flesh memory

10

Given the sorts of horrors that the Winchesters encounter on a daily basis, I was a bit surprised that the not-very-gory meat factory in 12x18 was enough to put Sam off his food. But then I remembered this scene from Season 7 - a hallucinatory glimpse at Sam’s time in the Cage - and, yeah. Okay.

ok here’s a list of random ass things I love about Rick Sanchez:

- he’s pansexual. like, holy shit the creators aren’t even annoyingly vague or some shit, they literally said “pansexual”.

- he’s Hispanic (and I fucking hope he speaks or curses in Spanish at some point I need that)

- manic depressive piece of shit

- he’s ambidextrous. also he sticks his pinky up a lot when he’s holding things which is cute what the hell??

- his love of pirate themed places & things.

- he drinks good old fashioned vodka or whiskey from his flask instead of some super weird alien alcohol like you’d expect

- he just wants to drink and have fun at blips & chitz all day and god so would I

- “let’s go get ice cream!”

- he played poker with Snowball once (I refuse to believe that was just a crazy parasite false memory)

- The Flesh Curtains! god gimme young punk Rick

- his love of pancakes, but the pancakes have to be ~just right~

Fic: Happy Birthday, Naruto

Word Count: Ion’t know | Genre: Real ass shit | Relationship: M/M | Warning: Unsafe for the eyes of those sensitive to real ass shit

A/N: A gift for Naruto, the birthday boy. SNS. 

— 

Overhead, fluttering under the bright rays of a radiant sun, a carrier pigeon delivered a scroll.

‘Hinata baked a birthday cake for me, but I just wanna get my 10 inch candle deep up in your cakes and fill you with my custard cannon baby. Use Water Release: Fleet no Jutsu before I arrive so I can eat a lil dessert with my present too. 😩💦💦💦👅🍅’

Sasuke rolled his eyes, scoffing at the lowly vulgarity. It wouldn’t be long before Naruto descended on him now. Subtlety didn’t exist in his dictionary.

A rendezvous in the Hokage’s mansion; that plan Naruto concocted when he swept Sasuke off his feet, ignorant of any passive protest, would end in his well-deserved favor. The fourteen missed calls from Hinata, the read receipt attached to the text prying into his whereabouts (Read: 3 hours ago), and the unsigned marriage annulment documents crumpled within Sasuke’s pocket fazed not a nerve-ending in his body. Naruto left all those obstructions to the birds as he hastily stabbed at the touchscreen of his phone, ‘I’m at Sasuke house playing the game like fr my dick gone get skid marks the way you riding it so hard 💀💀💀😂🔥🔥😂🔍🔍🔥😤😴,’ in an evasive maneuver that freed him from the all-too-tight chains of banal concepts such as personal responsibility.

Inhaling that fresh air of freedom, Naruto’s atoms dispersed in a vibrant beacon of light before flashing back together at his destination with his lover in his arms. Agreeable, subdued to no one’s path but one where they could be together, just like Naruto, and the Uchiha’s wife, expected him to be. In Naruto’s case, it was more akin to a demand than a expectation. A demand not expressed with teary eyes, passive threats one was too weak to act upon, and appeals to a romance one felt entitled to, but expressed with the promise of being saved by the threat of fists. The specter of breaking the other’s bones to drag him back home to complete his triad of emotional receptacles: the village, his aspiring monarchy, and a certain Uchiha’s acknowledgement. With a smile on his face and only the purest intentions lacing his heartstrings, Naruto refused to tolerate anything less from his most prized bond.

It elated Naruto to know Sasuke made not just the right choice, but the only choice.

Encased beneath a hurricane crashing in the violent waves of passion, Naruto found solace in nothing short of devouring the decadence of the Uchiha’s body like the sweetest confection. Eliciting sounds from Sasuke that not even his wife was privy to, committing the rich palate of his flesh to his tongue’s memory, and claiming every corner and curve his hands traversed as rightfully his own.

Said hand, an eager one, slid beneath the now disheveled hem of Sasuke’s shirt to trace the attractive grooves that shaped his lower abdomen and advertised a sharp pathway toward what begged for Naruto’s attention.

“M'gonna get in them guts and bust down your walls like the Kyuubi at the Konoha gates,” was the rasp that accompanied Naruto’s hand tugging down those pants, slipping his palm inside Sasuke’s underwear without shame, to reveal…

A glock.

The heater, the burner, he was strapped with that draco.

Naruto froze.

