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#marauders as songs
arianwyn-art · 2 months
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marauders era as rufus wainwright songs:
the hogwarts days: California
the summers: Poses
the war: Evil Angel
sirius - Rebel Prince
remus - Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk
james - The Consort
peter - Shadows
lily - Grey Gardens
regulus - The Tower of Learning
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No, because when "And I left my scarf there at your sister's house and you've still got it in your drawer even now", Taylor was actually singing about Reggie's hat, which is still in James' drawer
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remuslupinlovebot · 19 days
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Once I took your medication to know what it’s like
Now I have to act like I can’t read your mind
I ask you how you’re doing and I let you lie
This song is quite literally Sirius to Remus. Because of course Sirius knew Moony better than anyone, but there was always that wall he put up. And during the war, Sirius sometimes thought he didn’t know the man he loved at all.
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hotdamnitsmoony · 3 months
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the marauders and co as songs pt5
every single time i listen to matilda by harry styles i think of regulus and sirius. i imagine james & remus saying different parts of the song to them.
“you can let it go, you can throw a party full of everyone you know, and not invite your family ‘cause they never showed you love” is remus to sirius. he’d constantly be telling him that his relatives don’t define him and that he’s loved. also the “you can let it go” part could stand for remus telling sirius he’s allowed to move on and live his life without his mother’s legacy in his ear whispering hate.
“you talk of the pain like it’s all alright, but i know that you feel like a piece of you’s dead inside” is james to regulus. he’d always be there for regulus when he’s struggling, even when he won’t admit it. he’d see through his “i’m fine”s and he’d tell him that it’s okay to not be okay, and that someday the pain will begin to become less.
i also think the “you can start a family who will always show you love” line applies to them because i think that the marauders in general created their own family within themselves despite their home lives, differences and trauma. they made a safe space that they’re reminded of every time they’re together.
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Remus "je ne suis pas un héro, mes faux pas me collent a la peau" (I am not a hero, my missteps stick to my skin) Lupin
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Sirius "then we could be heroes, just for one day" Black
-Daniel Balavoine & David Bowie
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last picture is not mine (found on pinterest, credit to the creator bc it's awesome)
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regeditt · 2 months
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james: i love it when you speak french
regulus: voulez vous coucher avec moi?? ce soir??
james: what's that mean
regulus: don't worry about it
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I’m a marauders fan, of course I think of dead gay wizards when listening to a sad song
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courfee · 1 month
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I've spent a lifetime giving you my heart I swear that I'll be yours forever 'til forever falls apart
part 2 of my submission for @sillylovesongsfest for the assigned prompted song Till Forever Falls Apart by Ashe and FINNEAS
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skeletal-petals · 1 month
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star ‘he is half of my soul, as the poets say’ chaser
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imdamagecontrol · 3 months
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stripper baby au. 2,904 words. nsfw.
parts: one, two, three, four. this was meant to be part of the microfic prompts, but it got away from me (oops), and i decided to let it exist on its own. it's the last part that will see tumblr, so i hope you enjoy. it's definitely a bigger snippet, but i won't apologize anymore lol. all five parts will be combined into a 'coming soon' surprise. enjoy <3
The club is packed, but that’s no surprise. It’s a Saturday night, just after eleven, and for the next few hours at least, there will be a nonstop rotation of men at the bar, on the couches, in private rooms. Regulus leans his elbows on the bartop behind him, a glass dangling from his fingers. He’s on break, shouldn’t be drinking, but it pays to be the bartender’s best friend.
He won’t admit he’s waiting for James. He knows better than to get his hopes up. It’s his first night working since their dates. He’s been dancing on and off for two hours, and there’s a part of him that can’t help but wonder if, now that James has him, he’ll stop showing up at the club.
Regulus isn’t sure if he’s relieved or disappointed.
With a sigh, he twists around to set his now empty glass on the bar. “One more,” he calls to Evan.
