Soooo Tired Of People Talking About How Regulus Was “going Against His Family” And “the Scapegoat”

Sirius has never actually called Lily her name, btw. He calls her Lilian and Lilibet and Lilith and Lillete and Lilah and Lizabeth and Liliana and Lydia and Liana and Lilette. Never just Lily.

She tries to do it to him in return, but there’s not much that Sirius can be short for. She compensates by calling him names and teasing him constantly.

🦔

This is Charles. He wants to go on a journey around tumblr. could you show him around?

Inspired by a fucking Twitter post, actually

Remus who can’t swim because of his physical disabilities which mostly affect his legs and hips and back. Remus who, despite being a little scared of it, loves the ocean and water. Remus who feels bad every time he sees somebody swimming or a pool.

Sirius who is a very strong swimmer and puts Remus on his chest to just exist in the water with his feet off the bottom for once. Sirius who invests in pool floaties so Remus can swim on his own. Sirius who teaches Remus how to float on his back so he can be in the water without floaties.

Sirius Black who gets angry when he’s in 12 Grimmauld Place.

He’s just gotten out of Azkaban, just found a place he can rest after being on the run, so no one blames him when he’s a little bit fidgety and strange.

It’s incredibly odd when he flat-out refuses to sleep in his childhood bedroom, but everyone has at least an inkling that his childhood may not have been perfect, so they go with it with little argument. That doesn’t stop the confusion, though.

“I’d kill to have a night in my childhood bedroom, especially if my parents never changed it!” “It would be like being a kid again; no responsibilities, just time to relax!” “It’d be like going right back to your younger years, who doesn’t want that?”

Sirius leaves when they talk about it. They get the hint.

Then he starts to get angry. He starts to change. He starts becoming quiet and abrasive.

At first, it’s little things. He lets out an incredibly aggravated sound when he tears his breath while buttering it. He snaps at Kreacher when the elf mutters under his breath. He runs his fingers through his hair hard enough to pull some out. He eats less. He drinks two glasses of wine instead of one.

Then it gets less small. The people in the room right under his are woken up in the early hours of the morning when he punches a hole in his wall. He genuinely pulls his wand on anyone that touches him without sufficient notice. He smashes his fist into Snape’s face when Snape makes a comment about how spoiled he must’ve been as a kid. He stops eating entirely. He’s drunk more often than he isn’t. He’s not sleeping. He starts wearing clothes that cover every inch of skin on his body. He stabs a hole through the canvas of Walburga Black’s portrait when she huffs at the colour he’s wearing.

People start getting upset with him. He’s getting reckless, he’s getting violent, his mood changes at the flip of a dime, his temper is shorter than it’s ever been.

It reaches a boiling point when Sirius snaps at Harry.

Harry had just been trying to ask if he was okay, because even a teenager could see that something isn’t right. Sirius had reassured him. Harry hadn’t been convinced and had gone to hug his godfather from behind. Sirius had flinched away so violently that Harry had nearly collapsed, and then he’d yelled at the kid never to do that again.

Harry had run off. Sirius had retreated to Walburga’s— his— room. His first move is getting drunk off his ass, then taking off his shirt to look at the damage plastering his body. He tried to cover it all with tattoos, once upon a time, but it never worked. That was after he, in his Hogwarts years, had taken a blade and a blasting spell to his skin to cover up the damage that way. That didn’t work, either. Nothing worked. And being in that house just seemed to be ripping those old wounds open.

Sirius had to put wards for himself and only himself on the windows and balconies of the upper floors, that way wouldn’t be too tempted to see if he could fly without magic. Sirius had to move all the dangerous potions to a locked box, which he gave Remus the combinations for and then promptly obliviated the numbers out of his own head. Sirius had to lock himself out of the kitchen so he wouldn’t be able to get his hands on a knife. Sirius had to give Remus his wand so he wouldn’t do anything stupid to himself or anyone else after he pulled it on Minerva. Sirius had to put up barriers and take precautions because he knew what the house would do to him.

