greyeyedmonster18

she/they | part time fashion blog, full time trash blog| fic writer| Adult. 18+ please.

[greyeyedmonster-18]

AO3 WORKS:

COMPLETE (from newest-oldest, not all works here)

1. clear eyes, full hearts (can't lose either way): In this small, small town, only one night matters: Friday. When first-string quarterback James Potter of the Hogwarts Lions gets injured in the first game of the season, newcomer and runner-up Remus Lupin is charged with filling his shoes and leading the team to victory. It’s a shame he can’t stop staring at the coach's son.

(a friday night lights, wolfstar AU)

2. postcard from paris: They survived a war, and grew alongside each other, until life finally pulled the three of them in different directions. The night before James Potter leaves for a Healing residency in another country, he and Remus spend one last night together. Five years later, Sirius Black is getting married, and Remus finds himself face-to-face with James for the first time since that night . The night that ended in empty promises and a fever Remus couldn't sweat out.

Sirius is in love. James is charming and handsome as he had ever been. And Remus, without a doubt, is unbelievably ruined. (a Moonchaser AU)

3. ten reasons (to go to michigan): Best-selling novelist Remus Lupin, distraught and torn after his relationship of 10 years ends in nothing but doubt and litigation leaves the bustle of New York City, and retreats to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan in hopes of reconnecting to his childhood and getting his writing spark back. Sirius Black is a local ceramicist and single parent with a backstory all his own, who happens to frequent the coffee shop Remus grew up studying in. Remus for the first time in his life didn't have a plan when he booked a one way plane ticket--except for maybe the plan to never fall in love again. Except...

(Modern, Adult Wolfstar AU; set in the states; 60k.)

4. Carry Me Away: Sirius had devised the perfect plan. Two weeks in London before he started University. Two weeks of bars and football games and time spent out from under his parents gaze. Two weeks without rules or expectations. He concocted the perfect ruse to fool everyone about his whereabouts. And then he met Remus. And suddenly two weeks couldn't have ever been enough time.

(college/uni AU; 100k words)

5. No Matter the Wreckage: His first summer at the Potters after fifth year--the year of fistfights in hallways, chugging firewhiskey straight from the bottle, too much smoke, exam pressure, scathing letters from his parents, and a careless prank that nearly cost him his friends--was nothing short of painful and illuminating. Sirius Black returns for his sixth year at Hogwarts with longer hair, determined to be different.

A story on learning how to love, how to exist, how to be different through cracks and leaks. A story about love no matter the wreckage.

(a sirius focused marauders at hogwarts, getting together wolfstar fic; about 90k)

6. Fault Lines (as seen on tumblr): In which Remus and Sirius separated after Lily/James died, and are now doing their very best to co-parent Harry.

a falling out of love story in six parts. (19k)

TUMBLR Works (will not be posted to AO3) below the cut

1. The Best Worst Thing to Have Ever Happened

AU in which Jily lives. Harry chooses to stay with Sirius and Remus and all is not well. (links to part 1, at the end of every section there's link to the next part)

2. Soft Christmas Drabbles masterlist: everything i wrote for ficmas

3. RS Candy Hearts Prompts: Advertise You're Mine: on leather jackets, sharing clothes, advertising to the world whom you belong to. best day: on horrible days and a lot of love Good Luck Rituals: on jazz clubs, musicians, and weird superstitions.

4. mercy : What would you do for someone you love? Would you lie for them? Steal? Would you kill for them?

a story of seduction and crime in six parts (sirius black x petunia dursley cursed bullshit)

[greyeyedmonster-18]

(i don't do anything, i don't say anything, i'm just over here in my own little world continuing the quidditch player james and sirius adopts harry au of my own volition. heres a part 3.

part 1, part 2)

-

I’m going to send you both something for the game

Sirius had told James he didn’t need to do that, and Sirius was more than willing to buy any merchandise at the game like any other set of fans attending the meet and greet with James Potter. Every reason Sirius could come up with was ignored or refuted entirely.

It’ll just draw attention to the situation.

Doesn’t the money go back to the league? It’s a donation.

Do you send all your fans merchandise?

But, perhaps the protests were harder for James to hear this time around given the cock in his mouth, and eventually Sirius lost the energy to argue at all.

It was refreshing, almost. Because Sirius hardly ever lost an argument. James was different though. Sirius would’ve had better luck arguing with a brick wall. And sure enough, a week before they were scheduled to attend the game, a parcel arrived. Bright blue and white in the Tornado’s colors, Harry instantly jumping out of his chair at the breakfast table to retrieve the package.

“What’d you buy me?” Harry asked with a wide grin, not quite finished with his bite of cereal, milk spilling down his chin as he spoke. He wiped his mouth with the neck of his t-shirt before attending to the owl at the window, and grabbing the package “What?” Harry asked, noticing the look on Sirius’s face as he sat back down at the table.

“Nothing, just hoping you remember the modern invention of napkins when you are at school…”

Harry rolled his eyes, “Yes, Dad.”

“I’ll have you pack some this term in case you forget and feel the urge to use your shirt again,” Sirius teased, and watched as Harry wrestled with the flaps of the package to get it open. There was no evidence on the label that James had been the one to send it at all, maybe taking Sirius’s suggestion after all to make it less obvious and extend the offer to purchase gifts to all fans attending the meet and greet. 

“Is it a new jersey?” Harry asked, giving up and handing the package across the table to Sirius, going back to his cereal.