“Happy Birthday, Naruto.”

Sasuke Uchiha, his lover, pistol whipped him in the heat of passion.

“The only walls you’re busting down are the ones to my reparations fund. You don’t want this work.”

Naruto, for once in all of his days…

Couldn’t believe it.

“Wh-”

“You beat me down, begged me to return to this putrid country, and fraternize with the very elders who subjugated my family and ripped them away from me. The vermin who caused my defection in the first place drink tea with you, unsweetened at that. This ‘peace’ you professed to me was nothing but a farce to lure me here, and I won’t hesitate to bust a cap in your dome, your scalp, your cranium.”

Naruto’s eyes widened. Shock washed over his features like a tidal wave.

“B-B-But ya gotta understand the Leaf’s mistakes were-”

“Genocide and tyranny are not mistakes, braindead idiot,” he presses the barrel to Naruto’s forehead.

“Can we talk about this?”

“No. Deliver my reparations in monthly direct deposits or I will never let you snort lines of coke off my ass again.”

Now it was Naruto’s turn to fall silent. He never imagined Sasuke…didn’t need his saving.

“I’m sick of being the neighborhood’s emotional vessel, doling out validation by the demands of my so-called friends. Your parasitic acknowledgement, Sakura’s narcissistic love, Kakashi’s bruised sense of being a failed sensei who, in a brazen show of hypocrisy, disregarded my rightful goal when I was vulnerable and trusted him.”

“Wait-”

“Shut up, usuratonkachi. It would behoove you to know: your dick game’s wack and your stroke is trash.”

Sasuke may or may not have been lying, but today is the day he rescinds that oh so coveted acknowledgement at all costs. Despite that, the color sapped from Naruto’s face at the blow to his strengths. There was no way his dick game was wack…

“You’re going to catch this bullet precisely where you catch my nut every night. In the eye.”

He cocks, the glock, the burner, the draco…

Naruto pauses, takes Sasuke by the wrist, gently.

“Wells Fargo or Bank of Konoha?”

“Neither. I’m with a credit union in the Sound Village. Write the reparations check for it there or I’ll make you spew the flames of Amaterasu straight from your asshole.”

Sasuke didn’t bother with his blabbering, his excuses. He had to pay the elders a visit now. Turning on his heel, he breezes past Naruto and begins to take his grand exit from the country yet again.

“Then…if you planned to leave me. Who were you getting thick for all this time?”

A low chuckle leaves Sasuke and he flashes his smirk over his shoulder.

“The Revolution.”

~ FIN

Anchor

His body was a patchwork of scars-a canvas of raised lines and white, taut skin. Andrew’s black bands helped, but nothing stopped the wide-eyed looks to the remnants of his cheek and the scars on his hands. He didn’t blame the onlookers, it was only natural to stare. You pay attention to the differences. Hell, it’s how he’d survived this long, so he could at least understand that. But in a heartbeat, what started out as a glance morphed into morbid curiosity and that made Neil’s throat clench tight.

It shouldn’t have bothered him and when he finally took a deep breath and slowed his racing thoughts, he realized it really didn’t. But in that instant, there was a slow, stretch of panic that turned his stomach upside down. It was the sharp inhale of surprise, the quiver of a hand, or the ever-apparent grimace on the stranger’s face that set his nerves aflame.

And in that moment Neil wanted to run. To avoid eye contact, turn on his heel and walk the other way, away from their curiosity and their roving eyes. Such things were threats, or had been at least, to his very existence.  

And now he was living in a world where he had invited such speculation in.

Keep reading

4

“I don’t think there’s anything hidden in the icing,” said Scrimgeour, “but a Snitch would be a very good hiding place for a small object. You know why, I’m sure?”

Harry shrugged. Hermione, however, answered: Harry thought that answering questions correctly was such a deeply ingrained habit she could not suppress the urge.

“Because snitches have flesh memories,” she said. 

another un-innocent elegant fall

an: i will never be over how quickly i fell into this fucking ship and i will never be over how much they are never gonna be as happy as i want them to be. for @artielu - i wouldn’t even let the tennis elbow bullshit get in the way of this being written, and since you know how idiotic that is i’m dedicating this to you

Dany has imagined, before, what her life might have been if things had been different. If Robert’s Rebellion had never happened, if her brother had won at the Battle of the Trident. 

If, if, if…

She’d have been raised a princess, sister to the heir of the Seven Kingdoms, daughter to a mad king who would likely have been deposed regardless of a rebellion. She imagines Rhaegar himself might have done it - if the stories of his honor were true, at least. 

