[…] Remus Lupin was swiftly befriended by two cheerful, confident and rebellious boys, James Potter and Sirius Black. They were attracted by Remus’s quiet sense of humour and a kindness that they valued, even if they did not always possess it themselves. […]
[…] he loved James and Sirius so much […]
Full Moon Dates for 2014
for my followers who are werewolves
for my followers who are dating werewolves
For my followers writing fic about boys and their werewolf boyfriends.
- I’m loud.
- I’m obnoxious.
- I’m sarcastic.
- I’m cocky.
- I cry easily.
- I have a bad temper.
- I’m easy to get along with.
- I have more enemies than friends.
- I’ve smoked.
- I’ve smoked weed.
- I drink coffee.
- I clean my room daily.
- I wear a piece of jewelry at all times.
- I wear makeup.
- I wear contacts.
- I wear glasses.
- I have braces.
- I change my hair colour often.
- I straighten my hair often.
- I have a piercing.
- I have small feet.
- I’m in a relationship now.
- I’m single.
- I’m crushin’.
- I’m always scared of being hurt.
- An ex has physically abused me at least once.
- I’ve told someone I loved them when I didn’t.
- I’ve told someone I didn’t love them when I did.
- I’ve been in love more than two times.
- I believe in love at first sight.
- I believe lust is more important than love.
- I have a best friend.
- I have at least ten friends.
- I’ve gotten a phone call in the last 48 hours from a friend.
- I’ve beaten up a friend.
- I’ve been in a serious fight with a friend.
- I’ve been on a plane.
- I’ve been on a train.
- Someone close to me has passed away.
- I’ve taken a taxi.
- I’ve taken a city bus.
- I’ve taken a school bus.
- I’ve gone bungee jumping.
- I’ve made a speech.
- I’ve been in some sort of club.
- I’ve won an award.
- I’ve spent 24 Hours on the computer straight.
- I’ve been in a physical fight.
- I listen to R&B.
- I listen to country.
- I listen to kpop.
- I listen to techno.
- I listen to rock.
- I’m one of those people who play songs repeatedly until I hate it.
- I hate the radio.
- I download music.
- I buy CD’s.
- I spend at least six hours a day watching television.
- I watch soap operas daily.
- I’m in love with Days of Our Lives.
- I’ve seen and liked the O.C.
- I’ve seen and liked One Tree Hill.
- I’ve seen and liked Americas Next Top Model.
- I’ve seen and liked Popular.
- I’ve seen and liked 24.
- I’ve seen and liked CSI.
- I’ve seen and liked Law & Order: SVU.
- I get along with both of my parents.
- My biological parents are still together.
- I have at least one brother.
- I have at least one sister.
- I have at least one step brother/sister.
- I have at least one half brother/sister.
- I’ve been kicked out of the house.
- I’ve ran away from my home.
- I’ve sworn at my parent(s).
- I’ve made my parents cry.
- I’ve lied to my parents.
- I’ve lied to my parents about where I am.
- I’ve lied to my parents about what I’m doing.
- I’ve lied to my parents so I’d be allowed out.
- I’ve walked out when I’ve been grounded.
- I’ve been brown.
- I’ve had streaks.
- I’ve cut my hair in the past year.
- I’ve dyed my hair in the past year.
- I’ve been blonde.
- I’ve had black.
- I’ve been red.
- I’ve been light brown.
- I’ve been blue/green.
- I’ve gotten my hair thinned.
- I use conditioner.
- I’ve used silk therapy.
- I’ve used hot oil treatments.
- I’ve curled my hair.
- I’ve straightened my hair.
- I’ve ironed my hair.
- I’ve braided my hair.
- I’ve yelled at a teacher.
- I’ve been suspended.
- I’ve had an in-school suspension.
- I’ve been sent to the principals office.
- I’ve walked out of class.
- I’ve skipped an entire day of school.
- I’ve skipped a whole month of one certain class.
- I’ve cheated on a test.
- I’ve helped someone else cheat on a test.
