎁. And I hope this isn’t a shitty gift!😭😭

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Send Me A Prompt<3  |  A Reblog is like a hug!!!!

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The 4 Times People Suspected About Remus and Sirius, and The One Time They Called It By Name

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~I~

Peter notices it first.

He doesn’t know quite what it is, or what it means— Peter doesn’t understand what it entails when he’s watching the way Sirius gently thumbs at a high patch on Remus’s cheek while he’s sleeping on the hospital bed after the first full moon of fourth year, a fraught look in his stormy eyes. Or how Remus’s gaze always search Sirius out first after he’s made a wry comment in the expense of the Slytherins, going alight with the other boy’s laughter. Peter doesn’t comprehend the way it sometimes seems like he’s caught in some sort of static— a negative space that makes him feel out of bounds— when he’s alone with only the pair of them. When they’re all huddled around the common area or their dormitory while James is probably skulking in search of Lily Evans or cajoling the other chasers to have another lap around the court. With Remus lounging on his fourposter, or the sofa, reading one of the infinite books he’s got tucked away in his trunk, and Sirius is quietly  sat by his feet, toying with a non-magical contraption he’s found in Muggle London after sneaking out from his ancestral home while his folks were having a row. And Peter is ordinarily just fiddling with a scroll he has to finish for one of the tougher courses from a bit away, intermittently  glancing at them side long, just waiting for an excuse to leave the suffocating ambiance that feels like it’s been fitted for just the pair of them and not another soul.

But the most peculiar part about all of this is that Peter is accustomed to feeling like the spare, the cast off who’s clinging to the glimmering forms that are James and Sirius, and their ravenous appetite for any and all attention that’s given over because that’s the sort of boys they are— affluent and prominent and radiating with a sort of spark that’s all there own— the sort of boys that others find doubtless that they are something miraculous. But when Peter’s around just the pair of them, in the corner of the galaxy that the marauders have carved for them to rule like kings— It never feels quite so stilted, so weighty. Sirius and James have a gift of making everyone in the room feel like they’re in on the joke, that they could be showered with that same granger just as long as they play in the tableau. Remus and Sirius together feels the contrary of that, like there’s something pregnant lying between them, waiting to pounce. Like there’s an understanding that no one else gets to glimpse at, and no one else should try. An understanding  that’s personal and private and crackling with an energy that is far beyond anything between mere friends, beyond anything Peter could fathom with all his fifteen years.

Idly, over supper after an entire two hours being stuck between that strange tension simmering beneath the surface of Remus and Sirius, Peter wonders for the umpteenth time on whether he should ask James about this development in their small brotherhood, should ask him if he’s detected the difference there. And if he has, Peter will listen to James’s plan to ensure this doesn’t ruin anything. How whatever is brewing under the surface won’t absolutely ruin them.

But then, from the corner of his eye, Peter sees Sirius— none to gently— piling Remus’s plate with an abundance of the potatoes that Moony likes best, dipping down to whisper something in his ear— something surely lecherous— before tousling his curls in that brash, bombastic way of his that he does with Peter and James too, even if he ends it by gingerly cupping the nape of Remus’s neck with a surreptitious squeeze that ends just as quickly as it began, falling back into conversation with James and Marlene about the Wasps’s chances against the Harpies this Friday night as if it was just an innate action, even if it’s one Peter’s only ever witnessed him doing to Remus.

And even though there’s another full in two days, and even though Remus looks like a walking inferi— pale faced and exhausted posture and circles the color of midnight smudged beneath his eyes— Peter watches the ends of his lips quirk up into the best approximation of a smile Peter’s ever seen on him so close to the wolf breaking through the surface of his body that’s all skin and bones, and he isn’t sure if it’s a trick of the light or not, but Remus actually looks like he might be glowing over the strange attention that Sirius’s only ever paid to him.

So no… No, Peter doesn’t think he’ll ask James quite yet, reckons that if anything can help his moon plagued friend, that it must be something good, something that shouldn’t be tempered with.

They can figure out how the strange string pulling Remus and Sirius together will alter their brotherhood later on, there’s still time. There’ still a possibility that it won’t devastate everything.

~II~

Lily’s suspected for a while.

The thing is that she’s known about Remus since the end of third year, when he rebuffed the advances of an eager Heleen  Abed, and Lily found him on the ledge of the largest window in the vacant common room— the same one that they regularly commandeer with Mary McDonald to discuss the finer points of Muggle politics and current events, separate from the melting pot of their Gryffindor class that’s composed of either pure bloods or those with their closest Muggle relative being a long dead grandparent. And it was definitely a dangerous, knife’s edge she was playing at, but Lily had sat besides the boy who she’s cultivated a real and true friendship with— one beyond pleasant platitudes and fodder about their course work— and she told him about her cousin Joey with green spiked hair and a mischievous smile adorned with a sparkling stud and how she and Petunia had caught him holding hands with one of his friends from sixth-form in the garden of her Aunt’s cottage, and how even the sneer on her older sisters lips hadn’t deterred Lily from thinking anything but mild indifference about the situation. Only wanting her cousin to always live in that easy effervescence she’s always known when it came to him.

And nothing else was exchanged between them, but Remus had grinned in that barely perceptible way of his, and Lily had nudged his shoulder with her own and then fished out her final handful of chocolate frogs for them to share while they revise their notes for the transfiguration exam coming up. 

Two summers have past since then—they’re in the midst  of their final term of fifth year now— and she thinks that they’ve become even closer, that the frequent late nights in the library for their impending OWLs and their countless prefect rounds has helped forge a real and true bond— especially that whole snag earlier in the year when they had realized they were both snogging Leon Bennett on alternating nights behind greenhouse three. But all of that withstanding, Lily knows that there are still secrets Remus keeps tight to his chest, ones that Lily’s analytical mind— the mind of a potions expert and future healer— has suspected to do with the thin, silvery scars running down his strong hands that are all tapered fingers and slender wrists, and another across his right bicep that she saw when he had changed his robes for a jumper in front of her, and the one cutting down from the bottom of his ear and nearly across the entire length of his neck, ending at the corner of his sharp collarbone. But Lily suspects he’ll tell her about that soon enough, what she isn’t so confident about is him admitting that particularly dazed look he gets when around Black, of all people. The way he stammers his words occasionally and the way he worries on his bottom lip while averting his glance when Sirius is chatting up a very pleased looking girl, and the way he flushes when Lily is ribbing about him in particular. And Lily knows that the foursome of Gryffindor boys had a falling out of sorts before winter hols, that there’s a hairline fracture between them and Remus now— one that she’s sure no one else can pick up on after the way they had seemingly come back together in late January, right before her birthday funnily enough. But Lily’s always been the analytical  sort— the sort to absorb the barebones of a situation so she could conjure a hypothesis that she could prove after careful study.