“What makes you think I bought you something?”

“Because you always do.”

“Ah, but that was when you were always on your best behavior and didn’t leave the house without permission.” Harry made a face around his mouthful of cereal, “Must be part of our seats for the game…” Sirius ran his finger along the edge of the package and then again down the middle, splitting the tape open, Harry’s leg already bouncing underneath the table.

It was funny.

Because Harry hadn’t spent a day around James Potter, but had some how inherited all his habits.

James bounced his knee too. Sirius remembered occasions at the library where he had to put his hand on top of James’s kneecap just to stop it, a tell-tale sign that James was impatient and wanted to stop revising and find a room.

And even within the past months of interacting with James, Sirius had noticed he hadn’t grown out of it at all. 

Inside the package, there were more wrapped pieces, one with Harry written across the top, the second with Sirius in handwriting Sirius had come to recognize. Messier than it had been when they were in school.

Well, when you sign as many autographs as I do…

Sirius took out the part of the package labeled for Harry, closing the rest of contents back in, and handed it to him, “For you. Finish your break--” But Harry was already tearing into the paper, revealing a special edition shirt decorated for the Quidditch finals, the Tornados and Canons logos in one design. 

“Brilliant! You think if I wear it, they’ll sign the back after the game? Probably. I’m going to go try it on!” Harry said quickly before Sirius could even tell him to finish his breakfast first, Harry already halfway down the hall, and up the stairs judging by the sound of the footsteps. Sirius shook his head, and opened the flaps again on the package, pulling out the card addressed to him.

Sirius

Just something for the game. 

I’ll be home this morning. Come over. 

-JP

A tshirt that matched Harry’s. 

Sirius unwrapped the remaining package in the box, eyes widening and face flushing as he realized what it was.

“Did you get something too?” Harry’s voice interrupted, now dressed in the new t-shirt, and Sirius quickly sent the box to his bedroom at an alarming speed, skimming over the top of Harry’s head. 

“Hm? Oh, yes, the same shirt. Don’t worry, I won’t embarrass you by matching,” Sirius attempted to recover, clearing his throat and hoping Harry was distracted enough not to notice the obvious pink on the top of Sirius’s cheekbones. 

“We can match for Quidditch, Dad,” Harry told him, “It’s different.”

“Of course.’

“Cool, isn’t it?”

Sirius cleared his throat again and stood up from the table, flicking his wrist to clear the contents of his own breakfast, deciding the dishes could be washed later. Much later. “I’ve got to run an errand, will you be okay here by yourself?”

Harry’s eyebrows skyrocketed, “You’re leaving me alone?”

“Probably against my better judgement, but if you’re worried, I could  floo call--”

“No! No. No, I don’t need to be watched,” Harry assured him, already bouncing on his heels. After his excursion, the time Harry could spend unsupervised had dwindled to mere minutes a day, Sirius even going as far to bring him to work. Harry lamenting in the corner of his office, hanging off a chair groaning and pretending to die of boredom.

I’ll do all the house chores for the rest of my life, anything is better than whatever this torture is.

“I’ll be back shortly,” Sirius told him, bending his headdown to catch Harry’s eyes with his own, “Shower, and we’ll go to Diagon Alley after as planned, yes? I shouldn’t be long.”

“You don’t have to tell me to shower.”

“Mhmm, sure, okay,” Sirius nodded with a teasing grin, walking past Harry and toward the front door.

“Hey! I shower!” Harry called to Sirius down the hall. His bike was charmed now, and they had both memorized the route. 

--

“Are you out of your damn mind?” Sirius asked, almost as soon as he walked through James’s front door, bending over to take off the black trainers on his feet. Somehow still looking impossibly expensive.

“You got my present,” James responded cheerfully, watching as Sirius didn’t even bother to look up, already visibly annoyed. It was James’s new favorite pastime--pressing Sirius’s buttons.

“Yes. At breakfast. With my child. You couldn’t have sent two packages?”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“I don’t know, I think the fun part is my child not--”

“Do you have a kid? I didn’t know.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Sirius said, finally having his shoes off, standing up to walk over to James, pushing his chest with a single finger. Not hard enough to hurt, but just hard enough to emphasize his point and make James’s cock twitch.

“Such a naughty mouth, Black. You kissed your mother with that?” James said, shaking his head, taking in the sight of Sirius in dark denim jeans, dressed more casually than he usually was when their paths overlapped.

“Not if I could help it,” Sirius said, crossing his arms over his chest, “What did you tell your bloody assistant anyway? Be a dear and put a the special edition shirt in this package along with these,” Sirius dropped his voice down to a whisper, “sex toys?”

“Yes.” 

It hadn’t even been two months since they had first fucked on the floor of James’s house and Sirius Black started making frequent appearances in James’s life once again. 

Irresponsible and unshakable. Tthough they were older this time around. With lives and complications, and for those reasons were perhaps more careful then they would’ve been in the past. Still, it didn’t stop them. 

Didn’t stop James from sending post telling Sirius to come over.

Didn’t stop Sirius from extending invitations to muggle restaurants where they would play games over bolognese and glasses of wine.

And after finally making good on his word to respond to Harry’s incessant post, sending him tickets to a Quidditch game and offering an opportunity to meet him to hopefully acquiesce some of the curiosity, James had to take his chances. 

A secret only they knew.

