Welcome freaky witches, warlocks, poltergeists and other creatures of the night. Feel free to take a seat in my cozy abode, this is an official guide for how to navigate my tags since my blog is home to whatever hyperfixation is drawing me in currently.
Whatever topic you're interested in, you'll be sure to find it within my library, no matter how niche since this is a safe space for all identities (except hateful bigots and if you're a minor then DNI since this is a blog with content suitable mainly for adults.)
Under the following categories are my biggest interests, please feel free to peruse them to find whatever interests you most, whether that's my writing, spirituality, or just want to know my thoughts on random topics.
Astrology : Astro reblog or astrology
Spirituality Related : Metaphysical
Books : Book rec
Memes/Jokes : Relatable
Random Tangents: Just me rambling
Writing Tips: Mostly awareness posts about writing for disabled/neurodivergent characters
As for fanfiction those that are made by other authors that I enjoyed and recommend will be under the tag: Aaliyah 💫 reblogs
Meanwhile stories that are written by me will be located in my masterlist beneath and also under the tag: Aaliyah 💫 writes
I am also open to accepting fic requests and I'm willing to write for Tasm! Peter Parker, Dr. Spencer Reid, and Remus Lupin. So if you want me to write anything about them just click on my request guide below to find out more! If you want to be added to one of my series taglists then you can message me or leave a comment on one of my fic masterlists to let me know.
If you want to learn a bit more about me then enter these portals of thought below.
Hang on a sec, so you mean to tell me that in a straight-to-dvd cgi animated kids movie from 2005 they had Barbie face off against a misogynistic sorcerer who was so full of himself he couldn't be bothered to treat anyone else with respect, was demeaning towards all women and viewed them as nothing more than pretty ornaments to cater and clean up after him, frequently used the privilege his power offered to force them into marrying him, and when they either rejected or disappointed him he turned them into lesser creatures.
He turned his wives into haggard looking trolls and transformed Brietta into a literal animal.
Then at the end when his power is stripped away, his true form is revealed to be that of a middle-aged white man with balding hair 😶😑.
That is an incel if I ever heard the description of one.
Little five year old me definitely did not appreciate the depth of this story, I mean it had a female protagonist with her own arc that didn't center completely around a romance face off against a blue-baller villain with the support of all the women he oppressed and dehumanized, because if it wasn't for his wives giving Annika the wand back she'd never have been able to defeat him so it also had women supporting women then too.
Yet people still wonder why these movies are still considered to be so iconic today when clearly they were ahead of their time.
Hey, if you’re disabled (of any kind), Mad/Insane, or “undiagnosed but there’s definitely something happening”, please come read this.
Especially if you’re a disabled transfemme. I know that as of writing, we’ve had a shitty couple days.
And if y’all can share it otherwise, whether that’s reblogging this or sending the link to the disabled/mad/whatever we are people in your life, I’d really appreciate it.
hii! i was wondering if you would write a spencer reid x reader smut with size difference kink? also like stomach bulge
Hi back! I feel really bad about this since this is the first request I've gotten but I have to turn it down cause personally I'm not really comfortable with writing anything that's related to dom/sub dynamics or scenarios because as a petite autistic woman whose been infantilized a lot it's a triggering topic for me. I would be willing to write something like a fluff piece where reader feels comforted by Spencer's tall height if that sounds appealing to you though!
Requests are currently open but I only create content for the characters Tasm! Peter Parker, Dr. Spencer Reid, and Remus Lupin. I'm willing to not only write stories but also create moodboards for them. Whether you'd prefer just the characters only or a self-insert scenario, just specify.
How To Do Requests.
If you have anything you want me to create then first click on my ask box titled Wanna Share An Idea? located on my blog's home page.
Then specify which character you're requesting and if you want it to be a written piece or moodboard centered on that character alone or an x reader one.
For self-insert works please say what type you want it to be (ficlet or headcanon for example,) I prefer some kind of established scenario or genre for me to build off of and what your preferences for reader gender is (I usually write fem or gen reader) along with preferred relationship. (either romantic or platonic)
If you want a character centric piece instead then the same rules above apply but also specify which part of their identity you want me to expand upon.
For moodboards the same rules also apply, just tell me what kind of theme or scenario you have in mind and I'll get to creating it, along with if you want a specific vibe for a character on their own or with a self-insert.
Send it in and I'll get to working on it with updates of how it's coming along. (since my executive dysfunction can impair my ability to finish things occasionally)
What I Will Write.
Dubious consent (depending upon the context like sex pollen), hurt/comfort, PWP, fluff, friends to lovers, platonic intimacy, romantic intimacy, character study, angst, horror, gore, slow-burn, mutual pining, graphic depictions of violence, torture (as long as it involves characters who aren't the reader or slash character), smut (if only I'm comfortable cause I don't do certain kinks so check what I don't write below first), morally grey reader, slight body horror, touch starved, fix-it, alternate universes/timelines, ocassional crossovers, established relationship, secret relationship, dark fic, drabbles, blurbs, forbidden love, domestic, disabled/neurodivergent/mentally ill readers, fem/gen readers.
What I Don't Write.
Anything involving non-con, incest, age play, abuse or ableism anyone underage, fetishized disability or illness, DDLG or any Dom/Sub dynamics, romanticized mental illness, boundary violations, medical play/fetishism, animal cruelty, exhibitionism, group sex, golden showers or scat play, branding, fetishized virginity, breast or nipple torture, abduction fantasy, rape play, collaring, dacryphilia, size difference kink, forced feeding, gun play, furry/animal fetishism, miscommunication, bully and victim romance, or self harm.
Chronic pain, frayed sweater paws, a piece of chocolate in his pockets at all times, a cane used for mobility, wisps of smoke from a blunt, tracking moon cycles, itching and skin picking, every scar is a piece of his history, Welsh upbringing, books as traveling companions, feeling pain but never voicing it, worn eyes carrying exhaustion with a hint of endurance, quiet steadiness, feeling guilt just for existing, learns Latin for fun, studies to pass the time, segregated loneliness, the underlying scent of antiseptic and herbs from too many hospital stays, daily maintenance and physical check-ups, jaded sense of humor, no energy left for pleasantries, accomodates for others but never himself, rich inner world to make up for external reality, existing between manageable and unbearable periods.
Song Vibe: Northern Attitude by Noah Kahan ft Hozier.
Mars in 1st house: These people can be very possessive in general, but when it comes to sex, that feeling is heightened a lot more. They prefer positions where they are the ones in control and can hold their partner's body. You can be on top, but that doesn't matter because they will be the ones controlling the pace and the pressure. Never-ending stamina in bed, will keep on going for rounds after rounds, can keep you up all night long. If a man has this, you will never have to worry about him only lasting for like 2-3 minutes. Honestly.....never met an asexual who had this....soooo.....connect the dots. They like to enjoy sex, and sexual compatibility will definitely be a priority in relationships. The day they start seeing sex as something that they need to do rather than something that they want to do is the day they'll end the relationship. They are CLINGY, constantly being held, kissed, and having physical contact is something you will experience if you're with them. They will expect the same from you as well and WILL get sulky if you say "please, not now, I am busy"....cuz like....HOW DARE YOU??? Really good sexual partners, especially if mars is unafflicted. Women with this should NEVER marry someone with low libido, it's gonna lead to a lot of frustration and anger.
Actions- grabbing your face with one hand and kissing, "fuck me" eyes in public spaces, shirt grabbing, lip biting, hickeys (LOTS OF THEM), and hands going under the shirt VERY quickly after kissing, they also love receiving Cunnilingus or Fellatio (that's the way to their.... heart)
Mars in 2nd house: You thought mars in 1st was aggressive, try fucking someone with THIS placement. They are possessive too but in a more bdsm manner; blindfolding, tying you up with a FUCKING ROPE, restricting your movements by using a physical object, spanking you if you don't do as they say....yuupp, right up their alley. They are AGGRESSIVE, especially the men, and can be rougher than average. I have noticed that they hide it really well though, its like, they know its not socially acceptable so they act like they're vanilla, but then once they've had sex with their partner at least 5-6 times, they will either start to talk about the taboo stuff that they're into or they will just gradually start incorporating it into whenever you guys have sex. Women with this often spend their entire life not realising that "normal" sex doesn't do it for them. They might think that sex just isn't for them because a man holding the reins during sex just.....does not do it for them. So, whether or not they're good really depends on how comfortable they are with themselves. If they're in denial about what they enjoy and like, they can really end up hurting their partners, but if they are accepting of their desires, then they'll be the best sex you'll ever have.
Actions- waist grabbing, hands on your back, face cupping, kissing you in front of your other admirers, and sex in expensive lingerie, neck can be a hot spot, the moment you bury your face in their neck or kiss them on the crook, you'll literally see them MELT
Mars in 3rd house: So, with this...you really gotta train these people. Their heart will be in the right place, but their fingers and tongue won't. The good thing is, they are REALLY willing to put in the work and learn what their partner wants and then please them in that manner. People who know about their body, what turns them on, and what makes them orgasm are the best fit for these people. On the other hand, if you are a virgin, stay away, not because they are bad or selfish or anything but rather because their performance in bed depends on how much and how well their partner communicates their needs and wants. These people are not inherently good at sex but they are really sweet and considerate, and WILL listen to you, and that is the only thing that matters. If you are a woman with mars in 2nd, then a partner with mars in 3rd is gonna be perfect for you, because they won't ever make you feel embarrassed for wanting things that are "different". They are like an excited puppy in bed; will take the initiative and will do their best to please you. Got those puppy eyes with 45-degree tilt mastered too.
