#lily writes a fic

[shares-a-vest]

@steddiemas Day 16: Angst-Themed (Saturday Sentence Starters)

wc: 1k | Rated: T | cw: Steve’s parents are arguing (he is overhearing it briefly but there are some descriptions of yelling), toxic family dynamics, unstable marriage, cheating

Tags: Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents, Angst with a Happy Ending, Unstable Marriage, Toxic Family Dynamics, Cheating

“I don’t want to fight with you, Caroline,” Steve hears his father bellow from downstairs, “Not tonight.”

He snaps his comic closed and tosses it on the floor.

Steve has no idea what his parents are arguing about. Hell, they don’t even need an excuse these days, he thinks. Someone can so much as fart and it will start a goddamn screaming match.

He guesses he shouldn’t be surprised. It’s the holidays and his parents are both off work until the beginning of the New Year. It’s snowing heavy out so they can’t go down to the Martens’ house – their best friends-come-buffer zones.

“Oh, John!” his mother chides before there is a lower muffle that he can’t quite make out.

While being hard of hearing allows him not to hear anything below a shout, the broken argument is still frustrating.

His parents might not need an excuse to fight, but he’d still like to know what it’s about. Gain intel for the inevitable coming days of being stuck in the middle.

Steve has a few guesses as to what it could be.

His mother bought a new car with her Christmas bonus finally topping up her bank account and thus justifying an indulgent and expensive purchase. His father always hates that.

Steve smirks.

If his father didn’t like that kind of independence, why did he marry a high-paid lawyer?

But, the more likely scenario considering his father’s apparent insistence he ‘doesn’t want to fight’ is that he is cheating again.

Cindy, his secretary, or someone new – take your pick.

The telltale signs have been there for a month or two. A renewed cheery attitude, longer office hours, a fresh haircut and new clothes.

Actually, now that he thinks about it, it might be a little bit of a motivator behind his mother’s car purchase too – 

“ – Cindy!” his mother shrieks.

Yep, there it is.

Steve rolls off the bed, planting his feet on the carpet right by his shoes.

“Fuck this,” he mutters, scooping up his keys and wallet from the nightstand.

He’s just about halfway to Forest Hills, driving at a snail’s pace because he can’t see for snow, when he begins to regret his decision to leave the house.

Maybe he shouldn’t just barge in on the Munsons unannounced. Like sure, his friendship with Eddie is… teetering on not being entirely platonic. But this might be too much.

He always thought it was too much when he’d walk down to stay at Carol Perkins’ house for an impromptu sleepover. And there was always this awkward, knowing going on with the Wheeler’s when he was dating Nancy and spending a lot of time just hanging about.

Lingering for too long in the kitchen chatting to Karen or watching a game with Ted until the guy started snoring too loud to hear the commentators.

It was all there but largely unspoken.

Only Robin knows the details. And even then, he’s sure that her father’s friendliness towards him was partly due to his daughter telling him all about the trouble at the ‘ol Harrington house. He doesn’t blame his best friend for likely doing so. And he doesn’t consider it blabbing, either. Robin’s parents – her whole family – are amazing.

But some of his parent’s shit is stupid at best, hard to take at worst.

And he is scared to let Eddie in on it.

It’s too much.

He’s too much.

Being a Harrington is too much.

Wayne answers the door with a cup of cocoa that seems glued to his left hand in winter.

“Steve,” he says, voice gruff as ever despite a warm smile.

“Hi,” he replies, looking down at his snow-covered boots, “Eddie in?”

Of course, he’s in, his van is parked outside.

Steve can feel the warmth from inside the trailer. See the twinkle of lights from the Munson’s small, but heavily-decorated, Christmas tree. The smell of cocoa overpowering the ever-present hint of cigarettes.

“Eddie!” Wayne calls over his shoulder, “Steve’s here.”

In a flash, Eddie runs to the front door and practically bumps into his uncle.

“Come in!” he insists, wide-eyed as he looks past his shoulder at the falling snow.

And before Steve can even step in, Eddie is pulling him by his parka sleeve. He only just manages to scrape off his boots on the ‘Home Sweet Home’ adorned welcome mat.

“What some cocoa?” Eddie offers, eliciting a grumble from Wayne.

“I asked if you wanted some,” he chides.

“But Steve might want some,” Eddie grins.

“How about I heat up a pot now, and whoever wants some’s got it?” Wayne suggests, pursing his lips at Eddie and moving to the stove before his nephew can make any more requests.

“Follow me,” Eddie says, grabbing his hand, “I made cookies.”

He wiggles his brows and begins leading Steve to the kitchen.

As he is pulled along, Steve tries not to think about the fact that they are holding hands. Or how he wishes his fifteen-minute-ago Self had thought to bring an overnight bag and allowed himself to assume the Munsons would allow him to stay the night.

But it might be even harder to stop himself from squeezing his friend’s hand and lacing his fingers with Eddie’s.

Eddie lets go of his hand to gesture to the tray of Christmas-themed shapes, all looking a little too dark for gingerbread as they rest on the kitchen island.

“Pick one, Big Boy,” Eddie beams.

Steve reaches for a reindeer, flexing his fingers as he goes and commits the feeling of Eddie’s rings to memory.

“No!” Eddie shrieks, lightly smacking his hand enough that he drops it, leaving the cookie to snap in half as it falls back onto the tray, “His antlers are broken.”

“Christ, boy!” Wayne curses, stirring the pot on the stovetop.

Okay, a tree then…

“The star is missing!”

A bell?

“That was already snapped in half when I got them out of the oven”, Eddie admits with a tight-lipped smile.

Steve places his hands on his hips and rolls his eyes. To him, they all look at least a little crumbly – some he would even describe as lightly charred.

“How about you pick one for me then, Betty Crocker?” he chuckles.

Eddie giggles, twirling a lock of his hair as he carefully considers the tray of mostly broken, dry cookies.

He watches Eddie for a long enough time that Wayne pushes a mug into his hand, the warmth of Eddie’s hand remaining in place due to the heat of the cocoa. It’s a Chicago Cubs mug, one that he finds himself holding at some point each time he is here as if Wayne considers it Steve’s own.

He smiles for the first time in three days.

[aisiedaisie]

hiiii ʚ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ɞ i just found your page this morning and read through your entire masterlist and i loveeee your writing! is it possible to get royal poly!marauders at a ball or something and they catch sight of the reader (can be whatever role you wanna give them) and they are like 'damn'

Hello hello~!!!

