#applied theory

[lunapwrites]

Applied Theory - Backhand

There were few things worse than being wrong, in Remus' opinion, but one of them was the mortifying ordeal of having to say "I don't know."

Why did he have a Howler following him around? Someone's cruel idea of a joke, probably. Why did it keep shouting in French? Because the person who sent it was French, obviously, now please turn to page fifteen. What was it saying? Well, aside from spewing insults, it was giving a spirited lecture on defensive theory and charms mechanics -- would you like me to translate? Because I could do the whole thing in my sleep, if it would let me -- no? Then please, for the love of Merlin, turn to page fifteen.

He'd scarcely slept since Sunday and had a splitting migraine he couldn't shake, so naturally his fifth years were being particularly nosy curious today, culminating in him snapping "I don't know how it works, Hermione!" following the girl's hundred and eighth question about how the cursed Howler was still functioning after a week.

And if (key word) he had more than two functioning brain cells left he might have better appreciated Black's handiwork, but as he did not, he was left rubbing his temples and mumbling out an apology as his forehead hit his desk.

"... A-are you alright, Professor?"

(Hermione again, sounding like he'd kicked her puppy.)

"Never better."

"Do you need the hospital wing? We could always cancel class."

Remus lifted his head with an unimpressed glare.

"No, but nice try Seamus."

The boy shrugged and sat back in his seat, and Remus let his gaze slide down the row to Harry, who was watching the Howler circling around the blackboard with a scholar's interest.

"What have you tried to get rid of it?" Harry asked lightly, and despite the impulse to shout fucking everything, he recognised that his godson was attempting to give him a reprieve in the form of a new lesson plan.

Good lad. Clever lad. Remus supposed he could conveniently "misplace" the detention schedule for the following week in thanks.

"The usual battery," he admitted tiredly. "Finite, Silencio, Evanesco, Inflamare--"

"You tried to set it on fire?"

"'Tried' being the operative term, obviously," Remus sighed. "It ended up duplicating and started shouting at me in a round. Lasted about an hour."

Hermione frowned. "What happened when you tried to Silence it?"

"Oh, I can just show you that one." He drew his wand lazily, pointing it at the still-shouting envelope. "Silencio!"

The Howler sputtered furiously, flapping about his head like an enraged bird. "Comment oses-tu essayer de me faire taire?" it shrieked. "Je n'ai jamais été aussi insulté de toute ma vie! Tu as eu ton tour de parole, espèce d'âne! Maintenant, c'est mon tour!"

It returned to its position floating behind him, gave an imperious little sniff, and returned to lecturing at top volume.

"As you can see, it does not take kindly to interruptions." Remus looked out over the room of students, taking in their conflicted expressions. "It's quite alright to laugh; I'm fully aware it's ridiculous."

A spattering of uncomfortable giggles rippled through the class; Hermione, however, was eyeing the Howler speculatively, mouthing something to herself.

Neville raised his hand. "Have you tried throwing a blanket over it? I know that usually works for my gran's birds."

"I have; it vanished the blanket."

"Shut it outside?" suggested Susan.

"You know I actually tried that one several different times." Remus began counting off on his fingers: "It's come back through the floo, using the school owls, and once even smuggled itself in using Hagrid's beard... which was rather upsetting for both of us, come to think of it."

"Is there a password, you think?" Ron asked. "Like, maybe there's a specific thing you need to say."

Like the map, he meant. It was a good idea, but Remus shook his head. "I've tried a few things of that sort -- even told it that it was right -- but nothing seems to faze it."

"Professor," Hermione ventured slowly, "the caster is French, yes?"

"He is, yes."

"I realise you've probably already tried this, but... have you attempted the Gallic variations of any of the spells? Or only the Romance?"

Remus blinked.

"I've... tried Goidelic, Brythonic, and Romance," he admitted slowly, "but I must confess I'm not... particularly well-versed in Gallic spellwork, specifically. Could you give us an example?"

Hermione pinked. "Well, I suppose it's technically a sub-family of Romance," she explained hastily, "but Gallic variants are commonplace all throughout France and Spain. It's not something we'd typically run into anywhere in the United Kingdom, so it's not like... well, erm... anyway--" she raised her wand. "Silencio."

The Howler paused, quivering in the air, and then--

SMACK!

