#{ c: remus lupin ;; }

[aurorasinistrax]

where & who: @xremus-lupinx's home

Aurora was livid. She didn't have proof that he was the one who did it, but considering what she just went through, it had to be him. He never wanted her to be part of it. Though, she was still part of it, but he had no right to ask that she be taken of missions.

It broke her heart, considering everything they had shared over the last few days and it felt like he was leaving her all over again.

He knocks at his door. "I know you're home, Rem." She shouts, "we need to talk." Why did he do this? Where was his faith in her?

[edgarebones]

where: order headquarters

who: @xremus-lupinx

Edgar excused himself from a meeting upon receiving Remus' owl, agreeing to meet him at the headquarters to have a brief about their mission he was sent on with Aurora, concerned about hearing that she was in the hospital. He would make a point to go over and check on her himself after.

He stepped inside the meeting room, turning to find Remus behind him. "How is she doing?" The wizard pulled out a chair for the other, taking a seat in one across from him. "What happened?" Concern etched in his voice.

[sturgispodtudo]

Quem: @rxmlpin​

Local: Corredores de Hogwarts, Quinto Andar 

Quando: Após toque de recolher

Quando a monitora da Corvinal marcou de se encontrar com Sturgis Podmore no banheiro dos monitores após o toque de recolher o bruxo não pensou duas vezes antes de dizer sim, afinal de contas era obrigado a admitir que a bruxa era extremamente atraente e somente um maluco para dizer não diante de uma oportunidade como aquela. Podmore podia ser muitas coisas, mas maluco não era uma delas. Além do mais, corriam pelos corredores de Hogwarts alguns boatos a respeito do banheiro dos monitores e das coisas que aconteciam por lá, de forma que o rapaz tinha a curiosidade de conferir a respeito da veracidade sobre as fofocas que circulavam pelo local. 

O bruxo tomou cuidado ao sair do dormitório após o toque de recolher e foi ao encontro da colega de casa, chegando no banheiro dos monitores no horário indicado por ela. Podmore até mesmo tinha pensado na possibilidade de chegar alguns minutos adiantados, mas não queria deixar tão transparente a sua ansiedade para aquele encontro. Os dois não perderam muito tempo com conversas frívolas a respeito do tempo ou sobre os estudos, afinal de contas aquele não era o objetivo daquele encontro. Quando se deu conta os dois estavam se beijando de forma intensa; enquanto as mãos da monitora se ocupavam abrindo os botões da camisa dele, as mãos de Podmore estavam ocupadas demais explorando cada uma das curvas do corpo da bruxa. Cada segundo que tinham era importante e eles não queriam perder nenhum. O rapaz apenas se afastou por um momento para colocar a bruxa em cima da bancada da pia e em seguida voltou a beijá-la com a mesma intensidade e desejo de antes. 

“Sturgis…”, a monitora disse, afastando-se levemente. “Por acaso você já…?”

Havia algo de estranho no olhar dela e pelo rumo que a conversa estava indo o bruxo sabia muito bem o que ela queria dizer. “O quê? Não, ainda não. Não sei a respeito dos outros rapazes com quem você já se envolveu, mas te garanto que não sou como eles”, por mais que o bruxo estivesse louco de tesão ele não tinha planos de que aquela noite terminasse tão cedo, eles mal tinham começado.

“É que eu estou sentindo algo estranho”.

Sturgis tinha uma resposta na ponta da língua até que percebeu o que a monitora estava querendo dizer. Demorou um tempo para que notasse que sua calça estava molhada, e um tempo maior para perceber que não apenas sua calça mas toda bancada da pia estava molhada. “Fuck”, exclamou ao perceber que o local onde deveria estar a torneira tinha apenas um buraco vazio que estava jorrando água pelo banheiro. Como eles tinham conseguido quebrar a torneira?! A mente do rapaz estava tomada por um turbilhão de pensamentos enquanto ele repassava cada uma de suas ações na tentativa de descobrir o que tinha feito, mas ele foi arrancado de seu devaneio ao escutar o miado de Madame Nor-r-ra. A gata estava parada na porta do banheiro olhando para os dois com um olhar que chegava a ser levemente assustador.

Ao longo de seus anos em Hogwarts Sturgis Podmore tinha se metido em uma série de problemas e ele já tinha perdido a noção de quantas vezes havia recebido detenção, tanto é que ele não era um dos alunos favoritos da Corvinal e alguns de seus colegas o acusavam de ser o responsável por fazer com que a casa deles perdesse tantos pontos. Não era nenhuma novidade para ele se meter em enrascadas, assim como já estava acostumado com os sermões do Filtch e dos professores. Porém, não era justo que a monitora fosse pega naquela situação embaraçosa com ele. Embora eles tivessem quebrado algumas regras juntos, a bruxa ainda era boa demais para se meter em uma enrascada por conta dele. “Não vamos ter tempo de arrumar essa bagunça e imagino que daqui a pouco o Filch possa aparecer por aqui. Então, vou ver se consigo distrair ele. Enquanto isso você volta para o dormitório. Prometo que vou dar um jeito de te tirar dessa enrascada”, explicou seu plano para a monitora e antes de sair deu um beijo de leve nos lábios dela. “Te vejo mais tarde no salão comunal, eu prometo”.