First of all, thank you so much for patiently waiting for me to get to your request. Life has been pretty hectic on my end, so writing had to take a back seat for a little while. But today, I finally had some time to sit down and write!

Now, let me just say— this idea is absolutely amazing! I’m completely in love with royal and historical AUs, so there’s a good chance I’ll revisit this concept and or turn it into a series of drabbles. (Not that I’m particularly skilled at keeping things short!!!)

I really hope you enjoy my take on your idea 💖

edit: I got a bit carried away-

Royal Flush

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

Pairing: Poly!Marauders x Fem!Reader WC: 3.7k

The night after the neighboring kingdom’s delegation arrives, the Griffyn Kingdom buzzes with anticipation. To honor their esteemed guests— especially the visiting princess —the King and Queen have announced a grand ball. This celebration is more than an act of hospitality; it is a shining declaration of unity, a glittering prelude to alliances and promises that will shape their shared future.

You find yourself standing in Princess Lily’s chambers, the soft glow of candlelight casting flickering shadows against the ornate walls.

 Before you, Lily examines herself in a floor-length mirror, her emerald-green gown a masterpiece of silk and embroidery. You and Mary fuss over the gathered fabric at her hips, smoothing it into place with careful precision.

“I can manage the rest,” Lily murmurs, her voice gentle but decisive. She steps away, gliding toward the gilded jewelry box on her dressing table. Its lid is open, revealing an array of jewels she brought for the journey— diamonds, emeralds, and sapphires glittering alongside an assortment of tiaras.

“You two should get ready as well,” she adds, her tone as light as the shimmering necklace she picks up, its facets catching the firelight.

You pause, caught off guard. “What?” The word escapes before you can stop yourself.

Normally, Marlene would stand guard in her knightly uniform, Mary would accompany Lily throughout the event, and you would remain behind— content to watch the festivities from a quiet corner of the castle, keeping a vigilant eye on the princess’s chambers.

“There’s no need for that tonight,” Mary says, her voice warm with reassurance. She steps forward, deftly fastening the diamond necklace around Lily’s neck. The glittering stones resting perfectly against the princess’s pale freckled skin. “We’re on excellent terms with the Potters. No one here will mean us harm.”

The words hang in the air, both an assurance and an invitation. Tonight is different, you realize. 

A diamond tiara rests atop Lily’s head, its intricate design sparkling like a constellation of stars nestled in her fiery red locks. She adjusts it briefly, her reflection regal and resplendent. “You rarely get a chance to enjoy yourself during visits like this,” she says softly, her tone kind but firm. “Go on, get ready.”

You nod, a small smile playing on your lips, touched by Lily’s thoughtfulness. Her generosity warms you in a way words could never fully express.

With her gentle urging, you retreat to your own room to prepare. A quick bath washes away the lingering weariness of the day, and you do your best to ready yourself for the night ahead.

Despite your efforts, a sense of inadequacy lingers. 

For such grand occasions, it’s expected that the lady's maids and companions are impeccably dressed, each carrying at least one formal gown for travels like these. 

You do have such a dress— a blush colored piece gifted to you by your mother when you first joined the palace as Lily’s lady’s maid.

The fabric clings just a little too tightly at the waist, its once flawless seams now strained from years of careful reuse. The soft blush color, though elegant, has faded slightly with time, its original vibrancy dulled by repeated wear. The bodice is adorned with modest embroidery— delicate vines and blossoms stitched in pale gold thread that catches the light just enough to hint at refinement. The skirt, while gracefully cut, feels heavier than you remember, its weight pulling at your movements as if to remind you of the weight of high society.

It was the best your family could afford when you first came to the palace— a gift from your mother, its fabric chosen to honor both simplicity and a touch of nobility. Back then, it had been a symbol of hope, a token of pride for a baroness’s daughter stepping into the royal household. 

Now, however, standing before the mirror, you can’t help but feel its inadequacy in the face of tonight’s grandeur.

Even so, you smooth the skirt with steady hands, letting your fingers trace the faint ridges of the embroidery. This night, you remind yourself, is not about the richness of your gown, but the confidence you bring and the memories you make. 

Perfection may elude you, but presence—your presence—is more than enough.

When you step back into Lily’s chambers, it’s clear everyone is ready to go. Lily, as expected, looks effortlessly regal in her emerald green dress, the rich color complementing her fiery red hair that cascades down her back in elegant waves. Mary, ever composed, is radiant in a soft yellow gown that perfectly flatters her figure, her dark hair neatly arranged in a low bun at the nape of her neck.

“You look darling,” Lily murmurs, stepping forward to gently brush a stray lock of hair from your forehead. Her touch is as light as her tone, her emerald eyes warm with affection.

You roll your eyes playfully, unable to suppress a grin. “Says the actual goddess standing before me.”

“Truly,” Mary chimes in, her voice sweet as she adjusts the clasp of your necklace, ensuring it sits perfectly centered. “You’ll be the belle of the ball.”

Before you can protest their kind words, a knock at the door interrupts the moment. Marlene peeks her head in, her light blonde hair swept back into a tidy low ponytail. “Ladies,” she announces with a bright grin, “it’s time to head down.”

Excitement ripples through the room as the evening’s promise beckons.

_____

You weren’t quite sure what to do once you stepped onto the crowded ballroom floor. Back home, state balls were familiar territory, their routines and customs etched into your memory. But here, in a foreign kingdom, uncertainty clouded your thoughts. 

Was the etiquette the same? 

Would it be seen as rude to linger by the walls, content to watch the swirl of color and movement before you?

Must you be drawn into the heart of the celebration?

Apparently so.

You stand near one of the grand marble pillars circling the ballroom, the cool stone a comforting anchor amidst the overwhelming splendor. A glass of white wine rests in your hand, a half-hearted shield against your unease. From the corner of your eye, you notice movement—a man approaching with easy confidence. His dark hair is tied into a loose, messy bun, strands slipping free to frame his sharp features. His attire marks him as a knight of the Griffyn Kingdom, though the smirk curling at his lips carries a roguish charm and confidence uncommon in most knights you’ve met.

“You must be part of the delegation,” he says, his voice smooth, his smirk deepening as his gray eyes fix on yours.

You hesitate, biting back the urge to fidget. He’s handsome, undeniably so, but you can’t quite place why he’s chosen to speak to you. With a soft sigh, you nod. “I am.”

“I thought so,” he replies, a playful lilt to his tone. “I remember seeing you earlier, standing just behind the little princess. So, why aren’t you out there, dancing?” He gestures toward the center of the room, where couples spin and sway beneath glittering chandeliers.

