As a late diagnosed autist I will say one of the most damaging but transformative experiences I've ever had was being misdiagnosed with BPD.
Everyday my heart goes out to people with BPD.
The amount of stigma and silencing they face is astonishing and sickening.
I took DBT for years. Therapists use to turn me away because of my diagnosis.
I would be having full blown autistic meltdowns, crying for help literally - but because I was labeled as BPD ANY time I cried I was treated as manipulative and unstable.
As if the only reason I could be crying was if I was out to trick someone.
95% of the books out there with Borderline in the title are named shit like 'How to get away from a person with Borderline', 'How to stop walking on eggshells (with a person who has BPD)'
I was never allowed to feel true pain or panic or need.
That was 'attention seeking behavior', not me asking for help when a disability was literally inhibiting my ability to process emotions.
There were dozens of times where I had a full meltdown and was either threatened with institutionalization or told I was doing it for attention.
My failing relationships weren't due to a communication issue, or the inability to read social cues. No, because I was labeled borderline, my unstable relationships were my fault. Me beggong nuerotypicals to just be honest and blunt with what they meant was me pestering them for validation.
Borderline patients can't win.
And the funny thing is - I asked my therapist about autism. I told her I thought I was on the spectrum.
BPD is WILDLY misdiagnosed with those with autism and I had many clear signs.
Instead - she told me 'If you were autistic we wouldn't be able to have this conversation'. She made me go through a list of autistic traits made clearly for children, citing how I didn't fit each one.
And then she told me that me identifying with the autism community was the BPD making me search for identity to be accepted - and that I wasn't autistic, just desperate to fit in somewhere.
I didn't get diagnosed for another ten years. For ten years I avoided the autism community - feeling as if I were just a broken person who wanted to steal from people who 'really needed it'.
Because of my providers - I began to doubt my identity MORE, not less.
Ten years of thinking I was borderline and being emotionally neglected and demonized by a system meant to help me.
To this day, I still don't trust neurotypicals. Not fully.
I know I'm not borderline now - but my heart aches for them. Not for the usual stuff. But for the stigma. And the asshole doctors. And the dismissiveness and threatening and the idea of institutionalization hanging over their head.
I love Borderline people. I always will. I'm not Borderline but if you are I love you and I'm sorry.
You're not a bad person. You're not a therapists worst nightmare, you are a human with valid feelings and fears.
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Please help the family of a non-verbal autistic child (who has been losing weight because he only eats certain kinds of food, largely unavailable during this time) leave Gaza!
Hello, my name is Mohammed Alassar, currenlty living in Sweden and I am fundra… Mohammed Alassar needs your support for Help Aser and his fa
When I was younger and researching the autism diagnosis criteria and symptoms, I thought “oh I couldn’t POSSIBLY be autistic.” Because when I read “takes everything literally” I thought it literally meant EVERYTHING and I was like “I don’t take EVERYTHING literally, just most things!” And I just realized the other day that it didn’t actually mean EVERYTHING and that was an overstatement.
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i love seeing fic writers put "i dont support jkr!!!!" in their summaries-
like, yeah, i appreciate the sentiment but sweetheart, you're writing wolfstar a/b/o with the tags "background starchaser" and "trans regulus." i wouldn't have assumed you supported a terf sweetie.
"Just think about it Albus! We could control the wold, control death himself!"
"Gellert... I don't know. Ariana is getting worse by the day, we simply just can't go on like that. Aberforth is starting to have doubts and honesty... so am I."
The young man seated in the old armchair of the Dumbledore's House, gently reached out to touch the hand of his opposite.
"Al...don't you know who is doing this to your sister? You know it, I know you do. It's them muggles. They are suppressing us! Those incompetent little muggles are going to drive us into the abyss if we don't do anything! We could change that, think about it. We could all be free! Ariana could be free."
He charmingly smiled at the red-headed boy infront of him.
But Albus Dumbledore was having doubts and that was something that Gellert Grindelwald wasn't pleased with, not one bit.
"Albus...", Gellerts voice got quieter as he knew exactly how to change the other man's mind. "We would be the most powerful wizards in the history of this world. We can do this. You and I."
Albus' breath flattened as Gellert pulled him closer towards him.
"The two of us. Forever."
It was only a quiet whisper in the room.
"Forever?"
His fingers softly wandered across Dumbledore's lips.
"Yes,", a bittersweet smile on his lips, "forever."