Ao sair do banheiro dos monitores, Sturgis correu na direção oposta do banheiro dos monitores, fazendo questão de se afastar o máximo possível. O Podmore não sabia ao certo o que fazer, a sensação era de estar em um beco sem saída, mas a única coisa que importava era garantir que a colega de casa não acabasse em maus lençóis por conta dele. O bruxo não tinha um rumo certo, contanto que não fosse pego por Filch ele estava no lucro.

[doeinthemeadowess]

Quem: @rxmlpin

Local: Salão Comunal da Grifinória

Quando: Após o jantar

Dorcas abriu um enorme sorriso ao encontrar Remus Lupin no salão da Grifinória, sentado em um dos sofás próximo a lareira enquanto folheava um livro com um olhar sereno, como se estivesse alheio ao mundo ao seu redor. “Que livro você está lendo?”, perguntou ao se sentar ao lado do amigo. “Inclusive, eu poderia pedir desculpas por estar te atrapalhando e interrompendo sua leitura, mas prometo que é um bom motivo”, e assim a bruxa entregou para um colega um pequeno pacote envolto num papel pardo que continha o seguinte bilhete: 

“Fiz especialmente para você, Remus Com amor, Sra. Meadowes P.S: Dorcas, faça o favor de entregar o presente para o Remus e peça para ele me escrever. Estou com saudades.”

Era no mínimo adorável ver o carinho que a família dela ainda mantinha por Lupin apesar do namoro deles não ter ido para frente, mas Doe entendia muito bem o motivo. De todas as pessoas que conhecia em Hogwarts, certamente que Remus Lupin era uma das pessoas mais amáveis do castelo e era impossível não se encantar pelo seu jeito, tanto é que a grifana tinha namorado com ele durante um tempo quando estavam no quarto ano. “Dá pra acreditar que minha mãe fez cookies para você?! Daqui a pouco vou começar a ficar com ciúmes de todo esse tratamento especial”, brincou.

[tnott]

Who are Theo's favorite and least favorite teachers?

ask me anything || always accepting

also tagging my favorite Snapes, @bokketo & @luminescenc1e

Theo’s favorite teachers are Professor Lupin and Professor Snape. She liked Professor Lupin because, in addition to being knowledgeable, he was always kind and never seemed to judge his students based on what House they were in. He never objected to Theo staying behind after class or coming to his office on weekends with questions, and never treated her differently because she was in Slytherin.

She liked Professor Snape because, while she recognized that he was not a good teacher – at least not by the usual standards – he also knew the subject he was teaching cold. He might have been sarcastic, acerbic, and at times capricious, but if you paid attention in his class and did his assignments, you would learn a lot. Severus Snape was a master potioneer, and it showed. He was also the only professor at Hogwarts who always supported Slytherin students. Theo will acknowledge that he was not fair about it, and that he supported them even when they were in the wrong, but from her perspective the other teachers all did the same to their own Houses, and they always assumed the worst of their Slytherin students to boot.

Her least favorite teacher is Professor Dumbledore, by a wide margin. She feels that he was heavily biased towards his own House and his own hand-picked favorite students, and she also feels that he deeply failed in his responsibilities towards his Slytherin students. He was their headmaster, too, but he wrote them all off – Slytherin in general and the Death Eaters’ children in particular – as a lost cause the moment they were Sorted. He  never tried to reach out to them or teach them better than what they were  getting at home, and Theo has been forced to assume that that’s because he didn’t consider them be worth the effort. Her entire House was left on their own to sink or swim, and for the most part, they sank.

She thinks Dumbledore failed them tremendously.

[rosier-and-wilkes]

“ sorry, all the other carriages are full, i’m sitting here whether you want it or not. ” | from lupin to wilkies

@literatae || hogwarts starters || accepting

"That's fine, as long as your friends don't join you," Charlotte said, only briefly glancing up from her copy of Quidditch Through the Ages. "But if Potter walks through that door, I'm concussing him with my broomstick, and you can tell him I said so."

Remus Lupin wasn't terrible, as Gryffindors went. At least he didn't go around hexing everyone who annoyed him, unlike Potter and Black. Of course, he didn't do anything to rein his friends in, either -- something that Charlotte did fault him for -- but he was still a fairly tolerable classmate.

[ahqkas]

♯ PUPPY PRINCESS ; remus lupin

PAIRING! young!remus lupin x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS! every gift of yours is something remus tends to cherish, especially your love for creating from nothing (based on this req.!!)

WORD COUNT! 3.1k

WARNINGS / TAGS! pure fluff, remus is nothing but smitten and wrapped around your finger

NOTES! autumn’s coming and my obsession with the marauders is slowly defrosting ☹️ all the credits to the pretty devider below belong to @aqualogia !

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

I. A TANGLED WEB OF YARD AND ADORATION

THE LATE AFTERNOON SUNLIGHT FILTERED THROUGH THE TALL WINDOWS of the Gryffindor common room, casting a warm glow across the stone walls. You're sitting comfortably on the couch, your legs tucked beneath you, with your hands working steadily, creating a rhythm with the yarn and crochet hook. The familiar motion of looping the yarn through the hook brought a sense of calm, a quiet joy that you've always found in crafting.

