#prongsfoot week day 7

[sc0rpiflow3r]

✨ Prongsfoot Week 2024 - Day 7 ✨

@prongsfootweekarchive (Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6)

Write/Draw/anything for this ship:

They won a game against Slytherin. Obviously, they got detention after that.

[goldenlionprince]

Prongsfoot Week 2024 - Day 7

Trapped Together

“Here you go.” The voice behind the mask sounds suspiciously like Lucius Malfoy. James resists the urge to kick him in the shin. He’s in enough trouble at the moment so maybe later.

The corridor they are in is dimly lit by the torches Maybe-Malfoy and one other Death Eaters in the back are carrying and it smells a bit damp. Looks like a cellar, at least what James can make out through the cracked lenses of his glasses. He’s not entirely sure where the cellar is though. Although if it's really Malfoy who's playing the boss here he has sort of an idea at least.

James is kind of suspicious though. They haven’t done much to him yet since they captured him outside the wards of the estate. Roughened him up a bit, sure, but no Cruciatus. Which James is not complaining about. His rips hurt on his left side, probably a few of them broken. He doesn’t really need a torture curse right now, thank you very much.

But knowing Malfoy and his lot he might end up in a kinky torture cellar very soon, soundproof and all. Wouldn't want to get any blood on the good carpets, the fancy fucker.

Worth it, tough. James is inside those stupid wards now.

Maybe-Malfoy unlocks and opens a door in front of James and James braces himself for all kinds of medieval torture devices on the over side of it.

But there are none. The light from Malfoy's torch illuminates a small and bare room and a person sitting on the floor on the far end of it, his right hand chained to the wall, the heavy chain pooling around his feet.

A very familiar person.

A grin spreads on James' slit lips. Perfect. Just trust stupid Death Eaters to make his work a lot easier instead of harder.

The person on the floor doesn't seem to share that thought though. Grey eyes go wide as they see James in the middle of his little harem of Death Eaters.

“No,” Sirius breathes softly before his eyes snap to Maybe-Malfoy, grey almost seeming to glow in the dark. He gets up and moves towards them in a blur until the chain pulls tight about halfway to the door. “You absolute fucking asshole!” he growls. Actually growls. “I'm going to end you!”

There is a flash of fangs.

James stares.

Maybe-Malfoy chuckles like the posh asshole that he is. “I think you're going to end this one first.”

Two of the three Death Eaters that were escorting James down into the cellar alongside Maybe-Malfoy give James a shove in the back and he stumbles forward into the room, nearly falling, but Sirius catches him.

One of the torches gets thrown in after him. It lands on the earthen floor, flickering.

“Happy reunion,” Maybe-Malfoy sneers and then the door closes with a snap and locks.

James stares at Sirius, who is staring right back at him. His eyes still glow eerily, like they are lit from within, and James can see a hint of fang poking at his lower lip. James swallows hard. Sirius lets go of him like he got burned, stumbling back a step or two.

“This is bad,” Sirius says after a moment of silence. “Very fucking bad.”

James shrugs and ruffles a had through his hair. He winces slightly when the movement pulls at his tender rips. “Could be worse.”

Sirius raises one eyebrow at him, looking unimpressed. James grins and shrugs. Sirius rolls his eyes. “Only you would say 'could be worse' while sitting in a literal death trap.”

“I mean, it could totally be worse,” James says with another little shrug. “I could not have found you at all. That's worse.”

“That would actually be better for you in case you've missed any of the obvious signs,” Sirius snaps, pointing at his face. James once again stares at the tips of the fangs he can see between Sirius' lips.

Sirius narrows his eyes at him. “Stop that.”

James snaps his eyes away, a flush spreading on his face. “Stop what?”

“I can hear your heartbeat speeding up. Which, in case you were wondering, is not a good thing since they don't keep me well fed.”

James looks back at Sirius, really looks at him. He's pale, paler than usual. There are shadows under his eyes. Those strangely glowy eyes. The fangs that are clearly there. There is only one explanation to all this. James doesn't want to ask. If he doesn't hear it, it's not true. “They really... turned you?”

Sirius looks away, lifting his right hand and tugging absentmindedly on the chain that connects to the wall with his left. “Bella thought it would be more.. amusing instead of just letting me die.”

James flinches at the mention of death and Sirius in the same sentence. Although he knows that this is what must have happened. One doesn't turn vampire without dying first. But hearing it is something different. It makes it real. Too real.

James is going to kill Bellatrix. Slowly and painfully.

But first they have to get out of here so James has to pull himself together for now. He can fall apart later when they are somewhere save. Later he can think about it all, that he was too late, that he didn't find Sirius fast enough after he had disappeared from an Order mission gone wrong. Later he can think about Sirius being essentially dead...

But not now.

“What's with you and that chain?” James asks instead, getting back to business. “Can you get rid of it? Turn into Padfoot and step out of it?”

Sirius lifts his right hand, chain rattling over the earthen floor. “Something in it dampens my magic. I can't shift and it's fucking annoying.”

James' frown and looks at the metal of the chain. The cracks in his lenses get a bit annoying so he quickly takes off his glasses and concentrates while brushing his fingertips over them. The cracks knit back together as if they have never been broken at all. The glasses are a little smudged now, but that's far better than seeing everything with cracks running through.

Satisfied with his work James puts his glasses back on. So much better. He takes a step closer to Sirius to get a better look at the chain but Sirius takes a step back immediately to keep their distance the same. “Don't.”

James' frown deepens. “Don't be difficult. I need to get a closer look at that.”

“And I need not to bite a chunk out of your neck, James.”

James pauses, then lifts his eyes back to Sirius. “How bad is it? How hard is it for you to not jump me right now?”

“A little.”

Which, in Sirius' language, means bloody fucking hard. James curses under his breath and rakes a hand though his hair, pulling at the roots. “Okay. First things first.” Dropping his hand he pushes up the sleeve of his right arm, past the small tracking rune tattoo he used to track down Sirius' matching one. “You need a snack. Then we work on the chain. Then we get the fuck out of here. I have your wand. Hid it with mine in a tree outside of the wards. Didn't want to risk losing them so we have to make do without them until we can pick them back up.”

Sirius stares at him, trying very hard not to look at James' exposed skin. James pauses, his sleeve pushed up to his elbow. “What?”

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like.” James grins. “Turning myself into a buffet.”

Sirius glares at him, which combined with the glowiness of his grey eyes does look a little spooky. “That's not funny, James.”

James sighs and lets go of his sleeve. “Come on, you know I'm right. If we want to get out of here I need you to be able to think clearly and not have a munchy problem.”

“Munchy problem,” Sirius repeats like he can't believe James just said that.

James shrugs. “Munchy problem. Furry little problem. I collect interesting friends. Now come on, eat up. Well, not up up. I need some blood still in me but.. you know.” James lifts his arm towards Sirius. “Cheers?”

“You are the bane of my existence, Potter.” Sirius grumbles but takes a step closer to James' arm so James sees it as a win. “What if I can't stop?”

James huffs like that was a silly thing to ask. “You're the most stubborn asshole I know. If your mind is set on not draining me, I think we're good.”

Sirius still hesitates.

“Really now,” James murmurs, a soft thing just between then two of them. “We had a whole conversation in here while you're basically starving and you didn't even try to nibble me yet. I know you can do it. I trust you, Sirius.”

Cold fingers close around James' wrist, sending a shiver though him. Sirius looks at him and James can feel his heart stumble in his chest. Of course he's nervous about this, but it's Sirius after all, so he holds Sirius' gaze and nods.

Sirius swallows and lowers his head and then cool lips brush over James' skin just below the rune.

It's a soft distraction, just for a moment, and then there is bright pain and -

It's like floating. Like dipping into warm sunshine. Like flying. Like a warm embrace. A bubble bath. There might be a moan slipping from James' lips, he's not entirely sure.

It's fizzy, it's warm, it's heady. It rushes though James' veins like champaign bubbles -

And then it's over, all of a sudden. James' gasps, his heart pounding in his chest. His eyes had fallen shut somewhen, he hadn't even noticed.

Opening them now he sees everything a little fuzzy, including Sirius who is looking at him, James' arm still cradled in his hands, his eyes glowing, but it's a warm glow now. Not the cold, eery light from before.

Holding James' gaze Sirius licks over the two little punctuation wounds in James' arm, licking away the blood that still seeps from them. James feels hot all over and a little dizzy.

Sirius looks down at the little wound and nods. The breaking of their eye contact makes James able to breath again. “Well, at least this part is true.”

He lifts James' arm a little so James can see too how his flesh is already knitting back together like magic. Soon there will be no mark left on his skin.

James tries to push down the disappointment that rises in him.

Sirius lets go of James' arm and licks away the remains of James' blood off his fingers. James has to force himself to look away.

“So”, Sirius says once he's done. “What's your clever plan now for getting out of here?”

A grin spreads on James' face and he bends down to retrieve the knife he had hidden away in his boot before getting himself into trouble with the Death Eaters. The very same penknife that Sirius had given him for his last birthday – designed to open any lock. The knife that the Death Eaters were too dumb to look for once they had realized James had no wand on him.

Sirius laughs at seeing it, the sound sending a giddy rush through James. “Well then, let's wreak havoc on those idiots.”

[prongsfootweekarchive]

Announcing Prongsfoot Week 2024

Hey All!  

I’m still into Prongsfoot and at the Prongsfoot Discord (https://discord.gg/vAFd8fVv), we decided to have another one with the same questions for Newcomers and different questions for people who participated last year:

August 25th through 31st, 2024

Per the Poll completed in the last day - Prongsfoot Week 2024 is moving to October!

October 20th, 2024 to October 26th, 2024

DAY 1 - 

New to Prongsfoot Week: When and Why did you begin to Ship Prongsfoot?  What makes you Ship it?  Basically, just gush on this ship.

Last Year Participant: What are the first 5 things that pop to mind when you think about Prongsfoot?

DAY 2 - 

New to Prongsfoot Week: What Headcanons do you have for this ship?  IE, things like, James made the first move or Sirius got James into crosswords.  Anything really.

Last Year Participant: 

What’s your favorite type of Prongsfoot Story?  And if you’ve written it - link it?

DAY 3 - 

New to Prongsfoot Week: Favorite Canon/Potentially Canon moment - IE, something like Sirius comforting James after the DADA OWL and Lily’s reaction or (even though it’s platonic) the moment James asked Sirius to be Harry’s godfather.  

Last Year Participant: 

Other Fandom’s ships that make you think of Prongsfoot?

DAY 4 - 

New to Prongsfoot Week:  What type of story that you like to Read and/or Write for this ship?

Last Year Participant: 

Music that Makes you think of Prongsfoot (and Why)?

DAY 5 - 

New to Prongsfoot Week:  Favorite Tropes for this Ship?

Last Year Participant: 

 Rate your Top 5 Tropes for Prongsfoot using this Trope rater:

  DAY 6 - 

New to Prongsfoot Week:  Thoughts for this Ship? (Link), but if anyone wants to contribute other questions - feel free to do so before the week starts!)

Last Year Participant: 

Random Ship questions - 

DAY 7 - 

BOTH: Write/Draw/anything for this ship.