She’s less certain now.

The men of her family have disappointed her, one after another, until they were all nothing more than rotting flesh and memories of horrible deeds, and the truth of what her brother had done does not make him more admirable in her eyes.

He’d cast aside his wife - an alliance few Targaryens had ever bothered with before, content to keep the family blood as pure as the snow they dared not face to the north. Cast aside the children he’d born of that alliance, to marry a woman a maester had claimed he loved. 

And that woman had given birth to the heir to the Iron Throne. 

She has questioned so many outlandish claims of northern men, and she’s paid the price for it, but that is not what makes her so sure this vision of Brandon Stark is true. 

No, it is the King in the North himself - her knowledge of him, her respect for him, the connection she’s always felt with this courageous fool who hates the violent tool his body has become but uses it all the same. 

She believes in the truth of this vision, not because this Three Eyed Raven business makes any sense at all to her, but because it means she is not the last of her family. She is not alone, and she so desperately wants it to be true.

She believes it because Rhaegar is not the only Targaryen she knows has fallen for the lackluster charms of these northern creatures - for the clipped, harsh nature of their accents, or their strong convictions, their honor and their bravery.

Keep reading

Mr. Min - Drabble During Ch. 05

A/N: This takes place after the night that Yoongi got drunk, crashed the MC and Jungkook’s date, and was subsequently scolded by Yoojung and Hoseok.

The entire thing was inspired by a conversation I had with @meanyoongis in which she made fake texts for it and everything :’) so it’s dedicated to her. Also, congrats on 2k followers!


Whether it was the morning sun brazenly daring to land on his face or the persistent ringing of his phone he didn’t know, but Yoongi was awake and as miserable as ever. He grumbled a string of lazy curses and grimaced when his cheek brushed against a wet spot on his pillow. Drooling was probably his most embarrassing drunken habit but, he reminded himself with a huff and a hand running down his face, it wasn’t as if you had come home with him anyways. All the better. At least you didn’t have to witness the stench of his breath. His fingers searched his bed until they finally found his phone—discarded and forgotten in the sheets. Hoseok’s name and an obnoxious picture of his friend smiling, a picture Yoongi didn’t remember taking, greeted him.

He groaned and answered the call with a gruff, “What do you want?”

“You’re always so chipper in the morning,” Hoseok chuckled. Yoongi closed his eyes and hoped that his bed could somehow swallow him whole, fuse with his body in some way, anything to make Hoseok’s boisterous voice go away. “I wanted to check on you.”

“Thanks, mom.”

“How’s my lovesick little buddy doing?” he sing-songed.

Yeah, being a bed sounded great.

“I’m not lovesick,” Yoongi snapped and tried to sit up but his head violently protested until he collapsed back onto the pillows.

“Uh huh,” he answered in a monotone voice. “I just wanted to make sure you made it home last night and that you hadn’t drank yourself to death so, I’ve done my duty as your friend.”

“What do you mean? I texted you last night.”

“Mmm no you didn’t.”

“Yes I did. I distinctly remember that. It was right before,” Yoongi paused to scrunch his nose as the memory fleshed out in his mind, “I threw up in the kitchen. Dammit.”

“Disgusting. But you really didn’t text me. Maybe it didn’t send? Ooh or maybe you sent it to someone else! What was it about?”

Yoongi’s eyes jolted open and his breath stopped. “I have to go.”

“What? Just like that? At least tell me what the message was—.”

His fingers raced against the screen of his phone. His gut rolled but he had a sneaking suspicion it had nothing to do with his hangover. His mind raced, tried to pull at the bits and pieces of his memory from the night before and piece together the fragments. He remembered the elevator ride and how he had unloaded onto some unsuspecting woman that lived in a lower floor. If he was entirely honest with himself, he didn’t recall the woman seeming at all interested in conversation with him but Yoongi was desperate to vent to someone—anyone! The pressure in his chest grew as his memory sharpened. He hadn’t vented about just anything. He had ranted and raved about you.

