#sbrl

[pain-in-the-riri]

Found an old sketch of sirius smoking on his bike that i never shared

ft. remus lupin walking home with groceries witnessing the hottest man he’s ever seen, pictured here seconds before walking face first into a lamp post

[rs-games]

Remus/Sirius Games (2008-2017) is archived on Dreamwidth

Hello, friends! Just returning briefly from beyond the grave to say that I believe most if not all of the Remus/Sirius Games archive can be found on Dreamwidth. I honestly cannot remember if we finished tracking down all the artwork, but the fic at least should be safe if news of LiveJournal's demise is true.

If anyone has active links to Games artwork that is missing from Dreamwidth, let me know, and I will fix it!

[marigold-hills]

Dunes & Waters, part 47

PART 1 • PREVIOUS PART • NEXT PART

“Peter wants to celebrate today,” Sirius says as they lounge in bed, lazily wasting away the morning. Remus is squished into Sirius’ side, avoiding the wet spot on the bed sheets where he spilled some of his tea. It’s probably the only good outcome of shaky fingers, even though he’s not needed the excuse to touch for weeks - maybe never. Still, he knows there isn’t much time left for them and it’s breaking him, this proximity, but he takes what he can. Ignores the inevitable.

“Celebrate?”

“Yeah. My regained freedom, you know, from this one jailor I’ve been saddled with,” he laughs, turns his face into Remus’ hair.

“I think the jailor has been saddled with you, to be precise, but if you’re so keen to be free of him…”

“Never,” spoken into the skin of Remus’ jaw, followed with a press of lips, “I’d commit so many crimes if it meant staying here.”

“Don’t let the Ministry hear you say that.”

“Or Shacklebolt,” Sirius shudders, overdramatically, “think I could give him an aneurysm?”

“You’ll give me one if you don’t stop with this.”

“Can’t be having that,” he pushes himself onto his forearms, hovering over Remus, lovely hair cascading down and blocking out the sun. “I’ll reschedule,” gets back on topic.

“Don’t. You don’t have long left here, you should see him. Not like I’ll be much fun today anyway.”

“I don’t need you to be fun. I need you to be comfortable.”

It’s so lovely, this casual care, that Remus almost says yes, stay. But he’s been selfish enough and Sirius doesn’t have many days left to spend with Peter. “I’ll see you in the morning anyway. Go with him, let me be an old man about the apartment.”

“Hottest old man I’ve ever seen,” lingering kisses: cheeks, eyebrows, “alright. But I’ll be home before you have to leave for the facility tonight. Don’t forget to drop the potion off at the library on your way, since you care so much for Shacklebolt’s continued wellbeing.”

Remus picks it up from the windowsill and puts it into a pocket of his trousers, showing Sirius: see, won’t forget. Don’t fret.

They have long hours to pass. The nearing full moon is making Remus slow and achy but it almost doesn’t matter when he can press himself close to Sirius’ body heat and leech it away to soothe his muscles. When he goes, he promises again to be back well before nightfall. “We’ll have dinner,” he says, “I’ll pick up something good. Don’t even think about doing any house chores while I’m gone, get yourself and Ziggy on the couch and don’t move a muscle.”

***

The owl comes as the sun is still high in the sky. Remus lounges around the apartment, drinks tea and eats peaches. He thinks, when Sirius gets back, he’ll ask him to run him one of those magic baths he makes, with the spells and the potions and the lovely stasis charm that keeps the water warm. 

Remus, the letter says in Peter’s hurried, scratchy handwriting,

Is Sirius with you? He was supposed to meet me a few hours ago, but he’s not shown. Unlike him. Getting a bit worried.

Let me know if you can?