LASTLY, If you've done both and / or Prefer Prompts, here's a list of Prompts:

Day 1 - Getting Together

Day 2 - Someone's Birthday

Day 3 - First Kiss

Day 4 - Enemies to Lovers

Day 5 - Friends with Benefits

Day 6 - Everyone Assumes (that they're together)

Day 7 - Trapped Together

Anyone can participate just tag ProngsfootWeek2024

Thanks!

[jilypadweek]

Announcing Jilypad Week 2024

HI All!

As much as I love Prongsfoot - I also love Jilypad.  Thus, I’ve decided to create a jilypad week to celebrate my favorite threesome!  

Use the tag: Jilypadweek2024

September 22nd to September 28th, 2024

Per the Poll in the last day - Jilypad Week 2024 is being pushed to November.

New Dates:

November 17th, 2024 to November 23rd, 2024

DAY 1 - 

New to Jilypad Week: When and Why did you begin to Ship Jilypad?  What makes you Ship it?  Basically, just gush on this ship.

Last Year Participant: What are the first 5 things that pop to mind when you think about Jilypad?

DAY 2 - 

New to Jilypad Week: What Headcanons do you have for this ship?  IE, things like, James made the first move or Sirius got James into crosswords.  Anything really.

Last Year Participant: 

What’s your favorite type of Jilypad Story?  And if you’ve written it - link it?

DAY 3 - 

New to Jilypad Week: 

Favorite Canon/Potentially Canon moment

Last Year Participant: 

Other Fandom’s ships that make you think of Jilypad?

DAY 4 - 

New to Jilypad Week:  What type of story that you like to Read and/or Write for this ship?

Last Year Participant: 

Music that Makes you think of Jilypad (and Why)?

DAY 5 - 

New to Jilypad Week:  Favorite Tropes for this Ship?

Last Year Participant: 

 Rate your Top 5 Tropes for Jilypad using this Trope rater:

Create a Fan Fiction Tropes Tier List

Create a tier list ranking fan fiction tropes! Check out the fan fiction tropes tournament bracket on BracketFights.

TIERMAKER

  DAY 6 - 

New to JilypadWeek:  Thoughts for this Ship? (Link), but if anyone wants to contribute other questions - feel free to do so before the week starts!)

Last Year Participant: 

Random Ship questions - 

Assorted OTP Questions

What is each member’s love language? What would they describe as their perfect date? Who made the first move? Who is more sentimental? W

TUMBLR

DAY 7 - 

BOTH: Write/Draw/anything for this ship.

LASTLY, If you've done both and / or Prefer Prompts, here's a list of Prompts:

Day 1 - Getting Together

Day 2 - Someone's Birthday

Day 3 - First Kiss

Day 4 - Enemies to Lovers

Day 5 - Friends with Benefits

Day 6 - Everyone Assumes (that they're together)

Day 7 - Trapped Together

Anyone can participate just tag JilypadWeek2024

Thanks!

[cassiaratheslytherpuff]

No Other Sadness in the World Would Do

For Prongsfoot week day 7 - write anything for this ship

Warnings: MCD, canon compliant, suicidal thoughts, unrequited love On October 31st 1981, Voldemort attacked the Potters. This is what happened after.

Sirius knew, somewhere deep down, what he would find when he pulled up to James and Lily's house. He had felt it, like a knife to the chest – half his heart shrinking in on itself in terror, then going still. Quiet, far too quiet. Still, seeing large parts of the wall on the south side of the second floor missing hit him hard. Harry's bedroom. Neither James nor Lily would have allowed anyone into Harry’s room if they were still alive and breathing. And yet – he had to know for sure. The hope burned in his chest like acid because it was false. He knew it was false, and yet… it was James. Sirius didn’t think the world would keep existing if James no longer did. So maybe – somehow, he’d be alright.

The front door was ajar, and Sirius pushed it open with his foot. He didn't make it more than a step inside before he fell to his knees. James. He looked like himself, even in death. His glasses were smudged but unbroken, his brown eyes open wide and staring into nothing. His skin was pale, his mouth slightly open – as if he'd been halfway through a word when Voldemort killed him.

"No," Sirius choked out. His voice was raw, reflecting a brokenness he knew would never be repaired. He shook his head in mute denial. James couldn’t be – it wasn’t possible. James was so alive. He should never be this still. It was wrong.

Read the rest on A03 OR

Sirius gasped for air. Every cell in his body was protesting being alive in a world where James wasn't. Sirius wouldn't do it, couldn't do it. Without James he was half a person. Less than half a person, he wasn't sure he was anything at all. He didn't think he wanted to be.

Slowly, carefully, Sirius reached out a trembling hand to remove James’s glasses. He placed his hand on James’s face, which felt colder than it should be, and gently closed his eyes for the last time.

Unable to resist, Sirius placed a soft kiss on James’s slightly parted lips. His tears dripped off his nose and onto James’s cheek, and he wiped it carefully off.

"I love you," Sirius said. Minutes too late for James to hear, years too late for it to matter.

He moved James’s arms from the position that would have been uncomfortable, had he been alive, and realised in the process that James hadn't even paused to get his wand. Had just thrown himself in-between Voldemort and the people he loved most without a second thought.

A strange peace came over Sirius then, he knew what he had to do. He would find Peter, kill him, and then follow James to wherever it was he had gone. There was nothing for him in the world if there was no James. He knew it wasn't what James wanted, but James didn't understand. James didn't see how he was the centre of Sirius’s universe, and that without him Sirius was untethered. He couldn't do anything but follow.

A whimper from upstairs made Sirius jump. The soft sound quickly turned into a loud, soul-crushing scream. Harry! Harry was alive. Sirius scrambled to his feet at took the stairs three at a time, crashing into the doorframe and nearly tripping over Lily's body in his rush to get to the crib. And there was Harry. His face was covered in blood and tears as he screamed to his mum, clearly not understanding why she wasn't responding.

Harry. The gravitational force that had tied Sirius to James shifted. How could he follow James when Harry was still here? Harry needed him. He picked Harry out of his crib, feeling his world shift and settle on a singular goal; protect Harry.

The relief of finding Harry alive broke through the numbness Sirius had surrounded himself with the second he looked into James’s unseeing eyes – and for a moment he couldn’t do anything more than hold Harry tight to his chest and sob into his hair. Sirius felt lost. He had to figure out what to do. It wouldn’t be long until someone discovered what had happened. And as far as Dumbledore and Remus knew, Sirius was the secret-keeper. As far as they knew, Sirius had been the one to betray James. In a way he had. Suggesting they change to Peter had been – it was unforgivable. But Sirius couldn’t plan. Couldn’t think. Not when all he could see was James, eyes staring into nothing. Lily, crumpled on the floor.

Sirius tightened his grip on Harry and walked downstairs. He cleaned the cut on Harry’s forehead and healed it to the best of his ability. It would scar, but if Sirius’s suspicions were right, it was from a killing-curse – a scar was getting off easy. Harry fussed and cried for his mum and dad, and Sirius’s heart crumbled more with each broken sob from the boy. He held Harry in his arms and walked the length of the living room again and again, trying to soothe him. When Harry fell into a fitful sleep, Sirius didn’t know how to stop his pacing. If he stopped; he might fall apart. James was gone. Gone. He couldn’t believe it, couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact. Surely, James would open the door to the living room at any moment – demanding his son back and laughing about the terrible prank he’d pulled.

As much as Sirius couldn’t believe it, he still felt it – the aching absence. The world had gone dark the second James drew his last breath, and Sirius didn’t think it would ever regain its colour. He hated that Harry had to grow up like this, in a world of dulled colours and muffled laughter. That he would never again know his vibrant and lovely father. The man Sirius loved more than anything.

Time moved in a strange rhythm, and Harry woke as the sun started shining through the windows. Sirius hadn’t put him down, hadn’t slept – but he had, at some point during the night, sat down in the chair James always favoured. It still smelled of him, and Sirius wanted to sink into the fabric and remain there.

Harry made a noise of complaint and Sirius forced himself to look down at the child, tried to force a smile and failed miserably.

“Right,” Sirius said, surprised at the roughness of his voice. “Food.”

Sirius was feeding Harry the last spoonful of porridge when Hagrid arrived. Sirius tensed, but the man smiled through his tears upon seeing him – and Sirius knew nobody had told him who the secret-keeper was supposed to be.

“Oh, good,” Hagrid said. “He’s alright.”

Sirius nodded. He should have left when he had the chance. Should have taken Harry and run as far as they could.

Sirius nodded. Neither of them was alright, but Harry was alive.

Hagrid shook his head, fat tears dripping down his cheeks. “I can’t believe it. James and Lily…”

Sirius gritted his teeth. He couldn’t hear it. “Don’t,” he managed.

Hagrid seemed to get it, nodded.

“Dumbledore sent me to get him,” he said, nodding at the child in Sirius’s arms.

Sirius shook his head. “No.”

Hagrid blinked, clearly surprised that anyone would argue with the old Headmaster.

Sirius shook his head again. “I’m his godfather. He’s staying with me.”

“He needs to be kept safe, Dumbledore said,” Hagrid explained.

Sirius sighed. Safe from him, most likely. Dumbledore thought he’d sold out James – Remus would think so too. Sirius wasn’t sure who else thought he was the secret-keeper, but they’d spread the rumour. It would be enough. People would be coming for him, in not too long. Could he really take Harry on the run with him? Was that any kind of life?

“’s in his blood or summat,” Hagrid said. “Lily’s blood will keep him safe – he’ll be goin’ to his aunt an’ uncle to be kept safe.”

Lily’s blood – had she… she must have – how else would Harry had survived the killing curse? It was powerful magic. Lily had never spoken much of her sister, though Sirius knew they lost touch as children. Maybe – would it be better? Harry could grow up with his aunt and uncle, could live in a stable home with Lily’s protection keeping him safe. Or he could – what? Go on the run with Sirius? What kind of life was that?

Hagrid seemed to see he was hesitating. He placed a hand on Sirius’s shoulder, offering him a sad smile. “I know yeh love him,” he said. “But Dumbledore knows what’s best. Let me take him to safety.”

Sirius found himself nodding, even as everything in him screamed no. No, Harry was his. James and Lily had chosen him. But hey hadn’t known what they were signing up for, hadn’t understood how little would remain of Sirius with James gone. Who was he to raise a child? He would damage the poor kid beyond repair. He had no idea where to even start.

“Fine,” Sirius said – pulling the cloak of numbness over himself again. This was for the best. Harry would be safe – happy. And Sirius could follow James. Hopefully, James would forgive him.

Hagrid held out his arms, and Sirius eyed the pink umbrella sceptically. “How are you getting him there?”

“Well, I Apparated here,” Hagrid admitted. “Thought I could jus–,”

“No,” Sirius said, wincing at the idea of little Harry splinched by a botched Apparition with a broken wand. “My bike is outside. You can have it.”

Hagrid opened his eyes wide. “But – you love that bike.”

Sirius nodded. He’d loved a lot of things about the bike, mostly though, he’d loved sharing it with James. “I don’t have much need for it anymore. Take it – get Harry where he’s going safely.”