Remus clutched the back of his head as the cursed letter continued haranguing him:

"Hah! Il semble que cette petite fille ait plus de bon sens que toi, même si elle reste une anglaise mal élevée. Peut-être qu'elle appréciera mes leçons."

Hermione wrung her hands, tears springing to her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Professor! I was so sure that might work!"

"It is acting differently, though!" Hannah assured her. "I mean... isn't it?"

"What's it matter?" Zacharias whinged. "It's still giving me a bloody headache!"

The students began bickering amongst themselves, and Remus was dimly aware that he should stop them, to try to restore some semblance of order to his classroom -- at least before Harry leapt over his desk and punched Smith in the nose on principle. (Or maybe not; Smith was a bit of a twat.)

But all he could think about was Hermione's wand movement: normally, the Silencing Charm was performed with a swish and a downward slash, directed inward, but Hermione had instead ended with an outward slash, making an X.

Goidelic and Brythonic spellwork was historically wandless, or else utilising either more ritual elements or larger external foci, and frequently lengthy incantations. Because of that, it had never occurred to him to look for other ways to cast the same spells he'd been taught throughout his formal education. They were the standard. Wand movements were what they were: you couldn't just... change them, could you?

But then... what was magic but another language? Sure, there was physics and geometry and whatever else involved, but it was still a manner of communicating one's will to the cosmic energy that made up the... well, the everything. So why couldn't there be dialects, so to speak? And if there were dialects, then...

Remus let out a sharp whistle, quieting the class (and pretending not to notice that Ron had Smith in a headlock.) "Hermione. Do you by any chance happen to know if there is a Gallic variant of the Shield Charm?"

And miracle of miracles, the girl nodded, demonstrating a flawless Protego. It was just as he suspected: her wand began in the overhand position, rather than the underhand position, changing the starting angles of both her wand arm and the wand itself significantly. The formulas he used would have to be adjusted to account for... shit.

"Bugger me..." he muttered, slumping into his seat. "He was right."

At this, the Howler quieted and burst into flames, shredding itself.

Remus stared at the pile of ash, utterly appalled. That... absolute bastard.

"I thought you said you'd tried that already," Ron accused, and Harry rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, but he didn't mean it."

Remus took a deep (calming) breath and stood, brushing himself off. It didn't matter. "Precisely, Harry. An excellent example of one of the core tenets of spell theory," he said wryly. "Intent is everything. Hermione, ten points to Gryffindor for thinking outside the box -- and for saving us all further headache."

It provided a remarkably smooth transition into his lesson plan (foundations of non-verbal casting) and so the rest of the class went off without a hitch (other than Smith's suspiciously rumpled appearance) and he was able to dismiss the class for supper feeling at least moderately accomplished for the day.

A mortifying ordeal, perhaps... but also enlightening.

He would need to revisit his notes and make the necessary adjustments, call his team in for more testing, which they'd hate -- maybe some of his NEWT students would be interested if he offered extra credit, or in exchange for a free pass on an essay; no one liked essays. And perhaps he could see if Hermione was interested in some observation hours, given that this was only possible due to her contribution (and would be credited as such; he was proud and perhaps even a little arrogant, but he was not a thief.)

But first... well, first he was going to take a fucking nap, but after that, he was going to make his own modified Howler. With... like... timed releases or something. Make Black think it was over and then BAM! Shouting at him in the loo in like... fuckin' Welsh or something. Maybe not Welsh, no one knew Welsh. German, maybe -- his German was pretty good... if he wanted to ask where the library was, anyway. And with his luck, Black probably knew German, and wouldn't be cowed by a fuckin... like... paper crane screaming "WO IST DIE BIBLIOTHEK?" at top volume. Actually, the paper crane wasn't a bad idea... Lily had a book on origami, he could ask her.

... After his nap, anyway.

[lunapwrites]

Brief update on writing status:

OMH and AT are currently/still sidelined so I can focus on this next chapter for LTL. Sorry to anyone who was hoping for a quick update on either of those. I wouldn't expect any updates to either of them until fall, since I'm actively working on both of them for the WIP Big Bang and can't post anything new until posting time. But fingers crossed that means both will be completed.

The current document I'm working on for the next LTL chapter is over 7500 words atm. It's probably about 70-75% finished. There's a scene or two I need to flesh out in the middle and then I need to finish writing the end. There's a non-zero chance this gets split, depending on what happens. But I've got a bunch of on-screen Wolfstar happening so for those of you who prefer that side of the equation, they're... frankly being a bit ridiculous lol.

