viktoriafrisk
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There's something blazingly incongruous about Remus in the wintertime. He's golden: sunshine and honeybees, caramel curls and freckles like dappled sunlight. Even his clothes seem borrowed, and temporary, as if he might've just thrown on an extra layer for a moment in the knowledge that his own innate aestival nature would be quite enough to stave off the worst of the chill. Something at home in long balmy nights, and mornings when the gardens teem with life and song. Wonderfully out of place in the winter: a happy visitor to the season, an ember in the frost.
Christmastime in the Cotswolds: cold hands, crackling fires, and Remus's indefatigable quest for parsnips.
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Bookmarked by viktoriafrisk
17 Jun 2025