On the morning of November 2nd Harry was woken by Petunia Dursley's scream. Her shrill voice would wake him every day for the next ten years. After reading the letter she picked up the basket and deposited it in the cupboard underneath the stairs – this was the last time anyone ever picked him up, until Hagrid carried him from the woods 16 years later.

In the evening of November 2nd, Sirius found Peter. Mad with rage and grief he tried to duel the man he had called a friend, but the coward set off an explosion instead of facing what he had done. Sirius turned his wand on himself, but Aurors disarmed him before he could speak. They doused him with Veritaserum in lieu of a trial, and asked if he was responsible for the death of James and Lily Potter. The Veritaserum forced the only truth Sirius knew from his lips: yes, he was.

On the third of November – his birthday – Sirius screamed himself into an exhausted sleep. He would so every night for the next 12 years. The dementors never robbed him of the love he felt for James because nothing they could conjure hurt as much as loving James when he was gone.

Twelve years later, Sirius learned Harry hadn’t been better off. Learned he hadn’t been safe or happy with his aunt and uncle. He tried everything he could to make up for it, tried to look at Harry and see Harry, not James. But they were so alike, and his mind so broken – it didn’t always work.

In the end, fourteen years after James and Lily left them, after Sirius left Harry. Sirius fell through the Veil – and he was surprised. Not just by the fact he would die, but by the fear he felt at the idea. He’d felt James’s absence like a pulsating wound for years, but he would be leaving Harry again. Harry, who was his world. In the end, Sirius was gone before he could hear Harry’s broken screams – the pleading for Sirius to get up – to come back.

[lilacella]

💫Prongfoot Week 2024💫 - Day 7

@prongsfootweekarchive

I can't believe it's already the last day 😭😭 I decided to write something for today but I am currently not at my best writing-skill-wise, so I hope this feels coherent because I can't tell!!

Also, I hope you guys like run-on sentences because there are a lot of them in this bad boy 🙃

Credit to @lovelymasks for inspiring me to write this with her, also lovely, band AU! (it's wolfstar though, just fyi) - you know what this is about 😊

Anyways, enjoy Prongsfoot cuddling on a band bus!

T, 1611 words (ao3)

Sleepless

Sirius can't sleep.

Not because he isn't tired enough, the last gig has him bloody exhausted.

Not because the small bunk in the band bus is too uncomfortable, he's used to it.

Not because it's cold, because Peter fucked around a little too much with the AC yesterday and now it's broken and slowly turning their bus into a cooling chamber, Sirius prefers to sleep cold.

Not even because of Remus' obnoxious snoring - really how can such a noodly man produce sounds like that? Maybe he should be the one doing the growling in their songs! - after years of sharing a tight space with these fuckers he almost misses it when it's gone.

No. It is because their bloody vocalist cannot fucking stop tossing and turning in the bed below him and the constant vibrations are driving him mental.

After hours of this, Sirius decides that enough is enough. He leans over the edge of his bunk and pulls back the curtain hiding the offender.

"Knock it off, Prongsie, will you? I can't bloody sleep if you keep rotating like a fucking rotisserie chicken!"

Another rumble, then James Potter - singer of the legendary subversive metal band "The Marauders" - pops his touseled head out and puffy, hazel eyes blink up miserably at Sirius - making his annoyance turn into affection in the aforementioned blink of those eyes.

"Sorry Pads, but I'm freezing. That bloody AC is blowing right onto my bed."

Sirius sighs.

He can never be mad at James for long anyways. His current record stands at three consecutive hours after James had had the audacity to solve all the crosswords in the newspaper without him when he knows Sirius needs these to wake up in the morning! He had been very grumpy that day but James had made it up by buying him a stack of local newspapers from the country they were touring in, which added an additional linguistical challenge. And Sirius appreciates a challenge.

James does actually look cold. He is already wearing a thick hoodie, the hood halfway pulled over his messy head of hair, his arms wrapped around himself.

How could anyone be mad at that sight?

"Fine then, come up here." Sirius pats the scarce space next to him.

James doesn't hesitate to take him up on the offer for a second and a moment later he is shuffling into Sirius' bunk, squishing him back into the wall of the bus.

Sirius pulls the duvet over his miserable best friend and wraps an arm around his waist. It's for security reasons. James could fall out!

He can feel how much he is shivering now and it does concern him a little. James is usually a fucking radiator, something years of - very platonic - bed-sharing in boarding school have taught Sirius.

"Shit, you are actually cold, mate. Are you alright?," he asks quietly, with genuine concern. They have a gig tomorrow and if James gets sick... that would be a desaster!

"Fucking told you," James mutters and buries his icy face in the crook of Sirius' neck.

He resists the impusle to push him off on impact, because fucking hell this may be cold but it feels way too good.

They don't often get to be close like this anymore. Well, technically they get way closer on the regular, when they exchange sloppy kisses in the middle of a show - all just for fun and entertainment of course! You gotta earn your reputation somehow!

But sometimes Sirius finds himself missing how they were in school. Always joined at the hip, used to sharing the smallest of spaces just to be together. The casual intimacy that had filled him with a level of buzzing contentment and happiness he hasn't been able to find anywhere else. Neither with the groupies he occasionally takes backstage and never does anything more than snogging with, because it doesn't feel right. Nor with any of the drugs and alcohol that naturally sneak their way into the life of most successful musicians.

With James it was different. It was real.

Sirius' heart flutters like it used to when he feels the familiar hot breath on his skin and he can't resist the urge to pull James just a little closer.

James responds with a content sigh that vibrates against Sirius' neck.

"Better?," Sirius asks. His mouth feels a bit dry all of a sudden.

"Better," James murmurs and wraps his own arms around Sirius so they're entirely pressed together now.

Sirius tries not to hold his breath. Damn it why is this making him so fucking nervous? It's just James! They've done this a hundred times before!

Then you didn't know what it feels like to kiss him.

Sirius shakes his head to drive away the thought. Where did that come from?!

James lifts his head.

"What's wrong?"

"Huh?"

"Shook your head."

"Oh. Nothing. Just a weird thought."

James frowns and watches him intently. Sirius knows he can't actually see anything without his glasses but he still feels like James is staring into his soul.

Obnoxious, really. He can't help but smile.

"I'm fine, Prongs. I swear."

James doesn't seem convinced and props himself up a little on his arm.

"Are you sure? Are you stressed about tomorrow?"

Sirius waves him off. "Why would I be scared of tomorrow? It's just Gelsenkirchen, how bad can it be?"

James shrugs sleepily and sinks back into the pillow. Back next to Sirius, so that their noses are almost touching.

"You just seem a little tense."

"Probably because someone didn't let me sleep," Sirius says, but there is no sharpness in his tone. James is way too close and it makes his heart race.

Kiss him.

He squeezes his eyes shut tightly. This is ridiculous! Where is this even coming from?

Sirius' eyes fly open again, when cold fingers touch his cheek, brushing a stray strand of hair behind his ear.

"You did it again. What's wrong? Tell me?"

The gentle concern in James' quiet voice almost makes Sirius choke. It always does. But this time, their closeness adds to the fluttering feeling in his chest.

"I'm just having weird thoughts," he gives in. "But I'm fine. Just sleep."

"What thoughts?"

James' hand is resting in Sirius neck, drawing tender circles behind his ear.

Sirius scoffs and evades his eyes. "None of your buisness."

James' fingers wander onto the back of his head, gently massaging his scalp. "Is it because of the interview? I know the tabloids are rats. But who cares what they think?"

Right. Sirius had blissfuly forgotten about that. The interview with reporters from 'Bild', a German newspaper known for spreading misleading gossip. The last time The Marauders had spoken to them, they had turned it into a whole story about James and him being a couple, twisting their words like play doh. Sirius had been furious! Yes, they were kissing on stage and shared a flat in London (it was more convenient that way!) and maybe they had said "spending time with each other" when asked for their favorite part of touring, and maybe Sirius had written most of their more emotional songs about James - but that didn't mean anything! It was all platonic. Brotherly, basically!

You know it isn't.

Sirius swallows hard and tries to ignore how close James' lips are to his own.

"I'm not exactly looking forward to it," he states matter of factly and makes the mistake to look into James' eyes again.

Maybe a kiss would be nice...

No! What the fuck, this is absurd! He doesn't... Fuck. James cannot find out. He would be weirded out for sure! The kissing is solely part of the show. James would never want to do that in private.

"Do you want to snog a little?"

Sirius stares at him for a second. "What?"

James' eyes flicker down. "I don't know, I was just... I just thought... It may warm me up. And take your mind of your 'weird thoughts'..."

What are they doing here?

"Okay. Sure."

James' eyes meet his again. For the first time Sirius doesn't know what the look in them means.

The kiss is different to what they do onstage. Less tounge, unhurried, tender. Sirius thinks he is suffocating on his feelings but he doesn't care. If this is how he dies then so be it.

His hand moves up into James' hair. James' shuffles so he is slightly on top of him. A choked sigh frees itself from Sirius' tight chest and escapes his lips.

This is real too, he thinks and this time he doesn't try to discard the thought.

When James pulls back he stays close, hovering over his face, lips wet, pupils dilated, eyes locked with Sirius'.

"James..."

James swallows. "Padfoot..."

"I think..."

James nods. "Yeah. Me too."

A smile creeps onto Sirius' face that he has now idea how to stop. Maybe it's pointless to try.

James matches it and brushes his nose against his. "Let's not tell the tabloids though."

Sirius nods. "None of their buisness."

They exchange another kiss, breathing in eachother's scent, their tounges dancing idly around eachother in between their lips. James is playing with Sirius' earrings and Sirius keeps wrapping the short strands of James' thick hair around his finger.

Sirius never wants it to stop but finally sleep is catching up on them and James' head sinks down onto his chest.

"Let's save the rest for tomorrow," he murmurs drowsily.

Sirius buries his face in his hair and pulls him close. "Are you warm now?"

But James is already gone, joining in on Remus' snoring - though considerably more quiet.

Sirius can't sleep.

He cannot wait for tomorrow.

[nyaightlight]

Prongsfoot Week 2024

Day 7 - Write/Draw/anything for this ship

Rated T, 846 words

James is in search of a spouse, and the perfect candidate has just arrived

Fic under the cut, or you can read on AO3

James would rather he not be here, in Malfoy Manor, on display as a prospective match for some sorry sod who hadn’t bagged a marriage yet.

The only things buffering him from an onslaught of slimy suitors were his friends, posing as his menservants. Remus, who was only of average height and terribly lanky, and Peter, who was the equivalent size of a mouse, were hardly bodyguard material, but James had to make do with what he had.

“Can’t you just speak to one? At least?” Remus had grown increasingly pale over the night, but James can’t fathom why. He’s not the one under scrutiny or under the pressure of a forced match.

James’ parents would never sell him off, but they were starting to threaten him with blind dates. To, as they said, ‘expand his horizons.’

James would rather his horizon stay exactly where it is, thank you very much, but he knew his parents meant well. And if he didn’t make a name for himself soon, high society would be only too eager to judge the Potters even more harshly.

Still, that didn’t mean he was going to roll over and accept the first offer thrown his way.

