rosamariaa

[rosamariaa]

literally half the reason i tag stuff on here is so i can go back and browse my own blog. i am my blog’s #1 fan

[rosamariaa]

“i’m so art blocked” in the SAME tweet as the CUTEST remus you have ever drawn is insane!!! god he’s adorable

AHHHH THANK YOUUU<333 he’s my baba I feel like I could draw remus with my left foot and it’d still turn out somewhat cute just bc it’s him

[rosamariaa]

🎠

[rosamariaa]

brave face fulfilling all needs for ultimate loverboy sirius black truthers out there THANK YOU ZOE

[rosamariaa]

your hands; mine (stalker Remus AU) Part 5

PART 1 | | PREVIOUS PART

some NSFW bits

“You’re not smiling,” Sirius says between mouthfuls of his kebab. It’s a heart attack in polyester Tupperware, bigger than Sirius’ head, spilling over with doner meat and garlic sauce. It runs down Sirius’ fingers. “Thought you’d be ecstatic once you get your milkshake.”

He says it so flippantly it’s almost an insult.

Remus looks down at his green straw and the plastic cup filled with yellow-beige sludge. They didn’t send two strawberry ones. They sent a strawberry and banana. And since Sirius ordered strawberry…

Remus really doesn’t like bananas.

“I don’t like bananas,” he says, taking the straw between his lips and sucking in the cold disappointment. It tastes like foam sweets from pick-n-mix stands, artificial, plastic, like a mouth full of bubble wrap someone chucked into a freezer.

“Why did you order it then?”

“Didn’t,” Remus tells him, and he can hear how miserable and petulant his voice sounds and he hates it, that he’s showing Sirius this side of himself. “They run out of chocolate.”

The way Sirius looks at him makes him want to take the words right back and never speak ever again. His eyes focus on Remus’ mouth still pursed around the straw, and then there’s that sneer.

“Why drink it, then?” Sirius is somewhere between confused and downright angry. 

Remus thinks maybe he should have left. He’s feeling a little bit vulnerable suddenly. “Don’t want it to go to waste,” he answers and thinks of the little cottage and the very rare times they had ice cream. Of the three times total they had takeout. Of the laundry detergent he definitely won’t be able to afford this week and the shopping list that’s down to bread and eggs and camera film.

Sirius lets his head fall onto the back of the sofa, a sound of complete exasperation leaving his lovely mouth. 

“Give it here,” he says once he composes himself. “I’ll drink it. There’s ice cream in the freezer, get yourself some of that instead.”

“Chocolate?” Remus perks up.

“Yes, it’s chocolate,” Sirius waves him away. “Drinking a damn banana milkshake,” he mumbles to himself as Remus gets up, so low Remus barely hears it.

Remus washes his hands before going to the freezer. They’re a bit sticky with the condensation that’s formed around his cup. It hurts all over again, pouring water onto the skin - it looks a bit inflamed in places. As he waits for the ice cream to defrost enough to be scoopable, he fills out a prescription request for his eczema cream.

It’s good ice cream. Fancy ice cream. There are bits of real chocolate and a swirl of fudge running through it. Remus has never splurged on something like this before and he feels shameful doing it now. He scoops a bit into a cup - a small amount, just as much as he can without the pleasure-guilt of it engulfing him. 

“You should have taken the whole tub,” Sirius says and Remus falls in love with him all over again. “They’re small enough to eat in one go.”

He doesn’t go back to the kitchen and he doesn’t sit down to eat the ice cream. Instead he watches Sirius pick up the banana milkshake Remus was drinking, put the green straw in his mouth, and suck.

There are many reasons why Remus likes to watch Sirius. He’s clever, and he’s kind, and he’s so beautiful it almost hurts to look at, but it’s never been sexual - Remus makes sure to turn away when Sirius changes and he doesn’t ever peek through the windows to his bathroom. He tries to be respectful, within the realms of possibility. Remus doesn’t really get those sort of urges: not with Sirius, not with any of his lucklustre attempts at relationships, not at all.

