Just thinking about James âI can fix himâ Potter and Regulus âgood fucking luckâ Black.
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DEAR READER
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@n-e-t-t
Just thinking about James âI can fix himâ Potter and Regulus âgood fucking luckâ Black.

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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>
âââââââââââ
đşRemus John Lupin-The Prince of Insomnia -
⢠Sleeps like heâs never done it before.
⢠Light sleeper. One creaky stair and heâs blinking at the ceiling like âIs it the Ministry or the moon?â
⢠Canât fall asleep without reading. Literally needs a book or heâll start overthinking and spiral.
⢠Sleeps on his side, curled up, one arm under the pillow.
⢠Blanket stealer. Doesnât mean to. Just wakes up wrapped like a burrito of depression and shame.
⢠Will not sleep in socks. Refuses.
⢠Mumbles shit like âdid you know pomegranates were once thought to house the souls of the dead?â at 2 a.m. before conking out mid-sentence.
đžSirius 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 heâs cold.
⢠If heâs sharing a bed, he wraps his entire body around them like a needy barnacle with a death grip.
⢠One leg out. Always. Doesnât matter if itâs snowing.
⢠Might whisper ââŚJames?â in his sleep. Might slap you in the face with a rogue elbow. Unpredictable king.
đŚJames 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. Youâll hear a muffled âQuaffleâmineâLilyâSIRIUS NOââ
⢠Might wake up in a panic looking for his wand.
đPeter Pettigrew-The Dead Body -
⢠Sleeps like heâs 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 heâs sleeping he will answer. He will also lie. Donât believe a thing sleep-Peter says.
đââŹRegulus Arcturus Black-The Possessed Victorian Child -
⢠Doesnât sleep. He resets.
⢠Lies perfectly still like heâs 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 âjust a cramp or something.â
⢠Has probably cursed people in his sleep.
⢠Will kick you if you even try to go for a cuddle.
Anyways just for fun I donât make the rules~
Iâm having too much fun writing a Screenplay/fic about the Marauders so hereâs a little snippet I guess-
(18+ only please) (trigger warning- alcohol, vomit, suggested sexual themes, cursing)
âââââââââââââ
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.
Thereâs sweat, glitter, and the faint smell of shame.
SIRIUS BLACK stands on the table like heâs 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 heâs a wild animal cornered behind Honeydukes.
MARY:
âPut that down.â
SIRIUS (innocent):
âWhat?â
MARLENE (pointing):
âThat.
The bottle that smells like it was siphoned from the devilâs armpit.â
SIRIUS squints at it.
Sniffs it.
Recoils.
SIRIUS:
ââŚLegendary.â
MARY:
âLegendary doesnât mean digestible.â
MARLENE:
âYou have a sensitive tummy.â
SIRIUS (offended):
âThatâs James, actually.â
MARLENE:
âNo, babe. James and any sort of sustenance? Sure. But you and hard liquor?
Same difference.â
MARY (smirking):
âLast time you drank anything over 40%, you told McGonagall she was âgatekeeping magic.ââ
SIRIUS:
âShe is.â
MARLENE:
âYou projectile vomited into the prefect bathroom sink.â
SIRIUS (darkly):
âIt deserved it.â
MARY taps the bottle.
MARY:
âPut it down, Padfoot. We love you. We donât want to mop your organs off the floor.â
SIRIUS (hands up, angelic):
âAlright, alright. Iâll be a good boy. I wonât drink it.â
CUT TO: GIRLSâ BATHROOM. 18 MINUTES LATER.
SIRIUS is COLLAPSED over the loo, clutching it like itâs 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):
âHHHHRRRRAAARRGKâ
IâM DYINGâ
MCDONALD I CAN SEE THE VEILââ
MARY:
âYeah babe I told you not to drink INDUSTRIAL CLEANER.â
In the cornerâ
MARLENE stands with her arms crossed, sipping Firewhisky from a teacup.
MARLENE:
âIâm not saying I told you soââ
MARY (snaps):
âWe told him so.â
SIRIUS retches violently.
SIRIUS:
âBLAGHâ
I THINK MY LIVER LEFTâ
TELL JAMES HE CAN HAVE MY BIKEâ
GIVEâGIVE REGULUSâNOTHINGââ
MARY:
âYeah Iâm sure heâll be gutted.â
SIRIUS dry-heaves so hard he almost levitates.
MARY pats his back.
