Just thinking about James “I can fix him” Potter and Regulus “good fucking luck” Black.
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Just thinking about James “I can fix him” Potter and Regulus “good fucking luck” Black.
Whenever I think about Barty Crouch Jr. The Becoming by Nine Inch Nails plays in my head and I continue to stare at a wall for 20 minutes in genuine traumatic concern for that guys mental wellbeing.
Random headcanons about how the Marauders + Regulus sleep for absolutely no reason whatsoever>
———————————
🐺Remus John Lupin-The Prince of Insomnia -
• Sleeps like he’s never done it before.
• Light sleeper. One creaky stair and he’s blinking at the ceiling like “Is it the Ministry or the moon?”
• Can’t fall asleep without reading. Literally needs a book or he’ll start overthinking and spiral.
• Sleeps on his side, curled up, one arm under the pillow.
• Blanket stealer. Doesn’t mean to. Just wakes up wrapped like a burrito of depression and shame.
• Will not sleep in socks. Refuses.
• Mumbles shit like “did you know pomegranates were once thought to house the souls of the dead?” at 2 a.m. before conking out mid-sentence.
🐾Sirius Orion Black-The Whirling Dervish -
• All limbs. Everywhere.
• Sleeps diagonally. No matter the size of the bed, he will fight it.
• Talks in his sleep. Usually muttering French or insults or both.
• Kicks the covers off then whines he’s cold.
• If he’s sharing a bed, he wraps his entire body around them like a needy barnacle with a death grip.
• One leg out. Always. Doesn’t matter if it’s snowing.
• Might whisper “…James?” in his sleep. Might slap you in the face with a rogue elbow. Unpredictable king.
🦌James Fleamont Potter-The Snuggle King -
• Sleeps on his stomach like a toddler passed out after throwing a tantrum.
• One leg cocked up. Always.
• Face buried in the pillow. Absolute danger to himself.
• Snoring like a fucking truck reversing down a gravel drive.
• Cuddles literally anything. A pillow. A person. A shoe.
• Dreams loudly. You’ll hear a muffled “Quaffle—mine—Lily—SIRIUS NO—”
• Might wake up in a panic looking for his wand.
🐀Peter Pettigrew-The Dead Body -
• Sleeps like he’s preparing for a funeral.
• Flat on his back. Hands crossed. Concerning. No movement. No sound.
• Possibly undead.
• Dreams make him twitch, though. And mumble.
• Wakes up confused about where he is. Every time. Even in his own bed.
• If you speak to him while he’s sleeping he will answer. He will also lie. Don’t believe a thing sleep-Peter says.
🐈⬛Regulus Arcturus Black-The Possessed Victorian Child -
• Doesn’t sleep. He resets.
• Lies perfectly still like he’s plugged into the Matrix.
• Eyes shoot open at 5:00 a.m. like an owl in exam season.
• Grinds his teeth. Violently.
• Definitely wakes up screaming sometimes but claims it was “just a cramp or something.”
• Has probably cursed people in his sleep.
• Will kick you if you even try to go for a cuddle.
Anyways just for fun I don’t make the rules~
I’m having too much fun writing a Screenplay/fic about the Marauders so here’s a little snippet I guess-
(18+ only please) (trigger warning- alcohol, vomit, suggested sexual themes, cursing)
—————————————
INT. HOGWARTS. GRYFFINDOR TOWER. COMMON ROOM. 9:47PM.
Absolute chaos.
Someone hung fairy lights using Spellotape.
Someone else hung PETER upside-down from the chandelier as a joke and forgot about him.
There’s sweat, glitter, and the faint smell of shame.
SIRIUS BLACK stands on the table like he’s about to deliver the Gettysburg Address. He is holding a large, terrifying glass bottle.
So unlabeled it feels illegal to look at.
MARY and MARLENE notice immediately.
Their hair is messy. Their eyeliner is war paint.
They approach him like he’s a wild animal cornered behind Honeydukes.
MARY:
“Put that down.”
SIRIUS (innocent):
“What?”
MARLENE (pointing):
“That.
The bottle that smells like it was siphoned from the devil’s armpit.”
SIRIUS squints at it.
Sniffs it.
Recoils.
SIRIUS:
“…Legendary.”
MARY:
“Legendary doesn’t mean digestible.”
MARLENE:
“You have a sensitive tummy.”
SIRIUS (offended):
“That’s James, actually.”
MARLENE:
“No, babe. James and any sort of sustenance? Sure. But you and hard liquor?
Same difference.”
MARY (smirking):
“Last time you drank anything over 40%, you told McGonagall she was “gatekeeping magic.””
SIRIUS:
“She is.”
MARLENE:
“You projectile vomited into the prefect bathroom sink.”
SIRIUS (darkly):
“It deserved it.”
MARY taps the bottle.
MARY:
“Put it down, Padfoot. We love you. We don’t want to mop your organs off the floor.”
SIRIUS (hands up, angelic):
“Alright, alright. I’ll be a good boy. I won’t drink it.”
CUT TO: GIRLS’ BATHROOM. 18 MINUTES LATER.
SIRIUS is COLLAPSED over the loo, clutching it like it’s the love of his life.
MARY is behind him, holding his hair back with two hands and a prayer.
He is making sounds previously only heard in demonic rituals.