So Lily knows that it’s something deeper, and she can see  how Remus is reticent around them in ways she’s actually worried won’t be shaken off anytime soon— which is all levels of bazaar considering she’s been telling Remus for years that he needs to shrug off his rowdy mates like a snake shedding an old coat. But before, when she’d barb as much he’d only stick out his tongue and tell her what happens to busybodies, and how she doesn’t really know them at all. But now days, he just looks particularly hurt, and more than a bit put out, and Lily catches him flickering over to wherever Sirius was holding court, longing in a way she couldn’t possibly articulate out loud.

Honestly Lily thinks it’s really quite gracious of her to have dropped the subject completely, rather, she takes up the mantel of his friend that can distract him from all those sorts of woes, biting her tongue over his lingering feelings for Sirius that are more than likely far beyond a passing fancy. And she thinks that maybe that’s a good call, maybe it’s good for Remus to beat down those sorts of emotions  that he’s harboring for the wanker. She knows Remus, and she knows he wouldn’t hold a grudge— even such a quiet one— for no reason at all. Besides, she doesn’t really think it’s her place to tell him how when he’s glancing away, Sirius is holding vigil to him with that same sort of fervor. That Sirius is the one who collects the notes for all his classes on those conspicuous absences of his when Remus is feeling poorly in the infirmary. That Sirius occasionally looks so very gutted when Remus is wilting away from them, when he seeks Lily’s company instead.

She has a heavy suspicion that Remus might already know all of those things— that maybe they’ve already discussed it at length, that maybe the falling out in December has caused a full stop of anything that could’ve potentially blossomed between them. And she just wishes she knew the entire story so she could decide on whether she should be jinxing Black’s face to a putrid orange color, or pushing Remus to actually give him a chance.

Lily just wishes she could read Black as easily as she can Remus, maybe that would help in this experiment she’s testing, because for now she’s just confused as all hell over what exactly Black feels towards him. Well that is until it’s a fortnight before Remus’s birthday, and she’s being bodily dragged into a closet on her way to charms.

“Oi— What the bloody—“

“Language, Evans,” the annoyingly familiar baritone of Sirius Black tsks, lighting up the cupboard with his wand and smirking in that jagged way she’s heard countless girls tittering over, and the one that makes her want to pop him one right against his ridiculously smug face.

“Black,” she says, caustic as all get out with her fists clenched against her sides and her brows making a really resilient effort to meet in the middle. “You’ve got thirty seconds before I hex your bollocks off.”

“Pff, and Jamie thinks you’re some sort of saint.”

“Twenty-eight. Twenty-seven. Twenty-six.”

Sirius pulls a face at her, but must understand the credence in the words, because it’s not another moment more before he pulls out a bedraggled looking slip of paper from his robe’s pocket, and thrusts it at her face. So with an indignant huff, Lily opens it up and begins scanning the words— becoming all the more confused when she sees measurements and things like coco powder and melted butter, instead of whatever the hell else she was preparing herself to read.

“I’m being pranked, aren’t I? You’re trying to distract me so you and Potter can do something horrid to the Slytherin’s common room.”

“We’ve actually already done that today,” Sirius jeers, raising up his hands in concession with a cluck of the tongue at her scowling face. “’s from Moony’s mum, all right. I asked her to send me the recipe of this chocolate cake she use to make him for his birthdays before Hogwarts— I just thought… It might be nice is all, and you can sod right off if you look at me like that, Evans, with the soft eyes and all that rot. Are you going to help me or not?”

Lily resolutely ignores the pang to her heart, because God, this really is such a sweet gesture. “And what? you thought I could help you because I’m a bird?” She asks in the most scolding inflection she could muster in the face of this incredibly soppy gift he wants to give Remus.

“None of that, blimey, Evans.” Sirius snarls, obviously diffident, and combined with the faint flush to his cheeks, Lily suddenly realizes why he’s considered one of the best looking blokes in the entirety of their school. “There’s a whole load of Muggle mumbo jumbo, so it was between asking you, or McDonald, and I adore Mary and all, but�� she has got such a mouth on her.”

“You should know,” Lily counters with a leer. “She couldn’t stop going on about your date back in October.”

Sirius’s brows hike, and he actually smiles at her— one that’s vacant from all his bravado from his upbringing in his pretentious, pure blood home, and one that isn’t trying to show off. And Lily can’t help but favoringly liken him to an excited pug. “Oh you’re wicked, Evans!” He shrills delightedly. “Oh this is great, you’re just as depraved as Remus, are all prefects like this?”

Lily snorts, shaking her head at him, indulgent. “Never mind that, Black. Most of this stuff can be found in the kitchens below, I’m sure the house elves won’t mind us borrowing anything.”

“And the ingredients that won’t be down their?” He asks worriedly.

“Well, good on you planning this so far ahead of time, we’ll just have to experiment.”

Sirius groans in retort, muttering things about Muggle potions and James thinking he’s getting off with his future wife and other ridiculous things that Lily doesn’t bother to stay and listen to. Though, when Remus’s birthday does roll around, and she sees his countenance go a thousand shades brighter as he bites into the pudding, and Sirius’s grin stretch just that much more across his face in response— their eyes meeting across the room and past the crowds— Well Lily suspects Sirius never really minded any of the things he was whinging on about, not at all, not as long as the result was a beaming Remus.

~III~

Regulus hears about it in the halls.

