mmm, shanrio

fandoms (writing): harry potter/marauders, supernatural fandoms (lurking): arcane, smallville, marvel, vampire chronicles

ao3: mmm_shanrio

the sluttier stuff lives there, if i ever get around to posting anything ever

posted works

together, or not at all (Harry/Draco - E, 10K words) auror partners/situationship, veritaserum, hurt/comfort, truth confessions, denial, hopeful ending

within reason (Harry/Draco - M, 500 words) married, negotiated kink, consensual somnophilia aftermath, aftercare symphonies in miniature (Harry/Draco - various ratings, series) married life, kidfics, PTSD, growing up, regularly scheduled angst and fluff now or never now (Dean/Castiel - E, 8k words) croatoan verse, fallen castiel, hurt no comfort, sad ending

microfics (tumblr):

jegulily | 289 words

companion to: future

James Potter is radiant. Obnoxiously so. He floats around the kitchen, barefoot and beaming, with nothing in his head except the one thought that hasn’t stopped looping since they’d come home:

I am the luckiest bastard in Britain.

He even says it aloud: “I am the luckiest bastard in Britain.”

And then, because he has no one to high five, he does it himself with an audible clap! and grins so hard it actually hurts his cheeks. In the spirit of things, he whips out his wand and charms a single string of blue bunting to hang over the doorway.

“IT’S A BOY!” it reads.

“Too fucking right, mate,” James says cheerfully. He paces a bit, circling the kitchen as though he might collapse if he doesn’t keep moving. He might, really. It’s been quite a day. At one point, he grabs a tea towel and throws it in the air like confetti. It flutters pathetically to the ground.

He wishes Regulus and Lily were in any state to celebrate with him. He’d swing Lily around the kitchen and make her cackle. Regulus would roll his eyes, yet he would watch with that secret little smile, the one he never notices but always wears when he’s happy. And, eventually, he’d let himself be pulled into the madness between them. He always does.

James might be alone in the kitchen, but he doesn’t feel like it. He’s got his whole family home with him, right upstairs, brand-new and lovely and waiting for—

His good mood drops as if it’s been snuffed out by a nox. He freezes mid-step, his eyes going wide.

jegulus | 384 words

It’s the first warm day of the year, and his brother and boyfriend have lost their minds. Sitting on a thin blanket, Regulus watches from behind dark shades as they run through the sea, whooping with laughter that carries back on the wind. Certifiably mad.

They’ve been on the beach for hours despite the temperature hardly being agreeable enough for it. Most beachgoers have only dared to wade knee-deep. It must be freezing, because James is red all over as he jogs up the shingle towards Regulus, beaming and dripping. Sirius follows, not one jot drier, and his pale skin even redder. 

“Are you really not coming in?” James asks, sopping wet. He has no right to look as good as he does, and Regulus looks away on principle. 

“No,” he says, chin lifted. “I shall remain here in protest.”

Sirius snorts. “In a sulk, you mean.”

“In protest. Warm, comfortable, not-freezing-my-arse-off protest. I told you it was too cold for this.”

James makes a disappointed noise. “Come on, Reg. It’s gorgeous. Look,” he tries, gesturing towards the horizon, “you can’t tell me it doesn’t look the slightest bit enjoyable?”

“I can, and I will. It doesn’t look the slightest—”

“Oh, leave him to it, Prongs,” Sirius interrupts. “Allergic to fun, that one.”

Regulus sneers at him; Sirius sneers back and, for good measure, flicks water right in his brother’s face. He’s already halfway to the sea when Regulus draws his wand.

“Wanker,” Regulus mutters. It’s then that the bright day greys as the sun dips behind a cloud. The breeze picks up. Vindicated, if suffering for it, he folds his arms with a shiver. 

James drops beside him on the blanket and nicks his wand for a quick drying charm. “Bit chilly when the sun goes in, isn’t it?” he says cheerfully, ignoring the glare he gets for it. He hooks an arm over Regulus’s shoulders and squeezes. “There. Better?”

Regulus looks up at him—wind-rumpled, sun-bright, smiling like he already knows the answer. Love ties his tongue for a moment, and all he can manage is, “It’s all right.”

“Good.” James tucks him against his side. He kisses Regulus’s hair and murmurs, “Still protesting the beach?”

“Naturally.”

James huffs a laugh, then hums, pleased, when Regulus burrows closer. 

jegulus & wolfstar | 447 words

“Ask him along, then,” Regulus hears as he passes by Sirius’s bedroom door. It isn’t his brother’s voice, but Remus’s—sounding rather exasperated, at that. 

“I don’t want to!” That’s Sirius, all theatre. There’s even the sound of him throwing himself onto his bed. “Every time I invite him, he either tells me off—or he does come and disappears for half the night. It’s embarrassing, Moons. I swear he does it just to wind me up.”

