Pinned
she/her - married - over 30
My AO3: MarigoldWritesThings
Currently writing:
Precious Things - a Remus Lupin Yuletide Miracle (PART ONE)
Tumblr fics:
June: or how Sirius finally sorted himself out LINK
Dunes and Waters LINK
Recommendations:
Wolfstar Collection LINK
Starchaser Collection LINK
Other HP fics (Drarry, Dramione) LINK
Anon: open
Send me your asks, recommendations, or what you’d like me to write :)
2. Behave
The dog’s person holds a leash. He smells of comfort and of home and of the darkest parts of a forest.
“Behave,” he says. The dog gets over excited. Over cautious. Snaps its teeth at strange-too close-unknown.
“Behave,” the dog’s person says at the House. The House was never home but it’s something else entirely now. There are people, each room occupied. A woman with a brood of children, a muggleborn with her nose stuck in some book. The stag’s son.
The dog can’t see green but it knows, somewhere in the human parts of its hindbrain, that the stag’s son has eyes like the summer’s grass.
“Come on, Padfoot,” says the stag’s son, beckoning the dog to the garden, “let’s get you out for a minute.”
Like his father, that one, but more like his mother. Sees the dog’s limits. Doesn’t push to cross them. Endless caring. A new kind of love.
A hand pets through the dog’s fur. Fingers gently untangling where it’s not been kept well.
“I’ll miss you,” the stag’s son says. “It’s not fair.”
The dog puts his head down onto a bony knee. Too thin. Always too thin after summers.
They go to the train station, the dog allowed under conditions. “Behave,” the dog’s person says.
The dog gets over excited. Chases pigeons. (The stag’s son laughs.) Chases the train. (The stag’s son leaves.)
“Behave,” Remus says when they get back to Grimmauld Place, when Sirius gets an ancient bottle of firewhiskey out of the cellar and forgoes the tumbler.
“Or what,” Sirius snaps back, over-protective of his soft spots. “Molly is gone. The kids are gone. Harry is gone. There’s no one here to pretend for any more.”
“I’m here,” Remus says. It’s quiet and hurt and small.
Sirius has always been good at hurting those he wants to protect.
“I know,” he answers just as quietly. “I’m sorry.”
But he doesn’t put the bottle away.
Later, he lays himself out on the chaise lounge in the drawing room. The shadows move across the ceiling. The ceiling spins and tilts and he watches, half sick half transfixed. Once upon a time, he got a nasty hex for laying like this: legs on the embroidered cushions, head half off the armrest.
It’s strange, remembering it now. Sirius knows he’s in his thirties but still thinks he’s twenty and here, now, in this house, feels fifteen again.
You promised me that all your endings would be happy. How can that ending be happy if we know how it ends?
Have faith in me! I did promise ❤️
Guys it’s another one! This time it’s all about the grownups.. almost all
Also.. what is Tom doing here?
2. Behave
The dog’s person holds a leash. He smells of comfort and of home and of the darkest parts of a forest.
“Behave,” he says. The dog gets over excited. Over cautious. Snaps its teeth at strange-too close-unknown.
“Behave,” the dog’s person says at the House. The House was never home but it’s something else entirely now. There are people, each room occupied. A woman with a brood of children, a muggleborn with her nose stuck in some book. The stag’s son.
The dog can’t see green but it knows, somewhere in the human parts of its hindbrain, that the stag’s son has eyes like the summer’s grass.
“Come on, Padfoot,” says the stag’s son, beckoning the dog to the garden, “let’s get you out for a minute.”
Like his father, that one, but more like his mother. Sees the dog’s limits. Doesn’t push to cross them. Endless caring. A new kind of love.
A hand pets through the dog’s fur. Fingers gently untangling where it’s not been kept well.
“I’ll miss you,” the stag’s son says. “It’s not fair.”
The dog puts his head down onto a bony knee. Too thin. Always too thin after summers.
They go to the train station, the dog allowed under conditions. “Behave,” the dog’s person says.
The dog gets over excited. Chases pigeons. (The stag’s son laughs.) Chases the train. (The stag’s son leaves.)
“Behave,” Remus says when they get back to Grimmauld Place, when Sirius gets an ancient bottle of firewhiskey out of the cellar and forgoes the tumbler.
“Or what,” Sirius snaps back, over-protective of his soft spots. “Molly is gone. The kids are gone. Harry is gone. There’s no one here to pretend for any more.”
“I’m here,” Remus says. It’s quiet and hurt and small.
