#mauraders fandom

[achernarlupin]

Dating Sirius means he’s legally allowed to bully regulus for fun

[h0e-zi3r]

in honour of remus lupins birthday i just wanna remind everyone of that one scene in tcoptp where on his birthday everyone pretended to be an ex lover who he wronged in some way, and then they all fought over him. i think that’s one of my favourite scenes ever written actually

[iamthesilentwriter]

Lay | Jegulus | WC: 831 | April Prompt - 4 | @jeggyverses-jegulus-microfic

James is already laying in bed, when Regulus decides to crawl in. 

He shuffles, incessantly, adjusting the blankets profusely, trying to get comfortable. James drapes an arm out, resting it atop his pillow, simply resting there. It’s almost like he’s giving him an invitation—permission, in a sense—to snuggle closer. To be closer. 

So, that’s exactly what Regulus does, trying not to overthink the interaction too much. 

His head rests against James’s bare chest, his hand comes up to rest over his heart, palm flattening against his chest, feeling the rhythmic beat of his heart beneath his skin. The calming, practically soothing motion lulls Regulus into a state of relax. But, what that also does, is drag him into a state where all he can do is think. 

Thinking. One of his greatest weaknesses. 

Regulus’s entire body grows stiff, tense, muscles locking up, as his mind burrs onward, buzzing like electricity passing through an electrical current. He takes a breath, calming himself. Then—

“What are we… doing, James?”

There, that’s the question that’s been haunting Regulus, ever since he first started seeing James. Not that he can help it, but it is the first time he’s saying something. Speaking on the matter like it's worth even the amount of attention it gets. 

James’s head turns, slightly, craning to look down. Regulus shifts, head pulling back to get a clear view of James. The man has a deep, drawn out frown plastered onto his face, tugging at his skin, causing wrinkles to form. Regulus hopes those wrinkles aren’t permanent. Lord knows James doesn’t need concerned lines on his face, due to him. 

“What do you mean?” James asks, confusion dripping out with each word. 

Regulus exhales, feeling frustration build higher within his chest. “I mean—” he pauses, struggling to find the right words to explain. James waits patiently, only moving to turn over onto his side, forcing Regulus along with him, until they are face-to-face. 

“With this,” Regulus gestures between them aimlessly. “With us.”

“Oh,” James responds like he wasn’t expecting Regulus to say that. Like he’s almost confused as to why it’s even being discussed. What has James been thinking? “I uh… I was hoping we were already together?”

Regulus blinks at him, stunned. Is he being… serious?

“Are we? Together?” he asks, his body struggling to comprehend the shock that’s perpetrated his body, mind still reeling from the confession. The admission. 

James shrugs. “I would think so. I mean… look at us.”

Regulus looks between them, feeling like a complete idiot for doing so. For taking him so literally. His gaze finds James’s own. Hazel eyes stare softly at him. Warmth hidden deep within. 

“What I mean is,” he elaborates, tone holding kindness, cradling him with care. “We’re laying in bed. Together.” James’s hands move in the darkness of the room, reaching out to take a hold of his own. His voice drops, lower, growing quieter. There’s an edge to it. “Sweetheart,” he continues. “I would seriously hope we were together… considering the fact you’ve—y’know—met my kid.”

Regulus’s face flushes, bright and hot and burning with embarrassment. He opens his mouth to say something, when the door to the bedroom creaks open, the sound of small, soft, gentle footsteps pitter-patter their way into the room. 

A silent, warm chuckle bubbles its way up into his chest. The irony isn’t lost on him. Quite the timing, Harry has. The four-year-old toddles in way further into the room, round the bed, before stopping on his side—the side Regulus in at. 

His emerald green eyes are huge, wide, growing even more, sparkling like the gemstone in a way Regulus didn’t know were possible. 

There’s an innocence within him, a gentle curiosity that seems genuine, yet a quiet, hidden reserve of hesitation, like he’s afraid of something. Something almost identical to rejection. Rejection. Why on earth would a four-year-old be afraid of rejection? He’s four. 

“Can I come sleep with you?” Harry’s voice is softer than the silence itself. The sound glides smoothly against his skin, drifting its way, stabbing him directly into the heart. 

Regulus is moving before his mind has time to process everything. “Of course you can,” he replies, voice just as quiet, just as soft. He didn’t know he was capable of speaking with the level of care and gentleness he just did. But, he supposes, one can learn new things, every day. 

