#im sorry that archie and lily are like half of this but I was trying to gif the darker scenes bc they looked better and most of them were

[coldasyou]

Endless list of favorite musicals: The Secret Garden (1991)

Mistress Mary

Quite contrary

How does your garden grow? 

[casualmaraudering]

a little text fic, prompt provided by @starstruck4moony <3

Remus Lupin

Sunday, 10:15AM

Sirius Black: hey, a friend told me you have a dog to give away?

11:10AM

Remus Lupin: yeah! lily has mentioned she said something to a few people. i’m guessing you’re interested in taking him?

You can now message and call each other.

11:11AM

Sirius Black: YES!!! i love dogs sm

Sirius Black: what’s his name?? do you have pictures??

Sirius Black: i mean i love him already but i require pictures

Remus Lupin sent a photo.

Remus Lupin: oh i call him Archie! though he’s small enough that you can change it if you want to

Sirius Black: ARCHIE????? THATS SO CUTE HOLY FUCK

Sirius Black: im in love

marauder squad

11:13AM

pads: RED

pads: why didnt you tell me the puppy guy is hot?????

prongs: oh boy here we go again

pads: he’s so fucking gorgeous?????

pads: he has CURLS

pads: and FRECKLES!!!!

wormy: is sirius being gay again

pads: why didnt you ever mention you have a cute friend 

redhind: cause i knew you’d do this

pads: STILL

pads: im hopelessly homosexual lily he might be the love of my life 

redhind: see there’s the thing

pads: he’s straight isn’t he

redhind: i don’t know

redhind: i can try my best to find out for you

pads: i love you lily

prongs: oi

pads: you dont have any cute boy friends prongs, go away

prongs: >:(

Remus Lupin

11.20AM

Remus Lupin: so when do you wanna get him?

Sirius Black: does next week work?? im not at home til next Friday

Remus Lupin: ah yeah sure! 

Remus Lupin: holiday?

Sirius Black: wedding

Sirius Black: my uncle and his partner are getting married and i wouldn’t dare miss it

Sirius Black: and as a gay man he has a flare for blowing things out of proportion so instead of a regular wedding it’s a full week long getaway

Remus Lupin: god i wish

Remus Lupin: stuck in London studying for finals :/

Sirius Black: #cantrelate i’m an art student we don’t get those lol

Remus Lupin: rude

Sirius Black: what do you major?

Remus Lupin: English lit

Sirius Black: so you’re a nerd huh

Remus Lupin: i just like books

Sirius Black: nephew duties call, gotta go

Sirius Black: goodbye nerd boy

Remus Lupin

5:45PM

Sirius Black: how is my darling doing

Remus Lupin: he’s napping rn, we just came back from a walk

Sirius Black: that’s not what i asked

Remus Lupin: ??

Remus Lupin: oh

Sirius Black: ;)

Remus Lupin: do you always call strangers your darlings?

Sirius Black: only when they’re as gorgeous as you

Remus Lupin: now you’re just lying

Sirius Black:??? no i’m not

Sirius Black: as the homosexual of the group my opinion is the most trusted when it comes to cute boys

Sirius Black: and you my dear are cute as all fuck

Remus Lupin: that’s nice of you to say

Sirius Black: and it’s true. you’re both cute and hot and apparently smart too since eng lit, so don’t put yourself down

Sirius Black: and i mean since this is all out here already i’m not just saying it to be polite, i really am attracted to you and it’s been nice talking to you so far and i know it’s a long shot cause i don’t even know if you like guys but i wouldn’t mind getting coffee together someday if you want

Lily Evans

6:30PM

raging homosexual: FUCK

raging homosexual: LILY I FUCKED UP BAD

raging feminist: ???

raging homosexual: I ASKED THE PUPPY GUY OUT AND ITS BEEN LIKE HALF HOUR AND HE JUST LEFT ME ON READ

raging feminist: oh god sirius

raging homosexual: HES CUTE AND LIKES DOGS I PANICKED

Remus Lupin

7:50PM

Sirius Black: hey, i’m sorry about that, i didn’t mean to freak you out or anything, people do say i’m too impulsive at times haha

Sirius Black: can we please just forget that happened? i swear i won’t hit on you since it makes you uncomfortable

Sirius Black: i’ll get Archie next Friday and then you don’t have to see me again

James Potter

10:20PM

prongs: stop sulking

padfoot: i’m not sulking

prongs: i can see what you’re listening to on spotify y’know?