Just wanted to reassure anyone waiting on me that I am still writing when I can, and I'm doing my best to finish them. 💙💙

[lunapwrites]

Applied Theory Ch 7 - Drop Shot - The Humiliation

Biiiiiiig thanks to @bluesundaycake for his help with the French dialogue, of which there is... much. Y'all might need translate for this one, girlies. <3

“Sirius? J'ai reçu ton message. Est-ce que tout est—?” Regulus slid to a halt in the doorway, mouth dropping open. The corners twitched dangerously, threatening a smile. “Oh.”

Sirius glared at him. “Ne moque pas de moi.”

“Je ne moque pas,” he lied, stepping carefully into the room and thankfully closing the door behind him, silently taking in… the situation. “Depuis quand as-tu ça?”

“Je me suis réveillé comme ça.”

“Et tu—”

“Tu crois vraiment que je n'ai pas tout essayé pour l'enlever?” Sirius snapped, throwing his hands up to gesture wildly at his face. “À moins que je m'arrache la peau du visage—”

“Non, vraiment?” Regulus’ eyes lit up excitedly. “Même avec du maquillage?”

“Non. Ça ne couvre rien, ça change même de couleur.”

“Fascinant.”

“Concentre-toi, Regulus ! J'ai besoin de ton cerveau et son obsession pour les détails!”

Regulus raised a brow at him. “Si tu me le demandes comme ça...”

“Tu sais bien ce que je veux dire!”

His brother crossed his arms, and for a brief, terrifying moment, Sirius thought he might abandon him to his fate.

Instead, he did something far, far worse.

“D'accord, j'appelle Madame Maxime.”

Sirius blanched. “Pourquoi ferais-tu ça?”

“Car quelle que soit ton opinion de moi - injustifiée d'ailleurs - ce que Lupin t’a fait au visage dépasse largement même mes capacités.” And without another glance in his direction, Regulus swept out the door, leaving Sirius alone to await the inevitable.

It was over. His life, his career — all of it, over. He would never survive the humiliation, he was certain of it.

For a mercy, Regulus returned with Olympe in short order — far more quickly than he had expected, in truth. Unmercifully, she was far less contained than his brother had been, letting out a loud, booming laugh the moment she set eyes on him.

“L'œuvre de votre grand rival, je suppose?” she asked, grinning widely as she inspected the word emblazoned across his forehead. At his sullen nod, she snorted. “Ah non, courage. Il aurait pu écrire bien pire que ‘twat.’ Y avait-il un message, ou était-ce que c’était censé être la grande finale après ces grues en papier - combien y en avait-il?”

“Mille, soi-disant,” he grumbled. They had haunted him for the better part of three weeks, hiding in every corner of the castle only to fly out when he least expected it and smack him about the face. Even his own quarters hadn’t been safe. But they had come with a proper letter — not a Howler — which he pulled from his pocket and handed off to Olympe.

“... I send these cranes with the wish that you find better uses of your time — Personne ne peut l'accuser d'être passif-agressif.”

Sirius’ scowl deepened. “Lupin est un vrai comédien.”

“Et c'est un vrai sorcier, d’après son travail.” She paused, swatting him on the cheek gently with the parchment. “Ne fronce pas les sourcils comme ça, ça donne des rides.”

“Ça ne le tuerait pas d'avoir l'air son âge, à mon avis,” Regulus muttered, earning an elbow to the ribs from Sirius. “D'autant plus qu'il refuse de faire son âge.”

Olympe hummed. “Je n'ai jamais rien vu de tel. C'est incroyable, quand même.”

“Devrait-on le laisser, alors? Puisque le titre lui conv—oof!” Regulus recoiled at a firmer strike from his brother — this time to the stomach — retaliating with a swift kick to the ankle.

“Professeurs,” the Headmistress warned lightly, “n'oubliez pas que vous êtes censés enseigner aux enfants, et non les imiter.”

“Je ne peux pas enseigner comme ça,” Sirius groaned. “Si on ne peut pas l'enlever de mon visage…”

“C'est possible.” Olympe handed him the letter, all but waving it under his nose. “Tu vois? Il t'a laissé toutes les informations nécessaires ici.”