SIRIUS (upchucking):
“HHHHRRRRAAARRGK—
I’M DYING—
MCDONALD I CAN SEE THE VEIL—”
MARY:
“Yeah babe I told you not to drink INDUSTRIAL CLEANER.”
In the corner—
MARLENE stands with her arms crossed, sipping Firewhisky from a teacup.
MARLENE:
“I’m not saying I told you so—”
MARY (snaps):
“We told him so.”
SIRIUS retches violently.
SIRIUS:
“BLAGH—
I THINK MY LIVER LEFT—
TELL JAMES HE CAN HAVE MY BIKE—
GIVE—GIVE REGULUS—NOTHING—”
MARY:
“Yeah I’m sure he’ll be gutted.”
SIRIUS dry-heaves so hard he almost levitates.
MARY pats his back.
MARY:
“That’s right. Get it out of you—”
SIRIUS (broken):
“I WAS A FOOL.
I WAS HUBRIS PERSONIFIED.”
MARLENE:
“You took a shot. Then another shot. Then you said—and I quote—“I fear nothing but taxes.””
MARY rubs small circles on his back.
SIRIUS:
“MARY—
TAKE THE KNIFE OUT OF ME—”
MARY:
“There’s no knife in you, babe.”
SIRIUS (weeping):
“THE METAPHORICAL ONE—”
MARY presses her cheek to his shoulder, sighing with the resignation of someone who’s done this too many times.
MARY:
“I’m never having children.”
Outside, someone is still blasting ABBA.
JAMES’ voice echoes from somewhere—
JAMES (O.S.):
“WHERE’S MY WAND?!?”
REMUS is heard shushing someone.
SIRIUS retches again, clinging to the toilet like it’s his Hogwarts diploma.
MARLENE (checks the bottle):
“This was definitely brewed in a bucket. Probably with someone’s toe.”
SIRIUS (hoarse):
“I’M SEEING—
POETRY—”
MARY:
“That’s blood loss, babe.”
SIRIUS:
“PROMISE ME—
PROMISE ME—
YOU’LL TELL REMUS I WAS A HERO—”
MARY:
“Absolutely not.”
SIRIUS:
“MARY—”
MARY:
“I’ll tell him you were a little bitch who couldn’t handle moonshine.”
SIRIUS collapses emotionally.
A beat.
He lurches, retches again.
MARLENE (matter-of-fact):
“Goes down like a god. Comes up like a sewer goblin.”
SIRIUS (muffled, into toilet):
“GOBLINS—ARE VALID—”
MARY:
“He’s delirious.”
MARLENE:
“This is Tuesday.”
MARY holds his hair tighter as he retches again, the sound echoing violently.
MARY (resigned):
“If any gets on my shoes, I’m hexing you.”
SIRIUS:
“HEX ME—
END ME—
TAKE ME TO MORGANA I HAVE SINNED—”
He collapses dramatically into MARY’s arms.
MARY:
“You’re fine, drama queen.”
SIRIUS (weak):
“Water.”
MARY:
“Say please.”
SIRIUS whimpers.
SIRIUS:
“Please…”
MARY rolls her eyes.
MARLENE raises her cup.
MARLENE:
“To poor decisions.”
MARY:
“And to cleaning Sirius’ sick until we die.”
SIRIUS (groaning):
“I love you all but I’m never drinking again.”
CUT TO: GRYFFINDOR COMMON ROOM. 7 MINUTES LATER.
SIRIUS is double-fisting Firewhisky bottles.
SIRIUS (hoarse):
“I HAVE RISEN!”
MARY & MARLENE (scream):
“NOOOOOOOOOO—”
————————————————————————
CUT TO:
INT. HOGWARTS. GRYFFINDOR TOWER. GIRLS BATHROOM. 11:04PM.
SIRIUS is hanging over the toilet AGAIN.
Now slightly less exorcism, slightly more Victorian ghost.
He looks traumatised.
His eyeliner has wept down his face for no reason other than aesthetics.
MARY is pacing like a feral cat denied enrichment.
MARY (fuming):
“I had PLANS TONIGHT, BLACK.”
SIRIUS retches aggressively.
MARY:
“I was gonna flirt with Barty.
Do you know how hard it is to flirt with someone who thinks feelings are a parliamentary sin?!”
SIRIUS retches again.
MARY:
“OH MY GOD STOP UPCHUCKING YOUR ANCESTORS’ SINS.”
She slams open the loo window even though it only opens 2 inches.
MARY:
“I smell like bile and disappointment.”
SIRIUS lifts one shaky finger.
SIRIUS (dying):
“Barty… Crouch… has no soul…”
MARY:
“I KNOW, BABE, THAT’S WHY IT’S HOT.”
SIRIUS gags.
Wretches.
Sobs.
MARY (impatient):
“You’re ruining my night and my pheromones.”
Just then—
The door BURSTS open.
JAMES stumbles in, looking like he just lost a fistfight with a moving staircase.
He has glitter in his eyebrows and a butterbeer cap stuck to his shirt.
JAMES:
“Why does everything smell like sodium thiocyanate and tragedy?”
MARY nearly cries with relief.
MARY:
“THANK FUCK.
Here—
BABYSIT HIM.”
She shoves JAMES toward SIRIUS like she’s passing off a bomb.
