For The Thems And The Theys

My side blog for my love of fat trans/queer joy through romance novels, manga, movies, and fanfiction. Wolfstar fan. I like to think of prompts. Give me a request for a prompt and I’ll flesh out the idea for you to write.

[queerlybelovedwerewolf]

hi, you can call me “Odd” because no one can pronounce my name in English and i value my privacy— this blog is mostly marauders chaos with a side of unhinged feelings.

i’m really into disability, fatness, body worship, and all the complicated, heavy stuff — especially when it comes with tenderness, pining, and characters who aren’t conventionally attractive. give me scars, softness, awkwardness, trauma, bad coping mechanisms, and people who love each other anyway.

i love wolfstar (especially post-azkaban wolfstar — absolute weakness), and a bunch of other ships depending on the day and the mood. I think Peter is a complex figure and is really done dirty by the fandom especially in terms of fatphobia but I will probably never write about him.

i’m here for:

→ weird bodies and big feelings

→ fucked up people who need a hug (or a good snarky roast)

→ softness and devotion and ruin

→ character-driven everything

→ fat and disabled characters who are deeply wanted

→ queer longing and fanfic as gender theory

→ fat liberation

→ gender euphoria

→ exploring the dynamics of creature fics

→ lycanthropy as a metaphor for trauma, queerness, disability, otherness, and transition

about me:

fat, disabled, nb/ftm, thirtyish. Highly educated and also an absolute fucking idiot. been in fandom since 2010. i like to read romances where fat characters are deeply desired, where gender is expansive, and where queerness gets messy and real.

fanfic is my outlet, my lens, and my love language.

you can use anything i post — just tag me: @queerlybelovedwerewolf

I’m on ao3 @littlespider98 but only posted one fic there so far

i don’t bite (unless you ask nicely).

[queerlybelovedwerewolf]

Ok I’ve been really into the rare pairing of Haymitch x Finnick (when Finnick is like 25+ y/o not in a gross way) after reading the fic Spin Control. Anyone have any recs? Or is there a name for this pairing?

[oladka-art]

Love❤️❤️❤️

[lunehowls]

nuzzle

[foxwing]

the boys after a night of going hard in the gryffindor common room (click for better quality)

don’t bring up my obsession with giving remus cigarettes he deserves a drunk cig after all he’s been through. closeups under the cut!

ps in my beautiful mind lily took this picture

[industrations]

Save a horse ride a cowboy

[queerlybelovedwerewolf]

I welcome critique if it’s constructive. But I am frustrated that I’m new to writing and posting and I got a comment on something I really worked hard on that really irked me. Someone posted (in Spanish, honestly they probably assumed I couldn’t understand it) that my fic seemed like it was written by chat gpt, but if it wasn’t then it was a good fic. At first I engaged and asked why they thought that, but then I just blocked them.

Its okay to not like how someone writes, but to say it was definitely written by ai is so fucking rude. Like its one thing if my writing style bothers you or is bad, but who the hell reads a work and then feels the need to say that. Its so disrespectful. Helpful criticism and critique are great, I’m more of a nonfiction writer typically, I know I have a lot of room to improve and that I tend to fall into the same cadence and patterns. But don’t be a dick and expect i won’t block you. Creatives should be supporting other creatives especially now when AI is stealing our work.

[foxwing]

beat that boy up NOWWW

here’s my confession that i think being beat up and bloody is the absolute sexiest a man can get. and then put him on his knees 😻😻😻

literally spent this whole drawing drooling over him 😭

closeup under the cut :P

[penseesduncookie]

[valsamiko]

The og boys <3

[queerlybelovedwerewolf]

I finally got access to a laptop that barely functions, set up my title, tags, blurb etc for a fic and as soon as I hit post Ao3 is down so it all disappeared😭😭😭

[queerlybelovedwerewolf]

Okay we got them posted 🥰. Just my longer posts from here. If you want anything else from here on ao3 just send me an ask and I’ll get around to it.

——

Cowboy postwar au

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Baker Remus x Mafia Boss Sirius au

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Rockstar Sirius x Photographer Remus au

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[queerlybelovedwerewolf]

I finally got access to a laptop that barely functions, set up my title, tags, blurb etc for a fic and as soon as I hit post Ao3 is down so it all disappeared😭😭😭

[queerlybelovedwerewolf]

hi hi could we pretty please have your last two super long fics on ao3? no pressure ofc, do whatever you like, but i’d like to read them there if you want to (the bodyguard one and mafia one) (i am on anon because i am Anxious lol sorry)

Yes 100%, I do plan to post my longer stuff on ao3 I just don’t have access to a computer and write everything on my phone, so when I do post on ao3 it’s like a whole ordeal. (Posting my fics on mobile sucks but we’re saving up for a laptop). It’s something I’m currently working on.

