Accidents happen but Remus hates when they do

New Gorillaz album looks sick. 

this took a month but I finally finished all the marauders portraits. Sirius was the first to be completed and Remus was the last and you can tell lmao. Really proud of the Remus one, also fun fact my Remus design is inspired by my boyfriend not to be gay on main. Hope people like em!

Please don’t repost without permission.

everytime I remember that lesbian couple that have a marble statue of the two of them embracing and sleeping on a bed together over where their graves will be because the artists didn’t believe they would be able to be married before they died, so what they couldn’t have in life they could have in death, I fucking breakdown

memorial to a marriage; patricia cronin

- Caitlin Doughty, on the Death in the Afternoon podcast

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin Characters: Sirius Black, Remus Lupin Additional Tags: Drabble, Hurt/Comfort, We Stan Padfoot Summary:

A survival manual, in 200 words.

A busker plays music for a blind autistic girl sitting in a wheelchair. She’s being allowed to stim (flapping and rubbing her shirt) and respond to the music her own natural way. The busker places her hand on the guitar to let her see what is creating the music, and she smiles as he sings to her. They made a connection. That is autism acceptance. Take note. Many autistic people will open up to you like a flower if you gently connect with them in ways that work for them instead of forcing them to connect with you in ways that only work for you. I hope that sweet kid grows up to be a musician or artist! :)

Based on the song The Haunting by Set It Off

Remus could never sleep anymore. His mind wouldn’t let him. And even if it did, Remus still wouldn’t sleep, resigning himself to staring at the walls of a now empty room. There were too many memories encased in his dreams— In this house.

And it leads to too much thinking. Too many what if’s. But no amount of wondering would change the past. It was as inescapable as his lycanthropy, but even that let him forget the pain after it was over.

His closet was like a graveyard. Filled with memories that were packed away and shoved into corners. The remains of an old life always beckoning him— calling to him.

They were his own versions of skeletons in his closet. Although the secrets that were buried weren’t his own. They were someone else’s.

Remus pushes out of bed. There’s no use staring at an empty closet.

His bathroom isn’t a much better view. It’s as plain as everything else. Stripped of color and life the moment Sirius left. Packed into boxes like graves, off to join the rest of the skeletons in his closet.

He has to avoid mirrors now. Those are worse than the lack of sleep. The minute he catches a glance of his reflection he can’t stop staring.

It’s an eerie sight. He looks just as devoid of color as everything that surrounds him. Deep shadows blanketing his face. Lines that hadn’t been there before now etched across his brow and in the corners of his eyes.

He always felt like he was drowning, or worse buried alive. Always silently screaming for help and never being heard. When James and Lily had died he’d felt as if he’d been dropped into a town he’d never been to before. Someplace new that he’d never seen. And never would see from the confines of his coffin. And every time he cried out for help he always came to the slow and painful realization that in a ghost town, the dead can’t hear you scream.

He was blinded he always realized. Blinded by love. A love so deep it was like breathing. And the moment it was snatched away it was like the air had left his lungs.

That’s probably what haunted him the most. The knowledge that he’d been so head over heels that he hadn’t even noticed his true enemy. Not until the last moment.

And even now that love never truly died. It lives in his head and haunts his every fucking dream.

And in the minute he looks in a mirror, it seeps into the daytime too. Reminding him that even though everything he had with Sirius— that he thought he had with Sirius was a lie, he’d probably never find another person like him.

Someone who looked at Remus and didn’t see the scars first. Who didn’t ask prying questions and run when they got the answer.

Maybe that’s why he’d never suspected Sirius to be the traitor. Maybe he was afraid of the fact that he’d never find something, someone better.

So he stayed and hung onto everything that Sirius told him. Every kiss and touch and whispered promise. They left trails of fire in his mind. Bright and warm and wonderful. Fire that would eventually burn him alive.

He remembers the next full moon after Lily and James died. The wolf had been angry— destructive. And with no one there to watch him he couldn’t roam free. He was confined to his parents basement again. The wolf’s howl a sinister cry of blood lust.

Remus looks in the mirror, and everything he thought he’d see is there. The singular image of himself giving life to all of his fears and regrets. Even the shadows play along with them. Spinning an image of someone with long dark hair, whispering silent words into his ear.

And Remus can hear them. He knows exactly what they’re saying.

Maybe someday he’ll find a way to forget the past. The finally put to rest the ghosts of his memories. Find a way so that every thought doesn’t taste like poison. But not now. Not for the forseable future.

For now, Remus is content to listen to the whispers of the dark haired phantom.

No one will love you like I did

Will treat you like I did

So go on, wear that scarlet letter

No one will love you like I did

Will touch you like I did

So good luck finding something better

And if he’s being perfectly honest, he’s inclined to agree.

I'm finally writing! I have written the first wee bit, and if anyone thinks they might like to read the rest of the angsty thing in my mind, let me know!

I plan to write it anyway, but motivation is difficult to come by.

This is completely unedited, but @blitheringmcgonagall will probably harass me until I post it, so here goes nothing!

27th March 1979

Morden Park is a state-of-the-art secure facility, designed to protect the British public from the threat of lycanthropy.

The 600 acre park, set in the Yorkshire Dales, will house the entire werewolf population of England, Scotland, and Wales, providing a safe and comfortable environment for all of those affected.

Multiple layers of protection are in place, including silver-coated fencing, strengthened wards, and specially trained guards.

The werewolves will have comfortable quarters, activities, and all meals provided free of charge. There are individual areas for containment during the full moon transformations, ensuring none of the animals can hurt each other or any humans.