The shards of fragments from the night fell together and the picture it left wasn’t pretty. His conversation with Yoojung and Hoseok had left a sour taste in his mouth, to say the least. Guilt, shame, a peculiar sense of self-hatred that he had never experienced before when it concerned women had settled in on him and the rest of his evening was spent grumbling and muttering bits of the speeches the two had given him. It was easier to mock them in his drunken rage than to acknowledge that they had several quality points. Hoseok hadn’t known your name, that was the truth and it was because Yoongi had never shared it—for reasons he wasn’t keen on exploring in his inebriated state and certainly not in the morning after haze—but it had irked him. Hearing his friend refer to you as ‘fuckdoll’ repeatedly set his skin on fire, nerve endings shot off with each syllable and he had no one to blame but himself.

Yoongi knew what he would find in his texts before the messaging app loaded but it still set off a panicked squeak when he saw your name at the top of his recent conversations. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. He scrambled to sit up on the bed, as if a different position would help his frantic heart rate, and braced for what he knew was likely waiting in the messages.

From: Yoongi [3:14 AM]

Dnt call herfuckkdoll

From: Yoongi [3:14 AM]

Thatss not her namwe

He choked on his own breath because of course he had to drunk text you of all people. The messages didn’t get any less incriminating. The next three were misspellings of your name before on the fourth he finally completed it—in all caps and with six damn confetti emojis after it. Fuck. The last messages were the most incriminating.

From: Yoongi [3:17 AM]

Her name is perty. Use it nexxt tim assfac.

From: Yoongi [3:26 AM]

I fcuked up Hobi. She will nver talk to me agan.

Yoongi managed a strangled curse and dropped his head until his chin rested against his chest. His only saving grace was that the messages remained unread, most likely because it was too early for you to have woken up—especially if you did spend the night with Jeon. The taste of something acidic rose out of his throat but he swallowed it back down with a grimace, surely that was just the liquor from the night before and not anything to do with the idea of you and Jeon spending the evening together.

The messages left him as an open book. Exposed and naked. An entire nine minutes had passed between the last two messages. It was too honest, too revealing, and too late for him to do anything about it.

Or was it?

His eyes danced around the room, spent a mere half a second on an object before moving onto another and yet none of them registered in his head. Hoseok. He needed Hoseok. He crawled out of bed with the phone cradled between his ear and his bare shoulder as it trilled. “Pick up. Pick up. Pick the fuck up,” he muttered while he shoved his legs into the same pants he had worn the night before. There was a wet stain around the knees of one of his pant legs, as if he had tripped at some point on his walk home and kneeled in the snow to regain his balance.

“Oh you want to talk to me now?” Hoseok’s voice was irritating at any point that Yoongi was hungover but it took an extra effort from him to tolerate it when he was smug. Nothing was worse than Hoseok when he was full of himself.

“Shut up. Just shut up and listen. I sent the texts to her.”

Hoseok snorted and made no attempt to hide his amusement at Yoongi’s misfortune. “You’ve really stepped in it.”

“She hasn’t read them yet. How do I erase them from her phone?”

“Do you think I’m a hacker or something? I’m a journalist. I have morals, Yoongi.”

“Don’t give me that high ground bullshit. You wrote a story last month after sorting through someone’s trash. Now help me!” Hoseok sighed but the silence afterwards lasted too long for Yoongi’s liking. “Hobi! Fucking help me!”

“What’s the big deal? You sent a few drunken texts. Everyone does it.” He paused to wait for his friend’s response and when it didn’t come he laughed—loudly and still managed for it to be condescending. “Wait! Did you confess? Did you actually tell her how you feel while drunk?”

“I didn’t confess,” Yoongi scoffed but finished the sentence while muttering, “I just said that her name was pretty and that she wouldn’t ever talk to me again.” Hoseok’s chuckling turned into an all out guffaw. “Don’t laugh! It’s your fault this even happened in the first place.”

“My fault?”

“If you had just stopped calling her fuckdoll this wouldn’t have happened.”

“It’s nice to see that you can still find a way to place the blame on someone else even when you’re not feeling well.”

“How do I get rid of them? Is there someone I can pay for that?”

“To do what? Hack into her phone?”

“That, or break in and take the phone.”

“Jesus christ,” Hoseok muttered. “Listen to yourself. What are you going to do? Google search petty criminals?”

Yoongi barely heard his friend, his mind was too busy running through scenarios and trying to find the quickest way to solve the problem at hand. He was a Min through and through. He had been trained his entire life to fix problems before they were made public. “Craigslist. I can put an ad on there, right?”

Hoseok didn’t answer for a beat, let the question hang in the air instead of dignifying it with a response but finally he sighed, “No, Yoongi. You can’t put an ad on Craigslist to find someone to break into her apartment and steal her phone.”