He’s not much for gossip or that sort of dribble, doesn’t have much patience for anyone outside his house if he’s being at all frank— and even then, it’s not as if he doesn’t frequently find himself escaping to his fourposter for a moment’s quiet. It seems that everyone in this bloody castle are just dimwitted, daft idiots, and Regulus’s never been the sort to offer allowances for that kind of behavior. He’s been raised in the home of a family as close to royalty as Wizards permit, a prince among men. And he was told that he should have patience for the dull folks beneath him, just as long as they have the correct ideals, but sometimes he can’t help but wish they would all just let him be, sometimes feels like he’s being carted around Hogwarts as the perfect pure blood,  like he was nine years old again and being shown off in the parlor of  his home when guests came to call, watching from the sidelines while his mother rave about how splendid of an heir Sirius is turning out to be. How his tutor calls him a genius for any age, and how darling he looks in Slytherin green, and how he’s already mastered three romance languages to help in his spell work. 

And Regulus can’t help but scoff at those contemplations now, thinking of the past summer when his dramatic and brash brother had made a whole production of leaving behind the values that gave him everything he has. How he escaped to that Potter git’s home the way he’s been doing for nearly every holiday since his second year, how he offered Regulus to come along as if he’s a trader just like him. What a risible excuse for an heir.

But Regulus won’t commit such follies, he’ll make his parents proud— even if his father is nearly never paying much mind and his mother goes from raving to sickly in a blink of an eye. It doesn’t matter, because he’ll carry on the Black legacy, something that his oh so perfect brother never could’ve done. Regulus is only a fifth year, will be turning sixteen in only two months after Sirius’s coming of age, and sure, this might mean he’s still young enough that the Death Eaters don’t find him adequate to fight on the line of fire, but he’ll do it eventually, feels the weight of the letter from Bellatrix praising him for as much resting heavy in his pocket. And if Regulus finds them all a bit too vicious or a bit too excitable and completely lacking a deft hand to make the changes they’re searching for, he shrugs it off. He knows what he must do, and as he stares at his brother from across the valley cusping the lake, he’s only that much more steadfast in the conviction of the fact.

Sirius is sitting and laughing with a group of his Gryffindor mates, the mudbloods, and blood traders that had warped him from the brother he knew to the stranger he is now. And there’s a dark skinned Ravenclaw bird— Meadowes if he remembers correctly from his prefect meetings— and she’s telling some sort of long winded tail with hand gestures and loud cackling coming from the group as she goes on. And Sirius is tossing around a quaffle with Potter— the glint of a handsome, silver watch on his wrist catching in the dying sunlight. And Regulus wonders who had gifted him such a personal passage to adulthood, but is soon distracted by spotting the way Sirius nearly gets smacked in the face with the ball because he was too busy gawking over  at Lupin in such a stripped down, cautious way that it makes Regulus squirm.

He doesn’t know much about the elder Prefect, only that his name had come up nearly as much as Potters during that first year when Sirius would send him correspondence on a frequent basis because he knew how lonely Regulus would get while stuck in Grimmauld all by himself. And then when he began attending Hogwarts, Regulus never could get a good reading on him. He knew Potter because of how his family is infamous for their liberal views and nouveau riche attitudes, and Pettigrews family owns a hokey herb shop in Diagon. All he’s found out about the Lupins is that his father is the son of half-bloods and his mother is a Muggle, and that this mudblood is a reserved, carefully aloof bugger, and that somehow he’s seemingly captured all of Sirius’s attentions that he’s not giving Potter or the clinger ons who follow him around like mindless fools. Beyond that, Lupin and Regulus have only traded a hand full of words whenever their roles of prefects would force them to intermingle, and it’s always been punctuated by Lupin giving Regulus a witheringly cold look anytime they were in close proximity, which is admittedly impressive considering that half the time the sickly bastard looks like he’s about ready to keel over.

So no, Regulus doesn’t know much about him, but he’s heard the rumors. He knows that it’s basically an open secret between the Gryffindor class and selected friends. The fact that  his brother is probably shagging the mudblood, convincing Regulus that Sirius really has never given a toss about the decorum and standards befalling them as the only two Black males of their generation. And he hates his brother  so scathingly right then, hates his little munblood lover probably even more. 

And when he watches Lupin straying his gaze from the novel he was reading while that red haired Muggle born was resting her head in his lap, and Regulus saw the way both of their expressions went a peculiar sort of tender— well that’s the last straw, so he stands up in a huff— so unlike himself— and he cuts the story Mulciber was crowing on about, and he tells them he needs to complete a scroll for Slughorn.

And while he prowls away from the sight of his brother continuing to ruin everything, Regulus plunges a hand into his pocket, and crunches Bellatrix’s letter in his grasp, promises himself to write her back soon, and ignores the ache in his chest that’s only been growing larger since Sirius had left permanently.

~IV~

James’s always known.

Perhaps that’s an over reach, but it’s true enough. He’s known for years, on some level, that the thing between Sirius and Remus is something completely foreign to him. Something completely separate from how Sirius licks his face when James is over sleeping and he wants to be a general nuisance. Separate from how he and Remus have begun discussing anything and everything in the wee hours of the morning, with a spot of tea between them and a blanket on their legs, because Remus can’t sleep from the moon and James has never been able to sleep through the whole night without feeling guilty over it. He thinks it stemmed from when he was younger, when his parents were feeling sickly, and before they were gifted a house elf by a family friend who recognized that the elderly Potters needed just a bit more assistance. 

James never knew whether it was obvious to him because he’s always considered Sirius as his bastard brother since Christmas of first year, and that he’s always trying to make sure that Remus is all right after finding out just how impressively the bloke can keep secrets once Sirius figured out his furry little problem. So he’s not sure what others know, or even what Remus and Sirius  know of what’s happening between them, honestly, there have been so many almosts that James has picked up on over the years. And he still shutters thinking about the near total break that happened with the prank, still isn’t quite sure what had past between them to get Sirius and Remus  speaking with each other once more, but he does know that Remus staying with James, Sirius, and  Peter the past summer after Sirius escaping the twisted place he was suppose to call a home, is what helped indefinitely. And now, a year separate from the prank, things finally feel normal between them.