Ah. Of course. They’re talking about him again. Regulus doesn’t think twice about stepping closer to the door and putting his ear to it.

“You want him to spend more time with James, don’t you?” Remus asks, and Regulus’s stomach does a strange little flip. “Oh, don’t make that face. You said so yourself. You hate everyone he’s brought home.”

Sirius makes an incredulous noise. “One of them ate my leftovers, Remus! Caught the lanky git standing at the fridge mid-snaff! In his pants! Who does that?! Savages. Savages, Remus, that’s who.” 

Barty. Regulus grins to himself. They haven’t slept together, at least not for years, but he likes how little Sirius knows of his personal life. 

“And if that’s the sort of company Reg is keeping, we need to step in,” Sirius continues.   

“We?” Remus’s voice pitches so high that Regulus almost laughs. “Sorry, there’s no we in this! I want no part in trying to set your brother up with anyone, much less James. Don’t you think it’s—I don’t know, strange?”

“It doesn’t bother me. I thought it would have done, but… I know James would be good for him, wouldn’t he? And they like each other. It’s disgustingly obvious.” 

A sudden flash-image of James beaming at him from across a crowded room comes to mind, and Regulus feels his chest warm. He fights a smile despite there being no one around to see it. 

“They’re not… subtle,” comes the reluctant agreement. “But if you really want to go ahead with operation: help James Potter snog your little brother, you’ll have to actually invite Regulus.”

Sirius yelps; Regulus flinches back as a pillow misses its mark and hits the door instead. 

“Don’t call it that, you twat!”

Remus laughs. The bed creaks, and then Sirius laughs, too. Regulus instantly loses all interest in eavesdropping. 

Just as he steps away, he hears Sirius say, “Besides, it’s not as if I expect him to snog Reg at the party. Prongs is my best mate. He’d have more respect for me than that.”

jegulily | 445 words

companion to: celebrate

Regulus traced the slope of Harry’s little nose with a gentle, curious finger. All James, this one. His face, his hair. Certainly his volume. 

He felt terrible for Lily—laid up and exhausted with the better part of a month’s recovery ahead of her. Faster than muggle means, as he understood it, but still a hardship. He looked forward to caring for her and Harry both, if James ever gave him the chance. 

For now, he was quite content to hold the brand-new life they had just brought home.

“He’s perfect,” Regulus said for what felt like the first time but was at least the seventh. “Merlin, Lily. Look at him. You’ve done brilliantly.”  

Lily snorted. “You’re worse than James.”

He shot her a look. “I don’t think anyone could be worse than James. He’s probably downstairs congratulating himself on being the luckiest bastard in Britain.”

Harry made a tiny snuffling noise, and Regulus adjusted his hold, hoping he’d got it right. James said it would come naturally to him, but Regulus found many things didn’t. Affection. Intimacy. Openness.  

He’d had to work quite hard to get here. And there was still more work to be done. 

“Strange,” he mused, gazing down at his son. His. Shared, and willingly so. 

“What is?”

“That you’d let me do this. Some would think it strange to let a man who once spat slurs at you hold your son.” 

Lily was quiet for some time. Finally, she said, “Well. I let him do a lot more than that.” 

Regulus rolled his eyes. He didn’t dare look, knowing she’d be smirking at him. A proper menace. Worse than James herself.

It was then that Harry sighed in his sleep, a small, milk-sweet thing, and tucked his face blindly towards Regulus’s chest. He went still, afraid to disturb him. 

In the hush, the familiar room felt very new indeed. The clock ticked. Summer rain pattered at the window. 

And in Regulus’s arms was the future. 

It was terrifying. 

It was lovely.  

“Thank you,” he said without raising his head. He couldn’t. He didn’t want to miss a second. 

A sniffle finally made him look up, horrified to think he’d made Lily cry. Instead, to his chagrin, James stood there, watching them with wet eyes and holding a tea tray.

“Oh, for Salazar’s sake, Potter,” Regulus whispered. “Pull yourself together.”

James set the tray down and fruitlessly wiped away tears with one hand. “I can’t help it,” he said. His voice shook. “I’m the luckiest bastard in Britain.”

Lily shot Regulus a knowing grin. He rolled his eyes again. 

jegulus | 166 words | NSFW (you know what they’re doing)

“Don’t you dare.”

James stops with a shudder. He makes a low, helpless sound in the back of his throat. Rests his slick forehead against Regulus’s knee as he swallows air and still fails to steady his breathing.

“Together, James,” Regulus reminds him, smearing a thumb across his ruined mouth. James tries to follow it with a kiss. “This was your idea, remember? You were the one who wanted some perfect, earth-shattering moment straight out of a bodice-ripper.”

James whimpers. He’s too far gone for even that little bit of wickedness; Regulus softens.