Actions- kneeling in front of you, tiny kisses all over your face and body, sex in a spooning position, and sex with the lights off (....just something that I have heard from them), kiss them in the middle of an argument, JUST TRUST ME ON THAT ONE OKAY, they'll love interlocking fingers during any kind of intimate act
Mars in the 4th house: I found this in many books and in my personal research, but these people are HAWT. They are considered conventionally attractive and are commonly listed as having the highest sex appeal; Beyoncé, Halle Berry, and Megan Thee Stallion are some women with this placement. They love appearing sexy, have extremely high stamina, and an even higher libido. They will always be ready to GO AT IT. They are sex gods, that's literally it. Even though this is the natural debilitation house for mars, it is good when it comes to sex because these people are really able to form a deep bond with their partner during sex. They are the masters in understanding each moan, look, breath, clench that their partner does during sex, will know when to change positions, when to go slow, when to be rough, when to hold, and when to let the partner hold. They are great partners in bed BUT this placement can cause some....dissatisfaction in married life, especially for women, so choose your partner VERY carefully. Also, the men with this can be a tad bit selfish in bed, so if you are a straight woman, make the man do things first and then reciprocate accordingly, get eaten and then eat.
Actions- wet kisses, licking, biting, can be very much into using toys during sex, will make sure that you are completely lubricated before getting it on, and will love shower sex, pool sex.....water sex in general, this is also like....the "attracted to milf or dilf" placement
Mars in the 5th house: These people love sex and telling people that they love sex. If mars is unafflicted, then their relationship with sex will be pretty positive. They know what they want and how to get it. They'll be the ones to initiate sexual contact with their partners, but despite that, once the action actually starts, they take the back seat and let their partners do the heavy lifting, but it's fine because they manage to find partners who are more than okay with this kind of dynamic. If you work in a creative field, they'll let you hit, that's literally their only criteria. I know like....7 people with this and idk how, but they ALWAYS manage to find some aspiring actor or musician to fuck, it's actually pretty insane to me. I have nothing to say though, get that rhythmic genitalia ig... Oh and they are also super submissive in bed, and if you're more sexually confident than they are, then you can get them to do almost ANYTHING. They can also have a thing for exhibitionism...do what you want with that information. These people are also very sexually expressive, I feel like people often interchange shy and submissive, so I wanna emphasize that they are submissive, NOT SHY.
Actions- riding you in the car, engaging in extreme sexual teasing in public spaces, and sex in places where there might be a chance of getting caught, they love that shit, it turns them on so fucking much, acting all oblivious while saying the DIRTIEST and HORNIEST shit ever, women can be more into missionary while men can be more into reverse cow girl
Mars in the 6th house: These people may not be all that interested in having sex, they may view sex as an activity that they need to do because their partner likes it and not because of their personal interest in it. This can be an indicator of asexuality. They may also be more interested in kissing and cuddling rather than sex....I know many people with this and they are okay with almost everything except penetration. Because they, themselves, don't view sex as an enjoyable activity, they are not that willing to put in the effort to please their partner either, and I, personally, don't see anything wrong with that because they don't expect you to reciprocate. This is the placement that gets the most along with other people who are also not that interested in sex. They are not selfish partners; it's just a matter of incompatibility. The indifference towards sex is seen more commonly in women who have this and you gotta understand that a lot of it comes from the different ways in which both genders are socialised.
Actions- cuddling and holding their partner close is more their jam, they might also like just lying down in bed naked but not doing anything, more like just....being in each others' presence, scents can be a huge turn on, dark lights, sensory deprivation
Mars in the 7th house: Its not really considered to be a positive placement but Imo, Its good for casual sex but not good for committed relationships. These people have an extremely high libido and will love having sex, experimenting with different positions, kinks, and....people. I find them to be a little exhausting to be around because they will constantly argue with you, not because they disagree with you but rather because it turns them on SO FUCKING MUCH. If you're into that, totally cool, you'll love these people. I, personally, get a fucking migraine. They will be the dominant ones in bed, no questions asked, they will demand, and you will have to obey. If you're not into that, don't be with them, as simple as that. The good thing is that they're very generous in bed, but I feel like it's more of an ego thing rather than a "care about my partner" thing, it's like, they want their partner to tell them "you are the best I have ever had". I have also noticed that these people have a tendency to engage in extra-marital affairs, but it also depends a lot on the individual's upbringing and their personal values and ethics.
Actions- Angry sex, pulling hair, biting HARD, choking, rough sex, breeding kink, and can be very much into threesomes, doggy style
Mars in the 8th house: Yeah....this is NOT good, Mars is already an aggressive planet, and then you add the 8th house to the mixture and you get someone who can be somewhat of a sex addict. It's more likely to happen if mars is afflicted by rahu or mercury, if it's being aspected by jupiter or moon, then it lowers that energy down. They might have started to masturbate quite early in life, and will love watching their partners pleasure themselves in front of them. They like sex that is dirty and messy. Men with this often engage in stealthing, from what I have seen, but it also has more to do with men being shitty in general rather than JUST this placement. They can be okayish partners in bed, will take care of their own pleasure first and then, if their partner asks, will pleasure them too and if not....they would rather just go to sleep. These people can also have the madonna-whore complex; it's like, they will engage in occasional vanilla sex with their spouse, but then express their taboo desires to only their side-pieces. They are actually not as open as people think they are, they like to give off a "clean" image.
Actions- Wax play, mirror sex, causing pleasurable pain, brat taming, and sex that makes you feel embarrassed afterwards (not the bad kind, more like a "omg, I can't believe I did THAT" kind), can orgasm VERY quickly (especially men)
Mars in the 9th house: This has got to be my favourite placement, with how responsible and mature these people are regarding sexual relationships. For them, sex is not something that motivates them to be in a relationship or maintain an already existing one. They're similar to this...another placement that I talked about, they don't love sex but they will do it if their partner wants to do it. But unlike 6th house, they will actually make an effort to understand and please their partner, and they would expect to be pleased in return too; it's not a "lying there" situation. They LIKE sex, but it's not a priority for them, and they're only able to truly enjoy sex once they form a deep emotional connection with their partner. All my friends with this are SO SHY when talking about sex, like there is one group of people that's like "they ate me out, moved around their tongue *graphic explanation* like that" and there is another group that is like "yeah....we did....stuff", mars in 9th house is the latter. They are great partners in bed, especially once they let their guard down (which takes TIME). Not the type to initiate stuff but if you do it, they're gonna PERFORM.
Actions- Vanilla sex, soft kisses, hands around your neck or waist, big on aftercare, would like their partner to guide them, they would LOVE it if you grab their thighs or like...just rub them in a seductive manner, lift them up by their thighs, kiss them on the inner part of their thighs
Mars in the 10th house: these people are really hardworking and that definitely spills over in sex as well. They'll be very conscious of their performance and that anxiety can actually sometimes end up turning them off, but that's rare. They'll look at their partner's face after every touch to understand whether they like it or not and then go by that. Men with this placement may watch a lot of porn and (WHICH I DO NOT SUPPORT), their understanding of sex may come from that. But from what I have noticed, they're usually willing to change if their partner is firm enough. If you stay silent, they're gonna keep on doing what THEY think you like. They're similar to mars in 7th in that they too want to be the "best" their partner has ever had. They get high on praise and love hearing their partners moan and grab their hair and stuff, basically anything that lets them know that you're enjoying whatever they're doing to you. Women with this are usually more mindful than men with this. Men can have a tendency to go HARD and rough when it comes to penetration. Have A LOT of stamina and can keep going all night long.....all day too.
Actions- positions where they are on the top, doing it in public spaces, doing it while standing against a wall, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, HUGE on role-playing where they are in a position of power and you are someone who has no choice but to have sex with them (boss-employee, professor - student, police-thief)
Mars in the 11th house: these people try to act like they don't care about sex that much but in their mind, they've already had sex a lot of times. You know, the people who don't admit when they have a crush on someone but then at night they probably touch themselves while thinking of their crush, yeah that kind. It's pretty hard to figure out what they like in bed because they aren't that vocal about it. You may only come to know what they like once you actually sleep with them. When a woman has this, people might assume that she's asexual or very innocent and traditional when it comes to sex and they may act like that too, but when a man has this, he may act like he's not like other men, "other men are obsessed with only sex, but not me, I want something deeper" but dw, that's not true, it's all an attempt to seem mysterious. This placement is kind of confusing and the sign in which mars is in can give more of an idea about what these people like and expect in bed.
Actions- everything bdsm, like....using all the tools that were there in 50 shades of grey, specific kinks will HIGHLY depend on the sign in which mars is in.