The Ministry of Magic is committed to eradicating lycanthropy, and all werewolves will be required by law to reside at Morden Park by the 1st March 1979. Any individual found to be infected with the disease, who is not in Ministry custody by this date, will be put down in accordance with new legislation (see page 12)...

Sirius tossed the newspaper aside and twisted his hands in his hair.

Six weeks. Six weeks since Ministry officials had shown up at their flat and taken Remus away. Six weeks since he had seen his boyfriend, the image of Remus’s shocked face burnt into his memory. Six weeks of scouring the Yorkshire Dales and researching Ministry spells in a thus far unfruitful attempt to find Remus and bring him home.

Someone had informed the Ministry that Remus was an unregistered werewolf. Only The Order were aware of his condition. The Order, and Snivellus. Sirius had no question in his mind of who had dobbed Remus in, and he would make time for revenge once he had Moony back.

@therealrjlupin​  Holy crap, I love this so much!!  I need like 100k more of it please! <3

We Can Be Heroes

(Last chapter… part 2)

Chapter 52:  Until The Very End 

This chapter is dedicated to all of you beautiful, generous readers who stuck with this fic right through to the very end!

And a special thanks to those of you who left comments and some of you even read it more than once and left comments TWICE!! I can’t tell you how much your feedback cheered me up when I was going through shit times. I read back through the comments if I’m feeling bad and it invariably cheers me up!

Chapter 52:

I can’t put anything here cause SPOILERS but I’m putting pictures… refer to chapter for details (!!) - you can guess who the outfits are for….

Me, right now:

OMG @blueeaglemoon 🙈🙈🙈🙈🙈

Ahhhh this fic!!  I can’t believe it’s over!!  I am so behind on all my fic reading, but I am about to start catching up and this is first on my list! @blitheringmcgonagall  This fic is SO good!

Missing Moments:

November 1981: A Werewolf Comes to Call

****** First chapter of my missing moments fanfic! If you enjoy it please take the time go give me a review on fanfiction.net and if there are any other “missing moments” you would like to see let me know and I might add them in 😊 thanks! *******

Remus stood outside of Number Four Privet Drive nervously rocking on his heels and trying to work up the courage to knock. It had been just over two weeks since his entire world had collapsed around him. James and Lily: dead. Peter: dead. Sirius: imprisoned for murdering Peter and a dozen muggles and worst of all, for betraying James and Lily Potter. He still couldn’t even believe that Sirius had been the one behind everything; the spy in the Order, the one working for Voldemort. It all seemed like some horrible dream.

His best friends, his true family, all gone in the span of a week and he was only twenty-one years old.

He dragged his fingers through his golden brown hair and finally lifted his hand to the door to knock. Dumbledore had told him where he had sent Harry, explaining how it was the safest place for him. Remus agreed with him. But Harry was the only family he had left. He wanted to make sure that he was alright.

The door opened and he recognized Lily’s sister immediately. He had only met her the one time at the wedding but her and her husband, Vernon had made an impression.

“Petunia, Remus Lupin,” he said, extending his hand. “I was a friend of Lily and James. We met at the wedding.”

Petunia merely stared at him. “You were in the wedding party.”

Remus nodded, smiling. “I was. I wanted to check on Harry, see how he was adjusting to life with his aunt and uncle.”

“He’s fine.” She said curtly, crossing her arms in front of her. “I don’t really like unannounced visitors coming by the house. I’m trying to keep Dudders and our new guest on some form of schedule. It’s not exactly easy to have two children under the age of two.”

Remus nodded, sticking his hands in the pockets of his pants. “I understand. I’d just like to see Harry for a moment, just to make sure he’s alright?”

Petunia sighed and opened the door wider, allowing for Remus to step inside. “Fine. But be quick about it.”

Remus nodded as she closed the door behind him. He stood in the entranceway of the house just as the boy he was looking for came running out of the living room towards him, arms outstretched in joy.

“Unca Moo!” He shrieked, running into Remus’ arms.

Remus’ face broke out into the first smile in weeks as he scooped Harry up into his arms. He ruffled his black messy hair and kissed his cheek, hugging him close. He pulled back to grin at him and his eyes found the lightning bolt cut on his forehead. He gently brushed it with his finger and his eyes found Petunia’s. “Is this where he-?”

Petunia nodded. “From what I understand yes. It doesn’t seem to bother him.”

Remus nodded. He knelt down on the floor, standing Harry in front of him and grinning at him. “I missed you, Harry. Do you like it here with your aunt and uncle?”

“No!” Harry said sternly, “I go you and Siri!”

Tears welled up in Remus’ eyes and he choked them back. “Afraid not, little Prongs. This is your new home now.”

Harry crawled up his body, hanging off of his shoulder as he spoke. “No, go now.”

Remus looked at Petunia and sighed. “I know that he’s safest here with you but hearing him … I want to keep him safe. If Voldemort ever truly does come back … we don’t know for certain he’s gone and Harry could be in the most danger if he ever finds out he’s still alive.”

“Unca Moo,” he exclaimed, his hands moving across Remus’ face, fingers in his mouth as he grabbed at Remus.

Remus merely grinned. He was the cutest kid. It still surprised him how much he had come to love this little boy. When he called him Unca Moo his heart literally soared. Nothing made Harry happier than when Remus and Sirius would come to visit and Sirius would turn into a dog. The ‘doggie’ would make Harry giggle and laugh and Remus would hold his hands as he rode the dog around. Then Sirius would turn back and Harry would laugh, begging for the Siri to make the dog come back.

Sirius had loved him. Remus could see that. How could Sirius have done this?

“Do you have enough stuff for him? Clothes and whatnot?” He asked Petunia, holding Harry close again as he jabbered incoherent baby talk in his ear.