Sirius sucks on the straw Remus had in his mouth and all of that - all of that - is gone. A current of lightning connecting the soggy paper straight to the base of Remus’ spine. He gets so hard so quickly it makes his head spin and he falls down into a crouch. Sirius looks up, the straw still in between his lips, cheeks hollowed around a swallow.

“Are you alright?” Sirius asks as if he hasn’t just rewritten Remus’ entire being by consuming a disgusting beverage.

He can’t tell him. He won’t tell him that his very first time feeling want is at the wrong side of twenty, spurred on by the sight of Sirius drinking a milkshake. He won’t. Fine, he tries to say, but it comes out more like nggghhhk.

“Remus?” Sirius says his name for the first time. 

Remus didn’t know he knew it. Didn’t know he would remember those first letters pushed underneath the doorway or left on his windshield. When Remus would sign them with a shaky, hopeful hand. 

Yours, Remus. 

Always, Remus.

You forgot to change your oil, Remus.

Sirius says Remus and he thinks he’s going to come all over himself, right there in the middle of the room, crouched in between a coffee table and the door to the kitchen.

“You remember my name,” he manages, sitting himself down on the floor and shuffling over to the coffee table. At least this way he can hide the most visible of reactions. At least this way he can hide the shame.

“Is this a joke?” Sirius laughs a laugh that's something else entirely - bitter and sharp. “Yes I remember your name, you creep. You’ve been following me for a better part of the year. Stop saying stupid shit and eat your ice cream. I’ve got too much of a headache to deal with this.”

Chastised, Remus does.

✨ ✨ ✨ ✨

notes:

yeh he’s just going to get weirder. Hope you’re into that

Tags!

@hoje--aqui

@rae-lune

@wickedcoeur

@shunstanpike

@floretissogay

@remoonysiriusly

@lunalovegoodsgirlfriend

@father-imperator

@brighterthanthou

@a-pine-cone

[rosamariaa]

BABE WAKE UP NEW LIKEAFUNERALL ART DROPPED

ac: likeafunerall on insta !!

[rosamariaa]

Sirius making Remus look him in the eye and repeat praises back to him during sex... Remus being unable to do it, tearing up and not being able to make eye contact...

[rosamariaa]

your hands; mine (stalker Remus AU) part 3

PART 1 | PART 2

Sirius lives in a first floor flat in a building with no lift. His body is a weight Remus struggles to carry - tall, broad-shouldered, large enough to contain the presence that is Sirius.

“Knew you’d find me,” he mumbles as Remus manhandles the pockets of his jacket looking for keys.

“Always,” Remus tells him, locating the keys and holding Sirius up with one arm as he pushes the door open. It’s utilitarian, too similar to how he held the body that was no longer a man just ten minutes earlier. He doesn’t let himself think I am touching Sirius. Doesn’t let himself think I touched someone dead. 

Stays right clear of I killed him. 

“You’re a fucking creep.” Sirius’ head rolls to Remus’ shoulder. A bastardisation of an embrace.

Sirius isn’t beautiful right now. His eyes are unfocused and half closed, the lines around them more pronounced with the effort of keeping them open - maybe the effort of keeping himself awake. There’s an unhealthy blush across the bridge of his nose and the sharpness of his cheekbones. His face is slack, mouth parted and his breathing shallow.

Remus knows the flat. Not from this angle - it’s strange from this angle. He knows it through windows and planning permits and building regulation applications. From the doorway, the dimensions seem distorted. Remus feels too tall here, too unwieldy. Like a weed growing through pavement cracks, fast and unwelcome. To be pulled out, roots and all, and discarded.

“Almost there,” he tells Sirius, whose body is no longer cooperating. “Just a few more steps.”

The sofa stands one and a half metres away from the door, backed onto the wall connecting to the bedroom. On its other side is the window facing the bins. Remus has countless photos of Sirius lounging here. Hungover mornings and late night drinks, lazy afternoons. Coffees and dinners and pints of ice cream.