Wormtail

Remus doesn’t worry. Not straight away. Something gnaws on him like a whisper to pay attention, a niggling itch somewhere behind his ear, but there is nothing to worry about. Sirius is, after all, free to do as he pleases. And sure, it’s not like him not to show up when he said he would, and he never before left the apartment without telling Remus where he’s going, sneaking out to the post office and to grab Ziggy notwithstanding. Extenuating circumstances. So that’s what Remus thinks. There must be circumstances to explain the absence.

Within half an hour, his anxiety peaks alongside the sun.

He writes back to Peter. I’ll find him, and will let you know. Short and perfunctory, because it doesn’t need to be any more, and the joints in his fingers hurt when holding the quill.

The tracking spell is easy to use. It pulls Remus’ bones towards Sirius’ location.

***

It takes a better part of two hours for Remus to find the abandoned house on the edge of Aswan the spell brings him to. It’s on the waterfront, overlooking the harbour. The water is clear and red in the light of the sunset. Across, he can see the Philae Temple standing on an island and thinks Sirius would like this.

He tells himself to stay calm, stay focused because Sirius is definitely inside, and there is no good reason for him to be. (He feels a bit guilty. Like he’s stalking Sirius, like encroaching on his space and his freedom. He’s tracked him here, without his knowledge or consent, and it’s not something he relishes. No matter how worried he is.)

Wand concealed inside his sleeve, he spells the door open and, slowly, quietly, ventures inside.

It’s dark, most of the windows boarded up. Remus doesn’t check if the lights are working. There is nobody inside, he doesn’t think. The spell pulls him towards a staircase leading to the basement. On a string, he follows.

There is a desk in the basement, littered with papers, several quills and an ink pot. It must be a Wizarding house, Remus thinks, and gives up concealing his wand, casts Lumos to see better. It illuminates a sturdy-looking door. The tracking charm tells him to open it, but it’s locked.

“Sirius?” he calls out, but there is no response. Looks around himself, checks again if there is anyone there, then spells the door to unlock. It opens with a metallic grunt like rust being scraped off iron.

Behind the door is Sirius, eyes wide, mouth taped shut, fighting against rope binding him to a chair.

Remus takes a step towards him. Halts.

Remus smells the rat.

He’s too slow. Disarmed before he can react, from behind. His wand flies out of his hand and Peter catches it, clumsily. Remus is half-way turned when another spell knocks him back and into the room with Sirius.

“Took you a while, but I guess better late than never.”

Sirius bucks so hard he almost topples the chair, muffled fury in each cut-off sound he makes. Remus stands up from where he fell to the ground. Wants to check on Sirius, check if he’s safe, if he’s in one piece, but doing so would require him to turn his back to Peter, and he can’t risk it.

“Settle down Pads, we’ve been through this already. I’ve got your wand. I’ve got Remus’, too,” he twirls it around his fingers, stands in the doorway, “there is nothing for you to do, but wait.”

“What do you want?”

“For now, for you to untie our Padfoot here. Wouldn’t look good if he were to die like this, too obvious there was foul play involved. Come on now, don’t make me wait. We don’t have long, since you took forever.”

Peter is watchful, wand trained at Remus, flicking between him and Sirius. The ropes don’t want to come off, twisted too tightly by Sirius’ attempts to free himself. There are red burns on his wrists and forearms.

“Oh for Merlin’s sake,” Peter gets frustrated, “told you to stop fumbling about Sirius. Course, you can never make anything easy, can you?” he vanishes the rope, and Sirius rips the gag off his own mouth.

“You little fucking rat,” his voice is full of venom as he steps in front of Remus and stops there, paused by another flick of Peter’s wand. “What do you want?”

“Want? Not much. Nothing from you, anyway. That lovely cousin of yours, well… she wants your money and your seat on the Wizengamot.”

“You’re working for Bellatrix?” It's more than shock. Remus can hear the way Sirius’ heart breaks, the way he must have, until that moment, hoped that this was all just a misunderstanding, maybe a stupid game Peter was playing.