Mars in the 12th house: this one acts similarly to mercury in 12th, but instead of their thoughts, it's their desires that are hidden and what they find difficult to express. These people don't understand their own sexuality at times. They may have some confusion as to what they TRULY want. If mars is strong in this house, they will be open to experimenting to find out what suits them the best. But if the mars is weak in this house, then it can either result in hypersexuality or a fear of sexual acts and sexual intimacy. They may also think that their kinks are "weird" or that they may never find someone to experience them with. I have noticed that their kinks are actually not that weird, it's more like their own fear stops them from fully expressing what they want. They can be somewhat selfish in bed but it's more because they get soo immersed in their "feelings" that they forget that there is a person with them who they also need to pay attention to. That selfishness is not a result of a malicious intent. Women with this can often have this guilty feeling in regards to sex; like they are wrong for wanting a certain kind of partner or for enjoying sex and stuff.
Actions- bondage, role playing, blindfolded sex, kissing and having quickies in dark and isolated spaces, stealing kisses in dark public spaces can be a huge turn on
In signs :
Mars in Aries- intense and frequent desire for sexual activity, usually enjoys sex
Mars in Taurus- they understand how to create a mutually pleasurable, safe, and fulfilling experience
Mars in Gemini- can have a low libido, may require a lot of time and foreplay to get aroused
Mars in cancer- a high libido but easy to please. Can get angry very easily but will quickly give in once you kiss them or...start touching them
Mars in Leo- can be somewhat selfish in bed and manipulate their partners to get what they want. High stamina.
Mars in Virgo- FREAKIEST mars sign, will be down for literally ANYTHING but has low stamina and gets exhausted very easily, needs rest between rounds
Mars in Libra- very passionate and believes in fair give and take during sex but will rarely initiate
Mars in Scorpio- likes role playing "forbidden love" tropes, foreplay is way more important than the actual act of having sex
Mars in Sagittarius- uses a lot of terms during sex....I can't give examples....it's making me cringe...my...dirty...slut.... something.... something, figure it out
Mars in Capricorn- hard to please when it comes to sex, lowkey selfish...depends on the other placements too
Mars in Aquarius- they're able to fulfill all their partner's expectations, can themselves be often disappointed with sex but their partners always leave satisfied
Mars in Pisces- known for having 2 families, act like they're very moral and ethical but then.....their actions say something else 👀
summary: the wizarding world still refuses to accept werewolves, and despite all its magical advancements, lycanthropy remains barely understood. one thing, however, is certain: there is no cure for it.
— after years of loving remus and navigating his condition together, you’ve come to terms with it. he trusts you, but the one thing he keeps to himself is that he’s getting much worse.
tags: struggles of chronic illness, hurt/comfort, lycanthropy, deteriorating health, remus' pov (therefore lots of self loathing), post-hogwarts, disability, implied ableism, established relationship, isolation, transformation aftermath, implied sucidal ideation (very brief like u need to squint to see it), background drarry, happy and hopeful ending ofc.
─── ⋆⋅ ⏾⋅⋆ ───
Truth was, no matter how many full moons Remus went through with you, you never seemed fully prepared for what they entailed.
Every transformation arrived with its own particular cruelty, never quite repeating the last, as though the curse itself delighted in refining its brutality, shaping new ways to make him endure and then remember that endurance meant nothing at all.
You had learned how to brew Wolfsbane potion long after graduating Hogwarts and during the first wizarding war. Life outside its walls had offered a fragile kind of privacy, a quieter place where Remus no longer had to vanish in order to transform.
Yet even that careful structure, built painstakingly between the two of you, had begun to feel increasingly insufficient, as though time itself were eroding whatever small mercy you had managed to construct.
The potion still did its work in the most technical sense. It kept the wolf from fully claiming his mind, from tearing away whatever fragment of recognition remained at the height of it. But it did nothing for the body.
By morning, there was always blood seeping through his wounds to the point where recovery no longer felt like healing, only preparing himself to endure it all again next month.
And over the years, that pattern had not lessened. It had only intensified.
It had begun to feel, in a way neither of you spoke aloud, as though the more he endured it, the more it demanded in return. Healing took longer. Recovery left deeper scars.
Remus understood, that none of this came from a lack of effort on your part. You had been meticulous in your care, learning the potion and refining it until it reached a consistency that could be trusted.
You prepared for each moon days in advance, arranging everything with precision. You stayed with him through the transformations in your Animagus form, close enough that he would not wake up alone.
Afterward, you remained without needing to be asked. You tended to him through the days that followed with attentiveness. You even made sure his wounds were cleaned and treated, his potions brewed and adjusted as needed, and every small change in his condition was observed with care.
It was not that your efforts fell short. It was that the situation itself had begun to exceed what care alone could contain.
There were moments, when Remus found himself entertaining thoughts he disliked almost immediately.
The idea that perhaps it would be easier if the Wolfsbane failed entirely, if there were no partial awareness left to endure, no memory of what had happened after each transformation. The thought never lasted long enough to settle into anything resembling desire, because even in its most detached form it carried consequences that were impossible to ignore.
Especially for you.
So he kept it contained, as he did most things that felt heavy to speak of outloud.
Later, after another full moon, the flat carries the faint, lingering scent of iron and crushed herbs that no amount of cleaning removes. You find Remus curled beneath several layers of blankets, his body drawn inward in a way that suggests he’s in pain more than usual.
The light coming through the window makes his condition easier to read than he would prefer; bruising spreads across his skin in uneven patches, some fading while others remain dark enough to look fresh, and overlapping scars trace older patterns beneath newer damage.
Even the freckles you once pointed out to him at Hogwarts, tracing them across his shoulders with fondness, have begun to disappear into the accumulation of all his recent scars
You step closer without hesitation. “Remus,” you murmur, voice softened as you crouch beside him. “Are you sure a heating charm won’t help? It might lessen the bone aches, love.”
He exhales through his nose, and shifts slightly beneath the blankets. “I’m alright,” he says.
You spend the rest of the night tending to Remus, cleaning blood from his split skin and binding clawed-open scratches while dark bruises bloom violently across his body beneath your healing charms.
By the time you manage to feed him a few spoonfuls of soup, exhaustion has already begun dragging him under completely.
He feels a little better, or at least better enough to convince you that sleep will handle the rest. That has always been the hope after transformations. A good night’s sleep. A few days of recovery. Another potion. Another full moon survived.
The night ends with you fluffing the blankets securely around him before climbing into bed beside him yourself, exhaustion pulling you under quickly enough that you fall asleep believing Remus has done the same.
Remus spends the entire night awake, silently crying in pain.
He knows everything that used to work does not anymore when it comes to easing it. The truth is one cruel, harsh thing: he is getting worse.
And if you do not notice the tear tracks left across his pillow the next morning, well, you remain none the wiser.
─── ⋆⋅ ⏾⋅⋆ ───
During their years at Hogwarts, Remus had gone through every full moon with the help of James, Sirius, and Peter.
Though that had been a lifetime ago now.
Back then, before the war took James and Lily, before Sirius was imprisoned for murdering Peter, things had been simpler. Not easy, but simpler in a way Remus found himself aching for more often lately.
The full moons had still been painful then. He remembered far too many important moments spent curled up in bed in the boys’ dormitory or recovering beneath the sharp medicinal smell of the Hospital Wing while Madam Pomfrey fussed over injuries that never seemed to shock her anymore.
The slow splitting of bone beneath his skin, the horrifying stretch of transformation, the knowledge that society viewed creatures like him as dangerous and unworthy; none of that was new.
One thing had been different, though.
The pain had been less.
The irony of it almost made him laugh sometimes, because if someone had told seventeen-year-old Remus Lupin that the transformations would someday become worse, that his body would continue finding newer and more unbearable ways to suffer long after adulthood, he was fairly certain his younger self would not have endured it nearly so long.
Standing at the kitchen counter making tea later that evening, Remus found himself relishing the memory of how much easier it used to be, even when those years had still been filled with pain.
There was a particular sort of bitterness in realising your old suffering had once been the better option. It left him wondering whether, a decade from now—assuming he survived another decade at all—he would look back at this version of himself and wish for this pain instead.
The thought settled heavily in his chest as his eyes drifted across the small home the two of you had built together.
Everywhere he looked, there was evidence of a good life.
Photographs from Hogwarts lined the shelves, moving portraits of him and his friends grinning after graduation, Lily laughing somewhere in the background while James nearly knocked Sirius over trying to celebrate.
Another frame held a much younger Remus sitting stiffly beside Lily while she carefully placed newborn Harry into his arms, his expression caught somewhere between terror and awe.
There were pictures from the years after James and Lily died too, quieter and sadder ones, the first photograph ever taken of you and Remus together where neither of you quite looked like yourselves yet. Then came the later years. Harry growing older. Summer holidays spent in this very house. Scarves abandoned over chairs. His spare glasses left forgotten on tables. A broom leaning carelessly near the back door after Harry had visited last.
Evidence.
Evidence of love. Of survival. Of family.
Your yarn basket sat beside the sofa exactly where you always left it, overflowing with tangled wool and half-finished crochet projects. A collection of horribly misshapen mugs crowded the kitchen shelves because neither of you could ever bring yourselves to throw them out after you made them together one winter.
Remus stared at all of it and suddenly felt sick with guilt.
Because what sort of person looked at a life like this and still thought, I cannot keep doing this anymore?