“No. Now both of you stay close to me. I’m trying to make it through the night without any weirdos talking to me.”

Remus makes a noise James would compare to that of a dying whale, but he doesn’t offer a rebuttal, so it’s James’ win.

They stick to their corner of the room for a good amount of time, until Mulciber, who’d been eyeing James since he arrived, finally gets off his ass and looks like he’ll start heading over.

James doesn’t want to talk to the guy, and starts looking for something to use if he needs to beat him back, when the main entrance swings open, and everyone in the room goes silent.

A man strides in, handsome and wearing the most expensive suit James is sure he’s ever seen. His eyes survey the room, and James swears they’ve landed on him when he says, “Don’t stop on my account, now.”

The Lord and Lady of the house flitter over to the new arrival’s side, and though conversation resumes, it’s plain to see that everyone keeps glancing their way.

“Who is that?”

“How should we know?” Peter scoffs. “You’re our source of gossip.”

“You also have other things to worry about,” Remus tilts his head towards James’ other side, and James follows the motion.

Mulicber is walking their way.

Fuck.

“Potter,” the man calls out. James cringes.

Before Mulciber can get too close, broad shoulders block James’ view.

“Thank you for providing me with a name,” the mystery guest nods at Mulciber.

Up close he’s even more beautiful than James had thought. His eyes are a bright silver, and dark hair falls in artful waves down to just above his shoulders, past a jawline that could cut glass.

“Potter?” he turns his shimmering eyes to James, and then moves into a deep bow. “I’m Sirius Black. It’s lovely to meet you.”

James bows in return. “James Potter, sir. Likewise.”

Once he’s upright again, James watches as Mulciber spins on his heel and sulks off to a different group of guests. Thank the heavens.

James is feeling quite bold when he says, “You’ve saved me, sir. That cow Mulciber has been trying to entice me all night by winking every other second. Pity for him, but it only made him look like he had a bad twitch.”

Sirius laughs. “Oh, dear. Like this?”

The way Sirius winks is nothing at all like Mulciber’s. It’s flawless, and paired with the debonair grin that hasn’t left Sirius’ lips once, it sends butterflies aflight in James’ stomach (and decidedly lower as well).

“You put Mulciber to shame, sir.”

Sirius’ canines glint in the chandelier light. “I should hope so.”

James hears Peter start choking on something behind him, which reminds him that his friends are still with him.

“Ah,” James twirls around and waves a hand to catch their attention. As soon as Remus is finished whacking Peter on the back, James tells them, “You both may continue enjoying the hors d'oeuvres. Mister Black is keeping me plenty of company.”

“Bu-” Remus starts.

James turns back to Sirius. “Would you like to fill up my dance card, sir?”

Sirius offers his arm immediately. “I’d be delighted to.”

James’ feet will be sore tomorrow, but it’s all worth it.

He and Sirius danced until even the musicians had to leave, and now they’re alone in the foyer.

They are alone, so nobody sees this. Nobody sees Sirius Black open James Potter’s mouth with a kiss, and press a goodbye against his tongue.

This moment is just for them, and James is giddy at the thought. He’ll think of this night until he can see Sirius again, and even then he’ll remember it. This is only the beginning of their story, after all. James wants wedding bells in their future.

(He doesn’t know this, but Sirius wants them too.)

[emsuemsu]

Tag game

Thank you for the tag @mycupofrum 💕💕 it's always a beautiful day to talk about oneself and also as the curious girlie I am to read about other people!!!

Fave colour: black baby

Last song: according to my spotify history my last played song was on Thursday and it was Stars Are Blind by Paris Hilton. That is the only song I listened to that day. It is a banger

Last film: we went to see First Omen a few weeks ago with my friend, absolutely shooketh from it, it was only us and a couple in the last row and they shushed us at one point. Never in my life have I felt more like a teenager in my LIFE. It was mortifying. I’m so embarrassed. We weren’t that loud though, just scared of the movie??? It was a good movie, enjoyed it, next Tuesday we’re going to see Immaculate, this spring is giving antichrist apparently

Currently reading: I have a few fics I’m in the middle of reading (one of them is A Violet Kind of Spin by @cassiaratheslytherpuff which I’m DYING to get back to!!!! jfc it’s so good!!!!! I feel so bad for taking such a long break from it but not a day goes by that I don’t think about it 🥹) and one book (Swimming in the Dark by Tomasz Jedrowski) but my reading vibes have been off for a good few months now!! I’ve read some shorter fics and listened to some podfics but reading in general feels super hard right now. I can’t wait for my summer vacation, maybe I’ll have some peace of mind and will be able to slam some words down. My tbr list is diabolical.

Currently watching: I’m going to be boring and say that I’m still on my Grey’s Anatomy grind. I’m on season 9 episode 10, 10 seasons to go. I’ve been watching s20 as it’s airing right now but it’s just not… it. This show should be taken off life support already 💔

Currently craving: a cigarette, uv index of 7, the beach and a crispy coke zero 😩

Coffee or tea: coffee, I never drink tea

Three ships: Drarry, first and foremost 🙂‍↕️ drarry has caused my brain to rot for almost two decades now and god knows when it’ll stop. I’ve been on and off the fandom, mostly off, but drarry is just a part of my goddamn DNA at this point it’s ridiculous. Next idk man. I have to say it’s a duel between prongsfoot and jegulus, your honor I love them both. Jegulus is a new acquaintance and like I don’t even know if it makes any sense at all (like where did this ship came from???) but jfc I am sat, I am folded I am silenced. But prongsfoot is the love of my life out of these two, I know for a fact that one of the first fics I ever read at the ripe age of 10 or 11-ish was Sirius/James and ever since that they’ve been in my heart, in my soul and in my mind non-stop. Prongsfoot is such a niche ship and I can’t believe it’s not more popular!!! Like they’re soulmates honestly. Funny enough I haven’t read that much of prongsfoot fics, always up for recs 👀👀 I know that was three ships already but I have to mention Kingsley/Charlie and it’s all because of @squintclover and their recent little microfics that just SLAP so hard I’m bruised black. I’m beyond obsessed.

First ship: I mean it was drarry. The one and only.

Currently working on: getting my goddamn ass off the couch and start to clean and do laundry 🥹 I have a few school deadlines as well but that does not spark joy so whatever

Thank you for coming to my ted talk once again!!! I’m tagging @valoale @cassiaratheslytherpuff @lemonlimelea @soliblomst @kk1smet @lucifergraced no pressure spill the tea if feeling like it!! 😌

[siriuslyasorceress]

Prongsfoot Week 2023 - Day 7

@prongsfootweekarchive

Life has been unexpectedly busy and I missed the past few days, so here is some verly light smut as apology.

The scene is part of a flashback for the story I am working on, so it's connected to the snippet I posted a while back.

Day 7: Write/Draw/anything for this ship.

“You have been on the broom for too long,” Sirius chides as James walks into the changing room after his shower. He is wearing his boxers already, because Sirius is not entirely wrong, the insides of his legs feel sore and chaffed and the thought of them rubbing against each other without fabric in-between makes him grimace.

“No such thing,” he says lightly, because he would go back onto that broom in a heartbeat if someone asked him, all pain forgotten.

He receives an all-suffering eyeroll in response.

“Oh yeah,” Sirius says, challenge in his words and his eyes, his hand stretching out to lightly trace his fingers along the inner side of James’ thigh. A sharp hiss escapes him, it burns, but oh Merlin does it feel good to feel Sirius’ fingers like that. He bites down the inside of his cheek hard.

Sirius eyes him for a moment, elegant eyebrow raised in assessment.

“Sit down, captain,” he then says softly, eyes locked onto the red of his thighs. James feels like he is ready to die as he drops onto the bench, legs having gone too soft to support him. 

Sirius kneels down in front of him. The pose is so familiar it shoots warmth into James’ face, and he forces himself to think about a plethora of unpleasant things to keep calm. It would be wrong to show that kind of reaction, they don’t do this anymore and it feels unfair to Lily. He is grateful Sirius’ attention is fixed on the bag next to him, fishing out a tub of healing balm.

His movements are slow and deliberate as he opens the tub and sinks his fingers into it. James is so transfixed by the view, the glint of the silver rings, he can barely hold back a whimper. Then, Sirius’ steely eyes find his own before the fall onto his legs and he starts carefully rubbing circles into James’ aching thighs. This time, the dreaded groan escapes him and he hopes Sirius takes it as a sign of pain and nothing else, because this part of their story is done, even when James so much wishes it weren’t so. He closes his eyes in a sorry attempt to regain his composure.

They don’t stay closed for long, because he is weak, and he can’t miss the view Sirius is presenting, the rare submissiveness in his posture, his eyes following the movement of his hands as they rub in the cooling balm that is providing James with so much relieve and pleasure.

The desire to have Sirius’ eyes meet his own again is bigger than the voice of reason in his head. “Supernova,” he breathes out, because he just can’t help himself. The reaction to the name is immediate, Sirius’ head snaps up, pupils wide enough to hide almost all silver, and James only now see the red tint on his cheeks, previously hidden by his hair. His eyes travel to Sirius’ lips, those sinful, kissable lips. They are parted already, so ready to be kissed silly.

James’ fingers move on their own accord, colliding gently with Sirius’ chin, meaning to guide him closer, all consequences be damned. Sirius moves toward him, the familiar line of his neck stretching to meet him.

“Oi, is that you Potter?!” a familiar voice shouts from outside the changing room and Sirius jumps to his feet quicker than James’ eyes can follow. James wants to shout in frustration when he sees the guarded expression re-entering his face. He doesn’t have time to say anything before Benyi fucking Fenwick continues, “For Merlin’s sake, the Gryffindor training ended half an hour ago, you can’t overrun into the Ravenclaw training all the time. I’m opening the door and I don’t give a fuck if you are starkers.”

He follows suit to his threat and charms the door open. James crosses his arms, staring daggers at the Ravenclaw. “Honestly Potter, you-,” he notices Sirius then, and his annoyed face morphs into a grin. “Oh, not you too, Sirius! Not even your pretty face can stop my training session.” he laughs before pulling Sirius into a kiss. The kiss that was supposed to be James’.

[jmagnabo92]

Prongsfoot Week 2023 - Day 7

Day 7: Write/Draw/anything for this ship.

ONE HOT SUMMER

After Sirius goes to live with James and his parents, James struggles with wanting to be with him and feeling like Sirius would only say yes because he has no other options and nowhere to go.

A03

***

James couldn't be happier this summer since Sirius came to visit them.  He's finally safe from his family and James can spend every minute with him.  Including sharing his bed with him since he and Sirius are used to sharing everything.

         Of course, that was before James realized how hot Sirius is.  Before he started having feelings for Sirius, dreaming of naughty things he’d like to do with Sirius, and waking up hard cuddled up next to Sirius.  

         The fact is that James wanted nothing more than to ask Sirius out.  The two of them together would be like magic, but unfortunately, he felt like it wouldn’t be fair to Sirius since Sirius would probably feel some sort of obligation to be with him given that he had nowhere else to go.  Thus, James needs to keep these feelings to himself.  

