#Finn O'Hara

[lumosinlove]

Night Swimming photoshoot 3/3

[tardiskater]

obessed with that author on ao3 who wrote a 200k wolfstar fic and made background characters so good she now has an entire series dedicated to them 😭😭😭

[marmarifer]

Noots!! For my first day of O’Knutzy week, using the “sunglasses” promt and inspired by yesterday’s amazing tennis au that Hazel wrote, I give you… the Challengers poster but make it ✨CUBS✨

@oknutzy-week-2024 thank you for organizing this awesome fest and @lumosinlove thank you for creating the most amazing characters ever!!

[fruitcoops]

Do They Know It's Christmas?

Happy holidays, lovelies! And most importantly, happy noot fic exchange/ secret Santa to @itsaash --you're a legend, a sweetheart, and a friend I hold near and dear to my heart. I hope everyone is staying safe and sound! You've made it through the shortest day of the year; it's only up from here! Thanks to @veryspacecowboy for coordinating the exchange and @lumosinlove for the characters!

TW for implied smut and mild Vaincre spoilers

Here comes Santa Claus, here comes Santa Claus, right down Santa Claus Lane…

“Fourth line, take it left!”

…and all the fun we had last year…

“Good work, boys, remember we’re working clockwise.”

Run, run, Rudolph, Santa’s gotta make it to town…

“I know, I know, but we need to get that down before we break today.”

…come on, it’s lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with…

“Keep those crossovers clean in the corners, Sunny!”

…the very next day, you gave it away…

Arthur frowned at his clipboard. An ache had started up along the inner corner of his eye, and not even the steady working of his thumb brought relief. The song changed to something bright and tinny with silver bells; the things he would give for a nice, quiet O, Holy Night right about now. Something soft, with minimal jangling. A saxophone would be lovely.

They had a schedule. They always had a schedule. The boys were used to rotation exercises—he had even taken pity and not added anything new or complicated to the roundup. The whole damn thing was laminated and taped to the damn glass around the damn bench on both damn sides of the goddamn rink.

Arthur’s eyes ticked typewriter-smooth down the list, but his ears alone would have told him it was a lost cause. Messy crossovers. From Sunny. Crunchy, scratchy steps from skates of perfect sharpness. Low muttering, barks of laughter, rollercoaster-arcs of chatting when they were supposed to be focusing. Cap did his best, but Harzy looked about two laps from chewing his way out through the boards.

Well. It was almost Christmas. He could be kind.

The whistle broke through Brenda Lee’s second chorus; 20 heads popped up.

“Revision!” Arthur called across the ice, drawing a steady line through the end of his list. “Bring it in.”

Their rush to the bench was the cleanest they had sounded all day.

“We’re going to finish a little early today—”

A wave of cheers cut him off, then petered out at his unimpressed glance.

“We’re finishing a little early,” he repeated when the Christmas spirit had released their souls at last, leaving only a faint ringing in the upper levels of the bleachers. “Because I’m taking off the last rotation.”

Arthur slipped his pen back into the clipboard clamp. Olli raised a tentative hand. “So…we can go…?”

Arthur frowned. “What? No, we’re going ‘til noon, if you just—guys, the schedule is right there—”

“Nooo—”

“But Coach—”

“—Christmas!—”

“I haven’t even—”

“—been here so long—”

“—like you don’t even love us—”

“—mom’s gonna kill me if I don’t—”

Unbelievable. Simply beyond words. Arthur looked over Nado’s pleading hands, hoping for an ounce of solidarity from the one person besides himself who was literally appointed for this duty, and was met with only a beleaguered, whale-eyed stare in return.

Arthur raised his eyebrows.

Sirius gazed back.

For such a large person, he could really pull off ‘sickly Victorian child begging for gruel’ when he wanted to.

“Alright,” Arthur muttered. It was lost in the sea of writhing and wailing. “Alright!”

The team (finally) fell somewhat silent.

“I am very sorry,” he began, pausing to slide his clipboard onto the bench hook. Their anticipation was delicious. “That I assumed a group of grown men playing their favorite game for millions of dollars would be able to handle one morning practice for their last competition before a holiday break.”

Pots’ eyebrows pitched as if he had been stabbed. “But Coach, it’s Christmas.”

“It is December 22nd.”

“I haven’t even found something for my dad yet!” Walker piped in.

“Sounds like a personal problem with time management.”

Pascal—the traitor—shuffled on his skates. “I was going to make holiday cookies with my children,” he said sadly. “They grow up so fast. We might not have many years of it left.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “I’m letting you go at noon, not locking you in here overnight. And I know you make cookies on Christmas Eve, because you put them on my doorstep every year.”

Pascal tsked, but didn’t deny it.

“You get cookies?” O’Hara perked up, craning his neck to look at Pacal. “How come we don’t get cookies?”

“Because I don’t need you to like me,” Pascal said with a smile.

“What if we need to catch flights?” Knut interrupted.

Arthur squinted at him. “Knut, we have a game tomorrow. You better not be going anywhere.”

“Well, no, but the sentiment stands.”

“No, it does n—you know what, fine, if you make it through…” Arthur leaned around the glass to squint at his beautiful, crisp schedule. “Your next two—TWO, I don’t wanna hear it—rotations before 11:30, I will let you out then.”

“And no lift tonight?” Kuny asked hopefully.

“Don’t push it.”

“Veto.”

Budding protests froze over in one collective puff of breath.

…the stars are brightly shining…

“What?” Arthur asked at last.

A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices…

Sirius licked his lips, shifting from one foot to the other. “Veto.”

Arthur opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Every eye in the room was fixed on their captain. He rested his chin on top of his hands, folded on his stick. Lupin’s gaze flickered back and forth.

“But I…” Arthur faltered, gesturing at the schedule.

“I get three.”

“It’s not even 9:30.”

“No questions asked.”

“We have a game.”

“It’s snowing outside.”

“How do you know that?” Arthur asked despairingly.

A grin skipped across his face. “I’m Canadian. I can smell it a mile off.”

“Also, Tremzy texted everyone right before practice,” O’Hara added.

“It’s snowing, have fun at practice, you fucking losers, ha-ha,” Knut recited with a grave nod.

“No, no,” Sirius corrected. “My bones are made of snow and I was born with hockey skates in one hand and a thermometer in the other.”

“That, I believe.”

Arthur waved his hands between them before the already-unbearable situation could get any worse. “Let me just…” His headache was coming back. Going home early was starting to sound less terrible by the minute. “You, as captain, get three vetoes across the span of your contract.”

“Ouais.”

“Which you can use to veto any practice you want, for any reason, with no questions asked by me or other staff.”

“That’s what I signed, yes.”

“And you’re using it on a snow day? With barely two hours left of practice? Before a game and a week off?”

Sirius smiled. “Veto.”

“Lupin.” A last-ditch effort. Perhaps a dirty play, but it was warranted. “Lupin, don’t you have anniversary plans? Birthdays? Anything else he can use this on?”

The captain’s barely-contained mischief was bad enough. Lupin’s mild bemusement was worse. “I’m sorry, Coach, but I can’t question a veto from my captain.”

Arthur scanned the crowd of hopeful faces. Sometime in the last minute and a half, Knut had slipped his phone off the bench and was doing his best to text under Winter’s elbow. Kelly Clarkson sang along to his imminent defeat. He sighed, shook his head, and opened the gate. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Nobody moved.