“You’re lucky Riddle isn’t here tonight to be on my ass.” Evan snatches Regulus’ glass and a bottle of vodka from under the counter. “You know you’re not supposed to drink on the clock.”
“Blah, blah, blah.” When Evan slides the finished cocktail across the counter, Regulus adds in a sing-song, “Tha-a-ank you.”
Evan rolls his eyes and heads to the opposite end of the bar, his attention on a man waving bank notes in the air with the vigor of someone who’s experiencing a strip club for the first time. They’re easy to spot: wide-eyed, flushed, a little nervous. The I shouldn’t be here, but here I am types. Regulus watches this one, lips wrapped around a thin black straw and teeth clenched tight to slow the flow of his cocktail as he drinks.
This one’s young. Younger than Regulus, even. In his early twenties with disheveled hair and a bit of a dopey look to him. When he catches Regulus watching him from across the bar, he blushes clear to the tips of his ears. They jut out, a sign he might’ve played rugby for most of his youth.
Regulus lets his gaze linger as the man risks a second glance. His cheeks go ruddy when Regulus opts for a sultry, crooked grin, the straw still held between his teeth. It’s obvious he’s not a customer—the black silk slip tied around his waist might cover the skin underneath, but his legs are long and slender, entirely bare tonight. Even with the Docs on his feet, laces loose and undone, it’s clear this is not a place he visits casually.
He’ll give this one credit—he squares his shoulders, grabs his drink, and heads right for where Regulus leans on the bar. His drink is half-finished, a pleasant combination of bitter and sweet. He should savor it; Evan won’t give him another, and he still has five minutes left of his break.
“Hi,” says Mr. Rugby, setting his drink on the bar and sidling up beside Regulus. He’s tall and broad, all shoulders and no waist. “What’s your name?”
“Lame. Try again.” Regulus crosses his ankles, knocks the toe of his boot against his heel. “Don’t make eyes from across the bar if that’s going to be your opener.”
Mr. Rugby blinks a few times, clearly taken aback. “I—Okay. Can I start over?”
“You can. But you only have until I finish my drink.”
“Shit. Okay. My name is Jeff. I, uh, I saw you from across the bar and you’re… Well, you’re fucking stunning, I won’t lie.” Mr. Rugby—Jeff—rubs at the back of his neck. “You work here, right? Kinda got that vibe…”
“Better. Less fumbling next time, though.” Regulus sets his glass on the counter. There’s a little left, but he has time. Jeff—God, the name is too close for his liking—seems the type to cough up his whole paycheck if Regulus plays his cards right. “It truly pains me to say this, but my real name is a secret.”
“Is there something else I can call you?”
Regulus ducks his chin. Looks up from underneath his lashes. “Ophidian.”
“Oh. That’s unique.”
With practiced shyness, he shifts the hem of the black silk slip to expose the snake winding round and round his left thigh. He could laugh when the man’s eyes drop right to it, gaze gone hungry in less time than even he anticipated. “Of and resembling serpents,” he offers, dropping the slip back into place.
“How much?”
The question sours Regulus’ mood immediately. Even though it’s his job, even though it’s the entire reason he made eyes at Mr. Rugby in the first place, the lack of tact, the audacity and bluntness of the question, make it difficult to hide the way his lip longs to curl with distaste. Have a little respect, he wants to snap. I’m not an object on a shelf for you to purchase.
Except he is.
Regulus reaches for his drink. Opens his mouth to say, I’m not for sale—yet, but the words shrivel on his tongue when another voice offers from behind him, “Sorry, mate, but I don’t think you can afford him.”
Not his fault you pay thousands for thirty minutes, Regulus wants to volley back. He reaches for his drink instead. James is dangerously close. Close enough his fingers can dance their way under the hem of Regulus’ slip; they’re featherlight touches on the outside of his right thigh. Hidden touches.