12 Grimmauld Place killed Sirius. It killed him every time he walked around a corner and saw blood and tears and bright red light from the tip of a wand in his mind’s eye. It killed him every time Kreacher glared at him and tried to slip something into his food, which he had to throw out before he ate it knowing it would hurt him. It killed him every time he walked by Walburga’s portrait and she grumbled or muttered or shrieked at him, just like she did when she was alive. It killed him every time he ran his fingers over the keys of the grand piano, found comfort in music, only to remember shattered fingers for playing the wrong note. It killed him every time he looked at the permanently locked door with the initials on it and thought of his baby brother, only little, coming to him for nightmares or because Orion and Walburga had forgotten to feed him.

Sirius Black wasn’t angry. He was scared. But no one could see it, because he’s become a master at hiding his emotions.

That’s why he was so excited when he heard that Harry needed help in the Ministry. It meant he could leave his own personal hell.

??? You lack reading comprehension. You told to essentially mind my business… by reblogging a post you don’t like and getting in other people’s business? Go block tags. Nobody is stopping you. That’s how you refrain from seeing things you don’t want to see??

James Potter would sooner start a family with a boggart than ever be romantically involved with someone who has even the remotest interest in the Dark Arts.

Entirely correct, full marks!

more sirius black headcanons <3

hates being photographed but has a few old polaroids of him, mostly blurry shots of the marauders and one of himself laughing that he can’t bring himself to throw away

always smells like cigarette smoke, leather, and the faintest trace of something musky, like old cologne he barely remembers putting on

has a habit of flicking his lighter open and closed

picks at his nails constantly but keeps his hands clean, especially because of his tattoo work. his fingers are often stained with ink, though, and they always smell like nicotine

can fall asleep literally anywhere: on the floor, the couch. insomnia hits hard sometimes, so when he crashes, he crashes

reads poetry when he can’t sleep, the darker and messier the better—plath, bukowski, rimbaud. underlines lines that hit too close to home

collects random trinkets

hums under his breath without realizing—usually old rock songs or whatever tune is stuck in his head

terrified of hospitals. the sterile smell, the quiet—it all feels too close to the worst parts of his past

taps his rings against hard surfaces when he’s agitated, a rhythmic clink that drives people around him a little crazy

gets restless if he’s in one place too long—needs to be moving, even if it’s just pacing the room or fidgeting

rarely cries, but when he does, it’s silent and overwhelming, like he’s been holding it in for too long

knows the places he’s lived in better than most, could tell you where every hidden alley or late-night diner is, even the ones no one else seems to know exist

fiercely protective of his friends—would walk through fire for them without thinking twice

feels most alive when it’s late at night, the streets empty, cigarette in hand, music playing low in his ears

broke into his own flat more times than he can count because he loses his keys

keeps fostering pets

bites his lip when he’s trying not to cry so hard he’s drawn blood before

hates being told to calm down. it makes him immediately more defiant

always the one to suggest risky ideas—sneaking into closed places, midnight drives with no destination, climbing rooftops just for the view

his flat is a mess, but the chaos feels lived in, not dirty

fears being forgotten, like he never existed. he’s not scared of dying, though

has a scar on his knee from crashing his motorbike once

rolls his own cigarettes most of the time

awkward with affection, both giving and receiving

knows exactly how to break into places but rarely does—except when he gets really bad

can’t handle feeling trapped—needs windows open, needs space, hates locked doors

tall

So we all know the AU where Sirius and Remus raise Harry, but I have a new suggestion. What if, after Alice and Frank are tortured to the point of insanity and James and Lily are murdered, Sirius and Remus take both Harry and Neville in.

Imagine Harry and Neville being raised as brothers with a solid support network. Imagine both of them having childhoods free of neglect and abuse and expectations. Them being raised with stories of their parents and a household full of love and kindness. Them getting to stay up at night, hiding out under the blankets with a flashlight to giggle about nothing. Them stealing cookie dough and bits of food while Sirius and Remus cook, making a competition out of it. Them going off to Hogwarts together, being sorted together, and having sleepovers in the same fourposter.

Then imagine little Teddy Lupin being born, probably when they’re still relatively young, maybe seven or eight. Them getting so excited, getting in Sirius and Remus’ bed to poke Remus’ stomach and talk to their baby sibling (and sometimes poke Sirius’ stomach just because they can). Them taking it upon themselves to teach Teddy new words and then turning it into a challenge to see who can teach them more. Them rushing Sirius to get them home from Hogwarts quicker every break so they can say hi to their little sibling. Them regaling Teddy with tales of the castle (some of which are more made up than others just to fuck with them) together.

