#so now you know why i haven't posted a colouring in a hot minute!

[jugacolours]

#snow white with the red hair #akagami no shirayuki hime #zen wisteria #zen wistalia #zen wistaria #shirayuki #zenyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #ans #okay #HERE IT IS #a whole chapter completely coloured #so now you know why i haven't posted a colouring in a hot minute! #this took me suuuper long #not just because it's a huge project #but also because i've been quite unwell lately (mentally & physically booooo) #but hey #it's done and i'm proud of it #this is my love letter to the ans community for all of their support of my colourings #i truly hope you enjoy these coloured pages! #anyway zen when are you gonna propose to our girl #hmm? #it's been an honour to spend the last few weeks colouring these two #<3

[luveline]

baby fever, part five [remus lupin x reader]

"You are thinking so loudly," Remus mutters, exasperated. "What? Do you want a kiss?" 

"No," you deny guiltily. 

"Worse than a kiss?" 

summary: you and remus aren’t brave enough to say it, so you find ways to show it [16k] 

tags: smut 18+ please, fluff, new established relationship, marauders era, fem reader, she/her pronouns used for reader, post hogwarts

chapter list | playlist | my masterlist 

<3

Remus sounds exhausted over the phone. "Hey dove," he says.

 It's been a few days since you've seen each other, both busy with work, though he rings everyday when he comes home and everyday you answer. 

 "Hi," you say, yawning loudly and covering your mouth at the last second. 

 He laughs too much for something so simple. "You sound tired," he says. 

 "How'd you figure, hotshot?" you drawl sarcastically. 

 "Alright, alright. Do you want me to leave you to it?" 

 You slouch against the wall and wrap the telephone wire around your wrist, the red curls digging into your skin. "You don't have work tomorrow, do you?"

 "No," he says, sounding like he knows what you're going to ask and he's immeasurably pleased. 

 "Are you busy?" you ask suspiciously. 

 "I'm not busy," he says, humour colouring his words.

 "Are you lying to me? 'Cos James still hasn't forgiven me for you ditching him last Friday, and it's making me blue." 

 "I'm sorry.” You can practically hear him rolling his eyes over the phone. "How blue you are." 

 "Laugh it up!" you encourage him. "An immovable wedge has been driven between me and a good friend because you're a terrible liar, but I'm glad you find it funny. I don't know why I put up with you." 

 "What are you gonna do, dove? Gonna call your other boyfriend?" 

 You laugh as heat crawls over your skin. "Whatever. I was gonna invite you over, but that boat is sailing. Has sailed, even." 

 "Right, right. So if I come by in half an hour you'll turn me away?" 

 "Try twenty minutes and I might let you in." 

 "I can do ten if I'm staying the night." 

 You grin, lips pressing together to hide your happy inhale.  "I'll see you in ten, then." 

 "Alright," he says, voice lilting. "See you in ten." 

 You hang up the phone and throw yourself into a hurry of cleaning, first the flat and then yourself. You pile all the dirty dishes in the sink. You'll get to them when Remus is showering, you tell yourself, almost running down your own hallway to your bedroom. You throw the door back open and collect the contents of your floor-drobe, picking up dirty socks and underwear and jeans that you'd discarded at the bottom of the bed. You're still pants-less now, but there's no time. You were sleeping when he called and you look it – hair a mess, chapped lips, eyelashes sticky. 

 You scrape your hair out of your face and drag a flannel soaked in hot water over your face roughly, wiping oil from your t-zone. You freshen up and change your underwear. It's not ideal but it's the best you can do, and you still haven't managed to get a pair of trousers on when the door is being knocked. 

 You could shout for him to let himself in as he usually does but you're so excited to see him you rush to the door and smile like an idiot when he's standing there, unremarkable and yet a wonder. He smiles himself, brown eyes shining, thick eyelashes kissing at the corners with the force of it. 

 You've barely widened the gap to let him in before he's opening his arms. You jump up into them, laughing when he squeezes you tight enough to have your ribs creaking. His hands are familiar as they climb the length of your back, crossing over each shoulder blade. You tighten your arms around his neck and try to breath in his smell as casually as possible, which isn't casual at all. 

 He laughs and shuts the door behind him.

 "Hi, dove," he says into your hair. You delight in the sound of his voice, pressing your mouth into the bare skin of his neck in a half kiss. 

 "I missed you," you say.

 "What's a better word than missed?" he asks, hands falling back down, settling just below your ribs. You release his neck and drift back into his hold, thinking. 

 "Yearned?" you suggest. 

 "I yearned for you," he says, smiling smugly. 

 You crinkle your nose. "Yuck." 

 He nods in agreement. "Yuck," he repeats, taking your face into his hands. "Did you get prettier?" His thumb rubs over the curve of your cheek. He tilts your head one way then the other, humming to himself. "And I thought it was impossible." 

 "Stop messing with me," you protest, trying to escape his affection. 

 "I'm not! I'm not messing with you. You're very, very pretty," he says sincerely. Your chest fills with warmth. 

 You duck in for a second hug, this time to press the side of your face into his chest, embarrassed. 

 He pushes your hair flat away from your forehead and cranes his neck down to kiss your temple. "I missed you too," he murmurs. 

 You look up at him, chin digging into his sternum, and pout. He leans down to kiss you and you take it gratefully, eyes sliding shut in bliss. His kisses are chaste but plentiful, traversing from your lips then the corner of your mouth, the tip of your nose and then the other corner in a circle of affection. 

 You peek through your lashes and find his eyes open. Your lips curve up into a lazy, pleased smile and his do the same. 

 "Quit your job," you tell him. He chuckles and you start to shake your head. "I'm serious. It's been, like, five days since I last saw you." 

 "Two and a half," he corrects gently, hand slipping down to cup your neck. "I can't quit, doll, but I would if I could."

 "If anything comes of my writing you'll have to be my house husband," you say, and then hide your face in his chest again, laughing nervously. 

 "You look like you need one," he says. You flinch up and scowl at him, following his gaze to the dirty dishes in the sink. 

 "You're so rude!" you say, though he's right. 

 His expression is soft as silk when he returns his gaze to you. "Are you still tired?" he asks you, frowning. His hands have moved again, squeezing your shoulders lightly. 

 You shake your head. "I was sleeping when you phoned." 

 "You can go back to bed if you want to, sweetheart." 

 You run your finger over a vein, following the stretch of his bare forearm until you get to the crease of his elbow where you wrap your fingers distractedly. You squeeze. The greeny blue of his veins is stark. He lets you have at it, returning his other hand to your face. 

 You look up at him and worry you might have lovesickness written across every feature. 

 "Are you hungry?" you ask him. 

 "Not really."

 "I'll make you anything you want," you press. 

 "Let's go to bed," he says, wiping under your eye with his pinky finger. "You look tired."

 He shrugs his shoes off and picks up his discarded rucksack. 

 "I thought I looked pretty," you grumble as he starts toward your bedroom, his hand on your wrist.

 "You can look both. And you do, much too often," he says, nudging you toward your bed. "Do you mind if I shower?" 

 "Knock yourself out, handsome," you say, fighting with your rumpled sheets to get comfy. 

 He rolls his eyes at the commotion and takes the duvet into his hand, shaking it out over you so it's flat. He pulls the throw blanket which had slipped onto the ground back under your chin and goes to turn away, hesitates, and kisses your forehead. 

 "I'll be quick," he promises.

 You push your face into your pillow and fight the urge to scream. 

 He disappears into the bathroom with his rucksack, the sound of the shower begins, and you let yourself giggle happily, hoping the rushing water will hide it from his keen ears. 

 You cover your eyes with your fingertips when the door finally opens, endless minutes later. 

 "You can look, I'm dressed," he says, and he is, your favourite shirt of his that you've attempted to steal twice now and never succeeded with a pair of dark jogging bottoms. His hair drips, water saturating the towel he has around his neck. "Which is more than I can say for you," he continues, walking around to the other side of the bed and sitting on the edge. 

 "I was sleeping," you say coquettishly. 

 "And if some other gentleman had been at the door?" 

 "You would've had to fight for my honour," you tell him, rapt as you watch him towel dry his hair. He tilts his head up toward the ceiling, pretty lips slightly parted as he scrubs his scalp roughly. 

 You sit up and reach for the towel, stealing it from his hands. 

 "What are you doing?" he asks. 

 "You're too mean. Stay still," you say, rubbing the towel over his head. 

 You dry his forehead first and then behind his ears, climbing up onto your knees with a hand braced on his shoulder for balance. His hand reaches up to cover yours and his eyes drift shut as you go. His hair is mostly dry after a minute or two. 

 You kiss his distracting neck. "There," you say, sitting back down. "Looking good." 

 "Thank you."

 You collapse back into the warm space you’d left behind.

 He leans over to kiss you. You smile and move up to meet him, slightly desperate for his mouth. You got to deepen the kiss and he laughs, pulling away regretfully to stand.

 "Two seconds, baby," he says. 

  You can take two years if you're going to call me baby like that again, you think to yourself, falling back on the pillow. You bite the lip he'd just been kissing and try not to smile. God, this is awful. I'm ridiculous, you think. Despite the scathing nature of your thoughts, a roll of bliss moves through you. You shuffle and cover your grinning mouth with the blankets. 

 He chucks his towel at the laundry hamper as he wanders out of the room. You watch him take a left into the kitchen and listen as the kettle boils. You really are tired and even Remus' company can't keep your eyes open for long. You'd woken up at four in the morning to catch a train to the city for work and the impromptu nap Remus had cut short didn't help as much as you would've liked.

 Your eyes were shut by the time Remus came back. You hear the clink of a mug on your night table, the squeaking of your mattress as he climbs up to sit next to you, a twin clink echoing as his own mug comes down on the opposite table. 

 He runs his hand down your arm. "There's tea if you want it," he tells you quietly.

 You nod as best you can manage through the fog, fighting to stay awake and listen to him as he sips his own tea. 

 Before long he admits a similar defeat, shuffling down beside you. The bed moans again as he turns onto his side and searches for your hands under the duvet. Tightly clasped in his, he brings them to his chest and leans down to kiss your fingers, one for each knuckle. 

 You squeeze his hands weakly and fall asleep, body curved towards him like half a heart. 

 Hours later the room is dark, your throat aches with thirst and Remus has somehow wormed his arms around you. Your cheek is resting against his bicep, face pushed into his shoulder, his other arm loosely thrown over your waist. 

 Your arms are cramped against your chest. You hold one hand up to his sleeping face and rub the line at the corner of his eye as though that might ease the small wrinkle away permanently. 

 "Pretty boy," you murmur to yourself, impossibly quiet. "My boy." 

 You drop your hand and turn your face into his bicep, to the stripe of muscle you can see peaking out his shirt sleeve. You're more than fascinated by his arms, lovelorn over every bit of skin on his whole stupid body. The white-purple edge of a new scar catches your eye. You drop your face down and kiss it gently, chasing the length of it up and up until you nudge his sleeve over the curve of his shoulder. This reveals a handful of scars in different colours and sizes. So as not to discriminate you give each of them a soft kiss too. 

 He'd left the bathroom light on. It throws a piercing spear of manufactured white over your bodies, your abdomen and his heart, a diagonal. It shifts as he shifts, as he wakes, his arm tightening around your waist. The other comes up behind your head sluggishly, wrist bent as his fingertips sift through your hair lightly and rest against your scalp, touch like the brush of a feather.

 "Sorry, I wasn't trying to wake you," you whisper to him.

 You can't see his face, pushed into his chest. You imagine him scrunching his eyes together and then opening them, bleary in the dimly lit room. Imagine him licking his lips as he pats your head. 

 "That's okay," he says, words stuck together like hot toffee. 

 The wire of your bra is sticking in your chest like a needle. You’re reluctant to move but the ache is something awful. You decide to employ your girlfriend privileges. 

 “Can I ask you for something weird?” you whisper.

 Remus moves back to look at you, smiling in tired bemusement. 

 “How weird?” he asks, squinting at you. 

 “Will you take my bra off?” And, at his startled face, “It’s digging into my chest.”

 His hands come up to your back, one under your shirt via the hemline and the other the neck. He’s very good with the clasp, almost too good, and it makes you both laugh as it pops open. 

 “Lots of practice,” he says with a hint of apology laced through. 

 “Don’t mind how much practice you’ve had as long as it’s my bras you’re undoing.”

 He chuckles and pulls the straps from around your shoulders before tugging it clean through a sleeve. He studies it for a moment. It’s a purple colour, almost grey. “Is this new?” he asks. 

 “It’s got matching knickers,” you say, nodding. He puts the bra down between you both and pulls you in close once again, his expression a shade from gleeful.

 “Is that so?” he asks through a smile. 

 “Brazilians,” you supply. 

 “Means absolutely nothing to me,” he says, breath fanning over your lips as he leans in. 

 “You’ll like them,” you say, and kiss him. His lips are chapped and you endeavor to help him out. 

 "I bet so," he says after a sweet kiss. "How's your chest? Hurting?"

 "Better." 

 "Are you sure?" he asks, lips pressed to yours just barely. His voice makes your skin tingle. You giggle and kiss the corner of his mouth. He goes on, "'Cos I'm this close to finishing my masseuse masterclass. 'Ve got good reviews." 

 "I'm sure you do but I'm feeling just fine," you say, pushing hair behind his ear with a charmed grin. 

 "If you change your mind.”

 His hand spreads flat and wide over your back. Your kisses are sluggish, voices cloyed, but there's a bone deep contentment to be found in his arms. You feel woozy under his light, slow touches, worse when he opens his mouth to invite you in.

 -

 You wake up before Remus does. The duvet has slipped down to his waist, exposing his chest covered in welts the shape of your mouth from one shoulder to the next. You see a flicker of his bright eyes peering down at you, his hands in your hair. A wave of fondness rises with the memory.

 You kiss his sleeping face and crawl out of bed, almost tripping over his discarded trousers and boxers on the way to the shower.

 Once clean you leave the bathroom a foggy hot mess and sit at the edge of your bed in a towel, staring at Remus like a creep. You don't care. You're happy to be a little perv if it's more time spent taking him in; his soft pout, his dark eyebrows and darker eyes, relaxed in sleep. His hand reaches across the sheets, as if he's looking for you even in sleep. Or that's what you tell yourself, indulgent and in love. 

 You intend on getting dressed but get distracted by your hand, a broken fingernail. You peer at it curiously. "How…?" you murmur to yourself, bringing your nail to your mouth. 

 Remus shifts. He groans. You cross your legs and raise your eyebrows at his performance – if he were a movie, it'd be R-rated. He stretches out and you watch in appreciation, your lovebites a patterning of warped purple kisses as he moves onto his side. 

 "Are you awake?" you ask softly. 

 "No." 

 "Does it help if I'm not dressed?" 

 He pauses his restless movement to glance over his shoulder at you. 

 "Oh." 

 "Uh-huh." 

 He forces himself to sit, looking a little stiff. You frown in sympathy and politely ignore the pooling of sheets in his lap and his morning friend, abruptly frustrated by the injustice of his condition. 

 "I wasn't too cruel to you, was I?" you ask worriedly. 

 He chuckles, voice still hoarse with tiredness, "You were very, very nice." He catches your chin in his fingers and pulls you forward to press a quick chaste kiss to your lips. "Morning, dove." 

 You absentmindedly take his hand from your face, fingers wrapping around his wrist and pulling towards your body. 

 "Aching?" 

 He winces. "Yeah. Few days." Until the full moon. 

 You try not to go overboard with worrying, try not to condescend or offend while still showing you care. You hide a mountain of fears every month, scared something awful will happen to him, or worse that he'll do it to himself. 

 "Can I make you breakfast?" you ask him. 

 His eyes say more than he does as he gives you his you don't have to look after me smile. It's slowly changed the longer you've known him into a thank you for taking care of me chagrin. 

 "I'll shower first, I think." 

 Your eyes flit to his lap and he sees it. You're both embarrassed, and then you're both giggling. 

 "I think you better," you agree. 

 He turns his hand in your hold to twine your fingers together, stalling. You don't care. He can stall all day if he wants to. 

 "Your nail," he says, lips parting, mouth an 'o'. "Oh no. What happened?"

 "I think it ripped washing my hair." 

 "Ah, that's why you should let me do it for you." 

 You grin. "Next time." 

 "You gonna cut them all down now?" 

 "Probably. I'sad, 'cos I don't have any jelly pink left to fix them." 

 The genuine heartbreak on his face is warming and hilarious. "What?"

 "All ran out," you say, nodding. 

 "And you can't get more?" 

 You shake your head at him, bemused. He probably doesn't actually care about all this, he's just a really nice boyfriend. "Don't worry about it. Go shower, I'll get dressed. We'll make breakfast." 

 He looks reluctant to stand. As if you haven't seen it all before. You roll your eyes though you're secretly pleased that he's the shy one for once and pull the towel from around your body. His eyes eat you up and his smile is blinding as he accepts your towel.

 He kisses your forehead, squeezes your damp shoulder and totters off with your towel held around his waist. 

  Idiot, you think happily. Endearing, though, to have this shyness still, to be in this 'honeymoon phase' with no end in sight. You selfishly, maybe unrealistically, hope it never ends. I'm willing to be this way forever, you think as you moisturise, as you dress, and I think he is too. Maybe we can be this lovesick forever. Please let us be this lovesick forever. 

 You're cracking eggs over a pan of bubbling oil when he joins you, similarly dampened as you were and in fresh clothes kept at the bottom of your wardrobe. He presses a minty kiss to your cheek and you sigh to yourself, because it is very, very nice to be kissed, often and sweetly and for no reason at all. 

 "Let me do that," he says, working the spatula from your tight grip. He bumps his hip with yours. 

 You give in grudgingly. "I can fry an egg." 

 "Why should you?" 

 You dig your fingers into his traps and massage meanly until his hackles are raised and he's cringing away from you. 

 "Get off of me, you awful girl," he says indignantly, "Before I burn myself. You want that on your conscience?" 

 You throw your head back and groan dramatically at his guilt-tripping, running your hands over his back instead. You weave them across his soft abdomen and lean your head into his back, face pressed into the damp neckline of his shirt. 

 "Yes," you say petulantly.

 "Sure you do. Sicko."

 He can't be too mad with you because his hand comes up, arm covering your arm. He watches the eggs and you feel his breathing, and the kitchen is full of sunshine. Pink, green, blue and orange light, the fairy crystal in the window showers you. A rainbow laps at his shoulder as he moves and you watch it, transfixed at this and the feeling of his body, alive, under your touch. 

 "What are we gonna do all weekend?" you ask. 

 He rubs your arm as he deliberates. "Um… nothing? We could go shopping later, find you some new nail polish." 

 "Feel how much your joints hurt right now and times it by ten, and that's how much they'll hurt later." 

 "I know that. Still, just 'cos it hurts doesn't mean I want to miss out on time with you." 

 "We can spend time here." 

 He snorts. "You just asked what we were gonna do."

 "I meant, like, monopoly. Actually, not monopoly. Yahtzee. Or hit and blow." 

 Scrapes the spatula against the frying pan, a metallic shushing vibrating up his arm. "You don't like hit and blow." 

 "You're good at it, though." 

 He brings your hand to his mouth and kisses your fingers. You hug him tighter, always so dizzied by his attention. 

 "We could get really drunk and play backgammon," he suggests. 

 "I can't win sober!" 

 "'Xactly." 

 He moves to grab the plates and you detach from him, unwilling. He curses. "Fuck, did you want toast?" 

 You nod to yourself and set about making some for the both of you. Remus crams your plates and two mugs of tea on your already busy dining table. You can feel his gaze on your shoulders as the toast pops but by the time you've finished buttering all four slices he's dead set on the newspaper from a few days ago. 

 "Anything interesting?" you ask, setting toast on his plate. 

 "So many things. E.Coli in romaine lettuce in Sainsbury's." 

 You wrinkle your nose and take a big bite of toast. "Ew." 

 "Good thing you don't eat vegetables," he says slyly, bringing a glass of water to his lips.

 "Bitch." 

 Remus chokes, water dripping down his chin and onto the newspaper. He wipes his face and abandons the paper, socked foot brushing yours under the table. He chuckles to himself with his eyebrows raised like he can’t understand how he got here, and you feel the same way. 

 You eat breakfast slowly and with little fanfare — there’s nowhere to be and no rush to be in. Only time spent together. Remus eats everything and some of yours, you wash the dishes and set them out over the rack to dry. Remus wipes down the countertops and you push open the window as he turns on the radio in your small living room. 