         He wouldn’t want to pressure Sirius after all…

***

         Sirius doesn’t get it.  He knows that he’s attractive – all those birds that constantly ask him out are proof of that – so, why is it so hard to get James to ask him out?  Why is James suddenly so shy about who he wants to be with?  

         Sirius isn’t being cocky here, he knows that without a doubt James is attracted to him – muttering in his sleep about Sirius, waking up to a wet spot or a hard James nestled into his arse … it was obvious.  

         Given that James already knew that Sirius could fly either way, it’s not like he should be worried about Sirius not being game for getting together.  So, it brings him back to why.  Why isn’t James asking him out or making a move?  Is there something that he needs to do to get his attention?

         He could certainly think of a few things…

***

         James is sure that Sirius is trying to torture him.  It’s probably unintentional since he doesn’t know about James’ feelings, but torturing him, nonetheless.  The way he was extra affectionate, the way he was dressed in muggle shorts and nothing else, and the way he kept teasing about different blokes in their year that he could possibly date now that he’s out of his suffocating family home… all of it just had James wanting to confess – me, date me!  But no, he couldn’t, it wouldn’t be right.  

         So, instead, he suffers in silence as Sirius, practically laying on him, goes on and on about the freedom of being who is and getting to be with anyone he wants.  From the sounds of it, Sirius pretty much wants to date the entire school, and all James can think about that is that … why can’t Sirius be into him?  It would make this so much easier.  

         “You know, maybe we should talk about our summer work?”

         “You want to talk about homework?” Sirius asks, incredulously.  “We don’t even know what our O.W.L.s are yet.”

         “Oh please, like we didn’t get all Os,” James counters.  “We’re not exactly going to struggle to get into the classes of our choices.”

         Sirius shrugs.  “I suppose, but it’s summer – shouldn’t we do something more fun?”

         “Like what?”

         “Well, your parents helped me buy my motorbike, maybe we could test her out?”

         “Test her out?”

         “Yeah, like take her for a ride.”

         James shrugs.  Nothing sexy about a bike, right?  “I suppose.”

         “Great!”

***

         This was it; Sirius was sure.  A ride on the bike, pressed up against him, a romantic picnic under the stars... the perfect recipe to get James to admit his feelings.  Effie and Fleamont had been quite sure it would be exactly what James would need to get him to admit that he wants to be with Sirius.  

         It’s going to work … it has to.  

         He smiles when James comes out to join him on the bike.  

         “Ready to go?” Sirius questions.  

         “Er, how am I supposed to… get on.”

         “Just swing your leg over behind me and hold onto my middle.”

         It doesn’t seem that hard to Sirius, but James looks hesitant.  

         “What’s wrong?”

         “I – I can’t do this,” James states, before turning around and heading for the door. 

         Surprised, but always quick on his feet.  Sirius goes chasing after him.  He reaches him in seconds and grabs his hand, which James quickly takes back.  Jarred by the suddenness, Sirius asks, “What’s the matter with you?”

         “I – I can’t do this anymore, Sirius.”

         “Do what?”

         James is looking so embarrassed.  “I – it’s hard to be… close to you.”

         “Since when?”

         James opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water and just sits on the steps of their porch.  “I’ve been trying to be good, you know?  I don’t want to take advantage of you, but Merlin, you aren’t making this fancy of you any easier.”

         Sirius can’t help his confusion.  Where did taking advantage come into play?

         “Did you ever think that maybe the reason it’s been so difficult to fancy me is because you should absolutely be enjoying your fancy of me?  And you know, tell me you fancy me?”

         “I’ve wanted to, but – but it wouldn’t be right.”

         “Why not?”

         “Because you wouldn’t have anywhere to go – it would be like taking advantage of you because you can’t leave and – and would have nowhere to go if I mess this up.”

         Sirius chuckles.  “James, I would never be with you just because I have nowhere else to go and I wouldn’t have to because I know your parents wouldn’t kick me out.  We already talked about it.”

         James looks completely confused.  “What?”

         “Yeah, see, I figured you had a thing for me, and I have a thing for you so I sort of asked your parents their thoughts because I was worried that they might kick me out, and they told me that they would never do that and that they’re thrilled or would be if we got together.  They even helped me plan a date.”

         “A – a date?” James questions.  “You – wait, you – you fancy me?”

         Sirius can’t hide his laugh.  “Of course I do.  Why do you think I’ve strutting around half-naked and all over you all the time?”

         James huffs.  “So, you were torturing me?”

         “I wouldn’t call it torture.”

         “What would you call it, then?”

         “I’d call it blatantly trying to get my best mate to realize that he should ask me out because I’m hot and he knows it,” Sirius replies.  “Unfortunately, you’re very dense, therefore, James, would you like to go out with me?”

         James hums and looks him up and down.  “You just called me dense in the same sentence that you’re asking me out?”

         “Maybe.”

         Sirius gives him a grin, waiting for the inevitable yes.  

         Rather than answer verbally, James pulls him forward and gives him a kiss.  He tastes like honey and tea, and it’s absolutely delightful.  

         Unfortunately, it ends too soon.  

         James leans back and puts his forehead against Sirius’ forehead.  “I suppose I should say yes, but I kind of make you suffer a bit.”

         Sirius laughs.  “That’s as good as a yes.”

         “I suppose it is.”  James smiles.  “Now, tell me about this date you planned with my parents.”

         Sirius hums.  “Why don’t I show you instead?  It’ll be our first date.”

         “Sounds brilliant.”

         “Good.”

[soup-of-the-daisies]

Prongsfoot Week

Day 7: Write/Draw/anything for this ship.

sweeter than candy (on a stick)

Warnings: around 4k words, is NSFW (blowjobs).

Can be read on AO3 here.

James’ lips are stained red, shiny with sugar and spit—and Sirius can’t stop staring. 

It’s a wonderfully sunny though bloody cold Sunday afternoon in November and they’re doing homework in the dorms—Peter and Remus have taken to ‘Weekend Walks’ around the lake, which really means that they talk about everything and nothing while Wormy sneakily tries to get Moony to give him homework answers. It’s a solid, well-choreographed dance — Pete’s far too clever to be hard working, and Moony does have a tendency to preach about the topics that will be discussed next week — that, quite honestly, neither Sirius nor James wish to witness. And besides, for them weekends are usually reserved for the planning of assorted mischief and general tomfoolery to be executed on school days.

Usually, yes, because the Defense essay really couldn’t wait today: though Sirius was planning on doing it at breakfast tomorrow, James has taken pity on their ever-nervous Defense professor Michael Burgary and made the decision to make it easier for the bumbling buffoon. It might have something to do with the running bet all the seventh years have going on how long the bloke will last — Sirius has two Galleons on March twentieth, whilst James bet five that Burgary will make it to the end — but, of course, James will never admit that. 

“Can’t bear the thought of him having to order us to write a better one, really,” he said earlier today, grave and pitying and therefore successfully convincing Sirius to do what he wants to do, as is usually the case. “Let’s just ensure we get a good grade, and then he won’t have to talk to us as much. Poor bloke’s already so uncomfortable.”

Sirius would probably be a bit jealous of James seemingly having taken a liking to the twat if Burgary didn’t sweat so much, didn’t constantly look five seconds away from bursting into tears, and also wasn’t a practitioner of the lost art of the comb-over. He hopes he won’t have a receding hairline before turning seventy: both his grandfathers still have a full head of hair, even if grandfather Pollux’ locks were thinning the last time Sirius saw him.

Afternoon sunlight filters in through the small windows of their dorm, highlighting the auburn sheen in James’ messy black hair and the warm undertone of his brown skin. He’s sitting oddly, like he usually sits—one leg resting on the floor with the foot under his arse, and the other propped up; his crotch is in full view. The way he’s leaning over his essay is an absolutely outrageous display of subtle flexibility, and his left hand is holding the quill almost clumsily. It’s as if it’s too small for his veiny, quidditch-calloused hands. 

He’s also sucking on a lollipop, which makes matters significantly worse. 

The pale plastic sticks out of the corner of his mouth and sometimes he just sucksat it, loud and lewd, before using his tongue to shove the damned sweet to the other side of his mouth; the hard candy will click against his teeth, and then James will purse his lips, covered in the sheen of artificially dyed sugar, and suck again. It is obviously the latter that Sirius can’t help but focus on instead of his painfully unfinished Defense essay. 

The thing is, Sirius knows what burning feels like. He once fell off father’s old broom when he was ten and landed in the patch of firenettles mother grows for her own version of Pepperup; he once tripped over his own two feet and fell hands first into the crackling hearth. He knows how the heat won’t stop, knows how the blistering feels, knows how the sensitivity will remain for months even after the burn salve and the essence of dittany. Knows the sheer pain of it, that sharp tone of agony that lasts for days if left untreated. 

And somehow, for some absolutely ludicrous reason, Sirius is certain that swallowing glowing embers burns less than witnessing James Potter suckle on a fucking sweet.

James drops his quill and fingers the plastic of the lollipop absentmindedly, takes the damned thing out of his mouth with another obscene sucking noise and puckering of his red, wet, shiny lips. Then he licks it, wraps his tongue around it, and slurps it back into his mouth.

Sirius is burning. He’s burning, and his balls aren’t blue but they’re red-fucking-hot, and if he doesn’t tear his gaze away in the next second he’ll go from ‘uncomfortable but manageable’-hard to ‘Morgana’s tits this is painful’-hard. All he can think of is that fucking lollipop as his weeping dick, James’ absurd mouth around it, swollen and soaked with spit and precum, and Sirius—

James, the oblivious prat, taps the lollipop against the very bottom lip Sirius has been wanting to bite for the better part of an hour, like torturing his best mate without knowing it is helping him think. Then he sucks the candy back in his mouth, wetly and terrible and hotter than a Merlin-damned ashwinder. 

Sirius whimpers. Out loud. And instantly wants to die.

“Pads?” James asks, and Sirius scrambles to put on an oblivious expression. “You alright?” 

“Yeah,” says Sirius, lying through his teeth. James has taken the lollipop out of his mouth, again, and is tapping the bulbous candy against his bottom lip, again. “Just stuck on a sentence, you know…” 

“You’re never stuck on sentences,” James points out. He pops the lollipop back in his mouth, pushes his essay aside, and shuffles closer. “Let us see, then.” 

Sirius fashions his mouth into a scowl and glances at his parchment. He’s only written half of the duelling method of his choosing, a creative offense strategy, while James is likely already on his conclusion considering how in the zone he was while Sirius stared at him and that fucking sweet. And though it could be a bit embarrassing — Sirius has never liked lagging behind James, always needs to meet him with every step — he’s far more preoccupied with hiding his stiffy than with the abysmal state of his essay. 

James sucks absentmindedly on his lollipop as he reads the paragraph Sirius managed to write down. It’s loud, and though it should probably be a little bit gross it’s actually really hot, and Sirius has to squash down the urge to kiss him. Heat is coiling in his lower belly; he adjusts himself discreetly, suppressing the moan that follows the pressure of his hand. 

“It’s fine,” James murmurs eventually. The lollipop slips back out and he shoots Sirius a little smile that kicks Sirius’ heart into a riotous pace. “There’s no need to make it perfect right now, anyway. You can always write the final version later.” 