“You’re a fucking a shit. You know that?” Sirius pushed him again, the two of the standing in the middle of James’s hallway, half-way to the sitting room, and for once, James couldn’t tell if Sirius was actually angry or upset.

“Relax,” he tried, putting his hands on top of Sirius’s shoulders, “I made the package myself and told her to send it off. I threw in a few other packages in the mix so she wouldn’t think anything of it.”

“Oh, great! I feel loads better about receiving…” 

“A dildo?” James chimed in with a grin, enjoying the way flush spread across Sirius’s handsome face. Irritated. Hot and bothered. A pride in completely unraveling Sirius Black.

“--In the post addressed specifically to me from you!” Sirius shrugged James’s hands off his shoulders, crossing his arms again. “So to my earlier question, are you out of your damn mind?” 

“Honestly, I’m feeling a little hurt you didn’t like my present,” James said, sticking his lower lip out to pout slightly. “I spent hours at a little shop searching for the perfect gift for the prettiest arse in all of London and--”

“Fuck off.”

“--you haven’t even said thank you. No manners. House of Black has really fallen from grace hasn’t it?”

“Hours?”

“Yes, even asked the shop witch for help, told her about you and me and our--”

“Fuck, you’re annoying,” Sirius said rolling his eyes at James’s grin again, and pinching the bridge of his nose as they finally made it to the sitting room, James plopping down on his couch, arms resting on the back of it. He hadn’t bothered putting a shirt back on after showering after returning home from morning practice. Hoping and knowing Sirius would be there just as he had proposed.

“I’m waiting.”

“For what?” Sirius asked, raising his eyebrows in confusion. 

“A thank you.”

“Thank you so much for sending me an explicit package to open in front of my teenager.”

“So you don’t like them?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“So you do?”

“I didn’t say that either.”

“You will.”

“You cannot do that, James.”

“Okay.”

“I’m being serious.”

“Okay,” James repeated, simply, smiling at Sirius from the couch. 

“I haven’t dated anyone in years, much less--” Sirius gestured aimlessly, almost afraid to say the word outloud.

“Shagged.”

“--anyone with Harry knowing and I cannot have you playing games like this where he is involved. This is already playing with fire and entirely irresponsible and we agreed--”

“I know what we agreed.”

Nobody can know.

“And yet!” Sirius said, throwing his hands into the air. “Stop smiling.”

“I’m not.”

“This isn’t funny.”

“Sure.”

“James.” 

James laughed a little, taking his time to scan up Sirius’s entire body. Denim, a simple t-shirt, tattoos on Sirius’s biceps barely peaking out. Chest rising and falling as he started at James after having scolded him for such an egregious act. James spread his legs open on the couch, watching as Sirius’s eyes immediately glanced down at the movement. “Are you really upset?” James asked, “and I mean really. Not in a, this was kind of annoying, but I don’t mind the game, way. Like, in a really, honest to Merlin, I crossed a line way.”

“You can’t do that,” Sirius told him firmly, eyes meeting James’s own again. The latter.

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.”

“But you liked the gift, didn’t you? Even if you didn’t like how I gave it to you?”

“The shirt was splendid,” Sirius responded after a long silence, his head tilting to the side as he went back to looking at James once more. Entirely spread on the couch, inviting and waiting for Sirius to come closer.

“You’ll wear it to the game then?”

Sirius didn't say anything, only stepping forward to stand between James’s legs. A hand raked through James’s hair, still damp from his shower, not so gently pushing his head back so he could look up at Sirius, half-hard, and heart rate steadily increasing. “You’d like that.” A statement, not a question. Sirius already knew. 

“Yes.”

“Tell me,” Sirius said, hand still at the top of James’s head to keep him from moving. James couldn’t close his legs with Sirius between them. 

James swallowed, “Get yourself ready for me before the game, touch yourself, put the plug in…I’ll play the whole time thinking about you in the stands, cheering for me, watching me, all the way through after the game…pretending like we’re meeting for the first time in a area full of people, but I’ll know your arse has been stretched, and you are there, just waiting for me. And then you’ll come over and I’ll take my time with you until you’re begging for me.”

Until Sirius forgot every word except for James’s name, writhing beneath him on the bedsheets, screaming until his voice was raw.

Like the last times. James’s memory burned with Sirius’s hands grasping his headboard trying to hold on to anything as James pounded into him. Only for Sirius to get dressed after and silently return to Number 12 in the dead of night.

But at this moment, it was James who was wiggling on the couch under Sirius’s gaze, with every word he said about his plans for the package he had sent Sirius. The shirt was preventative, because James wasn’t sure he could even play through a game if Sirius had worn any merchandise with James’s name on it, his own ego and sex drive rivaling one another. Sirius leaned forward, pressing his lips softly to James mouth. Kissing down his neck, his chest, biting at both his nipples and James couldn’t help but let a tiny moan escape, thrusting his hips into Sirius’s thighs trying to get any bit of pressure. Sirius came back up to his mouth, kissing him once more.

“I’ll think about it,” Sirius said as he pulled away, releasing the hand in James’s hair and stepping back entirely. “I have to go.”

“What?”

“I have plans this morning,” Sirius explained with a teasing grin of his own as he walked out of the sitting room back toward the front door. James groaned as he got off the couch to follow him, erection painfully obvious in his running shorts. “I was only meant to be gone a half-hour and we’re dangerously close to our time.”

“Later today?”