“No no no. They wouldn’t steal it. Just delete the messages.”

“You have finally snapped. It’s taken thirty years but you’ve actually lost your mind.”

Yoongi wanted to throw his own quip back but the phone vibrated in his hand just as he had finished getting dressed. He froze, his teeth dug into his bottom lip, his eyes snapped shut in defeat because he knew—he just knew—you had woken up and seen the texts. He had lost whatever opportunity he may have had, not that it was a great chance to begin with. “I’ve got to go.”

“You’re not actually going to—.”

As soon as the call ended he switched over to his messaging app. He had braced himself, as best as he could, for whatever message might greet him but he hadn’t expected what you had sent.

From: You [7:33 AM]

Nice.

It was odd and he couldn’t really explain it but the period at the end, the fact that you had chosen to type it at all, felt so definitive that he was almost offended. He could practically hear the lack of enthusiasm in your texts. The text that followed was enough to settle his mind and to crush his ego—all in four words.

From: You [7:35 AM]

Don’t text me anymore.


Mr. Min Drabbles

poweredbystardust  asked:

Fics where D and Hr start off as friends before falling in live?

  • First Thursdays by thesydda - Rated: Explicit (NC-17) - 1 Chapter - Draco and Hermione have had a standing hang out on the first Thursday of every month for years. In the midst of all this time together, what will happen when they develop more than friendly feelings for each other? Can they overcome the odds stacked against them?
  • Only a Pretense By: WickedlyAwesomeMe - T, 42 Chapters - In order to save her parents, Hermione Granger had to give up everything, even her identity… and femininity. Dramione!
  • Hermione’s Bad Day By: Geeky-DMHG-Fan - T, one-shot - Hermione has a bad day. Will anything make it better? DMHG, EWE, one-shot 
  • Gravity by luckei1 - T, 10 Chapters - It’s about arranging stacks of books, wall colours, and jumping off a cliff. 
  • Slaves and Sleeplessness by terrible_but_great474 - T+, 15 chapters, complete - A tired Hermione works overtime fighting for elf rights while Draco continues an exhausting life of self-doubt and attention-seeking. From their turmoil emerges a beautiful friendship and a mutual, secret hope for more.
  • Tugging On Heartstrings by LoveBugOC - K, 5 chapters, COMPLETE - A friendship blossomed. A bond strengthened. An attraction realized. A love unrequited. A love bloomed.
  • Gryffindor’s Golden Girl to Slytherin’s Princess - T, 20 chapters - The Golden Trio are back at Hogwarts for their final year after the end of the war. However Hogwarts still has one more trick up it’s sleeve when McGonagall decides to switch Hermione from Gryffindor to Slytherin to promote unity. 
  • Flesh Memory by gocnocturna - M, 17 chapters - Voldemort was defeated in 6th year, it’s 7th year and McGonagall institutes a pen-pal system with a member of a different house starting it the summer before 7th year begins. Hermione enjoys writing with her mystery ‘Damien’, but views him as a question to answer. What happens when she figures him out? What about Harry and Ron and their pen-pals? Where does Hermione sneak off to at night?
  • Magnetic Attraction By: cleotheo - T, 13 chapters - An accident in charms leaves Hermione and Draco unable to move more than a few feet away from each other. As they learn to live in such close proximity they also start to develop a romantic relationship.

-Ladybear-

Because if memory exists outside of the flesh it wont be memory because it wont know what it remembers so when she became not then half of memory became not and if I become not then all of remembering will cease to be. –Yes […] Between grief and nothing I will take grief.
—  William Faulkner from Wild Palms [If I Forget Thee Jerusalem] (Random House, 1939)

anonymous asked:

Hi! Can you please write a story about Raphael being furious 'cause no one told him what had happened to Magnus? I mean, I just need some Magnus and Rapahel family moment... thank you :)

Raphael isn’t quite “furious” in this, but he isn’t particularly happy, so I hope you enjoy this! I know this prompt is a few weeks old now, but I’m glad I waited – 2x14 gave me the perfect opportunity to write this little coda! Thank you so much for the prompt – he’s some Magnus & Raphael with a side portion of referenced Malec.

***

“Magnus.”

Raphael’s voice was sharp as it cut through the air, frigid and unfeeling—which only served to tell Magnus that there was a storm of emotions, intense and unpredictable, brewing just beneath the surface.