Remus Lupin sat nearby with a thick textbook in his lap, but the words kept getting tangled in his mind due to his lack of attention on the subject. He was supposed to be studying — there's a Transfiguration exam tomorrow that he really should be preparing for — but he couldn't seem to tear his gaze away from you. He watched the way your hands moved, the smooth, practiced motions that seem to come so naturally to you. There was something about it that fascinated him, though he couldn't quite put it into words.

"You're staring again," you say, glancing up and meeting his dark eyes with a small, knowing smile. Your tone is light, teasing. You're used to it now — how his attention drifts from his studies to you whenever you're engrossed in one of your hobbies.

Your boyfriend looked slightly embarrassed, flushed cheeks caught in the act, but he smiled back at you. "Sorry," he replied, though it didn't sound as sincere as it should. He wasn't sorry for admiring you and your skills. "I just . . . I don't know how you do it."

"Do what?" you asked, your hands never pausing in their work. The yarn slides smoothly through your fingers.

"Make it look so easy," he said, genuinely curious. "It's like you're weaving magic with your hands."

You gave him a soft chuckle at that, shaking your head as you finish off another row. "It's not that complicated, really. It's just practice. Anyone can learn if they have the patience."

The werewolf nodded thoughtfully, though he was not entirely convinced he could manage it. The heavy textbook was set down, the revision long forgotten. "What are you making this time?" he asked you, leaning forward slightly, his curiosity piqued which charmed a smile on your lips.

"A scarf," you answer, keeping your focus on the yarn as you hold up the length of your still unfinished work that's slowly but surely taking shape. The stitches were tight and even and the colour of the fabric shined in the fire of the fireplace. "Winter's coming soon, and I figured you could use something warm."

Remus' brows lifted in surprise, eyes flickering between your face and the scarf in making. "For me?"

"Of course," you said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I wanted to make something you'd actually use. Plus, it's a good excuse to work with this colour."

He couldn't help but linger at the scarf — a deep burgundy, the color of his tie, which reminded him of autumn leaves and Gryffindor pride. It was a shade he'd always liked, and the thought that you'd chosen it specifically with him in mind made him feel a quiet sense of gratitude. 

"Thank you," he said quietly now with sincerity lacing his every word. "I really appreciate it."

You looked up then, meeting his gaze with a smile, the kind of smile that made something warm unfurl in his chest. Something unspoken passed between the two of you — an understanding, a quiet connection that didn't need words to be felt. "I enjoy making things for people I care about," you replied. "And you can't go wrong with a good scarf."

There was a comfortable silence as you returned to your work, and Remus found himself drawn once again to the way your hands moved with such practiced grace. He'd always been fascinated by the kind of magic that doesn't come from a wand — the quiet, everyday magic that you brought to life with your hobbies. He watched as the yarn twisted and turned, forming something tangible and warm, something that wasn't there just moments before.

After a while, you glanced at him again, your eyes thoughtful. "You know," you started, voice casual but inviting, "if you ever want to learn, I could show you how to crochet. It's not as difficult as it looks."

Remus hesitated, caught off guard by the offer. He'd never thought of himself as particularly crafty — his talents have always leaned more towards theoretical things, like books and spells. But the idea of sitting with you, learning something new together, was oddly appealing. "I don't know if I'd be any good at it," he admitted, a hint of uncertainty in his voice. A part of him was terrified his hands weren't stable enough for such work as your own were.

But you just shrugged lightly, focus still on the scarf as it grew longer with each stitch. "It's not about being good at it," you exclaimed. "It's just . . . something calming to do with your hands. A way to focus your mind on something simple."

The werewolf considered this, watching the way your hands moved with a steady, comforting rhythm. There was a kind of peace in it, a meditative quality that he couldn't help but find appealing. "Maybe I'll give it a try," he said finally, the corners of his mouth lifting in a small smile. "If you promise not to laugh at me."

"I would never. I think you might surprise yourself."

The hours slipped by as the common room gradually emptied, students heading off to their dormitories as the evening wore on. The fire burned low in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the walls, but you and Remus remained where you were, content in each other's company. The scarf in your hands grew  longer with each passing moment, the yarn slowly transforming into something tangible, something with weight and warmth.

Eventually, you finished your work, holding up the completed scarf for Remus to see. The stitches were beautifully done, the pattern simple yet elegant, and the color — rich and deep — seemed to glow in the firelight. "What do you think?" you asked, a hint of pride in your voice at your boyfriend's speechless reaction.

Remus reached out, his fingers brushing over the soft fabric. It's perfect, he thinks, not just because of how it looked, but because of what it represented — your care, your thoughtfulness, the time and effort you put into making something just for him. "It's . . . perfect," he opened his heart to you, voice thick with emotion. "Thank you."

You gave him a sweet smile, pleased with his reaction. "I'm glad you like it."

II. THE ART OF CLAY

THE SOUND OF RAIN ECHOED SOFTLY AGAINST THE GLASS WINDOWS OF THE HOGWARTS GREENHOUSE, creating a gentle rhythm that blended with the faint rustling of leaves and the occasional drip of water from overhead plants. The air was thick with the earthy scent of wet soil and blooming herbs, an atmosphere so comforting to you that made the space feel like a world apart from the usual hustle and bustle of the castle. You were seated at a small worktable near the back, a lump of cool, gray clay before you, your hands already beginning to shape it into something more.