“Ah bon?” Sirius squinted down at the last line, written in Lupin’s steady, looping script. “Il ne fait que me traiter d'idiot.”

“Non. Lis comme il faut.”

Sirius pursed his lips, failing to see the value in this exercise, but obeyed nonetheless: “I’m sure someone as clever as you has already figured out the source of the problem, but just in case my fifth-years are cleverer than you— oui, très original, Lupin —  then you might want to know it’s a simple localisation issue. Do let me know how you make out. Il est audacieux lui, de s'attribuer le mérite d'avoir trouvé le problème de localisation alors que c'est moi qui lui en ai parlé en premier lieu. L'arrogance—!”

“Tu ne vois pas d'autre raison pour qu’il ait pu dire ça?” Regulus asked pointedly enough to stop Sirius in his tracks.

What did Lupin gain from taking credit for this? It wasn’t as though he were making the claim publicly; it was a private letter — or would have been if he hadn’t just shared the contents. Was it a threat? Blackmail of some sort? If so it was a piss-poor attempt; he’d gotten worse from his grandmother — after she’d lost her teeth. So what was it? And now that he was looking at it more closely, why was the phrasing sitting so strangely with him?

And then, all at once, it clicked.

He dropped his face into his hands — stupid. “C'est un problème de localisation.”

“Voilà,” Olympe said, clasping his shoulder gently as she stood. “Il suffit de trouver le sort qu'il a lancé en anglais, et tu devrais pouvoir inverser l'effet, non?”

It sounded so easy when she said it like that - despite the fact that there were half a dozen spells he needed to try, and pray he came across the correct variation. But unfortunately Sirius found himself remembering a crucial bit of information from Lupin’s biography — information which could well spell his doom.

He let out a mirthless laugh. “En théorie, oui. Mais Lupin n'est pas anglais, il est gallois.”

A ringing silence met his statement, hanging in the air for several tense moments.

Regulus broke first, throwing his head back with a sharp, barking laugh so similar to his own, and he walked out of the room — still laughing, his work complete. 

Olympe sniffed, shaking her head. “Faire son âge… c'est l'hôpital qui se moque de la charité,” she muttered, turning to Sirius with a sympathetic grimace. “Tu peux continuer seul à partir d'ici, oui?” At his nod, she continued: “Très bien. J'ai cru comprendre que tu prendra la parole lors de la grande conférencecet été. C'est aux États-Unis cette année, n'est-ce pas ?”

“New York,” Sirius supplied with a proud, if weak smile. His work in recursive casting methodology — which had sprung, interestingly enough, from his feud with Lupin — had finally caught not only the eye of l'Académie de la Magie, but that of the greater international community at large. To be able to present his research at IACST was an incredible honour. And one which — he hoped — he would be able to accept with a clear complexion.

“J’ai aucun doute que tu vas bien nous représenter.” She walked to the door. “Je vais couvrir tes cours de l'après-midi aujourd'hui, mais si tu n’as toujours pas trouvé la solution d'ici demain, puis-je suggérer un chapeau?”

Sirius flushed, but inclined his head gratefully. “Oui, Madame. Merci.”

Once she had left, he walked over to the mirror, pointing his wand carefully at the offensive word spelled across his forehead in bold, black lettering. “Evanesco.”

A small, simple variation, but significant enough; still, the word didn’t budge.

Sirius wondered idly what the protocol would be if he were to murder Lupin at the conference — assuming of course the prick would be there (he would; ego that size? He’d never miss it.)

Well. Hopefully he wouldn’t need to find out.

[lunapwrites]

WIP Word Search

Thank you to the lovely @femme--de--lettres for tagging me in this (I've always wanted to play!!)

My words are: table | mourn | haze | trail | caught

TABLE

They stared one another down unblinkingly, each trying to bluff the other into breaking. Lily pushed two black chips forward, and knocked twice. "Call," said Remus. Lily arched a brow at him challengingly. "Show 'em, Lupin." They slapped their cards down on the table in unison, and Remus felt his triumphant shout die in his throat. He had forgotten, in his hubris, that Lily bit her lip when she was trying not to laugh, too.

Applied Theory Ch. 4 - Overhand: The Challenge.