“Yes. From what I understand, the house is destroyed so I have whatever Dumbledore brought with him,” she told him. She had moved to pick up her own son, who was trying to touch the vase full of flowers on the table. He was a chubby blonde toddler who seemed to waddle as he walked.

“It was,” Remus said. “I just want to make sure that he’s well taken care of. He’s a very special boy.” He kissed Harry’s forehead and Harry snuggled into his embrace.

“Slooch Unca Moo,” he said and Remus kissed him again.

“I’d … I’d like to come by and see him when I can. Maybe once every few weeks or so. I can tell him about his parents and spend time with him. Get to see him grow up and become the great wizard that I know he will be.”

“No,” Petunia said sternly, moving to place Dudley in the play pen she had set up and crossing her arms in front of her again. “Absolutely not.”

“I’m sorry?” Remus asked in surprise.

“No,” Petunia repeated. “I let you in today to say goodbye to him as a courtesy. I agreed to take the boy in for his own safety but I won’t have it in my house. No magic. No powers and no mentioning of an evil man who killed his parents. I will let him stay here with my husband and my son if and only if, I can give him the chance of a normal childhood. No funny business. How am I supposed to do that if you come around here and tell him these things. Absolutely not. I forbid it.”

Remus stood up, Harry still snuggled in his arms. “I get where you’re coming from, Petunia but … my friends, my family are all gone. Harry is all I have left. I’d like to find a place in his life. Be the uncle to him that I was meant to be.”

Petunia glared at him, her hands on her hips. “Then you take him off my hands. That’s the only way you can have contact with him.”

“I can’t take him,” he said desperately. There was no way he could take Harry home and raise him safely not with his furry little problem. How could he possibly keep Harry safe when he himself was a danger to him three days a month?

“If you won’t take him than thats it. Say goodbye.”

Tears welled up in Remus’ eyes. He understood what she wanted. It was safer for Harry if he had no contact; if no one magical even knew where he was. Dumbledore was right about that. This was Harry’s family and they would take care of him. But the thought of leaving this little boy broke his heart.

But a broken heart was something Remus Lupin was used too. He had already lost everything that mattered in his life: his parents, his friends, his family. Losing Harry was in the best interest of keeping Harry safe and that’s what truly mattered.

He kissed Harry’s cheeks and then the lightning shaped scar on his forehead, holding him close for a hug as he spoke, “If I write to you, will you keep me informed on how he’s doing?”

“No,” Petunia said sternly. “Either take him with you or say goodbye.”

Remus nodded, unshed tears in his eyes. He cuddled Harry close. Harry tugged on his hair and planted a wet kiss on his mouth before he sat him down the ground.

“You’ll take good care of him? Keep him safe?” Remus asked her as Harry tried to shimmy back up his leg.

“He will be safe here,” Petunia told him.

Remus nodded, wiping his tears away. “Thank you.” He leaned down and kissed the top of Harry’s head. “I love you, Harry. Be good for your Aunt Petunia. We’ll meet again someday, I’m sure of it.”

Harry began to cry and it took every ounce of will that Remus possessed to walk to the door as Harry screamed after him, tears pouring from his eyes.

“No Unca Moo, I go too, Unca Moo. I go too, uv you!”

When Petunia closed the front door behind him, he stood on the front porch, tears pouring down his cheeks.

Harry would be safe. Nothing else in the world mattered, especially not the broken heart of a werewolf.

***if you’re interested in reading more, please check it out: https://m.fanfiction.net/s/12872363/1/Missing-Moments

This absolutely heart braking

Harry opens his eyes to a sea of white, foggy and empty and utterly bare, the feeling of a warm hand on his chest. He blinks - everything is too bright and too blinding, the air painful in his lungs. It’s all he can do to sit up, his back aching, his mouth tasting of blood.

“Oh God,” he hears, the voice thin and near-breaking. “Oh God. Not you. Please not you.”

“Draco?” Harry says, and the hand on his chest digs in, almost to the point of pain. “What the - “

The world slowly comes into focus; a blinding white void, a series of train tracks, Draco’s pale face. It’s all empty, all too washed out until Harry lets his gaze drift down and sees the bright streak of crimson red against the fabric of Draco’s robes.

His mind goes blank. He doesn’t even realize that he’s reaching out until Draco lets out a low sound, his hand fastened around the bones of Harry’s wrist.

“I’m fine,” he says. “It doesn’t hurt. Not unless you touch it.”

“Draco - “

“I’m fine,” he snaps. He scrubs a hand over his face - blackened, Harry notices, covered in soot. “I don’t know. I just - I got hit by - by something and then I was bleeding and then when I opened my eyes I was here.”

Harry stares at the train tracks, the slates of wood and the slender beams of iron that stretched out, fading into the distance. There’s the distant sound of something, the hum of a train whistle, and he feels Draco’s hand tighten on his own.

“Are we dead?”

“I don’t know,” Harry says. There’s still dirt in his hair, dirt and leaves, his shoes covered in mud. “Where would we be?”

Draco lets out a short laugh. He meets Harry’s eyes and for a moment everything goes silver, shades of grey and blond and the world slowly slides out of focus. “I don’t know. I always thought I’d burn.”

“You wouldn’t have - “ Harry starts, but it’s the sound of footsteps that makes him turn around.

The train had arrived, suddenly, magically, in a plume of smoke and mist. Harry couldn’t see anything besides his reflection in the windows, his and Draco’s and...

“You,” Draco says, with enough steel in his voice that Harry spins around. “What are you doing here.”

“Professor,” Harry offers, because what else could he say? He couldn’t muster up the venom colouring Draco’s voice, couldn’t conjure anything besides the bitter note of exhaustion.