Arthur blinked. “Merry Christmas?”

Not a twitch.

“Ho-ho-ho, get out.”

The dispersal was the most active they had been all day, surging forward in one mass of whooping red and gold. Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Moody turn the music up a notch before hustling back into his office.

The herd had vanished down the tunnel in a matter of seconds. Arthur shook his head, turned his smile toward the empty rink, and pulled out his phone.

--

The locker room was a disaster.

“Don’t pull so hard!” Leo grunted as he fought to wriggle out of his jersey, hopping on one socked foot while Finn tried to help him out of his remaining skate. “I’m gonna fall, I’m gonna fall, Kasey—”

An elbow to the ribs righted him. “Yeah, no, I’m on my way out,” Kasey called over the ruckus, sandwiching his phone between his ear and shoulder. “Yeah, lemme get my shoes on. Al’s driving? Jesus, maybe I’ll just walk.”

“A tie is bad, right? That’s a bad gift?”

“T, I’m sure your dad will love anything you get him.”

“But I got him one for his birthday.”

Remus grimaced for just a moment, but it was enough. Thomas dropped his head into his hands with a groan.

“No, hey, it’s a good gift!” Remus tried, patting his shoulder. “Does he have a lot of ties?”

“He’s more of a sweater guy.”

“T.”

“I know, I know, I know.” Thomas sighed. His head fell back against his stall, then rolled toward Remus as his lip slid out in a pout. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Did Remus have to give him a minute with this one? He was a little afraid he did. “T,” he started. “Your dad likes sweaters.”

“Yeah.”

“So get him sweaters.”

“But what if he doesn’t like them?”

Remus took him by the shoulders and gave him a gentle shake. “He likes you.”

Thomas made a desperate sound and rolled his head the other way, then heaved himself upright. “I need to go outside. The cold clears my mind.”

“Way ahead of you!” Finn shouted over his shoulder, one hand clasped in Leo’s and the other on the doorknob with his skates teetering dangerously over his shoulder.

Leo hoisted their duffel bags, shuffling through the narrow doorframe with all the grace of a newborn giraffe. He gave them one last clumsy wave with a glove half-on. “Lo sends his love, even if he’ll never say it!”

“Yes, I’m coming,” Kasey laughed, presumably still to Natalie. He caught the door with his foot just as it was beginning to close; Remus grabbed the edge of it from him and waved off both his grateful look and mouthed thank you. “Yes, baby,” Kasey repeated. “Usual spot. On my way.”

It was a disaster, and then as fast as they had all tumbled in, everyone flooded out. A few of the newer guys remained, muffled by the hum of the showers. Dumo ruffled up Sirius’ hair as he passed, preoccupied by Celeste’s rapid-fire French on the phone and the hustle of his light jog. Remus was pretty sure he caught some mention of the park; there was one near their house with a pond that froze around this time of year. He was a little surprised Logan wasn’t already staking his claim on it.

Sirius’ arm was around him before he even started to sit. It made for the perfect guide and counterbalance, settling him firmly on a denim-clad thigh with a kiss to seal it in seconds. “Hey,” Sirius mumbled against his shoulder blade.

“Hi, trouble,” Remus laughed.

Sirius hummed, obviously pleased, and gave him a squeeze around the waist. “That felt good.”

“Using your powers for evil?”

“Mhm.” Another pulse, this time with a cheeky pinch to his hip. “And you.”

Remus scoffed, swatting at him, but couldn’t help leaning back into his warmth all the same. He was lucky Sirius couldn’t see the heat of his face, too preoccupied with nuzzling his way across the span of Remus’ back to leave a kiss at the top notch of his spine before burying his nose in the divot below. Odd creature, that one. Remus liked him far too much. “What are you doing?”

“You smell good.”

“I haven’t showered.”

“I noticed.”

Remus bit the inside of his cheek for a moment. He gave the room a cursory glance—the stragglers were just finishing up, too engrossed in whatever wisdom James was bestowing on them to notice the graze of Sirius’ teeth over the arch of his shoulder. “I was thinking,” Remus started, then lowered his voice. “Was thinking we could do it at home instead.”

Sirius’ smile pressed bright and devious to his skin. “Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Am I invited?”

“Unless I’ve started using the royal ‘we’,” Remus teased, digging his elbow lightly back into the curve of Sirius’ rib.

His laugh was soft, but the pat to Remus’ outer thigh was perfectly heavy with promise. “Get your bag.”

News of their early departure had obviously reached the ears of the rest of the training staff, because the halls were stark in their emptiness on the way out, after many goodbyes to James and promises of dinner tonight. Remus had been dying for some actual holiday time—he had planned gifts months in advance, dedicated an entire Monday to wrapping, agonized over delivery times and game schedules and delays.

But he was craving the substance of it, the literal meat and potatoes of people coming over to ooh and aah at the ornaments over dinner by the fire. Most of all, he wanted some time that was theirs. A brief moment to enjoy the lights and the smell of fir with just himself, Sirius, and the dog. It had been…three weeks? More? Since they put the wreaths and boughs up around the house. He was pretty sure that was the last time they had been able to do holiday things that didn’t involve obviously sneaking off to get gifts for each other.

Sirius seemed to feel the same. They had hardly made it past the PT room before he was pulled into an empty hallway for a kiss that melted in his mouth like butterscotch. He hummed, pushing into it, but Sirius just took him by the hips and pressed him back against the wall. Okayokayokayokayokay came the giddy whirl of the end of his thoughts.

“This.” Sirius’ mouth moved against his jaw, threatening a mark above his pulse point. “This is what I was after.”

“Cancelling practice just to kiss me,” Remus said, breathless already. His throat caught at a flash of teeth under his ear. “So irresponsible.”

Sirius’ eyes were bright and playful. “And I’d do it again.”

They got away with another minute—or five—before footsteps sounded down the other hall. Remus took him by the hand and pulled him toward the parking lot at a brisk, tumbling clip, sneakers pattering on the floors Filch was waiting to wax until they were all gone for the break. Hooligans, he called them. It echoed in Remus’ head as he kissed Sirius stupid in the hall beside the display cases. If only he could see them now.

The air bit his face as soon as they stepped outside, hot and kiss-fresh. Remus could hear voices around the corner but Sirius’ hand was sliding ever-lower and he just—“There’s people!” he hissed, fighting his grin with a blind bat backwards.

Sirius was too fast. A firm grab made him hoot, startling a laugh from both of them. “The entire world has seen us making out in a car, loup,” he snorted. “I think that’s worse.”

It was only the Cubs, after all, and half a snowman wearing a disjointed collection of gear. Leo’s oh-so-subtle text must have done the trick to summon Logan out of his holiday relaxation. He had only flown in that morning after the Rangers’ last game, but he seemed plenty awake despite the journey.

“You’re making me cold just looking at you,” he argued, adjusting his beanie over Leo’s ears while Finn finished rolling the head beside them. “You’ve lived here for years, and still you forget a hat?”

“Merci, baby.” Leo tried to sound begrudging while he obediently bent to let Logan work, but it only came off as fond. Remus could relate.

“And Fish just lets you walk out of the house like this. Unbelievable. It’s snowing.”

