JodoonOnTheMoon

Remus writes poems about Sirius.

They both know about the others respective media pieces.

knight remus & prince sirius | wolfstar

check out the easter eggs on sirius’s jewellery

time-lapse below the cut:

hi love, thank you for the compliment! honestly i haven’t read nearly as many fics as i’d like to (not even all the popular ones yet) but i’m working on it and it makes me so happy because people are ridiculously talented. here’s everything i’ve read and genuinely enjoyed so far, in no particular order:

(hi, so, Im also very new to Tumblr and don't know how to Tumblr, so I'm just reblogging the og post and putting the fanfiction here. No idea how you guys format fic, but I'll figure it out. Hope this isn't a weird way. 😅)

Okay, here ya go:

There's a hole in the box’s front right corner. Remus can feel the vinyl’s sleeve through it, cool and smooth on the pad of his index finger. He worries it, absent-mindedly presses up into the hole and tries shifting the weight of the stack inside. The stack doesn't move much. Maybe it's too thick.

It's every record Remus owns. Zeppelin, Beatles, Floyd, T. Rex, and more, but Bowie is most prized in the collection. There's even a limited edition Ziggy record, which Remus made sure to put on top. His buyer didn't seem nearly as interested in the rest over the phone.

The car parked across the street is silver. Clean mirrors, dirty rims. Remus looks for more little contradictions it might possess, which makes the task of not looking down a bit easier. The gap between the box’s flaps wouldn't close completely after he packed everything in, and he's already made the mistake of peeking once. It took a terribly long time to pull himself together, but it was simply too much to see the Ziggy cover and almost feel the songs associated with it. Remus doesn't need to look down in order to see that on-the-pavement view, dark blue night sky beyond all the brick and metal, buttery streetlights and windows, the scene somehow perfectly crooked…

It's really no good, whether he's looking at the thing or not. Sudden as summer rain, tears crash into the flimsy cardboard, and Remus tilts his face up so they'll roll back instead of down. Shifting the box under one arm, he dries his face with the back of his wrist.

“Ridiculous,” he mutters, “just selling some music.”

It's more than music, but it doesn't matter. Remus needs the money. He does, he does—he needs it. There's no getting around it this time, and his record collection (so long as the buyer meets his asking price for the LE Ziggy) will sell for just enough to make it this month. What Remus will do for money next month, he couldn't tell you, but for this month, this is what he's got.

It's a rational conclusion, and it does nothing whatsoever to stop him from reducing to a puddle of tears.

When the buyer walks up, he offers a hand Remus wouldn't be able to take even if his own hands weren't full, because Remus doesn't see him at first. Remus vaguely notes someone is standing beside him now, that the stance and overall shape reads as masculine, that the buyer smells expensive and rather lovely, but the extended hand isnt noticed until it drops to the buyer’s side.

“Sorry,” Remus blubbers, trailing his wrist furiously over his eyes. “God, I'm sorry, just—”

“S’alright,” says the buyer, sounding friendly enough. “You Lupin, then?” A shape rises and falls past the box, stirring the air between them. Remus sees enough through the blur to note the buyer’s gestured at the sign above the shop behind them. “This your place?”

He shakes his head. “Just where I come,” Remus explains.

“Never been,” the buyer muses. His head tilts, and Remus sees the dark blur around his head and shoulders isn't a hood drawn up in the late summer afternoon, but a long, thick mess of black hair. “Must be good if you found that Bowie record.”

The stupid tears won't stop, but Remus catches his breath enough to hold a conversation. “My mum used to take me…”

Ah. No, it seems he was wrong. Can't get another word out, breath catching—and God, is that snot on his upper lip now? For fuck’s sake—

“Do you want to sit down?” asks the buyer. “Looks like there's a bench in here.”

And suddenly Remus is being guided into the shop’s foyer, which is a terrible idea because the scent of old cardboard, dust, and vinyl hits him in a wave so soft it almost makes him properly sick.

“No, no.”

The buyer opened the door for Remus to walk in, but came up behind him to follow, so when Remus suddenly turns around to leave at once, the box collides between their bodies. Overcorrecting, both men grab at the box to steady it before, somehow, they manage tearing it in two.

Records tumble out neatly, like a magician’s card trick gone wrong. They stare as the covers slap the ground between the doorway and pavement.

Remus, of course, can't see a thing within two seconds.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry!”

“No, I'm sorry!”

It's a lot of this and not much else as they bend to pick up the stack. All apologies and humiliation and awkwardness.

That expensive cologne should absolutely be giving Remus a headache, but instead it fills his head with cotton. Warm and musky, with a peppery bite. It’s what he focuses on as the stack becomes a stack again, Ziggy on top.

The buyer holds them all, sans box, hands spread along the sides to keep all the records together. Remus’s eyes are dry enough to see the knuckle tattoos and patchworks that extend up the pale, slender arms. A few silver rings catch the sunlight as the men head out again.