The thought stayed with him for the rest of the evening, settling heavily beneath his ribs while exhaustion slowly wore down what little patience he still had left.
So when the argument finally happened later that night, it had really only begun with a careless slip of the tongue.
“How are you feeling?” you had asked gently from across the kitchen while Remus sat at the table nursing a cup of tea gone lukewarm in his hands. “Do you want me to make something for the pain, love? Or maybe I could—”
“There’s nothing you can do to help,” Remus had snapped, the words coming out far louder and sharper than he intended.
The silence afterward had been immediate.
You stared at him from across the kitchen, your expression caught somewhere between confusion and hurt, as though the outburst had physically struck you. Remus looked away almost instantly, jaw tightening the moment he realised what he had done.
“Well,” you had said after a moment, your voice noticeably more restrained now, “sorry for trying.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean, Remus?”
He exhaled heavily, dragging a tired hand across his face. “Forget it.”
“No, because you don’t get to bite my head off for asking if you’re alright and then tell me to forget it.”
“I said it came out wrong.”
“And I’m asking you to explain it properly.”
The exhaustion already sitting heavily in his bones made patience difficult to hold onto. Remus pushed his tea aside with more force than necessary before leaning back in his chair, visibly agitated.
“There isn’t anything you can do,” he said again, quieter this time but no less tense. “That’s all I meant.”
You let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “You say that as though I’ve been trying to fix a bloody cold.”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” Remus said, sharper than intended, the words coming out clipped with exhaustion rather than real anger. “Bloody hell, that’s not what this is.”
“Then what are you saying?” you asked, frustration finally bleeding through properly now, no longer softened by patience. “Because every month you pull further away from me like I’m doing something wrong and I’m trying to understand where I’ve gone wrong here, Remus, I just don’t get it. You won’t let me help you, and if I am doing something wrong then just tell me so I can stop.”
Remus immediately shook his head. “You are not doing anything wrong.”
“You act like I am.”
“I don’t.”
“You do,” you shot back, voice rising slightly. “You barely speak to me after transformations unless I drag answers out of you, and half the time you won’t even tell me where it hurts. You just sit there pretending you’re fine until you can’t anymore, and I’m left trying to figure out what’s changed every single time because you won’t say it out loud.”
His expression hardened slightly. “What exactly do you want me to say?”
“The truth would be a good start.”
Something bitter flickered across his face at that, quick and involuntary. “The truth?” he repeated more quietly now, almost as if testing whether it was worth saying at all. “Fine. The truth is I’m tired.”
“So am I.”
“I know that.”
“Clearly you don’t,” you snapped before you could stop yourself. “Because I have spent years trying to help you through this, through all of it, and lately it feels like you resent me every time I do. Like I’m making it worse just by being here and trying to help you get through it.”
“Well, I didn’t fucking ask you to spend years taking care of me!”
The second the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Your face crumpled for half a heartbeat before anger rushed in to replace it.
“Right,” you said tightly. “Because that’s the problem here, Remus.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Remus said at once, shaking his head slightly as if he could undo it by force. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
“No,” you replied. “Apparently I don’t, because you refuse to actually say what you mean. You just say these things and expect me to somehow translate them into something else, and I can’t do that anymore, Remus. I can’t keep guessing what version of you I’m speaking to every time something goes wrong!”
The argument only escalated from there, both of you too exhausted and emotional to pull back once it had begun.
“You shut me out constantly now,” you said, your voice louder than before as you set your mug down against the counter with a sharp clatter. “Every single month I watch you suffer through this and you act like I’m some stranger hovering around you instead of the person who’s been beside you through all of it.”
“You think this is easy for me?!” Remus snapped.
“I think watching you slowly destroy yourself while refusing to talk to me about it isn’t exactly easy for me either!”
“That’s not fair.”
“Neither is this!”
The words rang through the kitchen harshly enough that both of you fell silent for a second.
You looked furious now, but beneath it Remus could still see the hurt sitting there untouched.
“I don’t know what else you want from me,” you admitted, your voice cracking slightly despite your effort to keep it steady. “I’m trying my best, and somehow lately it still feels like I’m failing you.”
“You are not failing me because there’s nothing left to help!”
Your arms folded tightly across yourself as though holding yourself together. “James, Sirius, and Peter could help you through transformations,” you said quietly now. “You always talk about Hogwarts like the four of you got through it together, so clearly they managed something right that I can’t.”
Remus physically flinched at that.
“It isn’t about you not being enough,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Then why does it feel like it?” you demanded. “Because every time I try to help you lately you tense up like I’m doing you more harm than good.”
“That’s not what’s happening.”
“Then what is happening, Remus?” you asked, sharper now, because the uncertainty was starting to feel worse than the argument itself.
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Because the truth sounded too horrible once spoken aloud. That his body was getting worse faster than either of you realised. That every transformation hurt more than the last. That no amount of love or care or healing could stop what lycanthropy was slowly doing to him. And perhaps worst of all, that he had started wondering whether there would eventually come a point where surviving it simply was not worth the pain anymore.
Instead of saying any of that, Remus looked away from you and said bitterly, “You cannot keep acting like there’s some solution to this, Y/N.”
Your face fell immediately.
“I never thought there was a solution,” you said quietly. “I just thought I was helping.”
Eventually, the two of you spent nearly an hour apart cooling off in different corners of the house, the earlier shouting leaving behind the sort of silence that felt raw rather than peaceful. Remus remained in the kitchen long after his tea had gone cold, staring blankly at the dim light above the sink while guilt settled heavier and heavier in his chest with every passing minute.
In the end, he was the one who came back first.
You were sitting curled up in bed when he stepped quietly into the room, still looking exhausted, shoulders slumped with defeat that made him seem younger than he was. The anger had long since drained out of him, leaving only regret behind.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly after a moment, his voice rough from exhaustion and shouting alike. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”
You looked up at him immediately, hurt still lingering faintly across your face despite how quickly you always tried to hide it from him.
“I just wanted to help.”
“I know.” Remus sat carefully beside you, every movement betraying lingering pain no matter how much he tried to conceal it. “And you are helping. Merlin, you help more than anyone ever has.”
Even if it was becoming less true every month.
You softened almost instantly at that, the tension in your shoulders finally easing as you leaned into him. Remus wrapped an arm around you automatically, holding you close while you settled against his chest, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the old scars scattered across his skin where freckles had once been more visible years ago.
“It scares me when you shut me out,” you whispered quietly.
Remus closed his eyes for a moment. “I know.”
“You’re going to be okay,” you murmured after a while, more to reassure yourself than him. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.”
He felt something inside him twist painfully at the certainty in your voice.
By then, you had already forgotten most of the argument entirely. You believed him when he said your care was helping. You believed the exhaustion would pass the way it always had before. You believed Remus was okay, or at least that he would be.
Somehow, your kindness hurt him more than your anger ever could.
Remus genuinely did not understand why you tolerated him and all the endless complications that came along with loving him, even—especially—the ones you did not know about.
─── ⋆⋅ ⏾⋅⋆ ───
It had been nearly a week and a half since the previous full moon. Usually, this period served as recovery time for Remus, where you helped him slowly settle back into his regular routines and day to day life before the next transformation arrived to tear through it all over again.
It was always a tumultuous stretch of time for him because although his body would gradually improve; the physical pain easing little by little with each passing day, the mental burden only seemed to worsen in its place.
It was a Friday, which usually meant you and Remus would head out for one of your little dates with Harry and his boyfriend Draco, a pairing Remus still struggled to fully accept despite how many years had passed.
(He had insisted for ages that Draco was a “weird” fit for Harry, though he had never once stood in the way of Harry’s happiness. At this point, the stubbornness of it had become almost amusing).
Now, however, Remus stood in front of the full length mirror in your shared bedroom, supposedly in the middle of getting dressed, though he had not moved in several minutes.
Half dressed and exhausted already, he could see every flaw reflected back at him with painful clarity. Every scar. Every faded freckle buried beneath damaged skin. The bruises still linger faintly yellow and purple along his ribs. Loose skin. The slight softness now settled around his stomach from the weight he had gained over the years.
And really, Remus could not help but feel like throwing up.
He looked repulsive; he looked like a monster wearing the shape of a man.
The thought struck him so violently that his breath caught somewhere in his chest, and suddenly he was crying before he even fully realised it had begun, harsh sobs forcing their way out of him as years worth of self loathing finally cracked open all at once.
There was so much disgust festering inside him that he no longer knew how to contain it. So much bitterness and exhaustion and loneliness that had nowhere to go except inward, rotting quietly beneath his ribs month after month after month.
Because really, his entire life had become nothing more than a series of arithmetic checks designed to ration what little energy he had left: If I leave the laundry until tomorrow, then maybe I will have enough energy to cook dinner tonight. If I visit Harry this weekend, I will probably spend the following day unable to get out of bed. If the temperature drops tomorrow, my joints will ache worse. If it rains, the old injuries in my back will flare again.
If. If. If.
Everything had become a calculation.
It was exhausting constantly trying to predict whether his own body would betray him from one day to the next, and worse still was the humiliating awareness that half the time the calculations failed him anyway.