“I’m not particularly fond of dancing,” you say, your voice quieter than intended. It’s not entirely true, but you hope the excuse is convincing enough to deter him.

“Nonsense,” he says with a laugh, his hand extending toward you. “Anyone can see you want to. Prove me wrong, if you’d like.”

The invitation lingers between you, daring yet strangely kind.

You hesitate for just a moment, glancing at the glass in your hand before setting it down on the corner of the nearest table. Then, with a small breath of resolve, you place your hand in his. “Don’t get mad if my heels end up on your toes,” you quip, a touch of nervousness slipping into your tone.

“Trust me, I’m quite nimble. Dodging danger is part of the job,” he replies with an easy smirk, already guiding you toward the dance floor with a confidence that leaves little room for argument.

Normally, you might have countered with a quick remark of your own, but your mind is too distracted. The pounding of your heart fills your ears, drowning out coherent thought.

The lull in the music amplifies every other sound—the clack of your heels against the polished marble, the low hum of whispered voices as heads turn to watch you pass. The weight of their gazes burns into your skin, and your hands tremble slightly as the knight clears a path through the crowd, his presence commanding in a way that both unsettles and reassures you.

Other couples filter onto the dance floor as the musicians shuffle their sheet music, preparing for the next song. The murmurs of the room settle, anticipation hanging in the air.

“Well,” you manage, your voice soft as you cling to anything that might distract you from the dozens of eyes still following your every move, “it seems you’re rather popular.”

“What can I say?” he responds, a teasing lilt in his voice. “I am rather handsome.” The smirk that accompanies his words is maddeningly self-assured.

Before you can respond, his hand presses gently against the middle of your back, drawing you closer. His other hand takes yours in a firm yet careful clasp, guiding you into the proper frame with a natural grace that makes it seem effortless. You barely notice the band striking the first notes of the song, your attention fixed on the storm gray eyes studying you with something close to intrigue.

You set your hand clumsily on his shoulder, your fingers brushing the smooth fabric of his maroon jacket. He doesn’t seem to mind your hesitation, his movements assured and steady as he begins to lead you through a simple waltz.

To your relief, the steps come naturally, your body quickly attuning to the rhythm of the music and the gentle guidance of his lead.

“What’s your name?” he asks, his voice soft, nearly lost beneath the rising swell of the orchestra.

You glance up at him, your voice barely above a whisper as you give your name.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful lady,” he replies smoothly, his lips curving into a charming smile paired with a wink that, despite yourself, pulls a smile to your face.

“And you?” you counter, a touch of playfulness creeping into your tone. “Who might this oh-so-charming knight be standing before me?”

His eyes glint with amusement, their gray depths catching the light like polished steel. “Sirius,” he says simply, the name rolling off his tongue with a quiet confidence.

You nod thoughtfully, letting the music and his lead guide you effortlessly across the floor. “An attention grabbing star for an attention grabbing knight,” you muse aloud, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “Seems fitting, I suppose.”

His laugh is low and warm, the sound wrapping around you like the melody. “Well, I do strive to live up to my name.”

“I doubt you have any trouble with that,” you say, a soft smile playing on your lips as you hold his gaze.

The music begins to fade, the elegant notes giving way to the quiet hum of conversations around you. As the dance slows to a stop, you take a small step back, though his presence still lingers like the warmth of the ballroom’s golden glow.

“So much for not being a dancer,” he teases, his smirk as effortless as the steps he led you through.

You turn to him, unable to suppress your grin. “Maybe you were just that good of a lead,” you say sweetly, your voice light with sincerity. But before he can respond, you catch sight of Mary and Lily across the room.

“I ought to check in on my lady,” you add, inclining your head slightly. “Thank you for the dance, Sir Sirius—”

“Sirius,” he interrupts gently, his tone almost playful. “Just Sirius is fine.”

You nod, your smile softening as you take a small step back. “Fine, then. Thank you for the dance, Sirius. It was... unexpected, but I truly enjoyed it.”

With a final glance, you turn and make your way toward Mary and Lily, weaving through the gathered crowd. The warmth of his hand on yours still lingers faintly, and his name echoes in your thoughts like the fading strains of the music— a memory you suspect will stay with you far longer than the evening itself.

_____

James and Remus stepped out of the nearest sitting room, the faint hum of ballroom music echoing down the corridor. Remus, ever meticulous, adjusted James’s slightly askew collar, his fingers deftly hiding the newly formed love bites that marked the prince’s neck—evidence of their brief but heated absence.

“We need to get back before anyone notices,” James murmured, his voice low but tinged with amusement as he fixed his tousled hair.

Remus smirked. “We’re already late. Let’s hope Sirius hasn’t set the place on fire in our absence.”

But as they approached the ballroom’s grand entrance, what they saw made both men falter. There, on the dancefloor, Sirius Black was leading a woman in a waltz.

The sight itself was striking. Her blush colored dress stood out in gentle contrast against the bold, jewel toned gowns of the others swirling around her. The simplicity of her attire only seemed to magnify her elegance, and for once, Sirius appeared utterly focused, his usual roguishness tempered by something softer.

“Sirius never asks a woman to dance,” a sharp voice cut through the hum of the crowd. James and Remus glanced toward a cluster of women, their faces half hidden behind delicate feathered fans. The speaker, a haughty looking noblewoman, tilted her head knowingly, her words drawing murmurs of agreement from those around her.

Remus’s brows knit together. Sirius was notorious for politely but firmly declining the endless stream of invitations to dance he received at events like these. Yet, watching him now, Remus found he could understand why Sirius had sought out this particular partner.

She was... radiant.

“Well, isn’t she a sight to see,” James murmured, his voice just low enough for Remus to hear.

Remus nodded, his hazel eyes tracking the woman’s graceful movements. “If I’m not mistaken, she’s one of Princess Lily’s lady’s maids,” he said, his tone thoughtful.

James’s eyes widened slightly in recognition, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Is that so?” he drawled, the spark of an idea lighting his gaze.

Remus sighed, already sensing trouble. “What are you thinking, James?”

The prince’s grin only grew. “I think,” he said, “we should pay a visit to the princess. Seems like her lady’s maid could use some... royal introductions.”

_____

After reuniting with a gushing Mary and Lily, a server approaches, bowing their head politely before handing you a fresh glass of wine. You thank them quietly, though you can’t help but find their deference a little peculiar. Still, you accept the drink, shifting your attention back to the princess as she launches into a spirited account of your performance on the dance floor.

