(no subject)
Haven't read it yet, but I need to say this ahead of time. :> Apologies, as this was written at 5am because I couldn't sleep.
The series of apparent events re: relationships in HBP do not, and have not ever caused me to waver on believing the love that Sirius and Remus have for one another. And I'm not just talking about fuck you hard and split you six ways from Sunday with my hot, wet tongue kind of love. I'm talking about the kind of love that goes by the name of MoonyPadfootProngsWormtail, with boys who loved so loyal and so hard as to see past deep-ingrained prejudices, to recognize Remus for a person, not a monster, and not always as a way to rebel against The Family Values. I'm talking about the kind of love that worms its way into salty boyish summers, dark corridors in the midst of a cold Scotland winter, the whispers and passed notes in class, the endless intelligence, resourcefulness, the fun and anxiety, the thrill and danger of trusting. I'm talking about a past that was never easy, but filled with this deep core of friendship, above all else. I'm talking about the kind of love so thorough, that all it took was a half-completed sentence, and they knew the truth about all the ways they'd been wrong, as painful as it was, and it was as easy as "together yes I think so" to find it all again.
This is an irrevocable truth about their relationship. Beyond prison and death and whatever else She Herself has planned, man, this is what we know, and it's still as goddamned fucking beautiful - as tenuous and full of instances, places, of looks and words and shared life, that we can still imagine, revel in - it's still as much of this as it ever, ever was.
NOW. WHERE IS MY FUCKING BOOK.
The series of apparent events re: relationships in HBP do not, and have not ever caused me to waver on believing the love that Sirius and Remus have for one another. And I'm not just talking about fuck you hard and split you six ways from Sunday with my hot, wet tongue kind of love. I'm talking about the kind of love that goes by the name of MoonyPadfootProngsWormtail, with boys who loved so loyal and so hard as to see past deep-ingrained prejudices, to recognize Remus for a person, not a monster, and not always as a way to rebel against The Family Values. I'm talking about the kind of love that worms its way into salty boyish summers, dark corridors in the midst of a cold Scotland winter, the whispers and passed notes in class, the endless intelligence, resourcefulness, the fun and anxiety, the thrill and danger of trusting. I'm talking about a past that was never easy, but filled with this deep core of friendship, above all else. I'm talking about the kind of love so thorough, that all it took was a half-completed sentence, and they knew the truth about all the ways they'd been wrong, as painful as it was, and it was as easy as "together yes I think so" to find it all again.
This is an irrevocable truth about their relationship. Beyond prison and death and whatever else She Herself has planned, man, this is what we know, and it's still as goddamned fucking beautiful - as tenuous and full of instances, places, of looks and words and shared life, that we can still imagine, revel in - it's still as much of this as it ever, ever was.
NOW. WHERE IS MY FUCKING BOOK.