Sirius’s eyes flicked down to look at James’s hands covering his crotch, and he bit down a smile, “I don’t think so.”

“You’re cruel.”

He shrugged, putting his shoes back on his feet, and standing up again to look at James again, hand coming to the side of his face, “Consider it payback, darling.”

“Shithead.” 

Sirius laughed loudly, patting James’s face lightly. “I’ll see you next week.”

--

Sirius kept one hand at the back of Harry’s neck as they waited in a closed off area outside of the Quidditch stadium, lined with security elves, tents draped over the perimeter blocking any cameras that might have been there. The game had ended with a spectacular firework show of blue and white and gold, James Potter scoring the winning goal just before a snitch was caught, the crowd erupting in a thunderous applause.

“How long do you think it took him to learn that trick? Do you think he would teach me? What if I wrote him again and asked? He sent us these tickets! Maybe if I’m annoying enough he’ll keep sending us stuff for the rest of my life until I’m eighteen and then he has to tell me if he’s my Dad or not. Isn’t that how it works?”

“I don’t think so, love,” Sirius told him.

“It’s okay, I don’t much care about that part…sort of. I haven’t decided yet. I just think its cool he wrote back at all and we’re here, so if I can--”

“Need I remind you I could have paid for us to be here?”

“Yes, but now you can use that money for a Christmas gift, or pocket money, or both. So really, I did us a favor.”

“Do I also need to remind you about writing him?”

“But he didn’t care! I told you he wouldn’t care! He gets loads of fan mail, sure its sent to a different address, but mine isn’t any different! I could write to the Quidditch stadium too, is that better? Do you think he gets mail there or--” Harry said, and Sirius tightened his grip on the back of Harry’s neck as another family passed by them in the tent, waiting for the players to emerge from the locker rooms, everyone eager to meet the winning team. “Do you think McGowan will sign my shirt even though they lost? Is now a bad time to ask. Probably.”

“I--”

Sirius tightened his grip for the second time on Harry as the small crowd of people inside the tent began cheering, and he tore off toward the entrance where dozens of Quidditch players were coming out of. 

“Come on, Dad!”

Sirius tried to focus on the pure joy radiating off Harry in this moment, watching as teenager waited for different players to come up to him, turning around so they could sign the back of his shirt. He tried to focus on Harry’s wide smile, chatting away, no doubt asking all the questions to the players that Sirius culdn’t answer. Fearless and bold, shaking players hands and congratulating them on their games.

He tried to focus on all of that, and not the bizarre chain of events that had led both of them here in first place. With Harry, asking for information about his maybe biological father. And Sirius. With a plug in his arse, trying not to minimize his movements, and stay calm.

Even as the man of the hour, James Potter left the tents.

Waving.

Smiling.

Bending down to talk to every single kid, spending extra time answering questions and signing brooms, and shirts, and photographs, and books, and anything the crowd could find to give him.

“There he is! What do I ask?” Harry asked him turning around, “About the trick? Oh! I know, does he know when a quaffle is going to make it when it leaves his hand? Or do you think he just kind of hopes? I’m a seeker, I dunno about scoring so…do you--”

“Nows your chance,” Sirius inclined his head as James finally made his way to where they were waiting, Harry’s shirt already covered with team signatures. 

Nobody knew.

Not a soul could tell.

But James’s eyes met Sirius’s first.

“It is nice to see you--” James started with a smile, taking Harry’s marker from him. 

“That was a great game!” Harry greeted loudly, and Sirius made a mental note to talk to Harry about interrupting people, “I didn’t even know where to look the last few seconds!”

“Well, I hope you chose to watch my winning goal.”

Prick.

“How do you do it?” Harry blurted, rattling off his laundry list of questions, ones Sirius hadn’t even been briefed on before they left his mouth. He focused on that. The questions. The answers. The laughter. Identical smiles, that he hoped everyone else would in the room would brush off as an uncanny resemblance the way they had been doing for years.

Not focusing on the sweat on James’s hairline, or the tight-fitting shirt and shorts James wore underneath his Quidditch robes. Or the muscles. Or anything else. He exhaled slowly through his mouth, offering a smile in James’s direction.

“Did you like the game?” James asked, extending his hand. Sirius took it, James immediately squeezing tightly as they shook. Congratulations. I've only thought of you for the past six hours.

“I was on the edge of my seat.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

[greyeyedmonster-18]

(finding a floor length dress for an event when you are over 5’6” probably is truly a battle only given to the strongest warriors)

[greyeyedmonster-18]

(this is probably part 1.5 of the quidditch player james and sirius adopts harry au that got out of hand that was written but didn't make the cut of part 1. wanted to share it now. oh well!!! enjoy!)

-

Sirius could feel the blood rushing through his fingers and up and down his arms as he closed the front door to his home, watching the back of James Potter until he couldn’t anymore. Standing in his foyer and waiting until he heard the sound of a car engine revving before letting go of the door handle. He could already tell he was going to have a headache tomorrow, and the cause wasn’t entirely his teenagers decision to go on a late night mission across London when he was supposed to be in his bedroom, showering or else reading peacefully in his bed.

Though opening a door to an empty bedroom made Sirius’s heart rate skyrocket in a way he was not eager to relieve, frantically floo calling every person Harry knew. 

No.

The looming migraine now had more than one cause. 