JAMES (panicked):
“Wait—I didn’t agree—”
MARY holds up a hand.
Silencing him.
MARY:
“I have ONE mission tonight.
And it’s to make Barty Crouch blush until he cries OR confesses treason.”
SIRIUS, still on the floor, lifts his head like a zombie.
SIRIUS (weak):
“He flirts like a tax audit…”
MARY:
“Exactly.”
She rummages in her little sparkly party purse like she’s about to pull a rabbit out of it.
SIRIUS watches. Suspicious.
JAMES watches. Confused.
She plants her feet, and—
WHIPS OFF her knickers with the speed and precision of a street magician.
SIRIUS SCREAMS.
JAMES CHOKES.
MARY (businesslike):
“They were chafing and slowing me down. I’m going in sleek.”
She crumples the knickers in her hand and tucks them into her purse like she’s packing a snack.
JAMES:
“Is that even LEGAL under Wizengamot law—”
MARY:
“I checked the bylaws. Dumbledore said it was feminist.”
She slams her purse shut with purpose.
MARY:
“Right.
I’m off to go emotionally compromise dark academia.”
SIRIUS suddenly LUNGES.
He grabs JAMES by the front of his shirt, full feral, pure instinct.
SIRIUS (deranged):
“DON’T LET HER GO OUT THERE LIKE THAT.”
JAMES:
“LIKE WHAT?!
SHE’S JUST DRESSED SLIGHTLY LESS—”
(double take)
“—slightly less than usual—”
SIRIUS YANKS him closer, fist in his shirt, pulling so hard he accidentally rips out a TUFT OF CHEST HAIR.
JAMES SHRIEKS.
SIRIUS holds the tuft like evidence.
Then throws the chest hair dramatically into the toilet.
And flushes.
JAMES stands there clutching his bare chest, traumatised.
MARY blinks.
MARY:
“Did you—
Did you just rip out his chest hair?”
SIRIUS:
“HE WASN’T LISTENING.”
JAMES:
“I CAN LISTEN WITHOUT BLEEDING, YOU MANIAC.”
SIRIUS is still panting, wild-eyed.
SIRIUS:
“YOU CAN’T LET HER GO ALONE. BARTY CROTCH WILL MAKE HER JOIN A CULT.
OR A STUDY GROUP.
SAME THING.”
MARY (rolls eyes):
“I’m not signing the Dark Mark.”
SIRIUS narrows his eyes.
Points a shaky finger.
SIRIUS:
“TAKE A BUDDY OR I’LL COMMIT A CRIME.”
MARY:
“You commit crimes DAILY.”
SIRIUS (raspy whisper):
“BIGGER ones.”
JAMES touches his bare chest tenderly.
JAMES:
“I think you scalped my nipple hair…”
MARY pats his cheek.
MARY:
“It’ll grow back, Captain.”
JAMES preens despite pain.
SIRIUS collapses back toward the toilet, pale.
SIRIUS (weak):
“Mary… If he kills you…
I’ll avenge you…
but I can’t leave the loo.”
MARY crouches, hands on his cheeks, gentle.
MARY:
“Worst case scenario, I kill him.
Then we’re all square.”
JAMES nods thoughtfully.
JAMES:
“Technically self-defense.”
MARY (standing):
“Right.
Hold his hair. Don’t let him die.”
She heads for the door.
JAMES salutes.
JAMES:
“GOD SPEED, COMMANDER.”
MARY turns her back dramatically, towel dress half undone, hair wild.
SIRIUS, barely conscious, raises his fist.
SIRIUS (weak battle cry):
“DON’T—LET HIM—
NEG—
YOU.”
MARY:
“Oh he wishes.”
She exits like a weapon.
Door SLAMS.
Silence.
SIRIUS dry heaves.
JAMES grabs his hair.
JAMES (miserable):
“I didn’t sign up for this.”
SIRIUS (hoarse):
“NEVER LET HER DATE A MAN WHO CAN DO LATIN.”
JAMES nods solemnly.
JAMES:
“Understood.”
————————————————————————
Okay so I was bored and doing random research for my fic I’m currently writing and I don’t know if I’m stupid for not already knowing this but I knew Sirius was the brightest star in the night sky but I DIDN’T KNOW that was because it’s composed of TWO STARS and—
TELL ME THIS ISN’T LITERALLY JAMES AND SIRIUS??? JAMES IS THE BRIGHT MAIN STAR AND SIRIUS IS THE COMPANION?? THAT JAMES IS LITERALLY WHY SIRIUS SHINES SO BRIGHT???
I’M GOING TO CRY NOW THANK YOU
Barty Crouch Jr. dresses like beetlejuice and is so annoyingly handsome even though he is literally Frankenstein on crack there I said it
I NEED SOMEONE TO MAKE AN EDIT OF THE MARAUDERS WITH DOUBT FROM TWENTYONE PILOTS LIKE THIS IMMEDIATELY-
SCARED OF MY OWN IMAGE - SIRIUS
SCARED OF MY OWN IMMATURITY- JAMES
SCARED OF MY OWN CEILING - BARTY CROUCH JR
SCARED I’LL DIE OF UNCERTAINTY - LILY EVANS
FEAR MIGHT BE THE DEATH OF ME - REGULUS
FEAR LEADS TO ANXIETY - PETER
DON’T KNOW WHAT’S INSIDE OF ME - REMUS
Guys I literally have never posted anything in my life and I’m such an observer and two days ago I randomly decided to post about my favourite Marauder babies and I’ve never had this much attention and I’m tweaking what do I do help I DON’T KNOW HOW TO USE THIS SIGHT but thank you to everyone that’s been reposting I just know you’re all amazing people
Might keep posting. Will always keep writing.