“You looked absolutely stunning out there,” Lily exclaims, her cheeks slightly flushed from the excitement of the evening—or perhaps the wine.

“She’s right,” Mary agrees with a hum, a bright smile lighting her face. “Everyone was watching. You two were the talk of the room.”

Both women had taken their turns dancing with high-ranking gentlemen throughout the night. Suitors vying for the honor of even a single waltz. Yet, they seemed convinced that your dance was the highlight.

“He’s quite a talented dancer for a knight,” Mary observes, taking a sip from her own glass.

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I figured he’d be good, considering how confident he seemed. But he led me effortlessly. I barely had to think about the steps.”

“Well,” Lily interjects with a soft laugh, her hand fluttering to her lips as though trying to stifle her amusement, “that’s hardly surprising. He’s a noble, after all.”

“What?” Both you and Mary turn to her in confusion, the notion catching you both off guard. Nobles rarely became knights, considering the station beneath them. Sirius hardly seemed the exception, yet here you were.

“He’s the son of Duchess Black,” Lily explains with a slight grimace, lowering her voice. “Her sons are far more tolerable than she ever will be.”

“Lily!” Mary scolds, her eyes darting around to ensure no one overheard the princess’s blunt critique. Fortunately, the surrounding hum of conversation seemed to swallow the comment whole.

“But...” you trail off, your brows furrowing as you ask. “Did you not just dance with the heir to the duchy?”

“That would be my younger brother,” a smooth, familiar voice cuts into the conversation, making you turn sharply.

Sirius stands behind you, his easy smirk firmly in place, though there’s a glimmer of amusement in his gray eyes. Heat rushes to your cheeks, and you instinctively dip your head in greeting, murmuring, “Sir Sirius.”

“Sirius,” he corrects lightly, his gaze softening as it lingers on you.

“Sirius,” you murmur, correcting yourself softly.

His smirk softens into something warmer. “You danced with Regulus, Your Highness?”

“Lily,” the princess corrects, her tone mirroring his own.

Sirius chuckles, his attention shifting to her. “Of course, Lily. So, you danced with Reg?”

“As I always do, Sirius,” she replies with a sigh, clearly anticipating where the conversation might lead. Her expression brightens, however, as her gaze lands beyond him. “Oh, James, Remus! A pleasure to see you.”

Both Mary and you instinctively bow your heads, mirroring Lily’s graceful greeting as two men approach.

“Leave the formalities for the elders,” James teases, waving his hand dismissively. “Raise your heads, ladies.”

James Potter is every bit the image of royalty, dressed in a pristine white suit adorned with a red sash. The high collar adds to his regal air, but it’s his confident posture and easy smile —so warm and almost boyish—that truly captivate.

Beside him stands a tall, broad shouldered man with tousled brown hair. The scars that trace his skin catch your eye briefly before you hastily return your attention to the prince, unwilling to appear rude. Yet, the man’s hazel gaze, calm and piercing, seems to notice everything.

“Are you all enjoying the ball?” James asks, his voice warm and smooth as his signature smile graces his lips.

Lily answers first, her response polite and poised as ever. Her agreement prompts Mary and you to nod along.

“Glad to hear it,” James replies, his smile widening. “I know Sirius was enjoying himself not too long ago,” he adds with a teasing lilt, his hand clapping Sirius on the shoulder and lingering there in a way that seems deliberate.

“It was one dance,” Sirius groans, tilting his head toward the prince in exasperation.

“One dance more than usual,” Remus chimes in, his deep, steady voice carrying a hint of humor. His hazel eyes flicker to Sirius, glinting with quiet amusement as he observes his discomfort.

James turns his gaze to you, his teasing grin softening into something gentler. “He didn’t step on your toes, did he, my lady?” he asks, the mock solemnity of his tone bringing a smile to your lips.

You shake your head, your amusement showing clearly. “Of course not.”

James bursts into laughter, the sound rich and full, drawing a few curious glances from those nearby.

“Having women cover for your clumsy footwork now— what a shame,” Remus adds, his tone dripping with mock disappointment as he shakes his head.

Sirius turns to you, lips curling into an exaggerated pout. “Now look what you’ve done. You’ve egged them on.”

You shrug, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Now, why would I do that, Sirius?”

“You’re killing me, doll,” he groans dramatically, prompting laughter to ripple through the small group.

The conversation shifts back to something closer to polite, though the teasing undercurrent remains. Mary moves subtly closer to you, her hand brushing comfortingly over your back. It’s then you notice the weight of the many gazes lingering on your group, a pressure you hadn’t fully realized until now.

Your eyes lower to the polished marble floor as you focus on listening to James and Lily’s easy banter, their words melding with the hum of the ballroom.

“You alright?” Remus’s voice pulls your attention. He steps closer, his question soft, laced with genuine concern.

You nod lightly. “It seems all of a sudden I’ve run out of energy,” you say, a polite fib. The truth is, this entire night has been draining, though you don’t want him to think he’s dull company. “I’m not used to parties like this,” you add quickly to clarify.

Remus’s lips curve into a smile, his expression warm and understanding. “We have lounges on the top floor for guests who need a break. You’d be welcome to rest there if you’d like.”

You shake your head gently. “I really shouldn’t, but thank you for the suggestion–”

“That’s a great idea,” Lily interjects with an encouraging smile. “Let’s rest our feet for a while.”

“I’ll let Marlene know we’re heading upstairs,” Mary offers before slipping away, likely toward one of the food tables where Marlene is undoubtedly stationed.

“We’ll escort you,” Sirius says smoothly, but Lily raises a hand, declining the offer with a polite smile.

“We’ll be fine on our own, but thank you,” she assures him.

“Of course,” James replies, bowing his head slightly.

Mary returns soon after, accompanied by Marlene, who carries a golden plate piled high with delicate finger foods.

“Enjoy your rest,” James says with a gracious nod, his tone sincere though his smile holds a trace of teasing warmth.

The women dip their heads in thanks before retreating upstairs to find a quiet lounge.

_____

As soon as they’re out of earshot, James turns to Sirius with a mischievous smirk. “Well, wasn’t she a sweetheart?” he asks, his teasing tone unmistakable.

“She’s polite but knows how to hold her own. I’d say you’ve chosen well, Sirius,” Remus adds with an approving nod.

“If you two hadn’t left me—” Sirius starts, a hint of irritation coloring his words.