 You can smell breakfast and cleaning spray and the hyacinth from the garden, your living room smells a little dusky, of you and him and a bergamot candle in the corner. You fall into a dance with Remus without speaking and soon your small flat is very clean. 

 He slumps down onto the sofa when you’re done. You kiss his lightly perspiring forehead, standing behind him, and he turns to you curiously. 

 “Thank you.”

 “You’re more than welcome, dovey. Half the mess was mine.” Not true, but he’s kind for saying it. 

 You wrap your arms around his front and nose against the side of his face lightly. He turns back to face the TV though it’s off. 

 He smells like your shampoo. “Are you tired?” you ask him. 

 “Yes,” he says honestly. 

 “Wanna sleep again?”

 He shakes his head. “I won’t sleep tonight.”

 You want to make a joke. You never really spend much time sleeping in my bed, Lupin, but it’s untrue. You do a lot of plain sleeping together, especially before a full moon; he’s not the energy or libido for anything else. You’re more than okay with this, content to cuddle with him for hours on end. Sometimes the feeling of his fingers between yours is enough to make you nauseous with worship. Reverence. 

 You try not to use his shoulders as you push up and turn on the television, nabbing the remote from besides the aerial. You dump it into Remus’ lap as you sit beside him, not touching but almost. He leans back into the cushions and scrolls through the meagre available channels. 

 His skin isn’t quite on your skin. Bridging the gap is always the same. You reach out with your hand slowly, knowing you’re allowed but not too sure as you drop your hand into his thigh, you rub your fingers into the softer part of his inner thigh and squeeze lightly, wanting to feel the skin under his pajamas. Remus’ nose bumps into your head as he slowly wraps his arm around your shoulders, dragging you into his side. A firm, solid gesture. He groans and you lift up off of your butt to kiss the scar running through his eyebrow. When you sit back down he’s looking at you impassively. 

 “What?” you ask. 

 He shakes his head, lips pressed together to hide an emerging smile. 

 You continue to rub his thigh and settle into his side, a familiar space carved out for you. You sneak a look up into his face, take in his neck and the edge of a purple love bite you'd given him the night before hiding under his shirt. The memory of his skin under your lips, the sound that he'd made as you sucked in a cruel bruise has you smiling like a fool. 

 It's too early to climb all over him. You badly want to but you don't want to be a clingy mess of a girlfriend, know he's tired and you're being a bit much. Something about him just makes you crazy. You fancy him to the point of aching.

 "You are thinking so loudly," Remus mutters, exasperated. "What? Do you want a kiss?" 

 "No," you deny guiltily. 

 "Worse than a kiss?" 

 "No! No, I was thinking about you." 

 "Good things?"

 "Awful things." 

 His sigh is heart hurting tired as he slouches down and pulls you into his chest. "Like what?" 

 You bring your hand up his thigh and squeeze the top, feeling the muscles underneath fat to avoid the question. He hisses. "Fuck, woman." You squeeze again mercilessly. He flinches under you but can't escape, his hiss turning into a nervous laugh. "Stop, stop. Baby," he says, at first cross and then pleading. His hand clamps down on your wrist. "Baby." 

 "Baby! You only call me baby when you're fucking me," you tease.

 "Do I?" he asks, squirming. 

 "Uh-huh. When you're vulnerable," you say, sticky sweet, pulling the syllables. "Do you feel vulnerable right now?" 

 He exerts more strength than he usually does with you as he pries your bullying hand from his leg. "Stop," he says, and then, very slowly, "baby." 

 You hope he can't tell how much you like his show of strength as he tucks your hand and his under his arm. You also hope he doesn't know how insane you feel about him when he wears these short sleeve t-shirts and they're tight on his biceps like this, fingers flexing underneath to brush your knuckles against solid mass, but he likely does. Remus seems to know everything you're thinking, sometimes before you think it. 

 "You're no fun." 

 "I'm plenty fun," he says, rolling his eyes. 

 "Sure." 

 Quicker than you realise Remus has pushed his arm tight over your hand, sandwiching it in place against his ribs to attack your thigh. You gasp and then squeal, peel after peel of roaring, scared laughter as he tickles your legs. 

 "Don't!" 

 "I thought it was fun?" he asks, voice high and taunting. "You're fun, aren't you sweetness? This is enjoyable!" 

 You feel like you might pee yourself as you twist sideways and throw yourself backwards. Your hands free from his grips and legs kicking into his leg you crawl away from his searching hands and feel your heart start to race when he climbs on top of you. His fingers find your soft sides, your armpits, the skin behind your neck. 

 You start bargaining. "I'm sorry! Stop, oh my god Remus get off! I'm sorry please oh my god." You're gasping for air and squealing like a piglet, too busy pleading to worry about how unflattering this angle is. "Remus!" His name strung out, emphasis on the - us . "I'm gonna wet myself!" 

 Remus stops abruptly and hovers above you. You pant. "I could be into that," he says lightly. 

 You push him off of you and he actually falls onto the ground, his foot tangled in the throw blanket beneath you. 

 You startle upwards. "Remus!" 

 He laughs silently on the floor. "Fucking winded me." 

 "You were being gross." 

 "Only for you," he says, then groans. 

 "Sorry, Remus." 

 "You will be." You frown at the idea he might tickle you again, but he continues. "Thinking you can knock me around just 'cos I'm your boyfriend. I'm telling." 

 "Who? James?" you ask, head peeking over the sofa to stare at him with a knowing smirk. 

 "Lyall." 

 You gasp. "You're telling on me to your father ?" 

 "He thinks the world of you. I'll be glad to set the record straight." 

 "You've told him about me?" 

 Remus sits up, moaning dramatically. You pull him back up onto the sofa beside you, the two of you lying down and squished together to fit. 

 "Of course I have. You're my girlfriend." 

 You incline your heads together. "You're sure you can't leave this out?" 

 "I could be persuaded." 

 "Yeah?" you ask. You can't help but glance down at his lips, wondering where they are, knowing you want to move forward to meet them. 

 "Uh-huh." He smiles and kisses you, his lips practiced, a small peck that makes you unbearably happy. "What will you give me?" he asks, his eyes closed. 

 "Mm." You rub the tip of your nose against his as you think it over. "What do you want?" 

 "Everything." 

 His deadpan seriousness cracks you open at first, laughing breathlessly as you bring your hand to his face. You spread your fingers over his cheek and stroke the edge of his biggest facial scar with your finger, the one that starts below his nose and cuts through his eyebrow. 

 "You can have it. Whatever you want," you agree quickly, pulling him towards you with a giddy jovialness. "Anything." 

 He kisses you again, warm hand covering yours, shoulder digging into your shoulder as he fights for closeness. "Anything? Like your kidney?" 

 "'Specially my kidney. They go for loads on the black market." 

 "And how would you know that?" he asks, his grin fond. 

 "I write. I know things." 

 "A likely story. Sounds to me like you're a little freak and you're plotting to sell all my organs, and this whole thing has been a ploy. An organ based ploy." 

 "Remus," you whisper. "I once let you fuck me in the Leaky Cauldron, remember? The money I would make off of your organs wouldn't make up for that." 

 "Was it truly so awful?" he asks, amused. 

 "The fuck? No. No, I…" you let your head fall into his shoulder, "that was enough material for a month of fantasies. Months, if you hadn't done worse to me afterwards. But we really couldn't have made it to your place?" 

 He presses your joined hands to his chest and laughs. "I don't expect you to understand. You looked – you look fucking amazing. Like, all the time. And you were there to see me, all dressed up knowing we were only going to the leaky. I couldn't handle it." 

 "Remus," you chide, embarrassed. 

 He nudges you. "No, because you really don't get it. How pretty you are. How fucking funny you are. How much I love being with you. It couldn't have waited." He clears his throat. "Well, maybe. But if you understood how killer you are you wouldn't blame me." 

 "Remus, shut up. I wanted you badly. I waited for you for half an hour. You know that? In the rain ." 

 He's quiet as he says, "No, I didn't know that." 

 "You shouldn't, 'cos I lied to you… I did my hair three times." You laugh at the memory, how nervous you'd been and how nervous he still makes you, but now…  "Nobody's ever made me feel like that before." 

 "Like what?" 

 "Like I'm- I'm pretty. You make me feel like I'm beautiful." Your confession feels both dramatic and completely normal, you suspect because it's Remus that you're confessing too.

 He squeezes your fingers. "You are beautiful." 

 You feel the peril of an oncoming pep talk or comfort you don't quite need. His reassurement while lovely is unnecessary for now, you just wanted him to know the truth. 

 "You're much more attractive," you tell him, sitting up to cups his face in your hands. "S'why I changed my mind about selling your organs." 

 "Thank god for that," he says. You stroke his face and give his cheeks a gentle pinch. 

 "I-" you freeze up. So quickly, beyond reason, you'd almost said I love you . "I need to pee." 

 He blinks and then grins. "Thanks for telling me." 

 You blush and stammer and climb over his legs to go to the bathroom, standing in front of the mirror until you can smile like a normal person again, like you aren't the most in love any one girl has ever been. 

 "Dove! Hurry up! I think I found something for us to watch!" 

 You dry your hands on the hand towel and rush back into the living room to see what Remus has found. 

 He turns to you just as you recognise what's playing, the words already on his lips, "Holy cabooses!" 

 "'Hello, Dolly!'" you gasp, rushing to sit down so quickly you end up half in his lap. "I have the tape, you know." 

 "Shush, this is the best part," he says. It most definitely isn't the best part, and you're about to take loud offense, only his arms wrap around your abdomen and pull you into his front and you can't be bothered after that, listening more keenly to him than the movie, the way he knows every word, saying them softly but with inflection under his breath. He hums along to the songs and sways you back and forth in time with the music. You lay your head back on his chest. I love him , you think, bobbing gently one way and then the other. 

 "Yes, I can hear that Choo Choo callin' me on. On board that Happiness Express," Dolly sings. Remus signs it better, warm and low, the sound sending goosebumps down your arms. 

 "I'm gonna learn to dance and drink and smoke a cigarette," you further, even quieter than he had been. 

 "We should take dance classes," Remus says. 

 "You don't need help with the other two." 

 "Mean. You don't want to learn to dance with me?" 

 "Sure I do. What kind of dance?" 

 It's a throwaway conversation. When you see someone as much as you see Remus, you can't always be declaring love and affection. Sometimes you have to plan things you'll never do. 

 "Waltzing? Any dancing. Dancing we can do together," he says, knuckles rubbing into your soft tummy. "If I asked you to dance with me right now, could you?" 

 You blink when you realise Remus is being serious.

 "No, I couldn't. Not properly." 

 "Me neither," he says, legs shifting underneath you, spreading wide so yours can fit between them.

 "Am I hurting you?" you ask worriedly, moving to stand up. 

 He reigns you in. "No, you stay right there." You're reluctant. He pulls you into his chest, your hair brushing his collar. "I'd love to learn some kind of waltz with you, dove," he says, almost offhandedly. 

 You go warm all over. "Anything you want." 

 -

 Couples dance classes are difficult, especially the cheap ones. What must be 30 couples in one room, awaiting instruction, and yet you doubt any one partner is as nervous as you right now. 

 Remus stands beside you in matching sweatpants, both of you dressed for the activity but also the insecurity – neither had considered the actual vulnerability of being witnessed learning to waltz. 

 "Maybe we should've tried to learn at home," you whisper. 

 Remus smiles, hooking his pinky finger through yours. "I'd agree normally. You know I hate, uh, any attention. But I really think this will be fun." 

 He looks from the mirrored wall in front of you to your face. "And if it isn't, we leave. Obnoxiously, in the middle of the lesson." 

 "We should get ice cream after," you decide, anything to not talk about your current situation. 

 "Salted caramel," he whispers as the instructor claps her hands together and the lesson begins. 

 The leads learn first. You're happy for Remus to lead and he says nothing to the contrary. Soon you're watching him and the other leads learn the steps. 

 You help him through small hand gestures, reminding him to keep his feet hip distance apart, mouthing to him that he needs to relax when he seizes up. He takes a step forward that's supposed to be soft but comes on heavy; it's only a few days after the full moon, he's still weak and aching, though he'd insisted on coming today. 

 He brings his second foot forward and then pushes it inward. The awkwardness of the room begins to fade, everybody too concentrated on getting it right. The next instruction sees him stepping back with his right foot, then the left, parallel. He closes the gap between them, and there - he's waltzed. 

 They go through it two more times. Remus is nervous but extremely perceptive and quick to learn. You're impressed by how well he's mastered the dance in such little time. 

 "And now, the companion!" 

 You get confused at first, having internalised the leads instructions. Remus helps you much the same. "I got you," he whispers at the distressed look on your face. Somehow, his voice is easier to follow. "Back," he gestures at his body, relaxed, "feet apart. Bring them together," he acts it out for you. "Forward, feet apart." 

  Together. And now you've waltzed too. 

 "Alright! Now, let's get dancing! Lead, your hand behind the companion's shoulder like this. Companion, your hand on top of the lead’s shoulder. Don't worry about getting this too perfect, we only wanna get you guys moving." 

 You do as instructed. You've touched Remus what must be close to a thousand times by now and still this feels nerve-racking, your heart going a thousand miles a minute as the gap between you closes and your tummies brush. Remus smiles at you, pulling your right hand into his left and pushing it away from you, clasped tight. 

 "This part is always a little tricky! You mess up and it messes up your partner, but don't. Worry . The more you move the more you practice, and the more you practice the better you'll get! Ready?" 

 The teacher presses play on her small music player. You waltz. Remus leads well, murmuring the instructions to you under his breath when you falter. 

 You stumble and he pulls you along without missing a beat. You can feel a bead of sweat where it collects on your brow, heart ticking. Remus is very good. You're less so. 

 "You got it," he says, falling back as you follow. "That's my girl. Relax, would you?"

 "I think I might be awful at this," you say, distracted.

 Feet together. "It's just fast, that's all. She's going very quickly, probably because the lessons are so short. And it doesn't matter," he says, squeezing your shoulder, "it's just for fun, right? I don't envy the soon to be wed in here. Look," he brings you in closer than he should, "see the couple behind us?" 

 The couple behind you do look acutely miserable. 

 "You think they're gonna get married?" you ask. 

 Remus shrugs and moves backwards. You follow. His feet come together, then yours. "I don't know, but we did it perfectly." 

 You look down at your feet and then up at him, an awful beaming smile on your face. "Oh my god! We did it." 

 "Yes we did," he agrees, amused by your delight.

 "Now when you ask me to dance, I'll know how." 

 You're smiling still when the instructor announces advanced moves. It quickly disappears. 

 Remus chuckles. "This sounds interesting." 

 Advanced moves are not interesting, you discover. You can dance the waltz with about sixty percent accuracy, but trying to do that while spinning in a circle? Impossible. You thank God that Remus had agreed to be the lead because you can't remember you're turning until he physically pulls you in the right direction. 

 You start to feel upset at how useless you are, only you stand very cruelly straight onto Remus' foot. You leap to apologise but he bursts into laughter, giggling as he turns you into the circle, completely disrupting his 1, 2, 3 count. You end up standing on his foot again, again, and each time he laughs like a fool. 

 The room is hardly quiet and yet you know that people are looking at you as you bumble backwards, half out of the circle, and Remus stands on your foot. 

 It's downhill from there. The underarm turn a disaster, Remus spins you out and accidentally drops your hand. You bump into a young guy also being spun out. 

 "You're supposed to shorten your steps!" you hiss as you throw yourself into Remus' chest. 

 Your boyfriend chuckles and kisses your cheek before maneuvering you into position. You're two counts behind everyone else and he doesn't seem to notice.

 "Sorry, dove. You look pretty, when you spin. 'Cept for that awful pout," he teases, nodding his head towards your cross lips. 

 "Remus," you moan, dropping your head into his chest. He stops trying the advanced moves, simply walking you back and forth. You've given up on footwork and try your best to follow. It works, and soon you're moving in perfect tandem.

 "Maybe we didn't need any lessons after all," he says into your hair. 

 You agree with him twenty five minutes later, sweaty and rumpled and extremely happy walking into the cool haven of a dessert parlour on the way home. He orders your ice creams as you shift from one tired foot to another, the sound of the waltz thumping in your head. The second waltz loud in your ears, the clumsy footfall of sixty people. 

 Remus starts to hum Dmitri Shostakovich. 

 "Sounds almost sinister," you comment. 

 "Offensive," he mutters. 

 He moves onto the happier part. You can't remember it very well but you join in, and you let him take your hand and spin you just once during the invented crescendo. 

 "A perfect spin!" he says. You eat up his praise like an idiot and he drops his voice to mime the baritone sounds. 

 Your ice cream cones are pushed into the stand in front of you and you fight for the right to pay. 

 "You paid for dance lessons," you say firmly, handing the employee your cash. 

 "It was my idea for us to learn.”

 "And it was my idea to get ice cream. Thank you so much," you say, accepting your cones.

 You pass Remus his salted caramel ice cream and are rewarded with his grin. 

 "Thank you sweetheart," he says softly, holding open the door for you. 

 "You're welcome. I-" You cough and blink rapidly. I love you, you'd almost said. Why do you keep doing this? "Uh, I'm tired. You must be hurting," you save yourself hastily. 

 Remus licks a drip off of his index finger. He looks tired, bone tired, today much too soon for him to really be out and about again but you don't feel comfortable saying this to him. It's his life, his body. You don't want to overstep despite how badly you want him to take better care of himself. 

 "Really hurting," he says. You'd expected him to brush it off, and his honesty makes you flinch. "Oh, don't, dove. It's okay." 

 You wince. "Remus-" 

 "I'm fine! I'm not dying. I do need a tonic though. Maybe two." 

 Your lips part, ice cream forgotten. You reach for his hand and rub the length of his arm. When he lets you dote you move in, his shoulder to your chest. "My poor boy. Shall we call a taxi?" 

 "Please," he says, smiling weakly. 

 "Here, let's sit," you look around wildly and spot a bench across the road. You drag him across and sit on the cold curved bench, just outside a multistory car park. 

 Remus looks tired. You tuck your hand behind his back and watch his face. He looks entertained. "I'm okay," he says. 

 You believe him and you also think he must feel very rundown to be honest with you, to not want to keep it all to himself. 

 Your ice cream has dripped everywhere. You don't think you can eat it, worried, so you reach over and drop it into the bin behind the bench, wiping yourself clean with a napkin. Remus doesn't give up. 

 "You stay here. I'll go back to the parlour and use their phone," you say. He nods. 

 When you come back his ice cream is gone and his eyes are closed. 

 "Sorry," he says when you sit, dropping his head onto your shoulder. 

 "It's okay. Don't be sorry," you say, patting his back.

 "I didn't realise," he continues. 

 "Baby," you murmur. 

 He rubs his cheek against your shirt with his eyes still closed and you wait for the taxi, stroking his hair behind his ear. 

 "Thank you for the dance lesson," you say. 

 "You're welcome." 

 "When you're up to it, we should go again. Learn flamenco or something." 

 "You really want to?" he asks. His voice is low and quiet.

 "Why not? The waltz was fun. I always have a good time with you, you know that." 

 "I'd love to see you in a flamenco dress." 

 "Yeah?" you ask, laughing loud. 

 "Yeah." 

 You kiss the tip of his ear and say quietly, "Red's not my colour." 

 "Are you kidding? Every colour is your colour." 

 "You're just saying that 'cos you like my red babydoll." 

 "Yes, I do! Of course I do, and you never wear it. I love it. I love all your fancy underwear…" He yawns. "And all your ratty stuff, too." 

 "Shush," you tell him, flushing. 

 "Especially the daisy ones with a rip near the leg." 

 "I'm leaving you here." 

 Despite claims otherwise you shepherd him into the taxi, out of the taxi, up the flat steps and into your bed. He falls asleep promptly. You watch him for a while, wondering if this is all real. It can't be real, you decide, laying down beside him. No way someone as lovely as him wants this life with you. Keeps choosing you, every day. No way. 

 Remus must feel you, reaching for you in sleep, his arm wrapping around your waist and his hand ghosting the small of your back as he turns on his side. He pushes his palm under your shirt as he pulls you in, skin on skin, fingers loving even as he dozes. 

 You kiss his chin. 

  I love you, you think. 

 The thought feels forbidden, like an electric shock. Remus must feel that too because he makes a small sound and his hand rubs your back soothingly. You don't mean to but you wrap your arms around his ribs and fall asleep, comforted.

 -

 The dance lesson had felt like a good idea, though Remus knew that drawing from a well of energy that wasn't emptying was never a good idea – he always paid for it the next day. Or, as he found himself in the dark, the following night. 