MARY:
âThatâs right. Get it out of youââ
SIRIUS (broken):
âI WAS A FOOL.
I WAS HUBRIS PERSONIFIED.â
MARLENE:
âYou took a shot. Then another shot. Then you saidâand I quoteââI fear nothing but taxes.ââ
MARY rubs small circles on his back.
SIRIUS:
âMARYâ
TAKE THE KNIFE OUT OF MEââ
MARY:
âThereâs no knife in you, babe.â
SIRIUS (weeping):
âTHE METAPHORICAL ONEââ
MARY presses her cheek to his shoulder, sighing with the resignation of someone whoâs done this too many times.
MARY:
âIâm never having children.â
Outside, someone is still blasting ABBA.
JAMESâ voice echoes from somewhereâ
JAMES (O.S.):
âWHEREâS MY WAND?!?â
REMUS is heard shushing someone.
SIRIUS retches again, clinging to the toilet like itâs his Hogwarts diploma.
MARLENE (checks the bottle):
âThis was definitely brewed in a bucket. Probably with someoneâs toe.â
SIRIUS (hoarse):
âIâM SEEINGâ
POETRYââ
MARY:
âThatâs blood loss, babe.â
SIRIUS:
âPROMISE MEâ
PROMISE MEâ
YOUâLL TELL REMUS I WAS A HEROââ
MARY:
âAbsolutely not.â
SIRIUS:
âMARYââ
MARY:
âIâll tell him you were a little bitch who couldnât handle moonshine.â
SIRIUS collapses emotionally.
A beat.
He lurches, retches again.
MARLENE (matter-of-fact):
âGoes down like a god. Comes up like a sewer goblin.â
SIRIUS (muffled, into toilet):
âGOBLINSâARE VALIDââ
MARY:
âHeâs delirious.â
MARLENE:
âThis is Tuesday.â
MARY holds his hair tighter as he retches again, the sound echoing violently.
MARY (resigned):
âIf any gets on my shoes, Iâm hexing you.â
SIRIUS:
âHEX MEâ
END MEâ
TAKE ME TO MORGANA I HAVE SINNEDââ
He collapses dramatically into MARYâs arms.
MARY:
âYouâre fine, drama queen.â
SIRIUS (weak):
âWater.â
MARY:
âSay please.â
SIRIUS whimpers.
SIRIUS:
âPleaseâŚâ
MARY rolls her eyes.
MARLENE raises her cup.
MARLENE:
âTo poor decisions.â
MARY:
âAnd to cleaning Siriusâ sick until we die.â
SIRIUS (groaning):
âI love you all but Iâm never drinking again.â
CUT TO: GRYFFINDOR COMMON ROOM. 7 MINUTES LATER.
SIRIUS is double-fisting Firewhisky bottles.
SIRIUS (hoarse):
âI HAVE RISEN!â
MARY & MARLENE (scream):
âNOOOOOOOOOOââ
ââââââââââââââââââââââââ
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):
âI had PLANS TONIGHT, BLACK.â
SIRIUS retches aggressively.
MARY:
âI was gonna flirt with Barty.
Do you know how hard it is to flirt with someone who thinks feelings are a parliamentary sin?!â
SIRIUS retches again.
MARY:
âOH MY GOD STOP UPCHUCKING YOUR ANCESTORSâ SINS.â
She slams open the loo window even though it only opens 2 inches.
MARY:
âI smell like bile and disappointment.â
SIRIUS lifts one shaky finger.
SIRIUS (dying):
âBarty⌠Crouch⌠has no soulâŚâ
MARY:
âI KNOW, BABE, THATâS WHY ITâS HOT.â
SIRIUS gags.
Wretches.
Sobs.
MARY (impatient):
âYouâre ruining my night and my pheromones.â
Just thenâ
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:
âWhy does everything smell like sodium thiocyanate and tragedy?â
MARY nearly cries with relief.
MARY:
âTHANK FUCK.
Hereâ
BABYSIT HIM.â
She shoves JAMES toward SIRIUS like sheâs passing off a bomb.
JAMES (panicked):
âWaitâI didnât agreeââ
MARY holds up a hand.
Silencing him.
MARY:
âI have ONE mission tonight.
And itâs to make Barty Crouch blush until he cries OR confesses treason.â
SIRIUS, still on the floor, lifts his head like a zombie.
SIRIUS (weak):
âHe flirts like a tax auditâŚâ
MARY:
âExactly.â
She rummages in her little sparkly party purse like sheâs about to pull a rabbit out of it.