Dumbledore stares down at him. He looked as he did so long ago, all twinkling eyes and midnight robes. He looked like magic, the way Harry used to think of it, when he was eleven and young and naive.

“Harry,” he says, and there’s that complicated knot of emotions that always coloured Dumbledore’s voice, biting regret and astonishing pride. “You wonderful boy. You brave, brave man.”

He suddenly can’t breathe. Everything comes crashing down at once; the whiteness and the smoke, Draco’s fingers pressed into his own. He dimly notices Draco stepping in front of him, back straight even with the wound gaping across his side.

“You’re dead,” Draco says, with enough malice that it sounds like a hiss. “You fell from the tower. I saw your body.”

Dumbledore closes his eyes. He looks old, Harry realizes, old and yet so, so alive. “So I did.”

Draco swallows, hard. Harry can see his fists clenching at his side, the dig of his fingers into his palm. “Where are we.”

“I was going to ask you that,” Dumbledore says, with the faintest hint of amusement in his voice. “Where do you think?”

Draco glares at him. Harry’s vision blurs, his two protectors standing in front of him like a shield. He manages to take a stumbling step forward, until he was leaning against Draco, against the warmth of his body. Dumbledore doesn’t seem surprised at the contact, merely humming to himself as Harry interlocked his fingers with Draco’s.

“I let him kill me,” he says, and he hates how his voice shakes. “Didn’t I?”

“You did,” Dumbledore nods.

“So that part of his soul that was in me...has it gone?”

“Oh yes!” Dumbledore says. “Yes, he destroyed it. Your soul is whole and completely your own, Harry.”

Harry doesn’t realize he’s trembling until he feels Draco’s hands on his shoulders, the warmth of his palms bleeding through Harry’s shirt. “So...so I...”

“How long,” Draco says. Harry can hear the fury underneath his voice, his ironclad control slowly unraveling. “How long have you raised him to die.”

Dumbledore slides his gaze over to Draco and Harry thinks he sees something - a flash of recognition, perhaps, a spark of pride. “Since the beginning.”

“I know how you did it,” Draco spits out, his voice near shattering. “He was desperate. You made him see magic as a gift, as something worth dying for. You manipulated him. How could you - “

Dumbledore smiles, and it’s the same smile Draco sometimes wore, ruthless selflessness and utter cunning. “For the greater good, Draco. I did the same things that you did.”

Draco flushes, and Harry doesn’t miss the way Dumbledore’s gaze drops down to the Dark Mark on Draco’s arm. Anger spikes in his stomach and it’s all Harry can do to prevent himself from stepping in front, shielding Draco with his body.

“Don’t you dare,” he says quietly.

Dumbledore inclines his head. “For the greater good,” he repeats, softly. “Draco and I are united on that.”

Harry feels Draco’s flinch, feels the tense set of his shoulders and the beat of his heart. “And the rest?” Draco demands. “Sirius and Remus? Harry’s parents? All the people who died today? Were they part of your plan?”

Something dark passes over Dumbledore’s face, half regret and half triumph. “Sacrifices. Like the people you killed, Draco, in your time at the manor.”

This time Draco actually steps back, the look on his face so shattered that Harry’s heart aches. He whirls on Dumbledore, his voice tense. “How dare you - “

“Maybe,” Draco breathes. “Maybe they were. But what about the others? What about the first years I had who sobbed because they were put in the evil house? The kids who were forced to take the Marks? The kids you abandoned because you didn’t care enough about them.”

It’s anger, Harry realizes. Years and years of anger, of being alone, of having no one to turn to, of watching others fall to bits and shatter into pieces.

His stomach twists. Dumbledore suddenly doesn’t seem solid, a shifting mirage in an empty sky. He smiles, almost sadly, and Harry sees a single tear trickling down his nose.

“You can go,” he says; the doors are open, Harry realizes, the train ready to go. “They’re waiting for you. Only for you.”

Draco stiffens. His fingers twist against Harry’s skin, harsh and painful and then he lets go. “Harry,” he breathes, voice breaking. “You can rest now. If...if that’s what you need.”

Harry closes his eyes. He tries to imagine it - the train, the spin of colours. His family - he can almost see them, beyond the pale thread of mist and smoke that always appeared whenever he thought of them. He thinks of Sirius, of Remus and his heart actually aches with longing, for a world he never had and never could have.

But he also thinks of Hermione, and of Ron, or flying around the Quidditch field, of lying on his back and staring up at the sky. Molly’s cooking and Arthur’s rambling, the Burrows and Hogwarts, the look on Dudley’s face as they parted for the last time. He thinks of Draco, all beautiful and golden and radiant, the fire of the goddamn sun, thinks of all the things slipping through his fingers and Harry shakes his head.

“No,” he says - Draco blinks at him. “I’m not leaving. I can’t leave. I won’t abandon the world.”

I won’t abandon you, he thinks, and Draco breaks out into a smile, the only warm thing he’s seen since he had first opened his eyes.

Dumbledore just nods - he’s fading away, Harry thinks, into the mist and the smog and the slowly reversing train. “I did tell you,” he murmurs, over the rushing in Harry’s head, the streaks of colour. “Love is the most powerful weapon of all.”

He feels Draco’s fingers press into his wrist and this time, Harry believes it.

This side of the Veil

An old and homely grandmother accidentally summons a demon. She mistakes him for her gothic-phase teenage grandson and takes care of him. The demon decides to stay at his new home.

It isn’t uncommon for this particular demon to be summoned—from exhausting Halloween party pranks in abandoned barns to more legitimate (more exhausting) ceremonies in forests—but it has to admit, this is the first time it’s been called forth from its realm into a claustrophobic living room bathed in the dull orange-pink glow of old glass lamps and a multitude of wide-eyed, creepy antique porcelain dolls that could give Chucky a run for his money with all of their silent, seething stares combined. Accompanying those oddities are tea cup and saucer sets on shelves atop frilly doilies crocheted with the utmost care, and cross-stitched, colorful ‘Home Sweet Home’s hung across the wood-paneled walls.