Also so in love with the mafia/baker concept that i do want to post it and maybe do a rewrite for something longer form!! I love this kind of feedback bc it shows people would actually want to read stuff I write on there 💕

[queerlybelovedwerewolf]

I’ve really been enjoying your stories 😊 hope you’ve had a nice weekend!

Aww thank you so much! That means a lot to me! I’m trying to work on my writing until I feel like I can actually write stuff worth posting on A03/writing a longer fic.

As for the weekend, I’ve been surviving a heatwave and gardening and doing some volunteering at my local food pantry while I can, so it’s been a pretty chill weekend 8/10. Hope yours was amazing!!

[queerlybelovedwerewolf]

Remus had been on tour for three weeks before anyone on Sirius Black’s crew remembered to ask if he was “security.”

It happened in Prague, backstage. One of the lighting techs—skinny, twenty-two, eyeliner smudged like he’d slept in it—looked up at him while wrapping cables. “Hey, man, you’re with the band, right? You’re huge. You’re their bodyguard or something?”

Remus adjusted the camera strap hanging around his neck and tried not to hunch, which only ever made him look more like a bear. “Photographer,” he said softly.

“Oh,” the tech blinked, like that didn’t compute. “Cool. You just… look like you’d break someone’s nose before you’d take their picture.”

Remus gave the same awkward half-smile he always did in these conversations. He wasn’t ashamed of being tall or broad-shouldered—it wasn’t like he’d chosen it—but he hated the assumption that came with it: that big meant loud, or tough, or someone who’d start a fight instead of avoid one.

In reality, he’d rather be behind a lens than in any crowd. But here he was: cities, arenas, screaming fans—and Sirius Black.

Sirius bloody Black.

The man was magnetic in a way that made Remus feel off-balance just being near him. Onstage, Sirius was everything—swagger, glitter, smoke, and sound. Offstage, he was no less distracting. He laughed too easily, touched people without thinking—fingers brushing arms, hands on shoulders—and he was so… small. Compact, sharp lines, tattoos curling up veins, a smile that made the room tilt.

Remus kept his distance. He had to.

Because he was thirty-three, single, and hopelessly, stupidly pining for a man who didn’t even know he existed outside of his job title.

⸻

It was after the Berlin show that Sirius actually spoke to him. Really spoke to him.

Remus was in the pit, editing shots from the first half of the concert, when a shadow fell across his laptop. He looked up—and there he was. Sweat-slick hair, eyeliner smudged, leather jacket thrown over bare arms like it was nothing.

“Hey,” Sirius said, casual as if they’d always been friends. “You’re Remus, yeah?”

Remus blinked. “Yes. I mean—yeah.”

“You take the photos.” Sirius leaned over the table, scrolling through a few shots with unbothered fingers. “These are brilliant. You make me look—God, I don’t know—cooler than I am.”

Remus nearly laughed out loud. “You’re Sirius Black,” he said before he could stop himself. “You don’t need help looking cool.”

Sirius’s grin turned sharp and almost… shy? “Flatterer. You British?”

“Welsh.”

“Even better.” Sirius tapped one of the photos—him mid-song, mouth open, eyes closed, a spotlight breaking behind him like a starburst. “I want this one. Print it huge. Over my bed.”

Remus flushed so hard it hurt. “I can send you the file.”

“Perfect.” Sirius straightened, gave him a mock salute. “Cheers, big guy.”

And then he was gone, swept back into the storm of fans and crew and noise.

Remus sat there for a long moment, staring at the screen, pulse hammering. Big guy. Right. That was what people saw: some towering bloke with shoulders that didn’t fit in airplane seats, probably more fist than thought.

Not someone who read poetry in hotel rooms, who could barely hold eye contact with the man he’d been half in love with since university radio first played Runaway Dog.

——

Remus told himself it was nothing. Sirius had probably forgotten him the moment he’d stepped back into the crowd. Rockstars didn’t spend their time thinking about the tour photographer, especially not the quiet, too-big one who kept to the edges of every room.

But Sirius didn’t forget.

——

The crew bus rattled over dark highways, most people asleep in their bunks. Remus couldn’t. He was crammed into the back lounge, long legs folded awkwardly, editing shots with headphones on.

He didn’t notice Sirius until the seat across from him shifted.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” Sirius asked, voice rough with exhaustion but lighter than it had been onstage hours ago.

Remus tugged off one earbud. “Not really. Too much noise.”