SIRIUS watches. Suspicious.
JAMES watches. Confused.
She plants her feet, andâ
WHIPS OFF her knickers with the speed and precision of a street magician.
SIRIUS SCREAMS.
JAMES CHOKES.
MARY (businesslike):
âThey were chafing and slowing me down. Iâm going in sleek.â
She crumples the knickers in her hand and tucks them into her purse like sheâs packing a snack.
JAMES:
âIs that even LEGAL under Wizengamot lawââ
MARY:
âI checked the bylaws. Dumbledore said it was feminist.â
She slams her purse shut with purpose.
MARY:
âRight.
Iâm off to go emotionally compromise dark academia.â
SIRIUS suddenly LUNGES.
He grabs JAMES by the front of his shirt, full feral, pure instinct.
SIRIUS (deranged):
âDONâT LET HER GO OUT THERE LIKE THAT.â
JAMES:
âLIKE WHAT?!
SHEâS JUST DRESSED SLIGHTLY LESSââ
(double take)
ââslightly less than usualââ
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:
âDid youâ
Did you just rip out his chest hair?â
SIRIUS:
âHE WASNâT LISTENING.â
JAMES:
âI CAN LISTEN WITHOUT BLEEDING, YOU MANIAC.â
SIRIUS is still panting, wild-eyed.
SIRIUS:
âYOU CANâT LET HER GO ALONE. BARTY CROTCH WILL MAKE HER JOIN A CULT.
OR A STUDY GROUP.
SAME THING.â
MARY (rolls eyes):
âIâm not signing the Dark Mark.â
SIRIUS narrows his eyes.
Points a shaky finger.
SIRIUS:
âTAKE A BUDDY OR IâLL COMMIT A CRIME.â
MARY:
âYou commit crimes DAILY.â
SIRIUS (raspy whisper):
âBIGGER ones.â
JAMES touches his bare chest tenderly.
JAMES:
âI think you scalped my nipple hairâŚâ
MARY pats his cheek.
MARY:
âItâll grow back, Captain.â
JAMES preens despite pain.
SIRIUS collapses back toward the toilet, pale.
SIRIUS (weak):
âMary⌠If he kills youâŚ
Iâll avenge youâŚ
but I canât leave the loo.â
MARY crouches, hands on his cheeks, gentle.
MARY:
âWorst case scenario, I kill him.
Then weâre all square.â
JAMES nods thoughtfully.
JAMES:
âTechnically self-defense.â
MARY (standing):
âRight.
Hold his hair. Donât let him die.â
She heads for the door.
JAMES salutes.
JAMES:
âGOD SPEED, COMMANDER.â
MARY turns her back dramatically, towel dress half undone, hair wild.
SIRIUS, barely conscious, raises his fist.
SIRIUS (weak battle cry):
âDONâTâLET HIMâ
NEGâ
YOU.â
MARY:
âOh he wishes.â
She exits like a weapon.
Door SLAMS.
Silence.
SIRIUS dry heaves.
JAMES grabs his hair.
JAMES (miserable):
âI didnât sign up for this.â
SIRIUS (hoarse):
âNEVER LET HER DATE A MAN WHO CAN DO LATIN.â
JAMES nods solemnly.
JAMES:
âUnderstood.â
ââââââââââââââââââââââââ
Okay so I was bored and doing random research for my fic Iâm currently writing and I donât know if Iâm stupid for not already knowing this but I knew Sirius was the brightest star in the night sky but I DIDNâT KNOW that was because itâs composed of TWO STARS andâ
TELL ME THIS ISNâT LITERALLY JAMES AND SIRIUS??? JAMES IS THE BRIGHT MAIN STAR AND SIRIUS IS THE COMPANION?? THAT JAMES IS LITERALLY WHY SIRIUS SHINES SO BRIGHT???
IâM GOING TO CRY NOW THANK YOU

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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 IâLL DIE OF UNCERTAINTY - LILY EVANS
FEAR MIGHT BE THE DEATH OF ME - REGULUS
FEAR LEADS TO ANXIETY - PETER
DONâT KNOW WHATâS INSIDE OF ME - REMUS
Guys I literally have never posted anything in my life and Iâm such an observer and two days ago I randomly decided to post about my favourite Marauder babies and Iâve never had this much attention and Iâm tweaking what do I do help I DONâT KNOW HOW TO USE THIS SIGHT but thank you to everyone thatâs been reposting I just know youâre all amazing people
Might keep posting. Will always keep writing.