Sirius inhaled through his nose as he locked the front door and slowly turned around to walk down the hallway and into the kitchen where Harry, who was told under no uncertain terms, not to move from that spot, was waiting for him. Sitting in a chair--if you could call it sitting-- slumped forward so his chin could rest on the table top. At the sound of the kitchen door opening, Harry perked up turning over his shoulder.

“You know James Potter?”

“Everyone knows James Potter.”

“He knows you,” Harry corrected, reclining his head backward, as if that was the better way to have a conversation, “And don’t say everyone knows you.”

“Well…”

“Why do you know each other!”

“We went to school together, Harry,” Sirius said, offering the simplest explanation, hoping it was enough to quell his teenagers curiosity. Knowing it absolutely wasn’t and watched as Harry opened his mouth again for a follow-up. Or six.

“But--”

“It is very late, and of the things on the table to discuss, my schoolyard days with James Potter are definitely not the most pressing,” Sirius told him, and inclined his head toward the door to get Harry up from his seat, “Upstairs.”

“You’re not going to shout at me?”

“Not tonight, I don’t want to be insensitive to our neighbors,” Sirius waited a moment before gesturing again and waiting for Harry to slowly rise from his chair. Defeated, dragging his socked feet across the hardwood floor, and through the doorway. 

“I don’t think the morning is any better…” muttered Harry with a sigh. Sirius hummed in response, following Harry closely as they made their way up the stairs, fifth step creaking beneath their feet. “Can you at least tell me if Im locked in my room for the next century? I know I shouldn’t have just left…but I dunno, would leaving a note have been any better? Hey Dad, gone to James Potters house, don’t go mental or anything i’ll be back soon. Is that good? What was I supposed to do, really? I just…I got the address from Parvati, and I wrote to it first! So I knew it was real that someone would answer. Maybe he has an assistant or someone answer the post…I dunno, I guess I wanted to see if it was true and I know, I know, I could’ve just asked you if we could go. Maybe.” Harry waited at the top of the second floor for Sirius to finish climbing the steps, “That’s what you’re going to say! Isn’t it? Why didn’t you just ask me. Because what could I have said? It’s not my fault. You put me in an impossible position!” Harry told him, but stopped, “Okay, so its not not my fault. I…left the house. Which I know I shouldn’t have done. I know I shouldn’t have, so you can maybe save the shouting for….a rainy day. And not tonight or tomorrow morning because I know!” 

Sirius raised an eyebrow in an effort to keep himself from smiling. He hadn’t said a single word, even if he had been able to get in one between Harry’s ranting. Twisting and tangling himself up in knots, as he talked himself out of feeling justified in his decision, continuing to walk toward his bedroom door.

“And before you ask what I was thinking, I don’t know that either. Everyone just says I look like him, so I thought that maybe, and I know you’ve told me it’s a closed or whatever and theres no possible way of us to find out, but maybe if I turned up…” he stopped, “Okay, well, I’m hearing it now and it sounds stupid, so I know you’re going to say that too. So I promise you can save the shouting, and the talking about it and maybe we can just skip ahead to the part where you tell me I’m grounded? Or pulling weeds in the backyard for the rest of the summer?” Harry asked, as they reached his bedroom, the door still open from when Sirius had left it earlier that evening. “Are you going to tuck me in too? I swear I’m not going to leave again.”

Sirius smiled softly this time, tilting Harrys chin up gently to meet his gaze, “Better not.”

“Are you mad?”

“A little,” Sirius admitted, and Harry’s face fell slightly.

“I’m sorry.”

“I believe it,” he said, “But I’d never call anything you do stupid, Harry.”

“You did once. Remember when Ron and I let the twins tie us to desk chairs and push us down the hallway?”

“I stand corrected,” and Harry smiled a little, “Ten minutes. I will be tucking you in.”

Harry made a face, “I’m almost fifteen…”

“Well, my almost fifteen year old put himself to bed once this evening and it didn’t turn out as I hoped.”

“But I--”

“We will talk more about this tomorrow.”

“And you’ll tell me how you know James Potter?”

Sirius let go of Harry’s chin with another laugh, “I wish there was something more interesting to share, Haz, but we just went to school together.”

Just school together.

Just a shared caldron sixth year.

Just talking in the back of Transfiguration seventh year when they shouldn’t have been, Professor McGonnagal growing frustrated and throwing them in detention.

While I am pleased to see a blossoming friendship between you two--not in my class and most certainly not while I am speaking.

Just brushes of shoulders in crowded hallways and notes passed in the library. A Gryffindor and a Slytherin. 

Clothing left behind in the prefect's bath, and empty classrooms. And the Quidditch stands. And after school there was dirty pubs, and closets of Number 12 when they were both supposed to be listening to changing political times and not each others heartbeats. Or moans.

Just James’s sitting room the night before his wedding. An empty home, and an empty promise. 

“Well…nice he remembered you,” Harry shrugged, “You know, considering he’s famous and all. I don’t think I’d remember a random bloke I went to school with forty years ago…”

Sirius put his hands on Harry’s shoulders, spinning him around to gently push him into his bedroom. “The remorse was so nice while it lasted. Ten minutes.”

[greyeyedmonster-18]

(poofy/fluffy hair is chic)

[greyeyedmonster-18]

(okay but see the thing is i accidentally stumbled upon animal shelter instagram and the algorithm doesnt understand i cannot see animals that need to be adopted on the daily.)

