unwritten

- i will only write with those 18 and above. this is for my own comfort, and no, i won’t change that.  - i will also only write with mutuals. i must be following you, and you must be following me in turn. this also won’t change for my own sanity. - if i’m not here, you can find me over on my video game multimuse, illiumflower. - if you’re nervous about interacting with me, don’t be! the easiest way to start up a thread with me is to send me a meme, even if we’ve never interacted before. i always leave my memes open ended, so feel free to continue them if the mood strikes. i usually put responses in a new post, so if i do that you can just reblog from there. if i don’t, please make a new post linking back to the ask and tag me!

Another day at the Century, another day wiping down bars. Mags can't say this was where she saw her life heading when she was a kid; hell, once magic decided to skip over her completely, she didn't see much for her future at all. Stanley was a good boss, though, even if he was lenient with more... excentric clientele than she would've been. Merlin knew she would've kicked Gilderoy fucking Lockhart out ages ago, rent be damned. She also wouldn't have stood around while people called her business 'drab', but Stan was far more laid back than her.

The door to the casino opened, and in walked one of the instigators in question: Sofia. She always seemed to look at the place with a critical eye, as if appraising the place and finding it lacking. Mags was sure Stan would hear about it later, but that was none of her business.

The return of Sirius is a joyful occasion. Long-awaited in some regards, most would have found her hope to be a childish form of wishful thinking. He looks different. Older, more tired; something hides behind his eyes like a thunderstorm. Dark, unfamiliar and frightening. But it’s him. Her friend. She couldn’t be happier. “So, a little birdy tells me there’s some things that need fixing around here. Why don’t I help you with that?~” It’s a bright chirp, and the young witch is uncertain if it would be too forward to hug him.  //  @stcriestold.

Sirius hadn’t known what to expect once he got out of Azkaban. The fact that people bought into the lie that he would betray James and Lily for Voldemort hurt more than a knife to the abdomen, and if he was being honest... he avoided Carwen at first because of that. The last thing he wanted was to see Carwen, of all people, buying into those lies, but he hardly had a chance to avoid her for more than a few days before she was coming back into his life like a whirlwind. Sirius grinned when he saw her, hesitating only slightly -- would a hug be too much after so much time?

@stcriestold​ : did my best to exist just for you.  //   meme    //   accepting

         ron’s throat was dry. she couldn’t mean that, could she ? he didn’t think it could be true. “ hermione, you have so much more to exist for than just me. i appreciate the sentiment, really i do, but look at what you’ve accomplished already. “ the words come tumbling out of his mouth with such a fervor that he can’t quite catch up to them. “ you’ve been the brightest witch of your age. you continually educated me about s.p.e.w and the rights that house elves should hold. and you’re the only reason harry - or i - was able to make it through looking for those horocruxes. ” he didn’t know how to put it into words for her, but her impact on the world was far greater than anything he could ever take credit for. the way that she carried herself through the world and fought for the things that were right, even if it had never occurred to anyone else that it might be wrong. he rubbed the back of his neck with his spare hand. “ if anything i would say it’s the other way around, you know ? ”

who: harry and hermione @stcriestold​ where: hermione’s office, ministry of magic when: post war 

Harry made his way past the security charms with ease - he had special access to Hermione’s office. A necessary measure, given how often he was there, despite it not in fact being required by either of their job descriptions. Once, Harry had been disappointed not to be working alongside Hermione. 

He supposed they’d made up for it, just by refusing to not work alongside each other anyway. The rules, Harry thought grinning, had never really applied to them - much to Hermione’s horror. But he often thought she secretly rather enjoyed rulebreaking as much as he and Ron did.  

His grin faded as he came across his best friend, her face hidden entirely by her hair as she knelt over her desk, scratching hurried words onto her parchment in a posture that looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Hermione,” Harry said cautiously, a greeting intended to let her know he was there. It could be dangerous to disturb her at times, when she was in the middle of something, writing so furiously. 

Something was off, though. If Harry’s instincts were good for anything, it was that. “I thought you were going to meet me in my office after work? You’re not still at it, are you?” he asked, peturbed, his eyebrows creasing in concern for her. Not unusual behaviour for Hermione, of course, but she usually showed up when she said she was going to. “Ron didn’t show either.” That was less unusual, Ron often late or forgetful or called away by George or Molly, but now, given the tension he felt coming off from Hermione, Harry felt a flicker of worry. His hand came out to rest over Hermione’s on her desk, to still it in its tracks. He was better at this now, at reaching out to her - at least, he wanted to be, in a clumsy, careful way he couldn’t articulate even to himself. He put it all into the gesture instead. 

“Is everything alright?” 

-

Hermione wasn’t in a good mood, but then again, she rarely was when she fought with her best friends. 

The subject matter was completely stupid and unforgettable, so much so that she didn’t even remember what they’d been fighting about. That should’ve been a sign that things were okay, that it was just a little fight, but how many of those little fights left her alone for weeks, days, sometimes months during her school years? Hermione knew her place -- best friends though they may be, she would always come second to Harry for Ron, and second to Ron for Harry. The two were so intrinsically wound that having one without the other was blasphemy itself; the two of them without Hermione was still unusual, but not uncommon.