He reaches out, lifting Harry up into the bed with a grunt. Placing him down, Regulus tucks the child in between him and James, fingers automatically finding their way to his crazy, messy, brown curls, running through them, as if trying to tame them. 

Harry snuggles closer, black cat plushie in hand, body inching toward him, not his father. 

Regulus stills, briefly, but it’s enough. His gaze tears itself, unwillingly from Harry, glancing directly up at James, eyes wide like he’s finally realising something. 

James smiles, lips quirking upward into a knowing grin. 

Yeah, he thinks, they’re together. 

[groovypalacehorselover]

The beauty of Severus Snape is that he is not a perfect victim.

He bites, he lashes out, he defends himself against his tormentors as violently as he is hurt. He doesn't just sit there and 'take it' without retaliating, he doesn't bury his head into his pillow at night and cry.

But he is a victim nonetheless.

Just because he fights back doesn't mean that his suffering is any less valid than any other bullying victim. Just because he doesn't cower in fear of the mauraders doesn't mean that they were anything less than his abusers and bullies.

And the maurader fans love to lap up his resistance and call it "rivalry" so that James and Sirius are painted in a more positive light.

The truth stands that Severus Snape was a victim to their heinous actions.

The dynamic between Draco and Harry is nothing like the dynamic between mauraders and Severus.

[mariewrenau]

WOLFSTAR IN 2025 🗣️🗣️

[dragonchicken]

Hot take but I don’t think that Sirius and Regulus truly had a bad relationship until it was time to pick sides of the war. When they picked different sides, Sirius couldn’t understand. That’s why they stopped talking. That’s when he stated hating his brother and calling James his real brother.

Sirius chose the order to protect James and everyone knew it.

Regulus chose to be a death eater to protect James but nobody knew it.

In the end, neither one of the saved James from being k!lled by Voldemort, and both died still trying.

[thetwoanddoubleme]

How it felt discovering past Jegulus and bartylus with present Moonwater and barty x James.

[loveyouprongs]

overnight rush

authors note: using the "Oh, look at the stars! Ursa Major… so beautiful!" "We're inside. Those are just ceiling lights." prompt from @creativepromptsforwriting

upcoming content: fluff!! alcohol mention, james is drunk. food mention.

word count: 1.2k

masterlist

James is practically a furnace draped over you, all heavy limbs and warm breath against your neck. His arm is slung across your shoulders, the other flopping uselessly at his side as he stumbles through the hallway with you bearing most of his weight. Every step is an exercise in patience and balance.

"You're really strong, y'know that?" James slurs, giggling into your hair. "Like... like a dragon. No, wait. A... a really buff flower. My strong flower.”

"I wouldn’t have to be if you could walk straight," you huff, fumbling with your keys as he leans more heavily into you. "James, for Merlin’s sake — can you stand up for two seconds?"

"Standing is overrated," he declares dramatically. "Besides, this is nice. I like this." He tightens his arm around you, swaying on his feet. "You’re warm. An' soft. Like... like a pillow." He tucks his face further into your neck, standing at an angle that can hardly be comfortable given the many inches of height he has on you. Yet, he practically purrs with content as one of his hands snakes up underneath your top, fingers skating across your waist making you giggle.

"James," you try to sound firm, but the way he presses a sloppy kiss to your neck makes it come out more like a laugh. "Stop distracting me. I’m trying to get the door open."

"M'not distracting you," he says, grinning against your skin. "I’m being supportive. 'S different."

You manage to wrestle the door open and practically drag him inside, kicking it shut behind you. James stumbles over his feet and flops onto the couch, arms spread wide, looking up at the ceiling with wide eyes. He jolts up as quickly as he fell down.

"Oh look! The stars!" he gasps, pointing dramatically upward. "Ursa Major... so beautiful." James stumbled in a dazed formation, totally in awe of the “night sky” that shined above him.

You blink at him. "James, those are the ceiling lights."

He frowns, squinting. "Whaaaat? No, they’re stars. Look!" He lifts his hand, tracing invisible constellations in the air. "See? The Big Dipper’s right there, silly girl!”

You bite back a laugh. "We put those up, remember? The little glow-in-the-dark stickers you insisted we buy last month? You said every flat needed its own night sky."

James gasps, staring at you like you’ve just shared the secret of life itself. "That was us? No way. We’re brilliant,” he let out with a bewildered whisper, now sitting cross legged on the rug, his stare darting between you and the stars. He couldn’t decide which view amazed him more.