[effemimaniac]

add me to your discord server so I can do the online equivalent of arriving at a party saying hi to the people I know then standing awkwardly in the corner for the rest of the night

[lizzibennet]

opens news article. closes three pop up ads. backs out of the survey page i was redirected to. closes a pop up video ad. rejects cookies to make the cookie window go away. dismisses the requests to receive notifications from the website and the offers to sign up for it. dodges ninja lasers and poisonous arrow traps. body of the page is finally visible. i have reached my monthly limit and can’t read the article

[artseamoni]

the highly requested "Ilya in Shane's jersey" art 👀

[greyeyedmonster-18]

(recieved a letter from one of my youth that said i “low key aura mog” and while i had a small stroke decoding the sentence, it is a compliment.)

[schmilsson]

sports arent real

[schmilsson]

sports stands for

S - piss

P - yourself

O - off

R - immediately

T - for

S - free

[greyeyedmonster-18]

(oh its been a hot fucking minute but OOTN:

-black all saints tshirt dress with a locket design

-white satin lace shorts under because my gumby ass will flash everyone otherwise

-black boots w clear heel

-dark mauve lippie

-hair in double braid slick back

xoxo we still got it)

[mewvore]

"we detected a mature post" yeah I'm in my 30s

[greyeyedmonster-18]

(tbh, if shane hollander was on the waiver wire i have to believe that literally ANY other team wouldve been chomping at the bit, at whatever cost)

[stardustpainter]

Ilya trying to outplay his demons

[greyeyedmonster-18]

(i actually think squirting people with water guns while theyre working out if they dare to take a break is mean. and not cute/funny/motivating.)

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

hi i just wanted to say that i absolutely adore your heated rivalry works (both snapping birch and the child star crashout au)

and one of my favorite things about your stories besides the amount of effort and care and thought you put into each of the characters to make sure they come of as real and have their own unique narratives (the work your putting in really comes through in your writing and makes your works so fun and engaging and fulfilling to read)

and just how incredibly well you tackle complex themes and ideas and just never present a simple solution and instead make the reader sit with your work and just fully acknowledge how fucked up the situation is and then draw real life parallels to our own world is literally so fucking good, you don’t even understand

sorry i got sidetracked and also used a lot of ands so double sorry if that made it hard to read

anyway what i wanted to say is that i love that you fully recognize that shane transferring to ottawa is not a happy ending. i think a lot of people acknowledge shane’s right to be angry and have lingering trauma about the metros, but that’s also usually side by side with (or sometimes the exclusive sentiment is) the ‘oh! he gets to be with ilya now on a team that’ll accept him so everything’s sunshine and rainbows!! <3’

i haven’t seen anyone else straight up go ‘hey. that shouldn’t have happened. the metros should not have been able to force out shane fucking hollander and shane should’ve been able to stay with the metros if that was what he wanted. he should’ve been granted a choice.’

i just think it’s so important to recognize that shane should’ve been able to choose where he was going to play. that the lack of choice is really just an extension of being forced out of a space that he used to belong in, it’s a reminder that he’s been othered so he should be grateful that he has any options to begin with. and that’s just something he’ll have to live with that

also maybe it’s just me but one of my instant turn offs that’s unfortunately really popular in this fandom is when shane’s characterized to not have been a good captain, as never wanting to be, or not liking his role as captain - or when he’s written to have never gotten along with any of the other metros ever (which makes no sense cause why would he choose to come out to them??)

just anything that creates a narrative to soften the blow of shane being forced out of the metros by turning it into ‘well he didn’t actually like it there and is probably really happy to have left’

i just think it diminishes his feelings on the situation. like personally i would be so fucking angry to begin with but i’d also probably be grieving. and also shit was just happening to this man. he had such limited agency when it came to the situation with the metros and i just really hate how that’s usually completely glossed over or simplified

so i really fucking appreciate you going no. it’s not fucking fair or right that shane has to be the one to leave, and then actually exploring his relationship to the metros (and montreal) in a nuanced way that acknowledges that the situation is actually really fucking complex. that man has been a part of that organization and a staple in that city since he was a teenager, chances are he has some attachment to it - so even if he was happy to get to be with ilya year round and play on the cens, he was probably still feeling some type of way about the metros - because guess what? emotions are not neat and tidy and you can’t just move away from the source of you conflicting feelings to make those feelings go away.

so, yeah, you’re creating some really amazing writing with some really fucking amazing character analysis so thank you for putting it out into the world <3

(sorry for this being so absurdly long, i really didn’t mean for it to be - it got away from me and i got too attached to cut anything)

I have never fucked with an ask harder in my entire life. Anon, you are speaking my entire language.

So, full disclaimer, I know the Ottawa ending is very popular with a lot of readers, and not every story is going to be my cup of tea. That is okay. Not every story is written for me, and that is totally fine, I get that. If you like the ending of the long game, I fully respect that, but maybe skip this post, because I did not like it and I don’t have super charitable things to say about it.

So I legitimately cannot let myself think about or engage with the ending of the long game because it makes me too physically angry.

Which is a really weird reaction for me, if I’m being honest. Like, sincerely, I usually maintain more of an emotional distance from the media I consume. I do not get super heated about stories. I don’t get angry or sad, whether I like how the story was written or not. I like rotating them in my head and picking them apart but I don’t usually have like, a lingering emotional reaction to them. If I don’t like a book, I can usually just be like “oh. That kind of sucked” and leave it at that.

The ending of the long game makes me physically angry.