James never needs to write drafts, as almost every essay ends up perfect on the first try. Sirius, usually, doesn’t need to write drafts either, but he’s been a bit distracted. 

And hot under the collar. 

Just a little bit. 

“Right,” he manages, “it’ll be fine.” 

“It will,” James says brightly. He pats Sirius’ shoulder, then slides his hand to the back of Sirius’ neck and squeezes. “You’re brilliant, ‘Rius. I see many more O’s in your future.” 

Sirius makes a disparaging little noise, contemplates whether or not he should ask James to stop holding his neck because the touch is killing him, wishes desperately he were alone so he can wank himself raw to fantasies of getting sucked off by James Potter. His dick throbs. 

Sirius utters, a bit strangled: “You’re more brilliant.” 

The smile brightens. Sirius feels a sudden, absurd need to lick James’ teeth. 

“Funny,” says James, “I always say that about you.”

Sirius smiles back and James does his funny little nose-scrunching thing that he always does when he’s a little bit amused and a little bit happy. Then his hand travels upwards, up the back of Sirius’ head, and his fingers tangle with the hair Sirius has been considering growing out. 

“You still look a bit flushed,” James muses. Sirius feels the pull at his roots, knows James is twisting locks around his longer fingers like he is wont to do. It usually reduces Sirius to a puddle; now, he wants James to yank. “You sure everything’s okay? Is something bothering you?” 

Yes, Sirius thinks, gaze dropping to James’ shiny red mouth. Something is bothering me. You’re sucking on a lollipop I wish was my prick, and now I’m so horny it’s all I can think about. 

“Nah,” says Sirius. “Just, erm—a bit warm. That’s all.” 

“You can take off your shirt,” James says. He laps at the lollipop, sucks at its side for a bit. “You wear another underneath anyway. It’s not like you’ll be naked, if that’s your issue.”

“Right,” Sirius says. “Yeah.” 

James smiles at him again and puts the lollipop back in his mouth. Then, to Sirius’ grief, he takes his hand out of Sirius’ hair. 

Starts to fiddle with the buttons of Sirius’ shirt. 

“Erm—”

“You’re hot,” James says, lisping past the lollipop between his teeth and utterly oblivious to the implication behind his own damn words. “But you weren’t about to take off your shirt, so I’m doing it for you.” 

Sirius hems, high-pitched and choked. James’ fingers are warm, brushing briefly against the bare skin at the base of Sirius’ throat before travelling down and only touching cotton. The fiddling and gentle touches spark goosebumps and, to Sirius’ complete and utter horror, pebbling nipples and an increase in the throbbing of his dick. 

Eventually, James reaches the last of the buttons and Sirius is almost relieved that it’s almost over. But then one of James’ knuckles presses briefly against Sirius’ crotch, and before Sirius can even try to lock his muscles in place, his hips jerk forward. James pauses for less than a second before he releases the final button and, without asking, slides the shirt off Sirius’ shoulders. His palms brush down Sirius’ bare arms and it takes every last inch of willpower for Sirius not to start whining. 

“I see the problem,” James murmurs, voice low and smooth like molten chocolate. He’s smiling around the lollipop, closed-mouthed and small, an intrigued tilt to one corner. 

“Do you?” Sirius whispers, shaking. 

James’ smile widens, and in pops his singular dimple. If Sirius wasn’t so utterly baffled by the lack of shock and disgust coming from James he’d have genuinely entertained the notion of kissing it. 

Then a large, veiny hand lands on Sirius’ crotch, fingers slipping under the fly and playing with the pull of the zipper. His entire body tenses, trembles, and his next breath is expelled choppily. 

“What are you doing?” 

“What do you want me to be doing, Sirius?” James asks, tilting his head in faux-curiosity. He’s stillsmiling, like this isn’t weird, like this doesn’t cross any unspoken boundaries for him. “Is it still too warm?” 

Sirius is quite certain he’s gone bright red. He nods, unable to speak. 

“Words, Sirius,” James murmurs. 

They come out breathy. “Yes, it is.” 

James’ eyes darken and the button of Sirius’ trousers pops open. The zipper is slid down, and James pauses, sugar-shiny lips pursed again, rubbing the waistband of Sirius’ trousers between his thumb and pointer finger. 

“Take them off,” he says quietly, and Sirius does, scrambling to get the black wool down his arse and off his legs. 

He kicks them at the last bit, throws them aside, and turns to stare at James. James, whose gaze has apparently been caught by the erection tenting Sirius’ briefs, pupils dilated and dark eyebrows pulled together. Sirius can’t find the words he probably should say; his mind is far too busy reeling, far too busy thinking of James’ mouth and the sudden turn of events and oh fuck, this is happening—

James looks up, takes the lollipop out of his mouth, and smiles. 

“Here,” he says, and he reaches out to push the sweet against Sirius’ lips. “Take it.” 

Sirius wraps his mouth around the lollipop, ever-obedient, because there’s truly nothing he wouldn’t do if James asks nicely. It’s cherry, sickly sweet and a bit tart, bit bubblegum-esque, artificial flavouring and colouring. He sucks at it almost desperately.

Then he promptly chokes because James’ hand is on Sirius’ crotch again, pressing down, and— 

“Would you like me to suck you off?” 

Sirius closes his eyes and wonders what absolutely incredibly good thing he did to deserve something like this—his wildest dreams coming true. Tilts his hips up, so that the pressure increases. Whines. 

“Words, Sirius.” 

“Yes,” he gasps around the goddamn lollipop, blinking sluggishly and daring to take a glance at James. “Yes, yes, please, I would like that very much, I—”

James deftly shoves the briefs down until they’re caught under Sirius’ balls, tilts his head again, and grips Sirius’ prick tightly. Moves his hand up, then down. 

Sirius damn near chokes again. It’s a rough glide because of the callouses on James’ hand, dry because of the lack of lube, almost uncomfortable—but it’s the best thing he’s ever felt and his hips jerk up again. He falls back on his elbows, tilts his head to the ceiling, and moans.

James whispers something Sirius has no energy to translate. There’s a sudden wetness between James’ palm and Sirius’ prick; the next slide goes so much more smoothly, sound positively obscene. He feels the flat of James’ thumb rubbing at the head and Sirius whines, pants, collapses onto his back. 

“Oh, Sirius,” James tuts, voice low. “We’ve barely started, love.”

Heat spreads through Sirius’ veins like warmed honey, slow and viscous. His head spins a little. “Hmm.”

“Then again,” James whispers, “how much time do we have, really? Moony and Wormy can barge in at any moment. Then they’ll see us, won’t they? Maybe it’s a good thing your control is already shot—”

“James,” Sirius breathes. James has ceased to move, index finger tapping absentmindedly at a spot just below the head, and Sirius can’t fucking— “James, c’mon…”

“Or,” James continues cheekily, “you’ll burst right as they open the door. See you come all over yourself, or in my mouth, and who knows what they’ll think?” 

To his complete horror, the thought of their friends seeing him fall apart is agonisingly arousing. He can almost see the shock on their faces, the confusion, maybe the mild intrigue—Sirius’ next exhale comes out in bursts and he lifts his hips slightly, desperate for a little friction. He’s certain that the aftermath of it would be incredibly embarrassing, even if Sirius can handle the jesting, but at the moment…

Well, he might combust. 

James makes an amused little noise in the back of his throat. “Oh, you like that, don’t you?” 

He moves his hand again, lightly, slowly. Sirius keens, shivering, and briefly and dazedly muses about potentially kicking James’ thigh for being annoying. Decides against it in the end, because suddenly a gust of air floats over the head of his prick, hot and damp and delightful—

“Let’s see how long you can last,” James whispers, lips brushing over sensitive skin. 

Before Sirius can so much jerk his hips he’s being swallowed down; not particularly smooth, with James’ mouth going lower in little bursts as he adapts. If Sirius focuses — something that takes an embarrassing amount of strain to do through the thick cloud of pleasure — he can feel the pressure of shallow swallowing and skin-covered teeth, the chilliness of cooling drool beginning to pool at the base of his cock. 

James’ tongue tickles him, exploratory, teasing. Sirius stuffs his fist in his mouth, bites down on his knuckles until he’s sure that any more pressure will break his skin; the moan that rumbles out from deep inside his chest sounds muffled and muted.

Then the heat disappears.

Sirius bites back a whine, lifts his head and meets James’ eyes. He’s confused and a little bit dazed and very, very turned on and wondering, almost a bit angrily, why James has stopped.

The view that greets him almost makes up for the lack of physical stimulation. James is on his knees, toned arms easily holding him up—he’s hovering right above Sirius’ weeping prick and is grinning like the devious little shit that he is, sharp teeth and full, bruised lips, pupils dilated and irises alight with heat. 

“You shouldn’t muffle all those pretty sounds, love,” he rasps, voice hoarse and low, and Sirius’ hips jerk. “I want to hear you.” 

Sirius groans, reaches out to curl his hands around one of the feet of the bed behind him, and startles so badly when James’ hot mouth surrounds his dick again that he produces a pathetic, whiny hiccup. James hums and takes him deeper, far quicker than before, hollows his cheeks and swallows and only gags a tiny bit. Perhaps Sirius, one of another life who let his arrogance and misery guide him maybe, would’ve been offended by how little James seems to be struggling—or jealous, wondering if James did this before. 

This Sirius—the one who catalogues the shades of gold and green and brown in James Potter’s irises, who marvels at the jagged curves of James Potter’s Adam’s apple, who wishes to brush the tips of his fingers over the raised veins and tendons strung across the back of James Potter’s hands… this Sirius does not give one flying fuck, actually, because James is taking him like a Merlin-damned champ and Sirius is simply melting into a puddle, becoming one with the rug, will have to be scrubbed out of the fibres by a particularly annoyed elf later today. 

It’s to be expected, anyway. He’s been waiting, got pulled into James’ orbit a month into their first year and has stayed there ever since. Sirius admired from afar but closer than most, relished in the sound of laughter, the warmth of an arm slung over his shoulders, the feeling of a knee pressed against his own. And it wasn’t like this at first, never, just felt that urge to remain close and hold on and hiss at the threat of being ripped away, but then there were growth spurts and deepening voices and then one day James smiled crookedly, ran his long fingers through Sirius’ hair and pressed his thumb against the hinge of Sirius’ jaw, and—

The tip of James’ tongue twitches, rhythmically brushes against sensitive and thin skin. It takes a momentous amount of effort to suppress the ever-mounting need to jerk his hips up, to increase the friction or lessen it or keep it going or stop it entirely, and Sirius groans deep inside his throat, muscles already starting to tense. He could sigh, dispel some of the tension, try to relax—but he wants to whine and twitch and hold himself back just barely, keep himself on that delightfully agonising edge that he was so easily dragged towards. 

Sirius is panting and his head is reeling. He can barely register the coarse braided fibres of the rug digging into his shoulder blades and pressing against the back of his head, or the end of his abandoned quill tickling his jaw; the feeling of James’mouth around him is better than he ever imagined, absolutely nothing like his own lube-slicked palm, and he can’t think of anything butJames’ mouth and the tightening of his balls and the coiled, ever-growing knot of an incoming orgasm in his belly. It’s amazing, this, the end-result — or better yet, beginning — of years of hopeful musings and months of looks and smiles and subtle talking that Sirius interpreted as casual, meaningless flirting but prayed was true and purposeful. 