MOURN

There was no time to mourn the save, however. One of the Slytherin Chasers — Cassius, maybe; hard to tell from a distance — recovered the Quaffle from Angelina's failed shot, tearing towards the other end of the pitch at breakneck speed. He was good, Remus could give him that. Poor Ron was hovering between two goal posts indecisively, watching probably-Cassius race towards him like he was facing down a loaded cannon. "Come on, mate!" Remus called. "Watch his hands!" It wasn't clear what Ron was watching, but it certainly wasn't Cassius’ hands. The Quaffle sailed through the centre hoop easily, the boy missing the save by miles.

Louder Than Love Ch. 13 - To Rage and Define Ourselves

HAZE

“We need to bring back the word ‘whence.’” Dora squinted at Sirius through the haze of smoke, blinking unevenly. “I am not nearly high enough for this conversation,” she groaned, and Sirius let out a breathy sort of chuckle. “No, no,” he insisted, “I just mean it’s like… the same thing as saying ‘from where’ isn’t it? I mean, you could either say ‘Oi, Sirius, where did you get this pot from?’ or you could just say ‘Whence came this pot—’” “And I would sound like a poncey git,” Dora scoffed, splashing him with water. Sirius scowled at her. “It’s efficient.”

Louder Than Love Ch. 16 - ICONOCLAST

TRAIL

They Apparated out to Lyall and Hope’s little cottage in Glais, tucked into a secluded wooded area. Excellent location for keeping your teenaged werewolf son hidden from nosy neighbours; less so for finding wayward wives. Remus caught her trail before Sirius did — more accustomed to using his nose when it counted — and they followed him off into the woods, wands at the ready, prepared to face off against whoever had absconded with her. But no one had: Hope was wandering around a field halfway to Resolven, frustrated and confused but otherwise unharmed.

Louder Than Love Ch. 12 - What Devil, What Shape Is Shifting Now?

CAUGHT

He said “chat” the way Remus’ father had that time he’d caught him smoking pot on the roof. Why don’t you come down from there, and you and I will have a chat. He’d been sixteen and stupid, but not stupid enough to think that was a suggestion. And just like he was sixteen, Remus slowly approached, gripping the back of the armchair like a lifeline as he walked around it, and carefully sat down. There was a half-empty bottle of whisky on the coffee table. He did not remember leaving it there.

open my heart (let it bleed onto yours) Ch. 7 - i wanted to bite, not destroy

Tagging @allalrightagain @broomsticks @inmyownlittlecorner5 @mkaugust @black-sparroww

Your words, should you decide to play, will be:

Rain/Brush/Dark/Hollow/Run

No pressure!

[lunapwrites]

Obligatory "Read AT on AO3" Posting

If you're just joining me on the Applied Theory train, I do cross-post to AO3 for your viewing pleasure. The whole thing as it currently stands is up as of now. <3

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

[lunapwrites]

If I told you a new applied theory chapter was actually in the works, would you believe me?

[lunapwrites]

[...]Inversion serves no practical purpose for the layman caster, being a complicated and delicate process that requires such a high level of skill in abstract visualisation that most would struggle to perform even a basic matrix alteration without risking compromising the integrity of the spell. Conversely, adding a twist of the wand during the final motion will increase the shield's efficacy by approximately 33%, while adding a reflective effect. The direction and degree of the twist determines the angle of the rebounding spell within a statistically insignificant margin of error[...]

"I leave you alone for five minutes, and you've got your nose in that book again."

James reached down and pulled the journal from his hands -- gently, and with care not to lose the page, which Remus appreciated.

"I only had an idea--"

"You're always having ideas," James supplied archly, pressing a cup of some dubious liquid into his hands.

"At least mine are good," Remus grumbled, sniffing the drink tentatively. "Urgh, what did you put in this?"

"Little of this, little of that," came the cryptic reply.

Remus briefly debated the merits of burying his best mate in his own backyard. Maybe beneath the tree; he'd probably get a kick out of that. Probably make a joke about permanent wood or something equally crass, which honestly would just set Remus to giggling like one of his third years and he'd never get the job done. He'd keep dropping the shovel.

He must have made a face because James just laughed at him -- that big, booming laugh of his, like a shot in the heart, and Remus loved him so much he could just punch himself in the fucking face.

"I hate you," he insisted, kicking James in the shins (gently.) James grinned and kicked him back.

"Love you too, Moony."