“It wasn’t snowing when we left,” Leo pointed out. “I seem to remember a ha-ha, losers text informing us of the change.”

Logan’s tsk was sharp as black ice while he tenderly tucked Leo’s curls under the hat’s knitted edge and kissed each of his cheeks. “Completely frozen over,” he informed Leo. “You’re welcome.”

“Now you’re going to get cold.”

Whatever disbelieving expression Logan made was lost to Remus as Sirius ushered him around the back of the car, but his scoff was plenty audible. “I’m Canadian. I don’t get cold.”

Sirius’ forehead hit the steering wheel the moment their doors closed. “I want to be home,” he complained.

“You’re in the right place to get there.”

“I don’t want to drive.”

“I can do it.”

A pathetic sigh heaved his back and shoulders. “I don’t want to wait fifteen minutes.”

Remus tugged on the back of his hat. “Not that I’ll ever say no to a little New Year’s action, but I feel like we just covered why that’s not a great idea in broad daylight.”

Sirius groaned, grumbled, and turned the car on.

Between salt and the morning commute, the roads were mostly clear. The familiar crunch of snow under tires pulled half of Remus’ brain from the rink; the other half followed at a sluggish pace, coaxed away by radio carols and the mindless chatter the two of them somehow managed in spite of spending eighty percent of their time together. The window was cold on the side of his head. Remus never liked freezing, but there was something about a snow day that always felt like home.

The house lights cast red and green glimmers over Sirius when they pulled in. They were working on getting decorations he liked; things he actually wanted, not just what Instagram said he should use. It wasn’t a lot yet, but it was a start. The icicle lights above the door had been a particularly good find.

They were greeted by a loud bark and the scrabble of paws. Hattie careened around the corner from the living room (she had taken to dozing under the tree) and spun herself at their feet in a few tight circles for maximum petting efficiency.

“We’re home so early!” Sirius cooed, gathering her wiggly body up in his lap like she was still tiny. “Oh, you’re so excited. Did we surprise you?”

“We were so mean to poor Coach,” Remus agreed as he dodged her lolling tongue. “Yes, baby, so mean, but now we’ll be home all day.”

Hattie keened and whined and nibbled on everything in reach for a tolerable thirty seconds, then launched herself out of Sirius’ lap and made a beeline for her toy box. She had hardly made it halfway to them when a cardinal flitted past outside—her ears spiked up, body puffing on a low bwoof. Remus barely got the screen door open before she was off like a bird-seeking missile, cutting through the snow in leaps and bounds.

They dumped their gear in the mudroom, made a snack, planned lunch, played with the dog, dried the dog, cleaned her paws, and finally—finally—they were standing in the same room, with nothing to do for another hour at least.

“Hi,” Remus said, heart kicking.

Sirius smiled. “Hello.”

Hattie’s teeth squealed on her peanut-butter-filled toy.

They wasted no time for foolishness on the stairs. A sweater on the ribbon-wrapped banister; socks in the hall. Sirius’ pants didn’t even make it across the bathroom threshold, belt clattering on the floor. Remus turned the shower on with his eyes closed because he quite simply could not be bothered to spare more than one hand.

“C’mere,” he murmured into Sirius’ mouth, even as he stepped backward under the spray. “C’mere, don’t move.”

Sirius’ response was wordless and perfect.

Steam built around them, chasing off the chill. The house was decorated. The presents were wrapped. Meals were planned, the dog was busy, and Remus was tired but he was so, so awake now, with ink-black hair wound around his fingers and a boy that held him so the hot water never left him.

Sirius rested his head on Remus’ shoulder and went lax at the drag of a soapy hand over his back. “So good.” His mouth rested at the curve of Remus’ jaw. Every word cooled his skin. “So good to me.”

“Doing my best,” Remus joked with a scritch to his nape.

Sirius raised his head, blinking sleepily around the water that spilled down his face. “I don’t remember the last time I wasn’t scrambling for gifts this time of year.”

“I do.”

“Mm?”

“Last year.” Remus smudged a few soap bubbles down the bridge of his nose. “Shopping for you.”

Sirius’ forehead wrinkled. “Me?”

“I was being cranky,” Remus assured him, running his thumbs over Sirius’ collarbones. He didn’t have a lot of soap left, but he would be shameless and greedy about touching like this. “Lily knocked some sense into me.”

“She’s good at that.”

“The best.”

“And she’s lucky to have you.” A kiss pushed the side of his hair into a cowlick; Sirius grinned as he smoothed it down with one hand. “Trop mignon.”

Hot hot hot hot hot. Remus wrapped both arms around his waist and sank his teeth into the knot of soft muscle above Sirius’ heart. Sirius’ laugh jostled him, but that was fine. He was used to it. “I love the holidays with you.” One last little kiss to his neck, to the spot he had bitten the other night and made Sirius’ leg tremble. “I love you.”

“I’m going to veto every single practice forever.”

“No,” Remus laughed, swaying them back and forth. He covered Sirius’ wicked smile with his hand and kissed the back of it. “No, non, not allowed.”

“But I get kisses and showers and I love you’s and dinner—” His hands skimmed up and down Remus’ sides, running over wet skin with the expertise of someone who knew all his soft spots. “—and you bite me and our dog loves us and we get to see James and Lily tonight—”

Remus cut him off with his lips this time. “Your perfect day,” he whispered, though it was just them in the house. “Sounds pretty close to mine.”

“Copycat.”

“Maybe we should just stick together,” Remus offered. Sirius’ fingertips found his own, lacing together all too easily. “For maximum perfect-day concentration, you know.”

“Nothing else, of course,” Sirius agreed.

“Oh, nothing.”

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

“I put mistletoe above our bedroom door when we were decorating.”

“Amateur. I put it on the ceiling above our bed.”

[noblecorgi]

2024: A Re-Entry to Fandom

I guess this is a thing? (Oh shit this brackets bit was written at the end and I appear to have emotionally vomited an essay. Sorry ‘bout that.)

In late 2023 I experienced a personal tragedy and retreated to where I had always found comfort: books.

I read a series that had been recommended to me before, but I hadn’t had time to read it - The Simon Snow Trilogy by @rainbowrowell and it awoke a dormant-but-never-forgotten love of fanfiction in me.

In my teens and early 20s I wrote a lot of fan fiction on the ol’ FF net, all of it of atrocious quality I’m certain, which is why I haven’t tried to rediscover that account.

Instead I found AO3, and restarted regularly writing for fun instead of for work or study/research.

I didn’t do any summation for 2023 because I think my first fic was posted on like 10 December 2023, but AO3 tells me I wrote 4 works, all SnowBaz, at a total of 55,154 words.

In 2024, I’ve published 5 works, at a total of 94,323 words.

What truly blows me away (and honestly makes me a bit teary) is the 1013 kudos, 100 subscribers (inc 15 subscribers to just me rather than a fic!), and 222 comment threads on my works. 🥹

So: my 2024 works.

Use your words, SnowBaz, Rated: E, 3,930 words

A smutty lil gift fic wherein Baz teaches Simon how to sext.

Splendid Morons, SnowBaz, Rated: E, 12,886 words

Published for Erotic Grope Fest, aka Baz’s birthday. A collaboration with @alexalexinii and a story written to enable their amazing art of Baz in lingerie.

