mssrmoony-blog1

[mssrmoony-blog1]

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” 

He leans into the kiss, still smiling. “Well, except for that last bit. That part’s no good. But you’re not on your own anymore. You’ve got me.”

His lips are tingling. It’s only been a few weeks -- this -- and it still all felt -- surreal. Like he was just asleep and any second now he’d wake up and roll over to find Sirius asleep in his own bed with a girl. 

Stupid. You know the dorms are warded. They can’t get up here past curfew.

And then, suddenly, he’s laughing. Laughing so hard his sides ache and he has to drop his hands from where they had settled on Sirius’s shoulders to clutch his stomach. 

He glances up after a moment, breathless and overly aware of what a mess he must look, flushed and watery-eyed, his hair a tangle. Remus wipes discreetly at his eyes. 

“S-sorry. I was just--it’s just. The dormitory!” He’s still laughing. Not making any sense. It tickles his ribs. “The spells! They won’t work since I’m already in here!” 

He buries his face in his hands and takes a couple of breaths to compose himself, the jittery flutter of laughter subsiding to a pleasant, curling warmth. His eyes are bright and shiny, big and brown. He narrows them at Sirius in reproach. 

“And for the record, I know exactly what type of plant shop you’re running. The Hufflepuffs have every right to be horrified, vexed, scandalized and out for blood. I’d sleep with my wand under my pillow if I were you. You’re desecrating their sacred art.”

The guitar breaks into conversation, and Remus remembers the song, the guitar, the reason for all this. With a self-conscious tuck of his chin to his chest, he obliges, singing softly. 

“’it’s alright.’”

“Gay and on my own, probably.” 

He leans down to kiss him and then laughs, eyes wide and surprised. “What kind of plant shop do you think I’m running here? The Hufflepuffs would be horrified.” He grins at the blush, even though Remus did it to himself. 

Godric, but he loves him. He’s in so much trouble. His eyes crinkle at the edges, and he returns his attention to the guitar. 

“Here comes the sun, here comes the sun, and I say - “ 

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“And where would you be, hm, Sirius Black, Gryffindor Party Boy Extraordinaire, without my magnificent brain to back it up?” 

“I think, given the situation, you could make me do just about anything. Even willy-nilly cactus me.” He laughs, but the sound is startled and a little high. He hadn’t meant to be quite so...direct about it. It’s a little exhilarating, honestly. He can feel the flush from his cheeks all the way down his neck, but still he manages to look Sirius in the eye from up under his lashes.

“Do you mean to tell me, Messr Black,” emphasis on the ‘k’, a thick sound in the back of his throat. “That somewhere on your nightstand there’s a distressed looking cactus with my eyelashes growing out of it and we’re supposed to go around and act like that’s normal?” 

He shakes his head, but the flush and the grin remain. Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. He loves every second of it. This, them, this whole completely impossible conversation. The way Sirius’s face lights up like a beacon when he grins like that, and the fact that it’s Remus on the receiving end of that smile.

His skin feels tight and warm. He can’t help but smile back. 

He nudges softly at Sirius’s knee and clears his throat. 

“’Little darling, it feels like years since we’ve been here.’”

“Oh, loook at Remus go. Remus Lupin and his big massive brain, with all the party planning inside it.” 

“You can’t, obviously.” He let out a laugh - surprised and bright, and it lit up his face. “No, no, you’ve got it all wrong. I couldn’t make you sprout head first. That’s just mildly horrifying, Remmy. Your arms are perfectly fine arms. Listen - your eyelashes sprout first. I made it that way, because they’re my favorite part.” 

He grinned, proud of himself for that one, but the grin softens at Remus’ humming, turning into more of a delighted smile. 

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“Don’t have to, I planned most of them.” 

“James! Of course. However could I compete? You two are still joined at the hip. You what? Cloned us? Like some sprout on a mimbulus mimbletonia? A little sunlight and some water and up I sprout? Or another me sprouts?” 