Softly the man pressed his lips onto the ones of the older, whose doubts immediately vanished. He only felt the other mans soft lips, his hands that slowly pushed his jacket of his shoulders, their breath becoming one. He had already long been captivated by the younger and Gellert Grindelwald knew exactly how to use that.
1899, the Dumbledores House/Godric Hollows; the evening before Ariana Dumbledores (*1885-†1899) death and the disappearance of Gellert Grindelwald (*1883-†1998).
(Wrote this little drabble years back. Pls mind I english isn't my first language.)
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Little late posting this, but written for the @wolfstarmicrofic prompt for February 4th: Dream. Sort of failed miserably at the "micro"fic part, but here you go! 3.3k of Wolfstar! (CW for mention of The Prank, but the story takes place months after it actually happens. Happy/hopeful ending guaranteed!)
Now posted to AO3!
The Gryffindor Common Room is uncannily quiet late at night, long after its many residents have retreated to the safety of their beds. What is ordinarily a bustling, cacophonous space becomes one of stillness… of silence.
But Remus has never minded the quiet.
On the contrary, he quite likes it – the way he can hear the crackling of the hearth as it radiates warmth into the large, empty space. Sometimes, on nights when sleep is even more elusive than usual, he finds himself sitting on the plush couch nearest the fire, keeping the tower’s resident fire-dwelling salamanders company.
Tonight is one of those nights, and he’s only just turned to the next chapter in his novel when he hears the soft padding of footsteps coming down the stairwell from the boys’ dormitories.
He’s not terribly surprised to see that the boy who emerges from the shadows is one he knows quite well. Achingly well, if he’s honest.
Sirius looks exhausted and skittish when he steps into the firelight, and he jumps, slightly, when he lays eyes on Remus, who stares silently up at him from where he’s lounging on the couch. A year ago, one of them would have made a quip about not being able to sleep as they settled in comfortably beside each other, words long having ceased to be necessary.
But this isn’t a year ago. This is now, and even though Remus forgave Sirius for his ill-conceived “prank” on Severus Snape some time ago, things are still different. They’ve been different ever since that night, even after their reconciliation following James’s frantic Floo call to Remus’s cottage on the night Sirius ran away from home.
They’ve only been back at Hogwarts for a few weeks, and though Remus is loath to admit it, the two of them still seem to be finding their footing with each other.
This isn’t a year ago, and Remus knows that’s why Sirius stops short when he first enters the room.
“Remus,” Sirius says softly. His voice is hoarse from sleep, tainted with an edge of guilt Remus desperately wishes weren’t there.
“Hi,” Remus breathes. He closes his book – offers Sirius a small smile. “You’re up awfully late.”
Sirius smiles hesitantly, his eyes darting around the room like he’s waiting for something awful to come leaping out of the shadows. He’s like this often, now – ever since he ran away – and even after weeks of seeing him like this, it doesn’t break Remus’s heart any less. “I’m sorry,” Sirius mutters. “I didn’t know you’d be down here. I can go, if you-”
“No, don’t,” Remus interjects quickly, because even after everything, Remus craves Sirius’s presence like a sprout craves sunlight. Sirius still looks hesitant, so Remus pats the cushion beside him. “Really, Sirius, it’s okay.”
We’re okay, Remus wants to say, only he doesn’t, for fear of being proven wrong.
Still, Sirius flounders for a bit, and Remus wonders if the other boy is really going to flee back up the stairs, after all. But eventually, Sirius sighs and makes his way over, sitting a foot or so away on the other side of the couch.
It’s yet another thing that’s changed, in the last few months. A year ago, Sirius would’ve sat so close they’d be touching from ankle to shoulder – practically on Remus’s lap. Remus quickly pushes the thought away, because if he thinks about it for too long, he may do something terribly embarrassing like cry. Instead, he focuses on the much more important problem at hand, which is the fact that Sirius is still plenty close enough for Remus to notice the trembling in his hands.
Remus swallows and stares at his friend’s shaking fingers, feeling rather wrong-footed. He hates this – God, he fucking hates this. He hates that Sirius is hurting. He hates that things are so strange between them, nowadays. He hates that the strangeness does nothing but make Remus feel like he’s missing a limb – trying to walk without a leg – and that it makes him feel unable to comfort someone who means more to him than anyone could possibly imagine. More than Remus has even admitted to himself.
“Sirius,” Remus says, setting the book on the table beside the couch. “Are you alright?”