It’s a mistake—a wrong number, per se. No witch it’s ever known has lived in such an, ah, dated, home. Furthermore, no practitioner that ever summoned it has been absent, as if they’d up and ding-dong ditched it. No, it didn’t work that way. Not at all. Not if they want to survive the encounter.

It hears the clinking of movement in the room adjacent—the kitchen, going by the pungent, bitter scent of cooled coffee and soggy, sweet sponge cakes, but more jarring is the smell of blood. It moves—feels something slip beneath its clawed foot as it does, and sees a crocheted blanket of whites and greys and deep black yarn, wound intricately, perfectly, into a summoning circle. Its summoning circle. There is a small splash of bright scarlet and sharp, jagged bits of a broken curio scattered on top, as if someone had dropped it, attempted to pick it up the pieces and pricked their finger. It would explain the blood. And it would explain the demon being brought into this strange place.

As it connects these pieces in its mind, the inhabitant of the house rounds the corner and exits the kitchen, holding a damp, white dish towel close to her hand and fumbling with the beaded bifocals hanging from her neck by a crocheted lanyard before stopping dead in her tracks.

Now, to be fair, the demon wouldn’t ordinarily second guess being face-to-face with a hunchbacked crone with a beaked nose, beady eyes and a peculiar lack of teeth, or a spidery shawl and ankle-length black dress, but there is definitely something amiss here. Especially when the old biddy lets her spectacles fall slack on her bosom and erupts into a wide, toothy (toothless) grin, eyes squinting and crinkling from the sheer effort of it.

“Todd! Todd, dear, I didn’t know you were visiting this year! You didn’t call, you didn’t write—but, oh, I’m so happy you’re here, dear! Would it have been too much to ask you to ring the doorbell? I almost had a heart attack. And don’t worry about the blood, here—I had an accident. My favorite figure toppled off of the table and cleanup didn’t go as expected. But I seem to recall you are quite into the bloodshed and ‘edgy’ stuff these days, so I don’t suppose you mind.” She releases a hearty, kind laugh, but it isn’t mocking, it’s sweet. Grandmotherly. The demon is by no means sentimental or maudlin, but the kindness, the familiarity, the genuine fondness, does pull a few dusty old nostalgic heartstrings. “Imagine if it leaves a scar! It’d be a bit ‘badass,’ as you teenagers say, wouldn’t it?”

She is as blind as a bat without her glasses, it would appear, because the demon is by no means a ‘Todd’ or a human at all, though humanoid, shrouded in sleek, black skin and hard spikes and sharp claws. But the demon humors her, if only because it had been caught off guard.

The old woman smiles still, before turning on her heel and shuffling into the hallway with a stiff gait revealing a poor hip. “Be a dear and make some more coffee, would you please? I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

Yes, this is most definitely a mistake. One for the record books, for certain. For late-night trips to bars and conversations with colleagues, while others discuss how many souls they’d swindled in exchange for peanuts, or how many first-borns they’d been pledged for things idiot humans could have gained without divine intervention. Ugh. Sometimes it all just became so pedantic that little detours like this were a blessing—happy accidents, as the humans would say.

That’s why the demon does as asked, and plods slowly into the kitchen, careful to duck low and avoid the top of the doorframe. That’s why it gingerly takes the small glass pot and empties it of old, stale coffee and carefully, so carefully, takes a measuring scoop between its claws and fills the machine with fresh grounds. It’s as the hot water is percolating that the old woman returns, her index finger wrapped tight in a series of beige bandages.

“I’m surprised you’re so tall, Todd! I haven’t seen you since you were at my hip! But your mother mails photos all the time—you do love wearing all black, don’t you?” She takes a seat at the small round table in the corner and taps the glass lid of the cake plate with quaking, unsteady, aged hands. “I was starting to think you’d never visit. Your father and I have had our disagreements, but…I am glad you’re here, dear. Would you like some cake?” Before the demon has a chance to decline, she lifts the lid and cuts a generous slice from the near-complete circle that has scarcely been touched. It smells of citrus and cream and is, as assumed earlier, soggy, oversaturated with icing.

It was made for a special occasion, for guests, but it doesn’t seem this old woman receives much company in this musty, stagnant house that smells like an antique garage that hadn’t had its dust stirred in years.

Especially not from her absentee grandson, Todd.

The demon waits until the coffee pot is full, and takes two small mugs from the counter, filling them until steam is frothing over the rims. Then, and only then, does it accept the cake and sit, with some difficulty, in a small chair at the small table. It warbles out a polite ‘thank you,’ but it doesn’t suppose the woman understands. Manners are manners regardless.

“Oh, dear, I can hardly understand. Your voice has gotten so deep, just like your grandfather’s was. That, and I do recall you have an affinity for that gravelly, screaming music. Did your voice get strained? It’s alright, dear, I’ll do the talking. You just rest up. The coffee will help soothe.”

The demon merely nods—some communication can be understood without fail—and drinks the coffee and eats the cake with a too-small fork. It’s ordinary, mushy, but delicious because of the intent behind it and the love that must have gone into its creation.