He shudders. “What must that be like? I haven’t got like, four arms or something, do I?”

The strumming stills him. He blinks in surprise. The chords are familiar and sweet. He finds himself smiling, and just as easily, hums along.   

“Godric, Remus, imagine the day.” 

“I have several men on the side. They’re all James, of course. I’ve cloned him. I might have cloned you, but that’s something we’ll talk about later.” He shook his head, put a hand to his chest. “They’re all a lost cause, now that I’ve got you.” 

 It wasn’t that different from wizarding musical instruments. And it was hardly the first time he’d picked one up. He cleared his throat, strumming something mindlessly on the guitar.

“Little darling, it’s been a long cold lonely winter.” 

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“Well don’t expect my congratulations. I am a prefect, you know. If word gets round that I condone petty thievery, what’s next? Me, single-handedly planning house parties?” 

So he might have done one or two. Didn’t count if the school thought the lads were the ones responsible though, did it?

“Who else are you playing for? Got some other devilishly handsome lad on the side, do you? Going to fuel those rumors from fourth year by serenading the girl’s dormitory and getting them all excited?”

“It’s not shared, actually! It’s stealing. I stole it with all ten of my fingers.” 

“You mean play you something? Does the most wonderful Remus Lupin have any requests?” 

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“Sirius! You can’t just nick someone else’s things when it suits you. Not everything in Gryffindor Tower is shared property, you know.”

“Well--go on then, play us something.”

I stole it from Arthur Weasley. 

[mssrmoony-blog1]

Moodboard:

Remus Lupin & Mary MacDonald 

[mssrmoony-blog1]

[ moodboards: ] the walking grilled cheese + remus lupin !!

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miles to go before I sleep | self-para

There was something itching at the back of his mind. Something scratching and clawing away. He could feel it at the base of his skull, feel it spreading like a blush, up his neck, over his face. It felt like pin pricks. Like the way goosebumps rose, all in a wave all down your arms. That peculiar and singular feeling of every hair on your body standing on end at once.

He knew this feeling. He had grown up with it every month since he was nearly five. When the moon rolled in, full and swanning across the sky like a slow-moving celestial spotlight, it crawled in through his ear and infested his body, infested his mind, so that by the time the moon was high enough it was almost a relief to tear himself apart just to make the feeling stop.

That never made it easy. He’d thought it would. It was a natural progression, like fear conditioning: the longer you were exposed to something, the less it began to bother you. Only, it never happened with this. The feeling was always new, always damnably insatiable and irritating. It got under his skin and made him angry, impatient and easily riled. Every shred of patience, all his carefully-cultivated ease was drowned out by the underlying tick tick tick, like a metaphorical clock in his brain that counted down the hours until the moon would rise.

And then it was over: rationality, human sense, compassion, conscience. Abandoned with his human form while he wailed and shook, raging at any and everything until the sun came up and melted the fur from his back, evaporated the anger in his blood, and lit the world in gold.

For now, the feeling persisted, like a gadfly without the buzzing. Remus sat in the common room in his chair by the fire, with a book opened in his lap and a pile more balanced on the little table by his elbow, trying hard to concentrate but besieged by the steady, pervasive notion that something was off. He tried a number of things to quell the feeling: got up and walked around, stretched, fetched a glass of water and nibbled on the last of his chocolate bar swiped from dinner earlier this evening but nothing helped. Nothing abated the feeling.

It felt almost like being watched.

And it would have bothered him, possibly spooked him, the thought alone, had he not been so used to it. Had he not contracted these symptoms before, every twenty eight days. And besides which, the full moon had come and gone not a couple nights ago.

Remus flipped a page in his book. Took another bite of his chocolate.

The bar stalled halfway to his mouth.

This wasn’t about the full moon.