Magnus exhaled, pausing in his steps. He was outside the Institute, heading home after Alexander’s meeting. He appreciated what Alec was trying to do, even if that particular meeting hadn’t quite gone to plan. Alec had caught his hand as he slipped out, trying not to draw too much attention to himself, and thanked him for coming. They both had things to do - Magnus’ bed was calling to him - and so they’d parted ways. Although not before Alec had the chance to brush a kiss against his cheek, squeeze his hand, and offer him the kind of smile that made Magnus think that perhaps they were going to be okay.

The wind was starting to pick up, trees rustling ominously as he stood still, waiting for Raphael to catch up but not turning to watch his progress. Darkness was settling over the city, clouds drawing back to show the gleam of the moon situated among glistening stars, overlooking the life down below.

“Magnus,” Raphael said again, stepping up beside him, shoes thudding lightly against the short-cut grass.

Magnus trained his eyes on a spot in the distance, focusing on a sparrow hopping along a wrought iron railing. “Raphael.”

They were silent for a moment, standing side by side, shoulders close but not quite touching. Something in Magnus was desperate to know what Raphael was thinking; the rest of him wanted to run home and bury himself in work for the next twenty years to block out everything wearing at him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Raphael asked after a moment, voice quiet but laced with anger that failed to belie his hurt.

“I didn’t tell anyone, Raphael,” Magnus said, watching as the sparrow tilted it’s head to look at something in the grass below.

“The Shadowhunter knew.”

“Alec was directly involved. It was impossible for him not to know.” Through his peripheries, he could see Raphael clenching and unclenching his jaw, clearly about to ask about it. “Please don’t ask me about it now. I’m fine.”

“Are you?” Finally, Raphael turned to look at him, eyebrows raised dubiously. “After Valentine Morgenstern invaded your body and paraded around the city in it?”

Closing his eyes, Magnus exhaled through his nose, and tried to force his thoughts away from exactly what Raphael had described.

“And I can’t imagine being in the hands of the Nephilim while wearing Morgenstern’s face,” Raphael said, voice softening.

By Lilith, Magnus couldn’t think about that. Not then, not ever. He could still feel the agony rune searing into his flesh, sizzling and burning, memories of events he’d long since repressed breaking through into the forefront of his mind over and over again, pain he couldn’t find the words to describe slicing through every cell in his body, infiltrating every hidden corner of his mind and overcoming every facet of his being.

Involuntarily, he shuddered. He snapped his eyes open in time to see the sparrow on the railings leap off and fly into the night.

“I’m fine,” Magnus said shortly. “It’s over.”

“You could have told me.”

“I wanted to forget about it,” Magnus admitted, because Raphael deserved the truth. He looked over at the man standing beside him, and let his lips curl up at the corners. “It’s not because I don’t trust you, if that’s what you’re thinking. You know I do.”

Raphael pressed their shoulders together. “I know.”

They were quiet again, the cool touch of Raphael’s skin through the material of their jackets familiar and oddly calming, and Magnus felt something restless inside him still.

“I hope that Shadowhunter is being good to you, Magnus,” Raphael murmured. “Especially now.”

Magnus thought about the way Alec had clutched at him when he’d told Magnus he loved him. He thought about the terrified concern in Alec’s expression when he’d asked what he could do in the aftermath of Azazel’s trick, and the guilt-ridden devastation that had replaced it when Magnus couldn’t give him an answer. He thought about Alec smiling at him, hands warm and touch tender when he’d told Magnus he was safe with the High Warlock of Brooklyn, and his willingness to apologise later, after that conversation had gone so disastrously wrong.

“He is,” Magnus said, feeling his chest expand and his heart swell, because god, he loved Alec, even if their relationship had been a little tenuous, a little stretched thin, as of late. He wanted to fight for what they had. “He’s doing his best. I’m not always an easy person to love.”

Raphael looked over at him sharply, eyes narrowed. “I don’t care how difficult you are to love. If someone commits to do it, they’d damn well better do it properly.”

Magnus patted Raphael’s cheek gently, smiling a little wider, melancholy dissipating at Raphael’s resulting scowl. “He’s nothing like Camille,” he assured him, because he knew where Raphael’s mind was.

“If he ever does anything like what she did - if he even gets close - I will rip his face off and feed it to your hellhounds.”

Magnus snorted, dropping his hand. “Thank you, Raphael.”

They stood together a few minutes longer, shifting onto lighter topics. The sparrow flew back onto the railings as they conversed, wind whispering through the trees and rustling their clothes. After a moment, another sparrow landed beside the first; they twittered to each other, shifting and fluffing their feathers, before taking off across the sky, one then the other, disappearing into the night.

