Keira Knightley (dressed As Thérèse Raquin) For Vogue, 2015

Fave new twitter thread

I don't know what teenage girl needs to hear this, but that older man in your dms on your coquette blog is intentionally trying to sexually abuse and sexually exploit you and many other teenage girls. You are not special to that man; he's making an effort to manipulate you and other girls your age because he thinks you're an easy, exploitable target. He wants to get your nudes, use you for his entertainment and abandon you for another underage girl who thinks the attention is fun at the time. There's a reason he has to go after young girls instead of women his own age; they know he's predatory and evil. That's a child predator. Block him and warn other young girls if you can

I'm not just a bitch, I'm a bitch with a backstory

The Final Countdown

Europe · Song · 1986

i should see this in the stranger things season 5 soundtrack DUFFERS HEAR ME OUT PLEASE 

i firmly believe tumblr community will never shut up if it exists during colin firth's prime era

reading rockstar!remus fics while listening to cigarettes after sex >>>>>

Lana shot by Patrick Hoelck in 2013🤍

hi mae!! I love your writing. can I request ⁸⁾ a coat draped gently over a sleeping form with remus and shy!reader? congrats!!

Thanks lovely!

Remus Lupin x shy!reader ♡ 677 words

Remus makes Sirius turn down the music. The party’s winding down anyways, most of their friends having slunk off into the night. Lily and James are canoodling in the kitchen despite the former’s claims that they were going to have an early night, and Sirius has just abandoned his hosting duties to follow some bloke he likes to the McDonald’s down the street. 

Remus would usually leave about now, but for reasons he can’t explain he doesn’t want to tonight. (He looks at you, curled up and in the armchair, and…well, maybe he can explain those reasons a little bit.) He decides to start picking up. 

He’s careful not to let things clink or crackle as he works his way around the living room, collecting the bottles and cans well-meaning friends tucked into corners and forgot to come back for. Sirius’ rubbish bag is full, so Remus takes it out and starts filling a new one. When he opens the door on his way in and out, he notices your shoulders bunch like you’re cold, your knees curling closer to yourself. 

Remus stops on his way past the coat rack, grabbing his own coat. He drapes it carefully over you. Your cheek twitches like the wool tickles, but then you relax into the warmth. It does something unruly to Remus’ insides to witness. 

He picks up the bag again, meaning to continue, but your face moves again. You take a breath, a disruption of the quiet rhythm of your sleep, and your fingers peek out from the collar of Remus’ coat. They curl around it as though to pull it tighter. 

Your eyelashes peel apart, slowly and in stages like you’re fighting their magnetic pull towards each other. Remus watches you come awake. Those first few blinks where you know nothing but comfort and ease, the gradual realization that the coat covering you isn’t yours, and finally the movement of your eyes towards him, a familiar timidness taking you. 

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he apologizes. His voice comes out soft, some part of him wanting to protect whatever sleep might still be clinging to you. “You looked like you were cold.” 

You shake your head, seemingly not knowing what to say. Your hand lets go of his coat to cover your mouth, and you yawn hard enough to make your eyes teary. 

“Thank you,” you say once you’re done, voice softer than soft and expression self-conscious. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” You look around. “Has everyone gone?” 

“Not everyone. James and Lily are in the kitchen.” 

“Oh no.” You sit up, letting Remus’ coat fall off your shoulder. Immediately, another yawn takes you, so powerful you have to stop to cover it again. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to overstay my welcome.” 

“Don’t be silly,” Remus chides, “you’re always welcome. Sirius doesn’t mind.” 

You shrug, your shoulders staying up a tad high even when you’ve completed the motion. He gets the sense that you don’t believe him, though it’s not in your nature to argue. 

“Did you drive here?” he asks you kindly. 

Your fingers play with a bit of fuzz on Remus’ coat. “No. I walked.” 

“Are you ready to go home? I can walk you.” 

“Oh, you don’t have to.” You seem to shrink in on yourself. The smile you give him is meant to placate, small and bashful. “It’s not far.” 

“That makes it even easier for me to walk you,” Remus replies. He goes and grabs another coat from the rack. “This one yours?”

“Yeah,” you confirm. “But really, Remus, you don’t have to.” 

“I want to. Let me, okay?” He holds your coat, waiting patiently for you to get up. 

When you do you can hardly look at him, passing him his own coat with a quiet thanks for this. He helps you into yours, then leaves you to put on your shoes while he goes to get his scarf from the other room. 

“Don’t leave without me,” he tells you. 

And, well, it’s not in your nature to argue.

Bridget Jones’s Diary (2001) dir. Sharon Maguire