“Jesus bloody fuck, Moony,” Sirius says. “I thought you were. I thought you were rocks.”
#ruined by the shoebox project: my life
(Source: starkstiles, via heathicorn)
“Remus,” Sirius says, breathlessly. “Remus, you taste like puke, but the thing is, I want to kiss you anyway. I have to actively, you know, stop myself, because it is nice but you do taste like stomach acid and I can’t, I can’t, you know, really, no matter how nice it is, that is completely vile, you know.” His hands are in Remus’s hair and then on his shoulders and grazing his throat, as if reassuring themselves of the fact of Remus’s tangibility. Then his fingers curl around Remus’s wrist, just under the starched cloth of his shirt. “Why did you — for fuck’s sake, Moony, I haven’t even, in a year, I’ve tried to be, you know — Will you fucking brush your fucking teeth, please, this is unbearable.” He takes a deep breath. “I just, I really want to kiss you again, properly, when everyone involved is paying attention and I can’t taste the mutton pie you ate two hours ago, so, please, I — I have to go get a drink of water, I have to go upstairs and let you, you know, seriously, Moony, brush your fucking, fucking teeth!” and he kisses Remus once, fiercely, at the corner of his mouth, fingertips hard against his cheekbone. Then he lets go of Remus with an odd, forceful motion, like ripping off a bandage, and pelts away.
(Source: starkstiles, via serjorahmormont)
HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY. POETRY COURTESY OF SIRIUS BLACK.
“That’s horrifying,” Remus says.
(Source: brittadictarnold, via softshinythings)
"So this is what bodies are for, Remus thinks, though it’s such a ridiculous thing to think, because bodies are for all kinds of things, like eating and, and building pyramids, and keeping your brain out of the mud.
But no, all of those are things they can do. This, this is what they’re for."
But no, all of those are things they can do. This, this is what they’re for."
- The Shoebox Project.
(Source: thoughtsickles, via softshinythings)
"Moony,” says Sirius rather severely, “I am getting the distinct impression that you are not hip to my jive. Are you or are you not hip to my jive?”
“Something is wrong in your brain,” Remus says."
“Something is wrong in your brain,” Remus says."
"Sit,” he bites out at Sirius, who, conditioned by four years of being a dog, does so automatically before leaping upright again, crimson with rage and embarrassment."
- 
"
“I didn’t bring trunks,” Remus says. “Nothing to swim in. Have to stay home. Sorry. Terrible. Have fun without me!”
“Marauders,” James says firmly, “do not need trunks.”
Marauders, Remus’ brain says firmly, are going to be one less after I drown myself.
"