"I will rip your arms off and use them to play YYZ off your fat fucking head."

"It will be the best thing to happen to it, I assure you."

"Since when do you play the drums?" Lily asked as she swept into the room with her own drink in hand. She paused to brush her lips against Remus' forehead before kissing James on the cheek and settling down on the chair beside him.

(Lily did not ask why Remus was threatening her husband with violence, because after more than twenty years of dealing with their antics, she was well inured to them.)

"I don't," Remus admitted, "but I'd learn. I'd learn just for that."

Lily shook her head fondly.

"I'm sure you would, you're obsessive like that." She took a sip of her mystery drink and grimaced, but did not flinch. "Speaking of obsessive, how's the feud?"

Remus groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

"I'm about to single-handedly start a war with France at this rate." He picked the deck up and shuffled it, just to have something to do with his hands. "He's fucking relentless. He published a thirty-three page treatise on my subject, in English, in one of the biggest international journals in existence and it's like he went out of his way to disprove every word I've ever written in the snidest way humanly possible."

"That does take some dedication," James allowed.

"He included pictures."

"Oh, now that's just petty."

Remus began dealing.

"The worst bit is with the pictures, I can see what he's doing with his wand" -- James snorted -- "so I know he's not lying, which was my first thought, or fucking up the wand movement. So it is rebounding on him. Somehow."

Remus was still not entirely clear on how Black was managing that, but it had also not been Black's first time reproducing his results, as he had worn full protective gear in the photographs -- including a face shield. And while it was gratifying to watch the bastard set himself on fire, that was... also very much not the result that Remus wanted to see, from an academic perspective.

... He was definitely framing that picture, though.

"So what's your next move?" asked James as he examined the hand Remus had dealt him.

(It was shit; Remus could tell because that little knot between his brows had flickered into existence for just a second.)

If Remus was honest with himself -- and he generally wasn't -- what he should do was use Black's findings as a starting point for testing his own methods for flaws. And he would do that. Probably. But what he was also going to do was to test Black's suggestions -- because oh, did he ever have suggestions, and of course they all included using Mordenkainen's sodding Method, because Black obviously had a hard-on for the man the size of the fucking Eiffel Tower.

So yes. Remus would play by his rules, and he'd figure out a way to break them. It was kind of his thing. And then...

"You know that guest lecture I'm scheduled to give at the end of August?" he asked lightly, meeting Lily's eyes over the table. She nodded.

(She'd also been chewing her lip. A middling hand; not bad, not great.)

"At the academy in Reykjavík, wasn't it?"

Remus hummed affirmatively, leaning back in his chair as he picked up his own cards.

"Well, I'll have a captive audience of aspiring academicians and a whole stage to myself. Reckon I can get in some quality time making my bloody point."

James discarded two cards and replaced them, throwing his head back and letting out a single, sharp bark of laughter.

(Whatever he'd just drawn was worse.)

"Aren't they broadcasting you over the Wireless? I think I remember you saying something about that before. It was rather a big deal."

The only answer Remus gave in return was a wide, wild grin, and two quiet knocks on the table.

James folded with a colourful oath; Lily frowned, but raised him, pushing a small stack of three red chips forward.

Favours.

She would, that arsehole.

Remus responded by pushing a red stack of equal size towards her, followed by a pair of black chips.

Dares.

They stared one another down unblinkingly, each trying to bluff the other into breaking.

Lily pushed two black chips forward, and knocked twice.

"Call," said Remus. Lily arched a brow at him challengingly.

"Show 'em, Lupin."

They slapped their cards down on the table in unison, and Remus felt his triumphant shout die in his throat.

He had forgotten, in his hubris, that Lily bit her lip when she was trying not to laugh, too.

"Oh, cachu hwch," he groaned, dropping his head onto his arms.

"Aww, Lily, you've broken him," James cooed, poking Remus in the shoulder and earning himself a firm punch in the ribs.

Lily grinned smugly.

"Right, so the favours you can cash in by getting Harry through History, kicking and screaming if you must."

"Oh, I must," Remus muttered.

"And the first of your dares will be to attend a luncheon with me on Sunday, in James' place."

"Polyjuice?"

"Yes."

Remus looked at James, who shook his head.

"I am begging you. Her sister will be there."

"Brilliant." Remus turned back to Lily with a deeply aggrieved sigh. "The second?"