It is simply not a happily ever after to me. It is such a cruel humiliation ritual that I just can’t see it that way. I would be so much more okay with the ending if Shane had more of a choice in going to Ottawa. But he didn’t. He was forced out, and that fact is barely even acknowledged, let alone processed by the narrative.

If Shane had looked at his life and said “hey, I could stay in Montreal and win 7 Stanley cups and retire here like I always dreamed of, but my life with Ilya is more important to me so I’m going to leave my old dream behind so we don’t have to be long distance anymore,” I would be so much happier about the ending. Because he gets the narrative benefit of it being a sacrifice. There is decision in that. There is autonomy. There is dignity in the fact that he at least gets to choose.

There is no dignity in what happens to Shane.

He gets forced out by homophobia. He is accused of something he does not do. The media eviscerates him. His teammates, who had already reacted poorly to him being gay, who were already icing him out because of his relationship, completely abandon him. His legacy is destroyed. His reputation is trashed. All of the respect he has spent his entire career earning is gone.

Shane leaves Montreal in disgrace. He loses his home of more than a decade. He loses his team. He loses his captaincy. He loses his legacy. He loses almost every friend he has ever had.

But it’s fine. Because his husband already has friends and he can share. It’s really good that all of this happened, really, because Shane gets to go off to the Gay Hockey Oasis, where twinks can frolic freely.

Everyone fucking clap.

There is something so fundamentally repulsive to me about the idea that the answer to being retaliated against by your homophobic teammates is to leave and Go To The Land Of The Gays Where You Will Be Happy And Free. Your homophobic teammates will be keeping the team you spent your entire career building btw. They get to stay. They get everything you built. You go and find happiness with the people who already accept people like you. There is no fixing homophobia :(

Fuck. That. Noise. I will never be happy at an ending that happens because a queer person is forced out of a space. I can’t be happy about that.

I think one of the things that upsets me so much about the long game and its ending is that there is no ability to emotionally process what Shane’s teammates do to him because the entire ordeal is basically brushed off. A lot of it happens off camera. The effect it has on Shane is given next to no attention. Nothing about it is processed by the narrative. There is no cathartic relief. And so I am left fucking angry.

I think it’s helpful to think about catharsis through the lens of its original meaning. The concept of catharsis is rooted in Greek tragedy. In Ancient Greece, they believed that stories and specifically tragedies were important because they helped the audience process and release negative emotion. You left that story feeling relieved even though bad things happened because the stories helped you understand and process your own negative emotions. You get cathartic relief. They believed so strongly in the importance of this that they would build amphitheaters by hospitals because they thought it legitimately had health benefits.

You don’t get any catharsis out of Shane’s storyline. Because the fact that something tragic is happening to him is barely even acknowledged.

Shane comes out to his teammates off camera. We do not see what happens in the room. He has a single sentence about it in the epilogue and told in retrospect. Oh, by the way, he came out to his fucking teammates. No biggie.

Later, we know coming out made it awkward between them. We know sometimes they still use homophobic words around him and it makes Shane uncomfortable. Nothing is discussed in detail, and most of it is brought up retrospectively. Most of it happens off camera.

We also know that Shane’s sexuality is an open secret after. It is the unspoken something that the whole league knows. People didn’t know before but they sure do how.

That knowledge did not come from nowhere. Someone fucking outed him. But we will never talk about it. It is all off camera. It is barely even addressed.

Now, Shane also comes out off camera in snapping birch. But there, it is treated like a horror story.

When writing that text exchange, I broke my usual convention. If there’s a break in the texts, I don’t usually re-show parts of the text exchange that have already appeared—I just pick up where the last texts left off. But when Shane comes out, I copy and paste the texts you’ve already seen before you get to Dave checking in on him again.

Because I don’t want you to just see the silence. I want you to see his father’s encouragement. I want you to see Shane’s nerves. And I want you to see him overcome those nerves. He was afraid and he trusted them anyway. I want you to see that, and then I want you to see those empty fucking time gaps after.

The horror is in the lack of knowledge. It is in the fact that Dave is not there and does not know if Shane is even safe right now. You are meant to feel like a terrified parent reading that conversation back again and again and wondering if he is okay.

That’s not the treatment that Shane’s coming out in the books gets. It’s not off camera because that’s the point—it’s off camera because the details are unimportant. It is the only time in his entire life where Shane gets to choose to come out, and it is an afterthought.

Shane is so often an afterthought in the scenes that should be significant to him that it drives me nuts. Shane’s best friend accidentally outs him to the world, and Ilya, who already wanted to come out, is the one who gets to say it’s okay. And to be clear, I am not trying to diminish the fact that Ilya got outed. The fact that he wants to come out does not make his outing any less violating. He has the right to pick how.

But it is Shane’s best friend and Shane’s biggest fear. And the narrative never processes that. It’s just fine.

The exact same issue is found in the teams’ reactions to the reveal of Shane and Ilya’s relationship. We get to see the Centaurs react to Ilya. He is greeted with laughter, and that is fantastic.

Shane is greeted by silence. He describes the tension as being like he’s playing a game of operation waiting to get buzzed. They are not happy for him. They do not accept him. Even before the trip, they ice him out. But we do not address that in any real capacity. It just happens, and then he is forced out, and that’s it. We do not process it. The point is not the rejection. The rejection is a means to an end, and the end is fucking Ottawa.