A few weeks ago, you had caught him sitting far too long at the kitchen table, quietly trying to plan the coming days around a stack of apothecary receipts and potion ingredients, and had teased him for treating something as simple as rest like a timetable. (“Remus, you don’t have to schedule everything like it’s an exam revision plan,” you had said, smiling as you leaned over his shoulder. “Merlin’s tits, do Muggles seriously plan their entire lives like a to-do list?”)
Remus had laughed along with you at the time, forcing out some amused remark while something ugly twisted sharply in his chest. You would never have to think about these things. You would never understand what it was like to ration your own life in increments because one missed recovery day meant everything else unravelled after it; because agreeing to see someone meant paying for it in pain later, because even rest itself had to be carefully budgeted or it stopped working at all.
Still, he had memorised every detail listed there anyway. He added all of it into the endless equation running through his head every waking moment now.
How badly will it hurt tomorrow?
It never truly helped, but the illusion of preparation gave him something dangerously close to control, even if that control was entirely fabricated.
The bedroom door suddenly swung open before he could stop crying properly, and you stepped inside still talking before you even looked at him.
“I swear the washing machine has a personal vendetta against me,” you rambled distractedly. “It ruined my dress completely, the threads along the sleeves are all coming apart and now I’ve nothing to wear tonight unless I—”
You stop abruptly once you notice him standing there.
Your eyes flicker from his tear stained face down toward the sweater clenched tightly in his hands, the old knit fabric stretched a little too tightly now across his frame.
“Oh,” you say quietly, immediately gentler. “Love, if it’s too uncomfortable I can charm it a little looser for you.”
And somehow, pathetically, that tiny act of kindness became the final thing that shattered him completely.
Remus broke apart with a noise so wounded it frightened even himself, sobs tearing violently out of his chest as he bent forward, one shaking hand pressed hard against his mouth as though trying to physically force the sound back down.
You were beside him instantly. “Oh, love, hey, hey, what’s wrong?” you murmur frantically, hands cupping his face before moving to steady his shaking shoulders. “Breathe for me, sweetheart. Remus, breathe. What happened?”
He could not answer.
“Remus, listen to me,” you continued gently, clearly trying to piece together what had upset him so badly. “Y’know it’s normal to gain a little weight in your thirties, right? You’re fine, really, the sweater probably just shrunk a little in the wash and—”
That only made him cry harder.
Because he was not crying over the extra weight.
God, he wished it were only that.
He wished this entire breakdown could be explained away by something as ordinary and fixable as weight gain or tiredness or stress from work. He wished he could simply laugh weakly and let you reassure him and move on from it like any normal person would.
Instead, the tears kept falling harder and harder no matter how much he tried to stop them, humiliation curling painfully in his chest because he knew you still did not understand what he was actually grieving.
Everything hurt.
It all hurt so much.
Remus had spent his entire life in pain in one form or another, but there had once been spaces between it. Small mercies; periods where recovery felt possible, where he could almost pretend the transformations had not left permanent damage behind each time they tore through him.
Lately, though, it felt as though those spaces had disappeared entirely. The pain no longer arrived only with the full moon. It threaded itself through ordinary moments until even standing at the kitchen counter making tea could leave his back aching badly enough that he needed to sit down halfway through.
And the worst part was how normal it had all started becoming.
Remus could no longer remember the last time he had experienced a day completely untouched by discomfort. There was only manageable pain and unbearable pain now, and lately the line separating the two had begun narrowing in ways that frightened him.
It was exhausting living like that.
Exhausting having to calculate every outing, every chore, every responsibility against how much pain it would cost him afterward. Exhausting pretending he was coping better than he truly was because the alternative meant watching concern settle into everyone’s faces all over again. Exhausting knowing his condition was getting worse while everyone around him still spoke about it as though recovery remained possible if he simply rested enough or took the right potion or waited for things to improve.
Things were not improving.
That was the part he could no longer force himself to ignore.
The wolf was destroying him slowly, and Remus had become painfully aware of it in ways he could not explain aloud without terrifying both of you.
A selfish part of him wanted everything to simply stop for a little while so he could finally rest, properly rest, without having to calculate and ration and recover endlessly. He wanted to wake up without immediately assessing what hurt that morning. He wanted enough energy to finish the mountain of unfinished work piling up around him. He wanted to be the person everyone around him believed he still was.
And somewhere beneath the panic clawing viciously through him, Remus knew some of this was simply the panic attack dragging him downward into its familiar spiral of despair.
Remus just wanted to be gone, whether that meant dying or disappearing or simply ceasing to exist for a little while. Anything, anything, so long as he no longer had to feel this way anymore.
Your voice continues drifting toward him through the panic, gentle and grounding and desperately trying to pull him back, though for several horrible moments it does not seem to reach him at all.
Remus can still barely breathe properly, his chest tightening painfully as tears continue spilling down his face no matter how hard he tries to stop them. The room around him feels distant and warped at the edges, every thought inside his head collapsing into noise until suddenly your hands are cradling his face firmly enough to force his attention back onto you.
“Remus,” you whisper shakily, your thumbs brushing beneath his eyes. “Look at me, love. Please look at me.”
And he does.
The second your arms pull him against your chest, something inside him completely breaks apart.
A sob tears out of him so violently it frightens even himself. The sound is rough and wounded and horribly animalistic in a way that makes humiliation immediately claw through him afterward because it does not sound human anymore.
He can feel the way his breathing keeps hitching uncontrollably against you while you hold him tighter instead of recoiling, your hand moving shakily through his hair while you whisper soft reassurances against his temple.
“What’s wrong?” you ask quietly. “Remus, talk to me.”
For a few seconds all he can do is cry harder.
Then eventually, brokenly, he whispers, “I can’t do this anymore.”
You pull back just enough to look at him properly, immediate concern flashing across your face as you rush to reassure him.
“It’s okay,” you say quickly. “We don’t have to go see Harry and Draco tomorrow, love, it’s alright. I’m sure they’ll understand if you’re not feeling well enough—”
Remus shakes his head almost desperately before another sob catches painfully in his throat.
“No,” he chokes out. “No, it’s not that.”
“Then what is it?”
His hands shake violently where they clutch weakly at your sleeves.
“I just can’t do this anymore,” he cries. “All of this, I can’t—I can’t keep—”
The realisation slowly drains the colour from your face. Remus watches the exact moment you understand what he actually means.
Without a word, you carefully lower both of you onto the floor until you are sitting together against the side of the bed, Remus half collapsed against your chest while he struggles to breathe through the sobs still wracking through him. Your arms remain wrapped tightly around him, one hand gripping his almost desperately now as though you are frightened he might disappear if you let go.
“It’s gotten worse,” he finally admits through broken breaths. “So much worse.”
You stay silent, letting him speak.
“It hurts every day now,” he whispers. “Every second. I wake up hurting and I go to sleep hurting and sometimes it feels like my body never recovers properly anymore.” His breathing stutters unevenly. “The transformations are worse and recovery takes longer and the pain doesn’t leave afterward like it used to. I thought it would pass, I thought maybe I was just exhausted or stressed or getting older but it just keeps getting worse.”
Tears continue slipping down his face faster than he can wipe them away.
“My knees hurt all the time now,” he admits shakily, the confession sounding pathetic enough to make him hate himself for it. “My hips ache after every full moon for days afterward and sometimes my hands shake so badly I can barely hold things properly and I’m so tired all the time.”
A horrible, humourless laugh breaks weakly through another sob. “I keep trying to adjust to it and then it gets worse again and I have to learn how to live in my body all over again because this keeps becoming my new normal and I don’t know how much worse it’s going to get.”
By the end of it, he can barely get the words out at all.
Your own tears have begun falling quietly somewhere during his rambling, though you continue holding him through all of it, your thumb rubbing shakily across the back of his hand while he cries into your shoulder.
“Love,” you whisper brokenly once he finally falls silent. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Remus squeezes his eyes shut.
“I knew something was wrong,” you continue softly through your own tears. “I’m not a bloody fool, Remus. You’ve been shutting me out for months and refusing to tell me what was happening and I kept thinking maybe I was doing something wrong somehow, but you could’ve told me.” Your voice cracks painfully. “I would’ve been there for you.”
“I didn’t want to burden you,” he mumbles weakly. “Didn’t want to ruin whatever image you still had of me. At least the half decent one.”
You lean forward carefully and press a soft kiss against his damp cheek before resting your forehead against his.
“Remus,” you whisper, “I love you. Not whatever version of your body you think you’re supposed to be.” Your fingers intertwine more tightly with his. “Bodies change, love. Mine has changed too. That doesn’t make you harder to love.”
Remus cries quietly for a long while after that.
When the two of you finally crawl into bed later that night, his hips still ache, his knees still throb painfully beneath the blankets, and every joint in his body still feels bruised and raw from years of damage that no longer heals cleanly.
The pain has not disappeared.
Neither has the fear.
Though for the first time in months, the ache inside his chest feels just a little less unbearable than before.
─── ⋆⋅ ⏾⋅⋆ ───
And as it turns out, the road toward being okay is a tumultuous one, painfully non linear in all the most ordinary ways.
It takes time for Remus to learn how to ask for help when he needs it instead of silently enduring until he reaches a breaking point. It takes time for you to learn not to immediately offer help every time you think he might need it, because sometimes the loss of independence stings worse than the pain itself.