“Oh, darling. It’s all right,” he coaxes. He slips a hand around the back of James’s neck. It’s slick there, too, his hair matted with sweat. “You can do it for me, can’t you?”

James opens his eyes. They’re nearly black in the midnight pale. “Yeah,” he whispers, the word cracking hoarsely. He clears his throat. “Yeah. I can. I want to. Together.”

“Together,” Regulus echoes, and pulls him down for a kiss.

jegulus | 264 words

“Regulus Arcturus Black,” said James grandly from the doorway, “I am officially calling upon you for boyfriend services.”

Regulus paused, then continued writing without raising his head. “Use my full name for such nonsense again and see how short the list of ‘boyfriend services’ gets.”

James groaned. “Come on, Reg. I need your help. You love me, don’t you?”

“Most days.”

“Regulus.”

“James,” he volleyed, “I’ve got to finish this before the day’s out. The publisher’s been expecting my draft long enough. I haven’t the time for sex or games or whatever it is you’ve come to conscript me for.”

The relief of blessed silence was short-lived. He could feel James lingering, and worse, sulking. Regulus didn’t need to look to know. He sighed.

“You’ve prepared a speech, haven’t you?” The lack of an answer was answer enough. “All right, you ridiculous man. Let’s hear it, then.”

“Brilliant,” James said, brightening, and Regulus cursed himself for being so easy. Clearing his throat and squaring his shoulders, James declared, “Regulus, my love, there comes a time in every relationship when you’ve got to put aside your differences and close ranks. We need to unite, once and for all, against our common enemy.”

“Mm. And who might that be?”

“Your brother.”

The notebook closed with a thump. Regulus spun to face his boyfriend.

“Oh?” he said airily, feigning disinterest. “Do tell.”

James smiled, slow and knowing. “I thought you were busy.”

jegulus | 640 words

“What do you mean,” James said patiently, though he sounded anything but, “he can’t have his wand back?”

Regulus lifted his chin as the clerk’s gaze flicked towards him and away just as quickly. He’d grown quite used to such looks. Fleeting, judgemental things. The sort that made his stomach tight. The sort that made him wonder if surviving the cave was worth it, when his second chance at life might be this bleak.

“Mr. Potter,” said the clerk, matching James’s faux-patience, “as an officer of the DMLE, you should know better than most that those who served You-Know-Who remain subject to wand restriction. Indefinitely.”

“He’s not one of them,” James said, and Regulus thought he might be sick right then and there. He stood straighter. His shoulders ached.

Though he knew it was coming, he still had to keep from cringing when she asked, “Mr. Black, would you roll up your left sleeve?”

“Don’t,” James snapped, then softened. “Sorry. I just—You don’t have to do that.”

Regulus was quite proud his voice didn’t shake when he spoke. “Of course,” he said. “We all know what’s there, don’t we?”

Beside him, James went very still. It was worse than the stares, worse than standing there in some impersonal government room asking permission to hold what had been his since he was eleven. Regulus knew very well what shame was, but now he’d shown it.

“We should go,” he said quietly.

James shook his head. “No. No, I’m not having it. He’s a wizard. He has a right to his own wand.”

It didn’t surprise him. James and all his righteousness never backed down. But the Ministry was a beast that did not baulk at James Potter’s bravado and broad shoulders.

“No,” replied the clerk. “He doesn’t.”

Death Eaters don’t have rights, she didn’t say. She wanted to. It was there in the curl of her lip. A little snarl, all for him.

“Says who?”

“The law.”

“Sod the law. Have you any idea what he did—”

“Potter.” Regulus caught his elbow, fingers tightening once. Hard. “Leave it.”

Still, James drew a sharp breath, primed to argue.

Before he could, Regulus said, “Jamie, please,” and James turned like gravity had taken hold of him. He searched Regulus’s face a few moments longer than he needed to and nodded in defeat when he found what he was looking for.

“All right,” he sighed, though they both knew it wasn’t. “All right, Reg.” He took Regulus’s hand firmly in his and turned back to the clerk, who merely watched. “We’ll be back. I promise you that,” he said, and didn’t wait for an answer before leading Regulus out of the office.

They didn’t speak again, not once, until James stepped out of the floo after Regulus. In the safety of their home, away from bureaucracy and the stares and the cold marble of the Ministry, James hauled Regulus into a hug and said, his voice resolute, “I love you.”

Regulus wound tight arms around him and cradled the back of his head. “I know,” he said, trying to lighten his tone. “Did you think I couldn’t tell, with the way you defended my honor so viciously?”

James didn’t laugh. “I’m not letting this go.” His words came muffled from between them. “I’ll write a thousand fucking letters if I have to. I’ll play politics. I will.”

He drew back to look up at Regulus, eyes bright and furious.