Why do I keep imagining that Barty Crouch Jr stands in the mirror like -
“You’re perfect. They just don’t understand you.”
Then punches the mirror. Then casts Cruciatus on a house plant for fun.
“Is this because of the Ribbon?”
Marauders-Era | Fluff | Slight Smut (lol oops) | Language
Marauders x F!Reader, She/Her (implied Remus x Reader, with unhinged Sirius vibes), one shot
Wardrobe Malfunctions, Ribbon Kink???Friends to Lovers to Crisis
James Potter cursed your wardrobe as a joke, turning everything you owned into clown costumes right on time for the Hogsmeade trip. Lily Evan’s saves the day, in more ways than one.
—————————————
You weren’t planning to scream bloody murder before breakfast.
But here you were, standing in front of your wardrobe, shaking with fury and dressed in what could only be described as a sexy victorian clown costume, complete with frills, lace, and a corset that audibly squeaked when you moved.
A screech clawed its way out your throat, echoing through the entire Gryffindor Tower like some tragic banshee of fashion betrayal. Several second-years cry. A suit of armor on the seventh floor faints. Somewhere, Filch drops his mop.
You stormed into the hallway in full horror-clown regalia, dragging your wand behind you like a medieval weapon. Doors cracked open. Sleepy heads poked out.
“POTTER!” you bellowed, the frills on your sleeves shuddering with rage.
“I CAN EXPLAIN!” he shouted from two floors down.
“I’M GOING TO SKIN YOU AND USE YOUR CAPE AS A DISH TOWEL!”
—————————
Fifteen minutes later, you were sitting on the edge of Lily Evans’ bed, fuming and half-naked.
“I’m going to kill him,” you muttered. “I’m going to drag him to McGonagall’s office myself and tell ‘er James Potter has been smuggling black-market prank curses into the castle.”
Lily was already rummaging through her wardrobe like the goddess of divine intervention she was.
“You’re not killing him,” she said casually. “He’d haunt you. Badly. Like, blood dripping from the ceiling, your shampoo smelling like vinegar, bad.”
You groaned. “I was supposed to be hot today.”
“You still can be.” She turned around holding a soft, floral dress in pale blue. Like right out of an advert for baby powder or laundry detergent. “Wear this.”
You blinked.
Lily raised a brow. “You want to go to Hogsmeade looking like Ronald McDonald’s mistress, or do you want to look like someone Sirius Black would walk into a lamppost over?”
You blinked again. “…I’ll take the dress.”
She grinned. “Thought so.”
—————————
Twenty minutes later, you stood in front of the mirror, unrecognizable.
Soft dress. Babydoll shoes. No smoky eye. Hair half-up, secured with a simple little white ribbon Lily tied with practiced fingers.
You looked like you were about to write poetry in a field and then stab a man behind a rose bush.
You twirled once.
You looked… pretty. In a different way than usual.
And you could practically feel the chaos building like storm clouds outside.
You smiled to yourself.
“Let’s go emotionally devastate four boys.”
—————————
The boys were already waiting when you arrived.
James was showing off his new broom catalogue to Peter. Sirius was lounging on a stone bench like the sun was contractually obligated to shine on him. Remus was reading (shocking), sipping something warm and absolutely not ready for what was about to hit him like a rogue bludger to the groin.
Then you walked out.
Soft dress. Bare legs. Ribbon in your hair. No eyeliner. Lip gloss. Cheekbones from heaven. A literal angel sent to punish them all.
James looks up. Drops his broom catalogue. A look of sheer disappointment and despair in his eyes. “Oh no.”
Peter gasps audibly.
Remus spits out his tea. Coughs. Whispers something that sounds like “fuck” in four different languages. Looks back down at his book like it might physically protect him.
Sirius stands up too fast. Regrets it instantly. Adjusts his trousers like he’s hiding a cursed object. Mouth slightly open. Eyes wide. Says nothing. Just vibrates.
“Morning, boys,” you say, voice dipped in honey and war crimes.
James chokes. Lily hits him.
Sirius, dazed. “Where… where did your eyeliner go?”
“I killed it.” You said bluntly.
Peter. “She’s a bloody threat to society. With that… bow?”
You lean over to Lily and whisper. “I feel like I could kill a man. But like… politely.”
—————————
You walked out of Honeydukes holding a small bag of sweets and a dangerous amount of confidence. The soft skirt of Lily’s dress swayed with every step. The ribbon fluttered in the breeze like a personal attack. People stared. Whispers followed you like perfume. Some poor fifth year tripped over his own feet and hit a lamp post.
You didn’t even notice. You were too busy existing.
James, eating a Fizzing Whizbee too fast to avoid having to speak keeps muttering to himself, “She’s literally a clown. She’s a clown. I cursed her into a clown. What is this. What IS this?”
You leaned over. Smiling. “Say it, Potter. I wore your curse better than you expected.”