Well— Erm, not normal per se. Those idiots are still blustering and bumbling and bashfully avoiding one another when anything close to romantic comes up in a discussion or when their hands touch over the Great Hall table or whenever James makes a pointed remark when he catches one of them staring a bit too slack jawed at the other in the midst of something totally bloody innocuous in the eyes of a normal person— EG: Sirius gathering his hair— that’s nearly to the bottom of his neck now a days— into a small knot on the back of his head, or Remus sucking idly on a sugar quill while he’s revising. And sure, James has to deal with the kicks at his ankles, or a spare jinx if one of them is especially pissy, but Lily’s come to join him in the ribbing, so it kind of makes everything all right. Especially when she levels her beautiful, forrest green eyes with his own brown ones, and she actually looks sort of endeared.

Yeah— that’s a fucking amazing feeling all right, and it’s probably the memory of that happening only a few hours ago that has got James all jittery now, far past midnight. So with a tired sigh, he slides open the drapes of his fourposter, is ready to go downstairs for a kitchen raid if Remus isn’t awake— Though once he sets his glasses on, and blinks a few times over to get acclimated with the dark, he’s only a bit stunned to find the shapes of Remus and Sirius crowded on the former’s bed— and they’re really not much more than suggestions beneath the shadows, but it’s enough for James to see Sirius’s head bent low, resting it against the crook of  Moony’s neck and shoulder, while the shorter boy has got his arms wrapped around Sirius’s torso. And it’s nothing obscene, not really— it’s not like they’re nude or anything— but Sirius is shirtless, and Remus does have this blissed out expression painted over his features, that James would bet good money is the same one Sirius has got on if most of his face wasn’t covered by his hair.

And in another breath, Remus’s honey colored eyes flap open, widening exponentially when he catches sight of James, and wiggling around as if he wants to move away from Sirius completely, which is of course stunted when Sirius makes a low noise under his breath, and presses closer so that his mouth is quite literally right against Remus’s neck, and his arms tug him closer.

And James is definitely convinced that he’s the best mate any bloke could ask for when instead of chuckling at the obvious show of territorialism, he just shakes his head indulgently at them, mouthing an “About time plonker,” to Remus, who replies in kind with a hefty, two fingered salute.

This time James has to bite down to prevent his chuckle from spilling out.

“And here I was, about to offer you a snack from our dear house elves.” He whispers, hopefully quiet enough so that only Remus could hear.

“Oh, just bugger off,” Remus retorts, smiling with such mirth that James can’t even feign to be affronted over it, only follows the playful command and tries figuring out just how to give the ‘If you hurt him I’ll hurt you’ talk to the pair of them without it coming across insincerely. 

~+I~

Millie was bored until she saw them.

The only reason why Millie got this boring job in this beyond posh restaurant is because her folks reckon that she needs to learn some form of responsibility before university, and she hates it. The pay is absolute shite, and most of her coworkers are all levels of boring, and the patrons are not nearly entertaining enough to try and make up some secret back story of tumultuous affairs or secret agents from the MI6, or a royal from some country on the continent meeting their star-crossed lover.

It’s all just painfully ordinary, and she’s cursing her parents while she chomps on her gum, reading some stupid note by an ugly old fart who left her his number on the receipt. 

Scoffing while she bins it, Millie glances over to the newly occupied table in her section, heart immediately leaping once she gets a good look at the pair of blokes sitting down. 

The sandy haired one is definitely cute in that reserved way her best friend Claire would definitely be mad over— the guy who could read you poetry in French or Italian and then gently kisses the back of your hand. And that’s all and well, but Millie’s every attention is laser focussed on his mate, the one that looks like he can be bloody James Bond with those smoldering eyes and that ink black hair, and God, those cheekbones! Definitely one of those beautiful, Public school boys who’s born and bread by the patrician. And while she takes their orders, she tosses him her most flattering of grins and slips in her giggle that an ex boyfriend compared to silver bells, and is sure to flip her long, chestnut hair enough times so he’d notice, even if she’s pretty sure he’s either pissed or probably more than a bit stoned. (Truly, where the bloody hell would he come up with pumpkin juice? How horrid must that taste). 

Millie may or may not spend an unreasonable amount of time spying at them from where the cooks drop off the completed plates to be sent away. He’s just so bloody good looking, and she can’t believe this awful job has finally brought her such an amazing distraction, and the arse doesn’t even pay her much mind, leaving the ordering and the conversing to his fair haired friend.

Maybe he’s sensitive, she thinks to herself. Maybe he’s just a shy soul. And yes, that must be it! The poor, beautiful sod. She’s sure to make her intentions clear next time she thinks it’s appropriate to top off their waters, because she’s so very  gracious like that.

“Enjoying yourselves?” Millie asks in her most light hearted of cadences, filling up the shorter one’s glass but smiling fully and exclusively to the boy who looks like he should be starring in some sort of Brook’s Brothers advert.

“Ta,” the sandy haired boy says, sounding a bit amused at her dilemma, but it’s kind enough so Millie doesn’t feel brassed off over it. “Do you mind pointing me to the loo?”

“Oh of course!” She crows, suddenly ecstatic as she directs him, finally getting a chance to be alone with the model. Though when she turns her attention to him once the other one leaves to take a leak, she’s kind of confused how he’s staring after him with a glance she vividly remembers on the face of her ex whenever she’d peer back around to ensure he was watching her go— Though, if Millie’s being honest, the model somehow looks simultaneously eager to watch the back of him, but also already disheartened not to have him around in ways she doubts anyone she’s ever gone out with has ever exhibited. “He’s a nice chap,” she states, instead of marinating on the strangeness of this development.

The practical model starts, seems to have forgotten about her presence all together, but then he glances over towards her with those impossibly flattering, pale gray eyes, and he nods disinterestedly. And yeah, yikes. That is a total hit to Millie’s ego.

“Ahem,” she clears her throat, begins twisting her free hand into the material of her apron. “’S nice you guys came for dinner, you don’t see much friends considering how bloody expensive it is here, hah.”

Millie feels herself going absolutely scarlet at the impassive way he drags his gaze up and down her form before taking a swig of his Bellini. “He’s not my friend.”