Remus Lupin stood quietly nearby, leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed casually as he simply watched you. There was a sparkle in his gaze, the kind that comes from someone who finds fascination in the smallest details, in the quietest moments. His curiosity was piqued by the sight of you working with the clay, your hands moving with a practiced confidence that hints at countless hours spent honing your craft.

The room was otherwise empty, giving the two of you a rare moment of privacy amidst the bustling school and your friends who were constantly full of life (named James Potter and Marlene McKinnon). The greenhouse, usually a place for Herbology classes, had became your private studio, a place where you could indulge in your love for pottery — a hobby that was as grounding as it was creative.

"Do you ever get tired of making things?" Remus asked, breaking the comfortable silence. There was no hint of judgment in his tone, only genuine curiosity. He'd seen you immersed in various crafts before — crocheting, jewelry making — but each time, you seemed as passionate as ever.

You glanced up at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Not really," you replied to his question, your hands still working the clay. "It's like . . . I don't know, a way to clear my mind. I like the idea of starting with something so simple, like a lump of clay, and turning it into something that wasn't there before."

Remus nodded thoughtfully, his eyes following the movement of your hands as they smoothed the surface of the clay. There was a certain grace in the way you worked, a rhythm that was almost hypnotic to him. "What are you making today?" he questioned again, this time moving closer to get a better look.

"A bowl," you explained, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Your fingers pressed gently into the clay, shaping the walls of the bowl with careful precision. "Something simple, but useful. I thought it might be nice to have one for our common room. We could use it to hold things — keys, cigarettes, chocolate frogs."

A charming smile appeared on his lips at that, the idea of something as ordinary as a bowl bringing a sense of homeliness to the often chaotic Gryffindor common room. "That sounds like a good idea," the praise left him naturally when it came to you, pulling up a stool to sit beside you. "Do you mind if I watch?"

"Not at all," you replied, glancing at him briefly before returning your focus to the clay. "But be warned, it's not as exciting as it looks."

Remus didn't agree. He'd always been intrigued by the way you found joy in creating things, in bringing something new into the world with your hands. As he watched, he noticed the subtle movements of your fingers, the way they coaxed the clay into shape, turning a shapeless lump into something with form and purpose. It was a process that seemed almost magical to him, though he knew it was nothing more than skill and practice.

The rain continued to patter against the windows, a soothing backdrop to the sound of your hands working the clay. Every so often, you dipped your fingers into a small bowl of water, smoothing out imperfections and keeping the clay pliable. Remus had never seen you look so beautiful; hands dirty, hair messy, and you clothed in one of his favorite sweaters.

"You make it look easy," he commented after a while, his voice low so as not to disturb your concentration.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. "It's not always. There's a lot that can go wrong — air bubbles, cracks, the clay drying out too quickly. But that's part of the fun, I suppose. It keeps you on your toes."

He gave you a nod, understanding the appeal in a way.

After a while, you sat back slightly, examining your work with a critical eye. The bowl was nearly complete, its shape smooth and even, the walls sturdy yet delicate. "What do you think?" you asked, turning to Remus with a small smile.

He leaned in closer, studying the bowl with a thoughtful expression. "It's an excellent work," he said, his voice sincere. "You've really got a talent for this."

You blushed slightly at the compliment, but there was a pleased look in your eyes. "Thanks, love. I'm glad you think so."

III. CRAFTING CONNECTIONS THROUGH SILVER AND STONE

THE CASTLE WAS QUIET AS EVENING SETTLED OVER HOGWARTS, the usual loud of students giving way to a serene calm. The Gryffindor common room was dimly lit, with only the flickering fire casting warm shadows across the burgundy rugs and tapestries. You were seated at a small table by the window, a soft light of the moon illuminating your workspace, where an array of tiny tools, shimmering beads, and delicate chains lay spread out before you.

Remus Lupin sat nearby, his attention drawn to the intricate work you were doing. He had always been fascinated by your hobbies, each one opening a door to your soul. But there was something particularly mesmerizing about watching you make jewelry — something in the way you handled the delicate materials with such care, transforming them into beautiful, wearable art. Watching your smaller hands mend the delicate pieces stirred a feeling in his chest.

"Doesn't it get frustrating?" the werewolf asked, leaning forward slightly, his eyes following the careful movements of your fingers. "Working with such tiny pieces, I mean."

You smiled softly, not taking your eyes off the silver chain you were holding. "Sometimes," you admitted, carefully threading a small brown stone onto the chain. "But there's something satisfying about it too. It's like solving a puzzle, finding the right combination of stones and metals to make something that feels just right, y’know."

He nodded thoughtfully, his gaze shifting to the array of materials on the table. Tiny glass beads of various colors sparkled in the firelight, alongside small stones and bits of silver wire that would soon be part of some new creation of yours. "It's impressive," he said quietly, more to himself than to you. "How you can take something so small and turn it into something so . . . meaningful."

You glanced up at him, a pleased smile on your lips. "Thank you, Remus. I think that's what I love about it — how something so simple can become something special, something that can be important to someone."

He watched as you carefully threaded a few more stones onto the chain, your fingers moving with the kind of ease that came from years of practice. There was a kind of magic in it, he thought — a different kind from what they learned in class, but no less powerful. It was a magic that didn't come from wands or spells, but from the heart and soul, from the desire to create something beautiful and meaningful.

"What are you making now?" he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him as he leaned in a bit closer.