James softly spoke, staring into the void. “You wore it like vengeance and sugar. I regret everything.”
Sirius walks two paces behind you like a guard dog who keeps forgetting his job.
Keeps looking at your legs and then up at the sky like it might smite him. At one point, you laugh too loud and he walks into a flower cart. Full impact. Petunias everywhere.
Lily was far from pleased.
Remus has gone full “rebooting Windows 95”. His mind going that quickly that he thought of something that hadn’t even been invented yet. He stares for too long. Blinks twice as often. Keeps looking down at his shoes like they hold the answer to why his friend looks like a blooming poem.
“Remus, you alright?” You ask over your shoulder, canines on show.
Remus, lying through his teeth. “Yes. Why wouldn’t I be? This is fine. Everything is fine. The air’s just different today. Wetter. Wetter air.”
Sirius butts in, flower petals in his hair. “You’re sweating.”
Remus snips. “It’s the dew point, Sirius. Read a book.”
—————————
When they returned back to the castle, Lily is half-crying, half-wheezing on her bed while you pace around still in the dress, arms flung wide like you’re giving a monologue on a west end stage.
“I felt like a woman, Lily. Like a 1950s housewife who hides arsenic in the lemon drizzle.”
Lily, wheezing. “You BROKE them.”
“I liberated them.”
“I didn’t even know Remus had tear ducts.”
They collapse into giggles. Ribbons and victory strewn everywhere.
Meanwhile, in the boys dorm,
Sirius is laying on his bed, arms crossed behind his head, staring at the ceiling like it just told him he’s going to die alone.
James, from the corner. “You okay, Pads?”
“She wore a ribbon, James. A ribbon.”
Remus. “It was… nice.”
Sirius sits up violently. “It was spiritual.”
Peter. “Do you think she’d let me be her footstool? Like in a respectful way?”
Remus. “Shut the fuck up, Pete.”
—————————
The next morning, you walk into the common room like it’s just another day. Casual. Hair tied back. Smoky eye back on. She’s back, baby.
But the ribbon?
It’s dangling from your fingers. The same one from yesterday. You’re chewing gum and humming something vaguely catchy.
Remus is on the couch, book open, legs crossed like he’s got composure and dignity left in his life.
He’s wrong.
You flop down beside him, legs tucked under you like a cat. You fiddle with the ribbon now, twisting it between your fingers.
“I was gonna give this back,” You say, holding it up, “but then I thought… you’re sentimental, right? You’d appreciate a relic of the day I emotionally dismantled you all.”
Remus raises an eyebrow. “I wasn’t dismantled.”
You smiled. “You sneezed into your Butterbeer when I winked at you.”
He opens his mouth. Closes it. Looks back at his book like it’s going to save him.
Then—you take his wrist.
No warning. Just gentle fingers and firm intention. And you start tying the ribbon around it. Soft. Precise. A little bow.
“Now you can be the pretty one today.”
You don’t think anything of it. You just grin and pat his hand before hopping up to go bother James about the latest Quidditch drama.
Remus sits there. His own voice talking to himself in his already damaged physique.
Oh my God. She called me pretty. She tied the fucking ribbon. Like fucking bondage. Girly, feminine bondage. I can never take it off. This is a relic now. This is a horcrux of lust and longing. I’m going to die in this fucking ribbon. I’m so fucking touch starved-
I just—did I—did I actually—
Oh no.
I JUST BUSTED IN MY TROUSERS.
WHAT THE FUCK. WHO AM I. I AM A MONSTER.
Sirius, from across the room, squinting.
“Why is Remus sitting like he just got hit by a Confundus and an orgasm at the same time?”
“She touched him. With the ribbon.” Said Peter.
Sirius. “WE NEED TO BAN THE RIBBON.”
—————————
You’d already left for class when James strides up to Remus, parchment under his arm, halfway through a random conversation. “Moony, come on, we’re gonna be late for—why are you sitting like you’ve just committed a felony?”
Remus doesn’t even look up. Just mutters:
“No.”
James. “No?”
Remus, faint, distant. “I can’t go. I’m sick. I have… I have diarrhoea.” Great one Remus absolutely brilliant well done where’s the fucking confetti?
James blinks. “Mate. Are you okay?”
Remus, dead serious. “It’s violent. Sudden. I don’t want to talk about it.”
James. “We literally have five minutes before Flitwick locks the door—”
Remus, more intense now. “James, I’m actively unwell.”
James, visibly concerned. “Should I—should I get Pomfrey? Is it the full moon stuff? Do you need your calming draught?”
Remus, eyes wide, sweating. “NO. No. No Pomfrey. Just—just leave me. Let me die in peace.”
James, whispering as he walks away. “Is this what happens when we let him read Austen before bed?”
—————————
You’re outside the classroom, twirling your wand, looking mildly annoyed.
“Where’s Remus?”
James stopped next to you, frazzled. “He said he has diarrhoea.”
You still your fingers. “Since when does he announce it?”
Sirius, in a grim, yet oddly husky tone. “Since you tied a fucking ribbon on him like he’s your little house-elf boyfriend and called him pretty.”
Peter, quietly. “He hasn’t moved since. It was… intimate.”
—————————
Remus Lupin has locked himself in the bathroom. The door is warded. The windows are fogged. He has not emerged in 42 minutes.
