#harriedwritings

I debated whether or not to post this since I have no idea how many people they wrote with are still around, but it was Harri's request that I "just do whatever" and on the off chance that some of their old RP partners go looking for them it's probably good for them to know this.

@harriedwritings passed away yesterday. I won't go into the details but they'd been dealing with cancer for just over a year and ultimately obliterated it via mutually assured destruction (in their own words). It was a quiet end and a peaceful one and they were with people who loved them 'til the very end.

Their blog isn't being deleted or anything like that, so their friends and writing partners can always look through it. Send asks to them if it helps you. I don't think anyone will have access to their account unless it's to basically post what I'm posting now, so it'll stay private.

I'm not gonna like, give an online eulogy or whatever, but Harri was one of the most important and treasured people in my life and I know they affected pretty much everyone they met, no matter how briefly. I loved and love them tremendously.

      the look she receives is venomous and she’s sure if she’d been anyone else, it might have sent her recoiling in fear. he’s certainly had that effect on others. but not on her. she’s pushed her luck, said too much, she can see it in the tense set of his shoulders, the way his hand is splayed across his papers holding them in place. 

       outside, the sirens wail. beyond that, there is the panicked screaming, the confused hum of tourists being ushered back to their accommodations by the stadwatch. the splashing of oars in the water as boats vie for space. kaz doesn’t answer her, there’s something distant in his eye, beyond the venomous look he’d given her, there’s something deeper. 

                   Shirley hummed to herself as she dug the ingredients for cookies out of the various cabinets and shelves in her kitchen, even popping her head into the fridge to grab milk and butter and eggs. She was well known for her excellent baking skills, and only baked when she needed some sort of stress relief. “Oh, hey Luke,” Shirley gave her baby brother a soft smile as she saw him enter the kitchen. “Wanna help me bake some cookies?” 

With all things considered, the walk to the train station wasn’t that far. Just over in the next town from their small little village. They had moved to this home before he even dreamed that he might go to Hogwarts -- it was all they could afford, their TINY little farm. His parents would have ideally driven him, but there was a farmer’s market in the big city an hour away, and they couldn’t afford to miss it. The crops had been poor this year, so they had to sell every bit they could. 

So he made the walk to the station himself, lugging his two suit cases behind him. He was so, so nervous to see his friends again. Over the summer, he hadn’t much contact. He had been working most of it to help out his parents. But in the few letters he was able to write...He never mentioned any of this. He had  c h o p p e d  his hair up above his ears. It was a little rough, his mother had to use the kitchen shears. But gone were the long locks, over eight inches dropped to the stone floor. They had managed to buy an old boy’s uniform from his mum’s friend -- it was too big, and baggy, but it worked. The extra room in the shirt helped conceal the slightest bit of chest he had, and that was all fine with him. 

What took him longest, though, was his NAME. He played around and considered many. Nothing sounded right in the mirror. It was after one of his shifts that summer that he came across one of the old mythologies of Remus and Romulus -- The latter was a bit too much of a mouthful, but the former seemed to stick. REMUS, the boy raised by a wolf. Killed and reborn by myth. It fit. 

He took the train to King’s Cross, shifting nervously all the while. He was already the odd one out in the group. He was not only a werewolf, but until now, he had been considered the only female of the group. Would this be too much for them to handle? 

// continue from x | @harriedwritings​

Nick has no qualms regarding spooky shenanigans – in fact, it may as well be his middle name. He’s literally a demon, after all. It’s kind of his thing.

He’s not easy to startle either, a lifetime of being hunted and eons of demonic practice honing his sensory abilities to inhuman levels. But Magnus isn’t human either, and as they toe their way through this abandoned building in search of the source of an energy that’s practically making his naval twist, he hears a knocking on the doorframe behind him and he reacts.

The knife embeds into the doorframe, a hair’s breadth from where Magnus’ knuckles had rapped. Nick doesn’t apologise. If he’d been going to hit him he’d’ve hit him. He doesn’t even berate him for having snuck up on him.

If anything he’s impressed.

The corner of his lip quirks up in approval as he goes to retrieve the knife.

                              Magnus doesn’t quite understand how he’s always getting himself into these sorts of messes, but to be fair, he isn’t surprised. He’s always been the investigative type, even if sticking his nose into something isn’t the best idea he’s ever had. Then again, he’s got Nick, and Nick is a literal demon, even so, the only demon he trusts, so he believes he’ll be quite safe in these spooky shenanigans. 

                    He knocks on the doorframe before he enters the room Nick is in, not so that he doesn’t startle his demonic friend slash son figure, but to alert him to his presence so he doesn’t try to kill him. Magnus should’ve known better, and he nearly jumped out of his skin as a knife narrowly misses his hand. “If you’re going to cut something off, I’d rather it be something less important than my fingers.” After all, magic was his money maker. “Have you found anything yet?”

          “out of everyone, you’re quite lucky, mister munroe,” magnus’ voice was soft and just a tad less clinical than usual. from what he’d heard, things up on that mountain had gotten very out of hand, and although most people didn’t believe what these kids were saying, magnus thought they were telling the truth. who would lie in such circumstances? “two fingers traumatically removed, littered with abrasions and contusions, slight internal bleeding. and you said you were fine.” 

It’s been a long day. A long, tremendously gay day. His feet hurt. His everything hurts, actually, but in a satisfied sort of way, because it’s hard to feel anything but exhaustion and satisfaction after being wildly gay, angry and political all day. 

If he thinks about it, he’s been looking forward to coming home. John is a disaster, but he’s often a quiet one. After a day of endless movement and noise and colour, coming home to that has been... a nice thought.

How John even fucking knows he went to Pride - seeing as he hasn’t looked up to see the rainbow painted across James’ cheek, the glitter in his hair, or the copious amounts of Pride merch he’s acquired - James doesn’t know. He pauses, just briefly, then sets his bags down, shrugs out of his coat.