Her grin turned positively wicked.

"If you ever happen meet your eternal rival in person, you are hereby honour-bound to buy him a drink on my behalf."

[lunapwrites]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💖

OK, I am going to try really really hard to both describe where I was coming from with these/why they're my favorites and to be as objective as I can about them so I don't walk my self-hype back at all hahaha. (This is also going in my drafts until RL Fest reveals are up so if this comes out super late, that was why!!)

Louder Than Love - WIP. Rated E, Remus/Sirius/Tonks. It's effectively an OotP rewrite in which Remus locates his backbone and tells Dumbledore he can fuck right off with his werewolf missions, he is staying at Number 12 to keep Sirius from falling apart (which goes swimmingly as you might expect.) This started out as basically just me poking at a headcanon a bit -- because I legitimately feel that Remus and Sirius need a third to sort of redirect their respective intensities, and now I'm just kinda having fun with it. Somehow this is now also touching on social justice, government corruption, ethics, addiction issues, gender identity and sexuality (without hitting anyone in the face with it, I think) and parenting as navigated by a couple of fucked up adults who find themselves in charge of a whole ass traumatized teenager. It is my baby, and I'm looking forward to getting to post for it again (the last few months have been HELL.)

three knocks upon the door - Rated E, Lily/Tonks. This is a dark!AU, and my first ever casefic/mystery/thriller whatever you wanna call it. It's also my first ever WLW fic. This ended up coming about because I was assigned a bunch of characters and tropes randomly and I shied away from Snily so hard that this was the result lmao. I am immensely pleased with how it came out. This Lily radiates big dick energy. Tonks shares the family trait of obsessive tendencies and leans right the fuck into it. I included Murderhusbands!Wolfstar with no scruples. Oliver Wood is here and he is The Best Boy. There are power dynamics in the professional and personal spheres. There is a crazy rhythm to this one and I highly suggest also vibing to the playlist because it's one of my favorites that I've made. Anyway, I had a ton of fun writing this fic. The only limit I set myself was on my word count (per the fest) and it SHOWS. XD

Numb (Phobos I) - Rated M, Gen (background Wolfstar mention.) Part of my Satellites series, which all have secondary titles after specific moons which are REALLY meta for the story. Phobos is one of the moons of Mars, and is named after the Greek god of fear -- specifically fear during battle. This was an AU one-shot of what might have happened if Remus got brought to Malfoy Manor instead of the Trio, and faced off against Peter. Writing their dynamic was something I really wanted to try doing because I am firmly in camp "Peter Was Really Their Friend" BUT I also can't look past what he did, and I don't think Remus would either. I wanted to write petty, spiteful little bastard Remus and this Peter who knew him, right down to his bones. I wanted there to be chemistry, and I wanted there to be baggage and delicious, well-earned vengeance and I think I hit the mark.

Applied Theory - WIP. Rated M, Remus/Sirius. The Wolfstar Academia AU! French Sirius and Welsh Remus sniping at each other via academic papers and all the pettiness that entails haha. Honestly this has just been so fun to work on in those moments when I need something light to write to counteract LTL's heavier stuff. The banter is pretty great, and considering that this is basically being chaos-posted without even being edited, I'm honestly impressed with it? Especially with like. The fact that I decided to be COMPLETELY EXTRA and actually cite things in Chicago style and write full-on French dialogue for Sirius and Regulus haha. It's cool it's fine we're doing GREAT over here. Anyway this is just good, ridiculous fun, and I need to get more of it out for y'all soon.

Ouroboros - Rated T, Gen with a strong background Wolfstar. Get in, bitches, we're going to therapy. This fic started as me wanting to write some sort of reconciliation between Remus and Lyall, and then life (or rather death) happened offline on my end. So instead of a story about hard-earned reconciliation and forgiveness between a parent and their child, I wrote about uh... not doing that. And making it okay. And I'm ultimately a hell of a lot happier with it for that. Heavily angsty, and a "canon"-divergence from LTL in which Dora never got involved (but the story fills in more parts from Chapter 12, specifically.)

Thank you for the tag! I have many others I want to pass this to as well but because I'm posting this so late/delayed I feel like y'all will have already done it, sooooo if we're mutuals and I didn't tag you and you wanna do this feel free to consider this your blanket tag because I appreciate you but also I have anxiety! XD