Sirius has always been good at hurting those he wants to protect.
“I know,” he answers just as quietly. “I’m sorry.”
But he doesn’t put the bottle away.
Later, he lays himself out on the chaise lounge in the drawing room. The shadows move across the ceiling. The ceiling spins and tilts and he watches, half sick half transfixed. Once upon a time, he got a nasty hex for laying like this: legs on the embroidered cushions, head half off the armrest.
It’s strange, remembering it now. Sirius knows he’s in his thirties but still thinks he’s twenty and here, now, in this house, feels fifteen again.
The dog doesn’t dream the way the human does.
The colours are different. The red is gone completely, the yellow stronger and brighter - a sun, a blaze. The nuance of thoughts and feelings replaced with the most straightforward: you, the dog thinks. My person.
The dog used to know a wolf. The dog used to know a stag. The dog used to know a…
(The human mind is strong enough to erase the last part. The dog remembers comradery and love, but the human knows those were a trick.)
The dog wakes up and for a moment it’s still locked within stone walls high above the sea. It wails before reality can catch up. The stag is gone, the dog knows, and the wolf is out there somewhere, alone and lonely. There’s nothing but the cell. Nothing left but the cell. Nothing, nothing…
And then: the smell, a waking reminder. A hand on the scruff of the neck. It’s ok, the voice says, you’re out. You got yourself out.
The very first face the dog has ever seen, and here it is again. Older, and more scarred, and more tired, but the same. The eyes still say: you’re safe with me, and I’m safe with you. The lines around them say: the stag is gone. His son is here but a danger lurks above him. The dog knows those lines and knows the same cross the sallow of his own face, when it’s human.
The hand pulls him down to the bed. Comfort and warmth. The dog changes into a man.
“Bad dream?” Remus asks.
And Sirius doesn’t say always, although it would be true. “Better now,” he says instead. His voice hollow, like a bark.
*****
I’ve wanted to explore the animagi side of the marauders more, and what a lovely chance this is with it being animagi week :):):) apparently we’re making Sirius suffer with some post-Azkaban angst.
enjoy!
@hoje--aqui since you said you wanted to be tagged ❤️
Hi, Sirius grew up basically the same as Draco in the sense of being pureblood kid from an affluent family and with shitty opinions, right? And maybe his taste in fashion stayed even after he ran away or spent a decade in Azkaban?
(i want to see Sirius in fancy wizarding clothes, that's it, pretty please)
Haha, okay, here you go! Maybe this is what he wore to Bill and Fleur’s wedding in the AU in which he lived 😅
haven’t been active so here’s some Remus from my sketchbook
@annaliza999 not just us on the Remus is The Cure fan bandwagon :):):))
Service tag: @polaroidcats @caslyra @nocturnal-phantoms-fandoms @starstruck4moony @goldenlionprince @lovelymasks @marigold-hills @annaliza999 @a-sunset-outside-my-window
(If I forgot anyone or you wish to join in on the tag service you can just leave me a comment on this post and I'll add you next time!😊)
After some discussion Sirius ends up moving back in with Remus, who finds himself between a rock and a hard place [pun intended], while he is fighting his conscience ("He thinks he's sixteen! Which basically means that he thinks like a sixteen year old! It would be like hooking up with one of my students!!") and the rest of him ("Oh god why is he so hot? Is he doing that on purpose? I want to kiss him so badly... And I could...").
Next to that sexual turmoil Sirius is starting to ask questions. Questions that Remus doesn't know how to answer.
"How did we meet?"
"So, what have I been up to for the past seventeen years? What's my job? Did I go to uni like I planned?"
"What do my parents think about me dating guys? Do I still talk to them?"
"No. You do not." That's something Remus can answer. Though he certainly holds back a lot of the truth when he does.
James is no big help either. He is stressing out about having to lie to Sirius and also about the fact that he is basically now helping to hide a wanted fugitive - that probably also needs medical assistance, Lily made that pretty clear. But what can he do? What can they do? None of them has the heart to really tell Sirius the truth.
But the longer Sirius lives with Remus - in his guestroom, thank you! -, the more questions Remus refuses to answer and the more Remus forces himself to reject his avances, the more restless Sirius grows. Restless and withdrawn. Like he can feel that James and Remus are lying to him.
"You're treating me like a child."
"Well, technically, you are - "
"Fuck off!"
James and Remus look after Sirius as he stomps into the guest room and slams the door.
"You know, he really is old enough...," James argues.
Remus raises his brows and points at the just slammed door behind which Sirius is now playing loud nu metal.