 He could've swore he'd had you beside him but now you're nowhere to be seen, the sheets cool. He sits up with a groan. Everything hurts again, like the day after a moon without the open wounds. 

 You've taken off his shoes. He wiggles his numb toes and feels a disgusting overabundance of fondness for you that needs to be shown immediately, only he can't really stand up. His legs are weak. He trips and sits down again heavily on the bed, scrubbing his face with both hands. 

 "Remus," you whisper questioningly, walking toward the bedroom on light feet. You peel your own door open with infinite care, head peeking through. "Are you awake?" 

 "Yeah," he whispers back. 

 You open the door and smile, changed out of your dance clothes. You're in a cuffed pair of white pajama bottoms with dark blue flowers and a black and white baseball tee. You smell like cinnamon as you sit down beside him, cupping his face in one hand in greeting. You kick your heels on the floor, feet bouncing. He looks at your mismatched socks and feels another wave of fondness. 

 "What are you making?" he asks, throat aching. 

 "Apple pie. You like apple pie, right?" 

 "Love it," he says, elbow brushing yours. 

 "You want a bath?" you ask. 

 "Yeah," he scratches the back of his neck. "Do I have any clean clothes here?" 

 You disappear into the bathroom as he asks, the sound of the shower and then the bath. Bottle caps clip. "I washed some," you say, slightly louder to be heard over the din of the bath filling. You peek out of the bathroom. "Come in. I got bubble bath for you." 

 The room smells of radox muscle soak and almond oil. Remus shuffles into the bathroom and leans against the sink as you titter about dropping things into the bath, getting him a clean towel from the linen cupboard and a new razor from the medicine cupboard. You put everything on the side of the bath and clap your hands together. "That's everything, right?"

 "Thank you, dove." 

 You smile with all your teeth and he loves how you look, though you remember yourself quickly and press your lips together, nodding. "Okie, if you need anything else you can just call me, I'm only keeping an eye on the oven." 

 "Actually," he says before you can leave, pulling his shirt from over his back. His hair flops out around him. "You wanna keep me company?" he asks. Insecure and not. You've had baths together before. You've done worse in the bath with him. 

 You smile. "Yeah, okay," you say, dropping the toilet seat to sit down. 

 He shouldn't complain. There've been many situations where he's stayed dressed and you've been completely nude. If anything, undressed and bared in the bath, he should be saying thank you — he realises now how hard it is to be the only one naked. 

 You bend over so your chest is almost touching your knees, picking at your nails. They've been breaking more and more lately and he knows it's because you don't have the time to take care of them that you had before. He feels a little guilty. How quick you are to take care of him and neglect yourself. 

 He scrubs down quickly and you talk, an easy conversation in your tired voice, late in the evening now, that full day crackle chasing your words. 

 "I got bleach on the jumper you gave me," you confess, reaching forward to wipe shaving foam from behind his ear. "I'm sorry, I didn't realise how strong that cleaning spray is." 

 "That's okay," he says in between strokes of the razor as he cleans up his neck, "I gave it to you. S'your jumper to do what you like with." 

 "I don't like getting bleach on it," you grumble, cupping his damp shoulder blade. He's no clue why you're doing it but he's the last person who would ever tell you to stop. 

 "You want another one?" he asks. "I don't mind." 

 "So I can ruin it? Thanks, handsome, but I couldn't." 

 You rub your hand into his back, your thumb pushing into a tight knot of muscle. He loves to be called handsome by you, blushing wildly at the compliment. 

 "Oh," you say under your breath, "this is a mean one. How's that?" you ask, massaging the knot with precise movements. 

 His head tilts back unconsciously, a sharp breath leaving him as you work the pain from his back. Far from words, he gives you a small moan. The best he can do, you seem emboldened by his sound and bring your other hand to help. 

 His hair drips lukewarm water down his back. 

 "Remus, I have to go check the pie," you say reluctantly, though you keep massaging. 

 "Uh-huh." 

 You keep going for long minutes before making a sound of self admonishment and standing up. 

 You kiss his wet back. "Sorry," you say. 

 He runs his hand down your arm as you walk past.

 By the time he's washed his hair and climbed out of the cooling tub you've removed the pie from the oven and burned yourself. You hold your steam-bitten fingertips to your mouth with a pained pinch to your brow, though you quickly hide it when you see him in the doorway in boxers with a towel around his neck. 

 "Hey, handsome. You clean up well," you say. 

 "You hurt yourself?" 

 "Mm. On the kettle, not the pie. But I made tea, so…" you say. 

 You hold out your hand. He inspects your raw fingers. "Ouch," he mutters sympathetically, wrapping his fingers around your palm and holding your injured hand to his chest. "Poor girl." He kisses your cheek. 

 You look, embarrassed, down at his tummy. He tries not to suck in. 

 "Stupid girl." 

 "Not stupid," he corrects. "An accident."

 You huff and pull your hand from his, carefully pulling the towel from around his neck. You bring it to the back of his head and wipe at his wet hair, eyes suddenly on his face. Your gaze is intense. 

 "What?" he asks. 

 You just smile. 

 He tries again. "Why're you looking at me like that?" 

 "You're really," you clear your throat, "good-looking. Really really. I love your face." 

 "Dove." 

 "I'm serious. I don't call you handsome for nothing, though you're looking especially lovely today." 

 He catches the hem of your soft shirt in his fingers and toys with it. "Thank you." 

 You beam. "You're welcome. I don't tell you as much as you tell me, and it's not fair, because I think you're the most handsome guy on this whole stupid planet," you say, letting the towel fall to his shoulder again, hands pulling at the ends. 

 "That's enough," he says fondly. 

 "I'm serious. You have these gorgeous eyes, I love brown eyes but yours are seriously something, you have a ring of amber around your pupil that glows . And your nose," you bring your index finger, the not burned one, under his eyes, then over the ridge of his nose, "is my favourite. I love this," you trace over the curve, "and this," the tip. "And your lips," you lean up on your toes, hands braced but very gentle around his throat. Your eyes flit between his eyes, looking steadily into yours, and his mouth. "You have a pretty mouth," you say, and lean in for a kiss. 

 He hates you at that moment. He thinks you're beautiful, and he can't believe that you'd ever adore him so much, and your mouth is supple and arduous against his, and there's nothing he can do beyond this. He wants desperately to make love to you like they do in all the silly romance books, show you exactly how he feels about you, exactly how handsome he finds you. 

 He almost says I love you.  

 The relationship he has with you has often (though obviously not solely) been defined sexually. You work well that way, an understanding between you both before you were even a couple that this rope, this connection, that stretches between you is reciprocated. He thinks it must be obvious that he loves you, though he doesn't want to say anything too soon and weaken a meaning or scare you off or, selfishly, doesn't want to be the only one to say it. He doesn't want to tell you and not have you say it back, and his insecurity won't allow him to believe you would yet.

 Sex between you is a resonance of reciprocation. So he hates you – well, maybe not hatred, but a half second spark of dislike – for being so lovely and evoking this feeling from him when the best way he feels he can show his love is cut off from him. 

 He vows to mess you up badly when his libido returns.

 For now, Remus lets you kiss him with your perfect, pouting mouth, his tasting of mint from his brushing moments ago and yours of apple pie filling he knows you must've been eating as you made it. His eyes close. He can almost see the look on your face anyways, the scrunching of your eyes and the half grin you wear as you kiss him searchingly. 

 You drop back down on your feet and he follows, kissing you until you push his chest away, not unkindly. 

 "Are you hungry?" you ask.

 He isn't really. "Yeah, I could have something." 

 "Good, 'cos I'm starved. Did you see your clothes?" 

 "No?" 

 "They're on the bottom of the bed. Those are clean boxers, right?" 

 He laughs and pinches you for being cheeky. "Of course they are, who do you think I am?" he asks as he turns from you to get dressed. 

 "Just checking!" you call. He can hear you mumbling to yourself and the sounds of the pie tin being clicked open, though he doesn't quite catch what you're saying. Something cruel, he imagines. 

 You're drinking his tea when he makes it back. 

 "You took too long," you say cheekily. He'd tackle you if he had the energy. He makes a mental note to do it another day. 

 The apple pie you've made smells good, though the top is very browned. He knows it's his fault, so he says, "It's perfect." 

 "Don't say 'til you try it." 

 "If what you tasted like earlier is any indication, I'm gonna enjoy it just fine." 

 You're visibly mortified. He pulls you into the cage of his arms and laughs at you loudly when you're reluctant, jabbing at his chest with a grumbling giggle. "Shut up," you say, the up dragged into a five second word. "Did not."

 "You did! Why would I lie about that? Here, let me try you again, we'll see if you still taste like it." 

 Scandalised and seduced at once, Remus raises his hand to your cheek and feels the heat of blood under your skin. You huff a breath out the corner of your mouth and then drop your head back like you've given in, your chin jutting up. "I'll taste like tea now." 

 "Guess I'll have to go looking." 

 Remus dips down slowly, hand moving from the breadth of your cheek to the skin before your ear, fingers besides his index ducking under. He traces the tip of his index over the shell of your ear. 

 "Remus," you say quietly. 

 "What, baby?" 

 You inhale too quick. He wouldn't hear it if it weren't for how quiet the kitchen is. 

 "What?" he asks, even softer. It worries him sometimes how easy you are to upset. It's unnerving, how squishy your emotions are. 

 "I…" You frown, going from an emotion he doesn't quite understand to theatrically happy. You smile big and laugh a laugh he knows isn't quite real before pressing a kiss to his lips. He's startled but the kiss doesn't feel stilted and he's like an addict when it comes to your lips, his own parting underneath you. He steals the lead, mouth closing down onto yours, gentle then less so against your top lip. The curve of your cupid's bow, the edge of your lips. 

 You try clumsily to breath through your mouth and he feels it along with the small vibrations of your happy sounds, your hands tentative at his hips. You pull away to take a little gasp of air before moving back in fast enough that your teeth click together. 

 "Sorry," you say. 

 "S'alright," he says, arm heavy on your shoulder. He turns his head to the side to avoid anymore clicking. "Take it slow, sweetheart. Nowhere else to be," he reminds you mildly.

 You give him a huge skewed kiss. Fast to his slow, he works his way in eventually, feeling like a blessed vessel, a body of white star heat when you're this close. 

 "You do," he says, parting from you to breathe in deeply, his hand behind your shoulder blade gripping your soft shirt tightly. 

 "What?" you ask, sounding as giddy as he feels.

 "You still taste like your pie. Apple and cinnamon and sweetness." 

 You wrap your arms around his neck and plant a chaste peck against his throat. He lets the side of his face fall into the top of your head, your hug a warmth he wouldn't trade for anything. 

 "I don't know if you're being gross or romantic." 

 "Gross," he confirms. "Really gross." 

 "Yeah. Wanna do it again?" 

 He does. 

 -

 Remus aches much less but in new ways as he pushes open the employee door and finds you standing in your sundress with a tote bag over your bare shoulder. 

 The cigarette in his hands goes quickly behind. 

 "I saw it!" you announce merrily, waving from across the street. "It's your lunch break, right?" 

 Remus sits with you on a low wall and watches you kick your feet, an identical tupperware open in both your laps. A week since your apple pie, the plastic houses a freshly made BLT cut into four pieces like he's a kid and a generous slice of millionaire shortbread. 

 "You made this?" he asks. 

 "The sandwich? Yes," you say, covering your mouth with your hand as you swallow a bite of lettuce so crisp he can hear it snap. "The shortbread, no." 

 "It's a good fucking sandwhich," he says, though he hates soggy tomatoes. 

 You beam and bite it back, tucking your dress between your legs to stop the wind from blowing it up. His loss. He decides to own his perverted thoughts rather than just think them guiltily. 

 "It's a nice fucking dress, too," he says. "Really nice." 

 You pull the dress up your thigh and stop just before your underwear. He reaches over and pulls it straight back down. 

 "Stop. Eat your sandwich," he says. Then, at your downtrodden face, "Look, I have hours left of work. Hours. Don't do this to me." 

 You perk up and take a self-satisfied bite of your sandwich. "Sorry," you say through more lettuce. He's fond enough to burst, shuffling up the wall to press his starchy work trousers to your linen covered thigh. The dress is a pale green. He's reminded of your other dress, the cowl neck slip with a small slit up the thigh. 

 "You look really pretty," he says. 

 "Thank you," you murmur, wrapping your arm under his. He almost drops his sandwich in the struggle. 

 Remus tries to kiss your cheek and you move away. "What? Am I not allowed?" he teases. 

 "You'll ruin my makeup." 

 "Oh no," he says, planting a kiss on you anyways. "That's so weird." 

 "What? What happened?" you ask, looking out the corner of your eye like you might be able to see your cheek.

 "Still perfect even after a kiss. Who would've guessed." 

 "That's vile. You're being so sappy," you say cheerily, in juxtaposition with your harsh words as you let your head flop into his shoulder. You skip over the sandwich and take your dessert, smaller than his, to his chagrin, and nibble carefully. 

 He chuckles at your attempt to preserve your lip gloss. 

 "What?" you ask, turning to him in genuine confusion. 

 He takes a swig of your flask, acting as casually as possible, before he swoops down to kiss you. You reciprocate, giving him a handful of sweet kisses where your sticky lips pepper over his. 

 "There," he says, pulling away, "your lipstick is ruined. Eat properly." 

 You smart and touch your lips with your index finger. "You're evil. And it's lip gloss . Gloss. You're lucky it's not lipstick. Next time I'm gonna wear bright red and cover you in it and all your coworkers will know you spent your break bullying me." 

 "Bullying," he repeats. 

 You laugh loud and kiss the corner of his lips before shoving the shortbread into your mouth. "Bullying," you say, after a long pause of chewing. Your cheeks bulge like a chipmunk. He thinks you're insanely beautiful. 

 "I'll show you bullying," he says, clipping the lid back on his tupperware and handing it off to you. He checks the time and finds he's late going back. 

 Remus stands and dusts himself down in a hurry. "I gotta go." He kisses the crown of your head chastely and jogs back to the employee door. "Think about what I said!" he calls without looking back. 

 -

 You think about what he said. You can't not . I'll show you bullying? You're agitated all afternoon waiting for him to come home, sitting in the rumpled sheets of his bed with your legs underneath you and the sundress all creased at the thighs. 

 Why would he say that? You've gone half crazy.

 You push up the skirt of your dress and move your underwear to the side. Already, there's a small mess of wetness from thinking about Remus. You feel bad and also don't; you know it's alright to be turned on about your boyfriend - he's your boyfriend. That's one of many good parts about having Remus, he is ridiculously hot. But… he'll be home any minute now. If you just wait . 

 You push your fingers down your centre, over the bump of your clit and your labia to your entrance and then back up. You're better, though Remus is good, at finding your clit, that small bundle of nerves and you quickly find a rhythm you like, your eyes drifting closed as you try to picture him, recalling things that he's said. You're quickly annoyed by his absence and try to make up for it with your fingers. 

 The door creaks open, your heart jumps in your throat. You pull your skirt back down and tuck your hands under your thighs, sitting pretty the best way you can - not pretty at all. 

 The sound of Remus' bag hitting the floor. His shoes coming off, a groan as he stretches enough to make you flush all over. 

 "Y/N, where are you my love?" 

 You blink rapidly to yourself and don't answer. He finds you soon enough.

 "What's up with you?" he asks, looking you up and down.

 You're not very convincing. "Nothing. I- I missed you." 

 "Yeah?" he asks, climbing onto the bed in front of you, legs to his side. "You look tired." He wipes under your eye with his thumb. 

 You shake your head. 

 "Something else bothering you?" he asks. 

 Lots of things. His tousled hair, his collar peeking out from the open buttons of his polo, the freckles smattered sparingly but undeniable over his skin. His hands where they screw up the sheets and his patient eyes. 

 "You wound me up," you admit. 

 "Did I really?" he asks, sounding happy as a kid in a candy store. 

 "You said-" you start, voice rising quickly. 

 "I know what I said. I was teasing." 

 "You tease well." 

 He grins. "Yeah?" He raises a hand to your knee, drawing circles with his fingertips into your skin. You hear, suddenly, how quiet it is in his room, his entire flat. You'd forgotten to make something for dinner, you think, and then quickly forget when his fingertip climbs. 

 He flattens his palm over your thigh and rubs lightly, back and forth. 

 "Since my break?” he asks.

 Your voice is weaker than you'd like. "For hours." 

 "You didn't…?" 

 "Remus," you chide, embarrassed.

 His hand pushes further under your skirt, "Don't Remus me, baby, just tell me the truth." 

 "You interrupted me." 

 He looks sorry. Sitting up properly, he pushes at your arms until you lie down, head cushioned by his pillows. "Were you close?" he asks gently, pulling your calves from under your thighs, straightening your legs out over his lap. 

 You shake your head. 

 Big, sweeping lines up your legs. "You're so inpatient, you know?" he asks. 

 "You made me this way!" 

 "That's not true, you’ve always been inpatient. But I'll get you on record saying it, if that's okay?" he asks, hands rubbing and rubbing, pressure slowly increasing. "'Cos last time I wound you up, what was it you said…" 

 "I didn't-" 

 "Shhhh," your boyfriend says, spreading your legs slowly, hand coasting over your inner thigh. He squeezes the soft fat there, thumb pressing to the skin between your thigh and your cunt. "You said I was a teasing, cruel demon, if I remember." 

 "A lovable demon." 

 "Uh-huh, and what was after that?" 

 His eyes move to yours, maybe for permission. You nod, and his thumb slides lightly under the abused material of your underwear. He pauses, and you say, "A wretched-" 

 "A wretched bastard," he finishes, chuckling. "So if anything, you'd think I would've taught you to be patient." 

 You hold your breath as he pulls your underwear aside, his fingers quick to press against your sensitive cunt. They're cold enough to make you jump. "Sorry," he murmurs, pushing his palm up, thumb brushing over your clit. "You're always so ticklish." 

 "You have cold hands," you say.

 Remus smiles and lifts one of your legs to meet his mouth as he leans down, kissing your thigh, a distraction as he collects leaking slick and eases the beginnings of two fingers into your entrance. He doesn't comment on how you're already wet though he looks at you knowingly, a small smile on his face. 

 "What were you thinking about?" he asks, wrists bent so he can focus on your aching clit. His fingers are tentative as he goes, though you're more than relaxed, curving against your walls. 

 "You," you whisper.

 "Lucky me," he says. He moves his hand from you to rest atop your chest, always cautious as he catches your lips in a kiss. 

 You hold his face in place as you kiss up, gasping just slightly into his mouth as he continues his ministrations on your cunt. 

 He takes his time, cruelly, and you regret ever thinking that he's made you inpatient. He's drawing it out, thumb moving in tandem against the aflame nerves in your clit. 

 He murmurs as he goes. "You're making such a mess, dove," he says, fingers stretching down to rub up slick.

 He's enjoying how wet you are. It's awful, your tummy shaken by abashed butterflies. 

 "My girl's always so messy, aren’t you?" he asks, lips parting over the corner of your mouth, a little lower, the hint of his teeth scratching your jaw. 

 You don't answer, cupping the back of his head as he sucks a small bruised moon into your skin. He licks it after he's done. "See, I make a mess, but I clean it up right after." 

 His fingers push against something soft inside you and you sigh, though you recover quickly to argue with him. "I'm not sure that's true, baby," you say quietly. 

 He lifts his head. "No?" 

 You shake your head, licking your lips and rubbing them together before you say, "I usually clean your mess up for you." 

 You don't mean to insinuate that he should clean up any of your mess, you're really just speaking from memory. You say it because you like cleaning up his mess. He finds it hot and you do too. His eyes narrow. 

 "Yes, you do," he agrees, something openly calculating on his face. 

 He pushes your head into the pillow and kisses the underside of your jaw lovingly, then your neck, moving slow enough that you don't realise he's travelling until he's kissing over your clothed chest, your tummy. He pushes your skirt up and you catch his arms, not stopping him so much as holding him. 

 He kisses the curve of your tummy. Where his hand had struggled during deep kisses it doubles down now, his long fingers working a small puddle of slick from you. He pulls out and pinches your clit lightly. "Let me take these off," he says, more to himself than you as he pulls your underwear from under your hips and down your legs. 

 He drops them somewhere in the bunches of his duvet. 

 "You're beautiful," he says, staring into your eyes. You melt, watching as his eyes travel down the length of your body. "The first time I saw you, I don't know if you remember it, but I couldn't believe how perfect you are." He lowers his voice. "Perfect everywhere," he says. 

 You giggle ferociously, a terrible wave of them that infects him quickly. 