- I’ve failed Art.
- I’ve failed P.E.
- I’ve failed Math.
- I’ve failed another class.
- A teacher has called my parents.
You are personally responsible for becoming more ethical than the society you grew up in.
--Eliezer Yudkowsky (via abundance-mine)
When I was seventeen and preparing to leave for university, my mother’s only brother saw fit to give me some advice.
“Just don’t be an idiot, kid,” he told me, “and don’t ever forget that boys and girls can never just be friends.”
I laughed and answered, “I’m not too worried. And I don’t really think all guys are like that.”
When I was eighteen and the third annual advent of the common cold was rolling through residence like a pestilent fog, a friend texted me asking if there was anything he could do to help.
I told him that if he could bring me up some vitamin water that would be great, if it wasn’t too much trouble.
That semester I learned that human skin cells replace themselves every three to five weeks. I hoped that in a month, maybe I’d stop feeling the echoes of his touch; maybe my new skin would feel cleaner.
It didn’t. But I stood by what I said. Not all guys are like that.
When I was nineteen and my roommate decided the only way to celebrate the end of midterms was to get wasted at a club, I humoured her.
Four drinks, countless leers and five hands up my skirt later, I informed her I was ready to leave.
“I get why you’re upset,” she told me on the walk home, “but you have to tolerate that sort of thing if you want to have any fun. And really, not all guys are like that.”
(Age nineteen also saw me propositioned for casual sex by no fewer than three different male friends, and while I still believe that guys and girls can indeed be just friends, I was beginning to see my uncle’s point.)
When I was twenty and a stranger that started chatting to me in my usual cafe asked if he could walk with me (since we were going the same way and all), I accepted.
Before we’d even made it three blocks he was pulling me into an alleyway and trying to put his hands up my shirt. “You were staring,” he laughed when I asked what the fuck he was doing (I wasn’t), “I’m just taking pity.”
But not all guys are like that.
I am twenty one and a few days ago a friend and I were walking down the street. A car drove by with the windows down, and a young man stuck his head out and whistled as they passed. I ignored it, carrying on with the conversation.
My friend did not. “Did you know those people?” He asked.
“Not at all,” I answered.
Later when we sat down to eat he got this thoughtful look on his face. When I asked what was wrong he said, “You know not all guys do that kind of thing, right? We’re not all like that.”
As if he were imparting some great profound truth I’d never realized before. My entire life has been turned around, because now I’ve been enlightened: not all guys are like that.
No. Not all guys are. But enough are. Enough that I am uncomfortable when a man sits next to me on the bus. Enough that I will cross to the other side of the street if I see a pack of guys coming my way. Enough that even fleeting eye contact with a male stranger makes my insides crawl with unease. Enough that I cannot feel safe alone in a room with some of my male friends, even ones I’ve known for years. Enough that when I go out past dark for chips or milk or toilet paper, I carry a knife, I wear a coat that obscures my figure, I mimic a man’s gait. Enough that three years later I keep the story of that day to myself, when the only thing that saved me from being raped was a right hook to the jaw and a threat to scream in a crowded dorm, because I know what the response will be.
I live my life with the everburning anxiety that someone is going to put their hands on me regardless of my feelings on the matter, and I’m not going to be able to stop them. I live with the knowledge that statistically one in three women have experienced a sexual assault, but even a number like that can’t be trusted when we are harassed into silence. I live with the learned instinct, the ingrained compulsion to keep my mouth shut to jeers and catcalls, to swallow my anger at lewd suggestions and crude gestures, to put up my walls against insults and threats. I live in an environment that necessitates armouring myself against it just to get through a day peacefully, and I now view that as normal. I have adapted to extreme circumstances and am told to treat it as baseline. I carry this fear close to my heart, rooted into my bones, and I do so to keep myself unharmed.
So you can tell me that not all guys are like that, and you’d even be right, but that isn’t the issue anymore. My problem is not that I’m unaware of the fact that some guys are perfectly civil, decent, kind—my problem is simply this:
In a world where this cynical overcaution is the only thing that ensures my safety, I’m no longer willing to take the risk.