Precious to me for not only getting to work with Alex, but also for being the beginning of my relationship with Becky @rbkzz, my incomparable beta who has become one of the dearest people in my life.

On The Rocks, SnowBaz, Rated: E, 74,592 words (WIP)

My opus, as it were. It originated from a fluffy cute prompt of “what if Baz and Lady Ruth were work besties?!” And I came along like “YEAH! But with trauma, exploration of love in mental illness, and alcoholism!”

I began posting it in March and it’s about 2/3 done now. But for Becky it would be both an absolute pile of horse poop, and an abandoned WIP. Instead it has a clear direction and she found motifs that I’d repeatedly used by accident in my drafts and built imagery, greater meaning, and also debated me ad nauseam on my preference for spelt over spelled.

Immune Response, @lumosinlove’s Cubs, Rated: G, 1,421 words

I was a big consumer of WolfStar in my teens and was recommended Lumosinlove’s Sweater Weather and, like many before me, fell in love with the story, the original characters, and ice hockey itself (much to the surprised glee of my Canadian spouse, who for a decade has tried in vain to get me on board. Little did he know the key was obviously gays.)

This is a lil’ slice of life sick fic examining how each of the Cubs responds to getting sick.

I have a lot more unpublished drabbles about these characters and some fics that are being cocreated so stay tuned for 2025?

Preliminary, my dear Basil, SnowBaz, Rated: T, 1,494 words

A gift fic for @martsonmars as part of the Carry On Discord’s Secret Snowflake Exchange.

Among their suggestions was “Sherlock AU, but not BBC Sherlock, 19th century Sherlock” and it hooked me with the idea that Baz would absolutely fancy himself as Sherlock. I actually sketched out a plot to SnowBazify 4 of the Holmes stories, so maybe 2025 will see them unearthed.

There is one other published fic I worked on this year, but as a beta rather than a writer for @swoopswrites @rsbigbang piece Class A which was super fun to do (and got me to watch a great series - The Gentlemen on Netflix) and Swoops has a fantastic mind so I’d encourage you to to check it out.

Finally, I have always been a writer rather than an artist, but I do enjoy drawing, and the need to upgrade my iPad for work arose and so I also tried my hand at drawing again for the first time since I was 17 or so.

In order from the first one to the most recent one, the lil scribbles I did this year:

Penelope Bunce, Wolfstar on a train, Baz with coffee, cuddly Cubs, FinnLo being adorable, iconic Moony with a cane, emo Sirius Black.

And THAT was 2024 (and 2023).

@artsyunderstudy @asocialpessimist @angelsfalling16 @whatevertheweather @edenalix @emjaydellyone @erzbethluna @emeryhall @run-for-chamo-miles @raenestee @rimeswithpurple @roomwithanopenfire @thehoneyedhufflepuff @theearlgreymage @thewholelemon @lonleyhumanbeing @letraspal @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @youarenevertooold @iamamythologicalcreature @ichooseyousnowbaz @ic3-que3n @ileadacharmedlife @onepintobean @palimpsessed @prettygoododds @philaet0s @pacey-bunce-loves-joey @sorenphelps @skee3000 @stitchy-queerista @fiend-for-culture @facewithoutheart @fruitcoops @girlwithcurls96 @hushed-chorus @hihimissamericanbi @cutestkilla @cosmicalart @confused-bi-queer @noopienoopiernoopiest @messofthejess @monbons

[oknutzy-week-2024]

And here it is! O’Knutzy Week 2024 will be July 15th - July 21st giving you two days of rest (or to catch up and read like I will be!) Please do not feel obligated to stick to one row or column or diagonal to write, draw, collage. Do what you are drawn to!

Please make sure to tag this blog and @lumosinlove when you post!

[platonicmoonwater00]

finally reading vaincre and im giggling

hello hello pandora

[always-reading]

LOST MY FUCKING MIND

[livingforcoopsandoknutzy]

not sure if anyone here has read the all for the game series but tell me leo knut is NOT just another version of jeremy knox???

jean and kevin are just finn and logan but angstier?

[batman-soup]

Pov: Logan tremblay’s everyday view

[iluvchick3nz]

Have another gift that I concocted before the holidays! We love some fluffy family skate!

All credits to @lumosinlove <3

“Allez, Fish!”

Finn looked up at Logan’s yell of his name and the slap of his stick on the ice. Without even thinking, he sent the puck up towards him, feeding Logan slightly ahead of where he was standing to allow him to skate through the pass. Logan spun around Noelle and flicked the puck in a wrist shot, sending it sailing over Leo’s shoulder and into the net.

“Yeah!” Finn shouted. He skated up and crashed Logan into the boards, heart so happy it was going to fly out of his chest. Magic, that’s what it was. They were magic together, and Finn felt so elated to be back with Logan on the ice he was vibrating. He ducked down to talk in Logan’s ear. “Fuck, baby, your spin move is gorgeous.”

Logan was laughing against him. “Merci, rouge. Beautiful pass.”

Finn leaned back to grab Logan’s head and tap their helmets together. “We were meant to find each other, baby. Gorgeous baby.” He kissed Logan’s helmet. “C’mon, back to center ice.”

They skated by Leo, who was shaking his head fondly at them, his goalie mask pushed up over his head to take a drink of water. “Good one, boys.”

Finn smacked him in the butt with his stick. “Can’t beat magic, Knut.” He spun around to find Leo’s eyes following. “Love you.”

Leo rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “Love you.”

“Allez!” called Sirius from the face off circle. “Let’s go, we gotta win.”

Remus snorted at him from across the dot. “Family skate is for having fun, Captain.”

“Ouais, but it’s not fun if we don’t win,” Sirius replied matter-of-factly. He braced his stick across his knees and looked at his husband challengingly. “And right now you’re still winning. Logan’s goal only brought us one closer, and we need more to win.”

Remus sighed heavily and looked at Finn. “You have fun with him.”

Finn grinned. “Count on it.” He braced himself against Cole. “Let’s go, double-x.”

Cole groaned. “I’m not even close to twenty any more.”

But Finn didn’t have time to respond as Remus won the face off and Cole dashed up the ice for his pass. Finn grunted and skated hard after him.

***

“You still got it, huh, Harz?”

Finn looked up at Thomas with a grin, sat in Logan’s stall and stripping off to take a shower. Their team had won, 3-2, Finn with an assist on each goal, two to Logan, one to Sirius. He’d felt a bit bad scoring on Leo, but they had been pretty goals. Sirius had a beautiful one-timer from the dot and Finn had found Logan on a breakaway, sending the puck up into empty space and leaving Leo without any defense to help him. Logan had faked, spun the puck backwards between his legs, and sent it right underneath Leo’s thighs. Leo had just laughed and accepted Logan’s apologetic kiss to his cheek, like the good sport he was, but Finn could tell that even he was impressed with how the puck got past him. Logan was fiery always, but especially when playing hockey. It was difficult being on the opposing team. Finn, for his part, had just enjoyed being there with him, playing with him. They had hardly needed to even look at one another yet found each other every time. 

Magic, Finn thought again with a smile. Pure magic.

Thomas laughed at him. “You feeling okay there, all-star?”

Finn just turned to look at him. “I’m toasty, Talky.”