The goosebumps crawled up his arms, his neck, the length of his spine. The light caught and glinted off the torn aluminum of his candy bar. He noticed, somewhat distantly and outside of himself, that his hand was shaking. With a presence of mind he wasn’t sure he possessed at the moment, he put down the chocolate, capped his ink bottle, marked the page in his book, and decided to turn into bed.

—

The grass was cool beneath his feet, damp before the morning dew and saturated with November’s chill. It tickled the soles of his feet as he walked and crunched pleasantly underfoot. The sky above was clear and dark and lit with stars, just enough light to see by, if he’d been paying any mind. But Remus was following another instinct, a baser, more primal instinct. An instinct rooted in the earth, one that settled in the spaces between his toes, that followed the direction of the wind and the sound of heartbeats--those quiet bursts of heat and life hidden in the grass.

He registered, distantly, the call of owls — wild, eldritch sounds that echoed through the dark, a wide-spread muggle omen of death and dire things. He recognized the lapping of waves at the lakeshore; the crumbling sand of the beach at his feet. It was cold like ice underfoot, but he moved on, still following that undefinable animal something up over the rocks on the bank and up and over the knoll to the winding slope towards Hagrid’s hut.

The windows were dark, the lights extinguished. He stopped a moment by the eave and trailed his fingers along the stone. Cold and rough beneath his fingertips. And then he left the house behind and carried on, into the yawning dark.

—

Remus woke to birdsong, a long swooping whistle that ended in a croak-like laugh, loud and close. He groaned and turned, anticipating the kink in his neck from having fallen asleep in front of the fire again, and found beneath his head a bundle of sticks, and beneath his hand a pile of leaves, stems twined, the colors burnt orange and butter yellow brutal on his groggy eyes.

He grunted, and squinted, and pulled the leaves in his fist closer for a better look, twisting them in the weak morning sunlight that filtered down through soupy clouds. They were big and crisp and some of their edges curled in like paper blackened in a fire, their veins like dark rivers snaking up from the stems. Odd, he thought, to be woken up by birdsong at the crack of dawn holding these. Why leaves of all things? And what was he doing using twigs for a pillow?

Remus blinked and looked around, expecting to find James and Sirius and Peter curled up in similar positions around him. Some late-night, ill-advised camping trip sounded like just the thing they’d come up with. But there was no one around him, and he wasn’t out under the beech tree by the lake, or the copse of trees in the corral off Hagrid’s Hut.

No, here the ground was much darker. The earth rich and deep and almost black. The trees were tall and twisted, their trunks bent at ghoulish angles. The clouds, Remus realized, looking up and then up and up, weren’t soupy at all. Or if they were he couldn’t tell, because he could see nothing but the trees, grown tall and dark and impossibly high, their branches sewn together in a canopy that filtered out all the light.

Something cold and uncertain trickled down the back of Remus’s neck. The twigs beneath his head cracked as he rolled suddenly to standing, tearing at the skin of his ear. An unquiet buzzing filled his head. All his limbs felt heavy and useless.

He was, he realized, standing in the Forbidden Forest.

It seemed to breathe around him, malicious and sentient. Hungry.

His ear stung. Remus reached up to touch it and his fingers came away flecked with red. The ground sloped away in a narrow tunnel at his feet and his pulse kicked up a hammering drum beat.

What day is it? He thought in panic. How did I get here? How long have I been here?

Something stilled in his chest. The buzzing grew suddenly louder. He shut his eyes against the crimson stain on his fingertips and willed his hands to stop shaking.

The moon. The moon—when was the moon? Did I—What did I—

He couldn’t look. He turned his head and retched violently into the dirt. And then he shut his eyes, turned on his heel and  ran.

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“Oh--sorry. Talking to myself. It’s a bit of a nasty habit. I can’t seem to stop.” 

“I’m sorry, did you say something?”

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“He does! You’ve got to look for it if you don’t know he does it, but it’s practically a tic once you’ve marked it! Touch to the temple it is.” 