Why do I keep imagining that Barty Crouch Jr stands in the mirror like -
âYouâre perfect. They just donât understand you.â
Then punches the mirror. Then casts Cruciatus on a house plant for fun.
âIs this because of the Ribbon?â
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 Evanâs saves the day, in more ways than one.
âââââââââââââ
You werenât 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.
âPOTTER!â you bellowed, the frills on your sleeves shuddering with rage.
âI CAN EXPLAIN!â he shouted from two floors down.
âIâM GOING TO SKIN YOU AND USE YOUR CAPE AS A DISH TOWEL!â
âââââââââ
Fifteen minutes later, you were sitting on the edge of Lily Evansâ bed, fuming and half-naked.
âIâm going to kill him,â you muttered. âIâm going to drag him to McGonagallâs office myself and tell âer James Potter has been smuggling black-market prank curses into the castle.â
Lily was already rummaging through her wardrobe like the goddess of divine intervention she was.
âYouâre not killing him,â she said casually. âHeâd haunt you. Badly. Like, blood dripping from the ceiling, your shampoo smelling like vinegar, bad.â
You groaned. âI was supposed to be hot today.â
âYou still can be.â She turned around holding a soft, floral dress in pale blue. Like right out of an advert for baby powder or laundry detergent. âWear this.â
You blinked.
Lily raised a brow. âYou want to go to Hogsmeade looking like Ronald McDonaldâs mistress, or do you want to look like someone Sirius Black would walk into a lamppost over?â
You blinked again. ââŚIâll take the dress.â
She grinned. âThought so.â
âââââââââ
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.
âLetâs go emotionally devastate four boys.â
âââââââââ
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. âOh no.â
Peter gasps audibly.
Remus spits out his tea. Coughs. Whispers something that sounds like âfuckâ 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 heâs hiding a cursed object. Mouth slightly open. Eyes wide. Says nothing. Just vibrates.
âMorning, boys,â you say, voice dipped in honey and war crimes.
James chokes. Lily hits him.
Sirius, dazed. âWhere⌠where did your eyeliner go?â
âI killed it.â You said bluntly.
Peter. âSheâs a bloody threat to society. With that⌠bow?â
You lean over to Lily and whisper. âI feel like I could kill a man. But like⌠politely.â
âââââââââ
You walked out of Honeydukes holding a small bag of sweets and a dangerous amount of confidence. The soft skirt of Lilyâs 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 didnât even notice. You were too busy existing.
James, eating a Fizzing Whizbee too fast to avoid having to speak keeps muttering to himself, âSheâs literally a clown. Sheâs a clown. I cursed her into a clown. What is this. What IS this?â
You leaned over. Smiling. âSay it, Potter. I wore your curse better than you expected.â
James softly spoke, staring into the void. âYou wore it like vengeance and sugar. I regret everything.â
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 ârebooting Windows 95â. His mind going that quickly that he thought of something that hadnât 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.
âRemus, you alright?â You ask over your shoulder, canines on show.
Remus, lying through his teeth. âYes. Why wouldnât I be? This is fine. Everything is fine. The airâs just different today. Wetter. Wetter air.â
Sirius butts in, flower petals in his hair. âYouâre sweating.â
Remus snips. âItâs the dew point, Sirius. Read a book.â
âââââââââ
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 youâre giving a monologue on a west end stage.
âI felt like a woman, Lily. Like a 1950s housewife who hides arsenic in the lemon drizzle.â
Lily, wheezing. âYou BROKE them.â
âI liberated them.â
âI didnât even know Remus had tear ducts.â
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 heâs going to die alone.
James, from the corner. âYou okay, Pads?â
âShe wore a ribbon, James. A ribbon.â
Remus. âIt was⌠nice.â
Sirius sits up violently. âIt was spiritual.â
Peter. âDo you think sheâd let me be her footstool? Like in a respectful way?â
Remus. âShut the fuck up, Pete.â
âââââââââ
The next morning, you walk into the common room like itâs just another day. Casual. Hair tied back. Smoky eye back on. Sheâs back, baby.
But the ribbon?
Itâs dangling from your fingers. The same one from yesterday. Youâre chewing gum and humming something vaguely catchy.
Remus is on the couch, book open, legs crossed like heâs got composure and dignity left in his life.
Heâs wrong.