Magnus’ breath left him. Maybe he’d be okay. Maybe they all would.

R/S Games 2017: Week Four Roundup

We’re doing lighter posting on the weekends, so now is your chance to catch up on Games works!

Day 19:

Team: Sirius
Title: Heart and Soul
Rating: E
Word Count: 13,000
Summary: The dumbest thing Remus ever did was ask Sirius what he wanted to do for his 21st birthday.
The smartest thing he ever did was agree to do it.
Prompt: #20 - “There was once a young man who wished to gain his Heart’s Desire.” - opening line of the novel Stardust by Neil Gaiman

Team: Remus
Title: Let Me Save You
Rating: T
Word Count: 5700
Summary: Remus, James, and Sirius go to Oxford.
Prompt: #14 - “It’s the friends you can call up at four a.m. that matter.” - Marlene Dietrich

Team: Sirius
Title: The Importance of Being Sirius
Rating: PG
Word Count: 8400
Summary: Remus Lupin, a simple Literature teacher has to deal with Sirius Black, a History teacher with an unorthodox (and noisy) teaching style.
Prompt: #42 - “The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it.” - Oscar Wilde

Day 20:

Team: Sirius
Title: Happens All The Time
Rating: T
Word Count: 11,000
Summary: Sirius and Remus experiment with Time magic, but things go awry when it falls into the wrong hands.
Prompt: #24 - “When I was fifteen, all I wanted was to go off to some other world, a place beyond anybody’s reach. A place beyond the flow of time.
- But there’s no place like that in this world.
- Exactly. Which is why I’m living here, in this world where things are continually damaged, where the heart is fickle, where time flows past without a break.”
- excerpt from the novel Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami

Team: Remus
Title: love please don’t leave me evermore
Rating: T
Word Count: 5000
Summary: Sirius comes home after Halloween 1981; he’s only three months late.
Prompt: #6 - “The flocks head north and the lilacs bloom
At night they scent my moonlit room
You were my spring, my summer too
I’m going north to look for you”
- from the song “North” by Joan Baez

Team: Sirius
Title: Caught
Rating: PG
Word Count: 4200
Summary: Sirius Black was the thief no one could catch – at least, not until he met his match in Detective Inspector Remus Lupin.
Prompt: #42 - “The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it.” - Oscar Wilde

Day 21:

Team: Remus
Title: One + One = Four
Rating: PG
Word Count: 3700
Summary: The journey of how Remus and Sirius got puppies a family of their own.
Prompt: #90 - picture: two wolf cubs

Team: Sirius
Title: The Fall of the House of Black
Rating: T
Word Count: 16,000
Summary: Remus Lupin has heard not a single word from his old friend Sirius Black since Sirius retreated to his family’s ancestral home, abruptly and without explanation, twelve years ago. Now Remus receives an urgent letter from Sirius, begging him to visit the House of Black.
Prompt: #95 - picture: stack of old books with a glass jar on top

Team: Remus
Title: Triptych
Rating: G
Word Count: 1800
Summary: Three quick looks at Remus finding comfort.
Prompt: #59 - song: “Ready For The Storm” by Dougie MacLean

Day 22:

Team: Sirius
Title: Obelus
Rating: T
Word Count: 14,000
Summary: The lines dividing Sirius’s life have always been clear—Gryffindors vs Slytherins, Death Eaters vs the Order, Sirius vs Blacks, Marauders vs Everyone Else. When Regulus comes to Sirius, the lines begin to blur, and even as his relationship with Remus deepens, he’s never felt more alone.
Prompt: #5 - “I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.” - from the novel Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

Team: Remus
Title: Flesh Memories - ART
Rating: M
Summary: The imprints of their bodies and fingerprints are left forever on one another like flesh memory.
Prompt: #41 - “Touch me, touch the palm of your hand to my body as I pass,
Be not afraid of my body.”
- Walt Whitman, excerpt from the poetry collection Leaves of Grass

Team: Sirius
Title: Moonrise
Rating: G
Word Count: 2500
Summary: There’s something very bad in Sirius’ back yard. Possibly. Sirius is going to charge out there unprepared anyway!
Prompt: #52 - song: “Bad Moon Rising” by Creedence Clearwater Revival

Day 23:

