mostly commonly heard in the gryffindor common room

We all know Sirius loves stupid puns and he’ll annoy everyone with them every chance he gets, making everyone utterly terrified of the word “serious” and anything dog-related, so yes, we’re all tired of such puns, but not Sirius. Never Sirius.

poor remus

based on this post, original comic from 

70′s wizard kids (click on for better resolution)

Sirius: Mooooooony! what’s up!? Remus: nothing… Sirius: moooony. Remus:…another one… Sirius: Another one…what? Remus:….scar… I got another one last night… Sirius:Oh! That’s why you look cooler than usual!

☾ r e m u s  l u p i n ☽

wolfstar babes

inktober day 5 - fanart break with this nerd

outline | tag

Just some lame 70s marauder girls

Ref

I’m a slut for the marauders

the five senses

james: sights: blue skies dotted with cartoon-perfect clouds, hands raised in mock defence, someone winking at you, fields of green in the spring, walking backwards, eyes being lit up, flannel shirts, grinning so wide it hurts, cocking your head to one side, a rose in a cola bottle sound: the wind rustling through the trees, lightning strikes, fingers snapping, rapping knuckles against a desk, unrestrained laughter, easy, simple (like everything else) smells: freshly mown grass, morning breath, toast burning, rain on concrete tastes: strawberries, mint, toothpaste, water when you are parched, when you need it more than you need it to breathe, running down your lips touch: tracing the line of a jaw, knowing what someone else is going to say before they say it, finishing someone else’s sentences for them, your heart skipping a beat, wind running through your hair, flying

sirius: sights: heaving chests, running both hands through your hair, dark eyelashes, catching someone looking at you, like they can’t help it, like they can’t not look at you, the lights going down in a cinema, the mottled blue and purple of a bruise, a black so dark it is almost bright, dried blood crusted around your lips sounds: thunder rumbling, cracking knuckles, the growl of an engine, profanity and the way it twists your lips, the way it makes you whole smells: cigarette smoke, hazelnuts, gasoline, sharp peppermint that sticks in the lungs, gasoline, ink, dark and black and bloody tastes: roasted hazelnuts, black coffee at 3am, bitterness touch: sandpaper tongues, fingers on the hot, sharp glint of steel, sweat on skin, blood running through your veins so fast you can barely breathe, throwing a punch, driving with the windows down, hands against a brick wall, like you have hit the wall, like you can’t get past it

remus: sights: autumn leaves dead on the ground like carrion, circulation being cut off in your fingers, the colour of wine, deep and burgundy and looking a little too much like blood— sounds: waves crashing, a mixtures of torrential and calm all at once, a guttural growl in the back of the throat, the crunch of gravel, twigs snapping, heavy sighs, the crackle of vinyl, something tearing, something being ripped smells: woodsmoke, wrapping paper, fresh linen, old parchment tastes: blood in the mouth, milk chocolate, tea leaves touch: picking away at a scab, biting your nails, ripping up handfuls of grass, teeth sinking into your lower lip, a barking laugh of surprise escaping your lips, like you didn’t know it was there, like you didn’t know you were capable of it 

peter: sights: a fairground in full swing, empty chairs at empty tables, a million pairs of shoes piled at the front door, turned backs, palms upturned, to catch, to hold, the one chipped union-jack mug in the cupboard, the empty stretch of tarmac at the airport and the feeling that sticks in your throat like glass, like you don’t know where you’re going, like you don’t know where you’ve been sounds: walnut shells crushing underfoot, the wind buffeting along the beach, the crackling of foiled candy wrappers, a phone that rings, and rings, and rings (but no-one answers) smells: wet earth, roasted chestnuts, the smell of baking, musty, like something is dying, like something is already dead tastes: sorrow, chocolate bars, bubblegum, chewing something that just won’t swallow touch: feet on carpet, carpet burn, grinding your teeth, laughing so hard it hurts your sides, starting a sentence you forget to finish

lily: sights: daffodils in the spring, shelves bursting with books, like there is so much life and knowledge there it cannot be contained, mothers holding their children, pastel ice cream flavours, bunches of flowers outside a florist’s, your drink being placed in front of you in a coffee shop sounds: the roar of a motorcycle in the distance, heavy metal rock, laughter, bells chiming, a page being turned, walking on cobblestones, clinking china smells: cinnamon, grass, lillies, tea tree, the way perfume lingers on your clothes, fresh night air tastes: copper, metallic and sharp on the tongue, not quite bloody but just enough, vanilla, a sadness so heavy it is almost sweet touch: the material of your skirt swirling around you as you spin, like you cannot stop spinning, you won’t stop spinning, breathing unsteadily, porcelain, the roughness and heaviness of denim, someone else’s hand in yours, the way love has a pulse and you can feel it under his skin

Memories from the past.

“You’ll stay with me?” “ Until the very end.”  “ They won’t be able to see you?”   “We are part of you. Invisible to anyone else.”

Maximum Henry’s Lookbook FW 2016

Stealing kisses as easily as cigarettes