"A bracelet," you replied, holding up the nearly finished piece for him to see. It was simple yet elegant, made of fine silver links with small brown and black stones interspersed between them. The stones caught the light as you turned the bracelet in your hand, their colors shifting subtly in the firelight. "I thought it might make a nice gift for someone."

Remus took in the bracelet, admiring the craftsmanship, the way the silver and stones complemented each other perfectly. "It's beautiful," he said, a note of awe in his voice. "Who's it for?"

You hesitated for a moment, your eyes flicking up to meet his. There was a softness in your gaze, something almost shy. "I was thinking . . . maybe you'd like it," you said, your voice quiet, almost hesitant.

For a moment, Remus was taken aback, surprised by the offer. He hadn't expected you to be making it for him, but now that he knew, he felt a warmth spread through his chest, a feeling of gratitude and something more, something deeper. "For me?" he asked, his voice laced with surprise.

You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips. "I wanted to make something that would remind you of our time together," you said, a hint of nervousness in your tone. "Something you could keep with you."

Remus felt his heart swell with emotion, a mixture of surprise, gratitude, and something else — something tender and profound. He looked at the bracelet again, seeing not just the beauty of the piece, but the thought and care that had gone into it, the meaning behind every detail. "I . . . I don't know what to say," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "It's . . . it's perfect. Thank you."

You smiled, the tension easing from your posture as you saw the genuine appreciation in his eyes. "I'm glad you like it," you said, your voice soft. "It's not much, but I wanted to give you something special. Something that's from the heart."

Remus reached out, his larger fingers brushing against the cool silver links as you handed the bracelet to him. The metal was smooth under his fingertips, the stones cool and solid. He could feel the weight of it, not just the physical weight, but the emotional significance it carried. "It's more than just 'something,'" he said, his voice quiet but firm. "It means a lot to me. Really."

You watched as he carefully slipped the bracelet onto his wrist, the silver and stones catching the light as they settled into place. There was something incredibly intimate about the moment, the quiet exchange of a gift that held so much meaning. It was more than just a piece of jewelry to him.

As Remus fastened the clasp, he looked at you with deep, unspoken gratitude in his eyes. The bracelet fit perfectly, resting comfortably against his skin, the cool metal and smooth stones a constant, reassuring presence. "I'll treasure it," he said, his voice filled with sincerity. "I promise."

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words, a sense of contentment that came from knowing you had given him something truly meaningful. "I'm glad," you replied softly, your eyes meeting his.

For a long moment, the two of you sat there in silence, the only sound the crackling of the fire and the occasional rustle of the curtains as a breeze drifted through the window. There was a sense of peace in the air, a quiet understanding that didn't need words to be felt. Surrounded by the warmth of the fire and the soft glow of the evening, he knew that this — these simple, heartfelt moments with you — were what he would carry with him through the darkest nights, a light to guide him through whatever lay ahead.

[spncvr]

clandestine | remus lupin

summary: hiding your relationship from your brother is starting to become a chore

pairing: remus lupin x potter!fem!reader

warnings: kissing, fluff lmk if i missed anything,, english isnt my first language

a/n: finally i can post (sorry for the bad formatting im not on my laptop!!

FINGERS TIE IN your hair. It’s messy, sweet and clandestine. He tastes of chocolate and smells of cigarettes. Nasty habit, you’ll chide him for that later. You smile — a sweet giddy thing. He can feel it as the edge of your lips lift ever so slightly against his own. His fingers trace your hips, while your hands press against his chest, gently forcing him into the wall as you stand on your toes (tall bastard). His fingers touch your hips. Your feet are beginning to ache, you realize, but you don’t mind, not now.

“We’re going to get caught,” He laughs prying away from your lips, and his chest vibrates softly against your hands.

You chuckle softly, peering up at him through small strands of your hair, “I’ve the most oblivious brother known to mankind. We’ll be fine.” You chase for another kiss going back on your toes.

He backs away slightly, “Yes, well, there isn’t any other way to take this,” he points a finger between the two of them.

You huff, “He’ll have to find out eventually.”

“Not this way,” He says so, so softly, brushing your hair away from your face. He kisses your temple, his lips ghosting against the skin after a while.

You bury your face in his chest, and a small groan muffles itself in it, “I hate that you’re being extremely reasonable.”

“I’m always reasonable,”

“All the more reason to despise you!”

“Despise me!” Remus gasps dramatically, “M’sorry, pretty girl, will a kiss make it better?”

You hum lightly, “Come and find out, then.”

You pucker your lips lightly. You think, that perhaps, he could read your mind because he ducks down this time letting your feet rest on the ground. He cups your cheek in his hand, letting his lips graze softly over yours. His touch against your skin fell illicit yet so awfully delicate.

“Better?” He asks, smiling lazily at you.

“Think I need a bit more cheering up.” You say between small laughs, biting your lower lip just slightly.

And he does.

[thund3randrain]

"So you were talking about that gay ship you like..."

BITCH WHICH ONE

[aurorasinistrax]

where: st. mungo's

who: @xremus-lupinx

The last thing Aurora remembered was watching the cloaked death eaters vanish and Remus rushing to her side. Everything after that was blank, including the pain she felt from the hex thrown at her.

Hours passed before a stir was given, the touch of flesh against her hand the first thing she felt before she turned her head in that direction, eyes still closed. "Remus," she whispers, knowing it was him at her side, she could feel it, and knowing he was safe brought her relief.