“Oh,” Millie practically squeaks out, suddenly wonders if maybe he’s a tutor from his class or something? Maybe the model is just taking the cute one out to dinner as a thanks for helping him pass his A-levels? Maybe this is considered cheap in the circles that the model keeps.

“’S our one year anniversary actually,” he tells her, still in that methodical, blasé way of his. And oh. Oh wow! Suddenly everything is snapping into clarity.

The way the two boys had brushed the back of their hands before being seated, how model had trusted the other boy to order for him, how model never looked away from the cute one’s mouth or collarbones or hands as they spoke. How whenever she came around to ask if they needed anything else, it felt like she was intruding on more than just a couple of mates catching up.

Oh Jesus, she feels like such an idiot, and Millie tells the model just as much.

“I’m sorry, I’m an idiot! I didn’t even put it together.”

Remarkably, the model’s rigid posture goes a bit loose at her apology, and the corner of his thin lips quirk up into a grin. “’S fine, he didn’t want to make a fuss out of it, but yeah— Just feels good telling someone.”

Millie nods eagerly, she can’t understand exactly what he means, obviously not,  but she can definitely try to, and if it feels good for him to tell a random bird about something so important, then she’s more than happy to help. “Well the point stands, yeah? He seems like a good sort, you’re lucky to have found each other.”

The model’s grin goes elastic at that, and he looks actually approachable for the first time tonight. “I’m the luckiest bloke in the world that I get to be with him.”

Millie flushes at the intensity embedded into his statement, but thankfully doesn’t have to answer when she hears the sandy haired boy walking closer now, smiling so brightly that there’s a dimple popping up on the apple of his cheek that Millie’s only just noticed— The mirth is a good color on him, she reckons. Makes him look as gorgeous as those boys on the telly dramas her Mum is always gushing about, even his eyes turn more golden than light brown. “You pestering our waitress Padfoot?”

“You know I keep my devilish tongue for you and you alone Moonbeam,” the model—Padfoot cannot be his actual name for heaven’s sake— retorts.

“Lucky me,” the sandy haired boy says wryly as he takes a seat, and while Millie walks away— intending to get them a pudding that’s on the house to celebrate the milestone of their relationship— she peers back around only once and it’s enough to see the tips of their fingers kissing across the table, and their smiles looking like a secret language not meant for anyone else to read. 

.-

My Full Wolfstar FIC Masterlist💜

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Reactions to the Final Chapter of The Auction (1/?)

@abitchytrashcan​ said: Thank you so much to the alphabet team and you for creating this beautiful masterpiece, You somehow managed to make me cry while I was reading the ending. You broke my heart into pieces and somehow managed to fix it in record time, A perfect end to a painfully beautiful story, I shall now reread and go back to the canon of TRRTD and ATWT to cope with this empty hole where my heart should be. 👏👏👏

Anonymous said: First of all: Congrats on finishing the wonderful piece of art that is TA!!!! But Juls. How. could. you. do. this. I neeeeeed to know what is going to happen nooooooow?? Are they siblings? Is this magical incest now? Will that stop them? Will Panville happen in this universe? Gaaah! Even if those questions will never be answered - thank you again for sharing this with us. I feel truly blessed.

Anonymous said: I have no words. I really cannot thank you for your brilliance enough. I have been on such a journey with this story for over a year and you have truly ruined me forever in the best ways possible. That said, how could you not give us the reunion sex and Hermione saying I love you!?!??!!!?!?!? (I’m joking but also heartbroken) 💔💔😰😭😭😭😳🤯😠🥺🥺🥺🥺 hoping that appears in all right at some point but still thank you always I will be returning to this fic for years to come 🧡

Anonymous said: You legitimately changed my life with this story. Not me being able to HEAR Draco’s commentary in my head at the very end because you allowed us to know your Draco so personal in all the wrong things. Girl I know he was thinking look at me. 🤭 I am blown away my brain will be repeating this ending for days on end. I will probably reread the entire SERIES this week even though it’s my college finals and I am already suffering. At least let my heart and soul suffer too

Anonymous said: I’ve been reading you’re “Rights and Wrongs” series on ao3 and all I can think about is how much I would love a Hogwarts Era addition. Anything Hogwarts Era—an altered house or an earlier Dramione or even a no Voldemort AU. I’m just so in love with you’re characterization and your dialogue and really just your writing in general! Hope you’re well!!

I’ve written some Hogwarts Era fics (you can find them on my Ao3), but I won’t be doing anything specifically from the Rights and Wrongs universe in a Hogwarts Era AU. <3

Anonymous said: I never want to come across as the demanding or entitled reader forcing you to do anything bc I am genuinely so appreciated that you share any of your writing with us at all. I would literally pay you to write an epilogue or another chapter either in the auction or as part of all right bc I cannot survive without knowing where Draco has been and what he’s been up to, Hermione finally being able to tell him she loves him in person, and that reunion sex BOTH the night before he goes to Azkaban and immediately when he gets out LMAO. I’m sorry as much as I love Draco, YOU, JULES, HAVE BEWITCHED ME BODY AND SOUL AND HEART AND MIND AND I’m permanently incapable of recovering from this 🧡

Anonymous said: Will we get to know what Draco was up to when he was away? Also, I died a little after the grand finale of the auction. Thank you so much for everything and I love you so much.

Lol just kidding. No further stories/epilogues are planned. The story ends there with the intention that the timelines converge with The Right Thing To Do. The HEA is implied. We talked in more depth about where Draco was on the podcast, but essentially he was at an uncharted Malfoy estate with Kreacher. 

Anonymous said: SPOILER WARNING HELLO please..... my soft little heart at the nod to pansy x neville....... i literally teared up i adore them so 😭😭😭 the ending trials were wonderful and sad in all the right ways, you’re brilliant at writing tension! and the bittersweet moment with ron, ugh, perfect. the end of an era!! i almost don’t want it to be so!!!

user062900 said: I’m crying I’m actually crying what a journey wow. I just have no words I’m i just it’s so beautifully written and perfect. Thank you so much for writing the series it gave me an insane amount of joy to look forward to every chapter❤️❤️❤️

Anonymous said: I can't believe that the Auction is over. I started to read it after you updated to chapter 19, first WIP I ever read, and I just finished chapter 41. Your writing is utterly gorgeous and I 'm so happy I competed to reading literally all of your writing. The last chapter was like a punch in the gut, in the best way. There was a happy ending without any sacrifices of plot or character development. But I still really want to know what Draco was up to in his boxers, and where he got his clothes.