 "I'm not kidding," he says. 

 "I know you're not. I'm far from perfect, Lupin." 

 "Perfect to me. With the prettiest cunt," he adds, kisses skipping over the very top of your cunt. He plasters your thighs in little pecks. 

 "Bet you say that to all your girls," you say. 

 Remus looks at you from under your lashes. "Only you," he says, practically drenched in fondness that makes you unbearably happy before his lips come down on your heat. 

 A shock. You squirm and he pushes down on your thighs, holding them flat to the bed as your whimpers begin. 

 You push the hair from his eyes and take a great handful when he kisses and licks your entrance. If you weren't lying down you might've needed to, a quiet roaring in your ears as Remus eats you out, sucking at your clit mercilessly. 

 You huff out a breath as a tension builds in your abdomen, a tightness in your trembling thighs. His hands move from atop to underneath, pulling your core closer to his face, devouring your wetness like a man possessed as he encourages your calves over his shoulders. Your thighs squeeze around his and you're so close you feel the tears building. His hair too far away to pull in this new position, you settle for grabbing at his hands. 

 "Remus, can I- I'm gonna-" 

 And like that, he stops. 

 You're surprised, hips bucking once towards him. He looks at you from between your thighs. His wet lips pull into a smirk. 

 "Bullying," you mumble. 

 "Yeah, bullying," he confirms. He's gentle as he pushes your legs off of his shoulders, hands massaging your shaking thighs. "You didn't think it was gonna be that easy, did you?" 

 You know if you asked him to, he'd make you cum, but he knows you well – you like to play the game. 

 "Wan' another kiss?" he asks. 

 You wipe his face with the back of your hand as he falls back on top of you, holding him an inch from your lips. 

 That pesky L word. You let yourself think it, let it infect your system rather than blurt it now. I love you, you think, eyes on his. His pupils are blown. 

 The kiss starts tentative despite an overfamiliarity, Remus hitting your nose with his until you open your mouth. He nips at your lips, takes the top one between his and suckles until it feels sore. He kisses it better, closed and slow but then impatient as he opens his mouth. You open yours, hands slack as his tongue pushes into yours and you taste yourself, sweet and salty. 

 He pushes his hips into yours, pelvis' grinding. His damp hands pull at the bottom of your face and his hips drive in, your wet ruining his trouser, a certain smoothness to the friction as fabric pushes into your exposed clit, never enough to reach your climax. You mewl, arms around his waist and dragging, begging for relief in the way your hips roll. 

 "You're making a huge mess of us," he says teasingly, dulcet, "after I just cleaned you up, too." 

 "Remus, please," you say, finally cracking, quicker than you wanted to, but his closeness has you desperate. "Can I cum? Will you…" 

 "You want my hands or my mouth?" he asks, pressing a wet kiss under your lip. 

 "Anything," you pant. "Anything." 

 "Don't worry. I've got you," he says, lifting his hips from yours to reach down. 

 He starts to toy with your clit, slippery, loose circles that grow tighter as he goes, laying sloven kisses over your face, your lips as your breathing accelerates. "Are you close?" he asks. "How's that?" 

 "Yeah, I'm, I'm close," you promise, squeezing his ribs tightly as the feeling builds. 

 "Take your time, lovely," is all he says.

 He's back to kissing, bites and bruises all over your throat as you cum under his touches, only lifting up to encourage you, "There you go." 

 He stops touching but doesn't stop kissing as you come down. As soon as you collect yourself you're cuddling up to him, bashful and sweaty but very, very happy. 

 "Can we keep going?" you ask. You bite your lip. "I mean, we don't have to. I can take care of you-" 

 "You want me to fuck you?" he asks. 

 "Please." 

 "Don't say please. I should be saying please to you. I want you so badly," he says in a rush, climbing off of you. 

 You sit up and reach for the crumpled edge of your skirt, pulling it off and leaving yourself completely nude, breasts soft from being squished underneath his chest. You pinch at your nipples self-consciously and bring your palms flat to your chest, looking up to find Remus has stripped his shirt and is shirking out of his trousers and boxers at once. 

 You grin at his hard cock, feeling extremely obsessed with him in an awful, chest eating way. 

 "Don't look so," he gestures at your face, crawling towards you with his cock in his hand, "that . You know what you do to me." 

 "Don't know what you're talking about," you murmur. 

 Remus smiles, really smiles, more earnest than anyone should be. "You're so fucking pretty, I mean it. I know I'm a broken record, I know, but I can't believe you're my girl. Look at you," he says, hand pushing into your tummy. 

 You laugh nervously, "Don't push on me, I think I need to pee." 

 "You want to go now?" he asks.

 You shake your head vehemently. "No, it's okay. Just don't push on my bladder." 

 He lines his cock up with your cunt and his hands work your thighs up, holding them an inch from your arse. "Is this okay?" 

 "That's good," you say, covering his hands with yours. "Remus-" you say, before he can push in. He stops and looks at you quizzically. "I can't believe you're mine, either." 

 He beams. He’s deitific.

 Remus starts slowly, bending over you, eyes on yours as he pushes in, as he bottoms out. You feel the mushy pleasure of being stretched out by his generous endowment, the sparking pleasure as he reaches deep inside you, his hips rolling into yours rhythmically. 

 You're quickly close to tears, every thrust adding to a well of overwhelming pleasure that rises over you. 

 "Can you go faster?" you ask. 

 He grins. "I'll go however you want me to." 

 His hips snap, his breathing starts to hike. You wrap your arms around his neck and your legs get pushed into your abdomen in the desperation of it, Remus rocking into you at an unforgiving pace. You're blissed out, reaching down to rub your clit as he anchors himself behind your shoulders. 

 "You gonna give me another one?" he asks. 

 "Uh-huh." 

 "Good girl," he says, and you burn. "Tell me how you want it." 

 He slows, thrusts deep and moulding, seated inside you he digs for your soft spot and something twinges in you, almost hurting. You ask him to do it again and he's more than happy to oblige, babbling praise at you as he fucks you so well you can't breathe properly. 

 "More," you say stupidly, close to a second. "More, Remus, please." 

 "I'm all out," he teases, though he knows what you're asking, hammering into you until your hips ache and the sound of his skin slapping into yours has echoed through the room. 

 He covers your hand with his when he feels you falter and pushes you over the edge, your second orgasm twice as potent as the first. You seize up completely around him, cunt contracting down, hand slipping. Remus pushes into your clit until you gasp. 

 "Wait a second," you say. He stops, pulling out, hand tugging at the reddened head of his cock. 

 You stretch underneath him and hold a hand to your overstimulated clit. Your thighs shake as you force pillows behind your head to change position, hips angled down. Your stomach aches, but Remus is close, you can tell. 

 You pull him forward and his cock spreads you open again, the feeling bringing with it a wave of goosebumps. Remus has barely filled you up before he pulls out, frowning at your expression.

 "Remus-" 

 "It's hurting?" he asks. He rubs your waist. "It's okay, we don't have to. Did I get too rough?" 

 You look at the space above him rather than his face. "No. I mean. I mean, it is hurting a bit. S'like a pinch. But you didn't go too rough. Just aches when you get all the way in." 

 Remus' hands are stern on your legs. "Thanks for telling me," he says, mouth searching for your knee. He plants kisses around your kneecap in a circle. 

 You're frowning. "Remus, it's fine." 

 "I don't want to fuck you if it hurts, yeah? I don't want to do that to you. It's supposed to be fun all the way through, right?" he asks. 

 You go hot. "I'm sorry." 

 He sighs through a smile. "Baby, listen," he says, reaching for your hands. "It's fine. Perfectly fine. One hundred percent. Are you okay? Out of ten." 

 "Ten," you say firmly. 

 He looks relieved. "That's all that matters." 

 "You want me to…" 

 "Do you want to?" he asks, squinting at you. "I don't want a pity handjob." 

 You laugh at his joke, abrupt enough to choke on it, reaching for his shoulders to pull him down beside you. He turns obligingly onto his back and you're still laughing as you twist to hover over his chest. 

 "It's not from pity, idiot. You're still really fucking hot, you know." 

 "How hot?" 

 "Burning," you say, hand spreading over his chest, running down behind you to search blindly for his aching cock. You cup his neck and kiss him quickly on the lips before changing direction, attention on his cock, its weeping tip. 

 You lap at the wetness dripping down his shaft and kiss up.

 Remus moans under his breath, thighs seizing as you mouth his cock. You pump the bottom of his shaft as you go, humming lightly into his tip. His hand moves over your back, hand cupping your arse as he takes a big handful, giving it a good squeeze which has you giggling before he pulls you towards him, fingers moving down your slit. He searches for your clit and it tingles under his light ministrations. 

 Every shock has you moaning into his cock, which in turn gets him going. He dissolves under your touches  Your knees dig into the mattress springs as you centre your weight, hands braced on his pelvis as you take him into your mouth. 

 The poor boy doesn't last long, his moans a rare drug you're more than addicted to, ramping up as you suck his cock. He moans your name, his hand at the back of your head, and you pull back, palming his cock towards your open mouth so he can cum over your face. This is what finishes him off. 

 You milk every last drop of pearlescent cum you can and clean him off for good measure. He goes lax underneath you as you kiss his softening cock, pulling you away gently after a while.

 "That's enough. You'll rile me up again." 

 "Oh no," you tease.

 "Stop it," he says, faux stern. "You'll kill me." 

 "That would be a tragedy," you admit, resting the side of your head on his rising chest, arm squished underneath you. Your fingers feel for his heart. 

 His eyes close. You take the time to memorise his features, fascinated, only disturbing him to comb your fingers through his sweaty, dishevelled hair. 

 "Sorry about… not being able to finish." 

 "Dovey," he murmurs. His lips don't show it but his eyes frown a little as he pulls you into his chest, thumb wiping your face clean roughly but without any malintent. "Don't be sorry. We both had a good time, right? And it's not your fault at all. It's likely my fault." 

 "How?" 

 "We can be quite rough," he says, like he's amused that you have to ask. 

 "'We' is the right word. I ask for it that way and I like it." 

 His head tips back. "Trust me, I know." Then, with a huff, "So no more apologies. Please, dove. I don't mind that we had to stop. And you took very good care of me," he says, blinking at you. "Yeah? So it's all perfect as long as you're perfect. Are you?" 

 "I am," you agree, nodding. You're fine, though you need to pee, and the aching was unfortunate but not the end of the world. 

 "You admit it." 

 It takes you a few seconds to catch up. "Oh, shut up." 

 "No, you said it! 'I am'. I heard it." 

 "Stop," you say into his skin, wrapping your arms around his back. He hugs you close, and you cuddle until you can't bear the pressure in your bladder anymore. 

 You almost fall off of the bed in your hurry to use the bathroom. Remus joins you in the bathroom a few minutes later, finds you standing in front of the running shower, shivering. 

 "You're cold?" he asks. 

 "I'm naked." 

 "Me too, but I'm not cold."

 "No need to rub it in," you say, pushing your hand under the spray. It's mostly warm. 

 You climb in and leave the curtain open, taller than Remus for once as you ask him, "Are you coming in?" 

 He really shouldn't. His shower is precariously small, and you have to stand tummy to tummy to fit. It ends up a mess; you're cold when you’re not under the spray and he's too tall to reach it when you are. Still, it's fun, and you love him and you laugh, and he pulls you into his chest for a hug under the hot spray, water sloughing over the two of you, reaching between your bodies like hot kisses.

 "Still cold?" he asks. 

 "Nuh-uh," you hum.

 His hands slide over the wet plane of your back. You cling to him, face pushed into his chest. You can feel as he drops his chin to his chest, pressing his nose into your wet hair. He cups the back of your head, holding you in place as he drops water heavy kisses into your ear, the shell, the lobe. 

  I love you, you mouth into his skin. It's almost as good as telling him aloud would be; you feel unstoppered. 

 Your legs get tired and you know he must be too. You give his chest a final reverent nestle and pull away to wash. 

 A little later you sit on the end of his stripped bed in his clothes, hair wet still, apologetic. "Sorry, Remus." 

 "We should really use a towel," he says, pulling a clean sheet from the cupboard with a grimace. 

 "Probably."

 You take the top ends of the sheet into your hands and tuck the corners as Remus pulls the bottom corners down and lifts up the mattress to do the same. As soon as he's done you lay out on the fresh sheet, clean and tired. Only one thing left to do, you decide. 

 "Shall we order a takeaway?" you ask. 

 You scream as Remus throws himself onto the bed next to you, hand to your heart. 

 "You read my mind," he says, stealing your arm to pull into his chest. He looks so young when he smiles like that, you think. Mischievous. "Chinese food?" 

 "We need sustenance," you say agreeably. "Big day tomorrow." 

 -

 The Grand Frog Palace opening is marked by the worst weather Britain has ever seen. 

 You stand at the patio doors with James, the rest of his friends behind you chattering in the kitchen, grazing the selection of party foods James and Lily had painstakingly prepared. 

 "It's okay," you say, patting your friend's arm consolingly.

 "I wish I was dead." 

 "James!" You slap his arm. "Don't say that." 

 He slumps in the doorway. Rain attacks your bare arms and your socks, bouncing up from the floor and over the threshold. 

 You're dressed very casually, to James' horror. You and Remus seem to have missed the memo, or at least the general idea of one, that tonight is a black tie event. Everyone is dressed nicely. Remus is dressed well, though not in a button down and slacks, and you're dressed like Remus - jeans and a short sleeve t-shirt. 

 "Well, I guess it's over," he sighs morosely, loosening the tie from his neck. 

 "What?" 

 "Nobody wants to see the ribbon cutting ceremony. Lily said I can't force people to stand in the rain, so…"

 "I will," you say. "Remus will too."

 "What will I do?" The boy in question calls across the room, ears pricked by his name. 

 James turns to him with a huge grin. "You're a good friend, Moony." 

 Remus pales considerably. "Doesn't fill a man with confidence." 

 "For my son’s frogs," James declares ten minutes later, water dripping down his nose, fogged up glasses hiding his eyes, "and, by extension, my son, the light of my life, sorry Lils, who I would die for, sorry Lils again, I present the Grand Frog Palace. A labour of love, the Palace has been a great source of joy and misery." You look between the Palace, wet but amazing, intricate woodwork with soil and plants and a pool, housing what must be at least a few of his frogs, and Remus, who's looking at you. "We have sacrificed hours of hard work, Lily's sanity and at least 47 galleons. Sirius did nothing, Moony pretended to, Frank laughed at it, and Y/N caulked all the windows. Cheers!"

 He ducks down to cut the small red ribbon with a pair of miniature scissors. It takes a while. The ends fall to the sodden floor, and you set about whooping as loudly as you can. 

 "Whooooo!" you shout, clapping aggressively. Remus pulls his hand away from where he'd been shielding your head to clap as well, Frank clapped his wrist because his hand was holding a bottle of beer and Sirius stared at everyone in amusement from under his umbrella. 

 James smiles. "Thanks, guys. I think maybe we'll save the tour for another day. I can't see." 

 You hurry back into the house, the last ones in, soaking wet and beaming with Remus' hand in yours. There'll be a spell to dry you off and a hot mug of tea to drink in a second, but for now – he looks gorgeous. Hair dark with rain and eyes darker under his rugged brows, his scars standing out like shiny Mercury, his lips and his pouty cupid's bow. You grab for his wet hair and pull his face to yours, kissing him quick and hard. His eyebrows furrow and he returns the kiss with vigour, hands buried in the collar of your shirt.

 You set back down on your heels, worried about making a scene, but nobody's watching. There's laughter and wine and plates upon plates of party food, music drifting down the hallway. 

 His eyes open, rainwater running down his face like tears. "What's that for?" 

 You pull him in for another kiss. You don't understand why he would ever need to ask.

<3

thank you for reading!  i know it’s been a long time since the last baby fever so i hope this is good :3 sorry the formatting is a bit odd, i had to use the html option cos rich text kept crashing lol

tag club: 

baby fever taglist @rosaliedepp @kissmeunicornbaobei @buckyjbarneswhore @j-cat @justingnoreme @siriuslystfu @figlia--della--luna @augusticana @confidentlycali @bella-vasquez216  

marauders taglist @marimorena06 @glimmering-darling-dolly @siriuslystfu @thatblackravenclaw @touchdeprivedwh0re @vi0letblu3s @mooncalvin @gaysnowrose @thatonecomfyjumper @set-myself-on-fire @decafcoffew @mischiefmanagers @cordiformity @froggyy06

#remus lupin x you #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x y/n #marauders era #remus x reader #remus x you #marauders #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin blurb #marauders x reader

[respectthepetty]

ALERT ALERT!!! TAIWAN REQUEST ASK INCOMING!!!

Please can you recommend to me your top 5 Taiwan BLs? I saw you posting about a few and wanted to know when you would recommend please?! is it always enemies to lovers?

Thank you in advance colour genius!

WHY ARE THESE ASKS ONLY GETTING HARDER?! First, y'all wanted my Top GMMTV actors, then it was Top GMMTV pairs, and now you are coming for my heart and soul with my

Top Five Taiwanese BLs!

That's like making me decide who is my favorite Backstreet Boy (it's Kevin) or telling me to choose my favorite child. I don't have kids, but I feel this is very similar. I love all of them equally for different reasons. Taiwanese BLs are my favorites because they have the best parents, high heat, some (but not all) enemies-to-lovers, and serve domestic bliss, so forcing me to pick between them is painful.

But I'll do it!

However, I'm gonna finesse my way into having more than five, yet still only technically giving you five.

The Ones That Couldn't Be Considered:

First, I will not count HIStory 4: Close to You in this list because it is my favorite BL. Period. It is not fair to these other BLs that they can't be a strategic hot ass mess with the gusto that my beloved HIS 4 had.

Next, Oh No! Here Comes Trouble isn't a BL, so I can't count it, but it was queer to me. I watched it for Your Name Engraved Herein's Tseng Ching-hua, but when Guang Yan said "This comic is not only about my high school life, but also about my heart," their love became canon for me, and I knew I wasn't moving past this show. When I write my book If You Just Don't Wanna Admit It's Queer, That's On You, the masses will see exactly what was there all along.

I can't include Red Balloon because, quite simply, I don't remember it well enough since I watched it when it was released in 2017, but I still feel it in my heart, you know? Edward Chen, the opposite lead in Your Name Engraved Herein, and Jason Tauh of HIStory 5: Love in the Future were the younger leads, so if Gagaoolala brings it back, I'll watch it again to see how they have both evolved.

I can't put my finger on why I won't include DNA Says I Love You, but I think it's because I don't classify it as a BL, yet I don't know why I don't classify it as a BL because it is a BL. It is! But . . . I don't know bruv. Either way, it's slow but good!

See You After Quarantine?'s entire runtime is a little over an hour. That's one episode of a Thai BL! It's cute, quick, and creative, but I cannot use up a spot on an eighty-minute series even though it was good. I'm sorry boys, I'll see you after my Hot Tops!

The Ones That Made the List:

#5 - About Youth

I hate singing, but the songs (and singing) in this series were GOOD, so much so that I still listen to the theme song. The characters (except Ye Guang's shitty parents) were also good, but Ray was my favorite. It was just serious enough to not seem trivial but was still light and enjoyable, and Xu Qi Zhang's mom and pink Converse deserve some appreciation.

#4 - Be Loved in House: I Do

That argument in the street that spilled over into the office the next day is one of my top five fights! In case you haven't watched it, Real got upset because he believed everyone was hiding a relationship from him, so Shi Lei called him out on his hypocrisy since they were basically in a relationship yet hiding it. Real misunderstood, but that made Shi Lei more upset which lead to him screaming at Real in the office asking if he even thought about them as a couple. Then Shi Lei's mother and that coming out scene! AND THE FLOOR SCENE! So many amazing scenes. So little space.

#3 - We Best Love

Although I prefer No. 1 For You, it goes hand-in-hand with Fighting Mr. 2nd, so I'm counting them as one for this list. The second part gave us the office slap heard around the world, and that superb drunken confession, but the first portion really delivered a cohesive story about pseudo enemies-to-lovers that had satisfying pacing and great side characters. The show also had color coding, so if it weren't for the promise of a third season that has yet to be delivered, that time jump and the reasoning for the separation, it would have been No. 1 For Me.

#2 - My Tooth, Your Love

As soon as Jin Xun An said he knew a good therapist, it was over for these other BLs. Jin Xun An is such an adult and does not have time for tomfoolery, which pushed Bai Lang to grow. A majority of BLs openly express that one of the leads is a mess from trauma, yet gives the message that the other person should and will love them regardless. Not this BL! Jin Xun An said he would love Bai Lang through it, but he didn't allow Bai Lang to treat him like poo or make excuses for his behavior while kindly pushing Bai Lang to treat himself as seriously and as gently as Jin Xun An did. Oh, and the side couple was intriguing as well.