Rumors are rampant. Lily knows. Marlene knows. The Fat Lady knows. Peter thinks he’s died. James thinks he’s having a nervous breakdown. Sirius knows exactly what happened, and is considering sending him a sympathy potion with a little umbrella in it. And an invitation.
And you?
You’re done playing games.
You stomp up to the bathroom door, arms crossed, expression set to “emergency nurse meets furious ex-wife.”
“REMUS. MOONY. HELLO. Is this because of the ribbon?! They’re saying it’s the ribbon?! I’m- I’m sorry Remus-“
“NO. I HAVE FUCKING DIARRHOEA, SWEETHEART. IT BURNS. PLEASE JUST PISS OFF, YEAH?!” Shouted Remus, muffled through the door and his own self loathing.
James, from down the hall. “Love, just walk away. He’s not coming back from this.”
Sirius, leaning casually against the wall. “He’s never been this dramatic. And this is a man who wrote a ten-page essay on how his tea went cold too fast last week. On the different places the drafts come through the stonework, right up against the coffee table-“
“Was it the ribbon?” You snipped at Sirius.
“Oh, sweetheart. That boy came unhinged the moment you tied it. That ribbon saw more action than anyone in this castle. Apart from me, of course,” Sirius spoke through his smirk.
Remus, screaming, somewhere between humiliation and actual death. “I CAN STILL HEAR YOU, YOU ABSOLUTE FUCKS!” His voice broke.
You yelled through the door.
“Just say it, Lupin! Say it was the ribbon! Say it and I’ll bake you a chocolate pie!”
“FUCK YOUR PIE!”
—————————
Remus finally emerges. Disheveled. Pale. Emotionally bankrupt. More than usual.
The ribbon?
Still on his wrist.
It was like his limp never existed, the way he all but teleported down the hall.
Sirius leaned into you real close, his smoke breath on your ear as his eyes bite into the back of Remus’ head. “Teach me your ways, please?”
James walked up.
“I can’t believe I accidentally created this timeline by charming her wardrobe. I am a god.”
………………………………
Sorry about this okay byeeeeeeee
Random Remus Lupin journal entries because I’m bored and that boy definitely kept a diary or something idk -
February 12th, 1976
James’s Hair (Again)
James Potter has once again bewitched his hair to look like he just got off a broomstick after being hit by a Bludger. He says it’s “effortlessly cool.” I say it’s aggressively unfortunate.
Sirius says it makes him look like a Greek god. I think Sirius is just projecting.
Peter tried to do the same thing with his hair and set his curtains on fire.
Nothing else to report.
R.J.L
————————
February 17th 1976
Brooding central
Went up to the tower to “reflect.”
Translation: I sat there for two hours thinking about how I don’t understand girls, or myself, or why Sirius owns seventeen leather jackets when we live in a drafty-ass castle.
Sirius came up halfway through. Said nothing. Just sat beside me and passed me a flask.
It was pumpkin juice. Spiked with Firewhisky.
God, I love him. Not like that. (Probably.)
R.J.L
————————
March 3rd 1976
Sirius “Fell In Love” With a Ravenclaw for 14 Minutes.
He wrote her poetry. It was… something.
Let the records show that rhyming “moon” with “swoon” should be punishable by Azkaban.
Lily read it aloud in the Great Hall in her worst posh accent and made Sirius cry laughing.
Also, I’m fairly certain she still has the poem. For blackmail.
I respect it.
R.J.L
————————
7th March 1976
My Body Is A Temple (If That Temple Was Abandoned and Haunted)
Limp was worse today.
I told Madam Pomfrey I “tripped over my own charisma.” She didn’t laugh.
Sirius offered to carry my books. I said yes, and he immediately dropped them all.
I love him, your honour. Again — not romantically. (Probably)
Also, Sirius says if I don’t stop brooding and limping at the same time, he’s going to write a play about me and call it “Tragic Werewolf of the West Wing.”
R.J.L
————————
16th March 1976
Sirius walked into the common room this morning shirtless, announcing that his “nipples felt confident today.”
James applauded.
Peter dropped a scone.
Mary told him to “put the confidence away before it pokes someone’s eye out.”
I had to leave the room. Not out of modesty. I just couldn’t bear the sight of those idiots before I’d had my tea.
R.J.L
————————
20th March 1976
Sirius said I looked like a “sexy librarian who moonlights as a serial killer.”
I thanked him.
Still not sure if it was a compliment or a cry for help.
Nothing else to report.
R.J.L
————————
March 26th 1976
There are moments when I forget what I am.
Tonight, I was laughing too hard — crying, really — because Sirius slipped on the stairs and took me down with him.
We lay there like idiots, helpless with laughter.
And I forgot.
I forgot everything.
That’s the kind of magic they don’t teach here.
R.J.L
————————
March 27th 1976
James brought me a chocolate frog and told me to “eat it or die.”
Sirius flopped across my bed and whispered, “Do you want a cuddle or a punch in the face?”
(I said cuddle. He still punched me. Gentle-like. love language, I guess.)
The ache is starting. In my legs. My back. My bones feel like they’re stretching in the wrong direction.
No one talks about the fear. Just the pain. But the fear is worse.
R.J.L
————————
March 29th 1976
Full moon in two days. Great. Can’t wait to feel like I got hit by the Knight Bus again.
