» three » j a y w a l k i n g - pg13
Title: Jaywalking
Genre: Harry Potter-- more specifically, the Marauder Era.
Rating: PG-13 for a few F-words, nothing too horrifying.
Pairings: Remus/Sirius if you squint.
Any warnings: Just the F word.
Betas Used: None! If you're interested in betaing for me, do drop me a comment <3
Summary: The sun, the moon, the Earth, the stars, and Pluto. You'll understand. Thought of this little drabblet on the way home from school.
She seems very far away from James. Revolving ever so tantalizingly, and then winking out into the abyss.
Sirius walks a lot like he fucks. He’s got a distinctly canine stance that seems to linger with every step he takes. It’s an aggressive strut, to say the least; confidence radiates off him like a miniature sun. People bask in the wake of Sirius Black.
Remus doesn’t fuck, per se-- he “makes love” as Sirius would air quote with disdain. His own walk is meeker, with a fragility you don’t see in most steps. He feet always seem to catch and his ankles always buckle and somehow he always gets out of a walk in the park with two scraped knees rubbed raw by grass and pavement. He’s not clumsy, just careful… and while cautiousness has its perks, among them certainly is not the art of walking. Remus knows that his walk is never intimidating or poised, and that his eerie sallow nature casts a lunar glow upon his companions. Sirius calls it overcompensating, but Remus knows that in the time that he has he can control his actions-- painstakingly so. It isn’t so much overcompensation as it is guilt.
James is large. Not physically speaking-- indeed, his string bean build and arms that which resemble wet noodles protest the claim that James is large is any way, shape, or form-- but still. James is large. He’s always taken up a large amount of space, despite his smaller stature. He’s never been the bulkiest or the tallest, but he sure acts like it. His walk is strange and overbearing at times-- loping slowly at one turn and racing at another with feet falling and crumpling beneath him. It is as if he has yet to define his style, his walking identity; an idea that Remus finds oddly ridiculous, but that Sirius finds oddly compelling. James just finds it all oddly annoying, and wishes the two would keep their comments to themselves (though he doesn’t really mean it at all, he loves their comments, he loves them, he does). He wishes the two would let dusk overtake him. He wishes he could just watch the stars in peace. The stars may not watch him back-- no, they may ridicule him and call him names and bash his nose in with a lampshade-- but James will watch them with fervor. He hopes, one day, they will twinkle back.
Peter, by contrast, is small. His walk is never noticed, though it is perhaps far more interesting to observe. He is a satellite of his counterparts, and he will never know what it is like to bask in the sun.
Genre: Harry Potter-- more specifically, the Marauder Era.
Rating: PG-13 for a few F-words, nothing too horrifying.
Pairings: Remus/Sirius if you squint.
Any warnings: Just the F word.
Betas Used: None! If you're interested in betaing for me, do drop me a comment <3
Summary: The sun, the moon, the Earth, the stars, and Pluto. You'll understand. Thought of this little drabblet on the way home from school.
She seems very far away from James. Revolving ever so tantalizingly, and then winking out into the abyss.
Sirius walks a lot like he fucks. He’s got a distinctly canine stance that seems to linger with every step he takes. It’s an aggressive strut, to say the least; confidence radiates off him like a miniature sun. People bask in the wake of Sirius Black.
Remus doesn’t fuck, per se-- he “makes love” as Sirius would air quote with disdain. His own walk is meeker, with a fragility you don’t see in most steps. He feet always seem to catch and his ankles always buckle and somehow he always gets out of a walk in the park with two scraped knees rubbed raw by grass and pavement. He’s not clumsy, just careful… and while cautiousness has its perks, among them certainly is not the art of walking. Remus knows that his walk is never intimidating or poised, and that his eerie sallow nature casts a lunar glow upon his companions. Sirius calls it overcompensating, but Remus knows that in the time that he has he can control his actions-- painstakingly so. It isn’t so much overcompensation as it is guilt.
James is large. Not physically speaking-- indeed, his string bean build and arms that which resemble wet noodles protest the claim that James is large is any way, shape, or form-- but still. James is large. He’s always taken up a large amount of space, despite his smaller stature. He’s never been the bulkiest or the tallest, but he sure acts like it. His walk is strange and overbearing at times-- loping slowly at one turn and racing at another with feet falling and crumpling beneath him. It is as if he has yet to define his style, his walking identity; an idea that Remus finds oddly ridiculous, but that Sirius finds oddly compelling. James just finds it all oddly annoying, and wishes the two would keep their comments to themselves (though he doesn’t really mean it at all, he loves their comments, he loves them, he does). He wishes the two would let dusk overtake him. He wishes he could just watch the stars in peace. The stars may not watch him back-- no, they may ridicule him and call him names and bash his nose in with a lampshade-- but James will watch them with fervor. He hopes, one day, they will twinkle back.
Peter, by contrast, is small. His walk is never noticed, though it is perhaps far more interesting to observe. He is a satellite of his counterparts, and he will never know what it is like to bask in the sun.