To be so, so clear—I am not upset that Ilya got accepted when Shane wasn’t. I am glad Ilya got accepted. And I’m not upset that Ilya gets the narrative attention that he does, because I love Ilya’s character and I want to see him get that attention. But if you want to tackle the kind of topics that Shane’s storyline in the long game raises, you need to give it the necessary narrative space.

And like. I’ve heard all the rationales the internet tosses around about this already. Each book focuses on a specific character and the long game is Ilya’s story, not Shane’s. Shane is not meant to get the same narrative attention because it isn’t his book. The author has said that she never intended for it to be that deep.

She should have written a different story then.

One of my biggest rules of writing is that you do not get to escape the logical consequences of your own narrative. The audience is not fucking stupid. You cannot dodge the weight of the writing decisions you made, so you have to fucking deal with it or you cheapen the narrative.

Take Svetlana’s absence in snapping birch, which I’ve talked about in other posts. I love Svetlana. I want her in the story. But if I include her, it necessarily has narrative consequences.

Russia is a source of conflict because it is illegal for its citizens to promote LGBTQ+ rights. Svetlana is a Russian citizen who regularly returns to Russia. If I have her out here tweeting in the defense of her friend’s bisexuality, then either Russia isn’t that big of a threat, or Svetlana is fucking stupid. That is the logical consequence of the narrative decisions, and I cannot ignore the logical consequences.

As a result, I cannot include Svetlana without cheapening the conflict or her character. So I have to exclude her even if I want her there. Because the reader is not a fucking idiot, and if I can figure out Russia Bad, so can they.

If you do not want to deal with the consequences of writing a storyline about a queer character getting outed and rejected by his loved ones, then do not write that story. Develop it in accordance with its logical consequences or pick a different story.

The logical consequences of Shane’s ending in the long game are fucking tragic. And it is never truly discussed or processed. The narrative gives you no catharsis. Because it is not treated like a tragedy.

Shane is completely rejected by every single person in that locker room. The only person to say something even remotely in his favor is Hayden, who fronts his defense with how fucking weird Shane’s relationship is, but hey, he’s still our captain. Great job, Hayd.

Shane says explicitly that he hoped for better from the people he loved so much. He loved them. They turned on him. And they do not apologize. He loses them permanently. Over ten years together and only two of them come to his goddamn wedding.

And the narrative’s solution is to have him just leave and go somewhere that appreciates him, i.e., his husband’s team, and we should be happy about that. Never mind that he gave Montreal everything. Never mind that it was his dream to see his number retired to the rafters. Never mind that the team he goes to doesn’t have the cap space for him and he wants to be paid what he’s worth. His rich fucking husband will provide. Ottawa gets him at a goddamn gay discount.

Play out the logical consequences of that one. It does not matter if you’re the greatest hockey player in the fucking world. If you tack on enough minorities, then you get him on goddamn fire sale. Too Asian, too autistic, too queer, so he goes for a fucking song. The greatest hockey player in the world, and he is paid less than Troy fucking Barrett.

And I know that’s not why Shane has to take a massive pay cut at the ending. It’s because they do not have the cap space for him, not because they value him less. But that is not what people are going to think when they look at his salary. They are going to see a queer poc with three goddamn Stanley cups getting paid less than every single one of his teammates, and they are going to think they know why.

And maybe you say it doesn’t matter what people think. But I’d say it matters a whole fucking lot to the queer pocs who are wondering if they will ever have a place in this fuck-off white, aggressively straight sport. I think it’s going to matter a whole fucking lot to them when they are negotiating their own salaries and suddenly are finding themselves valued a lot less.

After all, look at what they pay Shane fucking Hollander.

I am not saying that queer people should feel obligated to remain in a hostile space. But I am saying that if they are forced out, you need to treat it like the tragedy it is. Do not write an ending that happens because a character is outed and spat on by his friends of more than a fucking decade and tell me to goddamn clap. Do not call that a fucking Happily Ever After. And I know that’s what it’s meant to be, because that is what the author calls it on her goddamn blog.

As you can probably tell, I feel strongly about the subject.

I don’t fuck with a lot of fandom’s characterizations around the entire thing, to be honest. Like, you nailed all of my issues with it perfectly. I hate the idea that Shane wasn’t friends with his teammates. I hate the idea that he was always a bad captain. Because that is all meant to make the fact that he was forced out somehow more okay. It is meant to make the loss he felt somehow less.

He spent over ten years with those people. He loved them. They all turned on him. And they did not apologize, and they did not come to his wedding. He still invited them and they did not come.

That is supposed to hurt.

If what happened to Shane happened to me, I would be angry for the rest of my life. I would not be able to get over it easily, if I ever got over it.

Ottawa isn’t a happy ending to me. It would have been if Shane got to choose to go be with Ilya instead of getting forced out. But he was forced, and that is what makes it goddamn tragic.

I am not saying that I wanted Shane to stay in a hostile environment. I am saying that the happy ending to discrimination is not to put the high achieving minority out to fucking pasture in the land of the gays where everyone accepts him already. Shane should have gotten to choose where he wanted to be. If that is Ottawa, let him actually choose Ottawa. It is not a choice if you have to tear away the option of Montreal so he’ll make it.

The answer to homophobia is not to segregate the fucking gays in happy centaur land. It is to get rid of the fucking homophobes. Do not tell me that the system is homophobic and you can’t change that. Skill issue. If the system won’t change?

Burn it to the fucking ground.