#1 - HIStory 3: Trapped & HIStory ?: Freed

You notice how all the other couples on this list are right next to each other, probably holding each other likely in bed? NOT THESE TWO! Mis tóxicos fell in love in the woods while handcuffed to each other after running away from their kidnappers while Kinn was still dating Tawan and Porsche was sexing up customers behind the bar (KinnPorsche). Mis tóxicos were not trusting each other, yet willing to fuck while Dr. Bun was still in the big city and Tan wasn't even on his radar (Manner of Death). I'm not making a comparison; I'm making a statement that this show changed me and what I now crave from other shows. If a man isn't willing to kill for his guy AND possibly kill his guy too, then is it really love? I have demanded for FOUR YEARS that my boy Tang Yi be released, and one of these days, Taiwan will deliver us what we all deserve -

HIStory 15: Freed WHEN?

#taiwanese bls #HIStory: Freed WHEN?! #HIStory 3: Trapped #My Tooth Your Love #We Best Love #we best love: no. 1 for you #we best love: fighting mr. 2nd #be loved in house: i do #About Youth the series

[robin-the-orphan]

Thinking about Robin HCs that I'll use for RP Purposes Here

Long post ahead! Just so I can keep things more consistent!

*Also heads up, not gonna roleplay anything regarding the Ubrothel and that one landfill event on this blog (when you fail to pay rent for yourself and Robin). Partly because I'm uncomfortable with those events and I haven't encountered them before.

💾 Someone said this blog has Y2K aesthetics with the windows theme that shows up on the computer format for the blog. Made me think about what year Robin would've been born in. Since they're 18 at the start of the game, I'm going with 2005-2006.

💾 Appearance wise, they have blue-greenish round eyes. They kind that can pull off the perfect puppy-dog eye expression. Very much Ghibli tears vibe. As for hair colour, most people draw them with brown hair, so I'm just going with that. Medium length, super fluffy hair that tends to get messy easily. They're also the type to tan easily if they stand in the sun for long enough. Cries when they get bad sun burns. In addition, they tend to bruise easily. Overall plump body type, but they have soft skin. Bordering on short height, but they're taller than Kylar.

💾 Clothing wise, they wear a lot of comfy and baggy clothing that tends to hide their figure. Like shirts and sweater with oversized sleeves and are long enough to go past their waist. Pants go past their feet and they have to be rolled up. Very basic colour palette, they're not the type to stand out. A lot of their clothing is second hand from the older orphans. Mix between Y2K and a bit of that Softboy aesthetic.

💾 Like in canon, there's orphans who say that Robin stays in their room a lot. So they're an awkward shut-in type, but not like Kylar levels of isolation. Part of it is that they just like to play video games a lot. Another part of it is that they like to be alone for long periods of time. Unless certain friends come by, then they enjoy their company.

💾 Robin gets all of their consoles from second hand sales. Like sketchy Facebook Market place sales and pawn shops. That's why they're able to sell those same consoles easily. They blog from their phone and a super slow laptop (inspired by my 7 year old windows laptop that took 15 minutes to turn on and heated up after 5 minutes of use). They used to own a DS as a child, but sold it along with their old DS games. Their Nintendo Switch has the worst switch drift and loses battery super quickly. Some of the younger orphans come into their room to play some games.

💾 History is their worst subject. In my playthroughs, they easily lose confidence during History Class. So they have issues with the memorization of important historical events and struggle with writing long essays.

💾 They got the idea to make a lemonade stand from countless TV shows. They're mildly successful with the help of some of their friends. Every Friday after school, they prepare by cutting and juicing a bunch of lemons along with buying enough sugar and water (but they always end up needing more water). An anon suggested trying to sell more flavours of lemonade, so they're looking into that.

💾 As it's the winter season right now, they're busy selling hot chocolate at the park on weekends. They use the powdered kind with water as it'd take too long to make it from scratch. Sells it in those little Styrofoam cups topped with very tiny marshmallows. (I know the game tells you to get milk for them, but fr fr they make the hot chocolate with water only because it's cheaper).

💾 Vrel stated that Robin is the best skilled LI in terms of cooking. If they weren't limited by money and supplies, they could start to sell food at their lemonade and hot chocolate stand. It would start with simple things like snack foods: cookies, chips, candied nuts, trail mix, and dried fruit. Over time, they'd get more and more attention as visitors realize how good their cooking is. If Robin wasn't running their stand, they'd likely become a chef at the Ocean Breeze Cafe without needing to fill buns up with their milk .

💾 In terms of relationships, they're on friendly terms with Sydney. They avoid Whitney as Robin is seen as an easy target for bullies due to their (currently) meek and anxious personality. As for Kylar, they don't share any classes together so they aren't close to each other.

💾 With any PCs and people that interact with this blog, I have decided to keep Robin out of any canon romantic relationship. But feel free to keep sending in those affectionate asks, I truly love responding to them.

💾 With that out of the way, it's canon that Robin is a virgin. I'm taking that a step further by saying they're so inexperienced that they have limited knowledge regarding sexual intercourse. But they're not as shy as Pure Sydney, just inexperienced that PC would be their first for everything romantic wise. They're already shy in general when it comes to platonic affection, so yeah... Of course, if they were to get in a relationship, they'd become more confidence and experienced over time.

That's all for now! I'll be coming up with a post about other things like appearance and some random headcanons that I think of!

Thanks for reading!

#degrees of lewdity #dol #dol robin #robin the orphan #//the one and probably only time I'll use the degrees of lewdity tag

[oboy-me]

how about: masc they/them or they/he Asmodeus x he/him MC, prompt: they're going to a fancy dress or masquerade sort of place, and MC lets Asmodeus pick out what he should wear.

Absolutely! This is such a fun concept, I'm excited to see what you think of this drabble! 💖

——————————————————————————————————————

▸▸ You were invited to a royal ball to celebrate the students of RAD's achievements throughout the exchange program's running years, honoring everyone's teamwork towards making it as successful as it is. You chose Asmodeus to go as your +1, because you knew he was going to dress you to impress.

——————————————————————————————————————

You're rather thankful that you decided to let them know this plan a full day ahead of the actual event; you're almost certain they haven't shut up since the moment it left your mouth. Between their posts on Devilgram and DeviTube to just pestering their brothers — Mammon being the most frequently targeted, evidenced by how worn down he was by the end of the day — you've kept an eye on their enthusiasm and were always quick to answer their texts when they asked some random questions of you.

The shopping spree was only the beginning. They still had to dress you, and they had just about every idea under the moon for what they wanted to pick for you; the fact that you now had almost two wardrobes' worth of boxes sat next to your bed with Asmodeus rifling through it was a sure sign this was going to take a hot minute.

"Asmo?"

"Mmm? What is it, dear?" they respond, still deftly sifting through various neatly-folded trousers. "Oh, right! Would you like traditional pants or an open, flowy skirt-like bottom?"

"Did you... need to pick out so many?" you asked quietly, knowing full well the question was an absolutely futile one to pose. "And pants, I'd like to let you be the more flowy one this time," you quickly tacked on.

Asmodeus would loosen a small hum as they stood to their feet, a few pants tucked over their arm. They seemed wholly preoccupied with comparing the accent colours with a few tops and playing mix-and-match until he settled on a couple pairs.

"Mammon especially had some concerns," came your continuation, knowing by the little look in their eyes that they were still listening. "He was like, "man, Asmo's spending more than me today, what's up with that guy?" and "Hey Y/N, tell him to cool it before he regrets it!""

That earned a little laugh out of Asmodeus that he had to stifle into his arm. His expression held nothing but glee as he started to hold each little combo up to your body to picture you in each set. Sometimes he would swap a top or a set of pants on the fly to try new combos, of course.

"I think Mammon's just jealous~" the demon would reply in a cutesy little purr with a little wink thrown your way. "After all, there's this big event coming up, and who did you choose as your plus one? That's riiiiight! Hehe! ♥ I know he's been working himself up to ask you, but he should know better than to think you'll choose anyone but me."

When he had finished talking you had the mind to respond as well, but you had found that your lips were claimed rather suddenly by the demon's own. It was always like him to just sneak a kiss when your guard was down, but this time he had taken his opportunity to soothe you with one of the sweetest little tastes of his lips on yours — and you could tell he applied that flavoured lipstick he knew you loved so much. It was a dizzying taste that left you both a little lightheaded afterwards, Asmodeus letting out a breathless little giggle as he pulled away again.

"So you see why I've just gotta fuss over you, my dear? Now let's try these few outfits on! When we get your outfit situated, then we'll move on to your accessories and makeup! While we all know I'll be the most gorgeous of everyone at the ball, I want to make sure that everyone sees my nearly-equally gorgeous boyfriend at his absolute best~!"

Those cheeks of yours were lit up like wildfire at their words, their kiss; you always felt the love they poured in to you even if they tried to veil it behind their narcissism. If they did not love you as they did, they would not have spent all this time and Grimm just to doll you up for one night.

"Well now I have to; I can't afford to taint my flawless Asmodeus by showing up as anything less." You throw them a wink of your own before vanishing in to the bathroom, catching a rapid spread of crimson across their cheeks as you closed the door to change.

You'll never forget that night; you two turned just about every head in that ballroom that wasn't yours, and both of you graced the front pages of RAD's newspaper much to Diavolo's delight and Mephistopheles' chagrin.

Once again, I hope you enjoyed reading this dear anon! I did my best to represent what you asked for!

#obey me imagines #obey me male reader #obey me male mc #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmo x reader #obey me asmo x mc

[iobsessoverfictionalmen]

Preview of Something Magical

Please like this post if you’re interested in this fic.

@dino-fart, I blame you for this idea. You keep feeding my Sinister Strange obsession😊. If you haven't checked out her work already, make sure you do.

The unusual, hot, dry winds that had been tormenting Storybrooke for the past couple of days only seemed to intensify as you walked towards Mr. Gold’s shop.  It still felt weird calling him that especially since you knew him as Rumplestiltskin.

The bell atop the door to his shop dinged as you pushed it open.  The first thing you noticed was Henry sweeping the floor.  He looked up as you entered.

“Hello,” he said glumly before returning to his task.

You had an idea as to what was bothering the young man.

“Henry-”

“I thought I’d be learning magic,” he burst out, clutching the handle of the broom so tightly that his knuckles turned white, “instead my grandfather has me tidying his shop.”

“Henry,” you tried again, “You’ve seen the Karate Kid right?”

Now Henry looked confused, “Of course.  It’s one of Mum’s favourite franchises.  What has that got to do with anything?”

“You and Daniel are going through the same type of training.  Magic just isn’t waving your hand and hoping for the best.  It’s knowing your limits, understanding the rhythm of magic that flows through you and channelling that.  It’s also about knowing which magic to use when.”

There was a soft thud as the curtains parted behind the counter. 

“Very well explained,” Mr. Gold praised, “I hope you understand a bit more about magic now Henry.”

Henry nodded, “Yes Grandpa.”

“Now, get back to sweeping.  My store isn’t going to clean itself and we seem to be accumulating more dirt than usual.”

Henry resumed his sweeping and Mr. Gold beckoned you into the back of the shop.  Supported by a heavy looking frame in the centre of the room was a large mirror.  The surface of the mirror was continually rippling and you turned to Mr. Gold with a stunned look on your face.

“Is that a-”

“Yes, it is a dimension mirror,” Mr. Gold’s words had an impatient edge to them.

“Where are you going?  Do you need me to watch the shop?” You asked.

Mr. Gold didn’t respond straight away which worried you, “I’m not going anywhere but you must.”

“What?! Why?!” You demanded breathlessly.

There were several loud cracks and a rush of hot air swept through the shop.  Faintly you could hear Henry’s voice in the background as the door to Mr. Gold’s shop trembled.

“Out of all my apprentices, you are my favourite,” Mr. Gold revealed, “this is the only way to keep you safe from the chaos that is threatening Storybrooke.  Remember what I’ve taught you.”

Before you could ask any more questions, Mr. Gold held out a hand, curled his fingers into a fist and thrust his fist forward.  The effect was instantaneous.  A tremendous force pushed you forwards unexpectedly and you stumbled through the mirror.  You didn’t even have time to say goodbye to Mr. Gold and Henry.

You closed your eyes as you travelled through the different dimensions.  Terror welled up inside you the minute that your feet touched solid ground because you heard the dimension mirror shattering into multiple pieces and you knew that you were trapped far from home.

“You’re fifteen seconds late,” a clipped voice commented and you opened your eyes.

Unwillingly, you opened your eyes.  You seemed to be trapped in a dimension where only dark colours remained.  It was as if all life had been sucked out of this universe leaving only despair and destruction behind.  the man who had spoken had a messy goatee and the colour of the goatee appeared to match his hair colour, cold, calculating pale blue eyes and he was wearing a tunic.

“I thought Rumplestiltskin taught his apprentices about punctuality.”

You glared at the man who had spoken, “I was just magically shoved through a mirror by my former master into a new dimension with minimal information as to why.”  You gritted your teeth, “Forgive me if I didn’t quite meet your set deadline that I was unaware of.”

The man smirked, “You’re forgiven.”

You rolled your eyes, “Is there any chance you’d tell me where I am and who you are?” His smirk widened and you felt a flash of fear as you noticed how predatory it looked, “Of course.  I am your host, Doctor Stephen Strange and you’re in my universe.  As a favour to the Dark One, you’re now under my protection.”

#once upon a time #ouat #ouat jafar #ouat jafar x reader #female reader #my writing #sinister strange #sinister stephen strange #sinister strange x reader #ouat x marvel #ouat x reader #marvel x reader #rumplestiltskin #sinister strange x reader x ouat jafar

[wiiwheel]

Hey king, i am weird and just like to see you speak ( i also like to see bulge and pole and wanna see hole but what can we do till you make alts). do you play video games? if you do which are your like top 3? If not, have you watched any shows or movies lately that have popped off? What has been on your mind lately? Whats your favorite style of painting?

Bulge is surely incoming but have patience

Pole and hole. We shall see

Top 3 videogames: Hollow Knight, Breath of The Wild, Pokemon BW2 :]

Shows: I'm watching white lotus at the minute it's good!! Sort of show that makes me wanna write like with lots of characters and intrigue and red herrings etc. I also just like seeing rich people become their own undoing

Movies: Haven't watched any in a while the last I saw was wendell & wild which was a rly fun family style film but the animation was sick and the big ol demon daddy was hot

On my mind lately: banana milk is yummy and I'm thinking about the artificial banana flavour it uses and its origins as trying to replicate a banana that now no longer exists bc it got a disease and we bred them to have no seeds or something like that. Which is why artificial banana flavour doesn't rly taste like the bananas we know today. Isn't that fun.

Painting: the post impressionists went off. I find photorealism impressive but sometimes boring. I think paint is a medium where you can do anything so I like how artists who follow this sort of style use big colours and visible brushstrokes :v Cassat, Cezanne, Gaugin, Gonzalès

[tabzjoynt]

#storytiiime cos we haven't had one of these in a hot minute 🫥

stumbled across an old post on my Snapchat from 6yrs ago, I was really going through it.

I do remember this day in particular, I was ready to step out in front of truck tbh - I was doing it rough emotionally and was heavily over being bullied by this Korean man at my job. he was horrible and most importantly the reason my anxiety came back stronger than ever. I was constantly looking over my shoulder, legit feeling like I could piss myself everytime I heard his voice.

I was also coming to terms with losing everything I invested into our exhibition - my motivation was in the toilet and I was angry for a few years after this all crumbled 🥴 I hated Onehunga - the one these people had created off the back of SWIDT's success. I recall watching the manager of the venue use the money made from my sales to shout her staff beers and lunches and cutting me out of the loop once I left to come back to Sydney. that one experience gave me the hugest trust issues when it should've been the base for something greater, her face is firmly burned into my memory - along with the smear campaign she decided to create on Twitter 🤣 it showed me the true colours of people in that circle and why I will always be allgood with being on the outside.

I had also finally ended a relationship that made me feel like I was a problem not an asset. he would belittle my appearance often, especially if I was going out to gigs or the pub with friends. once he told me that I shouldn't bother trying cos it's not like guys would find me attractive anyways - I believed him for about 5 minutes 🤣 (I got very drunk the night he said this and trashed my kitchen when I got home lolz #holesinwalls kinda trashed) even worse was when he finally left, his new gf picked him and his belongings up and disappeared into the sunset. he tried to come back a few times and each time I opened my front door to the fastest sentences that made no sense, I replied by slamming the door✌🏾 also if it wasn't for me he wouldn't own the franchise he has right now (just saying) I have all his numbers saved on my phone under #dogcunt 🤣

I am not the same - my heart still acts from a loving and respectful place but I can spot a gatekeeper from a mile away and trust my gut more than ever.

this is where my over thoughts kicked into hyperdrive and hesitation became my first reaction to everything.

although I didn't enjoy that particular growth journey in this life, it makes me excited about the possibilities - with you.

I am so much more comfortable in my own skin, I'm still awkward as fuck but it's all me.

reconnecting with you has opened me up and even tho we are severely detached from each other rn you still consume my thoughts. my faith has been tested more than once and my unorthodox energy shifts have been born out of never wanting you to feel burdened by my presence or my feelings for you. I don't think my most recent energy shift came across as a positive to you tho, I feel like you regressed and there's a very high possibility that you don't trust me at all.

Let me know if you're ready to celebrate a level up - or if you want to talk about anything or everything 🙂

I'm not lost, I just want you to find me x

[gleekto]

Fic: Can’t Take My Eyes Off Of You (16/16)

Short Summary: Blaine coming of age in 1969. Columbia University. Hippie!Kurt. Elliott and Sebastian as Blaine’s mentor-friends. Unironic use of ‘groovy’. Coming out and fitting in and falling in love.

Amazing Poster by @caramelcoffeeaddict

For @slayediest who gave an inspired prompt for this way back when.

Full Fic to be up on AO3 and posted here later today!

Day One, Day Two, Day Three, Day Four, Day Five, Day 6, Day Seven, Day Eight, Day Nine, Day 10, Day Eleven, Day 12 , Day Thirteen, Day 14, Day 15

Day 16: Ballot

Blaine, Kurt, and the rest of the Student Homophile League group are gathered in Central Park together, days after the riots. They're there to support each other, sick and angry about the stereotypes and media trying to make this look like anything other than it was - homosexuals standing up for their own human rights.

"You know, I just finished my freshman year, and I came here afraid of being different." Blaine starts when it's his turn to speak. "Of course I wanted to meet someone," He smiles at Kurt despite his anger. "But I imagined that we could be quiet about it, that I could still 'look straight'," He makes air quotes and everyone laughs. Probably because of the deliberately provocative outfit he's currently wearing.

Yeah, it's not exactly his style. Kurt fully approved but said that he's just as hot in his colourful pants and bowties. But today he wanted to be out there. "But why should I have to do that? Why should we?" People applaud. "Like the neighbour to the Stonewall says in this article - when the police came for us, it was like a swarm of hornets attacking a bunch of butterflies. We are butterflies. Beautiful and elegant. And it's time for us to fly."

Blaine sits back down in the circle and Kurt squeezes his hand. Blaine squeezes back. "I'm proud that we're here," Blaine says.

"I'm proud to be with you," Kurt answers. Blaine is proud too.

At the end of the gathering, the group has a secret ballot and decides to change its name from the euphemistic and technical sounding "Homophile League" to "Gay People at Columbia" starting next year - more political, more social, less apologetic.

"I might have actually come to a meeting before your dorm rap if they had been this in your face a year ago," Kurt muses.

"I'm afraid I would have stayed in the closet," Blaine sighs at himself.

"No you wouldn't have," Kurt says certainly, interlacing their fingers as they start to walk. "There's a radical inside you. You just needed a little nudge."

"I guess."

"So what do you want to do now?" Kurt asks. Blaine's not sure if Kurt means now, as in the late afternoon on a sunny July weekend, or now as in in New York City in the aftermath of the Stonewall riots, but the answer is the same anyways.

"Well," Blaine says. "I want to walk down this street, holding your hand in public. I want to kiss you with tongue,"

"Of course," Kurt nods, laughing.

"And then I want you to take me back to your room, and I want you to take me apart and fuck me." Before Kurt can even say anything, Blaine answers. "I'm sure." Despite their frankly amazing sex life, they haven't done this before - waiting for a moment or the right time or to be ready. Blaine is ready.