Sirius smirked. “From the guy wearing headphones?”

“I meant… in my head,” Remus admitted, immediately regretting how honest that sounded.

But Sirius didn’t tease him. He just nodded like he understood. “Show me what you’re working on?”

Remus turned the laptop toward him. Sirius leaned close, knees bumping Remus’s, studying each frame with surprising focus. “You’re good,” he said finally. “Really good. You make it look like I know what I’m doing up there.”

“You do,” Remus murmured.

Sirius glanced up, eyes catching the dim light. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

Remus shrugged. “People… usually say enough without me.”

Sirius tilted his head, like he was trying to read him. “Everyone thinks you’re security.”

“I know.”

“Do you like that?”

“No.” Remus hesitated. “But it’s easier than correcting them.”

For the first time, Sirius didn’t look like the unshakable frontman plastered across every magazine cover. He looked softer, curious. “You’re not scary, you know.”

Remus huffed out something between a laugh and a sigh. “Tell that to the last six airports.”

Sirius grinned. “Maybe I will.”

——

The rooftop was loud—music, laughter, strangers pressing drinks into Remus’s hand. He lingered at the edge, as usual, trying to look busy with his camera.

Sirius spotted him instantly. “There you are, Big Guy.”

Remus froze as Sirius slid into his space, close enough that Remus could smell smoke and citrus. “You don’t like parties, do you?”

“I’m here to work.”

“And yet you’ve taken zero photos in the last hour.” Sirius’s grin softened. “Come on. Sit with me.”

They ended up in a quieter corner, legs dangling over the edge, city lights sprawling below. Sirius leaned back on his hands. “You’re different.”

“Different how?”

“Everyone here wants something. You just… watch. Like you’re not even part of it.” Sirius’s gaze flicked to Remus’s mouth, then back to his eyes. “Kind of makes me want to know what you’re thinking.”

Remus swallowed hard. “Mostly that I should probably get better at small talk.”

Sirius laughed—real, head-tipped-back laughter. “I don’t need small talk. I get enough of that from people who don’t mean it.”

For one dizzy second, Remus almost said, I mean it. I mean all of it. I see you even when no one else does.

But he didn’t. He just looked away, knuckles white around his camera strap.

——

By now, it had become routine: Sirius would find him.

Remus didn’t know how it happened. He tried to keep a professional distance, but every city blurred into the next, and somehow Sirius kept gravitating toward him like it was intentional.

“Loopy,” Sirius called from the stage—his new nickname for him, short for Lupin, which the crew had picked up without asking. “Need you to test the lights for me.”

“I’m the photographer,” Remus reminded him, standing below the stage with his camera ready.

“Exactly. Take a picture of me up here. Tell me if I look good in this spotlight.” Sirius leaned into the mic stand, smirking. “This is very serious work.”

Remus raised the camera, but Sirius stopped him. “Wait, no. You do it too.”

“Do what?”

“Come up here. Let me take one of you.”

Remus blinked. “No.”

“Yes,” Sirius insisted, hopping down and grabbing his wrist before he could retreat. “You hide behind that lens all the time. I want to see you.”

It was ridiculous—Remus was twice his size, could have pulled away easily, but Sirius’s fingers wrapped around his wrist felt like an anchor.

He climbed onto the stage, awkward and flushed. Sirius snatched the camera.

“Hold still,” Sirius said, adjusting settings with a confidence that was almost certainly fake. “Look at me.”

Remus did.

And Sirius went quiet. He lowered the camera slightly, like he’d forgotten why he’d taken it in the first place.

“You’re… not what I expected,” Sirius said finally.

“Everyone says that.”

“They probably don’t mean it the way I do.”

Before Remus could respond, someone shouted that soundcheck was starting. Sirius handed the camera back, flashing a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Later, Loopy.”

——

The crew was scattered across hotel rooms, but Remus couldn’t sleep. He sat on the balcony, reading a dog-eared novel by phone light.

“Thought I’d find you here.”

He looked up. Sirius was barefoot, hoodie pulled over messy hair, holding two mugs. “Tea,” Sirius explained. “Don’t say I never do anything for you.”

Remus took the mug carefully. “Thanks.”

Sirius leaned against the railing, studying him. “You’re quiet even when no one’s around.”

“Not much to say.”

“Bullshit.” Sirius smiled faintly. “You’re thinking all the time. You just don’t share it.”

Remus didn’t know what to do with that, so he sipped his tea.

Sirius’s voice dropped. “You ever get tired of being… outside everything?”

Remus looked at him sharply. “You’re Sirius Black. You’re the center of every room.”