“I feel like Madam Pince might get an inkling. She’s got a sort of...sixth sense about these things. But we could make it work. There’s got to be a charm or something. Between the pair of us, we’ll figure something out.” 

“Really? I didn’t know that was a thing that he did. I’ll have to be on the look out for that when I see him around. I think touch to the temple would be easiest. Less of a chance to do it on accident but not too obvious.”

“Right, rodents and the rest. Perhaps on top of the shelves where no one looks. No one else would know it’s there and then it’s not in the floor.”

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“Finger to the temple? Or wait, tapping the side of your nose. Dumbledore does it whenever he’s trying to be mischievous.”

“There’s just one problem with the floorboard --- we’d attract rats.”  

“Perfect, I think that’s the perfect system. I don’t think there’s really anything else we’ll need aside from who will be sneaking in the midnight snack. I’m pretty sure it would be easy to prop up a floorboard and keep something in there for a while yet.”

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“Morse code? Brilliant! How about...two raps on the table for ‘hello there, old chum, fancy meeting you here’ and three for ‘can you believe this essay I’ve got to write??’ 

And slam your head three times into the closest book for ‘shut the hell up, can’t you see I’m trying to study’. Have a feeling that last one might come in useful.”

“Of course, how could I have not seen your light in there. I’ll have to start signing to you with some morse code.”

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“You say that like it hasn’t happened already.” 

“Didn’t you know? I practically live here.” 

“Right, so there’s a possibility that if you find yourself in the library reading late at night you could be sleeping there the rest of the night. Make sure to bring a pillow if you plan on being there past eight.”

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“Yes, a whole entire year! You know what I think? I think you’re underestimating me, Dorcas Meadowes.”

“Aw, you don’t have. Just commiserate with me. Or let me watch while you draw sometime. That’ll be enough.”

“A whole year of it? That’s pretty impressive, since I can be rather silly.” 

“Oh, thank you Remus. You really are too nice to me. I wish I could do something for you to show you how much it means to me.”

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The anxiety of waiting threw his stomach into a fever pitch. He fought to stay still, to keep his foot from tapping out an aimless rhythm on the flagstones; to keep his fingers from drumming against his thigh. Waiting only increased his desire to get moving. The sky darkened gradually as it always had, but it felt closer tonight, as though time moved differently when the moon was full. 

Remus was not normally a restless person. He was patient, and often spent hours suspended in complete stillness, relaxing while his mind went to work on a problem, or lost itself in the pages of a particularly engrossing novel. It was the wolf in him that was restless. The wolf in him wanted to bite and rip and tear. To run free under the stars and shout at the cold and unforgiving moon. 

He had been about to give up and head for the shack himself -- his friends knew where to meet him -- when he caught the sound of footsteps and turned to catch a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye. The air shimmered for a moment and then fell away to reveal the dark-clothed forms of three boys huddled close beneath a familiar cloak. Just a glimpse, before the cloak fell back again, obscuring them into the landscape. 

Peter’s voice floated up out of the darkness where there bodies had been; still were.

Remus grinned and relaxed his anxious grip on his thigh. His mates knew not to disappoint. 

“Right,” he said, and turned on his heel, stepping off the path and onto the loamy earth. The walk was short and he made quick work of it, padding along with his hands in his pockets, at ease with the thought of his friends behind him. “Come on, then. It’s getting late; what kept you? I was just about to go down to the Shack myself.” 

It should have felt weird, speaking to the air. But he was used to it by now. Peeves had given him a nickname because of it, this habit to be the odd one out when it came to the cloak. All because he had been caught while he was patrolling corridors at the start of fifth year, as the others tagged along behind under the cloak and invisible to the poltergeist, who saw only Remus, speaking animatedly to himself in a low whisper.