Sirius slumps onto his side as soon as Remus sits him down. Remus has seen him asleep here, but even then he didn’t look as vulnerable as he does now.

There’s always a strength to him. It’s as much a part of Sirius as his very name. 

Ancient Greek: Σείριος, romanised: Seírios, literally: ‘scorching’.

Bright and blazing and alive. 

Remus thinks of the man who took that strength away. For one horrible second he wishes he could kill him again. Slower. Agonising.

But that’s not the kind of man Remus is. Remus knows this of himself: he returns his library books on time. He’s never had a speeding ticket. His cat relies on his strict routines. Now, he has to add another to the list: murderer. He can never think of himself again in the same way as he did before.

He fixes the pillow underneath Sirius’ head. His legs are hanging off the sofa awkwardly so Remus moves them up. Takes the shoes off, left first, laces loosened and then pulled off. Sirius tries to fight him, tries to kick him away. All he manages is a faint spasm of his foot.

“It’s alright,” Remus tells him and hopes it’s reassuring. “I won’t hurt you. I promise. Just let me make you comfortable.”

Sirius’ pupils are blown out. “Get out of my home,” he hisses through an uncooperative set of his jaw. There is the strength. Even now. Even like this. He’s still himself.

“I can’t. I’m sorry. Really.” Remus stands by the sofa. He’s towering over Sirius. It feels wrong, so he sits down. “You could have a reaction. You’re in no state to be by yourself. I could try calling James or-“

“No. Don’t get him involved.”

“Then I can’t go.” An awful, awkward silence stretches between them. “I’ll make some tea,” Remus speaks into it and his voice sounds too loud, too grating. “Would you like a cup?”

Sirius doesn’t answer. He looks like he might no longer be present enough to do so.

Remus closes the blinds on the way to the kitchen. He doesn’t want to look at the bins. Sirius closes them sometimes, but not very often. Mostly Remus has free view into the flat. He used to think maybe it was a sign, an invitation. By now he knows better: Sirius isn’t someone to let others dictate how he lives.

The kitchen window looks out onto the street. There’s a little park on the other side, a bit of green and a few benches. Remus sometimes sits there when his knee plays up and he can’t face standing for too long.

Sirius’ favourite mug is on the draining board, where he left it after breakfast. The teabags are in a little moss-green tin. Sirius takes two sugars. Remus takes one. Neither of them take milk.

Sirius is asleep when Remus comes back into the room. His breathing has evened out and deepened. Remus sits down on the floor by the sofa and reaches for Sirius’ hand. Finds his pulse point. Keeps his fingers there, holding out for changes in the steady beating. More Highway to Hell than Stayin’ Alive. 

Remus drinks his tea. Sirius’ goes cold. Time passes.

✨✨✨✨

Notes:

I cannot overstate this enough do not do this. Your stalker would not be Remus Lupin 😂

tags!

@hoje--aqui

@tealeavesandtrash

@rae-lune

@wickedcoeur

@shunstanpike

@floretissogay

@remoonysiriusly

@lunalovegoodsgirlfriend

[rosamariaa]

[rosamariaa]

man, I love this character so much! [fills them with a deep and inescapable yearning which they don’t know how to fill or even name]

[rosamariaa]

your hands; mine Part 2

WARNING: murder, blood, spiked drink, violence

PART 1

Remus has seen Sirius talked at, and hit on, and groped on more occasions than he cares to count.

It’s natural, he supposes. Someone so pretty is bound to get more than his fair share of attention. Remus isn’t jealous of it, because he knows it’s not his place to be. Sure, it twists something inside of him that screams don’t touch what’s mine but he knows that’s irrational. Sirius is only his in the way the bones are at the Natural History Museum. Something to look at, never to touch.

Sirius is very good at getting rid of unwanted attention. Remus has seen him deal with it using only his words, a fork from his meal, a half-empty bottle of beer. 