Imagine their family being Sirius, Remus, Neville, Harry, and Teddy, living together and being happy. They all get a happy ending. They get to be safe and surrounded by love. Just… imagine.

Casually falling in love with this

Drift

Sirius burst into the Gryffindor dormitory after detention and nearly fainted.  

“Moony…” Sirius stammered, his voice cracking. “That’s…that’s mine.”

“I hope you don’t mind,” Remus yawned. He was curled up on Sirius’s bed wearing a pair of red plaid pajama bottoms, gray wool socks and…

And Sirius’s quidditch jersey.

“But…” Sirius’s tongue felt heavy and his brain felt sluggish. He couldn’t make words. He could barely make coherent thoughts.

“Sorry, do you want me to take it off?” Remus asked, sitting up slowly and moving to pull the jersey over his head.

“No!” Sirius said, practically diving across the bed at him. He didn’t know what would be worse for his predicament, seeing Remus in his jersey or seeing Remus without his jersey.

“I just was so tired after my shower,” Remus said sleepily, snuggling back onto Sirius’s pillow. “I couldn’t find my pajama shirt, and your jersey was right on your bed, so I put it on. Then I laid down, and I think I fell asleep, and…I hope you don’t mind.”

Whether or not Sirius “minded” was not really the problem. The problem was how cute Remus looked with the oversized jersey slipping off his shoulder, his fingers just poking out of the too-long sleeves, and the name “BLACK” emblazoned across his back. The problem was how Sirius’s pillow would smell like Remus’s woodsy scent of tea and moss and parchment, and the drowsy rasp of his voice making little shots of electricity fire up Sirius’s spine.

Normally Remus was all sharp sarcasm, standoffish mischief, and dry jokes, but in the days before the full moon, he was constantly exhausted and could drift off to sleep anywhere. His friends joked that he could probably sleep through a dementor attack. The Marauders would often find him curled up asleep in ridiculous spots, like the curve of the stairway up to the dormitory or on a window ledge in Gryffindor tower with his face planted in a book, and Sirius and James would take turns scooping him up and depositing him onto his bed.

Sirius had diligently ignored the bubbling, fizzy feeling he got in his stomach whenever Remus nestled his head into Sirius’s shoulder when he carried him across the dorm or when Remus laughed at one of his jokes at the lunch table. Remus was his friend, a Marauder, and there was no way—no way at all—he’d think about Sirius in any other way.

But now Remus was all adorable in Sirius’s quidditch shirt, laying on his bed, and now he was—no, Merlin, this was terrible—he was motioning for Sirius to come over.

“Spoon me,” he demanded through a yawn.

This was another thing that happened to Remus before the full moon. His usual “don’t touch me, don’t look at me” demeanor melted into a need for constant cuddles. It was James who usually obliged, and Sirius knew it was partly because James was essentially a hug in human form and partly to spare Sirius the mortification of having to snuggle the boy he was trying not to be in love with.

But now, James was in a separate detention with Peter, and Remus was pulling Sirius by the wrist onto the bed, and Sirius had no choice but to kick off his shoes, slot his knees behind Remus’s, and let his arm be dragged across Remus’s waist. Remus sighed contentedly, and Sirius felt the sweet little sound vibrate through his chest, making his skin tingle.

“Can I just sleep here tonight?” Remus mumbled into the pillow. “You’re a better cuddler than James or Pete.”

“Sure, Moony, whatever you need,” Sirius whispered, kissing the back of his head before he even realized what he was doing.

“Tomorrow, too, then,” Remus hummed back.

Well, Sirius thought, it’s official. I am truly screwed.

Written for the @wolfstarmicrofic prompt, "drift"

No

explain your gender in 10 words or less without using boring words like “male”, “female”, “nonbinary”, “masculine”, “feminine” or “androgynous”.

go!

Sirius Black is not a lap dog. Sirius Black is a humongous black mutt the size of a bear that sits at your feet and growls when strangers get too close. He's got teeth and he's got claws and he's not afraid to bar them if people act up. He is not a lap dog, and he is not tamed. He is Sirius fucking Black.