Requested by anon:Hi!! I was wondering if you could do a Remus x reader fic where the reader is like sooper artistic and (since I don’t really understand how the moving painting thing works LOL) could you write how she bewitches her paintings to move and Remus is just awestruck because she is so darn talented? I hope that’s not too much but you’re so good at writing I thought you’d like this idea!Thank you! (also maybe she does a painting of Remus, without him knowing) -extra if you like but you don’t have to.
A/n: Thank you so much! That’s a really cute idea - Hope you like it!
Word count: 850
After a long, exhausting day of school, you just wanted to be alone to free you mind again. You had to take two exams earlier, the teachers at Hogwarts didn’t take it easy on you, at the moment. All the late night learning sessions got you drained.
Clarke knows it’s irrational that when she moves back to her childhood hometown, the first place she wants to go is the library.
Sure, getting a library card is vaguely on her To Do list, along the same lines as figuring out which mechanic she’ll go to when her car breaks down. It’s not a pressing issue, but when it becomes relevant to her interests she’ll cross it off and move on.
The real reason the library calls to her the moment she gets all of her boxes inside the house is that it was her go-to hangout spot last time she lived here.
She was twelve when her parents moved them away, the library one of the few spots in town (in addition to the neighborhood pool and playground, but sadly excluding the ice cream parlor) that was close enough for her to bike to on her own.
And she preferred it to the pool and the playground, and even the ice cream, because the library is where she knew she would find Bellamy Blake.
Driving a car is pretty close to a universal experience because it’s so easy. It’s damn near impossible to be too dumb to drive. Yes, even a manual transmission. And the basics are pretty straightforward, right? Red stop, green go, yellow don’t get distracted right now because shit’s about to go off. So it should be the same everywhere, right? Nope! One of the wonders of the world’s endless diversity is that nobody can agree on how best to hurtle themselves around in their exploding metal caskets-on-wheels.
Even if you stay confined to America, driving around Los Angeles is nothing like driving around Boston or Seattle or anywhere else. The cars are speaking different languages to each other. In Seattle, a turn signal means “I wanted to turn back there, but it was a one-way street.” In Boston, it means “I forgot my blinker is on.” And in LA, it means “I’m new here, please pass me.” Roads are different, too: In D.C., some lanes will change direction at different parts of the day, like they’re a staircase at fucking Hogwarts.
So let’s say you want to take the easy way out and rely on public transit. Ha. This means you either make friends with a local or learn a complex form of math unique to that city and not taught in any schools. I visited New York City with native New Yorker Alex Schmidt, and the whole time I felt like I was following Gandalf through Moria (minus the part where Gandalf got lost). I’d say “let’s visit Central Park” and he’d wave his subway card three times and bam, we were in the forest.