This can’t possibly be just for a laugh. And even if it was, Sirius won’t ever be able to truly think of it as such. 

James makes another one of those absolutely obscene slurping noises, one thumb stroking the sharp jut of Sirius’ hip and the other stroking the base of Sirius’ cock. There’s another finger teasing Sirius’ perineum, like James is considering doing something morethan taking a dick into his mouth, and that thought – combined with one last, slightly out-of-practice swirl of the tongue – causes Sirius to tip over the edge.

His vision whitens out and his back arches as the wave of pure pleasure crests and washes over him; it feels endless, yet somehow far too short, and if he distantly registers some sort of keening groan that must come from his own throat. His fingers and legs tingle, feel like jelly, and Sirius inhales, exhales, and allows himself to jerk a little as his cock spurts. 

A long time coming, he thinks through a haze of syrupy feeling, breath stuttering in his chest and limbs lax with that temporary exhaustion of an orgasm. He’s too limp to even snigger at his own pun, can barely lift his head to look as James swallows and licks him clean from any come that leaked. He’s been wanting this for years, and dammit if it isn’t worth the wait. Sirius wants to kiss James, wants to mould his own mouth to James’, get lost in the movement and the taste and the tiny huffing breaths that always accompany a good snog. 

But James leans back upright, and as Sirius blinks at him blearily from the floor he wipes his mouth, stuffs Sirius’ prick back inside his underwear, and hands him the trousers. When Sirius simply stares, brain still full of cotton, he pats Sirius’ thigh and nods at the garment. 

“Put them on,” he murmurs. 

Sirius forces the blood back into his limbs, always listening—stumbles upright and steps into the trousers, yanks them up and over his arse and zips them up. He’s only just closed the button and sat down again when the door handle jiggles and twists. 

As their friends appear in the doorway, James leans back over his essay whilst Sirius remains leaned back on his hands, twitchy, with the breath punched out of him. Peter breezes in with a skip in his step, jumps on his bed with a satisfied sigh; Remus remains standing in the doorway, head slightly tilted to the side and eyes a bit narrowed. 

“Merlin, Pads, you look flushed,” says Peter. He snatches several textbooks and some stray bits of parchment from his bookbag, spreads the materials out over his crimson sheets. “The last time I’ve seen you this red was when we played some Quidditch last summer.” 

“During the heatwave, you mean?” Sirius drags a hand through his hair and shrugs when Peter nods. He hopes it looks effortless and casual. “Er—yeah, I’m hot.” 

“Your vanity never fails to amaze me,” Peter shoots back. He grins and fishes a quill from his bag. “It isn’t that warm in here, though.” 

“I run at high temperatures.” 

Remus steps into their dorm slowly, eyes on a quiet James before they linger on Sirius. His nostrils flare, and his eyebrows lift, and then he stalks towards his bed. His foot collides with Sirius’ as he goes. 

The behaviour doesn’t make any sense from an outsider’s perspective. But it does here, for Moony, because — and there’s an excited twist in Sirius’ gut — he can smell it. Must be even if Peter didn’t, because Peter’s sense of smell is surprisingly human, even as a rat, but Remus is not fully human, and—

“Made any progress on the essay, lads?” Remus asks, a forced casualness to his tone. “Wormy’s been nagging me about the ideal subject matter—the lazy git.” 

“Work smarter, not harder,” says Peter loftily. He’s still grinning. “Merlin forbid I start thinking, you know. It’d be over for you lot.” 

“I’m almost finished,” James says quietly, clearing his throat when his voice breaks, and Sirius bites down on the insides of his cheeks to keep himself from smiling. “Padfoot is stuck on a sentence, though.” 

Remus’ brown eyes flick between the two of them. “I can imagine.” 

James sends their friend a grin. The combination of swollen, bruised lips and straight white teeth makes it particularly roguish—there’s an edge to it, hovering between smug and daring. His eyes are like chips of flint. 

“Gave him my lollipop to cheer him up a bit,” James says cheerily. “He’ll manage, our Pads. There’s some O’s in his future. I can taste it.” 

Peter rolls his eyes exaggeratedly with a muttered, “Merlin, don’t we know it”, but Remus’ only reaction is the slight tightening of his jaw. James tilts his head, still grinning, and holds eye-contact until Remus’ gaze flicks to his bag.

“That’s nice,” he says. “Hope it helped.”

“It will,” says Sirius. Remus looks at him, and so does James, and after sharing a conspiratorial look with the latter Sirius gives the former a fat wink. “I’ll return the favour when he needs it.”

It’s a delight to see James’ cheeks flush red from his peripheral. 

Yeah, Sirius thinks, stomach constricting pleasantly. I’ll return the favour, absolutely. 

[solitaire-sol]

Prongsfoot Week 2023 - Day 7

Write/Draw/anything for this ship.

I wanted to try writing something longer and lighter/cuter/sexier? than most of my microfics, but instead this thing showed up and I wrote it in a couple of hours. I edited it as best I could, but I wanted to post it before Prongsfoot Week officially ended (for me) so there may be some stray typos or something I didn't catch.

Title: this universe of you and me (we'll make ourselves inevitable) Wordcount: 2,644 For: @prongsfootweekarchive AO3: Link Notes: It's sort of a soulmate/canon divergence/time loop (?) AU, but it's James and Sirius and their bond being recognized by Magic Itself, which throws up Its hands and goes "Okay, let's make your mad love/codependency official." They're just First Years right now so there's nothing to warn about, but that might change as they get older.

“Some say that magic has a mind of its own, though no evidence of this theory has yet been found by even the most dedicated researchers. It is my belief that magic lacks a mind, as we might consider it; magic is not alive in the strictest sense, or even in the loosest, yet it does have a will, and the foremost instinct of that will is to seek out its own expression in the world. This is why magic forms in the improbable ways that it does, producing all forms of magical plants and beasts without interference from a wizard’s hand. Indeed, in the course of my own work on the subject, I have come to believe that this is why magic works at all: The magic within an individual, what some refer to as “magical essence” or the “magical core,” instinctively moves outward, allowing those with the ability to cast spells and otherwise work their will through the medium of magic.

“Magic perpetuates magic, as like is attracted to like, which occasionally results in the creation of alysída mystika, more colloquially known as a “magic chain” or a soul-bond. Despite the ominous sound, the alysída mystika is generally viewed as a positive effect, a spontaneous event wherein a witch or wizard will find themselves connected to another through the very essence of their magic, forming a bond closer than any that is possible without it. Alysída mystika has only formed between those of unusually powerful magic and often serves to compensate for deficiencies in both parties by making them, in many ways, one whole.

“A proper alysída mystika brings its own benefits, such as the stabilization and even enhancement of previously unstable magic, but its occurrence is such a rarity that some in the magical community still refuse to admit that it exists. Even among those who acknowledge its existence, the difficulty of studying a ‘soul bond’ is immense, both because the parties of such a bond are rarely amenable and because doing so comes dangerously close to violating the First Fundamental Law of Magic. Nonetheless, evidence of such phenomena is undeniable, and if magic can indeed be said to have a Will of its own, the alysída mystika may be the most overt demonstration of that Will in action.”

- Adalbert Waffling, Deep Magic: Magical Theory and Esoterica

This is a story that has been told a hundred, perhaps a thousand times before.

In 1971, a young boy prepares to board a train. He is slight for his age, but he hardly seems aware of it: His fine robes are as well-tailored as any adult’s formal robes would be, and he tows his trunk along with an ease made possible only by the levitation charm that allows it to float behind him like a half-inflated balloon. On the platform, he’s enveloped in his mother’s arms as she does her best to smile through her tears; his father clasps his arm, beaming down at his son, before kneeling (just a little creakily) to hug the boy, too. They look old enough to be his grandparents, elderly without being decrepit, dressed in exquisite fashion because although they will miss their precious child, their little miracle, they want this to be a celebration. It’s his first year at Hogwarts, the school where his parents found each other, and they want him to know that this is a milestone as important as any grand ceremony. Hogwarts, they’ve told him, will change his life.

James Potter detaches himself reluctantly from his mother, and hugs his father one last time before drawing himself up to whatever height he can manage and giving them what he thinks of as a confident, mature nod. He’s never been away from his parents for any real length of time and a part of him wants to cling to his mother’s skirts, to refuse to go-- James has never been denied anything, not really, and he’s sure that if he puts his foot down, his parents won’t make him leave. That would be babyish, though, and James is not a baby, so he carries himself as manfully as possible - his parents’ eyes tear up once more at how much he looks like their little boy, hair mussed and glasses recently-straightened - and steps aboard the Hogwarts Express.

On that same platform, another young boy has already said his goodbyes. His family came with him, one of the rare outings that is not to some exclusive shopping street or the estate of a similarly blue-blooded line, and neither of his parents had tried to conceal their distaste for that brief time spent among the hoi polloi. Orion Black, a rare sight anywhere besides the most exclusive clubs of wizarding London, stands like a statue and regards his eldest son with the eyes of someone whose prized racehorse is about to start down the track. Walburga Black looks as if she’ll be off to some prestigious gala, no less exclusive than her husband��s clubs, and as if she’d rather be there now, were it not for her son and Heir.

Sirius Black stands before his parents like a soldier on parade, childish features already foreshadowing his father’s sharp lines and his mother’s beauty. His black robes are perfectly tailored, every fine black hair in place, and the rich shade of emerald in the lining of his robes makes his future allegiance plain. His mother tells him that this day marks the end of his time with childish things, as if eleven is not still firmly in childhood, as if he hasn’t been disallowed from being childish for years. She gives him his orders: Meet the right people, make the right connections, establish himself as a force to be reckoned with. He is, after all, a Black. Toujours pur. Sirius’ father says nothing but nods once in support of his wife. Sirius’ brother has not been allowed to attend; young Regulus is not as talented as his elder sibling, and it would be imprudent to take him from his tutors just to see his brother off. Sirius gives them a brief but respectful nod each - Mother, Father - and boards the train. His luggage is already onboard; transporting it himself would be beneath the dignity of a Black.

Sirius finds his compartment, checks on his luggage and takes the seat by the window. There are no reservations on the Hogwarts Express, besides needing a ticket to board; it’s one of the school’s nods towards equality, though it doesn’t seem to work as well as the school might hope. Cliques form early, like finding like, but Sirius remains undisturbed as the rest of the train begins to fill up: When the door happens to slide open, he turns and fixes them with a supercilious gaze, grey eyes steadier than any child should be. The air of superiority is enough to chill even older students, those who don’t take one look at his general appearance and decide that they’d rather sit with someone a little... less. Can eleven-year-olds be truly intimidating? If they’re tall for their age, obviously wealthy and clearly secure in their semi-hostility, then the answer is yes. For the more magically-sensitive, the unseen warning is even greater, a certain coldness in the air that spikes at another’s approach. This boy does not want company.