Most of all, it takes time for the both of you to learn each other all over again, for you to recognise the moments where he does need help even when exhaustion leaves him too tired or ashamed to verbally ask for it.
Eight months later, the two of you have fallen into something that cannot quite be called easier, though it is no longer as unbearable as it once was either. The pain still exists. Remus still has bad days where getting out of bed feels impossible, and the full moons still leave him aching for days afterward in ways neither of you can truly fix.
There are still moments where frustration gets the better of him, where pain and humiliation twist together until they come out harsher than intended.
(“I can do it myself,” Remus had snapped once while trying to stand from the sofa after a particularly bad full moon, exhaustion making his hands shake with the effort. “I’m not a fucking toddler.”)
Other times, though, there are moments that would have once been unimaginable to him, moments where he finally lets himself ask for help.
(“Can you help me up?” he had whispered one winter morning after his knees locked painfully beneath him halfway down the stairs, his voice thick with embarrassment. “Please. I just… I can’t do it right now.”)
And there are some rare times where Remus had stopped pretending he was fine when he clearly was not, and you had stopped trying to fix every part of his pain, understanding now that sometimes all he needed was someone willing to sit beside him through it. It did not make the lycanthropy easier, nor did it stop him from getting worse, but somehow carrying it together made it easier for Remus to survive.
Slowly, very fucking slowly at that, Remus begins pulling himself out from beneath all the burdens that have haunted him for years. Not perfectly and not all at once, but enough that he starts noticing the difference in small moments before he notices it anywhere else.
He begins accepting what has happened to him and what continues happening to him in this painfully mundane life of his.
Because that is the thing about chronic suffering in the end. Most of it is not a cycle of great torture. It exists in ordinary moments. In aching joints while making tea. In needing help buttoning a shirt after a difficult transformation because his fingers hurt too badly to cooperate. In learning how to build a life around pain without allowing pain to become the only thing life contains.
More often now, Remus finds himself staring at the photographs scattered throughout your shared home, though the feeling they stir in him has changed. Once they had filled him with grief for everything he had lost and guilt for all the times he had wanted to surrender beneath the weight of it.
Now they bring peace, or something close enough to it.
The memories of everyone he has loved and lost no longer feel solely painful. James and Lily smiling brightly from moving photographs, Sirius finally free and laughing so hard during Sunday tea that he nearly spills his drink across the table, even Peter lingering painfully at the edges of memory despite everything that happened; all of them remind Remus that his life has contained something meaningful enough to grieve in the first place.
It is bittersweet in a way he suspects life often is.
The glass is not entirely full, nor entirely empty either, and for the first time in years Remus finds himself capable of accepting that perhaps it does not need to be one or the other.
He has come a long way from the quiet, scrawny twelve year old boy crying in Madam Pomfrey’s office after full moons because he could not understand why this had happened to him.
He is no longer the twenty one year old standing shell shocked at James and Lily’s funeral believing he had lost all three of his best friends in a single night.
He is no longer the twenty five year old convinced he was ruining your life simply by remaining in it.
He is not that thirty eight year old lying awake wishing he could die just so the pain would stop for a little while.
Now, Remus finds solace in the people who remain.
In meeting Minerva every once in a while and sharing grief neither of them ever fully learned to put down.
In listening to Luna ramble happily about all her strange adventures across both the wizarding and muggle world with the sort of sincerity only Luna could possess.
In sharing tea with Tonks while she animatedly complains about work and laughs halfway through her own stories.
In watching Harry build a bright, beautiful life for himself despite everything that should have destroyed him.
In accepting Draco slowly and reluctantly at first before eventually recognising the great devotion with which he loves Harry.
Most of all, Remus finds comfort in you.
In your patience. Your stubbornness. Your quiet insistence on loving him through every ugly complicated part of being alive.
And these days, when Remus looks around the home the two of you built together, his chest no longer twists with guilt alone.
Now it twists with gratitude—because somehow, impossibly, he found a group of people so deeply convinced he was lovable and worthy of care that they spoon fed the belief into him for years until eventually, one day, he finally learned how to feed himself.
And it is at that point, almost two years later, that Remus realises this had been the point all along.
Not on some grand life changing day either, nor during one of the dramatic moments he once believed revelations were meant to arrive within.
The understanding comes to him quietly on an ordinary evening while he lays stretched across the sofa with your legs tangled absentmindedly with his own, watching you knit some sort of ridiculous mug warmer for his tea that he already knows he will treasure for the rest of his life simply because you made it.
You continue rambling softly about his upcoming birthday, asking what sort of gift he might want this year despite Remus insisting repeatedly that he truly does not need anything.
“It doesn’t have to be something big,” you tell him while counting stitches distractedly. “I just want it to be something you’ll actually like.”
“I’ll like whatever you get me.”
“That is not helpful at all.”
A smile tugs faintly at his mouth despite himself.
“You made me that scarf three years ago and I still wear it constantly,” he points out lazily.
“That scarf is falling apart.”
“And yet I continue wearing it.”
You laugh softly at that before finally looking up at him properly, and the expression on your face nearly undoes him where he lays.
Because your eyes are so unbearably full of love that it feels as though the feeling itself might spill over and drown him entirely if he stares too long.
You look at him with such uncomplicated affection, such complete certainty, that sometimes Remus still struggles understanding how a person like you can exist at all. It is as though you carry some endless bright thing within yourself and insist upon turning it toward every monstrous, complicated, ugly part of him until even he cannot help but stand inside its warmth eventually.
And unexpectedly, his ribs twist painfully around his lungs, though not with the familiar agony of transformation. This ache arrives differently, softer and deeper all at once, and the realisation settles over him so suddenly it nearly steals the breath from his chest.
Just like his ribs twist and split beneath the full moon to form something monstrous, they twist for you too.
Just like his heart clenches in pain, it also clenches whenever he looks at you.
The feeling is not the same, and somehow it is exactly the same.
Because the wolf is made from his flesh and bones no matter how much he despises it, and love is too. The worst parts of him and the best parts of him come from the very same place. They exist within the same body, beneath the same battered ribs that have endured both agony and tenderness so profound it frightens him sometimes.
It reminds him suddenly of Eve being created from Adam’s ribs, of love itself being born from flesh rather than separate from it.
And perhaps that is what finally frees him; the thing he has hated most throughout his entire life is made from the very same parts of him capable of love.
The same ribs.
The same heart.
The same body.
For years Remus believed the wolf had made him fundamentally unworthy of being loved properly, as though suffering and monstrosity somehow cancelled out tenderness. Yet here you are beside him still, years later, knitting ugly little mug warmers and arguing with him over birthday presents and looking at him with enough love to make his chest ache from carrying it.
And so, Remus accepts it.
All of it.
He accepts the wolf even as he continues hating the pain it causes him every month. He accepts the scars carved into his body and the exhaustion that still follows difficult transformations. He accepts the strange fragile joy of being loved so thoroughly despite all the parts of himself he once believed impossible to live beside.
Most importantly of all, he accepts himself.
Remus feels almost foolish for only now stumbling upon something human beings seem to have instinctively known since the beginning of time: that accepting the love you are given requires accepting yourself enough to believe you deserve to receive it in the first place. That fear has a way of blinding people not only from happiness, but from recognising love even when it sits directly before them. That the entire point of loving another person is to allow yourself to be loved in return despite how frightening and vulnerable and immeasurable that exchange truly is.
Slowly, Remus reaches for you.
You pause your knitting immediately when he tilts your chin upward gently before leaning down to press a soft kiss against your lips. The expression you wear afterward is so fond it almost makes him laugh.
“I love you,” he whispers quietly.
You smile instantly, warmly, beautifully, as though hearing those words from him will never become ordinary no matter how many years pass between you.
“I love you too,” you whisper back with such overwhelming sincerity that he feels his chest tighten all over again.
His ribs contract once more beneath the feeling, though this time it is not from pain.
And although Remus knows they will ache again soon enough because of the wolf, knows another full moon will eventually arrive as it always does, he finds himself breathing through the feeling instead of fearing it.
His ribs are constant reminders of every pain he has endured, of every person he has loved, and of every ounce of love somehow returned back into his hands despite everything he once believed made him unworthy of receiving it. They ache with old grief and survival alike, though somewhere within that ache lives the proof that he was loved through all of it anyway.
Remus Lupin has lived a hard, complicated, painfully ordinary life.
Though for the first time in a very long while, when he looks at it now, he realises it has also been a life filled with love.
And finally, after all these years, he wants to keep living it.
─── ⋆⋅ ⏾⋅⋆ ───
a/n: pheww this was so fun to write, i love writing angst and that includes making remus suffer. this fic is so, so special to me <3 some scenes were inspired by an ao3 fic i read a few months ago but i cannot find the @, i just remember it had the name rachel, so if u find it lmk please :))
Rooftop dates, impromptu late night visits, lighthearted banter, using him as a personal heater, stolen seconds inbetween personas, certain hours of the day being more precious together, frozen moments captured in polaroid, bodega runs, a windowsill always left open, constant showing off for your attention, physical touch as love language, memorizing first-aid, overexposure to tall heights, mutual geeking out, corner store flowers, teaching attempts at skating, knowing the sound of his taps by heart, buying Spider-Man merch, skin pressed against skin, metaphorically and literally being on top of the world.