“I hope you enjoyed all of the presents I sent you. You never write back—but I am aware most people use that fancy E-mail these days. I just can’t wrap my head around it. I do wish your mom and dad would visit sometime. I know of a wonderful little café down the street we can go to. I haven’t been; I wanted to visit it with Charles, before he…well.” She falls silent in her rambling, staring into her coffee with a small, melancholy smile. “I can’t believe it’s been ten years. You never had the chance to meet him. But never mind that.” Suddenly, and with surprising speed that has the demon concerned for her well being, she moves to her feet, bracing her hands on the edge of the table. “I may as well give you your birthday present, since you’re here. What timing! I only finished it this morning. I’ll be right back.”

When she returns, the white, grey and black crocheted work with the summoning circle is bundled in her arms.  

“I found these designs in an occult book I borrowed from the library. I thought you’d like them on a nice, warm blanket to fight off the winter chill—I hope you do like it.” With gentle hands, she spreads the blanket over the demon’s broad, spiky back like a shawl, smoothing it over craggy shoulders and patting its arms affectionately. “Happy birthday, Todd, dear.”

Well, that settles it. Whoever, wherever, Todd is, he’s clearly missing out. The demon will just have to be her grandson from now on.

this is so sweet. it made me want to hug someone.

i had to

I WOULD WATCH SIX SEASONS AND A MOVIE

Okay but she takes him to the little cafe and all of the people in her town are like “What is that thing, what the hell, Anette?” and she’s like “Don’t you remember my grandson Todd?” and the entire town just has to play along because no one will tell little old Nettie that her grandson is an actual demon because this is the happiest she’s been since her husband died.

Bonus: In season 4 she makes him run for mayor and he wins

I just want to watch ‘Todd’ help her with groceries, and help her with cooking, and help her clean up the dust around the house and air it out, and fill it with spring flowers because Anette mentioned she loved hyacinth and daffodils.   Over the seasons her eyesight worsens, so ‘Todd’ brings a hellhound into the house to act as her seeing eye dog, and people in town are kinda terrified of this massive black brute with fur that drips like thick oil, and a mouth that can open all the way back to its chest, but ‘Honey’ likes her hard candies, and doesn’t get oil on the carpet, and when ‘Todd’ has to go back to Hell for errands, Honey will snuggle up to Anette and rest his giant head on her lap, and whuff at her pockets for butterscotch.  Anette never gives ‘Todd’ her soul, but she gives him her heart

In season six, Anette gets sick. She spends most of the season bedridden and it becomes obvious by about midway through the season that she’s not going to make it to the end of the season. Todd spends the season travelling back and forth between the human realm and his home plane, trying hard to find something, anything that will help Anette get better, to prolong her life. He’s tried getting her to sell him her soul, but she’s just laughed, told him that he shouldn’t talk like that. With only a few episodes left in the season Anette passes away, Todd is by her side. When the reaper comes for her Todd asks about the fate of her soul. In a dispassionate voice the reaper informs Todd that Anette spent the last few years of her life cavorting with creatures of darkness, that there can be only one fate for her. Todd refuses to accept this and he fights the reaper, eventually injuring the creature and driving it off. Knowing that Anette cannot stay in the Human Realm, and refusing to allow her spirit to be taken by another reaper, so he takes her soul in his arms. He’s done this before, when mortals have sold themselves to him. This time the soul cradled against his chest does not snuggle and fight. This time the soul held tight against him reaches out, pats him on the cheek tells him he was a good boy, and so handsome, just like his grandfather.  Todd takes Anette back to the demon realm, holding her tight against him as he travels across the bleak and forebidding landscape; such a sharp contrast to the rosy warmth of Anette’s home. Eventually, in a far corner of his home plane, Todd finds what he is looking for. It is a place where other demons do not tread; a large boulder cracked and broken, with a gap just barely large enough for Todd to fit through. This crack, of all things, gives him pause, but Anette’s soul makes a comment about needing to get home in time to feed Honey, and Todd forces himself to pass through it. He travels in darkness for a while, before he emerges into into a light so bright that it’s blinding. His eyes adjust slowly, and he finds himself face to face with two creatures, each of them at least twice his size one of them has six wings and the head of a lion, one of them is an amorphous creature within several rings. The lion-headed one snarls at Todd, and demands that he turn back, that he has no business here.  Todd looks down, holding Anette’s soul against his chest, he takes a deep breath, and speaks a single word, “Please.” The two larger beings are taken aback by this. They are too used to Todd’s kind being belligerent, they consult with each other, they argue. The amorphous one seems to want to be lenient, the lion-headed one insists on being stricter. While they’re arguing Todd sneaks by them and runs as fast as he can, deeper into the brightly lit expanse. The path on which he travels begins to slope upwards, and eventually becomes a staircase. It becomes evident that each step further up the stair is more and more difficult for Todd, that it’s physically paining him to climb these stairs, but he keeps going.

