#**canon

[alissamarietart]

MULDER AND SCULLY HAVE TO PRETEND TO BE A MARRIED COUPLE FOR THIS CASE R U KIDDING ME HEY NOWWWW HEY NOWWWWWW THIS IS WHAT DREAMSSSSS ARE MADE OFFFFFFFFF

[readysteadyremus]

HEADCANON

8 Queensburg Drive

Remus' flat has a certain charm on its good days. On the others, it's clearly the environment of someone who's losing all touch with reality. He moved in nearly right out of school and hasn't left since. Throughout the war, after the death of his friends, Remus has found his little home to be of increasingly important comfort. 8 Queensburg Drive is, from the outside, in no poorer condition than its neighbors--that is to say, poor, but in that prideful sort of way. Perhaps its hedges need to be trimmed, perhaps the grass is growing a bit longer than strictly fashionable, but it would not be unkind to say Remus' home is utterly usual.

The inside, however, speaks volumes of the man's state of mind. It's clean--spotlessly clean--but in some places it's clear that Remus has a very tenuous grip on what is considered good and proper. The living room, for instance, is a veritable literature mausoleum. Remus has an unfortunate habit of acquiring books and stranding them somewhere in the house; stacks fill every corner, piles sit unread on end tables and unused chairs. (Someone once casually mentioned the term 'hoarding' to Remus, and he flinched so hard he knocked his head into a cabinet and had a headache for days.)

The rest of the house is in similar states of disarray: Remus must move piles of books to clean, then shift them back into their original spaces. His bedroom is cramped, and mostly filled by his bed; whatever surface he manages to free is not unburdened for long. The kitchen is the only room in the house that is clear and normal, for when Remus decides on the rare occasion to make use of his oven and prepare a proper meal, he can't abide the clutter (nor the taste of dust in his dinner).