Sirius already stocked my bedside drawer with pain meds, chocolate, and—mysteriously—socks.
When I asked him about it, he said, “You always forget to wear them after the moon. And it’s cold. Duh.”
I said, “You’re insane.”
He said, “You’re limping. Sit down.”
I sat down.
Pomfrey brought the potion.
She didn’t speak. Just set it down, touched my hand, and left.
I drank it. Didn’t gag this time. Progress?
Sirius and James said they’d stay near the Shack again.
Idiots. Brave, loyal idiots.
The shift is coming. I can feel it pressing up from under my skin like a scream.
I don’t want to do this. I never want to do this.
But I will.
I’m disgusting.
I know that’s dramatic. But it’s also true.
Everything hurts. My ribs feel like someone tried to turn them into a xylophone.
Anyways, hands shaking.
R.J. Bloody L
————————
BONUS -
December 16th 1976
Christmas party last night.
If someone could kindly rip out my brain and toss it into the Black Lake, that’d be great. I’d even tie a little ribbon around it to say thanks.
Head is pounding. Stomach is… questionable.
I think I might still be drunk?
Or dead. Honestly, unclear.
Highlights include:
Sirius doing a striptease to “Jingle Bell Rock” on the common room table.
Marlene putting tinsel in my hair and telling me I looked “whimsical and mysterious, like an emotionally unavailable wood nymph.”
James trying to duel the Christmas tree because it “looked at Lily funny.”
Peter vomiting in a stocking.
Sirius and I ended up talking on the window ledge for an hour. He was tipsy, wearing antlers, and somehow managing to look like the ghost of every bad decision I’ve ever made. We talked about the future.
He asked me what I wanted.
I said I wanted to stop feeling like a walking funeral.
He said, “That’s depressing as fuck, Remus.” Then gave me his last candy cane.
He kissed my cheek before he went to bed. I think I’m still blushing. Not because I want him like that. (Proba-) Fuck that, I want to suck out his soul and taste it on the way down.
Anyway, I need water. And maybe a new life.
Happy bloody Christmas.
R.J.L
I hate the google maps old photo trend.
I hate it. I love it.
I can’t look at google maps. I can’t even attempt it.
2024. My old elementary school is nothing but rubble staining the dirt. My high school is unrecognisable. Remodelled. I remember when there was a hole in the floor. Things change, I get it. But not in my head. It stays the same. I just can’t see it.
Someone else lives in my childhood home. I don’t recognise it. Not where my childhood dog used to perch up and scare people.
My grandmothers house is quiet. She lives in the hospital now. The ring doorbell pinned to the wall since she got dementia. We don’t have Christmas there anymore.
I hate nostalgia. I love it. I can’t think about it.
I miss myself. I miss that girl. I can’t find her. I don’t know where she is.
Maybe with that rubble on the dirt. Or stuck in the plaster of the walls of that new school. Or maybe she’s smiling in that ring doorbell. I don’t know.
I don’t know.
I can’t look at google maps.
Surprise! We're Making Love
6.8k words
this is my first real like... real smut fic? so do take that into consideration [and please be nice to me lol] but also feel free to send me a message if you have any feedback or pointers.
this is a fic based on this trope that was sent to me by @bobluvbot like a million weeks ago and became my hyper fixation for far too long. I finally decided to put it into words. thanks to @unstablereader for championing me as I wrote this and convincing me it was decent enough to post lol
Remus Lupin x fem!reader
CW: smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, coming inside of someone, AFAB reader, reader is a Pureblood Slytherin, has hair long enough for Rem to feel it on his shoulders when you're straddling him, reader has hair texture that sticks to you when wet, mentions of smoking weed and being high, mentions of drinking and alcohol, mentions of arranged marriages, use of mudblood and blood supremacy
Remus doesn’t know how exactly this thing started for him.
Perhaps it was the day after a full moon when he forgot to lock the door behind him to the Prefects Bathroom and you let yourself in, nearly fully stripped before you realised he was sitting in the steaming, bubbling pool-sized tub with a spliff hanging lazily from his mouth.
would you be up to do bff remus with no boundaries?? i think that would be an interesting dynamic
maybe like after a full moon and she just like fully gives him a shower, or something where he’s just completely naked and the boys are so confused at what’s happening
"Arm up, Rem," You hum, but your fingers pry at his pale, scarred skin before he can even begin moving a muscle.
You lift his bicep away from his side, bringing the lathered loofa in your hand to swipe through the curve of his armpit. Suds slide down his sides and you hear him hiss as they mingle with his still-healing cuts and scrapes, but there's nothing to be done except cleaning them before they can be dressed.
"Easy, easy," You rub a hand over his back in a soothing circle that carefully avoids his injuries, "Just gotta get 'em clean, then we can dress them. You can sleep on your stomach, that'll help the ones on your back. How'd you even get scratches on your back?"
"It's all the ladies I occupy my time with," Remus drawls, but his pain is evident in the weakness of his voice, "Women love werewolves."
When you don't answer, leaving an purposefully awkward silence behind that swirls with the steam from the shower, Remus sighs, "Got all scratched up from the tree branches out there."