"Mmhmm." You crouch beside him, brushing a curl from his forehead. "Our apartment, remember? We can do whatever we want with it."

His face softens, and his eyes go all melty and fond. "Our apartment," he repeats dreamily, reaching out to poke your nose. "That’s so cool. You and me. Living together."

"Yes, love. That’s what happens when people move in together."

James hums contentedly, flopping onto his side and curling into the cushions. "Best decision I ever made. Apart from falling in love with you."

You roll your eyes, cheeks heating. "Alright, Casanova. Let’s get you ready for bed."

He grumbles when you tug him up, but relents when you pull him toward the kitchen, his feet dragging along the floor. He sags against you, arms wrapped around your waist, and you practically have to pour him into his chair.

"Okay," you say, carefully handing him a large glass of water. "Stay."

James salutes you with two fingers, swaying slightly. "Aye, aye."

You stifle a giggle. "I’m going to the bathroom. Will you be okay?"

"Yes, of course," James says, puffing up his chest in mock seriousness.

You raise a brow. "Really?"

"Yes!" he insists, nodding so enthusiastically that he nearly topples off his seat. "Totally fine."

You hesitate for a moment before slipping into the bathroom. The mirror is streaked in places, toothpaste flecks near the sink, and you make a mental note to clean it tomorrow. You catch your reflection, eyes lingering on the tired but content expression staring back at you. The apartment is small, your job doesn’t pay you enough, and sometimes the ceiling leaks when it rains too hard. But it’s yours. Yours and James’. And somehow, even when things are tight, you make it work. The place feels full — with laughter, with love, with him.

A loud clang makes you jump.

You rush out of the bathroom, heart racing, and find James sitting cross-legged on the kitchen floor, staring forlornly at what used to be a slice of cake. It’s now a sad mess of crumbs and frosting.

"James, what happened?"

He looks up at you, eyes wide and guilt-ridden. "It fell."

You press your lips together, trying not to laugh. "I can see that."

"I was trying to mold it back into cake shape," he explains, pushing the crumbled mess together with his fingers. "But it’s not working."

You kneel beside him, brushing his hair back from his forehead. "It’s okay. We’ll fix it tomorrow."

James pouts. "But I wanted cake."

"I know, love." You help him to his feet, dusting crumbs off his shirt. "Come on, let’s get you cleaned up."

He lets you lead him back to the bathroom, collapsing onto the closed toilet lid. "Okay," you say, guiding him onto the closed toilet lid. "Now don’t move, and I mean it this time."

James nods and bounces on the toilet seat like a child would. God, even drunk off his ass, he’s still the most endearing person you’ll ever know.

You grab his toothbrush and squeeze a dollop of minty toothpaste onto the bristles before holding it out to him. James stares at it blankly.

"You have to put it in your mouth, James."

"Oh. Right."

He takes the toothbrush and promptly misses his mouth, nearly poking himself in the cheek. You sigh, gently taking it from him.

"Alright. Open up."

He blinks at you. "You’re gonna brush my teeth for me?"

"Unless you want toothpaste all over the walls?"

He grins. "I love you."

You snort. "Yeah, yeah. Open."

James obediently parts his lips, and you carefully brush his teeth, trying not to laugh when he makes exaggerated "ahhh" sounds like a child at the dentist. His eyes stay fixed on you the entire time, half-lidded and soft.

When you’re done, he swishes some water around his mouth and nearly misses the sink spitting it out. You wipe his chin with a towel, shaking your head fondly.

"There. Minty fresh."

James beams at you, pulling you into his arms and pressing his face into your neck. "You’re the best. My best girl. My only girl."

"Yes, yes, I know. Let’s get you to bed before you pass out in the sink."

He lets you lead him to the bedroom, collapsing onto the bed like a starfish the moment his back hits the mattress. You pull off his shoes, tossing them into the corner, and tug the blankets over him. Just as you’re about to turn off the light, his hand catches yours.

"Stay."

You slip under the covers, and James immediately pulls you into his arms, his face nuzzling into your neck.

"I love our apartment," he mumbles sleepily. "I love you."

You press a kiss to his curls, smiling into the dark. "Love you too, James."

He’s asleep before you can say anything else, snoring softly into your pillow. And as the glow-in-the-dark stars shimmer faintly above you, and the faint smell of alcohol mixed with mint fanned your face, you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, you’re the luckiest person in the world.