Thomas raised his eyebrows. “That does not sound like appropriate locker room talk for family skate.”

Finn just closed his eyes and thumped his head on the back of his stall. “I can’t help the toastiness, Walky Talky.”

“Quoi?” Logan’s voice sounded. Finn opened his eyes to find Logan in front of him. Thomas was now occupied with Noelle, tracing her engagement and wedding bands with his thumb as he laughed at something she was saying. Finn smiled at them, then up at Logan, who was looking at him with those devastating green eyes. “What can’t you help?”

Finn reached out and grabbed at Logan’s hips, pulling him in between his spread thighs. “I can’t help the toastiness.” He leaned forward and pressed kisses on Logan’s bare abs just above his waistband. “You make me all toasty, baby.”

Logan flushed and pulled at Finn’s hair to force him to look up. His eyes were dark and his jaw clenched. “You can’t say things like that here.”

Finn just ignored him. He held Logan’s gaze and continued pressing kisses to his skin. Logan was breathing hard and looked around the almost empty room. Most had gone to the showers or were not paying attention. “Finn,” he whispered. “Stop that.”

“No,” Finn said. “I want you now.”

“Later,” Logan promised. He leaned down to kiss Finn lightly. “Time to shower, rouge. Then food.”

Finn thunked his head against Logan’s toned stomach with a groan. “No, now.”

Logan laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m toasty.”

“You’re something,” Leo said. He came and sat in his own stall beside them, back from his cool down run in shorts and compression leggings. He smiled and kissed the side of Finn’s head. “What’s going on?”

Logan ran a hand through Finn’s hair. “Rouge is toasty.”

Confusion washed over Leo’s face before he broke out into a laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

Finn pouted. “No I am not, you guys. I am in love with two sexy hockey players. Can you really blame me?”

“Non,” Leo said. He kissed Finn’s forehead. “But we’re at family skate. It has to be family appropriate.”

“I guarantee you that Cap and Loops have-”

But Logan covered his mouth before he could finish. “Rouge, non. Non, I don’t want to know what Cap and Loops do.”

Finn just kissed his palm and lightly bit his pointer finger before pulling away. “I love you.”

Logan smiled at him and moved his hand to card through Finn’s hair. “Je t’aime.” He massaged Finn’s scalp. “You know, you still got it. On the ice.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“It’s almost annoying,” Leo scoffed. He leaned his head on Finn’s shoulder. “You’re just too talented.”

“You know, giving me compliments is not really helping the situation.”

Logan just leaned down to kiss him deeply. “Let’s go shower.”

Finn perked up with a toothy grin. “Yes, please.”

“No, honey,” Leo laughed. “Seriously, if you don’t calm down, we’re going to have to wait until everyone’s done so we can shower without you causing a public disturbance.”

“That is kind of my point.”

“Mon Dieu,” Logan sighed. “What is up with you?”

“I’m toasty, baby, I told you.” He took Logan’s hand and kissed over his rings. “You both make me a toasty ghosty.”

Leo snorted. “Let’s go, you pale boy.” He stood and kissed Logan on the forehead. “Shower time.”

Finn looked around the locker room, now empty of anyone accept them, and then at his boys and their retreating forms. He bit his lips and smiled. He followed them, approaching from behind and landing a loving smack to each of their behinds. They both jumped, turning to him with blushing faces; even years later, and they looked at him the same way that they had when they’d been in this locker room playing together, all new feelings and navigating themselves for the first time. He smiled at them and pressed a hard kiss to each of their mouths. 

“Yeah,” Finn whispered. He wrapped an arm around each of their toned waists and ducked their heads closer to his with a content sigh. “Yeah, I still got it.” 

[lumosinlove]

Well saw the reference photo and literally could not resist.

I don’t think you get more finnlo-chaos-pining-obsessed-bestie-bitey-romance than this right here.

Leo comes in strong with a fond shake of his head.

Rouge? Can I—hey—can I borrow your phone charger?

[mymoonss]

daily rant <3

the unhealthy obsession i have with @lumosinlove ocs is crazy LIKE how do i tell someone “hey so yk harry potter godfather sirius. well he’s in love with professor lupin but instead of magic they play for the nhl.. and basically they are in love. my favs tho are these 3 weirdos that go by “the cubs” and GUESS WHAT they are in love too <3” so yeah… i love o’knutzy but no one knows who they are 😭😭😭 (don’t even get me started on coops, jily, and LITERALLY any other ship in the sweather weather universe)

[clickoly]

O'Knutzy Week - Day 1

I saw the prompt Racing on the bingo card and I couldn't resist. 

Me? Watching twenty cars go vroom vroom in a circle for sixty laps every other weekend? Absolutely not. 

Here's the first of five parts of Starboys, a Cubs Formula One AU! 

(Leo will arrive in style, fashionably late, tomorrow)

Characters belong to the amazing @lumosinlove. A big thank you to @oknutzy-week-2024 for organizing the fest. 

A5: We lost

Link to Ao3 here

Monza, Italy

National Automobile Racetrack

The late August heat radiating from the pit lane was anything but a pleasant welcome. Sliding his sunglasses into messy hair, slightly sweaty from a short walk under the scorching sun, Logan took a quick look around. 

The Silver garage was uncharacteristically quiet, with only a few mechanics loading tires onto trailers, probably setting them up for tomorrow's free practice sessions.

The weekend hadn't even started yet, and Logan already wished it were over. He ached to wash away the feeling of too many sleepless nights off his body, to get rid of the latent headache that had been haunting him for days—ever since he'd boarded that flight from Amsterdam alone. 

What would happen if he refused to show up? Would they fire him? He actually considered hiding for a second, just as the back door to the offices opened. 

"Logan?" 

The unmistakable sound of Celeste's voice made him turn around. 

"Oui, maman?"

"Don't maman me, Tremblay," she stepped closer. "You're late." 

"I know," Logan risked an innocent grin. "Please tell me why I have to do this."

The threatening look he earned was more eloquent than any real answer. "Okay, okay," he held his hands up in a sign of truce. "Who's at the press conference?" 

Celeste had a habit of memorizing every single detail of his schedule. "Olli, Thomas, Jackson and Finn," she recited. "Do I have to remind you to behave?" 

"You know I hate those fucking-"

"Language," Celeste playfully pressed a finger to his chest, then tilted her head toward the door. "Go charm everyone with that sweet face of yours."

"Yeah," Logan huffed. "If anyone so much as breathes a word about last week, I swear to God–"

"You will kindly remind them it was a misunderstanding." 

"Mais non," he tried to reason. Had it been a misunderstanding?

"Logan, they want to throw gasoline on this already raging fire. We won't let them." 

"Fine," he gave up. There was no point in arguing with her. "But he better be on the same page." 

Celeste Dumais wasn't just any manager. She was a friend, a steady presence at Logan's side. And she also happened to be the scariest human being he'd ever met in his life. At least when she wanted to be.

"Go," she insisted. The bossy yet extremely loving tone came out, capable of commanding an army and taking care of a wild household at once. "Behave, and be ready for dinner at six. Pascal is taking us to his favorite restaurant in town, and Katie wants to show you she's learned to eat spaghetti."

"All by herself?"

"And with a fork. Can you believe that?" 

Logan's smile was genuine. "Merci, maman."