Song Vibe: Footsteps On The Roof by The Shangri-Las.
For over half a century, the 1977 Incredible Hulk TV series was the only live action Marvel TV series to last more than one season, and the longest running comic book based TV series on prime time television. Nowadays, it stands as a very unique piece of Marvel Television history that may be just what modern viewers should check out if they want something very different from the Marvel brand on their TV screens. For those that don't want to watch all 80 episodes and multiple TV movies this series spawned, here are the top 10 episodes to watch...
10. Like a Brother - One of the wonderful things about the classic Incredible Hulk TV series was the handful of times they would allow the majority of the guest cast to be minorities and actors of color. In this episode, a predominantly black cast takes central stage, showcasing issues the African American community faced in the 1970's. Meanwhile, the Hulk goes up against evil gangsters that feel like they came right of a 1970's version of the Luke Cage series. It also doesn't hurt that that a young Ernie Hudson (who would a few years later become a Ghostbuster) guest stars.
9. The Harder They Fall - When David Banner gets paralyzed from the waist down early in this episode, we get a story that turns into a wonderfully well done tale about what dealing with trauma and what having a physical disability is like. While the Hulk's healing factor does eventually help David Banner regain his mobility, his interactions with those that are permanently physically disabled make for a great tale of the human spirit and the ability to be resilient.
8. King of the Beach - While actor Bill Bixby constantly shined throughout this series as Doctor David Banner, his co-star: Lou Ferrigno (who played the Hulk) never got to do anything much more than flex his muscles until this episode. In this story (which fourth wall breaking narration at the start of the episode explains): Lou Ferrigno finally gets to do double duty playing both the Hulk, and a deaf body builder based on himself. Finally getting to see Lou Ferrigno properly interact with Bill Bixby, and see the wonderful tale of how a deaf man can still achieve his dreams (both in the story and real life) is very gratifying to see.
7. Mystery Man - This two part story from the middle of Season 2 is by far the biggest turning point in the series. The only other series regular: Jack Mcgee is a character who is always after the Hulk, trying to bring him in for an alleged murder of two people (that the Hulk didn't kill). However it's in this episode that for the first time since the pilot, McGee gets to interact David Banner (while he's wrapped under bandages due to burns to his face). But the bigger deal is when near the story's climax that McGee sees this mysterious man he's been talking to turn into the Hulk. From this point on, McGee is no longer looking for a creature, but for the mysterious man that indeed becomes the Hulk.
6. Married - Tragedy is something that always follows David Banner throughout the series, and it's felt here more than any other. While looking for a female scientist that can cure his condition, David sadly learns this female scientist only has weeks to live due to an incurable illness. In a race against time, the two scientists while trying to cure each other, fall in love and eventually getting married... despite knowing their marriage will be short. It's a sad Shakespearean style tragedy that just makes David Banner's journey even more sad than it already was.
5. Proof Positive - When actor Bill Bixby proved to be unavailable for a time, the crew of the Incredible Hulk TV series had to find a way to make an episode without their main character. What came out of this logistical hardship was a creative masterpiece through focusing the entire episode on McGee, and how a typical Hulk adventure happens from his perspective. Spending the whole episode just watching McGee try to track down the Hulk, and coming so close to seeing the face of the mystery man that becomes him, allows the audience to see the world of the Incredible Hulk through a different lens.
4. The First - In the most science fiction driven plot of the series, David Banner learns of a scientist who years ago created his own Hulk, but changed him back. However when David Banner finds the long lost First Hulk, David is shocked to learn this Hulk is a psychotic man who wants to be a monster. On top of getting the shows' one and only Hulk vs Hulk fight; it also presents us Bill Bixby's most emotional performance. When David Banner comes so close to finding a cure to his condition, only for the other Hulk to destroy it, it's hard not to tear up when you see a crying Doctor Banner transform into the Hulk; the only time in the series when sadness triggers his transformation.
3. Ricky - In this fun and thought provoking tale, David Banner meets a young mentally disabled man, and tries to help him find his proper place in the world. While the episode at times does use outdated terms such as retarded, the episode is still far more progressive and ahead of the curve for it's time thanks to how people with mental disabilities are treated and talked about in the story. As David Banner himself says in the episode: some people who lose certain abilities at birth, can still gain other gifts. Throw in a few Hulk fights, and the Hulk actually making a new friend over a can of soda, and you've got a magnificent hour of television.
2. A Child in Need - One of the things that made the Incredible Hulk TV series really stick out was how expertly it handled it's special episodes that dealt with important social issues. When David Banner meets a child that is getting physically assaulted by his father, the episode shows a very brutal honest portrayal of highly dysfunctional families. However, what's even more brutal to watch is when David tries begging people (who clearly know about the abuse) to report it to the police... but they sadly do nothing. But rather than make the abusive father a one dimensional character, a moment when the Hulk attacks the abusive father suddenly unlocks repressed tragic memories that reveal how the abusive father became what he is. It's classic television drama at its' finest.
1. The Incredible Hulk (TV Movie Pilot) - The TV movie that opened up this series is by far the biggest highlight of this series and Marvel Television altogether. The writing, pacing, acting, and even the cinematography is incredible brilliant. Rather than just relying on inspiration from classic Marvel comics, this pilot also mixes in elements from the works of Victor Hugo, Robert Louis Stevenson, and William Shakespeare to tell a very adult, very mature, and very sophisticated origin to a seemingly silly looking green monster. It is clear from the first few minutes of this TV movie that you're not watching a silly comic book story, or some live action cartoon... rather, this is fantasy and science fiction elevated to a new level.
It would come as no surprise that the 1977 Incredible Hulk TV series would become a smash success, lasting longer than all prime time super hero shows for the entirety of the 20th century. The show's desire to stay more grounded in reality even influenced the tone of much of the earliest MCU movies, including the 2008 Incredible Hulk film, which is essentially a big budget adaptation of the 1977 TV series (watching that movie after finishing the 1970's TV show is actually a very gratifying experience once you're able to see all the references and homages the MCU movie made to the classic TV show). If you're not too happy with how Marvel is doing things today, take a step back some time and check out what Marvel's first true success outside of the realm of comics looked like.
Words can literally not describe what this series and these characters mean to me. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion but for me Bill Bixby was the very best portrayal of Dr. Banner; everyone involved with this series just understood his character and the hulk the best and actually respected what made his story so human and compelling. (unlike the MCU which greatly assassinated him.)
YOU WRITE FOR PETER????? ik academic rivals is like an ER series you do but i'd love to see him with the prompt
i wanted to do their dynamic a little different than i do it for john so they're quite friendly compared to my other series but i hope you enjoy this anyway!!! tasm!peter parker x academic rival reader <3 fem!reader, 1k words
1.5k follower fairy garden party celebration ⋆˚ʚɞ you're invited!
You have absolutely no idea how you used to do this in high school.
Sure, college is a step up academically from high school but you had way more on your plate just in terms of how much time you had to spend on everything. Now, you struggle to get up for your 9am inorganic chemistry lecture.
You don't remember what your high school self was doing to have to much energy, but now you're running almost purely on spite.
Peter Parker is a very kind boy, one of the kindest people you've met in college. It's been a little harder to make friends on campus than you had first thought coming to ESU, most people have headphones in all the time and one time you tried to talk to a girl sitting beside you in one of your classes and she looked at you like you'd just grown a second head.
Peter Parker is also your worst enemy.
The two of you share only two classes, with him being some sort of biology major you have one lecture and one lab together. Molecular chem is one of your lightest classes, you have quizzes fairly often but the answers are always on the slides. It's your instrumental analysis lab that's always giving you grief.
You're struggling to fit your textbook back in your bag and Peter stops on his way out. "Hey, your calibration curve was really solid." He flashes you a soft, earnest smile and reaches for your bag to help hold it open. "It was the dilution factor that I think tripped you up at the end."
Coming from one of the other guys in this class it would be condescending. Unfortunately, coming from stupid Peter Parker with his under his breath goofs and the way he always lets you use his pencil sharpener, you recognise it as purely an attempt to be kind.
"I just had a different approach," you say haughtily.
Peter's smile twitches like he's trying not to laugh. "Right, of course."
That's how the two of you have always been, really. The competitiveness had been immediate, sparked the moment he scored one percent higher on a prac and had the audacity to apologise for it. You push, he pushes back. You stay late in the lab after hours to perfect your results and when you get there in the morning he's already there.
He saves you a seat every time you share a class, has given you his laptop charger when you forgot yours in your dorm, and now here he is helping you with your stuff.
"Thanks for the notes from the experiment last week," he says genuinely. He'd missed morning lab last Thursday and hadn't told you why (not that he had to, you don't even care) and it's not fun for you to do so much better than him on a prac because he had to go to the doctors or whatever his excuse had been. "They were really helpful."
"No problem." The lab is mostly clear, but lab hours don't end for another three hours. Most of the equipment is kept under lock and your professor usually sits in her office, connected to the lab and made of glass for supervision. Some of the time the two of you sit there and run through hypotheticals with her or get her to supervise things, but most of the time it's just the two of you in the room.