The question makes Sirius curl in on himself, and Remus waits patiently for a response, if he’s going to get one at all.
“I-” Sirius starts, then cuts himself off with a sigh. “Yeah, I… it’s fine, Rem. Just a bad dream. You know how it goes.”
Remus does know how it goes, is the thing. He knows better than anyone, because he and Sirius have been sharing the darkest hours of the nights for years after bad dreams – after visions of glowing yellow eyes and sharp teeth have Remus waking in a cold sweat, and memories of shouted curses do the same to Sirius. They’ve talked each other through the aftermath. Held each other at the worst of times, occasionally waking up the next morning so tangled together that Remus couldn’t tell where he ended and Sirius began.
But they don’t do that anymore. Not since…
Remus doesn’t want to think about that, right now.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I know.”
There’s a long pause before Sirius speaks again.
“You know…” Sirius says tiredly. “I’m not sure I can remember the last time I had a good dream.”
The statement takes Remus by surprise, not because he’s surprised to hear that Sirius feels this way, but because he’s surprise to hear Sirius say it. It feels dangerously close to opening up, and that’s something the two of them haven’t done with each other in a long, long time.
“There are nights where I don’t really dream, or at least, not that I remember, you know?” Sirius continues. “But I can’t remember the last time I dreamt about something that was good. Something that made me happy.”
Remus’s heart beats unsteadily in his chest, because this, strangely enough, is not something he can relate to. Remus does have good dreams, on occasion, and a great many of them feature the boy with whom he is currently sharing a couch. He’s done his best to shove them to the back of his mind, whenever he wakes up from them. He relegates them to that ever-expanding box of Sirius-related memories that would be better off forgotten and moves on, only now… Sirius is right beside him, prodding at the box with long, aristocratic fingers, and Remus can feel the lid beginning to slip.
But he’s been silent for too long, and he should know better, because Sirius Black has never been able to resist filling a silence. “Do you have good dreams, Moony?” he asks softly.
Remus won’t lie, but that doesn’t mean he has to tell the whole truth. “Sometimes,” he says noncommittally, praying that will be enough of an answer for Sirius.
It’s not. Of course, it’s not.
“Yeah?” Sirius asks, turning sideways to face him – one elbow propped up on the back of the couch and a knee resting on the cushions between them. “What about?”
“Mundane things, really,” Remus answer diplomatically. “Everything’s so awful, out there in the real world, for people like me. Sometimes I dream that I just… disappear. Get a little cottage somewhere off the beaten path, with a garden, and a crup or a kneazle, and I can just sort of… exist, you know?”
It’s all true, even if he’s leaving out the most important parts. The part about Sirius being there with him, cooking dinner together in a tiny kitchen. The part about the bed he shares with a boy with long, wavy black hair and shining grey eyes, that leave him waking up hard and aching with want.
He swallows, and Sirius studies him for what feels like an eternity. Remus is certain that his face must be giving something away. He’s never been particularly good at poker.
“Sounds lonely,” Sirius murmurs, and it cuts through Remus like a knife.
It is, he wants to say. It is, because at least before, I could trick myself into thinking that maybe I wasn’t so crazy. That maybe you could be there, after all.
Instead, he says, “It’s not. Not always, at least. Sometimes I’m not alone.”
There’s a flicker of something sad and haunted in Sirius’s eyes. “Good,” he whispers. “I don’t want you to be alone, Moony. You don’t deserve that.”
Remus blinks at him – barely even thinks before uttering, “Neither do you.”
He nearly chokes on all of the words left unsaid in the silence that follows. There’s a palpable tension in the air, and Remus wonders if perhaps it’s all in his head or if Sirius can feel it too – if Sirius can feel the crushing, all-consuming weight of Remus’s love for him, attempting to bully its way out of Remus’s throat and into the open, like water testing the integrity of an overburdened dam.
Sirius’s gaze is a weighty thing, when it finally settles on Remus again. “Your dream sounds nice,” Sirius says. Remus feels his eyes begin to sting. “Practical, but sort of cozy. Like you.” His ears turn crimson when he says the last, and Remus has to wonder whether he meant to say it at all.
“You could do it too, you know,” Remus says tightly. “There’s nothing stopping you.”
There’s another pause – a long one.
“We could do it together,” Sirius says.
He’s poking that box of memories, again, and this time, the lid goes tumbling off.