James doesn’t care, in general, what other people want, unless those people are his parents; and since they always only want him to be happy, James has developed a certain blithe arrogance that is charming in a child, potentially less so in the man he might grow to be. James picks a compartment at random, or he thinks it’s random, though in later years he comes to wonder if it was Fate, if it was simply the Will of Magic appearing in his life as it would so many times. James is a miracle child, after all; by all accounts, he shouldn’t have been born. By the time James sets foot on the Hogwarts Express, he’s already accustomed to the idea of being meant for greater things.

James slides open the door of the compartment, fully intending to push his floating trunk into the corner and make himself at home, regardless of who might already be in there. Sirius looks up at the sound of the door, eyes already narrowing as he prepares to shoo off whoever might be intruding on his space. Hazel meets grey.

Something kindles within each boy as if there had been a glowing ember lying buried deep within them, waiting for the moment that would fan it into life.

Their futures, the ones in which they had lived without the intimate, instinctive knowledge of each other’s hearts, go up in flames. They have no words for how good it feels, will have to wait a few years before they have anything comparable to the sensation of feeling someone else’s soul slot into place alongside their own, but it may be enough to say this: Their families are forgotten, the coming school year is forgotten, everything in their lives that is not contained within that train compartment no longer exists as their magical cores unravel and weave themselves together in a new, joint pattern, returning to each with a little of the other.

Sirius thinks of molten gold, a soothing warmth where searing pain should be, spilling over the sides of his heart as it fills the fractured spaces he hadn’t even known were there.

James hears the distant rolling thunder of a twilight storm, dark clouds with a silver lining enfolding him as protectively as his father’s Cloak, silver light like silk against his skin.

James speaks first, as he so often will: “I know you,” he breathes, eyes wide behind his glasses so that he looks more owl than lion, brown and green and amber catching the sunlight through the compartment’s windows and melting into gold. He doesn’t know this boy by any conventional measure, doesn’t know his name or his life or his favourite food or how he cries, but James recognizes him in a way that supersedes such superficial things. It’s impossible to love someone without knowing them, after all, and James loves this boy more than the parents who until now have been his world.

Sirius answers, as he always will: “I’ve been waiting,” Sirius says, without quite knowing why, and his words collide with each other in his throat as it grows tight, and tears spring to his eyes before he understands that he’s crying. Sirius has never met this boy before, doesn’t know his name or his life or his family or the sounds he makes in his sleep, but Sirius knows that his life until now has been a cold and empty thing, a mausoleum dedicated to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black. This boy with the golden eyes has thrown open the doors and let in the light; Sirius is loved, and he is helpless to do anything but return that love with all the ferocity of one who has always been without.

James moves instinctively, dropping onto the seat beside the other boy and hugging him tightly, small arms reaching around Sirius’ waist because he’s a little too tall for his shoulders to be in easy reach. James has always wanted to be taller than he is, but now he feels it more than ever; he has to be taller, he reasons, to give this boy the perfect hug. He wants every part of this boy with the pale skin and the bewildered, tear-streaked face to be no more than an arms-length away, forever. “James,” he says, and then he repeats it, lifting his head a little so that his words aren’t muffled by the other boy’s robes. “I’m James.”

Sirius is already embarrassed by his sudden, inexplicable loss of control, by the way that hug makes him feel so much better than he can ever remember feeling yet makes the tears well up again until Sirius has to bite them back. Tongue firmly between his teeth, he masters himself enough to look down into those hazel eyes, to really study the boy who’s attached himself to Sirius’ side like a limpet: Having a name to put to this face, to this heart, is almost too much. James, Sirius thinks. There’s nothing remarkable about that name, especially not in comparison to the many celestial monikers that adorn Sirius’ own family tree, yet he would trade a sky full of familial constellations for this one terrestrial boy. Sirius doesn’t know it yet, but he’ll do exactly that, and it will cost him no more in hesitation than he has at this very moment.

“Sirius,” he says, and James grins whitely, rolls the name around in his mouth like a sugared almond (precocious as always, Jamie) and finds it to his taste.

“Sirius,” James echoes, his arms tightening around Sirius as best they can; the tears have ceased to slip down Sirius’ cheeks, and James wants to make sure that no others follow, ever again, except in happiness. Sometimes James’ mother cries when she’s very, very happy, and those are the only tears that his Sirius should have.

“James,” Sirius replies, head inclined in acknowledgement, a hand coming to rest on the shorter boy’s back. Sirius is not one for physical gestures and has not been raised in a family where anything but perfunctory contact is either warranted or expected, but that doesn’t matter now. The action feels natural, and James beams up at Sirius as if it was expected. Of course. This is his James, after all.

Not long after, shortly before the train is due to leave the station, a girl with red hair plaited neatly into twin braids makes her way down the corridor, poking her head into the compartments she passes and frowning slightly in disappointment when she sees that each is full. A dark-haired boy tags along behind her, slight and slightly dishevelled, lacking the air of neatness that surrounds the girl in her brand-new school robes. The girl tries the door of the next compartment, but the door only rattles a little in its frame.

“It’s locked?” she says, mildly surprised as she reflexively tries to peer through the inset window. The frosted glass reveals only coloured shadows, but the compartment hardly looks full: As far as she can tell, only one of the seats is occupied, though she can’t really say if it’s by one person or two. Her companion clears his throat in a pointed sound of impatience, and the girl shoots him a look before moving away from the door in acquiescence.

“Alright, let’s go,” the girl says decisively, continuing down the hallway, the boy trailing slightly behind her in the narrow confines of the rail car. “There’s bound to be an empty seat somewhere.” Girl and boy continue on their way, and in the train compartment, James and Sirius fail to notice them at all; even the brief rattling of the door had failed to draw their attention, the two already talking furiously, eager to share every notable thing about their individual pasts, in anticipation of their shared future.

The train chugs onward, and the story unspools itself in familiar loops and whorls, similar and yet shaped anew, picked out and rewoven like threads of magical essence. One fated meeting occurs, in a slightly different form, and another fated meeting is delayed; one domino falls in a slightly different direction, and the trajectory of the entire path is changed.

Or maybe nothing changes except the details, and every beat falls exactly where it’s fallen before. Regardless, those boys on the train sit beside each other, hands linked in a physical, unconscious imitation of their newly joined souls as if nothing else matters besides each other.

And maybe that’s true.

[goldenlionprince]

🐇 Do you write for yourself, for others, or both?

🥳 Why did you start writing fanfic?

🎬 If a movie or show were based on your fic, which fic would you choose and who would you fancast?

🎨 If someone were to make fanart of your work, what fic or scene would you hope to see?

🐇 Do you write for yourself, for others, or both?

Kind of both, I think? I write for the fun of it, to see the story in my head take shape on the paper and see where it goes (often times it takes a life of its own, especially if I have just one little idea or scene in mind and it just keeps going once I start writing) but I have a lot of fun in sharing also. I barely write anything that stays just for myself and that I don't share in one way or another.

🥳 Why did you start writing fanfic?

For the first time ever when I was still a fandom noob because it looked like a lot of fun to share stories and ideas with others and not have them just play out in my own head.

Now, getting back into writing after a long break from it, because Prongsfoot Week and now Jilypad Week kicked my ass back into actually sitting down and letting the silly little things inside my head back out into the world.

🎬 If a movie or show were based on your fic, which fic would you choose and who would you fancast?

Uff...there is a fic I will post for Day 7 of Jilypad Week that I can see as an opening to a show that could be a lot of fun.

I hate making fancasts though because no one looks just right (especially for Sirius) xD

🎨 If someone were to make fanart of your work, what fic or scene would you hope to see?

fangs and all, especially the blood drinking scene because vampire!Sirius is very dear to me and he's hot (he always is, of course) (I miiiiiight be planning a second chapter to that fic)

Thank you so much for the ask! 😊

The Ask Game is here if anyone else wants to send an ask

[prongsfootweekarchive]

Announcing Prongsfoot Week 2023

Hey All!  

I’m still into Prongsfoot and at the Prongsfoot Discord (https://discord.gg/ZnQAGEzk), we decided to have another one with the same questions for Newcomers and different questions for people who participated last year:

August 20th through 26th, 2023

DAY 1 - 

New to Prongsfoot Week: When and Why did you begin to Ship Prongsfoot?  What makes you Ship it?  Basically, just gush on this ship.

Last Year Participant: What are the first 5 things that pop to mind when you think about Prongsfoot?

DAY 2 - 

New to Prongsfoot Week: What Headcanons do you have for this ship?  IE, things like, James made the first move or Sirius got James into crosswords.  Anything really.

Last Year Participant: 

What’s your favorite type of Prongsfoot Story?  And if you’ve written it - link it?

DAY 3 - 

New to Prongsfoot Week: Favorite Canon/Potentially Canon moment - IE, something like Sirius comforting James after the DADA OWL and Lily’s reaction or (even though it’s platonic) the moment James asked Sirius to be Harry’s godfather.  

Last Year Participant: 

Other Fandom’s ships that make you think of Prongsfoot?

DAY 4 - 

New to Prongsfoot Week:  What type of story that you like to Read and/or Write for this ship?

Last Year Participant: 

Music that Makes you think of Prongsfoot (and Why)?

DAY 5 - 

New to Prongsfoot Week:  Favorite Tropes for this Ship?

Last Year Participant: 

 Rate your Top 5 Tropes for Prongsfoot using this Trope rater:

https://tiermaker.com/create/fan-fiction-tropes-302768

  DAY 6 - 

New to Prongsfoot Week:  Thoughts for this Ship? (Link), but if anyone wants to contribute other questions - feel free to do so before the week starts!)

Last Year Participant: 

Random Ship questions - 

https://www.tumblr.com/lavenderotpprompts/658745255432241152/assorted-otp-questions?source=share

DAY 7 - 

BOTH: Write/Draw/anything for this ship.

Anyone can participate just tag ProngsfootWeek2023

Thanks!

[jilypadweek]

Announcing Jilypad Week 2023

HI All!

As much as I love Prongsfoot - I also love Jilypad.  Thus, I’ve decided to create a jilypad week to celebrate my favorite threesome!  

Use the tag: Jilypadweek2023

Also, incase you want to chat - the Prongsfoot Discord has a Jilypad channel - 

https://discord.gg/ZnQAGEzk

July 16th to July 22nd, 2023

Day 1 - When and Why did you begin to Ship Jilypad?  What makes you Ship it?  Basically, just gush on this ship.

Day 2 - What Headcanons do you have for this ship?  IE, things like how they got together or what they enjoy doing together.  Anything really.

Day 3 -  Favorite Canon/Potentially Canon moment 

Day 4 - Favorite type of story that you like to Read and/or Write for this ship?

Day 5 - Favorite Tropes for this Ship?

Day 6 - Questions for this Ship? (Link to Questions for Ship I found, but if anyone wants to contribute other questions - feel free to do so before the week starts!)

Day 7 - Write/Draw/anything for this ship.

[adiha]

Prongsfoot Week 2023 - Day 7 Write/Draw/anything for this ship.

I don't have anything this year but I wanted to contribute in some way, even though I am one day late. So here is the spotify playlist of all the songs mentioned in Day 4. Please enjoy:

Thank you @jmagnabo92 for organizing this event!

@prongsfootweekarchive