You have your notebook and your laptop perched on the table and he seemingly has no intention of leaving. "Can you take me through your process?"
He offers you a spare pencil.
"I don't need help." You absolutely need help with it and unfortunately Peter is the only person you trust to actually get you results.
Peter rests his hand on his chin. "That's okay. I don't think you do need help. At least not my help. I'm a blank slate," he wipes a hand over his face. "Run me through the process, I'm not even here I'm some random guy."
You huff, flipping back through your notes. "You are some random guy," you mutter. "Who even invited you?"
"Student lab," he beams at you. "Swiped my card to get in and everything."
Annoyingly, going through your process with another person is your favourite way to fix your mistakes. You hate that he knows that.
"Don't interrupt."
He mimes a little zip motion over his lips.
You start talking and he nods along, eyes shining while he watches you mime with your borrowed pencil. Somewhere around the middle, you slow. "So when you plot the signal against the concentration it'll be stable but with mine deviating... wait."
Peter doesn't say anything, leaning down on the lab bench and swaying on his feet.
You groan, dropping your head onto the table. "Oh my god."
"Found it?" he asks, voice soft.
"I'm an idiot," you dispair. "I'm dropping out."
Peter leans down and drops his voice impossibly quieter. "I only knew that 'cause I made the same mistake on the prac a few weeks ago." That makes you feel a little better, you won't lie.
Last time the two of you had a quiz, you'd gotten three questions more than him. That smugness has well and truly worn off by now. There have been more than enough instances of you being the reason Peter passes things, both using your help and using your mutual competition as motivation that you can't bring yourself to feel embarrassed by him watching you flub. But you can't say you don't absolutely hate it whenever he gets something you don't.
"I like it when we're the last ones here," he says, almost offhand. The only noise in the room aside from your talking is the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead.
"You just like having fewer witnesses when I do perform better than you," You narrow your eyes, suspicious.
That does it - he laughs, bright and unguarded. "You really did figure me out."
You feel something twist in your chest, sharp and unfamiliar. Peter looks at you so softly, that you think he might have figured you out as well.
Hello angel! I love your tasm peter parker x reader fics! Id love to put in a request, Peter and Reader adopt a cute brown mutt pup! And the reader finds soo many similarities between him and the pup! (In a nice way ofc!) And finds it adorable! 🥰 Thanks you!! Have a great day!!
₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊ tasm!peter parker x reader ₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊
you and peter adopt a puppy
783 words
a/n: I have had this one sitting in my drafts for soo long omg sorry babe
The house is surprisingly quiet when you get home. It’s not that Peter is an obnoxiously loud person, it’s the newest addition to your house that makes most of the noise these days.
You step out of your shoes quietly, in case Peter is napping. He had a late night last night, not swinging through your bedroom’s window until close to two in the morning. You had been asleep (despite your efforts to wait up for him,) but had felt him slide into bed behind you, lean arms worming around your waist. You had only woken up enough to hear him whisper a soft “goodnight” against your shoulder where your shirt had slipped down.
You move further into the apartment, taking in the small mess. Tiny dog bones, fluffy toys resembling various other animals and foods, one of those toys with a hole for treats inside, all lay strewn about in the hallway. When you come into the living room, you see the culprit laying in a tight ball on the rug, snoring softly. Or maybe the snoring was Peter, long limbs stretched out across the couch, lips parted. His head rests on the throw pillow, strands of hair sticking in all sorts of directions.
A smile stretches across your lips as you walk quietly towards them. Your boys. With only a couple feet between you and Peter, your puppy blinks his eyes open, and then shoots up when he sees you, its little legs bounding over to you, brown ears flopping.
“Hi puppy,” you whisper, kneeling down to his level. You and Peter adopted him only a couple days ago from a local shelter, and still haven’t decided on a name. For now, it’s just puppy, or baby or sweetheart or any other saccharine name that comes to mind.
Your face gets covered in kisses, making it sticky, but you can’t muster up any anger. You find yourself in a similar scenario often with Peter, actually. Mud tracks by the front doors, windows left open even in the cold weather. Yet, he looks at you with his warm eyes, holds you with even warmer hands, and you forget what you wanted to argue about. Sometimes, you’re convinced that he does it on purpose.
You don’t realize he’s waking until the puppy grabs hold of a squeaky toy, its noise high-pitched and loud enough to make Peter stir. His eyes blink open against the afternoon sun, unfocused for a moment before they land on you. You watch the realization sink in as a smile tugs at his lips, his arm stretching out for you.
“C’mere,” he mumbles, voice thick from sleep. His fingers curl in a silent plea, only seeming to settle once you shuffle on your knees over to him. Propped up on his elbow, his arm wraps around your shoulders. You’re happy to be squeezed.
“When did you get home?” he mumbles, words melting into a yawn. His breath is warm against your temple, lips smooshed against your skin.
“Just now,” you reply. “Did the puppy wear you out?”
You feel his smile against your skin and lean back so you can see it too.
“Don’t underestimate him, babe,” Peter murmurs, voice still low and rough from sleep. He falls back onto the pillow, running a hand over his face. “He has a lot of energy for someone who weighs, what, ten pounds?”
Like he understands someone is speaking about him, the dog yips from behind you, bounding forward to throw himself into your lap. He then proceeds to try and jump up onto the couch, desperate to get to Peter. Feeling bad at his poor attempts, you scoop him up and drop him onto Peter’s chest.
The next few moments are full of embarrassingly sweet baby talk from your boyfriend. He says he hates it, but you’ve heard more of it from him in the last few days than in the years you’ve known him. (Not counting, of course, the times he’s in a mood and needs you oh so close. Such a pretty girl, he’ll says.)
Pressing against the couch to get closer, you scratch behind the dog’s ears, kissing the top of its pointy, little head. Peter worms his arm back behind your shoulders, giving you a warm kiss of your own.
The puppy settles between you two, warm and heavy, his breathing evening out as your fingers keep moving through his fur.
“What’s for dinner?” You finally ask, breaking the silence.
Peter’s head lifts instantly from where he was starting to slump towards you. The dog’s ears perk up, staring at you, looking ready to jump up any moment.
This was so cute! I'm usually more of a cat then a dog person but the imagery of sleepy Peter with a baby puppy lying on him can't help but make me soften. 💕
would love to see some aftercare w tasm!peter where reader is just soo sleepy and he is so tender <3 i adore the way you write him
Thank you for requesting!
cw: mature themes (mdni please), afab reader
tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 551 words
Peter might be a pervert for thinking you’re most beautiful like this, but he’s not that worried about it.
Maybe he is a pervert. It’s only for you, specifically, so whatever. He has a feeling you’ll forgive him.
You’re lying on the bed, your limbs lax now, like the last hour or so has taken it out of you so completely that you can’t move a muscle. Peter loves that he gets you like this. Completely unselfconscious. Your lips are kissed swollen, and there are little love marks on your chest to match the ones on Peter’s neck and shoulders, and your eyelids are as droopy as if they have weights sewn into them. He loves to get you like this too; completely tuckered out.
You rouse enough to hiss when Peter brings a wet washcloth between your thighs.
“Hey,” you say, almost scolding. It makes a laugh bubble up in Peter’s chest, which he generously swallows.
“Sorry.” He tucks his grin inside your knee, kissing softly. “I’ll be quick.”
He sweeps the cloth through your folds, and you hiss again, one leg coming up protectively as though you can’t help it. Now, Peter frowns.
“Is it really that sensitive?” he asks you.
He guesses he couldn’t blame you. You and Peter spent more time teasing each other tonight than you have in a while, and you weren’t exactly begging him to go easy on you. Your labia are as kiss-swollen as your mouth, maybe more.
The look you give him says you know he knows. “Yeah.” You heave a sigh, like speech is exhausting, your eyes drifting shut again. “I’m sore all over. Aren't you?”
Peter is, but he also spends his free time doing acrobatics and heaving himself around by his arms. If he twinged a bit walking to the bathroom and back, he bets you’re feeling worse.
He rubs over your hip consolingly. “Wanna take a bath?”
You think on it for a while. You’re tempted, Peter can tell. “I don’t feel like getting up.”
“I’ll carry you.”
You hum somnolently. “Thanks, but you…” You fumble for Peter’s hand. When you find it, you squeeze his fingers, his sweetheart. Peter squeezes back. “You have to get up early for work.”
“Yeah, but I don’t mind.” He catches his voice softening, as if he’s trying not to disturb your sleep when really he’s trying to keep you awake. He doesn’t do anything to correct it. “I’ll have coffee either way. Let me give you a bath, pretty girl.”
It’s a visible effort to open your eyes. You look at Peter like he hung the moon. “Sure?”
He grins. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
“You’d do that?”
Peter groans, his head dropping to your leg. He lets his voice buzz against your skin. “Are you serious? God, I know you’re tired, but let’s use our brains for a second.”
He picks his head up to take yours between his hands. You look slightly more awake than you were a moment ago.
“I would do anything for you,” he says. “Got it?”
Peter watches your surprise meld into a more startled kind of pleasure. He kisses it right off your lips.
“Dramatic,” you accuse, settling back into your pillow as Peter stands to start your bath.