“Sorry,” Remus repeats. “Haven't been in there since…s’been a long time.”

“No! No, no worries!” The buyer’s head shakes quickly. “I was stupid, pushing you in like that.”

He did no such thing, but Remus only nods, too tired to argue. The Ziggy record stares at him from the top of the stack, back corners scraping against the buyer’s black T shirt.

There's a mortifying pause. Then, suddenly, the buyer brings the stack to Remus again.

“Mind holding these while I grab my wallet?” he says. He doesn't wait for a response, but Remus automatically complies, careful with the sleeves as they're handed over. The buyer pauses for only a second, grey eyes looking Remus over before he starts patting his pockets.

Before Remus can worry-slash-hope that the buyer won't be buying anything after all, the wallet is produced, cash—far too much of it, surely?— is unceremoniously shown and then stuffed into Remus’s own pocket for him, and…

And Remus is still holding the stack of records. He waits, biting the inside of his lip as he forces his fingers to prepare letting them all go once more.

“Here,” Remus starts, taking a step forward.

But the buyer shakes his head again, stepping back. “No thanks,” he says, “I’ve seen enough. You're hired.”

“...Hired?”

“Yep.”

Remus stares at him, blinking back the fresh tears. “But I have a job.”

“Convenient this job’s a one-time gig, then.” Sirius smiles, and it's so easy Remus almost believes there isn't pity etched along the expression. “Doesn’t have to be, but if you're busy…” He shrugs lightly. “Oh, and you did great, so I threw in a big tip.”

“What—?” Remus shakes his head to clear it and starts towards the other man, but the man’s grin flashes more teeth before he turns around to walk quickly away.

“Wait! Please?” Remus calls, scrambling to reach a hand into his pocket without dropping anything. “What did I do?”

He glances down to the cash. There must be close to a thousand pounds in his palm.

There's something else, too. A scrap of paper with what looks suspiciously like a phone number on it. When did the guy even get the chance to write it down?

Remus looks up as his buyer calls down the pavement before turning the corner: “You've got great taste, thanks for showing me this place! Wouldn't believe how difficult it is to find a good personal curator these days—call me and we’ll talk more!”

AAh!!

I am weak to a well made ravioli. Hell, I'm weak to a cheap ravioli. I love a pillowy little cheese bite in sauce.

I‘m only making this post because I stumbled across a "Jily defender" who‘s posts were nothing but Regulus slander.

I don't mean to appoint myself The Voice Of The Jily Fandom, but canon actually is that important in this fandom space as a general rule. You don't have to agree with that rule, but if you want to engage in this space, you do need to acknowledge it.

That doesn't mean that you have to accept our characterisation of Regulus or any other character. It doesn't mean that you have to follow canon. But it does mean that you accept that most of us understand him to have been a willing and enthusiastic member of an organisation that regularly killed innocent civilians for the purpose of terrifying the population and further marginalising already marginalised groups in society. To me, that is a Very Good reason to dislike him, and it is pretty offensive to my political and moral principles to be repeatedly told otherwise.

I know it sucks to have people dislike a character you relate to and feel strongly about, but I think that is the cost of that character being essentially an OC with a problematic character's name stuck on them (and I say that with some affection, that fandom got a lot of perks by doing so!).

Letting someone like what they like is not the same as never criticising what they like, and I actually think people are as entitled to dislike things as they are to like them, though they owe the courtesy of tagging properly.

I wasn’t trying to tell people off for disliking Regulus. But I see that I have expressed myself poorly. I‘m sorry.

The blog I came a across really didn‘t post anything else other than hate on Regulus. And while they are of course allowed to do that I wonder whether it is necessary to spend that much time on hate.

I see that my post might have been a little unnecessary. But as someone who prefers Jily over Jegulus too I don‘t go around telling people who like Regulus why they shouldn’t. I guess what I was trying to say is, it‘s not that deep. It‘s fiction and fictional characters after all and there is no reason to spread negativity by spending all your energy on hating on a character.

You just so happened to use phrases that really bug me because they seem to assume that the norms of this fandom, which predates the Marauders Fandom tm by quite a while, are either nonexistent or unworthy of acknowledgment, which in turn tends to send me into my Old Lady Wanting The Children Off My Lawn persona.

As for the blog you mention, they are pretty rare and easy to block. What is not easy to block are the streams of people who tag jily to either give their little hot take about why they prefer jegulus, or to expand their reach on a completely unrelated post, or to (often patronisingly) tell us that we should all like both ships even though on the canonical reading of these characters, they are mutually incoherent and incompatible and one of them is incredibly morally suspect.

It leads to a tag that is just white boxes full of blocked posts and scrolling through that is so much less fun than very occasionally being confronted with the actual hate you're reacting to. So perhaps my request to you, as someone who does straddle the divide at least a bit, is to spare a post for them too.