Remus laughs wetly and quickly brushes away a tear he never granted permission to fall. “Sometimes we do,” he confesses. “When I dream about it.”
He glances at Sirius, who’s looking at him with wide, teary eyes, and finds that he can’t stop now that the lid is off the box, now that the dam has begun to crack under the pressure.
“Sometimes you come with me,” he says, voice shaking. “And you laugh at me when I fuss over the garden. You bring that muggle record player you have and never turn it off. And sometimes we quarrel about dinner, or whose turn it is to feed the crup, but we’re-” Remus’s voice breaks, and he sniffles. “We’re happy.”
He feels a bit like he’s losing his mind when he finishes, and he can’t bring himself to look at Sirius. It’s as close to a full confession as Remus will ever get, and Sirius is an idiot, sometimes, but he’s not stupid. He’ll be able to put two and two together, and then Remus’s secret – the only one he’s kept closer to his chest than his lycanthropy – will be out. Exposed like a wound that will never fully heal.
Sirius’s voice is strained and soft, when he speaks again. “Remus,” he croaks. “Remus, I…”
He never finishes the thought, and Remus’s blood begins to burn with shame.
But then… Sirius murmurs something else. “Remus, I want that.”
They’re the words Remus has been longing to hear for years, but dismissing them is astonishingly easy.
“You don’t mean that,” Remus says flatly.
“I do, though.”
“No, Sirius, you don’t,” Remus snaps, rising to his feet. “You don’t know what you’re saying – what I’m saying. You don’t know what you’re agreeing to, it’s-”
“No, Remus, listen to me,” Sirius pleads. He reaches out, nimble fingers encircling Remus’s wrist, and Remus freezes. It’s the first time they’ve touched each other beyond an accidental bump in the halls since the night of the prank, and his skin suddenly feels too tight for his body. He’s so shocked, he can’t even bring himself to resist when Sirius pulls him back down to sit on the couch again, much closer this time. Their knees brush against each other, and the contact burns hot like a brand.
Remus looks at Sirius – meets his gaze properly – and is stunned to find that his grey eyes are filled with tears.
“I know what you mean,” Sirius insists. “And I mean what I’m saying, Remus, surely you know that.”
“Sirius, it’s just a dream,” Remus counters tearfully. His heart is dangerously close to cracking open right there inside his chest, and he’s not ready. God, he’s not ready to have his heart broken by the conversation he knows is coming. “And you’re not… you don’t feel that way about me. Not like I do for you.”
“Remus,” Sirius whispers, soft and urgent, like Remus is the one breaking his heart, and not the other way around. “Everyone knows. Everyone knows that I- that I-” He can’t seem to get the words out, but Remus knows what his imagination wants to fill in at the end of the sentence. Two words that simply cannot be true.
Until Sirius Black, unpredictable as ever, does what Remus has never, in four impossibly long years, been able to do.
“Everyone knows that I love you, Remus,” Sirius says, tears streaking down his alabaster cheeks. “Everyone except you.”
Remus forgets how to breathe. “What?”
Sirius sniffles and releases his grip on Remus’s wrist in favor of tangling their fingers together. “I have no right to say that, Moony, I know that. I do. Especially not after… what I did last year. But Gods, I- I can’t do this any longer. I’ve been disowned by my family, Remus, I haven’t talked to Reggie in months, and I’ve still never missed anyone as much as I’ve missed you.”
Remus shakes his head, unable to believe what he’s hearing with his own ears. “Sirius, we talk to each other every day-”
“But we don’t, do we?” Sirius argues, desperate. “Not like we used to. Not like I wish we did. It’s different, now.”
“Of course it’s different!” Remus hisses, his fingers tightening around Sirius’s, even as his own heart tries to pull away. “It’s- I can’t… I’m not…” He huffs in frustration and fails miserably at blinking back the tears that won’t stop coming. Sirius looks utterly devastated when Remus glances at him.
“I know,” Sirius mutters brokenly. “I know, Remus. You can say it.”
Remus takes a shaky breath, and he thinks of all the things he’s wanted to say to Sirius for the last few months – all the questions he’s never asked – but they’re questions he knows Sirius won’t have answers for. Sirius will never be able to tell him why he sold Remus out to Snape, that night, because Sirius doesn’t know why. That much has been clear from the moment it happened.