Slowly, tired chocolate hues open to find him sitting at her side, a faint squeeze given to his fingers laced with hers. "You are safe." Her voice soft.

[moonyfr]

I want to make an appreciation post to that one friend who let's me yap about the marauders constantly without understanding half of what I'm saying. He doesn't have tumblr so I can't tag him, but I do really appreciate him. Thank you, C, for letting me yap about my dead gay wizards to you. <3

[impishtubist]

happy birthday, reese <3

For @r33sespieces :) 

---

“Shh, no, you have to be quiet.” 

Sirius pauses outside Harry’s room, cocking his head. Harry’s been holed up in there since shortly after dinner, but Sirius hadn’t thought too much of it. It’s been pissing down all afternoon, and Sirius figured both of them could use a lazy day. For his part, he took a luxurious nap earlier, and the newest book in a romance series he’s been following arrived by owl post this morning. He’s looking forward to curling up with it in front of the fire. If he’s lucky, maybe Harry will come downstairs with his chess set later and ask to play a game together.

There’s a whine from behind the closed door, and then a soft yip. Sirius blinks.

“Hazza,” he says, rapping his knuckles softly on the door, and he hears Harry curse. “Everything alright?”

“Fine!” Harry says quickly. “I’m just--”

He’s interrupted by a loud bark, and Sirius’s eyebrows fly up to his hairline.

“Can I come in?” he asks, and he hears Harry sigh.

“Yeah.” 

Harry’s standing over by the bed, dripping wet and clutching a soaked brown-and-white puppy against his chest. 

“Well, hello,” Sirius says as he steps into the room. “Who’s this?”

“Dunno,” Harry says, cuddling the puppy close and shrinking away when Sirius takes a step forward. Sirius freezes. “Found him out in the garden.” 

“Poor thing,” Sirius says. It’s been miserable outside for two days now. “Can I take a look at him?”

“Why?” Harry asks, instantly suspicious. 

“I just want to make sure he’s okay, that he doesn’t have any injuries or anything like that.” Sirius starts to pull out his wand, but Harry backs away, so he quickly pockets it. “Can we sit down?”

They sit on the circular rug in the middle of Harry’s bedroom, and Harry gently places the puppy in front of him. The puppy shivers, and then takes a few uncertain steps. He’s wobbly, but that seems to be due to how young he is, not any injuries. Sirius puts out his hand, and the puppy sniffs him. His tail wags.

“Aren’t you mad?” Harry asks softly, not meeting Sirius’s eyes.

“I’m not thrilled you snuck a puppy in here without talking to me first,” Sirius says. “But no, Harry, I’m not mad. If you’d told me you’d found him in the garden, I would’ve had you bring him inside, too. We can keep him warm and dry for a night, and then tomorrow we’ll take him to a shelter. Speaking of, can I dry him off? He’s shivering. You as well, kiddo.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Harry nods, and Sirius pulls out his wand. He performs a quick drying spell, and then a cleaning charm, and then casts a heating spell over both Harry and the puppy.

“I bet he’s hungry,” Sirius says. “Why don’t you bring him down to the kitchen, and we can feed him?”

Harry hesitates again, then gathers the puppy in his arms and goes down to the kitchen, Sirius following them. He doesn’t know what exactly is causing Harry’s reluctance, but he has a suspicion. 

He cuts up some leftover chicken for Harry to feed the puppy, and then goes into Remus’s office to gather up the rope toys Moony likes to use, as well as the crate he sometimes curls up in to nap off the Wolfsbane during full moons. Harry eyes the crate warily when Sirius comes back into the kitchen.

“So he’ll have somewhere warm and safe to sleep tonight,” Sirius says. “I doubt he’s house-trained, and sorry mate, but I don’t fancy him pissing all over the house all night.” 

Harry reluctantly nods. “Yeah, okay.” 

The puppy eats and drinks his fill, and then Harry entices him to play with one of the rope toys. Sirius can’t help the smile that touches his lips as he watches them, the puppy having the time of his life and Harry giggling--giggling!--while they play.

The puppy eventually tires himself out and falls asleep curled up in Harry’s lap. 

“There was a dog in the Dursleys’ garden once.” Harry’s not looking at him. He strokes one of the puppy’s ears with a gentle finger. “She was a stray. I brought her scraps from the table whenever Aunt Petunia sent me outside to do chores.” 

Scraps that Harry had probably needed for himself, but he’d split them with a stray instead. His heart ached. “That was really kind of you, Hazza.”

“She was my first friend,” Harry says softly. “My only friend. She lived in the garden for most of the summer, until Dudley found out about her.” 

“Oh, Harry.”

“He and his friends chased her off. Hit her with sticks and threw rocks at her. I never saw her again.” 

“She probably found a home,” Sirius says. “She sounds friendly. I’m sure someone took her in.”

“Yeah,” Harry says. “I hope so.” 

Sirius hears the Floo roar, and then Remus calls out a hello.

“In here, Remus,” he says.

Remus comes into the kitchen, and his eyes widen. “Well, you two were certainly busy today.” 

“Harry found him in the garden,” Sirius says. “The weather’s shite. I don’t see a problem with letting him stay tonight, and then we’ll take him to a shelter tomorrow.”

“Sure, of course we will,” Remus says, sounding amused. 

