Although not going by the term "asexual" yet, asexuality was spoken about alongside homosexuality as far back as the 1890s. Asexual history is just as vital to queer history as any other term and I'm so tired of watching us being treated like a new thing
Remus Lupin was good at many, many things. However, he prided himself at knowing far too much about Sirius Black. It came from years of obsessing over the other boy, of staring after him like a prat, wishing for something he’d thought he would never have. It was mortifying, yeah, to look back and remember how down bad he’d always been, but now that he was actually dating Sirius, Remus at least had the advantage of knowing his boyfriend better than almost anyone.
So he noticed right away when Sirius showed up to breakfast one morning with all new jewelry.
The shorter boy’s style was a signature thing–something that most people, not just Remus, had witnessed for years and could speak about. Layers of necklaces and rings, piercings in his ears and a wish for one in his bellybutton. But Remus knew that all of those pieces of metal had always been silver in color.
Which was why it was such a shock to see him wearing all gold today.
“What’s up, Moons?” Sirius asked innocently as he joined them for breakfast, eyes wide.
Truthfully, Remus wasn’t sure he liked it, but he wasn’t about to say that.
Thankfully, James Potter was not so tactful. “You look like a prat,” he said through a mouthful of toast. “All that gold shit. Why’d you change all your necklaces and stuff? Silver looks way better on you.”
Trust James to say what everyone else was thinking.
Sirius, turning a bit pink, just shot James a look. “Fuck you, Prongs, you look like a prat. I did it because of our Defense lesson on Friday. Didn’t you hear what the Professor said?”
“Since when d’you listen in class?” Peter asked, shocked, and Remus had to agree.
Sirius flipped him off. “Since we’re learning about werewolves,” he said in a murmur, looking around to make sure nobody overheard. “Don’t you guys think that’s a bit important?”
“Mmm. I’ve always wanted to meet one,” Remus said sarcastically, rolling his eyes and sipping his juice.
“I just mean–s’good to know, right? Practical,” the shorter boy shrugged. “And on Friday, the Professor mentioned silver can…y’know…irritate werewolves. So I…” he gestured to his body, to the new accessories.
Remus might have cried. “You…changed all of that for me?” he whispered, dumbfounded, wanting to pull Sirius into a kiss in the middle of the Great Hall.
Meanwhile, James snorted. “Sirius, our professor is shit! That’s probably not even true! Is it true, Moony?” he demanded, turning to Remus, who was too busy blushing and tearing up.
“Erm,” he swallowed. “It’s not, actually. But Sirius, the fact that you were willing to change–”
“Oh, thank Merlin!” Sirius exclaimed, pulling out his wand and moving to transfigure his accessories back. “I hate gold on me.”
Remus grinned even wider, completely enamored by the boy next to him. Leaning into Sirius’s side and murmuring into his ear, he said, “I love you so fucking much, Pads.”
“You’d better,” Sirius grinned, winking towards him. “I was willing to give up silver for you!”
evan is a detective at the police department investigating the case of a brunette, insane male, grey-eyed bartemius crouch jr aka barty who keeps murdering people with the same alias, a rose drawn in their victims blood
and
barty is the batshit crazy murderer who couldnt get over his first love, evan rosier, and after getting the news that he became a detective he started murdering people and drawing a rose with their blood only for the blonde’s attention
lily arguing with someone but sadly she doesn’t look menacing at all because she's sitting in the lap of her golden retriever boyfriend who has circled his big arms around her waist and buried his face in her neck to breathe her in
regulus who once got attacked by a dog when he was a kid and has been pretty scared of them ever since.
and sirius, seeing his animagus form for the first time and crying because he is going to scare his little brother.
just the idea of regulus always seeing this black dog somewhere around him, feeling his breath catch a bit on his throat and his hands tremble. but the dog always stays away, never one to get close, or make a noise. sometimes he even leaves with his tail between his legs.
it's such a tragedy, how bad sirius wants to get closer to his brother, and knowing he will never be allowed.
And penguins lack large terrestrial predators, so their reaction to humans tends to be, “HELLO STRANGE GIANT PENGUINS, WHAT ARE YOU DOING? DO YOU HAVE ANY FISH?”
There is an international treaty that says we’re supposed to stay 6m away from penguins, and it’s really difficult because no one told the penguins, and they all desperately want to wander up and say hi.
It was, according to literally everyone in his life, his most defining trait.
Regulus said it with the exhausted fondness of someone who had known him too long. Pandora said it like she was discussing the weather. Evan said it while smiling, soft and dangerous, like he thought Barty’s sharp mouth was something worth keeping polished.
Barty thought everyone else was just weak.
Especially people like Mulciber and Avery.