You flop down beside him, legs tucked under you like a cat. You fiddle with the ribbon now, twisting it between your fingers.
âI was gonna give this back,â You say, holding it up, âbut then I thought⌠youâre sentimental, right? Youâd appreciate a relic of the day I emotionally dismantled you all.â
Remus raises an eyebrow. âI wasnât dismantled.â
You smiled. âYou sneezed into your Butterbeer when I winked at you.â
He opens his mouth. Closes it. Looks back at his book like itâs going to save him.
Thenâyou take his wrist.
No warning. Just gentle fingers and firm intention. And you start tying the ribbon around it. Soft. Precise. A little bow.
âNow you can be the pretty one today.â
You donât 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. Iâm going to die in this fucking ribbon. Iâm so fucking touch starved-
I justâdid Iâdid I actuallyâ
Oh no.
I JUST BUSTED IN MY TROUSERS.
WHAT THE FUCK. WHO AM I. I AM A MONSTER.
Sirius, from across the room, squinting.
âWhy is Remus sitting like he just got hit by a Confundus and an orgasm at the same time?â
âShe touched him. With the ribbon.â Said Peter.
Sirius. âWE NEED TO BAN THE RIBBON.â
âââââââââ
Youâd already left for class when James strides up to Remus, parchment under his arm, halfway through a random conversation. âMoony, come on, weâre gonna be late forâwhy are you sitting like youâve just committed a felony?â
Remus doesnât even look up. Just mutters:
âNo.â
James. âNo?â
Remus, faint, distant. âI canât go. Iâm sick. I have⌠I have diarrhoea.â Great one Remus absolutely brilliant well done whereâs the fucking confetti?
James blinks. âMate. Are you okay?â
Remus, dead serious. âItâs violent. Sudden. I donât want to talk about it.â
James. âWe literally have five minutes before Flitwick locks the doorââ
Remus, more intense now. âJames, Iâm actively unwell.â
James, visibly concerned. âShould Iâshould I get Pomfrey? Is it the full moon stuff? Do you need your calming draught?â
Remus, eyes wide, sweating. âNO. No. No Pomfrey. Justâjust leave me. Let me die in peace.â
James, whispering as he walks away. âIs this what happens when we let him read Austen before bed?â
âââââââââ
Youâre outside the classroom, twirling your wand, looking mildly annoyed.
âWhereâs Remus?â
James stopped next to you, frazzled. âHe said he has diarrhoea.â
You still your fingers. âSince when does he announce it?â
Sirius, in a grim, yet oddly husky tone. âSince you tied a fucking ribbon on him like heâs your little house-elf boyfriend and called him pretty.â
Peter, quietly. âHe hasnât moved since. It was⌠intimate.â
âââââââââ
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 heâs died. James thinks heâs 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?
Youâre done playing games.
You stomp up to the bathroom door, arms crossed, expression set to âemergency nurse meets furious ex-wife.â
âREMUS. MOONY. HELLO. Is this because of the ribbon?! Theyâre saying itâs the ribbon?! Iâm- Iâm sorry Remus-â
âNO. I HAVE FUCKING DIARRHOEA, SWEETHEART. IT BURNS. PLEASE JUST PISS OFF, YEAH?!â Shouted Remus, muffled through the door and his own self loathing.
James, from down the hall. âLove, just walk away. Heâs not coming back from this.â
Sirius, leaning casually against the wall. âHeâs 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-â
âWas it the ribbon?â You snipped at Sirius.
âOh, 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,â Sirius spoke through his smirk.
Remus, screaming, somewhere between humiliation and actual death. âI CAN STILL HEAR YOU, YOU ABSOLUTE FUCKS!â His voice broke.
You yelled through the door.
âJust say it, Lupin! Say it was the ribbon! Say it and Iâll bake you a chocolate pie!â
âFUCK YOUR PIE!â
âââââââââ
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 Remusâ head. âTeach me your ways, please?â
James walked up.
âI canât believe I accidentally created this timeline by charming her wardrobe. I am a god.â
âŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚ
Sorry about this okay byeeeeeeee

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Random Remus Lupin journal entries because Iâm bored and that boy definitely kept a diary or something idk -
February 12th, 1976
Jamesâs 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 itâs âeffortlessly cool.â I say itâs 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
ââââââââ
February 17th 1976
Brooding central
Went up to the tower to âreflect.â
Translation: I sat there for two hours thinking about how I donât 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
ââââââââ
March 3rd 1976
Sirius âFell In Loveâ With a Ravenclaw for 14 Minutes.