The puppy wakes himself up with a yawn, and then eyes Remus curiously. He gets out of Harry’s lap and trots over to the other man, sniffing him curiously. Remus holds very still--animals tend to have very strong reactions to him. Either they adore him, or they’re terrified of him. 

The puppy is apparently in the former category, because his tail starts to wag and he lets out a series of happy yips. Remus crouches down to pet him. 

“You’re a handsome fellow, aren’t you,” he says. “Yes, you are. And much better behaved than Padfoot.”

“You hear how he talks to me, Harry?” 

Harry laughs, and Sirius wishes he could bottle the sound. It doesn’t happen enough.

Harry and the puppy are inseparable for the rest of the evening. Remus keeps throwing Sirius significant looks that he tries to ignore. They’re not getting a pet. Hedwig is enough. In the morning, they’ll take the puppy to the nearest shelter, and Sirius will personally make sure he goes to a good home. 

When it comes time for bed, Harry lines the crate with plenty of blankets and sets the puppy inside. He closes the door and locks it, and the puppy immediately begins to whimper.

Harry chews on his bottom lip. “You’re sure he’s going to be alright in there?” 

The puppy whines, and Harry looks distraught. Remus squeezes his shoulder.

“He’ll be fine. He’s got toys and water and soft blankets. He’ll probably make a mess, but that’s alright. That’s what magic is for. He’ll settle down as soon as we all leave him be.” 

***

The puppy cries for an hour after they all retire upstairs. 

Sirius stares at the ceiling. He’s not going to give in and check on the puppy. He’s not. 

“Don’t even think it, Sirius,” Remus murmurs from his side of the bed.

“I’m not,” Sirius says. “It’s just--do you think he’s cold?”

“We gave him blankets and cast a heating charm.” 

“Maybe he’s hurt.”

“You checked him over before bed. He’s perfectly fine.” Remus rolls over and rests his head on Sirius’s chest. “He’ll settle down eventually.”

Remus is right--the puppy does eventually quiet down. Remus’s breathing evens out soon after that, and Sirius quickly follows him into sleep.

Sirius wakes up before dawn, his new normal, and pads downstairs to make some tea. Harry will sleep for at least another couple of hours, and they won’t see Remus until almost noon. 

But when he comes into the kitchen, the first thing he notices is his godson curled up on the floor. The crate is open, and the puppy is nestled in Harry’s arms, also fast asleep. 

“Sirius?” Remus comes up behind him, knuckling his eyes. 

“What are you doing up?” Sirius whispers.

“Needed a piss, and the bed’s cold without you. What--” Remus finally catches sight of Harry and the puppy, and immediately softens. “Oh.” 

“That’s why the puppy stopped whining last night, I bet.” 

“Probably,” Remus says. He wraps his arms around Sirius’s waist and props his chin on Sirius’s shoulder, though he has to stretch to reach it. “You can’t make him go to a shelter.”

“No,” Sirius sighs. “I won’t. Looks like we’ve got a pet, Moons.” 

“Looks like it. Where are you going?”

“I’ve got to write to the Board of Governors,” Sirius says. “I have six weeks to persuade them to add dogs to the list of approved pets for Hogwarts students.”

[dancetheblues333]

rip lily evans you would've loved platform ugg boots!!

[messervixen]

Happy birthday to James Potter. You would have loved cheesy extravagant promposals <3

[elen-benfelen]

welsh remus guide pt.2

Second Lesson

Wales vs Cymru

Wales is the English term for the country, deriving from an old Germanic term with a meaning along the lines of “foreigner” or “other”. Cymru is the Welsh term for the country, meaning something along the lines of “countrymen”.

Not to be confused with Cymry which is pronounced exactly the same but means “welsh people”.

To put in a phrase - The Cymry live in Cymru. Welsh - Cymraeg

The Welsh Language - Yr Iaith Gymraeg

Welsh Man/Person - Cymro

Welsh Woman - Cymraes

Cymro is technically masculine but can serve as a gender neutral term if you don’t want to use the plural Cymry. Welsh, like Spanish and many others, is quite gendered.

A Welsh speaking Welsh person might refer to themselves, especially if they’re first language, as a “Cymry Cymraeg” which sounds silly in English as “Welsh Welsh” lmao. If my Mam were to tell me “Arwen is a Cymry Cymraeg” I would know that Arwen is a Welsh speaker. Alternatively you say the more literal “Siaradwr Cymraeg” (Welsh speaker) or “Dysgwr Cymraeg” (Welsh learner).

Side note: These days, there’s a lot of discussion over how labels influence identity. So there’s lots of debates over going by Cymru in official capacities and such, however dw you are not committing any mistakes or hate crimes by using “Wales” or “Welsh”. You are however, definitely an asshole if you criticise a Welsh person’s decision to personally only use “Cymru” or “Cymraeg”.

Next up is a quick guide to the alphabet/sounds before finally, the main meal: slang and terms of endearment

Note: I am not the collective consciousness of every Welsh person. My experience is not universal - especially when it comes to North Walian things. This is just meant to serve as a general guide. Hope this helps and good luck with your writing!

pt.3

[spindrifters]

excerpt - ch. 44

It’s half four in the morning when the screaming starts.