prongs: you’ve had ‘sad gay time’ on repeat for two hours

prongs: i know that dude is pretty or whatever but he’s not the last cute guy you’ll meet

padfoot: yeah i know

padfoot: idk it just hits me sometimes

padfoot: like it’s not even him it’s just,,,, im feeling like shit in general cause that made me think about my life

padfoot: you have lily and sometimes when i look at you i want something like that too and i’m worried i won’t ever get that

padfoot: im 19 and never even kissed anyone

prongs: and that’s normal, things take time sometimes

prongs: the right guy will come eventually, trust me

prongs: 19 is really young still, there’s literally ages for you to find the right guy for you

prongs: you’re the most amazing guy i know, you’ll find someone

padfoot: thanks james

prongs: come to my room? we can play mario kart

prongs: i have popcorn

padfoot: sure

Remus Lupin

Monday, 8.20AM

Remus Lupin: god i am so so sorry i just left like that i swear i didn’t mean to

Remus Lupin: i have this weird condition, and sometimes it acts up really unexpectedly to the point where i can’t even look at my phone cause i have such a bad migraine and i really meant to reply but it got so bad that i could barely move i am so sorry

Sirius Black: are you okay now??

Remus Lupin: yeah, it’s better

Remus Lupin: not amazing but better

Remus Lupin: that’s why i’m giving away Archie, too

Remus Lupin: an auntie gave him to me and while i’d love to have a dog, i can’t really care for one that well 

Remus Lupin: again, i’m so sorry, it was the worst timing possible

Sirius Black: it’s fine! i’m just glad you’re okay

Remus Lupin: and.. if the offer still stands, i’d really like to get coffee with you sometime

Sirius Black: really??

Remus Lupin: yeah

Remus Lupin: only for Archie’s sake, of course

Remus Lupin: he’s quite attached to me already, so i need to make sure you treat him well

Sirius Black: oh yes, absolutely

Sirius Black: you’ll have to stop by my flat, to see if it’s right for him

Remus Lupin: i hope your bed is soft enough for him, he hates sleeping alone

Sirius Black: you’ll just have to check for yourself

You changed Remus Lupin’s nickname to: cute puppy dad

Remus Lupin changed your nickname to: my puppy daddy

[gotatext]

yo, im not gonna lie guys, im super drunk, so this bio is like.... completely ocpy and pasted but;.... pls plot with me..... im so excited to bring this baby here.... i feel it is the perfect place to write her and i hven’t had the chance to in so long ..... love me..... and greta........ please im so excited this is back, last time i played jack..... n willow??? i think....... maybe archie too...... dont even remember...... who i fuckin played..... but i was here...... and queer..... loud..... and proud..... god this dumb bitch needs to sleep.....

GRETA O'DRISCOLL

20. born in marfa, texas. luvs wearing gingham print dresses and cowboy boots. vert into art and pornography, and particularly the combination of the two. wants to do a PHD on gender studies and female autonomy in porn.

( kristine froseth | she / her | cisfemale ) hey, you hear ( young lady, you’re scaring me by ron gallo ) playing over on the ( rv lot ) ? that’s where ( greta o'driscoll ) lives! i heard they moved in from ( marfa, texas ) exactly ( four months ) ago. they’re very ( zealous ) but also pretty ( erratic ). maybe that’s why davie keeps calling them the ( libertine ). starlit is full of people, but this ( 20 ) year old is really going to liven things up around here! ( nora | 23 | she / her | gmt )

personality: easy-going, deceptive, manipulative, self-reliant, profound, amiable, nihilistic, self-serving, laid back, independent unmotivated, self-corrupting, charming, lazy, impulsive, alluring.

likes: art, music, philosophy, DC comics, arcade games, candyfloss, fish and chips on the beach, deep red lipstick, marijuana, dogs, Kate Moss, late-night strolls, chemistry, suspenders, cigarettes, herbal tea, gallows humour, cold coffee, long showers, brown eyes, tchaikovsky, dr. seuss, DJ sets, magnolias.

dislikes: bananas, coffee, mental mathematics, children, misogyny, the imaginary future, literature, Wes Anderson films

muse tag

pinterest

aesthetics: a bubble of pink gum on chapped lips, mom jeans, a beaten up pair of adidas, strawberry laces, knee-highs, chapped lips, split knuckles, bruises you try to cover with concealer, stick and poke tattoos, sleep caught in your eyes on a lazy afternoon, alien conspiracy theories and sci-fi paperbacks, doc martens with fraying laces, the red string of a thong peaking out purposely from jeans, a rucksack permanently packed for the move, a streak of red across your lips, roller blades, cut knees, not eating your greens, smiling with a mouthful of blood, feet pounding the earth until your soles bleed crimson, sleeping in a cherry lip balm and scrunchies to keep the wild locks from your eyes.