“For, with, under. Well, not the last one, but if she asked… anyway, semantics. This is your fault, Sirius,” ugly sneer, little eyes glowing with hate, “you could have just let those Muggles die like you were supposed to. But no, you had to do your thing and only land yourself a limited sentence, so of course all your titles stayed yours.”

Sirius doesn’t catch the meaning. Not as fast as Remus does. “What do you mean, let them die?”

“What, you think our noble Lord Black here actually hurt anyone? Of course not,” Pete speaks with derision like it’s an insult, “no, I did that. Got him to the restaurant, waited for him on the corner, and cast the spells. Why do you think they took your wand and left you to rot in a Muggle prison? Bellatrix has more contacts than you think. Wanted to make sure nobody could trace that you didn’t actually do any magic. Except for that bloody protective spell you somehow managed, of course. Always have to be such a bloody hero, Padfoot.”

Sirius rushes at Peter, and for a moment it looks like he’ll overpower him. He’s larger, faster, and infinitely angrier, but then a spell throws him off. “Calm down. Show some of that fabled Black decorum.”

The air around Sirius tries to spark up. He’s a conduit and lightning goes through him. There’s an audible crack, then… nothing. The magic fizzles out, sucked away.

“The room is lined with malachite, Sirius. You can’t do anything here. Need to keep Padfoot dormant tonight,” Peter says, taking a step backwards. Remus can see him putting down his own and Sirius’ wands on the desk. “See you in the morning, Remus! And you, Sirius, or whatever is left of you. Will miss you, for what it’s worth.”

The basement door rattles closed, heavy metal grating against itself.

“Peter! Pete! You absolute fucking wanker open this goddam door!” Sirius shouts, screams, throws himself at the door, kicks it. Nothing happens. Peter doesn’t come back. “I’m going to break your fat fucking neck!”

There is one tiny window high up on the wall, right to the ceiling. Sirius looks beautiful bathed in the glow of the sunset. It must be minutes before the full moon rises.

Remus watches. Sirius is stunning in his anger, hair a disarray and eyebrows tight. He’s a whirlwind of energy, misfiring magic contained within the charmed walls. Remus allows himself space to watch. It’s probably the last time he will get to.

Gives himself a minute. Counts it away.

“Peter you fucker, I thought you were my friend!” Sirius rages. His body is taught like a bowstring. He grabs at his hair, where his wand usually is. Instead he tears at it in frustration.

Fifty eight… Fifty nine… Sixty.

“Sirius,” Remus says softly but he’s heard anyway, as if Sirius is attuned to his voice. “It’s alright.”

“It’s not! He’s… fuck, they’ll blame you. They’ll say you didn’t go to the facility and you attacked me and you’ll end up in Azkaban,” Sirius doesn’t even take a second to think about his own life, and isn’t that something? Doesn’t that mean something? “Or worse. Fuck. They put werewolves down.”

Remus touches his pocket. Feels the shape of the vial. Smiles.

“Sirius. Please. Stop. Come here.”

He does. Like pulled by a string. There are tears in his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It is. If I hadn’t…”

“Sirius,” Remus touches his face, wipes a stray tear away. “None of this is your fault. No matter what happens, alright?”

“They’ll kill you.”

Remus laughs, a soft thing, broken thing. “They won’t. And you’ll be safe, alright? I promise you. As long as I have a say in it, you’ll be safe.”

“I don’t think you get to talk our way out of this one,” a weak, sobbing laugh. “Fuck. Remus.”

Remus takes the vial in his hand, careful so Sirius doesn’t notice. He’d try to stop him, Remus knows. Can’t let it happen. The glass is cool in his palm. He brings Sirius close, chest to chest, hides his face in that lovely, lovely hair. Choosing one pain over the other has never been so easy.

“Sirius, I have to tell you.”

Sirius tries to lift his head but Remus keeps it tucked into the crook of his neck. Holds him tightly. Sirius doesn’t fight it. The light outside grows dimmer.