Remus is all but dead to the world, a soft bed and duvet wrapped tight, sunk into a deeper sleep than he could have possibly imagined a year ago. Doesn’t matter. He’s awake in a matter of seconds. Old instincts kicking in — that, or just having lived long enough at Sirius’s side to know the way this goes.

A hand over his mouth — and Remus wouldn’t have done that, either, a few months ago, but he understands now that this is what Sirius needs. He rolls over to cover his thrashing body with his own, heart tearing even as he keeps a tight grip, the pressure of the hold as he pulls him in tight. Sirius hasn’t had a nightmare in months — not since Phoenix, not since them. Maybe it was naive to think it, but Remus finds now that he’d more or less assumed they’d waned off with Black Manor and its inhabitants firmly behind them. Apparently he was wrong.

“S’alright,” he hushes him gently, nosing behind his ear even as his hand stays firmly pressed over Sirius’s mouth. They can afford to be a bit louder, here — even without a muffling charm, he knows Mum and Sarah in the next room over wouldn’t much mind. But Sirius is a physical person, with tactile needs. This works better. “C’mon, Pads,” he says, a kiss behind his ear, “wake up. It’s only a nightmare. You’re safe. You’re safe.”

A shudder passes through him, Sirius’s shouts waning into a whimper even in the depths of his dream, and Remus’s heart wants to break.

Fucking hell, when will those people finally leave them alone?

Remus holds him through it, one hand splayed over the erratic beating of Sirius’s heart, until the small cries and panicked mutterings subside and those long, dark lashes flutter open, eyes glazed over and unseeing. He moves his other hand from his mouth, presses a kiss to his temple.

“Moony?” Sirius whispers into the dark, and Remus hates how small he sounds. Sirius is vibrant laughter and untameable rage. There’s nothing small about him.

“I’ve got you,” he says, smooths a hand along a temple each, pushing back sweaty strands of black hair to look into his eyes.

“My mother — ”

“Isn’t here.” There’s a ferocity cutting into the calm there, one Remus hadn’t intended for but fuck it. Sirius — wide eyes and too-fast heartbeat — needs to know. “She isn’t fucking here, Sirius,” he says again, breathing in the thick air between them. “And even if she was, she couldn’t have you. They can’t have you. Know why?”

He breathes, wills his own heart to calm.

“Because she’d have to get through me first.”

The last of the sleep falls from Sirius’s grey eyes, wide fear sharpening to narrow points as the words sink in, and oh. There he is. Some sort of deep anger behind their gaze, and it’s not for Remus. It’s something else, something he barely has time to register before Sirius is surging forward, and it’s the two of them, then, kissing in the dark night. Lips and teeth seeking each other out, and Remus’s hand tightens at the sharp just of his hip, a reminder that yes. We’re still here. We are.

Autumn’s snapped with the turn into October, and for all it’s cold outside it’s cozy here under the patchwork quilt and piled duvets, warmth turning to sweat as they fumble for each other beneath their joggers. Remus buries his promises into Sirius’s mouth, because it’s the truth. Anyone who wants to take Sirius from him — they’ll have to fight him first. Soon, though, the words are mixing, fading into Sirius’s own mutterings of Never again where he sucks at the skin beneath his jaw, ruts beneath him in the dark — Never, never again, I swear it — and Remus doesn’t know what he’s talking about, only he knows the way the promise fills him. The rolling of Sirius’s hips beneath his own, like the layers still between them might not be there at all, an affirmation in every thrust. The heightening in his chest when Sirius’s hands smooth down inside joggers to the swell of his arse, elegant fingers running along fresh silver scars as he grips Remus tighter against himself, that shiver of being alive, and it doesn’t terrify him anymore, this wanting. Not like it used to. This opening of himself, of letting Sirius inside. Because it doesn’t feel like falling anymore.

It feels like being held.

It feels like holding someone in return, knowing what terrible things you’d do before you let each other go.

Sirius smashes a kiss to his forehead, after, breathing hard in the night. A softer kiss, after that, just on the bridge of his nose, and Remus quirks a curious brow.

“It was the library,” he says finally, pulling the heavy quilt back over them both to chase away the cold, and Remus goes still. “My dream. It was about the night we left.”

“Oh.”

Never again.

There doesn’t seem to be much more to say than that. They haven’t really talked about what happened, not since that day on the beach when they finally sorted themselves out. Hasn’t been much reason to, really, and Remus has found a certain sort of freedom in finally focusing on the future for once, rather than dwelling on the past. But the past always has other plans, and it’s never content to leave them alone.

Only then Sirius is rolling onto his side, that ferocious glint returned again behind grey eyes.

“They can’t have you, either, you know,” he says then, and a warm hand snakes its way up under his shirt, fingernails digging in, just lightly, down over where he knows his brand lies.

His breath catches. He hates that fucking thing. He hates it, more than for what it means, more than for how it looks, more than he ever did. He hates how trapped he feels, how it’s the one thing keeping him still bound, a tracker signal sunk into his chest. But it’s the way Sirius is looking at him now, that ever-expanding mass of contradictions held in one face. Fear and love and that terrible Black rage, the one that might send anyone else running fast in the other direction, cold and sharp and honed to a cruel point as it is.

For Remus’s part, he only feels held.

“No one’s ever going to hurt you again,” Sirius says, the promise harsh and sincere and given to the dark night, and Remus can’t help but believe him. “I’ll kill anyone who even thinks it.”