So Remus doesn’t ask. What he says, instead, is this:
“I don’t understand why it had to be you,” Remus whispers, and he can’t look at Sirius’s face, right now, so instead he looks at their joined hands. “That’s the most fucked up part of this whole mess, Sirius. When I think about it…” He pauses. “When I think about things that I wish were different, my first thought is never that I wish the whole prank never happened – it’s that I wish it had been someone, anyone, other than you who did it.”
Sirius is silent – head bowed and hand shaking in Remus’s grasp, despite how tightly they’re clinging to each other.
“I know it sounds mad, but it’s true,” Remus continues. “Because I love James, and Peter, and Lily – you know I do – but not…” He takes a deep breath and raises his eyes to meet Sirius’s. God, what a messy, tragic pair they make.
He squeezes Sirius’s hand.
“Not like I love you.”
Sirius’s breath hitches softly, his red-rimmed grey eyes flitting back and forth across Remus’s face while the words hang in the air between them. The silence is deafening, ringing with the truths that have finally been voiced after years of silence – that Remus and Sirius’s relationship has never been quite like the others. That it’s always been a different sort of love.
Of course, it’s Sirius who ultimately shatters the silence, and Remus hardly has time to register what’s happening before Sirius chokes out a sob and launches himself into Remus’s arms, clambering into Remus’s lap and wrapping around him like a koala. The broken apologies that emerge between sobs are the final blow to Remus’s fractured heart, and he feels the moment it cracks open, bleeding desperation into every cell in his body. He winds his arms around Sirius’s body and holds him close – just like he used to after their worst nightmares – and stops trying to fight the tears.
“I’m sorry, Remus, I’m so sorry,” Sirius pleads, breaths ghosting over the exposed skin of Remus’s neck. “Please, Remus, you have to believe me. I’m so sorry. Forgive me. Please.” I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
Remus knows – he’s always known – and he forgave Sirius a long time ago, only because he knew Sirius would never forgive himself.
“I know,” Remus murmurs, holding Sirius so tightly he’s nearly surprised Sirius has any air left to speak. “And I do. It’s okay. We’re…” He pauses, because, he wants to tell Sirius that they’re okay, but they’re not. Not really. Not yet. “We’ll be okay, Sirius. We will. I swear it.”
He hears Sirius let out a shuddering breath, but he feels, more than hears, Sirius murmur into the skin of his neck, “I love you.”
“I know,” Remus says again, burying his face in the crook of Sirius’s neck, where the soft wool of his sweater gives way to smooth skin. Sirius’s arms tighten around his middle. “I love you, too.”
“I want-” Sirius starts, interrupted by a soft hiccup. “I want to have good dreams again, Moony.” His voice sounds so small – like that of a child – and it makes Remus ache.
Slowly, gently, Remus extricates himself from Sirius’s grasp so he can look Sirius in the eye. His hand hardly feels like his own when he lets it rest against Sirius’s flush cheek, brushing away the still-falling tears with a careful swipe of his thumb.
They’ve shared a bed dozens of times, before. Spent entire evenings on this very couch with Remus’s head in Sirius’s lap while they laughed with their friends. Sirius is straddling him right now, in this very moment, but this – Remus cradling Sirius’s face in his hand, stubbornly thumbing away tears while they stare at each other, gazes open and honest in a way they’ve never been, even before the prank – is undeniably the most intimate thing they’ve ever done.
And Remus knows, now, what he’s denied for so long – that there will always, always be a part of him that loves Sirius Black, and miraculously, he thinks Sirius may always love him, in return. It may not be tonight, but one day, Sirius will gather the shards of Remus’s heart and put it back together. Breathe love into it like oxygen. And Remus will do the same for him.
Maybe they can start right now.
“You will,” Remus says softly, a wobbly smile on his lips. “But for now, you can borrow mine, if you’d like.”
Sirius’s eyes widen with wonder, and God, Remus loves him. He loves him so much it hurts.
Remus doesn’t know this, yet, but in two years, the two of them will lay together in their bed and bicker teasingly about who kissed who first. Remus will claim that it was Sirius who first leaned in, and Sirius, ever the contrarian, will say the opposite. But they’ll smile through the playful disagreement, and sooner or later, the argument will end with one of them cheekily fitting their lips together in a successful attempt at distraction.
But this isn’t two years from now. Not yet. So for now, Remus doesn’t particularly care whether it’s him or Sirius who initiated it. His only cares in the world are that Sirius tastes like mint toothpaste, and his lips are soft and pliant against Remus’s own, and that their first kiss is a little wet with tears and a little devastating, but still perfect.