“Yeah,” Sirius said. “And somehow I’ve never felt more alone.”

Something heavy settled between them.

Remus wanted to reach out—wanted to put a hand over Sirius’s, wanted to tell him he wasn’t alone, not if he’d just look. But Remus had spent years convincing himself that wanting something didn’t mean he was allowed to take it.

——

Backstage was a storm—roadies shouting, equipment cases rattling, fans outside screaming loud enough to shake the walls. Remus tucked himself against the side corridor, camera bag clutched like a shield. Crowds pressed in on him in ways that still felt unfamiliar despite weeks on the road.

Then Sirius appeared—sweat-slick, buzzing with post-performance adrenaline, eyeliner smudged like shadows. “Loopy,” he grinned, grabbing Remus’s arm without hesitation, “you’re my ticket out of here. Come on.”

Remus blinked. “What?”

“Too many people,” Sirius said quickly, weaving them through the crush. “Stay close.”

Sirius’s hand slid down, fingers wrapping around Remus’s much larger one. It should have looked ridiculous—Sirius pulling someone twice his size like a determined cat dragging a reluctant bear—but somehow it didn’t.

They ducked into a storage stairwell, slamming the door against the noise. Sirius leaned back against it, panting and laughing.

“See? You’re handy to have around. Like my own personal wall.”

Remus stepped back automatically, hunching. “Sorry. I know I—people say I take up too much space.”

Sirius’s smile faltered. “Who the hell told you that?”

“Everyone.” Remus stared at the floor. “All my life. Too big. Too serious. Not… approachable.”

For a second Sirius didn’t speak. Then he reached up—way up—and tugged lightly at the sleeve of Remus’s fair isle sweater. “You’re literally wearing the least threatening jumper I’ve ever seen. You look like you’re about to read me a bedtime story, not break my nose.”

Remus flushed so hard his ears burned. “I—I like this one. It’s comfortable.”

“I like it too,” Sirius said softly. “Makes you look… kind.”

Remus froze. No one ever called him that. Not once.

——

Tour bus, Munich. 2:15 AM.

Everyone was asleep. Remus had taken the back couch again, book in hand. He was halfway through a chapter when the bus jolted, and suddenly Sirius was there—tumbling into the seat next to him, blanket in hand.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Sirius murmured. “Can I—?”

Remus shifted, trying to give him space despite the cramped couch. “Of course.”

But there wasn’t much room to give. Their shoulders brushed. Sirius yawned, curling up practically against him.

“You’re warm,” Sirius mumbled, already half-asleep.

Remus stared at the ceiling, heart pounding. “I’m… sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Sirius’s voice was quiet but certain. “I like it.”

Remus didn’t move all night.

——

Remus was swapping memory cards when Sirius appeared again, leaning casually against the wall.

“You never dance,” Sirius said.

“I don’t,” Remus replied simply.

“You should. Bet you’re good at it.”

Remus snorted. “I’d look ridiculous. People expect someone my size to be… coordinated. I’m not.”

Sirius stepped closer, eyes glinting. “I think you’re lying. You’re probably secretly graceful. Big guys usually are—they’ve had to learn how not to crush everyone.”

Remus blinked. “That’s… accurate, actually.”

“See?” Sirius smirked. “You’re all soft edges under there.”

Remus looked away quickly, pretending to adjust his camera. “You’re teasing me.”

“Not teasing.” Sirius’s voice was softer now. “Just trying to get you to see what I see.”

——

The afterparty was louder than usual—last European date before the North American leg. Crew packed into a bar rented for the night, music pounding, drinks flowing.

Remus didn’t usually drink much. Too many years of keeping control, of not wanting to be that big man in a room who everyone assumed would get aggressive after a pint. But tonight, someone shoved a glass in his hand, and another, and by the time Sirius found him, Remus was sitting on the fire escape outside, flushed and muttering to himself.

“Loopy,” Sirius said, stepping out, still glittering faintly under the bar’s neon lights. “You disappeared. That’s illegal at your own party.”

Remus blinked up at him, glasses sliding down his nose. “Not my party. Your party.” His words were thick, slower than usual. “You’re… you’re Sirius Black.”

Sirius smirked but crouched beside him. “Guilty. You’re drunk, aren’t you?”

Remus groaned, dropping his head into his huge hands. “I’m not—well, maybe. Just a bit. I don’t usually. I can’t hold my liquor.”

Sirius laughed softly. “Yeah, I can tell.”

“Sorry.” Remus peeked up, miserable. “I shouldn’t be here. I don’t… belong in your world. You’re famous, beautiful, magnetic, and I’m just—this.” He gestured vaguely at himself—too broad, sweater stretched across his chest, knees drawn up awkwardly.