They dedicate a full episode to this climb; interspersing the climb with scenes they weren’t able to show in previous seasons, Anette and Honey coming to visit Todd in the Mayor’s office, Anette and Todd playing bingo together for the first time, Anette and Todd watching their stories together in the mid afternoon, Anette falling asleep in her chair and Todd gently carrying her to bed. Anette making Todd lemonade in the summer while he’s up on the roof fixing that leak and cleaning out the rain gutters. Eventually Todd reaches the top, and all but collapses, he falls to a knee and for the first time his grip on Anette’s soul slips, and she falls away from him. Landing on the ground. He reaches out for her, but someone gets there first. Another hand reaches out, and helps this elderly woman off the ground, helps her get to her feet. Anette gasps, it’s Charles. The pair of them throw their arms around each other. Anette tells Charles that she’s missed him so much, and she has so much to tell him. Charles nods. Todd watches a soft smile on his face. A delicate hand touches Todd’s shoulder, and pulls him easily to his feet. A figure; we never see exactly what it looks like, leans down, whispering in Todd’s ear that he’s done well, and that Anette will be well taken care of here. That she will spend an eternity with her loved ones. Todd looks back over to her, she’s surrounded by a sea of people. Todd nods, and smiles. The figure behind him tells him that while he has done good in bringing Anette here, this is not his place, and he must leave. Todd nods, he knew this would be the case. Todd gets about six steps down the stairway before he is stopped by someone grabbing his shoulder again. He turns around, and Anette is standing behind him. She gives him a big hug and leads him back up the stairs, he should stay, she says. Get to know the family. Todd tries to tell her that he can’t stay, but she won’t hear it. She leads him up into the crowd of people and begins introducing him to long dead relatives of hers, all of whom give him skeptical looks when she introduces him as her grandson. The mysterious figure appears next to Todd again and tells him once more he must leave, Todd opens his mouth to answer but Anette cuts him off. Nonsense, she tells the figure. IF she’s gonna stay here forever her grandson will be welcome to visit her. She and the figure stare at each other for a moment. The figure eventually sighs and looks away, the figure asks Todd if she’s always like this. Todd just shrugs and smiles, allowing Anette to lead him through a pair of pearly gates, she’s already talking about how much cake they’ll need to feed all of these relatives. 

P.S. Honey is a Good Dog and gets to go, too.

Standing on tiptoe

May the 2nd, 1998. The battle is over, and after Harry’s tales about the last events that brought to Voldemort’s defeat, the trio leave the Headmaster’s office, headed to Gryffindor Tower.

Despite being exhausted, there’s one thing Ron needs to do before resting.

[Also on Ao3 – more notes there ^^]

___________________________________

Standing on tiptoe

Ron walked at Harry’s side, letting him lead the way through the wrecked halls of the castle. He looked… peaceful, in a way. It was easy to imagine why, with the heavy burden of ending You-Know-Who finally lift from his shoulder, but Ron wondered if it also had something to do with getting freed from the piece of You-Know-Who that had apparently lived inside Harry for most of his life.

It had been utterly shocking and woefully obvious at the same time, when Harry had told them about it, but the initial astonishment had quickly morphed into immense pride and admiration. Sixteen years and a half, that’s how long Harry had had that parasite inside him, but he’d still managed to be the best mate a person could ever wish for - Ron had only worn that sodding thing around his neck for a couple of months, and it had been enough to push him to leave his best friends.

And that wasn’t even the most impressive part: Ron remembered painfully well how viciously the Horcrux in the locket had fought for his life, and that made Harry’s sacrifice look even more remarkable. How hard it must have been to fight against the wish of not one, but two souls?

And yet, of course Harry had done it, the selfless git.

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Wolfstar’s Favorite Kisses

remus-whoisleft​:

memorize the creaks in the floor || r&s

- 

Sirius looked at Remus, who was looking at him with a worried expression Sirius had seen – had caused – too many times to feel any better about himself. Waves of paranoia and guilt were still breaking loudly against him, but Sirius swallowed hard and tried to imagine it: what his worst fears would actually look like, if they came true right now. Could he picture a world in which Remus would look him in the eye and tell Sirius that he was right, that he’d pushed his luck too far and that Remus had just been waiting for the right time to cast him out? Could he even picture a world without Remus in his life, full stop? No. No, he couldn’t. Of course he couldn’t. 

Then again…could he picture a world in which people didn’t swallow their anger down and wait for it to explode back up later, after it burned some acidic ulcer through their chest, or when it was needed for a kill-shot in an unrelated fight? No. He couldn’t picture that either, even with Remus sitting beside him in bed: angelic proof. 

The way Sirius had been raised, the lightning-crack of his father’s hand against his cheek was often and obviously a reaction to something Sirius had done days or weeks or months before the blow was delivered. It was just how things were. 

Anger marinated, resentment stewed, and everyone – everyone – left. People had a way of breaking when they’d been through too much and Sirius, who was too much in his own right, had a way of driving them to that breaking point quickly. 

Whether Sirius deserved to be forgiven would be a question, a panic, for another sleepless night. It mattered more tonight that Sirius believed Remus: that they were together for the right reasons, that they would stay that way, that there was no exit plan in the wings. And Sirius did believe him. Not just because Remus was his True North and because he needed to try and believe him if he ever wanted to turn his mind to thoughts that didn’t shred him against the sharp rocks lurking below the cliff-dive of this conversation. 

But because Remus and Sirius had their cruelty in common, just as much as they shared their love. Remus had said crueler things to Sirius in their lives. Always provoked, often deserved, and squarely aimed. The full moon was far away from the boys as they laid in bed, tonight; Sirius couldn’t speak for the wolf, but Remus didn’t like to play with his food. The killing blow would have come quickly, a mercy, if it was set to come at all. 

It was only knowing the best and worst about Remus, all at once, that allowed Sirius to know all of this, and to move toward trusting in their future. 

Maybe that’s what love was, really. 

It happened before you even knew it. The shockwaves of relief began to needle themselves into Sirius’s skin just as suddenly as the panic had earlier, but whether it was because Remus’s words were working their intended magic or because Remus’s arms were finally around him, holding Sirius close, was impossible to say. They were the same thing; Remus’s love was a verb, and his murmurs were just as soothing as the circles he rubbed into Sirius’s back. Both would take a while to erode the cold-sweat and fear that caked Sirius’s skin and heart in equal measure; both had a track record of never failing to do so, no matter how long success took to reach. 

Maybe that was what love was, too. 