Kurt nods slowly and looks at him. "The man knows what he wants. Who am I to argue?"

The minute they're behind a closed door, Blaine starts kissing Kurt hungrily, unbuttoning and tossing layers and clothes, searching for Kurt's body, wrapping himself up in Kurt. Within minutes, Blaine is on his knees, taking Kurt into his mouth. Kurt cradles his head, leans against the door and closes his eyes. Blaine looks up and sees Kurt relaxed but breathing heavy, a smile of ecstasy on his lips. They're used to this now, the pleasure they bring each other.

"I need to get you hard," Blaine says as he pops off for a second. Blaine knows Kurt appreciates his dirty mouth, even if he's not as talkative himself. Kurt expresses himself in other ways.

"Blaine, I know what you said in the park, but we haven’t done this before and now it’s just us. It’s personal and not political. So just want to make sure you really want to.”

"Oh I want to," Blaine says easily. "Have wanted to." He gets up and opens the drawer on his desk and pulls out a little tube of lubricant. "Been practicing," He says and Kurt looks surprised. Impressed. “It is political, though." Blaine shrugs. "You, opening me up, being with me, inside me, our love is political. And I love you. And I want this.”

Apparently that's all it takes to get Kurt on board. "Lie down," Kurt says to him with a bit of authority as he takes the little tube from Blaine's hands.

"Yes sir," Blaine answers and holds up his legs.

"Oh my god, shut up."

It's hot watching Kurt coat his fingers and carefully move the first one inside. It feels amazing. "You're okay?"

"More than okay. I've been practicing, I told you. Try another." Soon Kurt has three fingers in and Blaine is panting. "Coat yourself, with the lube. All over. You're bigger than your fingers."

"I hope so," Kurt says sarcastically.

"Well, you're big. And I want it to fit inside me."

"You know we fit," is all Kurt says before lining himself up and pulling Blaine's ass as gently as he can before starting to push in.

It takes a few minutes but he bottoms out, skin on skin as he starts to move. "It's tight. And amazing. Oh god, Blaine it's amazing." Kurt pants as he moves more frantically.

"Make me come," Blaine says as Kurt's hands wrap around him. "Want to come with you inside me." He does. They do. It's a disgusting mess.

"We're going to have to change these sheets before we leave," Blaine says looking down at the stains as he rolls over, exhausted and elated.

"That's my line," Kurt says and smiles at Blaine. "But yes. And also, I love you."

Blaine smiles back. "Well, that's my line."

...

Once again, they're late. It takes time to get cleaned up and shower, and Blaine chooses his favorite summer outfit of red pants, a black short-sleeved polo and a matching bowtie. And then he has to re-gel his hair. "Post-sex hair is an absolute no," He says to Kurt as he scoops in the raspberry scented gunk. Kurt just shrugs equivocally.

"Really I can go either way with you."

This time they're late for dinner in Greenwich Village with Sebastian and Elliott, but also with Sam, Tina, Rachel and Jesse. They are perhaps an unlikely combination but Kurt and Sam get along surprisingly well, and Tina seems to revel in getting to hang out in the gay village with numerous gay friends. She thinks she's edgy. Kurt thinks she's ridiculous but Blaine is okay with it because she does mean well. And Kurt is the most fun to watch with his judgmental faces when Sebastian and Jesse start comparing performance awards. Blaine leans over to him and whispers that it was that scathing judgment that started this whole thing.

"Me? Judge?" Kurt says innocently.

"We actually have your epic eyerolling at Roger Smith to thank for our whole relationship."

"To Roger Smith," Kurt raises his glass.

"Oh who's Roger Smith?" Tina asks with unnecessary interest. "Is he trying to steal your man?" She says to Kurt conspiratorily. "Blaine is just so cute."

"No, no, Tina," Sebastian chimes in. "Our Blaine isn't cute," Sebastian raises his eyebrows at him. "Blaine is hot."

"You used to pinch my cheeks, Sebastian," Blaine dismisses.

"Now I do," Kurt pauses. "The other ones." Kurt blushes slightly but Blaine is entirely impressed.

He grins, leaning into Kurt. "I call that progress."

#klaine spring fling #can't take my eyes off of you #gleekto writes #full fic up later today #I want all the comments!

[effervescentvampire]

Finally

Charlie Weasley x reader

A/N: This is the first one shot I'm posting. Hope you enjoy it 😉

Warnings: none I can think of

Y/N: your name

Y/fc: your favourite colour

Y/ec: your eye colour

Y/hc: your hair colour

____________________________________

You and Charlie had been dating for a few weeks and best friends for two years already when he asked you to stay at the Burrow with him and his family over the holidays.

Naturally, you had said yes to it, but your parents didn't like the idea of not seeing you in the already limited holidays. So, they had agreed on sending you to the Weasley's for a few days before going back to school, together with Penny Haywood. She, Bill, Charlie and you were the best of friends and your parents liked the idea of sending you over far better with Penny there.

When you arrived at the Burrow you felt quite dizzy. Even though you had already travelled via portkey before, you couldn't really get used to it. As the world stopped spinning around you, you looked up at the snow covered house before you. You thought the tall house with its many floors and wrinkles already looked amazing normally, but nothing could match the coziness of it surrounded by nearly 2 feet of snow and fairy lights all around.

"Y/N!", a familiar voice shouted. Mrs. Weasley was standing in the dorway, smiling at you. Looking behind her in a no less loud voice she cried: "BILL! CHARLIE! Come here already and help Y/N inside!".

You went up to the house as you heard hurried footsteps coming your way. Charlie came nearly running toward you, not having bothered to put on a coat, his bright red hair and the new jumper he was wearing a great contrast against the white of the snow. "CHARLES WEASLEY, GO PUT ON SOMETHING WARM, YOU'RE GOING TO CATCH A COLD!", erupted the voice of Mrs. Weasley.

You certainly couldn't care less, as you only had eyes for one person.

"I've missed you, Y/N", Charlie whispered as he hugged you tight. Behind him you heard a small chuckle. His brother, Bill, was standing there beside Penny, your big Hogwarts trunk already in his hand, waiting for you to get out of the cold.

You separated and hugged both Penny and Bill and finally got inside. You were greeted by the inviting smell of hot chocolate and an overflowing amount of christmas decorations. Everything was gold, red and green, you were even sure there was a gnome in a tutu on top of the christmas tree.

Ron and Ginny were playing beneath the tree, giggling and waving at you.

"Bill, you should show our guests where they will be staying", Mrs. Weasley said, and to you: " Penny arrived just five minutes earlier, dear. You can catch up while unpacking, I'll bring you some hot chocolate and a snack"

Charlie blushed, looking at you: " She thinks she has to feed everyone like her life depends on it".

The four of you made your way up the stairs, you hand in hand with Charlie, Bill pulling your trunks up after him. Penny and you had both insisted on carrying them yourselves, but he had refused.

"...and my sister got me a necklace!", Penny told you when you arrived on the second landing. There were two doors, both wooden. One simply with a sign saying: William's room, the other covered by the image of a big Common Welsh Green. Even if you hadn't already been here, you would have ultimately known whose room this was.

Slightly smiling you looked at your very favourite dragon enthusiast, squeezing his hand. "We thought I would move in with Bill and the two of you could share my room", Charlie said, blushing again, his skin as red as his hair. The sheer thought of his girlfriend sleeping in his room seemed to make him uneasy.

"Only if you'd like that, of course", he added quickly.

"That's brilliant guys, thanks for inviting us over!", Penny answered. She was such a sweet person and was able to make anyone feel comfortable in an instant. Charlie had returned to his normal colour, and pushed the door open to let you in.

The walpaper covering the walls was of a bright shade of dark yellow. Photos of your friend group and cut-outs of dragons and his favourite quidditch team covering an overflowing bulletin board. School books piling on the messy desk and next to a book case full of books on dragons. They had somehow managed to fit a second bed in the tiny space.

"Well, Y/N, you should take Charlie's bed! I'll be just fine right here. You know, I like getting up early in the morning, I don't want to climb over you to get to the door", Penny stated. Normally you would have just thought she was generous and nice as ever, but the wink of her eye told you otherwise.

"Uh, I guess, if you're ok with that?". You were a little embarassed, so you asked the first thing that came to your mind: "What was your Christmas like? Penny told us already, but what did you do? Mine was pretty quiet, just my close family, got a new set of dressing robes"

When Bill groaned, you knew you had asked a sensible question. "Don't get me started on that. Our Auntie Muriel was there... Fred and George pulled pranks on her like every year... put some potion in her dinner they got at the joke shop at Diagon Alley in summer...she grew feathers and threatened to never come back. They're grounded forever, that's why you haven't seen them yet. Mum threatened to turn them into owls so they would deliver the post as punishment".

You spent the whole evening up in Charlie's room, chatting about what else had happened and if you had heard anything from your other friends. Mrs. Weasley appeared to bring hot chocolate and snacks. It felt like only half an hour later that she came back in to tell you that dinner was ready.

Penny and Bill went downstairs, while you and Charlie stayed back a few minutes.

"You know, I really enjoy it every time I'm here. It feels so much more like home, especially after this whole thing with Jacob... . Thank you for always being there for me, Char. It means a lot to me", you said.

He looked at you, his freckled expression softening, brown eyes meeting Y/ec ones. "You mean a lot to me, even more than dragons. Of course I'm there for you".

You felt the familiar butterflies in your stomach. Charlie and you rarely got some alone time in between classes, the search for cursed vaults, meetings with you friend, quidditch practises and the unholy amount of homework. You practically couldn't think straight anymore when his face came closer to yours. It struck you in an instant: he's going to kiss me, you thought. The only thing in the world seemed to be his face, your heart beating loud and fast with anticipation. Your first kiss, it would happen now...

"CHARLIE AND Y/N STANDING ON THE STAIRS. K-I-S-S-I-N-G!" Fred and George bolted past you down the stairs, snickering. Charlie had been so shocked he backed away and hit his head on a cupboard. As soon as he recovered he chased them into the kitchen. Until a minute ago you had felt sad for them being grounded, now you thought they deserved it.

Neither of them stopped singing this ridiculous muggle song, lord knows where they learned it. Mrs. Weasley had managed to make them sit down at the table and was making sure Charlie wouldn't shout at them by shooting mad glances.

Ginny called out: "Oh, how lovely, Charlie!", as she entered the kitchen through the back door. You came down the stairs to see that Mrs. Weasley had finally managed to shut Fred and George up. Ginny, however, asked you sincerely: "When the two of you are getting married, can I be your flower girl?", causing Charlie to choke on his drink.

"Don't be stupid, who would ever want to marry Charlie?", Ron said.

It was all oh so embarassing. Minutes ago you were about to share your first kiss and within seconds the whole family knew. Charlie was deep red as rhubarb again, ashamed. You sat down next to him, holding his hand, hopefully showing him you weren't mad.

"Nobody here is getting married, not until they're at least in their mid-twenties!" Mrs. Weasley shouted, " and I don't want to hear any of that again. Sit down and EAT!".

The rest of the night went by without further interruptions of that kind, only some curious looks from Fred and George. Your relationship wasn't new to Bill and Penny, so they just brushed it away, saying they knew they would kiss someday and it wasn't a big thing, but every now and then you could see a kind of sparkle in their eyes, following you playing with Ron and Ginny and their game of exploding snap.

Bedtime for the younger kids came and went and you and your friends were thinking about building a snowman when Charlie's dad arrived. He was working on a weird schedule at the moment, something between morning and night shifts.

"Arthur, dear, come on in! We have been waiting for you... would've already sent them to bed, but we have to give Y/N and Penny their presents first!", Molly said.

Mr. Weasley looked very tired, wearing an old traveling cloak and soaked by the snow. He quickly pulled it off and used a spell to dry his clothes up.

"Penny, Y/N, it's nice to see you again! I hope you don't mind if I go to bed soon, it's been a very busy day at work. We just wanted to hand you your presents"

Mrs. Weasley appeared behind him, holding two identical shaped packages: "Go on, open them!"

You carefully unwrapped your present and gasped a little when you saw what it was. It was a real Weasley jumper in Y/fc! It was perfect, with your initial on the front. Bill and Charlie must have told them how much you loved their jumpers. You could often be seen around Hogwarts wearing one of their cozy pullovers, wishing you had one of your own. Now your dreams had come true and you saw Penny was holding a yellow jumper with a P on it.

"Oh, thank you so much, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley! I didn't know you would make me a present, now I feel bad for not getting you something", you said.

Mrs. Weasley pulled you into a hug and simply replied: " I was told you always wanted one. Also you have had quite a hard time with your family lately, so I thought getting you something to show you that you are always welcome and loved here would be just right".

Penny also did her thank you's. It was apparent she mainly got one because otherwise she would have been left out, but to you that was just as nice as knitting you a jumper. At the Weasley's, no one got left behind, own caring family or not.

Soon, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley said goodnight and ushered you up the stairs, where you said goodnight to Bill and Charlie as well. When you got into your beds, Penny fell asleep almost instantly. You were very tired as well, but you didn't seem to be able to find any rest that night. Maybe it was because of this heartwarming gift, the excitement of being here. Maybe the fact that you were lying in your boyfriend's bed at the moment, staring at his ceiling, maybe the fact that even though the bed sheets were clean, they still faintly smelled of him, grass, honeysuckle and something so entirely Charlie, you didn't know how to describe. But mostly it was the thought of you nearly kissing earlier. The rest of the things didn't make it easier, though.

You tossed and turned and failed to sleep. At some point, you got tired of this. Pulling back the covers, you pulled your new jumper over your pyjamas. As quietly and carefully as humanly possible, you climbed over the sleeping Penny's bed in the darkness and exited the room. It drew you to the small window on the landing. The sight of snow silently falling calming you down, though you could not get Charlie out of your mind.

As if you had conjured him by your silent longing, he appeared next to you. For a second you only stood there, arms touching because of the tight space of the landing. Just enjoying the peace and rare silence at the burrow. Then you turned to face your boyfriend. Next to him, the beauty of the snow seemed dull and mundane. How could you marvel it, if the true miracle was standing right next to you, messy red hair, freckled skin and a jumper matching yours? You still couldn't quite comprehend how he could be yours.

"What are you doing here?", Charlie asked, already looking at you, his brown eyes full of affection.

"I can't fall asleep. It's... something is keeping me awake", you replied. You didn't want to admit that it was the thought of him haunting you.

"I... I also couldn't fall asleep, Y/N". Suddenly, his face was impossibly close to you, but at the same time not close enough. Around five centimetres away from him, you stared at Charlie in shock, butterflies in your stomach. You heard him draw in a deep breath. He only hesitated for a second, then his lips met yours.

It felt like heaven to you, finally being able to kiss the boy of your dreams. You kissed him back, wishing it would never end, the nerves of your lips and where he touched your cheeks singing in ecstasy, your heart beating as if it were to burst of love and joy, in a steady rhythm. Charlie, Charlie, Charlie.

When you pulled away, he held you in his arms. "I've wanted to do that for a long time. So bad actually, that it was the reason I couldn't fall asleep tonight", you finally admitted, knowing that was his reason as well in an instant.

So, you two just stayed there in your embrace, looking out of the window. It finally truly felt peaceful and a weight lifted from your heart, as you realised this was exactly where you ought to be, like home. And you knew, that if you could, you would never leave his arms ever again.

#charlie weasley #charlie weasley x reader #charlie weasley x jacob's sibling #charlie weasley x mc #charlie weasley x you #charlie weasley oneshot #charlie weasley imagine #hogwarts mystery fanfic #hogwats mystery #jacob's sibling #penny haywood #hphm charlie #weasley family #hp hogwarts mystery #hphm penny #bill weasley #hphm bill

[cheap-hangover]

GoldenEye, plot holes, and movie logic - part 3 of 3

Last time we left our heroes alive to fight another day, but so did the villains (minus Urumov) - with their villanous tools. And they swapped the chilly Sankt-Peterburg for the lovely:

Act III - Cuba It wouldn't be Bond if we didn't get some tropical paradise now and then, now would it? Except in this case it's almost just background. I don't think that's a mistake in this case, on the contrary, too much of the tropical paradise would detract from the final thrill ride, the conclusion where Bond saves the day and gets the girl, like in Goldfinger. Except...he already got the girl at the end of act II and I feel the writers, the director and/or the producers had a chat here: "The run time is too short, we haven't used the gadget-filled BMW Bond got in the beginning of act II, we have this beautiful location...what about some chilling in the Caribbean spiced up by some minor drama?"

This is just speculation on my part, so take this take as a hot one, but from what I've read, beginning of act III is universally held as the weakest part of the movie. What happens: Bond and Natalia drive about like they were on holiday (for about one minute), then they get stopped by Jack Wade in an aeroplane, swap vehicles and the pair (or couple, by this point) fly off to...a seaside bungalow? Bond then dresses for some deep thought and Natalia for having a good time on holiday. They share some deep thoughts, they argue for a bit, Bond forces a kiss with Natalia and then they have that good time on holiday.

So much wrong with this one. Let's start with logic: Why would they ride about in Bond's company car, when they could just arrive to the Bahamas, have some rest, get the intel and the aircraft from the CIA, and start exploring. No need for Jack Wade, he's posted in Russia, why would he move? That bungalow scene is also dumb. Why write a piece of conflict between them, when it's ended without any solution or catharsis and this relationship also doesn't matter in the overall story? What's more, calming a partner with a forced kiss...that's just wrong. Also, it doesn't work, not even if it's subtle. (Happened to a friend, you know.)

There could be a counter-argument, that there is so much stuff that was not shown, that all kinds of relationship development could have taken place. Stuff that was not shown or even hinted at, doesn't belong in a movie. OK, next: Wade could have been tasked to be their liasion for the Caribbean and the gadgety BMW...actually, I can't justify that one, just like I can't justify its colour. It's hideous. From a screenplay perspective, there needed to be a calm segment between the act II action scene and the final action scene, but they've handled it badly. It just feels like a Frankenstein's monster of underutilised plot devices.

What would I have done? I don't know, maybe some comedy as a jumping-off point for some character work. Remember the playful race at the beginning of act II? There could have been a call-back to it. Perhaps not in the BMW, maybe in some inconspicuous rental machine. Bond would start behaving like an immature boy, trying to race a fat retired American, but Natalia would show more character than the civil servant and chew him up considerably more than that civil servant. Which would lead nicely to their argument about Bond's shallow relationships with women in particular and life in general, again, calling back to M's criticism of Bond. He could have said "Do you think I'm like this because I wanted to? I have to be like this, so innocent people don't get killed. I once wasn't and they did. And now I have to kill a man that used to be my friend.", or something like that. Finally, they would make up and out. (After all, this is a power fantasy, and he did save her life a few times.) Maybe too melodramatic, but IMO, better than what we actually got.

Never mind. Let's move on to the plane search. Bond wrecks another vehicle, though this time not by his own fault. Surprisingly, the plane doesn't explode. What does, is the helicopter in which Ksenia arrives in, when Bond manages to overpower her (with help from Natalia). Why send a helicopter? The hidden base was right there. The true reason was, of course, the long-awaited payback on Ksenia. It's not that satisfying villain death, but that's just a nitpick. On the equipment side, we can see Ksenia's new rifle: Type 56-1 (a Chinese variant of the AKMS) with AK-74 muzzle brake, again for the purpose of making it look like an AKS-74.

The late great Arecibo telescope acts here in the role of Janus' secret Cuban telescope, hidden under a lake, which is then drained prior to operation. Of course, draining a lake takes time. In fact, it takes so much time that some shots were shot with the water being let into the dish and then played backwards. Peculiar. Alec sends troops to shoot Bond. They emerge from the jungle and shoot in full auto from the other side of the dish. Where did he recruit these guys? On an assault rifle, full auto is for suppressing fire only, because you can't hit anything with it, not at this distance anyway.

One standard Bond-style infiltration scene later, our heroes get captured, but not before Natalia manages to mess with the satellite control. I'm somewhat conflicted about the suspenseful scene with Boris and his pen. On one hand, there's good work with his calming ritual of twirling and clicking a pen. On the other hand, you need both hands for writing on a computer effectively. Also, if you didn't notice, the pen in his hand is completely harmless until the moment he drops it and picks up Bond's camouflaged grenade.