Anonymous said: I've finished reading TA (beautiful btw 100/10) & decided to spend the whole night catching up on TRTTD & the pinning - ugh ✨immaculate✨ i love the way you write draco love for hermione & vice versa, to be willing to sacrifice everything for a person without expecting ANYTHING in return nor knowing if the feelings are mutual but that doesn't matter b/c you love them so much.😭😭Sorry for the long ask but TA & TRTTD had me on an emotional rollercoaster that I had to show my love for them. I hope you're doing well!💖

docmartinis said: ahh the final chapter made me cry :( i loved it tho, amazing work !!

mxstyassasxin said: Ahskfhagafskdhshk!!!!!!! I LOVED IT! Thank you so so much for writing such brilliance. The links with TRTTD were perfect 💖 I'm so damn happy right now!!

Anonymous said: I’M CRYING!!!! That ending killed me. This story will haunt me for years

Anonymous said: I love that you had it end at Cornerstone. The dance allusion. Full circle indeed. I am speechless.

puresteph said: Just want to say, I loved the ending! You all did fabulous and although I will miss it, I hope you all have a lovely rest, drink some beverage of your preference, your world has been a big part of my 2020 and has been there when I truly needed it. I will be forever grateful to you for that. I’m totally doing a reread in the New Year! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! 💚

Anonymous said: The ending was beautiful. I was at the edge of my seat waiting for when they would be reunited and it was perfect. The threads and knots that you have woven through the entire universe all met up at a single place. It was fitting in a way of taking a breathe and releasing it! This entire project was filled with soo much noise that the quietness of the ending is truly fitting. It’s like when the background music of a movie quiets out slowly after being loud throughout the whole movie.

[trashmagines]

Lighthouse: Dick Grayson x Reader

Request:  Hey there! I just finished titans and I have a NEEEEEED for Dick Grayson x readers - could you maybe do another electrokinetic reader but instead of Dick taking Rachel to Hank and Dawn it could be the reader whom dick broke up with previously?? Thank you so much keep writing bb

TrAshy Says: This is a different take on ep 2 and writing it got me right in the feels but it’s fine. Also this is long as fuck; I hope y’all got time jskhsah. Hopefully you like it, nonnie! 

Warning: Reader gets hurt, swearing, angst, alcohol mention/drinking

The station is hectic as it always is when he walks in. Calls are coming in left and right, policemen and women are running around trying to solve the latest crimes, and Dick can't help but think this is where he was meant to be; where he can really make a difference.

"Grayson! We got someone waiting for you in room three. Seems like it was a robbery gone bad but uh... You'll see when you get in there."

Dick nods at his captain and heads to the designated interrogation room. He notices the florescent lights are flickering but pays it no mind until he sees the person sitting inside the room. You're tapping your fingers on the cold table, impatiently waiting for someone to process you. You'd been brought in because the owner of the gas station had insisted you were apart of the robbery attempt, even thought you'd been the one to stop it. When the door opens, you sigh because it's about damn time, but the man that walks in makes you freeze up.

No.

Not him.

Silent tears roll down your cheeks as your head rests in your hands. You and Dick are sitting on your couch, as far apart as the piece of furniture will allow. He knows you're crying and his hand raises of its own accord to touch you, to comfort you. He catches himself midway and sighs.

"I'm sorry, Y/N."

You scoff bitterly and shake your head, refusing to look in his direction.

"Just get out; we're done."

You stand and head to the bed you once shared with Dick, knowing he won't be there when you wake up.

"So, the store clerk accused you of being an accomplice to the robbers after you'd already taken them down?" "Yeah." You sigh, exasperated.

Dick had been asking you run of the mill questions to get your side of the story for about half an hour, and being in the same room as him was starting to drive you nuts.

"Exactly how did you take them down? Four assailants and one of you; those odds aren't even at all."

You raise one eyebrow, the lights flickering off for just a second before coming back on.

"Y/N, you didn't. Please tell me you didn't." "What was I supposed to do, Dick? They had guns and I wasn't looking to get shot tonight." "Yeah but now... Now everyone..." "If you're concerned about me, don't be. I can take care of myself. All I want to do is get out of here; that's the least you can do for me."

You see hurt flash in Dicks brown eyes but you're way past the point of caring. He doesn't answer you, he just exits the room and leaves you stuck with your thoughts. Of all people, it had to be him.

Dick converses with his captain and finds out that the store clerk is sticking to his story which means you'll have to remain in holding until further notice. He stalks back to tell you this, only to find room three empty.

"Looking for sparky?"

Dick cringes at one of the various nicknames he used to call you, and turns to see his newly assigned partner standing before him.

"Yeah. Where are they?" "Lance took them to holding, I think. Hey, at least you don't have to worry about getting your eyebrows singed off."

Dick fakes a small laugh but he's already panicking. He'd seen the surveillance of the holding cells a few minutes ago when he'd been talking to the captain and you were not in any them. He also knew Detective Lance was a bastard that was anti-anything he couldn't explain. Quickly, Dick heads to the security room to scour the footage, only to see his fellow officer in the garage leading you towards one of the squad cars.

By the time Dick finds you, you're leaning against a concrete wall, blood dripping from your nose and down the side of your face. There's a bloody imprint on the wall above where you're seated from Detective Lance harshly shoving you back into it. The detective lies next to you un-moving, smoke still rising from his body. The smell makes Dick cover his nose as he squats down next to you.

"He said I was a freak but one he could get good money for. Nice to know you have the finest citizens working on the squad."

Dick gently turns your head to face him so that he can inspect your wounds, and his touch makes familiar but unwanted butterflies flutter in your stomach.

"You're bleeding pretty bad, Y/N. And now the cops are going to be on you for killing a detective."