“Okay, okay…” Sirius whispered, his nods frantic but his words steady; this new chant replaced the apologies. It was to let Remus know that he was listening, was following along, that Sirius spoke up, not to drown him out or curb him from saying more. Sirius scrubbed at his face with his hands, wondering if sweat or tears felt any different by hands that were shaking too badly to linger and find out. “But I am sorry, and I do love you, and…” 

When Sirius trailed off, it was with a hiccup. That was for the best. Sirius didn’t want to ramble on. He didn’t want to point out the fact that Remus was a liar. (Which of course he was, but only about the fact that Sirius wasn’t a burden, when that was perhaps the first undeniable fact that Sirius had ever learned, laying a sharp baseline for all other truths of the universe.) 

He’d fallen silent, but Sirius hummed as Remus cupped his face, cradling his cheekbone and providing him – with those patient, golden eyes of his – a steady fucking dose of reality. Sirius closed his own eyes, just for a second. He didn’t get the instant reset he’d been hoping for, but when he exhaled and opened them up to chance another look, Remus was still looking at him. 

There was no maybe about it, this time: that was love. 

“Thank you,” Sirius whispered, his voice rasped and exhausted. His pulse was still racing, but his limbs were beginning to loosen; his thoughts coming at a sprint instead of a violently speeding clip. He tried to swallow hard and, this time? It almost worked. Sirius met Remus’s small smile with a fragile echo of his own, and added: “Thank you for being you.” It was more productive, at any rate, than continuing to apologize for being himself. 

Sirius let his head become dead weight, resting in the complete mercy of Remus’s hand. His eyes sunk shut – reverently, rather than trying to banish the light – and he pressed a fleeting kiss to the first part of Remus’s wrist he could reach. 

“I love you,” he said. With his hair hanging into his face and his words coming so slowly, it was clear: Sirius was still a mess, not out of the woods yet, but the cracks in his armor were fossilizing, and he was ready to fight through this with the strength Remus was letting him borrow. “Love you love you. And I believe you. I do. I swear it.” 

On my life, his brain added – silently, knowing there was already too much intensity hanging between them, even as the edges went softer. On everything and anything I’ll ever have or hold, except you. 

“And,” Sirius added. “More importantly: I trust you. I have always trusted you; always will.”

remus-whoisleft​:

come and get your love | r&s

- 

“Did they play while you were still gone?” Sirius asked, a muted smile playing across his lips. The candles lit easily enough and the first few beads of wax-sweat that bloomed and left streaks down the length of the tapers were so satisfying. The fake silver of the candlesticks was slick beneath Sirius’s fingers as he arranged them around the room; some of their light sources tall, some short, some scented and some unlikely to burn for much longer, already wobbling on too-short wicks. But the atmosphere was perfect and, Christ, it really was all theirs, wasn’t it? 

“I was singing along, and wondering where all the usual praise and applause had gone. Makes sense now.” 

That was his way of saying: of course he would start the record over.  

Sirius navigated around piles of boxes to do so, starting the needle off at the far edge of the vinyl and knowing that, even when the few songs ended, he’d either be too cozy or too occupied on the bed with Remus to get up and change it again. it was a holy thing, soundtracking their evening. To know that he’d now have a solid, new memory in place every time The Chain came on the jukebox at a pub; to remember being so deliriously, vividly happy in their new home each time Stevie sighed about Dreams on the radio. 

On his way to join Remus on the mattress, Sirius meant to take a deep inhale of the mingled scents of candles and weed and nighttime air floating in through the windows. He was thwarted with a gasp instead, some honeyed little noise of appreciation at the sight of Remus at work, wearing so little and doing it so well. It sounded like, oh. It sounded content which, in the world of Sirius Black, was often more rare and more pure than happy. He wanted for nothing, even as he stood there wanting Remus badly.  It was impossible to look away, when Remus grinned that grin up at him. It was impossible to do anything but stand there – knocked clean off his metaphorical feet – and do anything but admire him, even as Sirius’s lips tingled for a kiss and his hands remembered how greedy they could be. 

“A house, and the candles, and the record – and now the lighter, too?” he teased, matching Remus’s grin with one of his own; nowhere near as endearing, but only because the bar was set so fucking high. If Sirius remembered nothing else from this night, from this pivotal transition in their lives, the one thing he was desperate to commit to memory was that: the sight of Remus grinning up at him from their bed on the floor, skin pressed against sheets that held him the way he deserved to be held; looking happy and letting Sirius feel like he had something to do with making him that way. 

“Anything else I can get you while I’m up?” It was said with nothing but the utmost affection in Sirius’s voice, as he fished around wrist-deep in the pocket of Remus’s discarded trousers for the lighter. It was clear that he’d move mountains for Remus if the man only asked; that it was a joy to pamper him, and that no truth had slipped into the joke. 

It was also clear that Sirius had no intention of getting anything else while he was up – because he was quickly leaning down, passing the lighter into Remus’s waiting hand in the same breath that he stooped low to press his lips evenly against the other young man’s to catch him in a kiss. 

“How’s the bed?” he asked, the question muffled by the kiss as Sirius deepened it. His fingertips brushed against Remus’s cheekbones; threaded themselves through Remus’s hair as he pushed it back from his face. Gracefully, Sirius lowered himself into Remus’s lap, right there at the edge of the bed – one knee easing onto each side of the other man and his lips continuing their search all the while. 

When Sirius pulled away, the two of them were settled; Remus near-undressed and enchanting on the bed and Sirius straddled across him with adoration painting his features just as keenly as the new-nighttime neon lights from the street below had begun to paint their own colors across the ridge of Remus’s nose, the proud apex of his cheekbones. Sirius needed to get undressed, he knew; would need to vacate Remus’s lap if temporarily so the two of them could get settled with their joints. But in the moment, this was the only place he could be comfortable: safe and mischievous in Remus’s lap, leaning in to kiss him again. 

Before their lips met, Sirius managed to sneak just three words in under the wire: “Welcome home, baby.”