Later, the fist fight with Alec on the suspended part of the telescope is very good. A combat of two equals, except for Alec's pride and his hidden assets - but why did he call for the "gunship" helicopter? There was only a pilot in it...if we got a shot of Natalia forcing the gunner out, that would have made sense. So, Alec is defeated and gets a cold goodbye. "For England, James?" - "No. For me." And then Bond jumps at the helicopter. A nice optical illusion: If you take the diameter of the main rotor, subtract half a width of the landing skids and compare that with the human ability to jump from a fixed ladder that distance on the flattest trajectory, you get an impossible stunt. Perhaps asking him to climb on the top of the telescope was too much.

They come close to landing, Bond drops from the helicopter, Natalia jumps right on top of him and asks him if he's alright. I wonder if that was an intentional joke. I did chuckle. And last, Jack Wade comes. "Yo, Marines!" - well masked troops and even better masked helicopters emerge instantly in the frame. Seriously. Those helicopters were completely unnecessary. I know, I know, Bond movies are not supposed to be completely realistic, suspension of disbelief, more like Roger Moore style than any other, but this is really jumping the shark. Luckily it's just a second and you don't notice it if you don't want to.

To summarise the last act, we get some minor plot holes and illogical elements, with the major downside of the draggy beginning. Other than that, it's a very good finale.

Conclusion So, what is this movie? Why did I never like it? I can forgive the minor stuff, because it doesn't detract too much from the amazing spectacle. But those big mistakes: Catching the plane, unclear Alec's betrayal, tank vs. train editing and the "romantic" scene really bring it down for me. However, if I use the joke-frog analogy, now that I've dissected the frog, I can actually enjoy the good parts and not mind that the frog is actually dead. Because in a Bond movie, frogs don't matter.

GoldenEye was a perfect movie for its time, an gradual transition from the over-the-top Moore era to a slightly more grounded one, after they've overdone it with the two Dalton installments (especially the latter one). Looking back, the Dalton movies have aged considerably better than the Moore films. Brosnan's debut is either brilliant, or terrible, depending on your taste. For me it's both. If you want a film that's not just another testosterone ride for (pre)pubescent boys, watch the other Campbell's Bond revival, Casino Royale. It's better in every way - unless you can't be without the sexy Soviet equipment.

#james bond #007 #martin campbell #pierce brosnan #sean bean #izabella scorupco #alan cumming #famke janssen #joe don baker #eric serra #goldeneye

[imaginesbymk]

PINK + WHITE.

—chapter nine ; with heat & wet skin.

summary: teresa’s permanent resignation from the peaky blinders leads her to a whole new chapter of working in an art museum. but little did she know her best life would be butchered some time later when her former lover tommy shelby gives her no choice but to return to the peaky blinders after they make new enemies, with the leader, of all people, being the man teresa fell in love with one night after a wedding reception back in post world war; luca changretta. 

pairing: luca changretta x OC x tommy shelby

tags in this chapter: swearing, implied nsfw, drinking, mentions + drug use

[ chapter index / meet my oc / wattpad link ]

MASON was quick on his feet when he was given the slightly odd request Teresa had asked him to do last minute. It had nothing to do with the gallery or with separation of last minute business meetings to be scheduled in the margins of the diary. It was just that he had to safely track down a dangerous man. Luca Changretta was still in England, hot-headed with a plan.

Teresa loved fur shawls. Though she detested how the cheap ones she could afford wore out from time to time, from the "fur" falling out like leaves from a tree in autumn, or even its colour turning from new to depressed (and even she grew so envious over the women who wore the luxurious, expensive ones at parties). Tommy Shelby never bothered with buying her what she wanted, which she was fine with, but one man with the Italian genes spoiled her with one that she kept in her closet. A grey-ish white. Teresa often takes one look at it, before sliding it over to reach the silky see-through shawl when she is simply relaxing in her home. At parties she debated even thinking of taking it out, but then there was the other shawl that was made of black fur, and it closed together with a silver clip to keep her shoulders warm.

The fur shawl was just like the painting she avoids at her own work. Both were so beautiful and timeless, both sharing personal meaning. But tonight, it finally saw light from staying in the wardrobe closet for too long. Teresa held it out in front of her, then clutched it in her arms.

The bar was built together with grey walls, none sound-proof. On the other side you could hear the jazz band playing music for the party, or footsteps from the owner or a bartender heading out back for more stocking of gin. If you were on that side, you'd hear the giant doors spring open from the doorman that allowed Teresa to enter inside. The man at the counter watched as her dress fell all the way down to her heels, not too long so she wouldn't trip. Her hair was in its curls once more, and wrapped around like comfort was the fur.

She reached a booth and set her purse on the table. "White wine."

"Ma'am-" the server goes.

"A man will be joining me very soon." Teresa made a smile, as the unescorted woman if Luca were to not show up. Had she imagined if Luca burned the invitation letter she mailed to his hotel, or simply tossed it away, in future to be used as scratch paper, or even as a roll up (if Luca is one of the many people that did snow), she may have just wasted her time getting dolled up just to not be served at her booth.

"Last time I met up with a woman at a bar, she proposed a deal, and lied straight to my face."

She shot her head up.

Those eyes.

Looks like her night wasn't going to waste after all. "Are you talking about Polly?" She watches as Luca Changretta helps himself on the other side of the booth, the same server coming over to Teresa with her white wine.

Teresa waited while staring down at Luca's own glass being poured with four fingers of whiskey. Luca glanced at Teresa's outfit, not answering her question. "You're wearing the shawl I got you? I can't believe you still have it."

"What, like I got rid of it? Why would I give it to someone else who would treat it like a rag?"

"Hm." Luca took a sip. "So, why did you summon me here? Actually, I know the answer to that one. You're a businesswoman, as we both know. You invited me here to propose some kind of deal, eh? Like I got the time to spare one more fucking thing before I go do what I came to England to do?"

"I know about the vendetta, Luca." Teresa began. "And I know the deal you made with Polly, which was a lie, by the way. I know about that. What I also know is that you don't just plan on crushing the Peaky Blinders. You have more on your mind. You're so greedy that you would want to overthrow Alfie Solomons as well. If he were to betray Tommy with the deal you made with Mr. Solomons, you know you and your men would come after him as well and take over his business."

Luca nodded. "I had a feeling you knew. I had a feeling Tommy Shelby brought you back to Birmingham, no?"

"I know your patience is wearing thin, and you're done giving people more time. But then there's me."

"Right, forgive me," Luca places a hand on his chest. "Why not talk about the royalty in front of me as well? What could she possibly request for this time?"

"I wanna know why I was never sent a Black Hand."

Luca laughs, trailing his fingers around the rim of his glass. Whatever Teresa said or did, she definitely wasn't laughing. Nothing seemed funny to her on her end. She did, however, miss that laugh of his. It was more of a chuckle, but she loved it like it was honey in hot tea. "Let me tell you something. It's best to stay out of this, right? Since you resigned, messing with us is like throwing stones at the devil."

"I'll play in the snow with the devil to prove you wrong."

Luca scoffs harshly. "So you're one of those people that snorts white lines just to feel good?"

"That was just my own figure of speech, Luca. I don't do Tokyo," Teresa replied. She cringed at the habit Arthur and Michael carelessly picked up on. "It's everyone's thing now, but not mine."

"That makes two of us." He took another sip. "I'm doing you a favour here, Miss Griffith. Stay out of this and do your own thing."

"There's no need for you to call me that," she comments.

"Why the hell not? Formalities are a thing of the past now?"

"You're talking to me as if we just met. We had something together."

"Yeah, had."

Teresa gave a glare, grabbing her wine. Luca smirks. "All right. Whatever you say. Jesus, kid. You're so fuckin' difficult."

"Kid," she scoffs at his remark. "And Ada Thorne is on your list and she doesn't get her hands covered in blood. So why wasn't I included?"

"You feel left out?" Luca snickered.

"I just wanna know why. I know damn well you haven't forgotten about me. Even if what we had to you was just for pleasure, you found out that I was once a Peaky Blinder."

Luca stares. "You wanted out because you felt like it would devour you forever, so I respected your wishes. You told me why you threw in the towel. And I know you're not a Shelby, you don't wanna be a Shelby."

The server comes up to them. "Sir? Ma'am? Would any of you like to hear the specials tonight?"

"No, thank you." Teresa smiles.

"More whiskey," Luca says. "And for the lady, she'll have more wine." Teresa raised her brows. She didn't mind more wine, would she care so much about knowing her limit before it was time to wince at the tab?

"I forgot you love whiskey," Teresa points out.

"Italian whiskey," Luca made a hand gesture. "As I was saying... have you thought long and hard about this, as to why I'm here? As to why I want Tommy Shelby dead, how I now want everyone dead?"

"Your father." There was a pause between the two. The jazz band transitioned their music to a much slower song this time, and it started easing the nerves in both the former couple's systems despite the volume of alcohol consumed. "Arthur Shelby killed your father. John Shelby killed your brother Angel."

"If things didn't happen the way it did, my men and I would be cozying up in New York counting stacks by stacks."

"And I wouldn't be seeing you here," Teresa added. "Almost ever again," Teresa thanks the server for the excess wine refilling in her glass, then Luca's. "Now can we talk about the giant elephant in the room?"

Luca furrows his brows.

"I know why you left, Luca. I know it's been five years, but you really just packed up and left. I've never seen you so frantic until that day when you were running to the train." Not even an eye bat. "I grew miserable ever since."

"Can I say this?" Luca leaned forward, placing the cuffs of his tailored suit that it laid flat on the tablecloth. "Whatever emotion you saw in my eyes on that day, whatever it was, it was for the sake of being alive for my family. Someone's gotta help keep the business up and runnin'. None of it works if I'm not there."

Teresa stares at Luca. This man wasn't wrong. It wasn't like he was running everything in his family all on his own. His father led the family in Birmingham that Angel was a part of, even his mother lived with them, but what makes New York so important and comforting to Luca must have felt like a whole outlet of anything he ever accomplishes, how many Tommy guns he can hold and keep in his home like picture frames, how many men he has to hire from Sicily and America just to help kill one family. All of that was justified when he boarded that train to the Liverpool docks.

"Oh," Teresa straightened her back. "So much for being the big, bad capo."

"Be careful," Luca warned, pointing a finger at her. "Don't question a gangster's honour."

"You know I crack jokes here and there," Teresa's lips curled into a smirk as it reached the rim of her glass.

"So do I," said Luca.

She looked down at his hands that rested on the table. His experienced, non-scrawny hands that had a black hand tattooed on his wrist, one with a crown, and maybe some other new ones Luca got over time. She used to kiss all of them, even the one on his neck that was a cross. His right hand was wrapped with big, gold rings on two fingers, except he only kept his ring finger free of anything, that was something she wanted to bring up. "You got all those rings on your fingers but not a wedding ring.

"Not like you got one on yours, either. Unless you took it off before coming here," Luca jokes.

She shakes her head. "I've been too busy to fall in love with another soul. But you? You didn't tie the knot with Viviana back in New York?"

Luca scowled, knowing Teresa hadn't forgotten about that woman as he did. "No. I still see her occasionally."

"Yet you haven't done anything with her? Never bothered to find anyone to satisfy your mother?"

"My mother says any woman from New York or even from the old country would do."

"What did you say, after?"

"Mamma, you're killin' me.'" Teresa had to chuckle at that, Luca smiled at her. He then looked around the bar, seeing how more of the guests had gotten up to dance with their dates as the jazz music cranked up their higher tunes like a machine. "Don't tell me we're gonna be sitting here all fuckin' night. You wanna dance, Miss Tour Guide?"

The nickname he gave to her the first time. Did he really sit in front of her and tell her he couldn't remember everything they had, then? "I'm a little rusty," Teresa declines.

'We gotta stretch our legs somehow. I ain't even see your whole getup for the night."

Teresa had no problem getting up from the booth. She stepped out so that her heels were shown as well, and she placed the fur shawl down on her seat so her shoulders were out. The dress wasn't purchased by Luca, but by her, and she felt like a Grand Princess, like a little girl playing with their mother's dresses and makeup. She was never too insecure about her looks since it never bothered her, but she felt beautiful, and she wondered if Luca will still ever see her as beautiful whether or not she is clothed in front of him.

Luca kept on staring. "Then perhaps we can head somewhere else," he suggests. "Somewhere we're both quite familiar with."

How and why didn't matter, the young man who looked to be around Arthur Shelby's age paid no second thought to his surroundings as he aggressively snuffed the thick lines of cocaine that formed on the ledge up his nostril. He begins wiping away any excess off his face, exiting the balcony seats just as the Italian mobster escorts Teresa inside the dark theatre to their respected spots.

"You're a lover of theatre," Teresa spoke quietly as the show resumed to its first act.

"If you dress like one, you are one." Luca hooked his leg over the other, folding his hands on his lap.

It was silent, not the awkward or tense silence, but silent to respect and see the performance. Silence or absolute noise, the stage was the latter. The good kind of noise. The skimpy dancers twirled with batons, the man and woman playing the perky main lovers belted the note they must have spent days and nights rehearsing over and over.

Luca knew there would be performances every night back in New York City. There was always something to do and somewhere to go, otherwise you'd be glued to your chairs at home.

The show was about to end, and Luca, for the first time in God's glorious mysterious time, took Teresa by the hand and curled them together on his lap, his eyes were fixated to theatricality in front of the hundreds of people.

Teresa reacts, slowly looking down. It was nearly dark, but she could feel the giant, lumpy rings from his fingers bump into hers. He always held her hand during a show, and would only let go to join the applause when a number came to its big finish, or when the grand finale brought hypnotic joy and bliss in each audience member's senses like himself that he just had to give the standing ovation.

But just as the audience erupted in deafening applause, cheers and whistles, Luca and Teresa remained the only two members seated, their hands still holding.

HIS hotel room was neat and tidy before he left, now the sheets on the giant bed wrinkled like aged skin when Luca held Teresa down to remove her stockings. She missed his touch. The feeling of being pinned on a bed as he dominated over her, practically tearing what she wore for the occasion just to see her underneath as a sight for his sore eyes, it was definitely there, and her heart pounded.

"Luca," she breathed out a moan. He kissed her softly, now only responding with pacing movements, from positioning her to grabbing the protection from the nightstand drawers. Though he was careful with the dress and fur shawl that was set on the office desk he sat in earlier, within seconds her brassiere was tossed on the floor. With the help from Teresa, she managed to undress Luca from head to toe by just sitting up, and he was now unclothed from the fresh tailored suit his uncle made back in Mott Street.

They kissed again, and Luca went in.

+ me writing "smut": 🧿👄🧿 but ooooo shiiiit their “business” meeting was quite a night lol.

#pink+white #luca changretta fanfiction #luca changretta x oc #luca changretta #luca changretta fanfic #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby fanfic

[keyboard-smashed]

The Storm That's Brewing

Pairings: Prinxiety, Logicality (probs more I haven't planned yet lol)

Warnings: None? Tell me if there are some I didn't think of

Note: This is a fic I've already posted to ao3 (keyboardsmashed33) but I've decided to post it here because ?? I have a new side-blog about the story (my-keyboard-did-it-not-me)

Superpower! Roommate! au regards

Chapter summary: Virgil and Patton Summers move into a new apartment with Logan Barry and Roman King.

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Chapter 1- Settling In

"Have you got everything?" Virgil's aunt asked, unpacking the last box from the car.

"Yep, think so!" Patton said cheerfully. Virgil wasn’t so sure.

Patton picked up the first few boxes, Virgil following his example, and started moving towards the apartment building before Virgil exclaimed, "Wait!"

He quickly scanned the boxes again, "What was it Lerman asked us to bring?"

"Logan," Patton corrected, "Asked us to bring the-" He quickly checked his text messages from his new roommate, "-kitchen supplies."

Virgil quietly cursed.

"We forgot the only thing our new roommate asked us to bring. He leased the apartment we're going to be staying in and we forgot the only things he asked us to bring. God, we have to live with him for how long? He's gonna think we're lazy or-"

“Virgil! Sweetie," His aunt interrupted, "Look what you're carrying."

Virgil did as his aunt suggested and found, surely enough, he was carrying a big container labelled "cookery stuff" in his own rushed handwriting.

"Oh."

His aunt chuckled, "Alright now that that's sorted, you boys had best start taking these boxes up and meet your new roommates. I'll wait here and join you with the last few boxes in a minute."

Virgil and Patton agreed and each carried a few boxes to the elevator in their apartment building. Despite their apartment being on the fifth floor, and Virgil having no athletic ability, Virgil decided it was safest if he took the stairs. Who knew what could go wrong in an elevator. He left his boxes with Patton, who was practically buzzing with excitement to meet his new roommate whom he had been texting for the past two weeks, and went back to the car to fetch a few more boxes, where he found his aunt chatting with an unquizzically attractive guy.

The guy towered above Virgil’s aunt, which in all fairness, wasn’t difficult since she stood at a mere 5ft. But the guy was still tall- Virgil estimated he was roughly 6ft tall, making him a whole 6 inches taller than himself. He was well built too, darn him, with the body of a jock.

He simply wore a white button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up and skinny black jeans (that, unlike Virgil’s, had no tears in them), and finally a red scarf to tie the outfit together. Despite the scarf, Virgil thought the guy’s outfit was completely innapropriate for the chilly October weather that had Virgil shivering in his thick black hoodie. The air grew warm around Virgil as he approached.

When Virgil’s aunt saw him coming, she waved, causing the other man to turn around. Virgil’s jaw dropped. He looked like a sculpture- with prominent yet warm and soft features that had to be a result of make-up, because nobody could be that naturally beautiful in Virgil’s opinion.

His auburn hair was styled back neatly, except from one stray hair that stubbornly stuck up which Virgil found rather endearing. The man’s eyes were a beautiful and rich chocolate colour (and Virgil sure had a sweet-tooth).

Virgil found his mouth agape and quickly closed it. He was suddenly very grateful that he’d remembered to put on foundation that morning, otherwise his blush would be painfully obvious. Get a grip, he told himself.

Virgil’s aunt smiled knowingly. “Virgil! This lovely gentleman is Roman. He saw me with all these boxes and offered to help, it turns out he’s your other roommate!”

Virgil’s eyes widened in shock. This handsome stranger that Virgil totally was not crushing on, was his new roommate. Oh, he knew he was screwed right then.

Roman extended his hand to Virgil, “Roman King. Nice to meet you.” He smiled.

Virgil gulped and shook his hand, “I’m Virgil- uh- Virgil Summers. Nice to meet you too.” He stammered. Great, you’ve been here one minute and already made a fool of yourself, he scolded himself.

Roman let go of his hand, much to Virgil’s dismay. He noted, “You’re hot.” His smile fell as he tried to correct himself, “I mean warm. Your hand is really hot.”

Virgil was pleased to see that Roman’s face was as red as his hair. He laughed, “Thanks I guess, but you’re probably just freezing because you’re wearing only a shirt in the middle of fall.”

Roman brought his hands to his face in mock annoyance, “It’s fashionable. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

Virgil raised his eyebrow. “Oh yeah, Prince?”

“King.” He corrected.

Virgil’s aunt, who’d been silently watching this back and forth, cleared her throat. The two gentlemen stopped arguing and faced her.

“Oh no, don’t let me stop you two.” She said. The two looked at each other briefly but remained silent. “Oh alright then, why don’t you two take some boxes up then? You can continue while you walk.”

The pair agreed and walked to the elevator together, exchanging awkward smiles, and small talk, when they ran right into Patton.

“Oh Virgil! Who’s this?” Patton asked, trying to get a good look at Roman whose face was hidden behind the three boxes he was carrying (like a show off, Virgil thought).

“Pat, this is Roman Queen. Roman, this is my brother Patton.” Virgil gestured at them with his head, since his hands were full.

“It’s Roman King, but I actually am a queen so you didn’t offend me.” Roman quipped.

“It’s great to meet you! Are you our new roommate or just a kind stranger?” Patton asked.

“I am indeed your roommate, I would shake your hand but...”

“Oh of course! I can take those up in the lift and you two can go get the rest of the boxes?” Patton offered. Virgil agreed.

The elevator was already waiting when they got there.

“Are you sure you can take all these by yourself?” Roman asked when the elevator was stocked with boxes, Patton standing in the centre.

“Well, I am a little boxed in, aren’t I?” Patton joked.

Roman laughed And Virgil groaned that he shouldn't encourage him.

“But anyway, I’ll be fine, Logan said he was happy to assist me. He’s unpacking in the apartment.” He continued.

“Kay, well there are only a few more boxes anyway so we can take them up ourselves.”

Patton nodded. “Tell Aunt Maria I’ll call her tonight.”

“’Course.”

Roman and Virgil made their way back to the car where they discovered that what they’d thought was only few boxes, turned out to be another seven, of which Roman took four. He sat on the curb while Virgil and his aunt said their goodbyes.