“We did say you could join us,” James cuts in, raising his hand as if to defend himself.

“And you know damn well if all three of us disappeared, people would notice,” Sirius counters, arching an eyebrow.

James shrugs, entirely unbothered. “Your loss.”

“Not entirely,” Sirius says with a wolfish grin. “It just means we can take our time later.”

“No visible marks,” Remus warns, his voice carrying the weight of experience. “We’ll have guests for a while.”

Sirius rolls his eyes, his grin unwavering. “It’ll be fine—it’s never stopped us before.”

Remus sighs, his lips twitching upward despite himself. “Fair enough.”

[uhhlifeig]

History of Magic Classroom - Nov. 9 - word count: 273 - @wolfstarmicrofic

Sirius Black slouched in his seat, trying not to yawn. 

History of Magic was supposed to be about epic duels and wizarding heroics, not sleep-inducing monologues that could knock out even the most enthusiastic Ravenclaw.

But who needed exciting lessons when Remus Lupin was sitting just inches away? 

With a sly grin, Sirius leaned over and pushed a folded piece of parchment onto his kinda-boyfriend’s desk.

Remus glanced at him, one eyebrow raised, before unfurling the note.

Moony, would you rather fight a goblin with a bad attitude or go on a date with me? Circle one.

The other boy rolled his eyes. He circled goblin with a bad attitude and shot the note back without missing a beat.

Sirius’ jaw dropped theatrically. Oh, he thinks he’s clever, does he? 

He wrote back furiously.

Rude. But understandable. I’ll try harder. How about this- would you rather listen to Binns’ lecture for an hour or go on a date with me?

When Remus sent the note back with still Binns’ lecture and a tiny, infuriating wink, the noiret let out a gasp so loud that Lily Evans turned around, glaring like she was ready to hex him into next Tuesday.

“Sorry,” he mouthed, giving her his most innocent smile. She rolled her eyes and turned back around.

Turning back to his parchment, Sirius scribbled another note, determined to win this ridiculous game.

You’re going to break my heart, Moony. One more: would you rather eat a slug, or snog in the library later?

Remus pretended to write painstakingly slowly before flicking the note back with a barely contained laugh.

Library. But don’t be late.

[zil-street]

Malevolent: Reversal (I don’t know what else to call it)

[nikholascr0w]

Pandora Rosier is so underrated I love her with my whole heart. She is the light of my life and the reason I wake up in the morning.

[starryeyedwolves]

The Mystery

It started at breakfast.

At first, nobody noticed anything unusual about Sirius Black striding into the Great Hall. He was always excessively confident, a walking spectacle, so the way he smirked and carried himself wasn’t particularly different from any other day.

No, the problem—the mystery, rather—began when he sat down at the Gryffindor table, grabbed a piece of toast, and turned his head just enough for the light to catch on the unmistakable dark hickeys along his neck.

There was a beat of silence as the realization sank in. Then, whispering.

Marlene nearly dropped her goblet of pumpkin juice. “Merlin’s beard.”

Lily blinked at him. “Are those—”

“—hickeys?” Mary finished, staring.

James, seated across from his best friend, immediately choked on his tea. “What the bloody hell happened to you?”

Sirius, the bastard, just smirked. He grabbed a fork, twirled it between his fingers, and shrugged. “Oh, you know. Had an eventful night.”

“With who?!” James practically shouted.

At that, Sirius only gave a particularly self-satisfied grin.

And just like that, the entire table was invested.

Theories began flying before breakfast was even over.

By the time the Gryffindors returned to the common room, a full-fledged investigation had begun. James was leading the charge, determined to uncover the identity of Sirius’ mysterious suitor.

A large piece of parchment had been tacked up over the fireplace. At the top, written in bold letters:

"WHO SNOGGED SIRIUS BLACK?"

Below it, Peter was furiously scribbling down notes as people shouted theories from across the room.

Marlene crossed her arms. “It has to be someone from another House. We would have known.”

“But where did it happen?” Lily asked, examining the hickeys with an investigative squint. “Dorms? Common room? Astronomy Tower?”

James rubbed his chin, looking entirely too serious about the matter. “Maybe it was a secret rendezvous?”

Sirius, sprawled out lazily on one of the couches, looked absolutely delighted by all the attention. “Mmm, yes. Very scandalous.”

James pointed an accusatory finger at him. “You’re enjoying this.”

Sirius grinned. “Oh, immensely.”

Remus, sitting beside him with a book open in his lap, let out a dramatic sigh. “This is the dumbest thing you lot have done in a while.”

James ignored him, turning to the room. “Alright, suspects. Who have we seen Sirius flirting with recently?”

A few people shouted names.

“Hufflepuff seventh-year?”

“No, she’s dating someone.”

“What about that Ravenclaw with the blue streak in her hair?”

Sirius made an offended noise. “Ravenclaws? James, please.”

James crossed his arms. “Well, someone did that to you, and I’m going to figure out who.”

Sirius propped his chin in his hand, feigning boredom. “Best of luck, mate.”

Remus turned a page in his book, biting back a smirk.

By lunchtime, the investigation had spread beyond Gryffindor.

Over at the Ravenclaw table, people were whispering, glancing over at Sirius like he was some kind of grand unsolved puzzle. Hufflepuffs had a betting pool running (Marlene had put five Galleons on it being a Slytherin).

Even some of the Slytherins were side-eyeing him with mild curiosity.

James, bless him, was still running full-speed ahead.

“I know it wasn’t anyone in Gryffindor,” he muttered to Peter as they walked toward Charms. “No one here would have been able to keep it quiet.”

“What if it was someone under a Glamour Charm?” Peter suggested.

James stopped in his tracks, eyes going wide. “Wormtail, you genius. That explains why we haven’t figured it out yet!”

Peter puffed up proudly.

Remus, walking just behind them, rolled his eyes. “You’re both absolutely insufferable.”

Sirius, walking beside him, chuckled. “You’re just mad because you’re not part of the fun, Moony.”

Remus gave him a look. “Oh, I’m plenty entertained.”

By dinner, James had lost his mind.

After an entire day of hunting for clues, interrogating people, and even bribing Peeves to spill any secrets (which resulted in nothing but Peeves singing a very inappropriate limerick about Sirius), James had hit a dead end.

“I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS,” he groaned, slamming his head down on the Gryffindor table. “IT’S IMPOSSIBLE.”

Sirius, cutting into his steak, smirked. “Told you.”