Down the hall in the Media Center, Logan could hear the loud chatter of people. He checked his watch and realized that they were probably waiting for him to start the conference. 

Media day, real fun. 

The same old faces welcomed him as he sat down at the end of a long red couch, right next to Thomas Walker, Racing Bull's first seat. 

"Care to join the party?" Thomas whispered, muffling his words from the cameras. 

"I'd rather not," Logan crossed his arms and leaned against the backrest. "But apparently I have no choice." 

Thomas tried to stifle a laugh as the journalist spoke into his microphone, drawing everyone's attention. 

"Welcome everybody to the drivers' press conference ahead of the FIA Formula One Italian Grand Prix," he said to the cameras. Years of interviews and conversations with this man, and still Logan found it tricky to understand his thick Scottish accent. "Here are our five drivers joining us today. Closest to me is the home hero for this weekend, Finn O'Hara."

Finn actually smiled for the audience and politely returned the greeting with a grateful nod. 

"Then we have Olli Halla, Jackson Nadeau, Thomas Walker and Logan Tremblay. Welcome to you all."  

Every other Thursday afternoon on race weekends, when his teammate James wasn't on call, Logan was forced to sit through the same boring go-to questions—usually asked by the same three people. What can you tell us about last week's results? What are your expectations for this weekend? And each time, he tried his best to hide his discomfort behind safely prepared answers, carefully tailored to avoid any kind of drama—the very thing reporters were always looking for.

"Why don't we start with you, Finn?" The man, Tom, asked. "How does it feel, as an American, to be able to race again in red in front of the Italian crowd?"

"Oh, man," Finn laughed, and the rapid clicking of camera shutters instantly filled the room.

Fucker.

"This is incredible," he went on. "Every year it feels like coming home. The fans are amazing, and their support means everything to me and, of course, to the team."

Not only was Finn an elite driver, but he also had an innate talent for winning people's hearts with the silliest of comments. Finn O'Hara was pure charm, and Logan hated to admit it, but he had always been a little jealous of his natural way with people—reporters, journalists, fans. Finn acted like he was born to be in the spotlight and, most importantly, on the top step of the podium. It came as no surprise to Logan when Finn received a multi-year contract offer from the most prestigious racing team in the world, the one people could name without thinking twice when asked about Formula One.

Ask a child to draw a car, and they will certainly draw it red—the same crimson as the Scuderia's vibrant and historic livery, the flagship of Made in Italy. 

"Let's move on to Logan," Tom said eventually, his voice as calm and punctuated as usual. "Shall we go back to last weekend? I believe it was a tough one for you, but you still managed to finish the race." 

Logan took his time answering. He grabbed the mic, untangled the long cable twisted at his feet, and slowly pulled it to his mouth, white knuckles clutching the metal casing. "It was," he said coldly. His free hand reached for his hair, feeling exposed by the absence of his snapback. "But there's not much to add, to be honest. As I said in the post-race interview, I got damaged by the contact and the car lost a little performance in terms of aerodynamics," he explained calmly. 

"The safety car he..." Logan trailed off. "The safety car helped. The mechanics did a mega job during the pit stop and fixed the problem enough to let me cross the finish line."

But I still don't know why it happened.

"It was absolutely a fantastic team effort," agreed Tom. "What about your predictions for this Sunday?" 

Logan's lips twitched on autopilot into a cocky smile. "Oh, I can totally see a win." 

"Best of luck to you," the man smiled back. "Now I think we have time to take questions from the print media."

Logan tensed. This was the tough part, when sports journalists went on a merciless gossip hunt, looking for the best headline for their next article. And once again, Logan found himself in their crosshairs. 

It didn't take long for Tom to give the floor to the most annoying of them all.

"Peter Jones, ESPN F1," the man said as he switched on the microphone. "Finn, the DNF at Zandvoort cost you important points in the battle for the championship," he paused. His greedy eyes flicked not so casually between Finn and Logan. "What are the consequences in the close fight between you and the current leader?" 

A subtle question, because Logan knew exactly where this was going. He couldn't help but turn to look at Finn, who sat up straighter on the couch and inadvertently moved a hand to rub the back of his neck—as he always did when he was nervous. 

"Like you said," he cleared his throat, "it's still a tight fight. I made a mistake and I apologized, because..." Logan heard the hesitation in his voice, a faint tremor. "We both lost something last week. The race, good points..." Finn's eyes went blurry for a fleeting moment. "But I have to focus more on the future if I want to close the gap between us. And that's still my goal, so I'd say nothing has really changed". 

"So everything's okay between the two of you?"

Logan had watched the footage in his hotel room. He remembered storming out of his box. He had wanted to talk, to understand. And they just ended up yelling at each other in the middle of the paddock. Fifteen minutes later, the pictures were all over the Internet. 

Sparks flying on and off the track. Tempers flare as Tremblay and O'Hara clash after today's collision, the official F1 account had captioned the post on Instagram. 

"Of course," Finn nodded, a half smile on his lips, uncertain. "Yeah, good rivals and all." 

Rivals. That's what they were these days. Faces of the rivalry between two legendary, antagonistic teams. Names in capital letters on magazine titles and website headlines. 

One against the other.

As soon as they were dismissed, Logan bolted out of the room. It was four in the afternoon, and he still had to find a way to get out of the circuit unnoticed.

Logan wasn't being hostile. He loved his job and the life that came with it—or almost all of it. Even if it meant exposing himself more than he actually liked. 

Just not today, not now, not when the constant pounding in his head kept his focus far away, trapped in a conversation he wished had turned out differently. 

He was close to the exit door when he heard footsteps running after him. 

"Logan, wait." 

"Not in the mood," he said without looking back.

"Lo." a warm hand cupped his shoulder. "Please." 

They hadn't talked in almost a week, a first for them. Finn had texted, but Logan had needed time to figure out why he was so upset. In the back of his mind, Logan replayed the scene for the thousandth time.

Lap fifty, one hour and forty minutes into the race. Logan was leading the Dutch Grand Prix, going through Sector 2 with a 0.286-second lead over Finn, who had his DRS open. At the entrance to Turn 11, they were neck-to-neck, fighting for the apex.

The contact between the two cars happened out of the blue. It felt like a punch in the gut. 

Logan had watched the tape over and over, looking for a valid justification, an explanation. There had been plenty of room for both cars, and yet Finn had pushed him off the track, damaging Logan's front wing and knocking himself out of the race.

"You lied," Logan said firmly, still with his back to Finn. 

"What?"

"You said you apologized. But you didn't."

Finn let out a heavy breath, a hint of disbelief in it. He stepped in front of him, tall and broad as he was, brown eyes unbearably sad. 

"You think I did it on purpose?" he asked, his voice shaking with emotion. 

Logan held Finn's gaze. He felt all the tension in his body release at the sight of the hurt on his face. "Finn, I could never. Merde, I just... I don't understand why you snapped at me like that." 

You know what, Logan? Fuck you too. I don't have to explain anything to anyone. Just leave me alone.  

"I didn't mean to," Finn ducked his head, shying away from him. "I was tired of people asking me what happened and..." he shrugged helplessly. "You were so angry and I was furious because I'm an asshole and that was a fucking rookie mistake." Finn finally looked back at him, "I'm so sorry, Lo. I should have told you right away. I'm sorry." 