“Message me whenever and be careful- especially because of, you know...” Maria trailed off.

“Yeah, yeah, I will.” Virgil promised, picking up the remaining two boxes. Roman stood from the curb.

“Roman, you’ve got my number in case this one doesn’t check in, you can free to message any time for a chat too.” Maria said. Virgil shot a strange look at Roman who simply smiled in response.

“Bye! Té amo!” She called out as they walked away.

“You too!” Virgil shouted back, a little quieter.

“¿Hablas Español?” Roman asked.

“Huh? Oh right, yeah no. Not really. Maria does. I just know a few phrases.” Virgil replied. He opened the door for Roman, who he doubted could even see with all the boxes he was carrying. A hypothesis that was proven correct when Roman walked straight into the elevator door. “Well done.” Virgil sneered.

Roman put down what he was carrying and glared at Virgil, pressing the button, and not breaking eye contact until the elevator arrived. When it arrived, Roman moved his boxes inside and took Virgil’s too, stepping into the elevator. He moved to make space for Virgil who looked nervously inside.

“I know it’s a bit cramped but I don’t bite, Dr Gloom. Well, not usually.” He laughed. Virgil remained motionless.

“You go on up, I don’t trust elevators.” Virgil shrugged. Roman nodded and picked up a box; “What are you doing?” Virgil asked.

Roman passed him a box. “You don’t like elevators so we’ll walk up the stairs, unless you can teleport?”

“I can walk up some stairs by myself.” Virgil said pointedly, handing the box back to Roman.

“I’m sure you can, even with those short legs,” He looked down at Virgil, who was only 5’6” (a perfectly reasonable height, Virgil thought, Roman was just unusually tall), “But you need not.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “God, you really are just a Disney prince in training, aren’t you? Fine, I’ll text Pat to get the boxes.” He said, texting while he spoke. “Or you could, you know, just text my aunt since you got her number for some reason.”

Patton replied almost immediately, ‘Sure thing!’.

Virgil clicked floor seven on the elevator and moved out before the doors closed him in.

Roman raised his arms in defence, “Hey, she gave my her number, not the other way round. She just wants to check on you.”

Virgil slid his phone into his pocket. He walked next to Roman, on the inside of the wall, so that Roman would have to walk further. “You could’ve only spoken to her for like two minutes before I came out!”

“Ah, coming out, how difficult. Anyway, I’m very charming.” First he called himself a queen, then a coming out joke? This guy was surely gay, Virgil reckoned (or hoped).

He waved the coming out joke away, “Right, Prince Charming, I forgot.”

Roman looked delighted, “Why thank you!” He beamed.

They walked in an (awkward? Virgil wasn’t sure) silence for a few seconds. Anxious to fill the silence, Virgil coughed, then asked “So, uh, what’s Logan like?”

Roman put his hands up in the universal ‘I don’t know’, “Dunno, haven’t met him yet. I got here just after you. My stuff’s coming in a few hours, I just wanted t get here early and meet the new roomies.” He explained.

“Weird, but sure.” Virgil panted, “Why are there so may stairs?”

“What, your short legs tired, Fall Short Boy?” Roman teased.

“Bad insult, good reference, challenge accepted.” Virgil sprinted up the stairs. He heard Roman exclaim something along the lines of ‘Unfair!’ and race after him.

Virgil was easily outmatched. Roman reached their apartment while Virgil was still in the fourth floor hall, moaning about his loss and unfair advantages Roman had despite the fact that nobody could hear him. He’d given up on running as soon as Roman passed him, walking the rest of the way and enjoying the brief silence which he felt was going to be a rare occurrence with both Patton and Roman around, and who knew what Logan was like?

When he finally made it to the apartment, he found the door ajar. So much for Roman’s princely manners then, shouldn’t he be escorting Virgil in? Not like Virgil minded, of course.

Inside the apartment were the sounds of gentle conversation and movement- then suddenly the sound of something smashing. Virgil rushed inside.

“What happened?” Virgil asked at the same time as Patton said, “It’s okay!”

A man, whom Virgil assumed was Logan, turned to face him. He wore jeans, a black button up t-shirt, a dark blue tie and glasses almost identical to Patton’s.

Logan smoothed his pristinely slicked back medium-brown hair into place and pushed his glasses further up on his nose,

“Hello, I am Logan Barry, your new roommate. The noise you just heard was a plate smashing which would be the result of Patton and Roman's inefficient unpacking method."

Virgil looked at Logan cautiously, he seemed nice enough- a little direct, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

“Virgil Summers.” He replied.

Roman glanced at Virgil, nodding slightly, but addressed Logan, "It would actually be very efficient if I was working with someone that could catch- no offence Patton."

Patton swept his hand through the air like he was literally brushing off the comment.

"Oh, no worries, it's true." He agreed.

"For safety reasons, I think it would be wise if somebody swept up the plate shards.” Logan reasoned.

"I'll do it!" Patton volunteered, searching through the cleaning boxes for a dustpan and brush. It didn't take long, since there was only one but he still didn't find it, "Oh dear, I think we've forgotten the dustpan and brush."

"Let me check." Roman said, rooting through the boxes. "Uh, what colour is it?" He asked.

"Ooh, it's a lovely dark blue." Patton replied.

Roman pulled out a blue dustpan and brush, "Aha! A new set of eyes always helps." He knelt and swept up the plate fragments, Logan occasionally pointed at a piece he missed and Virgil tried to suppress his snickering as Roman imitated Logan when he turned his back.

By 8pm, most of the apartment was ready, due to Logan's incessant nagging that it would be optimal if they completely unpacked that same day. Boxes were unpacked and stacked in a corner in the family room which was otherwise empty until Roman's things were to arrive.

The only messy parts of the apartment were the rooms, as everyone, other than Logan, had decided to leave theirs (mostly) alone until they could paint them- only putting duvets on the beds that had been left by the old owners, or supplied by the landlord, Virgil wasn't sure.

The rooms were quickly claimed: Logan, who had arrived first and already picked the room, chose the room with the best view for stargazing; Roman picking the largest room which he measured with a measuring tape he found in one of Logan's boxes; Virgil opting for room closest to the kitchen, which unfortunately shared a wall with Roman who had blasted Disney songs on his phone while unpacking and Patton subsequently moving into the second smallest room that, to his delight, was the easiest to access the main room (or family room as he liked to call it).

Virgil's room was one of the messiest due to Logan's insanely fast organisation skills and the fact that Roman didn't have anything to put in his room yet. Virgil's bed, which was a simple black wooden bed, took up a good portion of the room. It was a snug fit with a wardrobe and inbuilt desk, as well as Virgil's few packed up belongings, but Virgil didn't care.

Virgil sat on his bed, tired from the excessive amounts of exercise and socialization he'd done in the last few hours. He’d managed to avoid too much, ducking into his room as soon as he felt like he’d done enough not to feel guilty about not helping.

All Virgil really wanted to do after a long day was rest. However, fate is a cruel thing. And fate decided he wasn't allowed to rest. As soon as he thought his job unpacking was done, he heard a car horn and then a knock on his door.

Begrudgingly, he got out of bed. He manoeuvred the boxes in his room and opened the door to find Patton, looking as bubbly and energised as ever. Virgil had no idea how he did it.

"What?" Virgil yawned.

"Roman's stuff's here!" Patton said. He was rolling on the balls of his feet, ready to run and help Roman as soon as possible. Virgil however, was missing the warm spot on his bed.

"So?" He leaned against the doorframe, hoping Patton would just drop the subject and leave him be but if previous experience meant anything, he’d have no such luck.

"Oh, don't be a couch potato, come help us get the couch, please?” He asked hopefully, dragging out the please and launching into his signature irresistible puppy-dog eyes.

"I can't be a couch potato if there's no couch?" Virgil had meant it as a criticism to Patton’s- was it even a pun?- but his heart wasn’t in it.

"Exactly!" Patton exclaimed, "Plus Roman said he'd buy us all dinner if we helped."

“You had me at free dinner.” Virgil’s stomach rumbled in agreement.

-----

Taglist: ~nobody~ xoxo

(also does anyone wanna tell me how to link chapters or do anything at all?????????? pls)

Chapter 2:

#the storm that's brewing #fanfic #already a few chapters on a03 #prinxiety #logicality #virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #sanders sides #original story

[mogwitch]

hi there! i was hoping you would help me with energy work. i'm a baby witchling and i think the spells i've been casting haven't been working because of troubles i'm having with energy. do you have any tips on visualisation, channeling/drawing energy or know where i can look to find this advice? a lot of witch 101 posts seem to take it for granted that you can do this stuff and i'm totally struggling! thanks so much :)

Ok first I’m going to have to apologise to you and anyone else scrolling rn because I just spent like a full hour typing bcos I just do not shut up when I start sometimes.

Second, I’m also going to have to be really annoying and say that even though it’s hard and doesn’t seem to be working, continuing to do it ANYWAY will help strengthen your ability to do it. I know that sounds about as helpful as those posts assuming you can just do it, but I struggled a lot with it in the beginning and in the end stubbornly continuing to just do it anyway slowly built the mental muscles that do these things.

Right, now this ended up pretty long and mostly All About Me sorry but I have no idea what you’ve tried so I’m just trying to give examples and break it down a bit so it’s a little less 101 basics

There’s a few things you could look at for why it’s not working and visualising is difficult for you;

EnvironmentCompanyToolsClothesTimeSeasonMoodThe actual spell/magic typeYourself

So, what kind of environment are you casting your spells in? I have ADHD and autism so as weird as it seems sometimes I often actually visualise better with my eyes open and my body moving rather than sitting still in a quiet room with my eyes closed. But then again sometimes I do need that quiet calm lights off and one candle kind of atmosphere. Totally depends on how my sensory feelings are feeling and how over stimulated they’ve been throughout the day.

I also don’t usually work well with other witches because then it feels like a performance if our styles don’t match. My best friend is also a witch but she needs the big elaborate formal ritual type spells with prewritten chants and all the trimmings sometimes including having other witches casting the spell with her, otherwise she can’t get her mind in that place and her spell doesn’t have the energy it needs. I prefer to keep things simple because otherwise my mind is more focused on the ritual than the actual magic and it stops me being able to visualise and properly cast the spell which means it fails. I don’t speak out loud much, and if I do it’s very quietly. I need to make my spells so that I’m not my own distraction from my goal.

Some people find it easier with tools to help direct and concentrate their energy. I have a lot of tools I like to work with and which one works best depends on what I’m doing. They don’t need to be the tools someone else tells you are right for something. Maybe try using a wand? It doesn’t have to be a specially made wand just something that feels right to you. I have several hundred £ worth of crystals (because I have no self control) but at least ¼ of the rocks I use in my practice are regular plain old rocks. I have a deck of close cards from the anime card captor Sakura and they’re nothing fancy they’re even a little damaged but although I have around 50 other decks (plenty that look more impressive for aiding spells) they remain one of my favourites because they work so well for me. Some people find it easier to do things while holding a crystal. Some people ask spirits or deities for help. . Maybe flowers would work better for you? Or origami? What TYPE of magic are you trying to do? You could be weak at glamours but gifted at spirit work. You could excel at kitchen and garden witchcraft but be absolutely unable to get a single spark out of curses. There could be elements you work better with and some you need to work on your relationship with. Does your energy work better late at night or in the sunlight? Is your mood affected by the weather? My magic is much stronger in autumn and spring, summer is an okay time, but winter is pretty 👎 so I tend to spend the winter months focusing more on other areas of my life because trying to connect with magic is more frustrating than lucrative.

Symbolism is there more to help you focus your energy than to do the actual magic for you, so personal associations are much more important than anything anyone says is ‘official’. If the spell you’re trying to do is bring money and you’re better able to connect a banana to that than whatever the spell is calling for, then use a banana because your own associations will help you to visualise better than theirs. I pretty much always at least tweak any spell of someone else’s that I want to do to fit me better.

Also even though I don’t do big elaborate rituals for my actual spells, I’m much better connected to the energy when I do my pre spell ritual, which is really just cleaning my room (and the rest of the house if I feel like it), taking a cleansing bath to wash myself including my hair, then my hair has to be tied back, pinned up, and covered. Partly it’s a religious thing because I do this for any devotional or prayer time, but doing it for spells too helps because it makes me feel cleaner and able to focus better. I also need a cup of coffee before I start because instead of making me hyper caffeine narrows my brain chatter and makes it easier to focus on one thing.

Grounding and centring is as important in helping your magic as cleansing I think but it doesn’t need to be done through pure visualisation like the tree roots method etc. Grounding for me is usually an hour of light working out, then I cleanse myself and my space physically and spiritually, then I centre by simply preparing my hair (doesn’t matter what clothes I’m wearing I just have to be clean and comfortable) and taking a moment to drink my coffee and breathe and focus on gathering energy to me mostly by feeling rather than visualising.

Maybe instead of trying to cast actual spells (which could be stopping you because it’s causing stress, anxiety, worry that it will fail again, doubts in your abilities, etc) just start afresh and do the simplest exercises with no intent to actually get anything from them apart from building your skill. Like, I’m learning to draw right now and I’m terrible at it and I keep hoping to come across some trick that makes me go “aha!” And suddenly get what I’ve been missing this whole time, but it never happens lol. Instead I tried practicing by drawing the pictures I wanted to draw, but I would get frustrated and mad because they were failures and it put me off. So instead of doing that I spent a week just doing practice exercises a few times a day. Straight lines, parallel lines, wiggly lines, cubes, triangles, circles, dots that I’d try to connect with one quick stroke, angles, etc. Then after that week I had a much better feel for it and I started trying to draw things again and found it much easier (I’m still terrible lol but I know I’ll get better if I keep at it)

You could try out a few different methods of preparing yourself for a spell, but then instead of actually casting one just spend a little time, anything you want 5 minutes or 2 hours doesn’t matter it’s up to you, just practicing visualising.

Once you’re grounded (in any way that makes you feel your physical presence and the physical world around you) cleansed (it gets rid of all the excess energy from you that gathers on you and your space like dust and gets in the way of your spell) and centred (helps you gather fresh energy ready to put to use) Maybe try growing a tree, but not with the intention of it actually doing anything for you. Just picture mud, nothing but mud. Imagine how it looks. Imagine yourself reaching out and touching it. Is it dry? Wet? Does it have stones or bugs in it? Is it clean peat? Are you wearing shoes or can you feel the soil under your shoes? What does it smell like? Is the sun hot on your head? Asking these things and as many others you can think of will help to build it in your mind and the more real it is to your mind the easier it will be for you to visualise your goal there. Visualise digging a hole with your hands. Don’t just imagine that you DID dig a hole with your hands, actually take the time to see your hand reaching out, feel the sun on your skin, feel the dirt between your fingers and under your nails, feel yourself scraping at it until there’s a pile of it by the hole you dug. Actually reach out with your physical world hands if it helps you at all. If you have to do something in the physical world to help yourself picture it in your mind then that’s totally fine and still valid. Go outside and feel some mud between your fingers if you have to. Heck, sniff the grass if it helps. Do whatever makes it easier for you (I mean watch out for neighbours giving you funny looks if you’re gonna do that though lol).

After you’ve finished your hole imagine looking around yourself. On one side there’s a watering can and on the other side there’s a seed. It could look like anything; an acorn, an egg, a jewel, a black cube with flashing lights, whatever, just be sure to spend some time inspecting it first for texture, colour, shape, weight, temperature. I mean lick it if you want and taste it, no one is looking in your mind. Then plant it in the hole and water it. Hear the water pouring into the earth. See the soil change colour and texture. Then you can sit back in the soil and watch your tree grow. Maybe it happens straight away, or maybe the sun and the moon pass over you a few times while you wait, but you’ll see it starting to sprout through the soil. When it grows, is it fast? Can you hear the wood creaking and groaning and it’s branches extend and split off into smaller branches? Is it even made of wood? What colour is it? What about its leaves? What colour? Shape? Texture? Size? How many? Any flowers? Maybe it looks like a regular tree you’d find in your yard, or maybe its pink and glitters and made of glass with golding flowers that glow like sunbursts. Or does it grow so slowly that you have to stand up and help it, physically pulling the branches to stretch it out and untwisting the little buds to open the flowers?

By this point you’ll have spent enough time visualising with all your senses (because seeing is absolutely not the only important one in visualisation) that you’ve gotten your mind into a good state for magic, but without the pressure of actually doing any spells that you could stress yourself with, because the goal wasn’t to grow the tree so that it could do something for you, you achieved your goal already by growing the tree. That’s it. The end. You achieved something!

You don’t have to grow a tree obviously, you can do anything you want, but doing a few exercises like this where the goal is the visualisation itself, rather than visualising to achieve something else, will help make sharpen your ability to do it. Maybe try one small exercise a day for a week and then try a spell? If you like growing a tree you could just do that again. Start your meditation several feet away from the first tree and start an orchard or a tiny forest. If you can maybe it’ll help to actually draw the tree so you have something to look at to help you visualise it.

You could build a house. You could start in a maze and find your way to the middle. You could explore an enchanted forest. Do a pathworking with a tarot or oracle card or even a painting or poster or a video game or ANYTHING. Do whatever makes your imagination go !!!!! (but if you’re struggling with visualising I’d just advise you start off with something simple so you don’t overwhelm yourself).

The astral is somewhere you can only get to in your mind, because it’s not on our physical plane, and you should familiarise yourself with this before immediately trying to work magic in it.

If I use a sigil I have my own methods of making them because a lot of the time other people’s don’t work nearly as well for me as my own do, and I have my methods of using them depending on what they’re for. Drawing it on paper and burning it has never really worked for me except for specific things, but drawing it on myself works better. Sometimes I don’t make a physical 'magical copy’ of a sigil at all. I keep my sigils in a book that I have magically protected from BEING magical (because there’s so many different sigils for different things in there and I don’t want them mixing or accidentally casting) and there are some that I name. Once they’re named and memorised I can use them when I need them by calling them and creating them in the astral, but this took a lot of practice and failures before I was able to confidently do it because visualising is hard lol especially when I’m out and there’s things going on around me and I can’t do any cleansing or put my hair up if I don’t have a tie or any of the other fussy little things I’d like to do before doing any magic, then I have to be aware of my physical body and astral body at the same time. Which makes it sound more complicated than it actually is, but until you get the hang of something it DOES seem complicated. I’ve been doing magic since as far back as I can remember and decided I was a witch when I was 6 when I didn’t even know other people were witches and my parents thought it was a cute funny game I played because I lived with my head in the clouds and “away with the faeries” (if only they knew, lmao) but there’s still plenty for me to learn and ways for me to grow because witchcraft is an ever evolving PRACTICE. You’ll never be finished with training so it’s good to embrace that the training part is the craft, and not something that’s training you to be ready for being an expert at it. We’re all still learning all the time so don’t feel like you need to reach some kind of final level before you can consider things a success. Sometimes they don’t work the way you want them to, instead of thinking “my spell failed” you have to say “that’s fine, you didn’t do what I wanted yet but you will, you will work” and then you can even cast it again to give it a boost. If you refuse to let the energy for a spell fizzle into nothing, then the spell hasn’t failed yet. If it tires you out, find a way to borrow energy or tie the spell to something (charms, enchantments, spell bottles, poppers, witch ladders, etc) so that while you rest between sessions working on it the spell it held together and not allowed to dissipate.

Another note before I FINALLY shut the hell up (sorry guys, I know I go on) make sure the spells you are trying to do aren’t above your skill level and are realistically achievable. Don’t jump in with a spell to make yourself 10lb lighter overnight or to change your natural hair colour (both of which are unrealistic) or to win the lottery jackpot which would take more energy to magically pull off than one person or even a hundred people possess even if you did buy a bunch of tickets, there is way too much collective energy pushing and pulling at that already for a spell to be more than a flyweight nudge against a mountain. Instead you could do a spell for financial prosperity and maybe in the end all you get is for your money to NOT drop when it might have (in which case you might not know about it working) or slightly increase the odds in your favour of winning a smaller bet, or maybe you’ll find a few coins down the couch ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ you have to start real small and work your way up. Also I find that taking yourself/a spell/witchcraft too seriously can hinder someone too. Have fun with it and try not to expect too much from yourself. There’s always a chance that a spell you cast just took a while to manifest and by negatively thinking “it didn’t work” you’re increasing the chances of basically cancelling it

If that didn’t answer what you needed (though that probably gave you more answers than you even WANTED - again, sorry - and it’s unorganised af cos I’ve had a busy day so I’m feeling scatterbrained and hyper) or you have any more questions please feel free to ask!

#asks #long post #anons