It’s perfect because it’s them – RemusandSirius – and for now, that’s enough.
For now, Remus Lupin kisses Sirius Black and smiles, because for the first time in a long time, he knows that his favorite dreams are finally, finally within reach.
Sirius moves his knight on the chess board and follows James' gaze. He laughs when he sees the red-head Lily Evans chatting with her friends on the other side of their common room.
"What?" James asks.
Sirius glances at him.
They're thirteen and it's the first time James really talks about girls. And even if girls and dates and kisses are new and not particularly something Sirius is interested in, he knows the rules. He was taught before he even understood what dating a girl meant.
"She's a Muggleborn," Sirius shrugs as he states the obvious.
"So?"
There's defiance in James voice, it reminds Sirius of the times he used to refer the likes of Lily Evans with much worse vocabulary. It was James and their friends to make him change his ways.
Sirius sighs.
"It's fine by me," he says, honestly. "But I doubt your parents would approve."
James frowns. At first Sirius thinks he's acknowledged the problem and trying to come up with a way to pursuit his crush without his parents ever finding out. And really, how could they, James doesn't have cousins to tell on him.
But it's not that. James looks at him the way he does when he's trying to read deep into his mind. Like James did when they had their first discussions about blood supremacy. Or when Sirius was walking funny after last summer break. He had hurt his back falling down the stairs after an argument with his mother, but that wasn't the sort of thing to discuss with... Anyone really.
James' expression clears, he leans back and makes his move on the chess board.
"Your parents want you to marry a pureblood," James states.
Sirius shrugs.
"Of course. Yours don't?"
"Dad would probably prefer if I'd marry a Muggleborn. She could teach him how to use the Muggle box he bought for warming up food," James says.
Sirius stares at him, and it has nothing to do with the said Muggle device. He'd look more surprised, but he learned to hide his feelings years ago.
He knows James' family thinks Muggleborns can do anything a pureblood can. But it's one thing to treat people equally on the streets, another to break something as holy as the pure bloodline.
Sirius had thought marrying a pureblood was given, a duty, a fact, something every pureblood did. But here he is, looking at the heir of the Potter family - an heir who clearly doesn't follow any of the rules Sirius had been taught since the day he was born.
As Sirius looks at James, he realises it looks like freedom. Not that Sirius even really cares about girls and marriage, but for the first time he sees that James truly has everything. Money, brains, parents who send him sweets and chocolate even when he doesn't ask for it. But more than that, James has options. He can choose his future.
"Are you ok?" James asks bringing Sirius back from his thoughts.
"Yeah." He answers before focusing on the chess board again. "But if I have to marry someone like Carrow and you get to choose, the least you can do is to lose the game!"
His knight eats James' horse.
"Hey, it's not that bad." James says comfortingly and moves his queen out of the way. Then he grins and Sirius knows he's up to no good.
"You can choose too. If you don't want Carrow you can always take one of your cousins," James suggests as sincerely as a mischievous pre-teen can.
The sofa cushion hits James before he has time to dodge, and then the chess pieces fly around as Sirius reaches over the sofa table to James.
When Remus Lupin descends to the Gryffindor common room a few minutes later, his two friends are a messy, wrestling and laughing pile of loosened ties and wrinkled ropes on the floor.
He shakes his head and sits on the sofa after removing a few misplaced chess pieces. He takes a fat book out of his bag and continues his day as if two wrestling thirteen-year-olds in his feet were nothing but an ordinary day.
As he reads Sirius launches from the floor to find a safe haven next to him - James knows better than to bother his reading. When the long haired boy leans his head against Remus' shoulder and shows his tongue at James, something extraordinary happens. Nobody notices, but the corners of Remus Lupin's lips turn into a smile behind his book.
Sirius Black has many things to learn and unlearn during his Hogwarts years. And dating girls - or not dating them - is definitely one of those.
happy biiirthdaay to youuu my babyboy sirius <3 you are simply in love with moony
Pairing: Wolfstar (Sirius x Remus)
Warnings: itty bitty bit of angst, sirius realizing he's in love with... I don't even need to say it.
Word count: 1k
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Contrary to popular belief, Sirius can stay still. It is only logical that the tumult of his spirit manifests in the uproar his presence brings to every room. Quietness, au contraire, he does not do often. Not at his own volition at least. But he's capable and even inclined to do it under the right circumstances.