He never needs any help.

It’s the same this time. The man steps away, hands raised in surrender, and his friend seems to catch on. He drags him away, throwing some half-arsed apologies at Sirius and James. They both nod, a polite thing from James, Sirius still with that chill in his eyes and the pool queue against the man’s face for as long as the length of it allows.

They don’t play anymore after that. Sirius drinks the beer that the man gave him, James drinks whatever it is that he drinks. Remus goes to the bathroom and when he returns, they are gone.

It’s usually like this on Fridays. Remus doesn’t follow Sirius home on those days. Half the time he goes to James’, sometimes he goes somewhere else entirely. Remus prefers to stay at the bar and have another soda and lime, another packet of peanuts.

Soda and lime £2.05

KP Dry Roasted Peanuts £1

Bartenders don’t usually like him much. He takes up space at the bar and doesn’t drink. Remus understands. There are a lot of people he doesn’t like, either.

The evening finished faster than Remus expected. He’ll probably have some time to work on a stained glass pug commission he got. It’s taking him a little longer than usual - he’s not been in the mood for it. There's something about the reference photo that makes him uneasy, something in those little beady eyes that doesn’t want to be immortalised in glass.

He’s halfway through his drink when the text comes through.

Help me

No punctuation. The first letter is capitalised but they are so by default.

The first splash of grey in a sea of blue.

6 characters and a space.

Remus is up and out the door, halfway to his car before he registers it. Goes through the checks (mirrors, seatbelt, rear-view, blind spot) automatically. Opens the tracking app on his phone with one hand, the other steering him out of the parking space. 

Remus is always a careful driver. He appreciates that about himself.

He speeds through a red light towards the little dot on the map. It’s at Sirius’ building, but not quite where his flat is. Just to the left of it, where the bins are kept. It’s a five minute drive from the pub. Remus makes it in three.

“Can’t get a shag like a normal person?” Sirius is taunting the stocky man from the pub. His voice is garbled but not in the way it is when Sirius drinks too much. Remus follows it. “A man tells you no so you drug him?”

Sirius is slumped against the side of a bin, wedged in between it and the man. He’s holding onto a bottle, half of it broken off, the glass jagged and ready to be used, but Sirius’ hand is limp by his side.

“You’re a right little cunt you know?” The stocky man from the pub says. He’s standing above Sirius. He rears back his leg and kicks him in the stomach, hard. 

Sirius collapses into himself on a cough of pain.

Remus is tall but lanky. Not good in a fight. He knows this about himself. It takes three steps to get to the man and throw himself over his back, hand around neck, the surprise of it enough to topple them both to the ground. With some long-distant part of his brain he grabs the bottle from Sirius’ hand and hits. 

It goes in smoothly, the way a knife does into a warm lasagna. Remus tastes bitter bile in the back of his throat. The bottle is half-in, half-out of the man’s side, and he holds onto it with shaky fingers quickly growing red with blood.

Remus has never hurt anyone before.

Sirius looks at him a bit like he looks at the texts Remus sends.

“Are you alright?” Remus asks him. It’s the first time he speaks in the same air.

Sirius doesn’t answer. Underneath Remus, the man gurgles. A string of blood flows out of his mouth. He looks at Remus and it’s like l: you, really? You? Remus can understand. He wouldn’t think it would be him, either.

The man dies slowly but too fast to do anything about it. His body becomes a thing. He becomes no more. An object.

Remus stands up. He knows there are no cameras here. Sirius’ flat is easily seen through the windows. Remus has taken photos from right next to where he stands.

He knows nobody checks the bins before they’re collected. He knows they’re collected Saturday mornings. He knows the man is laying on a discarded piece of cardboard.

He knows they seems to have gotten very, very lucky. 