He sighs and rubs his temples. "That album. You know where he got it from?"
James shakes his head.
"He nicked it at the shop when I went to get him a new phone. Only realised when we got back home."
"Why didn't you make him take it back?"
Remus' brows raise even higher and he points at the door again, with more emphasis.
James presses his lips into a line. "I think we need to tell him. No matter how old we think he is, he deserves not to be lied to. I think... I think he can handle it."
"What if he can't? What if he runs away again? I don't want to lose him another time James."
James looks at him with a grave face. "I know," he says. "But, Remus, we're loosing him right now. If we tell him, maybe we he'll start to remember."
Remus buries his face in his hands, but then, slowly, nods.
They approach Sirius' door with caution. It is agreed without any words that James will do the talking. They still seem to just get each other and Remus has lately been feeling like he just says all the wrong things anyways.
So they knock and eventually enter, Remus is ready to just stand back as James explains everything. But the room is empty. The window is open, on the bed there's a letter:
"I'll go find out myself."
The madness continues! 😍
Noooo the cliffhanger how could you. Not again 😭
This is so good thank you for tagging me
Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin Characters: Sirius Black, Remus Lupin Additional Tags: First Wizarding War with Voldemort (Harry Potter), Fuck Or Die, Mating Rituals, Werewolf Mates, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Mildly Dubious Consent, just because of the ritual influence, they discuss it beforehand, Love Confessions, Idiots in Love, Friends to Lovers, Multiple Orgasms, Unrealistic Sex, Mating Bites Summary:
“Talk to me, Remus,” he pleads, raking his fingers through Remus’s sweat-soaked curls. “What’s going on?”
“Ritual,” Remus chokes out, “a werewolf coming-of-age…”
“Ritual?” Sirius repeats, hoping he misheard but knowing he didn’t. He’s had plenty of experience with deciphering Remus’s words in various states of coherence. “You did a ritual with them?”
“I didn’t-” Remus whines, arms engulfing Sirius tightly. “I didn’t know this would happen…”
Emergency reading!!! I need to read this ASAP! Let’s cancel Saturday!
This ☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️
the thing is my partner is genuinely impressed with all the fandom stuff. he isn't into fandom really but he's so supportive and thinks it's so cool.
this is great. however, he doesn't quite get that not everyone thinks it's cool.
so when we're at a function and i'm being the cool and mysterious guy in the corner (non-verbal and drinking my drink with two hands because social interaction continues to evade me) he'll go "rob's really into the marauders 😁 rob 😄☝🏻 rob, tell them about the wizards ☺️"
and then i have to. to tell them about The Wizards.
This made me cackle (also same for my husband. He told his mum “marigold had a friend over! She met her on the internet! They talk about the marauders!”)
Yes @tealeavesandtrash my mother in law has been informed about you
For his birthday padfoot is giving out little kisses to his friends
The first time Teddy asks for help it goes like this:
They, Remus and Teddy, are sitting in the corner of the living room where all the toys are. Where they’re supposed to be, anyway: Remus has long given up trying to keep the chaos confined, and there are little dinosaurs and building blocks and empty plastic bottles (because Teddy obsesses over them) all over the cottage now.
Teddy asks by not asking at all. At fourteen months he still only has some words. Dada and Pada and bee-wee for blueberries. Kee for the cat. Up for when he wants to be held.
Teddy has a little toy radio that plays an assortment of piano arrangements. He loves that thing. Carries it with him into the little tent in the corner of the room Sirius had built for him, to bed, to the bath. Where Teddy goes the radio goes. Remus hears the music in his sleep.
And then, suddenly, the music stops. Teddy, in his excitement, threw the radio on the floor and there’s a sad little tune Remus had never heard it play before, and then silence.
Little hands, uncoordinated, pick the radio up. Turn it around and shake it. Nothing happens. Big brown eyes, so much like Remus’ own, look up at him and Teddy pushes the radio into his hands. There isn’t a word but the meaning is clear: fix it, dada.
It’s easy. Remus turns it off and then back on again, and whatever mechanism short circuited sorts itself out. Teddy is happy again, doesn’t think for a moment that what he did is monumental.
Because Remus wonders. He wonders a lot. What am I teaching him of my own shortcomings, he asks himself as he cuddles Teddy to sleep. Which of my issues will he pick up and emulate, he thinks when Teddy throws away yesterday’s-favourite food as today’s-unwanted.
But Teddy asks for help. And Remus thinks this, at least, I can teach you right.