They were leaning against the brick wall behind the science building during lunch, where all the smokers and assholes liked to gather. Sometimes both.
Barty had only gone there because Evan had skipped lunch to help Slughorn reorganize the art room again—because apparently being beautiful and beloved by every teacher wasn’t enough, he also had to be helpful.
Barty was halfway through stealing one of Evan’s cigarettes from his bag when he heard it.
Avery’s voice.
Smug. Loud enough to be heard. Designed to be.
“Rosier’s weird as hell,” Avery said, flicking ash onto the pavement. “Looks like he’d cry if someone stepped on a flower.”
Mulciber laughed. “Pretty boys always do.”
“Nah,” Avery said. “Pretty boys like him are worse. Think they’re untouchable because everyone wants to fuck them.”
There was more. Something about Evan’s clothes. His voice. The way he walked.
Barty stopped hearing specifics after the first sentence.
It was funny, really.
One second he was standing there, cigarette between his fingers, feeling vaguely bored.
The next—
“You should say that louder,” Barty called.
The little group turned.
Avery raised an eyebrow.
Barty stepped closer, grin already curling sharp and mean.
“C’mon, mate. If you’re going to be obsessed with my boyfriend, at least commit to it. Maybe write poetry next.”
Mulciber snorted. Avery didn’t.
His expression went flat.
Dangerous.
Barty, unfortunately, had never been particularly gifted at self-preservation.
“Actually,” he continued, “I think Evan would be flattered. It must be hard for you, looking like that and knowing he’ll never even pity-fuck you.”
There it was.
Mulciber muttered, “Oh, shit.”
Avery pushed off the wall.
He was bigger than Barty by enough to matter. Taller, broader, built like someone who solved problems with fists because words were too complicated.
Barty knew this.
Barty also knew he was right.
So he smiled wider.
“Aw,” he said. “Did I hurt your feelings?”
The first shove was hard enough to make him stumble.
The second sent him sprawling.
His shoulder hit dirt first, then his face, gravel biting into his cheek. The cigarette disappeared somewhere useless and tragic.
For half a second, the world was just impact and ringing.
His hands dug into the soil instinctively, fingers curling into earth as laughter echoed somewhere above him.
Blood flooded hot and metallic into his mouth where he’d bitten his lip.
He spat red into the grass.
Boots approached.
Then Avery crouched beside him.
Close enough that Barty could smell cigarette smoke and cheap cologne and the awful satisfaction rolling off him.
A hand fisted in the back of Barty’s blazer, hauling him just enough off the ground.
Avery leaned in, voice low and hot against his ear.
“The next time you grow a spine,” he murmured, “maybe pick a fight with someone smaller than you.”
Barty glared up at him, dirt on his face, blood on his teeth.
“Maybe,” he said, breathless and vicious, “the next time you insult my boyfriend, you should make sure I’m dead first.”
For a second, Avery just stared.
Then he laughed once—short, humorless—and let go.
Barty hit the ground again.
“Psychotic little freak,” Avery muttered, standing.
“Unoriginal insult,” Barty called after him.
Mulciber actually laughed at that.
Avery flipped him off without turning around.
Barty stayed there for a moment, face pressed to the dirt, considering the consequences of his actions.
Mostly: Evan was going to kill him.
“Barty?”
Ah.
There it was.
He rolled onto his back and squinted up at the sky first, then at the silhouette appearing above him.
Evan.
Perfect, lovely, furious Evan.
His pale hair was falling out of its clip from where he’d clearly run over. His expression was calm in the way that meant someone was about to die.
“Hi,” Barty said.
Evan looked at the blood on his lip.
The dirt on his uniform.
The forming bruise on his jaw.
Then he asked, very quietly, “Who?”
Barty sighed.
“You always make it sound so sexy when you do that.”
“Barty.”
“Avery.”
Evan nodded once.
Terrifying.
He held out a hand.
Barty took it, and Evan pulled him up with surprising strength, immediately brushing dirt off his blazer with irritated precision.
“You’re an idiot.”
“Yes.”
“You could have gotten seriously hurt.”
“I know.”
“You are not allowed to get into fistfights for me.”
Barty tilted his head.
“So verbal violence is still on the table?”
Evan gave him a long look.
Then, despite himself, he smiled. Small. Crooked. Fond.
“Unfortunately, I don’t think anything could stop that.”
Barty beamed, split lip and all.
“God, you love me.”
Evan reached up, thumb brushing carefully at the blood near Barty’s mouth.
His voice was softer this time.
“Pathetically.”
Barty leaned into it without thinking.
“Good,” he whispered.
And because Evan Rosier was a far kinder person than Barty Crouch Jr. had ever deserved, he kissed him right there behind the science building, dirt and blood and all.
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