cliffsnotes on biography

 - she’s called greta (under witness protection), and she’s a serial dater. she’s incredibly restless and doesn’t settle. before she came to seattle, she’d lived in 8 different cities in 3 years. born into a single-parent house with two older sisters so always surrounded by women and as a teenager she often let boys walk all over her bc she just craved male attention  -   every place she goes, she becomes a new character, someone who’s a figment of her imagination, as if each city is repertory theatre and she’s a character actress, so as a result everyone from her past views her as a completely different person depending on when she met them.   -   she’s been involved in a series of destructive relationships because when people discover she’s not who she pretends to be she often gets explosive and defensive.  -   (tw gun) she’s now under witness protection and moved to connecticut because she shot a previous boyfriend in self-defence and his family are trying to have her done for murder, but she got tired of being moitored so is now even on the run from the police / her faked identity.  - easy to get along with (provided you don’t anger, provoke or question her too much) because she WANTS your character to be entralled by her and will do whatever it takes to win them over. she wants everyone to love her   -  big into sports. big into gender politics. big into art. does a lot of art installation pieces to do with female and queer bodies. massive feminist. low key quite scared of powerful men bcos of her ex. wants to start a female only lesbian commune. big fan of the honey bee.

full biography

trigger warnings: drugs, domestic abuse, gun.

you never meant for it to happen. you’d heard the stories, of girls who let their man walk all over them, and thought to yourself “i’ll never be one of those girls…” the kind that eat low-fat yoghurt and drink slim fast to shred a few extra pounds because he said she was getting round in the tummy, or the ones who spent their evenings tied to a kitchen sink drinking wine while him and the boys played poker, wishing god, if only I could get out of here. not you, not you raised by strong women, four bright shining beacons. single mother with her hard-as-nails attitude and her stony glares, elder sisters (twins) one ginger, one blonde, one doctor, one lawyer, both determined to take a bullet to the brain and a hammer to the patriarchy before they let a man touch them without asking. you were always so inferior, so insecure and small, like a bird (like a sparrow) with blonde plaits down your back sucking tropicana whilst your bosom buds sucked dick, their lips permanently ripe with stories of their sexual exploits, fake tan and glittered nails whilst you sat in the unbroken egg of virginity wondering what it was like to be loved. one day you found out. 

lily milligan’s parents gone and a free house for the night, bottles of ouzo and tequila swiped from your mother’s liquor cabinet thinking she wouldn’t know (she always knew) your legs, hardened from pep squad, slut dropping on a kitchen table because the boys thought it would be fun to get the quiet girl drunk. you’d never had a sip before that night. band t-shirts, denim shorts and the split soles of rotten converse that you refuse to let go of, you still clutched with both hands to your youth, but in a tube top now (borrowed from alice carmichael who had a sister in college) and a short tennis skirt, your feet not in trainers but in thigh-high boots. uncomfy as hell but lily said you needed to look sexy. you didn’t know if you wanted to be sexy. you didn’t know what kind of girl you were, if you were even a girl at all. but robbie looked at you like he knew exactly who you were, like he knew you better than you knew yourself, and his lips had the pink cupid’s bow of a movie star, and his hair was dark locks, curling like a mane. his hands were soft, and suddenly on your waist, and after three more shots his lips were on yours and his name was the only sound in your head and on your lips as you lost it in lily’s college sister’s bedroom beneath the glare of a T-Pain poster. you bled for what seemed like hours, his hand still in yours, kissing on the sofa as truth tellers and daredevils continued to spin a bottle of unprecedented youth. you thought it was love. robbie was the one. he loved you, you knew it, how else could someone be so soft? but soon he grew bored, scrunched up your paper heart and set it alight. then came the tears, the hatred, the ‘fuck robbie, in fact, fuck all boys.’ and that you did.

you were known for being easy. any boy could be yours for a night, as long as he promised to love you for those few short breaths and pants before you cried yourself to sleep. you felt poisoned, but poisonous as well, as if by ensnaring these young boys you were gaining power over them, and not the other way around. soon it started to work. they’d want more, but you’d deny them it, sick of sucking off silly schoolboys, they’d call you a tease, a vixen. maybe you were, but you couldn’t help but want older men. you got the history teacher first time, him bending you over his desk to sneak a hand up your tennis skirt as the after-school clubs carried on next door, unawares. love didn’t exist, not for you. it was nothing but a game for pretty young girls to play, bubble gum in their canines and a hand tugging at the hem of their cheer skirt.