“If this is my last… fuck. If this is the last chance I get. Sirius. I love you.”

He uncorks the vial with his thumb, careful not to spill any. Other hand still deep in Sirius’ hair, caressing through it. Love on both ends, one an ending and one a worship.

“Why are you telling me this now?” Sirius grabs onto him tighter, fingers digging into skin. “Why not earlier?”

Remus drinks. The potion tastes like jasmine and like hot summer nights. It’s two swallows, nothing more. It burns like he’d eaten a star.

He lets Sirius move away. Shows him the now empty vial.

Large eyes. Hands over mouth. Sirius stumbles away from him like a reed in a storm.

“No. Remus, you didn’t. Please tell me you didn’t. Not for me.”

“Of course I did.”

“I didn’t know you had it! You were meant to… fuck, Remus, why didn’t you leave it at the library? You told me you would! If I’d known I never would have let you…”

Remus smiles at him as if to say that’s why, that’s exactly why.

“I don’t want you to die for me.”

“You don’t get a say in it.”

The moon must be near rising. Remus can feel it pulling at bones and muscles, but there’s another layer to the hurt - a burning, incessant thing he’d never felt before. Like his body is gnawing at itself already, before the wolf could start to.

He takes Sirius’ hands in his, brings him closer. Touches each favourite line of his face - there are so many. Combs through the hair and marvels at how much softer it’s become with care and love and time. Indulges himself, slow and steady. Feels no fear. Supposes there’s no space for it, when he’s this sure of his decision. When there is no turning back.

But Sirius doesn’t calm. He’s a hurricane with no outlet, all that magic that wants to escape trapped inside of him. Peter was right, to lock them somewhere where he wouldn’t be able to access it. Sirius looks like he’d derail the movement of planets if given half a chance. 

“Promise me,” Remus asks, tracing the shape of Sirius’ eyebrow with his thumb, “you won’t go after Peter.”

“I’ll kill him for this.”

“No, you won’t. You’ll go to England. You’ll go back to James and let him take care of it. Take care of you. Promise me, Sirius.”

“Fine,” Sirius throws Remus’ hand away carelessly and tucks himself into the spaces in his body that must have been made just for him. No other reason for why he’d fit so perfectly in the juncture of Remus’ neck and between his arms.

“I wanted so much time with you,” Remus says and the moon rises.

NEXT PART

NOTES

@digital-kam @sweetstarryskies you wanted them to spend the full moon together?

@tealeavesandtrash

@moon-girl88

@hoje--aqui

@cocoabutterandbooks

@onion-sliced-apples

@prancingpony42

@digital-kam

@remoonysiriusly

@sweetstarryskies

@a-sunset-outside-my-window

@procrastinatingstuff

@annaliza999

@arasael

@a-pine-cone

@goldenprophetwrites

(let me know if you do/don’t want to be tagged!)

[euripidestrousers]

I couldn't stop thinking about disgustingly intimate domesticity and how it manifests in unique but startlingly familiar ways, and of course, this turned into Sirius Black and Remus Lupin having the long-term relationship they deserve.

A series of short snatches of their domestic life, including enthusiastic bickering, the adopting of pets, silly inside jokes, and soft, comforting love.

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[sarahohimesama]

let's make a petition

Let's all ask Jk Rowling to write a short fanfiction on a pairing that doesn't exist but could have been OTP

[casualtornado]

Three sentence wolfstar fic! :)

The sight Remus gets downstairs to is enough to make him break out in a smile. 

Sirius has fallen asleep on the couch again, his toes wriggling a little in his socks as he shifts, his nose wrinkling as he scents Remus.

Remus turns off the telly and returns the moment of perfect bliss and enjoys it with all his heart–for the time being, at least.

[pain-in-the-riri]

bedhead

wolfstar

[pain-in-the-riri]

Marsh Mallow Spin

Chapter 4 is up! I have been neglecting everything else in my life, so you should read this.