“I’ll become head of the fucking DMLE if that’s what it takes. I’m clearing your name.”

Regulus swallowed. “What an ambitious promise.”

“Well, it’s one I mean to keep,” James said, and leaned up to kiss him soundly.

“Merlin, Prongs. What’ve you done to your wrist?”

James forced himself not to look. The bruise was only visible because his sleeve had ridden up when he reached for the toast.

“Pranged it.”

“Pranged it,” Sirius repeated in disbelief. “What on? A bear trap?” He leant across the table and narrowed his eyes. “Come off it. What actually happened?”

James quickly took two bites of his toast and shoveled in a forkful of eggs for good measure. The mouthful bought him enough time to stall, but James had never been good at lying to Sirius. He chewed, swallowed, and sat there hopelessly before he dredged up the courage. 

“Right. Er. Well. It was handcuffs,” James said plainly. He lifted his other hand and placed his wrists side-by-side as if the visual demonstration would allay the need for any further elaboration. 

Sirius’s brow pinched as he stared down at the matching visible bruises, thick and purple-blue with their newness. They looked fresh, because they were. James had done a fantastic job hiding them until now.

“Handcuffs? You mean you got nicked? What for? And why didn’t I know about it?” James watched, helpless, as Sirius worked himself up into a huff. “I can’t believe this. Arrested without me. Who else are you out with, then? I know it isn’t Regulus, the bastard hardly leaves the flat despite the fact he doesn’t even live here—“ 

“Now hang on a minute! I didn’t get arrested!” 

“Oh, don’t give me that! You’ve clearly been out gallivanting with some tosspot who doesn’t know the first thing about being your best mate!” He scoffed. “Letting you get caught by muggles like an amateur. Come on, then. Let’s have it. Who is he?”

“Pads. I don’t have some illicit best mate on the side, and I did not get arrested. You’d quite literally be the first person I’d call from the cells and you know it!” 

Sirius drummed his fingers on the table with poorly-disguised pleasure as he considered this.

“You mean it?”

“Absolutely.”

“What about Reg?”

“Regulus would let me rot overnight just to teach me a lesson. He’s done it before.”

“Remus?”

“Mate,” said James patiently, “you’re going to be my best man. Believe me when I say I’d call you first.”

That seemed to placate Sirius, if only for a moment or two. “… But the bruises?”

“What about them?”

“You said handcuffs.”

“Yes.”

“Not police ones?”

“No.”

“But someone put you in them? Why would they do that?”

James didn’t answer this time. Instead, he simply stared him down, hoping that would be enough. It was. Sirius’s expression shifted from confused amusement, to dawning realization, to outright horror.

“No,” he said, though it was only a whisper.

James tsked sympathetically and went back to his breakfast. “‘Fraid so, mate.” 

“You’re taking the piss.” 

“Nope.” 

“You mean—?” He sounded ill. “You can’t possibly… Regulus? He does that sort of thing to you? I mean—Merlin, Prongs, you’re twice his size, do you honestly—”

“Sirius,” James interrupted. “Have a think, just for a moment, and ask yourself if you really, truly want the answer to that question.”

Sirius blinked at him. His mouth turned down. Then his whole face twisted in disgust and he turned away, waving off the man he’d called his best mate for nearly fifteen years.

“Fine. Fine! Keep your secrets. In fact, I insist. I am one forgotten silencing charm away from begging you to obliviate me. I’m telling you, I cannot stomach any more—”

The sound of a door opening cut him off. Sirius shot James a sour look. James gave a sheepish grin. 

“I thought he wasn’t staying over,” Sirius hissed.

“You try telling him that,” James countered just as Regulus padded in barefoot, hair rumpled and wearing a shirt far too large for him. Without a sound, he crossed the room and crawled onto James’s lap, arranging his too-long limbs in an exceptionally inconvenient knot. 

Sirius made a strangled, exasperated noise before he swore colorfully and stuck two fingers up at the couple on his way out of the kitchen.

James ignored him, folding Regulus in with a murmured, “Hi, love.” 

Regulus shifted until he was comfortable, tucked his face against James’s throat, and sighed. Only then did he speak.

“They probably heard Sirius’s dramatics all the way down in Kent. What’s got into him now?” 

James smoothed a hand down Regulus’s back and couldn’t help but smile when he heard the happy little hum.

“He saw the bruises.” 

Regulus chuckled lowly, sleepily, and James didn’t think he’d ever heard him laugh before midday. 

“Unfortunate. Hilarious, but unfortunate.”

“Yeah. Well. In any case, it looks like we’ll be needing more bruise paste,” James offered. “Let me finish this and we’ll go, yeah? Reckon the apothecary should be open by then.”

With a sigh, Regulus slipped his cold hands up the back of James’s shirt and made it clear he had no intention of moving for at least twenty minutes.