there was so much anger inside of your small body, ‘beware of boys and their hook-like words’. hockey helped. there was something formidable about the feeling of a stick like a weapon in your hands and the thwack it made against thighs in the heat of a scrum - “slipped, sorry!” - you’d utter with a snakeskin smile, millicent quinn knowing that you’d hit her on purpose because she shagged robbie at that party last week. she couldn’t prove it, cobbled acne on her forehead turning green with disgust. ben came into your life like a car crash. two years your senior, with a baseball jacket and shoulders like a god. he became your personal hero. on the pitch, he was lethal. together, you could bring anyone to their ruin. each day after last period he’d be waiting in his car. you’d leap into his arms like a girl-half starved, love me, love me, love me, your heated kisses the envy of every junior girl. he was yours for three blissful years, utterly yours, and you were his, his star-spangled girl, and he was your knight - you were both the same, playing games, always difficult to predict. it was a shock to all when he proposed, high-school sweethearts find love in south dakota.

the engagement was a bittersweet affair; three months – you barely out of your gingham print skirts and into a graduation gown, him, a surly quarterback towering above your sisters, cigarette at his lips and a scowl like a fart in a lift. they hated him. so did you. but you were eighteen and in love, and he fitted the cookie cutter mould. everyone wanted him, and you had him. you had him and you were happy, happy, happy, and he loved you. he said he’d give you the world, anything you wanted hand-picked and given to you. instead, he gave you a jack russell terrier and a flat you couldn’t swing a cat in, wallpaper peeling like the rotten bits inside of you, the bits that only he knew. and you got tireder and tireder of the sad excuse of a life he’d picked out for you, him out doing god knows what to pay the bills, and you dancing on tables to pave your way to stardom, and this was love, this was real, until the shine wore off and your fresh-faced, dimple-cheeked cheerleader facade faded and the ugliness started to reveal itself, the whining, the petulance, the sharp-tempered cruelty, the mind games, the need to always win, win, win. he was dull, he was boring, he was nothing like the boy the girls had said he was and no chiselled six-pack could hide his lack of anything remotely interesting, your patience wearing thin until it snapped like rubber, a rucksack on your back, running shoes on your feet and the joint bank account emptied into your eighth grade birthday wallet.

you built your small fortunes working the casinos of sioux falls, a crimson dress and an attitude to match. bookish archie with his little dipper freckles was fun for a month before he became just as dull and dreary as the rest. a three-hour bus and you were in minneapolis, bright eyed and bushy tailed, fresh meat ready for the pickings. a hostel here, a friendly co-worker’s sofa there as you made what you could by taking off your clothes and shaking your ass like you were back in pep squad, doing what you did best. you met your fair share of creeps, and soon it was back on the road to escape a wide-eyed stalker and a restless itch for more. milwaukee, chicago, you made the roads your own. log cabins and lodgings, and the occasional motel, a beaten up pick up truck purchased at a scrap merchants – you got a few miles out of it before it bit the dust, and when you finally set it alight after nights spent lounging across the driver’s seat, a parka tucked over you as a duvet, you were sad to see it go. you’re nomadic by fault, never attaching to place, people or things, creating a new personality in every place you go like a character actress; each town is a different repertory theatre, and you’re the star. a compulsive liar, you even fib about your own name, to some you’re ellen, nineteen, bookish, a law student who likes smoking and cosmos. to someone else you’re rita, you’re twenty-five and look young for your age, like smoking, comics and fucking in public places.

in the bright lights of michigan, you found charlie, sweet charlie, too good for you, though you let him spoil you while he thought you were the small town girl of his dreams. next came abigail, who was fun until the jealously kicked in, and then luke, gorgeous luke, dangerous, exciting, who despite his temper, despite the fights, despite bruises down your spine and your teeth marks on his arms, loved you with the strength of a wildfire. there was destruction in your wishbones, a savageness from the field, from the pitch and now somehow in his arms, you were godly. he was cruel, he was careless, and he refused to fall at your feet like so many other boys had, which only you made you want him all the more. you were rage incarnate. you hated him so fiercely you thought you might kill him, so he played the only card you wouldn’t predict; proposed.

the house you shared was a backstreet flat in detroit, you make your name as a downtown singer while he foots the bill with pills. they have a drug for anything these days, to dull the senses, to pick them up, to drive you to insanity or pull you out of the madness hole. the two of you live like criminals on the run (you never told him that you were, living out your days as the enigma he wanted you to be), you with your voice like caramel and fishnet legs. you were his and his alone until his hand was at your throat and the gun was in your hands screaming at him to stop, stop, stop, until a bullet stoppered his brain, crimson staining linoleum as you cast yourself out like lucifer. self-defence was decreed the moment they saw your violet neck, black tears and headlight eyes and mind screaming red, red, red like the pom-poms you shook so willingly in school and the insides of his skull. you were gone, and “you” was born, renamed “greta”, boxed, shipped-out, and next-day delivered to vegas where under witness protection you were a student, blank slate, fresh-faced in a place where no one knew your name, doing what you always did and starting again.