Mr. Rugby frowns. “I’ve got enough. They said a private dance is—”
“Price change, unfortunately. I think the going rate is… What is it now, love?”
“Five thousand,” Regulus deadpans, tossing the straw over the bar and knocking back the rest of his drink in one swallow.
“Five th—The fuck?”
“Bummer, innit?” James’ tone is anything but empathetic. “I’d recommend you try the main floor. You’ll have better luck there.”
For a moment, Mr. Rugby seems tempted to argue. But a glance at the floor, at the field of less expensive options available to him, sends him scurrying down the short staircase nearby.
Regulus leans over the bar to set his glass on the counter. At the feel of James’ hand on the back of his now exposed thigh, he spins and hisses, “No touching. You’ll get me in trouble. You know the rules.”
“Sorry, sorry.” James grins down at him, both hands held up in surrender. “I just missed you. And I have questions about what you’ve got on underneath this.” He tugs at the hem of Regulus’ sleeve. It falls to his elbows, loose and billowing at the ends. “Are you off break?”
“Maybe.”
“Love, don’t play. I saw leather straps. Are you working?”
Regulus rolls his eyes. “Follow me.”
“Anywhere.”
James lets Regulus lead him through the packed club. They slip around couches and stages, heading for the back room. Regulus catches sight of Barty, who’s sizing up Mr. Rugby with a modicum of interest. It’s a misconception, he’s found, amongst most customers: strippers aren’t desperate. Not here, anyway. They’re shopping as much as their clients. Big fish are better—less time on the floor, more money in their pockets.
It’s the reason so many dancers threw themselves at James. Expensive pours off of him in waves. There’s a different energy, a confidence that comes from a life of lavishness. Of black tie events and annual galas and charity balls. Of ending requests with periods, not question marks.
The private rooms are even darker than the low-lit club. Regulus toes off his boots once they’re inside and sets them near the door. “Sit,” he tells James, nodding to the curved, plush couch that wraps around half of the small room. In front of it is a thick metal pole on a half-stage, but it’s irrelevant. Regulus knows what James prefers when they’re alone.
James collapses on the couch, arms stretched over the back and legs crossed. “How’s your night?”
“Boring. I’m working until two.”
“Not a long one, then.”
Regulus shakes his head. He fiddles with the stereo system, scrolling through songs. Longer is better; something he can loop so it feels endless. “Started at nine. There are a lot of us tonight and it’s busy. I’ll make enough to take the week off.”
“Classes start up this week don’t they?”
He hates that James remembers. Hates that James knows him enough to make small talk. To check in on his life like this. You’re meant to be a client, he wants to say. My fucking sugar daddy, for hell’s sake. He can all but see James blurring the lines with the toe of his fine Oxfords. “Yeah. On Monday.”
“If you need anything, you’ll tell me, right?” James’ foot bounces, restless. “I mean it, Regulus. Don’t overwork yourself if you’re worried about money. Just ask.”
“I’m fine. I make enough.”
“That’s not what I said.”
Regulus inhales a steadying breath. “I’ll tell you.” He finds a song, presses play. It’s a slow, steady thrum. Something soft until the true beat begins. He can feel James’ eyes boring into his back. He thinks of the thrill of a win, of dangling what he knows James wants most right in front of him.
He drops his head back, eyes closed, a small smile on his lips. The music washes over him, beats a rhythm in his veins until his blood seems to settle with it. He’s good at his job for a reason. With steady fingers, he tugs at the knot around his waist. His back is still to James, so he lets the slip fall from one shoulder, then the other. There’s a tattoo down his spine: the sun, then a line of planets and stars.
“You’re teasing, love.”
Regulus turns to watch James over his shoulder. “Am I?”
“What’s underneath? I swear I saw leather.” James uncrosses his legs. Leans forward, elbows on his knees and fingers steepled under his chin. “It’s new, isn’t it?”
“Maybe.”