James sat up, looking like a man on the verge of an existential crisis. “I don’t understand! We know it happened last night, we know it must’ve been someone in the castle, but there’s no record of where you went—”

Lily patted his shoulder. “Maybe you should accept that you’re never going to figure it out.”

James gasped. “I refuse.”

Meanwhile, Remus sat in an armchair, flipping through Advanced Defensive Spells with an expression of deep, exaggerated boredom. “This is ridiculous.”

“It is not,” James shot back. “This is serious.”

Remus snorted. “Yes, very Sirius.”

James ignored him. “We have to consider possible suspects.”

Marlene tapped her chin. “What if—hear me out—it’s someone we’d never expect?”

Remus didn’t even glance up. “Like me?”

The room erupted in laughter.

“You?” James wheezed. “Remus, mate, no offense, but you are the last person on earth who’d be caught dead snogging Sirius Black.”

Remus hummed, turning a page. “Right.”

It took approximately ten more minutes of chaotic theorizing before Sirius himself finally strutted in. “Still on about my love life?”

“Yes,” James said immediately. “And we will solve this mystery.”

Sirius just smirked, plopping onto the couch and draping himself across Remus’ lap. “Good luck with that.”

Remus, without missing a beat, ran a casual hand through Sirius’ hair.

James, in the middle of hypothesizing a dramatic secret romance with a Beauxbatons student, froze.

His eyes flicked to Sirius. Then to Remus. Then back to Sirius.

Then, something clicked.

His gaze snapped to Remus, who was—suspiciously—very focused on his book. Too focused.

And then James thought back—back to all the times Remus had dismissed the investigation, the way Sirius kept glancing at him, the way he always seemed mildly amused whenever James was running in circles trying to solve the mystery.

His jaw dropped.

He pointed a shaking finger between the two of them. “No. NO.”

“Oh my God,” James whispered.

Sirius grinned, positively delighted.

James looked betrayed. “IT WAS YOU?!”

Remus finally glanced up from his book, arching a brow. “You just figured that out?”

Marlene choked on her pumpkin juice. Lily clapped a hand over her mouth. Peter looked horrified at how obvious it had been all along.

Sirius, stretching again, nudged Remus’ cheek with his nose. “Told you they’d be slow.”

James made an inhuman noise of frustration. “YOU LET ME RUN AN ENTIRE INVESTIGATION—”

“I found it entertaining.”

“HOW LONG HAS THIS BEEN GOING ON?!”

Sirius nuzzled into Remus’ neck, voice annoyingly smug. “Long enough.”

Remus just smirked and turned another page.

[that1notetaker]

HEY SNAPE REMEMBER THAT ONE TIME WHEN

A scene inspired by @wixenforever’s NottPott fic, The Burning of The Library. Its great, I love it, and I love the scenes Snape happens to be in and how he reacts to Harry and Theo’s friendship. Its like he forgot he had a best friend once huh? Hence this was born.

@jundsthoughts @wixenforever :))) I love Snape. He’s a right bastard and I would read all books from his Pov. Theo called Snape out once and it has not left him alone since. Let it simmer, he will get it…eventually. In his own, dark, miserable, Severus way.

[oh-phoenixx]

"Harry Potter" - Jegulus microfic @into-the-jeggyverse - 470 words

Tags: @abductedhiko (message or comment if you wanna be tagged when I post :3)

-

James was not one to show any negative emotions. He liked to keep it all bottled up inside of him and just pray that it wouldn’t backfire. So, he refused to let on that he was terrified for Regulus to meet Harry. What if his son didn’t like his boyfriend? They’d only been officially dating for two weeks, but Regulus was already so special to him, and if Harry didn’t like him, James didn’t know what he would do. 

James was so busy trying to calm himself down that he didn’t hear the knock on the door. “Daddy! Someone’s at the door!” Harry had to call from the living room. James was pulled from his thoughts. He took a deep breath and made his way to the door.

The door opened to reveal a very anxious-looking (but perfect nonetheless, as he always was, in James’s humble opinion) Regulus Black. He put on a, clearly forced, smile and greeted James with a hug. 

“It’ll be fine,” James assured him, though he didn’t know if he was speaking more to Regulus or himself.

James led Regulus into the living room, where a five year old Harry was playing with his toys. At first, none of them said anything. Harry barely looked up, and James didn’t tell him to greet Regulus for fear that it would make all of this real.

After taking another deep breath, James crouched in front of Harry and said, “Harry, say hi to Regulus.”

Harry glanced at Regulus, seeming almost to size him up, before a grin, identical to James’s, spread across his face. “Hi, Regulus!” He did not, actually, pronounce ‘Regulus’ correctly, though Regulus didn’t seem to mind. 

“Hello, Harry,” Regulus responded breathlessly, kneeling beside the young boy. “It’s nice to meet you. Your dad has told me a lot about you.”

“Daddy talks about you, too,” Harry said. James blushed and looked away. “A lot,” Harry added unnecessarily, in James’s opinion.

“Does he now?” Regulus asked, an eyebrow raised in James’s direction.

And though his son had somewhat embarrassed him in front of the man James was sure he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, he didn’t care. They got along so naturally, Harry rambling on about toys and games and Regulus listening just as eagerly, with not a single sign that he wasn’t actually as interested as he made it seem. James found it laughable that Regulus had claimed to not like children. 

When Regulus got up to go to the bathroom, James turned to Harry seriously. “Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Regulus isn’t just my friend, you know. He’s my boyfriend. You know what that means, right?”

“Mhm! Like how Moony and Padfoot are boyfriends,” Harry replied confidently.

“Exactly, Re-”

“And how Mummy and Mary are girlfriends,” Harry continued.

“Sorry, what now?” James gaped.

[kayylivesinchaos]

HII!!

WAIT DON'T SCROLL!!

today my fic got 500 hits!!