We both lost something last week. Something.

Logan closed his eyes.

Competitiveness was rooted in his DNA. He'd been racing for as long as he could remember, and he knew he would become a professional driver from the moment he sat in a kart for the first time at the tender age of five. The son of Marius Tremblay, a legend of the sport, following in his father's footsteps. 

He'd come a long way, with ups and downs, blissful achievements, countless defeats and steady improvement. And yet he'd found his way to this, to be a two-time world champion at the pinnacle of motorsport. To compete for a third title against Finn, the best friend he could've ever asked for. The only thing he hadn't expected to find on this competitive journey, and yet the most precious.

Logan had lost a race. That was it, a mistake. He certainly wasn't going to make the one to let Finn go. He could barely stand the idea of fighting with him. 

Still, he kept his face straight. He would never have given in that easily. "Listen," he said seriously, fighting the urge to hold Finn as he grew even paler, the freckles on his nose and cheekbones a stark contrast to his milky skin. "If you're not taking me out for a drink tonight, we're done."

A sparkle lit up those helplessly kind, soothing eyes. "We're not supposed to drink alcohol, Tremblay," Finn smiled shyly. 

"D'accord," Logan rolled his eyes and bit back a smile of his own. "Alcohol free it is."

[fruitcoops]

After Midnight

Annual pride fic is here! I hope everyone is staying safe, well, and hydrated :) Character credit goes to @lumosinlove <3

TW for alcohol/ light drunkenness/hangovers

July 1, 1:30 p.m.

“Jesus,” Remus mumbled. Pressure pinched his lower back, runching up his shirt; he dug a clumsy hand beneath himself and fumbled for his phone. It took a few moments to extract it, clamped between weak knuckles, but he managed. Handful of Twitter notifications, a text from his dad, an automatic calendar notification, sticky lips and—good god, did his hair really look that bad?

He tried to sit up and was met with an immediate (and wildly cranky) grumble from the concrete slab resting across his belly.

Remus sighed, and closed his eyes. Getting up was overrated. He didn’t even want to think about the state of the house.

June 30, 10:30 p.m.

“AYO AYO AYO!”

Kasey winced. “Christ, Harz, take some pity on my eardrums.”

“Hey, man, sorry—has anyone seen the margarita mix?”

“Side counter,” Remus noted, tipping his chin toward the kitchen. “By the sink.”

Finn’s face brightened. “Sick, thanks.”

“Gentle pours, please. Not everyone here has a college liver.”

“Please,” Finn snorted as he cracked a screw-top open. “You’re all in much better shape than those guys ever were. Knutty around?”

Remus shrugged and took another sip of his beer. He liked this kind—Sirius had picked well. “Went off somewhere with Reg. Probably gaming.”

Finn whistled through his teeth. “Not getting him back anytime soon, eh?”

“Oh, you bet,” Remus laughed.

July 1, 2:00 p.m.

“We should ban frat boys from the team.”

“Mmm.”

“All of them. Every one.”

“Mmm.”

“Or at least remove the—” Sirius paused to catch another mouthful of water directly from the faucet. For the first time in Remus’ memory, his glossy hair looked slightly dull and flat. “—lead weights from their hands, mon dieu, what did they put in there?”

“Hell. Burning, vicious, alcoholic hell.” He turned his head with utmost caution, and still felt a warning throb in the back of his skull. “I liked those ciders you picked up.”

Sirius groaned; Remus watched his forehead bump the side of the kitchen cabinet with a soft noise. “Don’t talk to me about cider right now. My tongue feels like I licked one of your sweaters.”

Remus frowned. “You like my sweaters.”

“That’s not…” Sirius straightened with a wince. Both hands remained braced on the marble. “The fuzzy stuff, it’s all in my mouth. Wool.”

Remus thought it was rather more like someone had packed his cheeks and sinuses full of cotton balls, but sharing that didn’t seem like the wisest choice. Nine hours of sleep. Dizziness still threatened every attempt at movement. The tap turned off and he heard Sirius’ footsteps approach; pressure compacted Remus’ ribs once more with a wobbly flop.

“I like this shirt,” Sirius mumbled into his left pec. His voice was thick—from his hangover or drowsiness or just giving up on English, Remus wasn’t sure. Knowing Sirius, it was a bit of all three. His stubble scratched gently over Remus’ collarbone, still damp from sticking his head in the sink. “Soft. Cute.”

“It’s one of yours.”

“Ah. I have good taste.”

“Clearly.”

The corner of Sirius’ mouth pulled up in a smile. “Hmm. Harzy and Tremz are going to be doing bag skates until their legs fall off.”

Remus snorted, trailing his fingertips through the squashed curls at Sirius’ nape. “Not to play frat boy’s advocate here, but in their very weak defense, I don’t think the punch alone did this.”

“Non. Margaritas.”

“I still think Lily poured extra in.”

“Ouais, prolab—probleb—oui. She did.”

A phone screen lit up in Remus’ periphery. He grabbed for it, stiff-fingered and extremely stuck beneath a lump of husband, and squinted into the bright light. “Pots says good morning, and that he’s going to go lay on the porch for a few hours. He loves you.”

“Mmph. Love, too.”

June 30, 11:25 p.m.

Sirius loved parties. He fucking loved them. This was the best night of his life. Second-best, after his wedding. Or third? He was happy when Harry was born. But no, his ribs were still broken then. That had to put it under tonight, because tonight was perfectly amazing and awesome, and James was his—

“You’re my favorite person,” he yelled over the music, leaning on James’ shoulder in case he didn’t hear. “I love you!”

“I love you, too!” James shouted back. His glasses had gone a bit sideways on his face. That was fine. Lily would totally fix those for him. She liked to kiss his nose, and she had once told Sirius that fixing James’ glasses made sure she got to do it. Sirius thought she might want to pick something that wasn’t so easily broken.

“Hey,” he continued with a pull to James’ shirtsleeve. “I kiss loup on the mouth.”

“I know!”

“And the cheek!”

“Why are you telling me things I already know?”

“Because Lily kisses your nose,” he explained. Maybe the music was too loud for James to understand. He looked confused. “And you can break your nose. But you can’t break your mouth or your cheeks.”

Finally, understanding dawned on James’ face. “Dude,” he said. “You’re so right. We gotta go tell her.”

July 1, 2:07 p.m.

Remus set Sirius’ phone down on his lower back and reached for his own, wiggling a little when his hips got stuck under Sirius’ torso. A displeased huff followed—he kissed the top of Sirius’ head in apology and let the popsocket slot between his fingers, just in case. He was so clammy all of a sudden.

You Have (4) New Messages From: Lion Den RAHH

everyone not dead sound off

breathing.

Technically alive. Wish I wasn’t.

who made the fucikgn margs

New Message To: Lion Den RAHH

Not dead. Margs were Harz and Lily. You fuckers need to clean up after yourselves.

He had just clicked his phone off when the screen went retina-blasting bright again. Remus let his head fall back against the armrest and immediately regretted it. It took an embarrassing amount of time to lift his head again without the room tilting sideways.

New Message From: Lion Den RAHH

Big words. Small brain. Still drunj

*drnuk

DTUNK.

Three gray dots scrolled, then vanished. Remus smiled to himself. The vindictive part of him was glad to see they weren’t the only ones in Pride-induced misery.