Team: Sirius
Title: Ghost Notes
Rating: M
Word Count: 12,000
Summary: AU where Remus didn’t attend Hogwarts. Sirius is smitten with the cute boy he meets at a punk show, and is determined to win him over.
Prompt: #23 - “One good thing about music, when it hits you, you feel no pain.” - Bob Marley

Team: Remus
Title: Hogwarts Express
Rating: T
Word Count: 2600
Summary: September 1st, 1993: “‘It’s on his case,’ she replied, pointing at the luggage rack over the man’s head, where there was a small battered case held together with a large quantity of neatly knotted strong. The name Professor R. J. Lupin was stamped across one corner in peeling letters.” - Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, page 74
Prompt: #16 - “Lying in bed with the radio on
Moonlight falls like rain
Soft summer nights spent thinking of you
When will I see you again

Soft and low the music moans
I can’t stop thinking about you
Thinking about you”
- from the song “Nights Are Forever Without You” by England Dan & John Ford Coley

Day 24:

Team: Sirius
Title: Devil’s Bridge
Rating: E
Word Count: 30,000
Summary: A non-magical AU set in a dystopian world not at all inspired by current events where Voldemort is the UK’s fascist dictator. Sirius is sent to prison as an innocent man and escapes to avenge James and Lily - only to discover that the man he loved knows he is innocent.
Prompt: F - picture: four teenage boys sitting on a bench under a sign for Devil’s Bridge, Wales

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eve sings the blues in a dimly
lit cafe; no one looks right
at her. she could be a ghost
calling with the voice of
a bird, tongue tracing out a
song in the universal language
of minor chords. her mouth
still tastes like the fruit
she plucked so long ago -
lips apple-red, teeth gleaming
where they sank into delicate
flesh - a sensory memory that
bypasses logic.
 
the lights go down. eve fades
into silence. everything is
as quiet as the first night after
the garden: the trees looming
tall & solid in the distance, the
scratch of fig leaves against
tender skin, the sky suddenly
out of reach.
—  monolith || a.s.w.
How do Magical students survive without basic Maths and English?

ok so there’s a pet peeve (get it) about harry potter trivia which have bugged me incessantly bugged me for literally 10 years. and i know they annoy most people in the fandom too. so i’m gonna dispel them.

(in advance i’m on mobile and idk how to do a read more thing so rip your dash, i guess)

it took me this long to realise i had google and didn’t have to use my own (lacking) maths knowledge to work out the currency. so: 1 sickle is 29 knuts, 1 galleon is 17 sickles. this means that 1 galleon is 493 knuts! this is where the question comes in. so, in the muggle world we generally need to have basic maths knowledge to convert currencies over, like £-€, €-$, or whatever. but the monetary system used in harry potter is universal, so this means no confusing conversions, just simple addition needed. 10 sickles isn’t some sort of sum, it’s literally adding sickles and sometimes knuts if you haven’t got enough. for children who’d grown up in a wizarding family this is no different from me knowing that 100 pennies make £1. but for kids from non wizarding families is may take a while- however, this is only a matter of essentially committing the value of each coin to your flesh memory, which realistically will take a couple of months.

another note on currency: the only conversion we see in the books is from muggle money to wizarding, which gets confusing because we don’t technically have a canonical conversion rate (thanks JKR). but we do know that a wand is estimated at about £35, which just goes to show the “striking poverty” of the weasley family, as you can read more about on the harry potter wiki.

now, in hogwarts: english and math/s lessons are the bane of most peoples’ high school experience, so growing up reading the books it feels like an injustice that magic students didn’t have to suffer through quadratics and trigonometry. but the thing here is that students in hogwarts inadvertedly, and practically, learn these skills: they’re writing multiple essays per week from the age of 11, they’re reading entire textbooks over the course of the year (bathilda bagshot’s lengthy book, for example), and learning the theory as well as the application in almost every lesson they’re in. and potions classes would most likely stretch their knowledge in terms of maths, even if it’s only counting quantities of ingredients and estimating brewing times. i agree that hogwarts has, to put it lightly, a lax approach to the safety of the students, but if you think this notable absence of maths and english is a mistake then you’re wrong.

the founders of hogwarts were all intelligent. they knew that to draw reluctant magical students to the school, they’d have to offer something different from muggle schools. it was 1,000 years ago (ish) but they knew that you had to have a fun curriculum that didn’t have a primary focus on education the way modern muggle schooling does in order to achieve educational success in the first place.

anyway, that’s all i have to say. thanks for reading, and feel free to add on any other thoughts!!!