DON'T GO!!

im doing my best to promote it as it takes me a lot of work, so even if you don't want to read it- please reblog!! it would mean the world to me:))

tagging a few people, hoping to make it a chain so more people know<33

more under the cut;))

dead sailors society on ao3

theres also an ig acc, @kayylivesinchaos, feel free to talk to me:))

the fic is jegulus/wolfstar/rosekiller/dorlene/marylily, set in the 1500s!!

thanks to everyone who comments and gives kudos, each one like that makes my day!!

ily guys so much!!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/59808394/chapters/152559532

@whydousernamesevenexist @mairon-goth-minion @kathryn-maraudersversion @look-a-gay @wishiwereheather13 @lesbian-marauders-fan @randommmthoughts @ravensncrowsx @moony-jameswife @moutainrusing @charliecow @regulusblack-potter @jaybirdbluejay @hawaiianshirttaco64 @loverofmusic18 @l1ve-l4ugh-lov3craft @blueberry-b4gel @coconutgingerjuice @curlyy-hair-dont-care @dorlilymylovesss @fuckit-a-rosekiller-blog @mini-anne @noblehouseofgay @ohyou-pretty-things @outromoony @ricochetyears @rablovergirl @ultravioletbrit @izzieclarksonzz @soupyloopyx @sophsicle @sunshinerainbowsandlollipops @cool-lesbian-is-here @starkayezer @here-am-i-sitting-in-a-tin-can @starving-marauder-lover @starsarestories @andreainlove @enervapotter @my-castles-crumbling @myfavcharacterdidntdrown @otrtbs @jamespottersversion @drowninkystar

[jamesunderwater]

SB: so. what position is lily in right now SB: because it's now been 72 minutes SB: which, honestly, i'm impressed, mate. SB: but i'm also bored, so you should know that I am currently running through all the possibilities in my head JP: so. what position are your hands in SB: oh, you and evans only wish you knew SB: you're missing out, really SB: I have very deft hands JP: given that we've done at least seven of the positions you were imagining, i'd say you're the one missing out SB: are you seriously texting me while in the midst of shagging? JP: NOT ANYMORE, GO AWAY BLACK -L SB: oh wow, attention from both at once! SB: i'm touched SB: (could stand to be more touched, though)

we can all thank @annabtg for inspiring this with her tag

[shares-a-vest]

Pineapple Breath & Onion Boy (Read on ao3)

wc: 1.2k | Rated: T for Flirtatious Banter/Suggestive Language | cw: Mild reference to Period-Typical Homophobia (if you squint - Eddie is just conscious about being affectionate with Steve in a public space), Food Mention, Inferred Smoking (Eddie is playing with a lighter)

Tags: Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Pizza, Contemplating the Future, Side Clarkson, Pet Names, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Domestic Fluff, Lightest Angst in the first half

Note: Working on my drabble yesterday had me rudely confronting myself with a Drafts. Buuut it gave me the motivation to come back to this one! Yay writing!

-🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕🍕-

Eddie leans back on one of the faded red plastic chairs outside Gino’s Pizzeria and flicks his cigarette lighter.

He then turns it off, then back on again. Then off again… Anything to distract himself from the desperate grumbling in his belly – a feeling that has grown painful now that he can smell pepperoni wafting outside.

The chair gives a warning wobble beneath him, the back legs of the thing holding his weight as he looks up at Steve, who looks all cozy in his cream-coloured corded sweater and maroon jacket. Even if he is standing there with his arms folded and a frown knitting his brows as he looks on down Main Street.

Wayne and Scott had disappeared in that direction a few minutes ago, trekking down the block to fetch their Chinese takeout, while Eddie and Steve waited for their pizzas.

Pizzas plural. Because Eddie refuses to partake in Steve’s new and frankly, disgusting preference for pineapple.

It has been their little quartet’s Friday Night routine for a couple of months now and Eddie thinks he must end up looking the same each and every time: staring up at his boyfriend. Steve looks pretty as a picture as his eyes glisten under the streetlight and his breath puffs out in a feint cloud in the crisp night air.

He looks a dream, really.

Not that he ever looks anything less, thank you very much!

Eddie knows Steve is lost in some thought, the kind that pinches his brows together and downturns his mouth into a mindless pout rather than one that is truly grumpy.

At least Eddie thinks it’s all that before Steve sucks in a breath and sighs, deep and wistful as his beautiful hazel eyes grow bigger.

That look makes Eddie tip forward in his chair with a sharp snap. He shoves his lighter back into the breast pocket of his leather jacket, frowning himself now as he tilts his head to the side, hoping to catch his boyfriend’s attention.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

He is met with silence for a moment before Steve gives a soft and wistful sigh.

“You think when we’re old, we’ll be like Wayne and Scott?” Steve asks, still looking down the street.

“Jesus Christ, no!” Eddie scoffs, “I don’t plan on gettin’ old.”

Steve whips around and looks down at him with an even deeper frown and, yep – that’s a Worried Pout.

“What?” he near whimpers.

Eddie jumps up, groaning a little as his back pangs with deep regret over him tilting back on that stupid rickety chair. He waves a hand nonchalantly.

But Steve doesn’t budge. He looks hurt.

Eddie steps into his personal space and offers a small smile - one that he knows will showcase his dimples and make Steve melt like mozzarella cheese.

“Y’know what I mean,” he clarifies, “I do not intend to become some old fart, whose idea of a good time is going on a fishing trip while his boyfriend collects frogs.”

Steve somehow tightens the fold of his arms as he looks him over.

“Eddie, you like looking for frogs,” he retorts, his brows easing up a little, “Anyway, don’t you think they’re cute?”

Eddie rolls his eyes, “Oh, here we go.”

“I mean it,” Steve defends, “Scott gets home from school and putters about for a while. Then, he finishes up some work exactly one hour before Wayne walks in the door. And then, they go about deciding on their takeout order – even though they always get the same thing! And when we get home, they’ll eat in front of the television, Wayne will clean up and then they watch the TV until Wayne starts to doze off and they go to bed.”

He finishes up with a sigh and looks back down Main Street again, appearing a little sheepish now as if he got a little too carried away with his longing there for a moment. It’s a look that tightens something in Eddie’s chest – one that makes him step even closer.

Or at least as close as he should get to his boyfriend out on the main thoroughfare of Hawkins.

He sucks in a breath and looks ahead too, wanting to kiss that look off Steve’s face.

But for the moment, he settles for a bump to the shoulder.

“We’re gonna be all that one day, aren’t we?” he says just above a whisper.

“Yeah?” Steve asks, upbeat but nonetheless quiet.

Eddie leans in, “Follow me, sugar.”

He tugs on Steve’s jacket sleeve and promptly spins on his heel to disappear around the corner of the building. The dumpsters behind the local pizza shop aren’t the most romantic of settings – but sue him for having a Rolodex of potential public makeout spots at the ready.

Eddie can feel Steve’s warm breath on his neck as they reach the far end of the building, sending a shiver down his spine. He turns to lean against the wall and palms around for any part of Steve to come along with him.

Steve crowds him against the building and as soon as he pushes them flush together, Eddie becomes all too aware of how whisps of his hair stick to the cool brick behind him. He gasps.