He wrote her poetry. It was⌠something.
Let the records show that rhyming âmoonâ with âswoonâ should be punishable by Azkaban.
Lily read it aloud in the Great Hall in her worst posh accent and made Sirius cry laughing.
Also, Iâm fairly certain she still has the poem. For blackmail.
I respect it.
R.J.L
ââââââââ
7th March 1976
My Body Is A Temple (If That Temple Was Abandoned and Haunted)
Limp was worse today.
I told Madam Pomfrey I âtripped over my own charisma.â She didnât laugh.
Sirius offered to carry my books. I said yes, and he immediately dropped them all.
I love him, your honour. Again â not romantically. (Probably)
Also, Sirius says if I donât stop brooding and limping at the same time, heâs going to write a play about me and call it âTragic Werewolf of the West Wing.â
R.J.L
ââââââââ
16th March 1976
Sirius walked into the common room this morning shirtless, announcing that his ânipples felt confident today.â
James applauded.
Peter dropped a scone.
Mary told him to âput the confidence away before it pokes someoneâs eye out.â
I had to leave the room. Not out of modesty. I just couldnât bear the sight of those idiots before Iâd had my tea.
R.J.L
ââââââââ
20th March 1976
Sirius said I looked like a âsexy librarian who moonlights as a serial killer.â
I thanked him.
Still not sure if it was a compliment or a cry for help.
Nothing else to report.
R.J.L
ââââââââ
March 26th 1976
There are moments when I forget what I am.
Tonight, I was laughing too hard â crying, really â 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.
Thatâs the kind of magic they donât teach here.
R.J.L
ââââââââ
March 27th 1976
James brought me a chocolate frog and told me to âeat it or die.â
Sirius flopped across my bed and whispered, âDo you want a cuddle or a punch in the face?â
(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 theyâre stretching in the wrong direction.
No one talks about the fear. Just the pain. But the fear is worse.
R.J.L
ââââââââ
March 29th 1976
Full moon in two days. Great. Canât wait to feel like I got hit by the Knight Bus again.
Sirius already stocked my bedside drawer with pain meds, chocolate, andâmysteriouslyâsocks.
When I asked him about it, he said, âYou always forget to wear them after the moon. And itâs cold. Duh.â
I said, âYouâre insane.â
He said, âYouâre limping. Sit down.â
I sat down.
Pomfrey brought the potion.
She didnât speak. Just set it down, touched my hand, and left.
I drank it. Didnât gag this time. Progress?
Sirius and James said theyâd 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 donât want to do this. I never want to do this.
But I will.
Iâm disgusting.
I know thatâs dramatic. But itâs also true.
Everything hurts. My ribs feel like someone tried to turn them into a xylophone.
Anyways, hands shaking.
R.J. Bloody L
ââââââââ
BONUS -
December 16th 1976
Christmas party last night.
If someone could kindly rip out my brain and toss it into the Black Lake, thatâd be great. Iâd 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 âJingle Bell Rockâ on the common room table.
Marlene putting tinsel in my hair and telling me I looked âwhimsical and mysterious, like an emotionally unavailable wood nymph.â
James trying to duel the Christmas tree because it âlooked at Lily funny.â
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 Iâve 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, âThatâs depressing as fuck, Remus.â Then gave me his last candy cane.
He kissed my cheek before he went to bed. I think Iâm 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 canât look at google maps. I canât 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 canât see it.
Someone else lives in my childhood home. I donât 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 donât have Christmas there anymore.
I hate nostalgia. I love it. I canât think about it.
I miss myself. I miss that girl. I canât find her. I donât 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 sheâs smiling in that ring doorbell. I donât know.
I donât know.
I canât 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 doesnât 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 heâs just completely naked and the boys are so confused at whatâs 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 itâs 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
âDonât touch it,â you hiss.
Remus looks over from where heâs holding your foot in his lap with a sardonic expression. âI thought it didnât hurt.â
âIt doesnât when youâre not touching it!âÂ
âDove.â He wraps a hand around your ankle when you try to pull away, his touch one part soothing and two parts stern. âIâm going to have to touch it some, okay? Just breathe and let me know where it hurts.âÂ

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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: Itâs 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 donât 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 donât even know if anyone will read this, but youâve got to try and put yourself out there!
âOi-â
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.