‘Loony loony Lupin’, he’d been called. A name Peeves cherished and often sung at him from the rafters or while floating between paintings when Remus was on the way to class. He’d become deaf to it by now, and merely smiled gamely at the ghost, who, confused and insulted, vanished with a dramatic swan dive into the nearest portrait while blowing a raspberry. 

The Whomping Willow stood proud and defiant, its thick trunk and bulbous, swinging branches a dark and imposing guardian. Remus had never been scared of the tree, despite its rather impish disposition and the ferocity with which it tried to concuss him. He had to give it credit -- it was doing a remarkable job. Still, he’d been outwitting the tree since he was eleven, and it would be a sorry sight to lose now.

Almost lazily, he whipped out his wand and muttered ‘immobulus!’ The willow’s thrashing branches jerked to a halt and it lay still and frozen, looking deceptively like any other tree.

“Come on,” he muttered to his friends, waving them forward. “Quickly!” The spell never lasted long. He had an inkling that the willow fought it, and slowly had built up a tolerance for it. Really, the knot was the best way, but he was too agitated to get at it properly and in no mood to take a bludgeoning branch to the face. The moon was climbing steadily now. He had best get out of sight.

Without another word, Remus surged forward and disappeared into the tunnel that would lead him to the Shack. 

november moon // @ marauders

James was worried. He hadn’t been worried about a full moon since the first time that he and the others had transformed as animagi, but the idea that other students–that Lily might wander into the forest during the full moon had him staring at the ceiling of his four-poster bed rather than napping in the short hours between dinner and when he, Sirius, and Peter would sneak down to the Shrieking Shack to keep Remus company while he transformed.

Maybe they would be best off staying in the shack for the evening? No, that wouldn’t be fair to Moony. He’d be stuck in the hospital wing for at least an extra day if they kept him trapped in that house while there was a nice, large forest for him to run through. Padfoot and Prongs would just have to be on high alert so that they could spring into action should a human find its way into the forest. James made a mental note to talk to Sirius about that.

The idea that Lily could turn up in the forest had him most terrified. While they had barely been together for a month, she already meant a great deal more to him than he had ever thought possible. However, while he was worried about what might happen to her–or any of the others who had woken in the forest recently, he knew that Moony would be at least twice as worried and ready to blame himself should anything happen. Sighing, James decided that it would be best to clear his mind of any worry so that he could focus on keeping his best friend at bay to prevent any possible attacks.

After laying in his bed for nearly forty minutes while achieving no success in falling asleep, he took his snitch out of his top drawer and released it, allowing the tiny gold ball to hover around his head for a few seconds before grasping it in his hand and releasing it again. If nothing else, it would be somewhat of a distraction until it was time to head down to the Whomping Willow.

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Remus listened, staying politely still and silent, though his eyes narrowed at the way she said the words of notable lineage. There it was, that lackadaisical arrogance that defined Alecto as one of the blood purists. The simple act of assuming there was a hierarchy, that someone, or a whole family of someones, was better just because of the blood that ran through their veins. 

It made his palms itch. 

Still, Remus nodded.

“Right. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with holding on to tradition. I think it’s sort of admirable, really. Goes back pretty far, does it?” 

It wasn’t the naming tradition that was wrong; just near everything else.

“It’s quite simple: pureblood families, particularly ones of notable lineage, have strict traditions that could be sometimes considered stifling though there’s nothing inherently wrong to them. Sirius clearly did find them stifling but that doesn’t mean he should act like the whole lot of it is wrong for everybody.”