The reward has to be great to get him to make the whirlwind of his being pause and revel in the silence.
He's been caughting himself slipping into it more than usual.
No one points it out, it's him that realizes the perturbation or rather un-perturbation he's experiencing.
There's a common denominator to this state, Sirius recognizes, and that is not a what but a who.
Remus is who.
At first Sirius theorizes that the boy’s calmness might be contagious, thus making him fall into it by mere mirroring. The hypothesis proves itself wrong when sitting next to equally quiet people such as Peter or Dorcas provokes him to be twice as loud in overcompensation.
Okay, so it's not that.
He then tries being silent on his own, just to see if it's possible. The answer comes quickly enough: It is not.
Unless petrified or muzzled, Sirius cannot stand a minute of muted solitude.
The ringing of silence fills his ears and, although it is deafening, it is not the noise that drives him crazy. No, that noise does not come from outside, quite the opposite actually. It is his internal flow of thought that does not let him rest, an infinite narration of insubstantial material.
He used to dread talking to his mother so much. She had a habit of making you feel small with her incessant chastises and snide comments. She could spend hours recounting the biggest decorum trifles that one couldn't care less about, repeating protocol rules over and over again. A list that never seemed to come to an end. The kind of things you listen to because you have no other choice, no matter how affected by the insults or bored of the rules you are.
It turns out that his mother has sneaked into his brain, for is her voice Sirius hears. The difference is that she no longer attacks with only the shames she has of him— that he is used to enduring— but the Walpurga in his head unveils a sharper knife; the anxieties that only he knows about.
Simply put, his head is not a nice place.
Quietude means amplifying the noise that is his mind, hearing it unfiltered by the cacophony of the outside makes his skin crawl.
If the former statement is true then why has he ended up like he is now? Resting perched in a library chair, perfectly placid, at least twice a week for the past months.
Again, Remus being there is the only thing these situations have in common.
It puzzles him. Sirius doesn't like not knowing. The saying is curiosity killed the cat but dogs are just as nosy, with the additional fact of having no sense of self preservation.
His mind zones out in Remus' presence, it turns quiet, not even the static of silence bothers him.
Sirius's eyes wander aimlessly through the boy in front of him with an empty head. He's reading, as usual, but it's not an assigned reading, Sirius can tell because his whole posture is different.
When he reads something for pleasure, as he is now, Remus' hand holds his impossibly heavy chin, resting his arm over the table in the most uncomfortable way possible, limbs and elbows jumbled in such awkward angles that it's surprising how many hours he can spend without moving.
Unconsciously his eyes trace every detail of his face, not to remember them— that is a long time carved in his thalamus for dreaming material— but as a kind of automatic comforting exercise. Counting the amount of scars, their paths, the valleys of features that they set across, everything.
Remus is quiet but he's not boring, his calmness is more of an aura than an actual fact, Sirius knows firsthand just how not calm the boy can get when mad.
Sirius decides to let it slide for now, put a pin on it and move on. He'll just keep enjoying the surprising respite from his mind.
“Creep.”
The mumble words snap him out of his lethargy, “Hmm?”
“I said creep,” a slight smirk forms on the corner of Remus’ lips, gaze not even glancing up from his book, “You're gonna burn a hole through my skull if you keep staring.”
Sirius doesn't have the sense to feel shame, he simply shrugs, “How do you know if you haven't even looked up for an hour?”
The smirk grows almost imperceptibly while long fingers turn a page, “How do you know I haven't looked up in an hour if you weren't staring?”
He huffs amused, “Touché.”
They don't say anything else and Remus goes back to his reading.
Sirius doesn't take his eyes off.
The only sounds are their breathing and the eventual turning of a page.
His mind continues to be quiet.
And then it hits him like a stunning spell.
For Sirius, his own silence is as loud as the ruckus of crashing head-on into a wall.
Oh, no.
Remus. Remus is why. Not something involving Remus. Just Remus.
Remus makes his head quiet.
He makes his heart loud.
The sound of a thick book closing pulls him out of his panicked realization, stopping him abruptly like a fencing foil making contact to the center of his chest.
Remus looks up, sharp hazel eyes colliding directly with his. “Are you ready to talk now, Sirius?”
Sirius gulps.
✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆✰⋆
headcanon that the black brothers took fencing lessons. GO AHEAD AND TELL ME IM WRONG. SEE? YOU CANT.
this is a bit silly but I just wanted to write sm for his bday.
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