Sirius’s amusement faded. “This?”

“You know.” Remus’s voice cracked. “Too big. Too quiet. People look at me and think I’m some bouncer or… or scary. I’ve spent my whole life trying to take up less space. And then you—” He stopped, panicked realization flickering across his face. “Oh, God. I’m saying this out loud.”

Sirius tilted his head. “Then say the rest.”

Remus pressed his palms to his eyes. “I can’t.”

“You can.” Sirius’s voice was low now. “What about me?”

Remus’s shoulders hunched like he could fold himself in half. “I like you,” he mumbled. “Too much. You’re… you’re all light and I’m just… background. You’re Sirius Black. I’m a guy in a fair isle jumper with a camera.”

Sirius stared at him for a long moment—so long that Remus wished the earth would just swallow him.

Finally, Sirius leaned closer. “Remus,” he said, quiet but sharp. “You think I’ve been following you around between sets because I don’t notice you?”

Remus’s breath caught. “You… what?”

Sirius smiled faintly, almost shy. “You’re not scary. You’re not too big. You’re… steady. You’re the only person here who doesn’t want something from me. And I—” He stopped, shook his head. “You’ll regret hearing this sober.”

Remus blinked, stunned. “You’re… you’re flirting with me.”

Sirius’s grin returned. “I’ve been flirting with you for weeks, Loopy.”

Remus made a small, panicked sound, burying his face in his hands again. “Oh, no.”

“‘Oh, no’?” Sirius teased gently. “Not the reaction I was hoping for.”

——

Remus woke with his head pounding and his stomach twisted in knots. The room was too bright, his sweater smelled faintly of beer, and—worse than all of that—he remembered everything.

The fire escape. Sirius’s hand on his sleeve. The words that had tumbled out like he’d been saving them for years.

I like you. Too much.

“Oh, God,” Remus muttered, dragging a pillow over his face. “Idiot.”

⸻

He spent the morning avoiding everyone. He edited photos in the crew lounge, answered emails that didn’t need answering, and hid behind his laptop like it was a shield.

When the door opened and Sirius walked in, Remus froze. He kept his eyes on the screen, pretending to type.

“Morning, Loopy,” Sirius said lightly.

Remus cleared his throat. “Good morning. About last night—I was drunk. I shouldn’t have said—”

Sirius cut him off. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing? You think I’d let you brush that off?”

Remus finally looked up. Sirius was leaning against the table, arms crossed, a small, deliberate smile on his lips. “You were honest,” Sirius continued. “I liked it.”

“I embarrassed myself.”

“You didn’t.” Sirius stepped closer. “I’ve been trying to make you see me for weeks. And you still think I’m just… a rockstar being nice to the big quiet guy in the sweaters.”

Remus swallowed hard. “Aren’t you?”

Sirius stopped right in front of him, close enough that Remus could feel the warmth radiating off his smaller frame. “No. I’m someone who can’t stop looking for you in every room. Someone who thinks you’re smarter than anyone here, and softer than you let yourself believe. And yes, I want you.”

Remus’s breath caught. “Sirius…”

“Tell me to back off,” Sirius said, voice low. “Tell me you don’t want this.”

Remus didn’t move. Couldn’t.

“I—” His voice cracked. “I’ve wanted this since the first night you spoke to me.”

That was all Sirius needed. He reached up, fingers curling in the front of Remus’s sweater, and kissed him.

It wasn’t careful. Sirius kissed like he performed—intense, unhesitating, all heat and intent. Remus made a startled sound, hands hovering before instinct took over and he pulled Sirius closer, careful even in his urgency.

Sirius pressed closer, lips parting, standing on his toes to erase every inch of space between them. One of Remus’s hands slid to the back of Sirius’s neck, the other anchoring around his waist, grounding them both.

When they finally broke apart, breathless, Sirius smirked faintly. “Still think you’re just background?”

Remus, cheeks flushed and glasses fogged, shook his head. “Not anymore.”

Sirius leaned in, voice almost a whisper. “Good. Because I don’t do background. I want all of you.”

Remus’s heart thudded hard enough to drown out everything else. For once, he didn’t try to make himself smaller.

———

Written for moonysmidlifecrisisfest prompt A15

[kingstarkingslay]

i think if sirius had been given even one (1) healthy year post-azkaban with remus he would’ve become insufferably domestic. i’m talking apron-wearing, obsessively-making-soup, clingy-limpet-level domestic.

[150-beats-per-minute]

Remus and Sirius 15 minutes after calling each other best friends