-- r.d. (via vonmoire)
do you ever think of how harry, ron and hermione could barely handle a horcrux at 17/18 when they were taking turns being close to it
and ginny tried her hardest to fight off a horcrux (and occasionally succeeded) - which she poured her heart and soul into - so that she wouldn’t hurt anyone
at age 11
and just wonder why???
"It just shows you how important it is to represent everyone in our profession." (x)
MEDIA REPRESENTATION IS IMPORTANT
"I care. I care to the point where impaling you with my claws would hurt me as well.”
The first thing Stiles says after the nogitsune is banished from his body is, “I’m sorry. Oh my god, I’m so fucking sorry.”
His dad wraps him in a hug, presses a kiss to his temple, and harshly whispers, “You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay, kid. I got you.”
Gradually, Stiles makes his rounds. He takes a few days to himself, trying to sort through the mess of memories he has. Asks what’s real, tries to forget the hallucinations the nogitsune showed him.
Quells the nausea when he realizes some of those hallucinations weren’t hallucinations at all.
Scott, Melissa, his dad - hell, everyone he talks to says the same thing when he apologizes.
"Wasn’t your fault, Stiles. It wasn’t you."
It’s three months before Stiles is able to look down at his hands without seeing them covered in Coach’s blood, without seeing them curl over an electrical wire to strip away the covering, without seeing them wrapped around a knife that twists deeper into his brother’s body.
(He cries for almost an hour in Scott’s arms, pressing his hand to Scott’s stomach just to make sure that it’s actually healed even though it’s been months.)
It’s three months before Stiles is able to look down at his hands without remembering the phantom feeling of them wrapping around Derek’s shoulders and throwing him into the wall. It’s three months before he goes to see Derek at all.
scottmcposey asked: Allie tell me the first story that comes to your mind
stiles hates the loft.
he loves everything in the loft, okay. he loves the high ceilings and the windows and the kitchen cabinets and the space. loves the random blue couch and the bed that never seems to be big enough for his gangly limbs and derek’s broad shoulders.
but he hates the loft. hates that he can remember the exact spot boyd died. hates knowing that the darach spent a night with derek twisted in sheets that derek burned months ago, but the mattress is the same.
sometimes, stiles wonders if derek can still catch her scent when the sheets are in the washer and the mattress is bare. derek won’t go near it unless there are sheets stretched out over the corners of the mattress, and that makes stiles’s heart sting a little.
he hates the loft. and he knows that derek does, too.
but when he asks why derek won’t leave?
"i already had one home taken from me. i won’t let this turn into the same thing. i need to - it has to be better, stiles. it has to be.”
the next day, stiles comes home with a newspaper and a red pen between his lips.
derek quirks an eyebrow. “the hell is that?”
"apartment listings," stiles says softly. "because i want a home with you that you can live in, derek. one that doesn’t have betrayal and death in its past.”
derek’s jaw clicks.
"i want a home with you, hale," stiles says quietly. "and sure, we can stay here if you want. we can try to live our lives here and give this place some happy memories, but."
stepping closer, stiles breathes out a soft sigh and continues, “but you and i both know that all you think about is what happened here. i do it, too. you deserve a home that you want to live in, derek. you can have that.”
"i haven’t ever had that before," derek rasps.
stiles watches as derek’s eyes fall to the newspaper in his hand. smiles gently and whispers, “it’ll be an adventure, then, yeah? i’ll be with you every step of the way.”
derek nods. curls his hands into fists.
lets them uncurl.
"i want to find something farther away from the city," derek says, and the corner of his mouth tilts up when stiles immediately nods and flips to a page in the paper.
OMG FVKFJHGJDFH! THIS IS SO PERFECT IT HURTS. THE LOFT THINGY IS ONE OF THE TW THINGS THAT BOTHERS ME THE MOST AND THIS IS A PERFECT RESPONSE TO THAT, OMG, THANK YOU!!!