@rae-lune

@hoje--aqui

@wickedcoeur

@shunstanpike

@floretissogay

@remoonysiriusly

@tealeavesandtrash

[rosamariaa]

🌙 A sneak preview for prompt A17! 🌙 The Curious Case of Remus John Lupin Browse all the prompts || Sign up to the fest

The voice isn’t as intimidating as he expected—the doctor in the fancy office sounds like any other thirty-something guy Remus might know from back home, although maybe he enunciates his consonants a bit more. Remus’ body relaxes before he steps through the doorway and sees the man. And he stops in his tracks. 

Dr. Black looks just like his photo on the Department website. Only he doesn’t. Now that Remus can see him in person, the photograph doesn’t even kind of do him justice. First of all, he’s tall—taller than Remus had imagined, evident even when he’s sitting down. And the strands of mid-length black hair that had fallen gracefully around his face in the photo now have a life to them. When he tilts his head, eyes locked on one of the giant computer monitors at his deskside, he sweeps a silky, inky lock behind one ear, and Remus desperately wants to touch it. To see if it’s as soft as it looks and—Jesus fucking Christ this is his doctor.

He stands frozen for some unknown amount of time before the front desk lady gives him a tiny nudge, and he remembers he needs to step into the room. He approaches the desk robotically and sinks into one of the two open chairs opposite the doctor. Dr. Black doesn’t look up, still scrolling through what appear to be images of someone’s brain on his monitor, and Remus just sits, watching him in perfect silence until—

“Hic.”

“Singultus,” Dr. Black mutters without turning. “Um… I’m sorry?” “Hiccups,” he says, and oh—Remus suddenly remembers the Latin term from his own extensive googling. His brain must have been otherwise occupied in that moment, using every single neuron not to blatantly check out this extremely hot man who is supposed to be his doctor. “That’s you, right?" Dr. Black asks. "You’re the one with the hiccups? Remus… John Lupin?” 

Remus realizes the man is reading off of the top of his computer screen, and he rapidly puts the pieces together that the brain Dr. Black is looking at is his brain. Something about that is deeply unsettling, but Remus takes a breath, clenching his fists and waiting for his next inevitable hiccup to pass before saying, “Yes. That’s me.” “Hm,” is all Dr. Black says in response. Remus watches him exit out of the brain pictures and open up a different file full of black-and-white images that he starts speedily scrolling through. Remus doesn’t even want to contemplate which organs those are. “So,” Remus says awkwardly, unsure whether he really even needs to be in the room for this part, “do I need-hic—to change into a gown or something?”

“Why?” “Aren’t you going to examine me?”

“I am examining you,” Dr. Black replies calmly, clicking into a different file that looks like more brain pictures to Remus, although these have little areas lit up in red, orange, and yellow. “Don’t think I really need to get you undressed to look at what’s going on inside your head,” he adds with a half-smirk, and Remus’ stomach swoops. “Unless you want me to.”

[rosamariaa]

I wanna talk about fanfics and about sirius and about remus but my timeline is so dead all the time

[rosamariaa]

WHEREVER,WHATEVER

HAVE A NICE DAY!

24k, E. Wolfstar My Own Private Idaho AU.

Generously proofread by @poetskings to whom I’m incredibly grateful and also apologetic for my impatience in getting this out. I went kind of insane.

//Google street view image of Benton, CA//Lyrics from 'Murder by Mistletoe by The Felice Brothers//Pinterest//Excerpt from 'Boot Theory' by Richard Siken//Still from 'My Own Private Idaho,' directed by Gus Van Sant//Lyrics from 'Wish You Were Here' by Pink Floyd//MOPI still//William Shakespeare's 'The Tempest,' Act 4 Scene 1//MOPI still//Excerpt from 'Little Beast' by Richard Siken//MOPI still//Lyrics from 'Wonderful Life' by The Felice Brothers.

These aren’t in the right order but I’ll fix it later ^^^

[rosamariaa]

"Ok, bad idea. I think I don't wanna learn any more"

"You are doing great"

[rosamariaa]

metalhead wolfstar

[rosamariaa]

tried to be Cool changing from windows to linux and forgot there's no sims 4 for linux WHAT NOW