James’ grin is as mischievous as Regulus’. “Come here, baby. I’ve missed you.”
Regulus keeps the slip wrapped around his lower half. “No talking. No touching. You know the rules, James.”
The press of lips tight together, a finger drawn across, pantomime of a key turning in a lock. James drops back against the couch with his arms and legs spread, an open invitation. When they’re alone, he prefers Regulus on him, not in front of him. Doesn’t care for what he can do on a pole when he’d rather see him up close.
Regulus stands between James’ knees and lets the slip fall to the floor in a pool of black silk.
“Oh, fuck,” James breathes, his grin positively feral. “That is—”
“What did I say about talking?”
James groans with all the finesse of a toddler who’s just been told to get his hands out of the cookie jar. Menace, he mouths, still smiling.
It’s a showstopper akin to a harness-like garter belt, with criss-crossing pieces around his waist brought together by gold metal hoops. It’s like pieces of a collar strung together in a complex pattern; its removal will take focused deciphering, but it’s worth it for the look James wears. The ensemble is complete with double straps around his thighs, more gold hoops, and long straps to connect the pieces. Underneath, the G-string is black lace but opaque, and it’s a damn feat to keep himself steady with the way James watches him.
“Je-e-esus Christ,” he murmurs when Regulus straddles him, hands sliding up his chest to tug at his tie. “Yeah, guy at the bar didn’t deserve this for a second.”
“You’re talking, James.”
“You—I—” He huffs a strangled laugh. “Baby, I can’t help it. This is—You look incredible.”
It doesn’t take long for Regulus to find his rhythm. He sets a pace that follows the beat but allows him to change his moves, keep it interesting. He watches James watch him, black pupils swallowing hazel irises until there’s nothing but a thin ring around the edges. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees James’ fingers twitch. His hands fist, unfurl, fist again.
Got you, Regulus thinks, careful to hide his grin when he leans forward to mouth at the curve of James’ ear.
He miscalculated the other day when they were in the limo. He hadn’t considered that James is used to him in his lap. This has been their routine long enough that a fully-clothed Regulus wouldn’t tip the scales.
But now?
Regulus shifts in James’ lap to straddle one thigh. It’s solid underneath him, exactly as he’s imagined a hundred times the last few days. He lets himself imagine it all now—thoughts of James’ hands, his mouth, his tongue, the considerable length and girth of him. Thoughts he’s supressed since his shift started in case he found himself half-hard in the middle of a lap dance with a customer.
James’ eyes narrow slightly, but he stays quiet. Watches with one brow raised when Regulus’ hand wraps around his throat just under his jaw. “Love,” he says, a low warning. “What are you—?”
The drag of his rapidly filling cock against James’ trousers, the lace fabric—it’s a lot, considering he’s kept it all locked away for the last few hours. Regulus whimpers; he can’t help it. The fingers around James’ throat tighten, a subtle squeeze, and he feels the vibration of James’ moan against his palm. With a look that says careful, Regulus takes James’ hand and sets it on his thigh.
James’ eyes widen at this; Regulus has never let him touch with his hands during a private dance. He opens his mouth, but Regulus shakes his head. Wordlessly, he wraps James’ fingers around the leather straps of the garter. All the while, the dance continues—or at least, some semblance of it.
He shivers when James uses his grip on the straps to tug Regulus closer, to make it so each roll of his hips makes good use of James’ thigh. He thinks of the limo, of you can use me, if you want, and watches James’ gaze slip into a sort of hunger that’s insatiable. It can’t be satisfied with what Regulus is giving him.
Which is one hell of a show, but not the whole package.
He bears down, grinding his cock over James’ thigh. Moans low and filthy in James’ ear, breath blowing hot through the strands of his hair. Hears a strangled fucking hell said on a blown out breath. James’ fingers tighten around the straps, coaxing Regulus into a faster rhythm. But he’s determined to stay with the music, to ride James’ thigh on his terms this time.