Hermione knew her place especially in moments when Harry took Ron’s side, silly argument or otherwise. 

It was natural, then, for her to assume that she wouldn’t be seeing Harry for a few days at best. Ron would be harder, considering they lived together, but her work was endless and it wasn’t unusual for her to fall asleep at her office or on the couch at home. She could give the boys the space they needed and, when they finally got over themselves, return to their lives like ( almost ) nothing happened. Except... maybe this time, she wouldn’t be able to. Fights like these in the past brought her back because they needed her brain to take down whatever Voldemort was throwing their way that year, but now? 

Now, she wasn’t so sure. 

Hermione barely kept from jumping when Harry entered her office, bringing her out of her work-induced haze enough to catch her attention, but not enough to draw her gaze. She kept herself slouched over her desk, her hair hiding her slightly-panicked, slightly-confused expression, as he spoke. Oh, right. We were supposed to meet. She almost felt guilty over that, but --

Ron didn’t show either. So he was here because Ron wasn’t. That made sense, she supposed, but it still hurt. 

                        @stcriestold​      SENT:  “  i’m just so fucking tired. ”  // MEME.

    drowsy   eyes   force   themselves   to   awaken   -   blurry   vision   clears   with   a   swift   movement   as   glasses   are   readjusted   ,   the   clattering   goes   off   again   and   seven   pushes   himself   up.

      what   time   is   it   ?   

   3   am.   3   am.   is   he   okay   ?   

   a   sigh   escapes   as   heavy   body   fights   against   gravity,   the   light   illuminates   the   kitchen  ,   seven   makes   sure   to   make   enough   noise   in   order   to   not   scare   his   little   brother   (  would   he   ever   not   see   him   as   ‘little?’  )

     “   y’know   -   3   am   is   supposedly   called   ‘   ~the   witching   hour~  ’  .   don’t   tell   me   you’re   into   that   stuff   ?   “   he   is   met   with   silence.   yeah,   he   tried.

    “   here   -   let   me   make   it   for   us   .   hot   chocolate,   right   ?   “   hah,   some   things   never   change.    and   as   silence   eats   both   of   them,   seven   begins   to   hum   when   finally,   his   brother   speaks,

    “   i’m   just   so   fucking   tired   .   ”

    the   aroma   of   hot   chocolate   fills   the   air   as   he   turns   to   look   at   Saeran;

“   i   know   .   i   mean   -   NOT   to   say   that   we’ve   had   the   same   experience   but   -   i   know   this   exhaustion   you   speak   of   .   it   gets   into   your   bones   right   ?   it   leaks   into   every   aspect   of   your   breathing   and   waking   hour   -   and   yet   sleep,   all   it   does   is   bring   nightmares   .   “   seven   takes   two   cups   and   pours   the   hot   chocolate   (   giving   most   of   it   to   him   )

      “   would   you   like   to   talk   about   it   ?   i’m   here   -   if   you   want  …   “

-

Saeran could never sleep at night. 

This was nothing new, of course; he had a hard time sleeping when he and Saeyoung were children, always worrying about their mother, which quickly turned into trouble sleeping because of Rika and that awful concoction she had him drink. His savior. Thinking of Mint Eye, in particular, kept him up most nights, and it was... it was fucking draining to constantly see that place whenever he closed his eyes. He just wanted to think of his brother, his new ( tentative ) relationship with the RFA, and the flower garden he insisted on keeping, small as it was. 

Instead, Saeran found himself scrambling to his brother’s room like when they were children, bags deep under his eyes, and thinking I’m just so fucking tired instead of letting himself get dragged along by Saeyoung’s attempt at a joke. 

When they entered the kitchen, hot chocolate in the air, he finally said what he was thinking: “I’m just so fucking tired.” 

And of course Saeyoung knew -- how could he not? They were both dealt such awful hands in life, the two of them fearing for their own lives thanks to one factor or another ( though Saeran wouldn’t say he knew exactly what Saeyoung was fearing, beyond the basics ). He knew, though, what to say, and Saeran pulled his knees to his chest, watching his brother make hot chocolate and pour an unequal amount between the two cups, giving him the fuller of the two.

Not that he complains. 

“Yeah,” he murmured, letting go of his knees to hold the mug close to his chest. The warmth of the mug was somehow safe, and Saeran let himself be consumed by that feeling. “Yeah, it’s exactly like that. I, um.” Should he talk about it? Probably. Was he scared he’d be judged for talking about it? Definitely, and yet... “I keep going back there,” he whispered after far too long of a moment, sipping his hot chocolate and letting it burn his tongue. “With Sa -- Rika. With Rika. It’s... it’s fucked up, isn’t it? I used to love it there, consider it home, but now I’m just... horrified. I hate it, and it won’t go away.”