“Oh, no! What if I lose my hair!” he shrieks.

Steve grumbles, insulted, “What if I lose my hair?”

“Wha-cha – Stevie!” Eddie splutters, “My hair is just as important as yours!”

Steve smirks and reaches for his hairline, brushing back his bangs. He scrunches his nose.

“Hmm,” he hums with closer inspection, “It’s looking okay… for now.”

Eddie hisses at him.

“Get your damn dirty paws off-a me,” he grouses. Eddie flicks his bangs back into place with an exaggerated hmfph before he straightens up and snakes his arms around Steve’s middle, pulling him tighter still, “Steve, I promise as I stand here before you, behind the hallowed halls of Gino’s Pizzeria – ”

“ – Eddie, the owner’s name is Frank.”

“Fine! Frank – he of bountiful cheese and delicious tomato sauce. I do declare that I will still love you, even if I turn into a balding old grump with a permanent frown and bad knees.”

“And will you still love me if I become a middle school teacher, all chipper and cheery?”

“Meh, that wouldn’t be so bad,” Eddie shrugs.

“What if I grew a moustache?” Steve grins.

“That’s taking it too far!” Eddie practically shouts, squeezing the air out of his boyfriend in the process.

Steve gives a wheezing giggle as he runs his thumb and index finger over the soft stubble he has above his plush top lip. Eddie captures the mocking digits in his own hand and bites down, earning a wicked whine.

Steve shivers and gives a warning, “Edward…”

“Now,” Eddie begins, lowering the register of his voice, “Ravish me!”

Steve leans forward and presses the most chaste of kisses to the corner of his mouth.

“I’ll ravish you later,” he pulls back and winks.

But Eddie recoils, nearly knocking his head back against the pizzeria’s brick wall.

“When you have pineapple breath?” he spits with a dramatic grimace.

“Says you, Onion Boy.”

“Fine,” Eddie relents, “We’re both stinky.”

The rusty bell of the pizza shop’s front door sounds and Eddie is sure Wayne and Scott have already made it back, always more efficient in calling ahead with their own takeout order.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Steve smiles, lacing their fingers together.

[ervotica]

poly!jily 35. cuddle pile !!

i adore them ✩ fem!reader, 421 words

Lily's breath is soft and even against the top of your head.

You're wreathed in thick strands of auburn, tucked into the dip of your girlfriend's clavicle. An old soap plays on the telly, mindless white noise lulling you to sleep as Lily's slender hand scrubs across your back; up and down, fingers splaying across the nape of your neck to draw you closer.

Your lips smack wetly as you press kisses to her freckled skin– her shoulder, throat, jaw. She hums, stretching slow and lazy like a cat, hooking an ankle round your calf. You sink into her like soft butter.

You're both half asleep by the time the door creaks open and snicks shut. Heavy footfalls permeate the otherwise ebbing quiet of the flat.

A kiss smears against the corner of your mouth; you hear a squeaky smooch lovingly pressed to Lily's, too.

"Jamie," you coo; your voice is thick and syrupy with sleep, though no less loving.

"Hey, babylove. You two snuggling without me?"

Lily curls her fingers over the scruff of your neck, effectively trapping you before James can steal you away. You smile- light and happy and lovely- and reach for James' outstretched hand.

"You were long," Lily says, thumbing at the crease of his elbow.

"There was a queue at the shops, pretty girl. Would've been back sooner, otherwise."

James' hand is at the small of Lily's back before you can muster a reply, lifting her up and off of the worn leather sofa – and by extension, you. He's not very graceful when he wheedles his way beneath the pair of you, but it's welcomed nonetheless.

He settles with his legs spread, both of you tucked snug in the middle. You soak up his warmth gratefully, stretching to press a slow kiss against his smiling lips.

You can't even pretend to be cross at his intrusion. He's simply too lovely.

James slides further down the settee and subsequently jostles the pair of you further into his arms. You brace a hand against the broad muscle of his chest, squishing your cheek right over his heart. Lily sinks her teeth playfully into his shoulder.

"Ow! You little vixen!" he cries, throwing his head back, arms splayed wide. You nibble at the hollow of his throat.

"Dramatic," you snort.

Lily smiles so wide it crinkles all the skin by her eyes. You thumb at her crows feet adoringly.

"Ahh, my girls," James says wistfully, glasses askew.

You can't help but needle in closer when he demands it.

[uhhlifeig]

Pole - March 28 - word count: 273 - @wolfstarmicrofic

“I’m telling you, he doesn’t like me,” Remus said frustratedly, throwing his hands up. “He flirts with everyone, Lils.”

“Yeah, right, and I’m a brunette,” Lily scoffed, stuffing her hands in her pockets. She started walking faster, getting ahead of him and his absurdly long legs.

Remus easily caught up to her, matching her speed with longer strides. “No, but really, Lils, he flirts with everyone. He was flirting with James and Pete just yesterday, I swear.”

“And?” Lily raised an eyebrow. “He looks at you differently than anyone else. It’s like you’re… precious or something.”

Remus snorted. “So? He’s just like that, Lils, I’m telling you.”

She rolled her eyes, speeding up again to the point where she was almost jogging. “Just like that my arse. Look over there and you’ll have proof. Be subtle, though,” she added.

Remus discreetly looked over to where James and Sirius were joking around nearby. It seemed normal.

“What-” he began.

Lily shushed him. “Wait,” she muttered.

So he waited.

And then, after a little while, it seemed as if Sirius’s eyes had snagged on him, and they barely looked away, even to blink.

Remus now knew what Lily was talking about.

Sirius looked at him like he was his world.

Then James beckoned his best friend over, and Sirius, not watching where he was going, walked straight into a pole.

Lily and Remus stared openmouthed at the scene. 

Sirius Black had just walked into an object. The very same Sirius Black that walked with nothing but elegance and grace when he was in public.

Fuck, Remus thought. Maybe he really did like him after all.

[norry-yippee]

mlm ships are not to blame for misogyny in the fandom, it you who only sees purpose in Lily as a character when she is with a man, it’s you who won’t read wlw ships even though they are just as complex and well written.

[outromoony]

Pandora sees the world in ways Lily never could. Where Lily sees rules, Pandora sees possibilities. Where Lily sees reality, Pandora sees magic. And somehow, Pandora sees Lily and loves her most of all, even when Lily is so scared of being seen.

[thinethorninyourside]

just imagine.

a body swap au that begins as bartylus and jily and then James and Barty swap bodies.

it ends in Bartylily and Jegulus.