He’s aching, a damp spot forming where the head of his cock threatens to peek out from the G-string’s elastic band. They’re hardly much as it is; they’re not meant to survive this. Not when he feels the warmth in abdomen, that telltale unfurling of pleasure. He hears James tell him, Come, baby, and with his head thrown back, he lets himself break like a wave cresting on a shore.
It’s all white noise, a burn in his veins, and Regulus thinks, This win is fucking mine.
“Holy shit,” James groans, his attention zeroed in on where thick strips of white drip down Regulus’ thigh. His tongue runs over his lower lip before his teeth bite down on it. “Love, you—I need—Fuck, you’re incredible.”
“What do you need? Tell me,” Regulus purrs, using the hand on James’ throat to tilt his head back. He’s still a little high but coming down slowly. James’ eyes are wide as dinner plates, watching Regulus move from out of the corners. They grow impossibly rounder when Regulus runs two fingers through the strips on his leg.
“I need to fuck you. That is what I need.”
“Do you really need to?” Regulus shifts his knee to press it against the bulge in James’ trousers. “Huh. I guess you do.” James’ lashes flutter behind his glasses, eyes drooping closed when Regulus presses harder against him. “I don’t even think you can afford it. Open up.”
James does as he’s told, pliant where he sits under Regulus. He jolts when Regulus sets coated fingers on his tongue, but it’s only a second of surprise before he’s sucking them clean. The music still plays its steady beat; Regulus isn’t sure how many times the song has looped.
“Fucking Christ.” James’ eyes open, pupils blown out, and he looks at Regulus like he’s hung the moon. “Can we—Can I fuck you here? Is that—”
“I win.”
Regulus pushes off of James and gets to his feet. He snatches the slip off the floor, throws it back on, and ties it. He’s hot all over but he’s smug, too. He wants but won’t let himself have, if only to rob James of it. It’s a thrill when he sees understanding dawn on James’ features—the moment his lust-filled haze clears, and he comes to realize what’s happened.
“Oh, you little—”
“You said five thousand. Wire it.”
Regulus crosses the room to stop the music. He shoots James a demure smile over his shoulder, something professional and almost innocent. Even gives him a small parting wave before slipping out the door. His skin buzzes, and his thigh is uncomfortably sticky.
The last thing he sees before the door shuts is James with a hand pressed against the straining bulge between his thighs, his jaw hanging and a wild, awestruck grin on his face.
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atlasdoe · 5 months
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Remus Lupin is not a "name three songs" kind of guy. Remus Lupin is the kind of guy to wear his boyfriends band t shirts without even knowing that they're band t shirts
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ldnpoetsclub · 1 year
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james “i don’t need my love, you can take it” potter and regulus “i don’t need my heart, you can break it” black
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Just read the interview scene in crimson rivers and one thing:
"I'm so good at telling lies, that came from my mother's side, told a million to survive" is SCREAMING Regulus Black!
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remuslupinlovebot · 18 days
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And when the cops broke down our door
And held us both against our floor
Did we look like lovers or partners in crime?
Did you look like mine?
an AU in which Sirius and Remus got to die in each others arms, in love and satisfied.
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hotdamnitsmoony · 4 months
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the marauders & co as songs pt1
(these are all just my opinion)
Not Strong Enough by boygenius is SO regulus black coded. the “always an angel, never a god” lyric really sums his feelings about being the spare, being ignored, not being like Sirius or totally like his family. i think he would relate to it because maybe he doesn’t feel like he’s enough. also if we’re talking jegulus, “i don’t know why i am, not strong enough to be your man” quite describes how i perceive him in a lot of fics. he wants to hate james so desperately but yet he wants him so badly, and at the same time is insecure that he’s not going to be a good boyfriend or that sirius wouldn’t approve. i just really think he’d like this song.
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enbysiriusblack · 7 months
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music snob remus and film snob sirius
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