[mssrmoony-blog1]

Masterlist of Memes

Symbols

☹ My muse is visiting your muse on their death bed

♫ A drabble about our muses inspired by the next song that comes on shuffle

☻ A drabble of our muses on their wedding day

☺ my muse trying to piss yours off

ت our muses running into each other after not seeing each other for several years

ヅ for a situation that got both our muses arrested

シ my muse walks in on your naked

Ü your muse walks in on my muse naked

ϡ a goodbye letter from my muse to yours

♥ you muse suprises my muse with a kiss

۵ my muse kisses yours to shut them up

ღ a forehead kiss from my muse

웃 my muse torturing yours for information

유 my muse trying to seduce information from your muse

♈ a holiday drabble featuring our muses

♉ our muses are together when they get ambushed

≑ my muse wakes up in your muse’s body

?  my muse will ask your muse a question they always wanted to ask

+ my muse has died and your muse is included in their will

◈ my muse’s reaction to finding your muse beaten and bruised 

♊ my muse will do something stupid to impress your muse

✃ your muse visiting mine in the psych ward

♋ my muse visiting yours in the psych ward

❅ my muse rescues yours

✪ my muse seeing the ghost of your muse

● my muse’s turn offs

○ my muse’s turn ons

△ our muse’s get in a playful wrestling match

⍢ my muse gives yours a hickey

✧ our muses having dinner together

☎ my muse drunk dials your muse

✈ our muses on a flight together

☼ my muse giving yours a massage

♡ my muse flirts with your mue

☣ your muse visiting my muse in prison

♌ your muse visiting mine in prison

X my muse doesn’t remember anything from the night before. They have blood on their hands, and your muse is beaten at their feet.

☁ our muses are trapped in a fire together

〰 our muses are at the beach together

❢ my muse has lost their memory, and at the sight of your muse starts to remember things

✑ my muses daily routine

❂ a new years eve memory from my muse

✬ our muses share a new years eve kiss

✆ your muses name, ringtone, and icon in the muse’s phone

◙ a christmas gift from my muse

♍ a sexual story from my muse

₩ our muses are caught in a thunder storm together

❊  a regret my muse has about your muse

♎ your muse tracing one of my muse’s scars

♏ my muse tracing a scar of your muse’s

♐ my muse hearing your muse scream

♑ our muses go out for coffee together

♒ my muse visit’s your muse’s grave

♓ my muse injures your muse

✄ your muse injures my muse

☩ a dream my muse has about your muse

☨ my muse searching for your muse

☦ my muse trying to cheer up your muse

✞ my muse taking care of a your muse while their sick

✛ my muse trying to calm your muse down

✜ my muse trying to get your muse to recover from amnesia

✝ a confession from my muse to yours

✙ our muses shopping together

✠ our muses watching the stars together

« a past memory with our muses

» a daydream my muse has about yours

✐ a mistletoe kiss

✎ our muses going to a costume ball together

✏ our muses are evil and out reaking havoc together

♔ a kiss on the cheek

♕ a kiss on the palms

♖ a kiss on the back of the hand

♗ a kiss on the nose

♘ a kiss on the eyelids

♙ a kiss on a bruise

Sentence Memes

“You belong to me”

“I found you”

“I’m in jail”

“You make me so hot”

“I have to leave”

“Please don’t leave”

“And what about our parents?”

“Who did this to you?”

“You shouldn’t have done that”

“What happened last night”

“We never tell anyone about this”

“So, you want to play games?”

“Does that require pants?”

“Lets just have a lazy day”

“Then go kill the bitch”

“I’m pregnant”

“You broke me”

“Don’t touch me”

“You can’t fix this”

“There’s nowhere we can hide”

“I’m not listening”

“Who do you think you are?”

“I don’t need you here.”

“Did I fall asleep?”

“A little evil goes a long, long way.”

“I will not die.”

“I don’t care.”

“I have no regrets.”

“I feel numb.”

“All monsters are human.”

“You look beautiful, but you don’t look fine.”

“You look beautiful, but you don’t look fine.“”

“How many time have I told you to be more careful?”

“Let’s get you to bed.”

“I can’t even look at you, you promised not to get into any more fights!”

“Are you crazy?”

“Do you trust me?”

“How did you escape?”

“Is that blood behind your ear?”

“Take. This. Off. ”

“What’s in it for me?”

“What’s in it for you?”

xtylerlockwood