New Message From: Lion Den RAHH

Some1 help knutty is snorng like a fucking chainswa

Remus glanced down. “Did you know Knutty snores?”

“In planes.”

The shallow rhythm of Sirius’ breathing flexed the shirt across his back. Remus gave an appreciative rub along the valley of his spine and felt him arch into it. “Aw,” he cooed. “My poor little hungover lion cub.”

“Nooo,” Sirius protested weakly.

“Poor baby. How will you survive.”

“At least you don’t snore.”

“True.”

“Is Harzy suffering?”

“As much as he can while he’s in bed on a Saturday with his boyfriends.”

“Good.”

July 1, 12:15 a.m.

“Bonjour, hi, hi.”

An arm caught him around the waist—Remus stumbled, but within half a step he had been gathered up against a warm, familiar chest. “Oh, hey,” he hummed, dopey even to his own ears. “Missed you.”

Sirius might have returned the sentiment, but Remus didn’t hear it through the buzz in his veins and the stutter of his heart when Sirius’ mouth found his own. He staggered backward with a sharp inhale and let Sirius carry their momentum. His back hit the wall; Sirius sighed into his lips when Remus dragged a hand through the top of his hair.

He tasted like oranges when Remus bit his lower lip. “Yum.”

“Love you,” Sirius said, smiling. Their foreheads bumped and Remus pushed into it. He was rewarded with another kiss that turned his ankles to loose jello. “Non, non, don’t leave.”

“Mmm, I’m not going anywhere,” he promised through a grin.

His eyes closed as Sirius’ mouth trailed over his cheek and jaw, then down to suck at his neck. “Should’ve done this earlier.”

Teeth grazed his skin with each word; Remus shivered despite the warm night. “Yeah?”

“Before the parade.” The sway of Sirius’ accent did unholy things to his heart. Stubble teased his skin when Sirius nudged under his chin. “That way everyone could see.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Remus breathed.

July 1, 3:45 p.m.

“Did you drown?”

Sirius glared at him across the bedroom, playful and foggy. Remus grinned and took a swig of Gatorade.

“You look like you did.”

“How are you rebounding?” Sirius grumbled.

Water droplets stuck to the mirror with each scrub of the towel through his hair. He’d left it longer than usual in the postseason, fluffy around his ears and neck. Remus was inclined to keep it that way as long as he could. He met Sirius’ gaze in the mirror and took another pointed sip. “Our lady of blessed electrolytes.”

“…give it.”

July 1, 1:30 a.m.

Sweat and glitter burned crystalline in the glow of multicolored LEDs. Sirius wasn’t sure where—or who—the glitter had come from, but finding one culprit in this crowd would be a losing battle, and one that required him to stand up. There was no way in hell he was leaving this perfect place.

Remus’ eyelashes threw shadows over his freckles when he blinked. “Do you think they’ll start leaving soon?”

“I’ve been hoping since midnight.”

His laugh was everything. Quieter at first, a mischievous snicker blooming loud at the end. Sirius let his eyes fall shut when Remus leaned over. His temple nestled against Sirius’ forehead. “Hi.”

The seam of his jeans rippled under Sirius’ fingertip. His quad flexed, and Sirius felt the weight in his lap grow heavier while Remus settled in. “Hey.”

“Proud of you.”

Sirius pressed his smile to a blush-warm cheek. God, he loved how pink Remus turned on nights like this. “I love you.”

It only took a minute adjustment, and they were kissing. He kept it soft and long and chaste, more a series of small pecks brought together by their closeness than anything. The tip of Remus’ nose was cool on the bridge of his own. He nibbled the corner of that grin and tasted bright apple-sugar, chasing it with a flick of tongue.

“You’re bad,” Remus murmured with audible delight, twisting slightly. He hardly went far—most of his weight rested on Sirius’ chest and he came closer without hesitation when Sirius tugged on his hips. His golden eyes flashed in the sudden transition from hot pink to blue lining their walls. “We have company.”

“So did Dumo.” Sirius kissed the roundness of his lower lip. “When we won the Cup.”

“We can’t throw a fuckin’ Pride party and then sneak off in the middle of it. It’s cliché.”

“If this is the middle, I’m sneaking off to sleep in an hour, and you can decide to join me or not.”

Remus’ laugh was loud all the way through, this time.

July 1, 6:00 p.m.

The groupchat had grown steadily more active as the hours passed and more of their friends were revived from their howling, sharp-toothed hangovers. Remus, for his part, had already sworn off alcohol six times in the past four hours. He hadn’t been left this hard-over since his junior year of college.

A gust of wind blew in from one of the many open windows and ruffled his shirt. Remus grimaced. “I still smell like a distillery.”

Sirius (who, despite his whinging, had recovered rather fast) sniffed the air. “Ouais.”

“Thanks, baby.”

“Worth it, though.”

Remus gave him a sideways look. “Was it?”

Sirius glanced up and frowned, then set his slice of pizza down. “I liked the party.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” One of his broad shoulders lifted in a shrug. “It was nice, having people around. The parade was fun. Kind of busy.” He took another bite, tipping his head back and forth thoughtfully even as a gentle blush colored his neck. “I like showing you off.”

Remus liked to think he had grown accustomed to Sirius’ sweetness—to his big heart and kind words, both of which were reserved for a select few that somehow included Remus. Yet he constantly found himself left speechless, cast far out to sea by the sheer honesty Sirius saved for him.

He stretched a leg out under the table and tangled their ankles together. “Love you.” Remus tilted his chin vaguely toward the window. “Here, and out there. For us and them.”

“We should have more parties,” Sirius said by way of an answer. The blush had risen to his ears. His foot ran along the length of Remus’ shin.

“Okay.”

“I want to see everyone, and I want to love you so they know it.”

Remus’ face hurt from keeping his smile from drifting too close to utter lunacy. “Okay.”

“We should ban glitter next year.” Sirius nodded to himself, then nudged Remus’ foot. “And frat boys.”

“They’re gay frat boys, though. They have a right.”

The bridge of Sirius’ nose wrinkled. Fucking adorable. “Well, maybe they just need to pick a side.”

“Lily was partially responsible for the biohazard margaritas,” Remus pointed out, picking a piece of pepperoni off Sirius’ slice and adding it to his own.

“She’s out, too.” Sirius jabbed his pizza at him. “And you’re on thin fucking ice, thief.”

“I’ll pick her party over yours.”

“You can’t pick your best friend over the person you’re gay married to. It’s Pride.”

Remus stole another pepperoni, dodging the smack of Sirius’ hand. “Then I’ll get gay married to Lily.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“Any marriage I’m in is a gay one,” Remus informed him, slouching lower in his seat to hook his calf around Sirius’. “I can gay marry anyone I want. I’ll gay marry a dozen people and go to all their parties over yours. Ha-ha-ha.”

Sirius flicked a piece of pineapple at him; it bounced off his chin, and while he was distracted, Sirius stole one of his pepperonis back with a triumphant grin. “Fine. See if any of them put up with you like I do.”

“Thief.”

A foot poked Remus in the back of the knee. “Doesn’t count if it was already mine.”

[kaysthename]

@lumosinlove sweather weather and vaincre characters as nhl clips... i could make a thousand of these... bet you can't tell who my favorite is