He helps you stand and the world spins, making your footing unstable. Dick notices that your equilibrium is off and wraps your arm around his shoulder and his arm around your waist before helping you to his car. The last thing you hear is 'You're going to be okay' before the world goes dark.

You jolt upward when you wake up, your head pounding and protesting the sudden movement. Before you can make sense of where you are, you hear two hushed voices having a heated discussion.

"She needed help and he couldn't exactly take her to a hospital." "She's a fugitive, Dawn. And don't even get me started on why him being here is a bad idea."

Dawn?

"Hank, please. Just a few days and that's it. Besides, we could use his help on this last take down." "Hell no! We can handle it; we don't need him."

He did not.

You try to stand but the pounding only gets worse, forcing you to plop back down harshly on Hank and Dawn's living room couch. The voices go quiet and you know they heard you. Dawn comes out first, closely followed by Hank, and seeing the pair of them makes your stomach churn in the most awful way.

"Hi Y/N, how are you feeling?" Dawn asks softly. "Like a million fucking bucks." You spit sarcastically.

You and Dawn had been close friends; both ballet dancers and butt kicking badasses. Dawn had actually been the one to introduce you to Dick, a fact that only added salt to a still open wound.

"So, you killed a cop huh?" Hank finally speaks, his arms crossed over his chest. "He drew first blood; he shouldn't have started something he couldn't end."

Hank is about to speak again when a knock on the door interrupts him. Dawn quickly goes to open it and Dick walks in carrying two grocery bags, one filled to the brim with various food items.

"I got everything on your list." "Thank you. I'll, ahem, throw something together so we can eat."

Dawn takes the bag and enters the kitchen, Hank passing Dick and giving him the dirtiest look, before joining her. Dick makes his way over to the couch and takes a seat in front of you, your face mirroring look he just got from Hank.

"Y/N," he sighs. ”Why would you bring me here? Are you asking to get punched?" "Sorry, next time I'll let you bleed out from a head wound in the back of my car." "You could have taken me literally anywhere else. God, I can't believe you!"

The throbbing in your head and the anger coursing through your veins is making it hard for you to concentrate and you rub your temples, your eyes squinting shut as if that will halt the pain.

"I have something for that. I went out to get you some things."

Dick holds up the bag of medical supplies and you spot some painkillers. Taking the bag from him, you grasp the little box, open it, quickly read the label, and take the designated dose. Leaning back on the couch, you look at Dick to see that he's looking at you the way he used to after you’d patch each other up.

"Stop it." "Stop what?" "Looking at me like you care." "I do care, Y/N/N." Dick leans forward and his use of your nickname makes a pain shoot through your heart. "I made a really shitty mistake that hurt you, and I’m so sorry." "She was supposed to be my friend and you were supposed to love me, Dick. I wasn't just hurt, I was destroyed. Two of the closest people to me stabbed me in the back... Fuck you and your apologies; they don't mean anything."

You shift your gaze elsewhere, hoping Dick will get the hint and leave you alone. He does and makes his way toward the kitchen, but Hank’s warning glare tells him he’s not welcome in there either. Instead he casually walks around the house, a picture on a far wall making him stop in his tracks. It’s a photo of you, Dick, Hank, and Dawn; you’d all been out celebrating Hank’s birthday and that same night you’d told Dick that you loved him. He smiles sadly at the memory, both nostalgia and guilt slowly eating away at him.

Dinner goes about as well as it would with two people that are understandably furious with the other two. There are plenty of fierce looks being thrown from one pair of eyes to the other, and the tension around the table is almost palpable. Dawn tried to make light conversation at the beginning, but it was clear nobody wanted to talk. After his plate is emptied, Hank stands and quickly declares that he’s going on a beer run. 

“I’ll come with.”

Hank raises his eyebrow at you, but you simply throw on your boots and exit the stuffy apartment. Hank steps out after you, not really keen on leaving Dawn and Dick alone, but needing the fresh air. When the door shuts, Dawn lets out a long sigh and she spots your plate from her seat at the table.

You hadn’t even touched your food. 

“You guys have beer in the fridge, don’t you?” Dick asks though he already knows the answer. “Hank just needs...some time out. Y/N still hates us.” Dawn replies, nodding at your full plate. “Yeah... How did you and Hank... How did you-” “Come back from it? It was hard, Dick. He didn’t trust me anymore but he still loved me; it took a long time to rebuild what we had, and I still don’t think it’s a hundred percent.” “I told Y/N the day after it happened and they ended things then and there. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to contact them; apologize and just, I don’t know, pour my heart out or something. Seeing them again... It’s like I’m getting a second chance, but not really because they’ll barely look at me, and when they do all I see is anger.”

Dick runs a hand through his hair, and Dawn silently nods. She knew what he was feeling because she’d gone through it too; they’d made a mistake that had almost cost her Hank, and had cost both of them you. Your disappearance from Dawn’s life was abrupt, but as soon as she stopped hearing from you, she knew what had happened. You’d been there for her through thick and thin, and she felt your absence in her life constantly. She wanted to apologize too; she’d never gotten the chance.

“Help me clean this up?” “Yeah, sure.” 

It’s after two in the morning when you and Hank stumble back into the apartment, holding onto each other for dear life. You’re both laughing and carrying on like old friends, a sight that slightly worries and also slightly upsets Dick and Dawn, who’d been anxiously waiting for you both to return. The two of you don’t seem to notice the incredulous looks form the pair, too wrapped up in your newfound inside jokes and obviously very drunk. You both make your way to the kitchen, setting the remaining unopened beers on an unused counter-top.

“So then I was like ‘Call me Sparkles one more time!’ and she did so I electrocuted her ass.” 

Hank’s booming laugh was loud enough to wake even the soundest sleeper, and you pat his shoulder and shush him before taking another swig from your can. 

“At least villains don’t mock you with bird puns. I’ve heard so many stupid bird puns!” “That’s what you get for choosing a name like Hawk.”

The sound of Dawn clearing her throat infiltrates the mini bubble you and Hank had been in, and you see both her and Dick standing at the kitchen entryway.

“You two seem to be getting a long now.” “We finally talked, babe. Y/N’s still as cool as I remember.”