You drag the loofa from his side to his back, carefully ghosting over the caked dirt around his wounds. His knuckles turn white as he clenches his fists, but when he tries drawing one into his mouth to bite at it you take it in your own free hand.
"No biting. That's reserved for your better half."
"Are you talking about Sirius, or the wolf? Sirius bites me," Remus grumbles, and- speak of the devil, there's feet pounding obnoxiously up the stairs and towards the dorms.
"Moony, we've got all the chocolate we could carry," Sirius informs him, and there's the sound of wrapped goods being piled on Remus's comforter before James and Sirius step into the doorway of the bathroom.
James lets out an 'ooh' and turns away with a grimace when he sees you kneeled beside Remus's naked form beneath the spray of water, but Sirius stands stock-still, frozen by some mix of intrigue and horror.
"Uh, are we interrupting something?"
"Just a bath," You smile kindly at them, scrubbing gently at Remus's neck, "He has trouble getting his back sometimes."
"Sometimes- have you two done this before?"
"After every moon." You nod helpfully when Remus merely ducks his head to rest between his knees, "You two are usually either asleep or trying to get grass out of your pelts."
There's something green in Sirius's hair that proves the two were unsuccessful this time around.
"Oh. I'm sorry, Moony, I didn't know you had a caregiver," Sirius snickers, "Does she help you put your panties on too?"
"Don't let him get to you, dove," Remus murmurs, his eyes slipping shut as the warm water seeps into his skin and heals an ancient ache in his bones, "He's just mad he'll never get to take yours off. They're a real pretty pattern, y'know," Remus glances up at Sirius with the ghost of a smirk on his face, muffled by pain but persistent all the same, "Shame she's not interested in showing 'em to you."
"You've seen her panties, mate?" James cuts in, peering over Sirius's shoulder, "What are you two?"
"Friends," You shrug, "But it's stuffy in here at night, and my sleeping pants get too warm."
"You're telling me all the times you two have slept over in here all snuggled up in his bed, that you've not had any pants on?"
"Well I don't make it a habit to strip in his bed," You scoff, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn grass stain on the pale plane of his hip, "But I can promise you that my pants are never gonna be on your floor, either one of you."
"Oh please, we wouldn't dream of stealing Moony's girl," Sirius claps James on the shoulder, "But whaddya think about that, mate? Strippin' down to cuddle in bed together? They seem to think it's a friendly endeavor."
"I typically only ditch my pants for Lily, Padfoot," James informs Sirius with a sympathetic smile, "But I'll ask her if I can bring my dog to her dorm tomorrow night. You can sleep at our feet."
Sirius begins valiantly arguing for a spot higher up on the bed, every dog's hardest battle to fight, but you're no longer interested in their antics or the noise they're producing. You reach out your foot to kick at the door, and it swings shut with a satisfying click.
"Thanks, love." Remus groans, his face squished between his knees, "They were givin' me a headache."
"They always give you a headache," You dig your thumbs into a tense spot on his back and he twitches beneath you with a hum of appreciation, "We should get a flat together without them. They can be the feral deer and dog that live outside our cottage."
"We'll have to call animal control" Remus grins wryly against the rounded bend of his knee as you lean forwards to wash beneath his thighs, "How strong are their strongest tranquilizer darts?"
May I request a dr Remus scolding reader for ignoring a broken toe?
I know it’s nothing major (which is nice sometimes). I often break my toe and just ignore it until it hurts a lot.
I think Remus would give a good little speech about taking care of things he love (reader)
Thank you!
I'm sorry, often??? Uhh hope you're doing okay lovely, thanks for requesting <3
cw: broken toe, no description
doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 730 words
“Don’t touch it,” you hiss.
Remus looks over from where he’s holding your foot in his lap with a sardonic expression. “I thought it didn’t hurt.”
“It doesn’t when you’re not touching it!”
“Dove.” He wraps a hand around your ankle when you try to pull away, his touch one part soothing and two parts stern. “I’m going to have to touch it some, okay? Just breathe and let me know where it hurts.”
dude. fandom/fanfiction is so fun. like i'm just writing about a hot person making out with a hot vampire and stuff and getting art for it and talking to other cool people writing about hot people making out with a hot vampire too and this is so great. i'm so happy it's friday. this is my life.
Hogwarts, 5th of February, 1977, 22:20.
Young! Remus Lupin x Fem! Gryffindor! Self-made character! Pre established plot! Smut! Fluff! Friends to Lovers! Lovesick! One shot!
Summary: It’s a cold and bleak winter night at Hogwarts, as two friends strike up their usual idle conversations. But for some reason, this cold winters day becomes just as important as any holiday.
Warnings!: Swearing, mentions of food, scars, teen angst, sex and nudity, virginity, kissing, hurt/comfort, smoking, drug mention, teenage problems, alcohol abuse, mentions of violence
A/N: 13.5k words. Oh no. I guess I babble? I hope I don’t talk that much in real life. This is my first ever fic, ever!! Please be patient, and caring. Any thoughts and suggestions on my writing would be appreciated. I don’t even know if anyone will read this, but you’ve got to try and put yourself out there!
“Oi-“
Juno stirred, groaning in protest, her brows furrowed in her state of confusion. The warmth of the large hand that squeezed her shoulder was gentle. Only then did she jolt awake, whipping her head upwards from its place on her books, ginger hair flying around from the sudden movement.