You smile at Hank and he does the same, the both of you bursting into another fit of giggles which makes Dawn frown slightly and Dick tense up. 

“Drinking, Y/N, really? Did you forget that you have a head wound and a possible concussion?” “Did you forget that you’re not my daddy?” You slur out an answer. “Yeah, Dick,” the emphasis Hank adds makes you chuckle. “You ain’t their daddy!” 

You can hardly contain your laughter at that, and you quickly down the rest of your drink before walking towards Dawn and Dick.

“Besides, we’re not you two. We can be around each other without wanting to fuck.” 

You push past them, missing both of their hurt expressions in your drunken state, and all but fall over on the couch. The alcohol in your system has brought a welcome numbness and your limbs are heavy; you’re out cold in a matter of minutes. Hank, on the other hand, notices the hurt plainly written on both of their faces. He stays silent, leaving his half-drunken beer on the counter and taking Dawn’s hand to lead her to their shared bed. Dick is left standing alone, your soft snoring the only thing he hears as he wanders to the guest room. 

Several days pass, and both Dick and Dawn grow uncomfortable at how close you and Hank are getting. Dick had ended up helping her and Hank on their final vigilante raid, and opted to stay for bit longer while they recovered from their sustained injuries. You were fine in forty-eight hours; your body able to heal much faster than most people’s. You hadn’t really wanted to stick around, but you had nowhere to run and you were being hunted by the police. Though the thought of staying made you sick, you knew it was the safest place for you for the time being. 

Since you weren’t on good terms with Dawn or Dick, you naturally gravitated towards Hank. After your drunken escapades, you both realized you had missed each other’s friendship. It was also easy to talk about what had happened; you wanted to understand how he could take Dawn back after that, after she’d hurt him. You both spent a lot of time just talking on the roof, often until Dawn would come to check on Hank. You’d excuse yourself then, always passing Dick as you made your way back to your designated spot in the apartment. 

Dick wanted to talk to you, but you’d barely sparred him a glance since that night your true feelings came out. Your words replayed over and over in his head, and they always brought about new waves of guilt. He knew he should feel guilty; truth be told he’d been feeling guilty since it had happened. It was why he’d decided to come clean right away; he was young and dumb and somehow thought that would lessen the sting a bit.

“We can’t keep going like this.” Dawn finally speaks the words she’s been thinking.

She and Dick are in the kitchen cleaning the dishes from another half-eaten dinner, while you and Hank are watching a game. Both of your shouts are muffled by the distance between the two rooms, but your agreeing yelps as you root for the same team cause Dick to sigh heavily. 

“You need to talk to them, Dick.” “And say what, Dawn? I’ve apologized so many times, and now I’m getting the silent treatment. I don’t know what else to do.” “When Hank was mad at me, I got the same thing. He wouldn’t even look me in the eye. I made him talk to me, and he just... exploded. Everything he was feeling was laid out in the open, and yeah, it hurt to hear some of the things he said, but after that we were able to work on us. Have you ever done that with Y/N? Because if not, you need to; maybe instead of apologizing you need to just listen.”

Dick eyes Dawn, clearly nervous, but the latter just shoos him away and says that she’ll finish up. Dick’s heart is beating wildly and he can feel the apprehension growing as he makes his way to the living room. He clears his throat when he reaches his destination which catches yours and Hank’s attention. 

“Can I, um, borrow Y/N?”

You’re about to chew out the visibly uneasy man but a large hand on your arm makes you stop short. Hank gives you a knowing look before gently pushing you in Dick’s direction. You side-eye him and chug the rest of your beer, needing some liquid courage before having to face Dick alone. Dick leads you to the rooftop, the brisk air hitting you both and making you shiver slightly. He sits down on the bench in front of the dove cage, and you sit as far away from him as you can, which admittedly, isn’t far enough. It’s silent for a long while, but right when you’re about to head back inside, Dick finally speaks.

“We should talk... about what happened.”  “We really don’t have to, Dick. I’m over it; you should be too.” You are not over it.” Dick scoffs. “If you were you wouldn’t be ignoring Dawn and giving me death stares every five minutes.” “Oh, what? I’m supposed to be fucking happy that my cheating ex-boyfriend brought me to the apartment of the person he cheated with, also known as my ex-best friend?!” You were standing now, your hands balled into fists and visible sparks rolling up and down your arms. “Three weeks after our anniversary, Dick. You couldn’t wait any longer than that. You didn’t even have the decency to break up with me. You just did what you wanted to do. You didn’t love me, because if you did, you wouldn’t have done it. You would have never taken her back to your place, you would have never kissed her or let her kiss you, and you would have never slept with her! Am I just supposed to believe you when you say you’re sorry? Am I just supposed to pretend that it never happened like Hank and Dawn are?” 

Angry tears are streaming down your cheeks, but the electricity running through your veins and over your skin evaporates them almost as quickly as they fall. Dick stands before you, looking as remorseful as you’ve ever seen him. You spot a tear threatening to fall from one of his eyes, but he wipes it away before it has the chance. 

“I did love you, Y/N. I still love you. You had every right to be upset with me then and you do now, but I’ve never stopped caring about you. I knew I’d hurt you when I told you, but I couldn’t take back what I did and I couldn’t live with that secret. I wasn’t expecting you to forgive me right away; I was hoping you’d give me another chance. Another chance to prove to you that I was sorry, that it would never happen again, and that I loved you. Doing something that stupid is one of my biggest regrets, because I lost the most important person in my life. I knew apologizing wouldn’t fix anything that happened, but all I could say was I’m sorry. I was sorry then and I’m sorry now.” 

You know that Dick is as vulnerable as he’ll ever get in this moment, and though you still want to hate him, you never actually quit loving him. A part of your heart would always belong to him, but you’d never admit that to yourself or anyone else because you feared it made you weak. You quell the rolling electricity around you and un-flex your fingers, and Dick takes a cautious step towards you, and then another until he’s almost invading your space. He brings his hands to tenderly rest on your cheeks, and although your eyes are sad, you don’t pull away from his touch.

“Can we please talk about where we go from here?” “Yeah,” you agree. “We can.”