wotcher.

#; -quickly and quietly reblogs these to save-#hc;

✍: a letter that gets sent

[November 1986, Hufflepuff common room. It’s quiet, and outside it’s dark although it’s not yet dinner time- classes ended only a few hours before and there is a smattering of fifth and seventh year students occupying the tables and desks, others are draped over plush armchairs and sofas. They’re studying, and the younger students are holding hushed conversations near the fireplaces or playing quiet games of chess out of respect for their studying classmates. Most everyone is still, bowed over their books, but one shaggy-haired head in particular is restless, bobbing up and down over a piece of parchment that she keeps prodding with her wand. Her hair is short and bright red, now, but by the time they go to dinner it will be dark brown again- the professors (McGonagall in particular- the old bat) dislike the attention her brightly colored hairstyles draw. Tonks is bent over a Howler and putting the finishing touches on a neatly folded piece of red parchment. Her movements are jerky and swift, ungraceful, and she holds it up with a pleased look on her face.]

“HI MUM AND DAD!! I NEED NEW ROBES! LOVE,

[She drops her voice to a low whisper-] Dora!”

[Several students jumped and cursed at the sudden outburst in the common room, one girl shrieked, even, but Tonks didn’t seem to notice as she watched the Howler fold itself. She stood up and pushed away from the table, oblivious to the stares and glowers she received as she bounced out of the room on her way to the owlery.]

perardua-ad-astra

After that Hogsmeade weekend in which Nymphadora learned to send Howlers, the Tonks household grew accustomed to red envelopes showing up fairly regularly, shouting messages in Dora’s excited voice, then bursting into showers of sparks.

The good part of it was that Andromeda never had to repeat letters to Ted, nor vice versa; the shouts usually reached every end of the house.

#; -quickly and quietly reblogs these to save-#; dora uses howlers bc they're faster than writing ;)#hc;

✍: a letter that gets sent

[October, 1984. The first Hogsmeade weekend.]

[A howler arrives at the Tonks household, addressed MUM. It explodes, sending a shower of purplish sparks to the floor before Andromeda can quite reach it.]

[Another howler arrives shortly thereafter, bright red and also addressed: MUM.]

“—‘OW DO YOU—”

[Yet another howler arrives, buzzing slightly. It waits until Andromeda touches it before shouting.]

”-LOODY ‘OWLER HOW DO YOU MAKE IT S—”

[Howlers number four and five arrive simultaneously, each bearing the same message. It seems Tonks decided to make two this time, in case one didn’t work. (Aside: she learned how to make Howlers on this Saturday in October while her classmates were at Hogsmeade without her)]

”HOGSMEADE FORM MUM—”

[The last and final Howler is the best of the lot (and it should be, considering all the practice she’s had). Dora sounds a bit less frantic and more annoyed than anything else in this one.]

”I STILL LOVE YOU OKAY BUT JUST SIGN THE FORM—

—ALSO TELL DAD HI AND I LOVE HIM”

#; -quickly and quietly reblogs these to save-#; in which dora sends a letter using an old school owl who mistakenly takes a letter to narcissa's home instead of andromeda's #hc;

✍

✍: a letter that gets sent

[An unfamiliar owl arrives at the Malfoy Manor one morning in mid-September, 1986. The envelope it bears is ratty and stained with blotches of ink, as is the parchment that is hastily shoved inside, crumpled at the bottom half as though it’d been soaked through with liquid and hastily dried with a poorly attempted charm. It is only addressed as ‘ANDROMEDA’.]

MUM—-

I forgot t. tell you ●●·•

—•●I need this form isgned signd by tomorrow orelse i can’t go to HOGSMEADE

HOGSEMADE

FORM. SI●·•GN. SIGN I MEAN

[A scribble at the bottom indicates a name, although it’s a tangle of consonants and it looks as though the quill might’ve exploded.]

—bloody Charlie gave me that quill an’ it’s shite

ps. [A large, lopsided heart is drawn, hastily, and takes up most of the lower portion of the piece of parchment.]

ooc| Tonks did not attend Hogsmeade weekends that year, at least until after the Christmas holidays, when she returned with a signed letter and sealed envelope addressed to Pomona Sprout, who promptly sorted everything out.

naragun-deactivated20161113

i highly recommend you follow the person i reblogged this from.

#wat am I even doing #hiatus;#but follow omfg

hiatus~

indefinite. ilu all. sorry.

ooc; sorry about inactivity here. i’ve been pretty worthless across the board. i still love you all. just having a slight existential crisis. xoxo~

Last Night | Remus & Tonks

Remus licked his lips nervously, her ‘oh’ felt like a weight in his chest what the hell had he done? What could he do to fix it. Should he even attempt to fix it. After all, he loved her friendship, and she was damn right wonderful to be around but anything more than that –– well he couldn’t. "Right…I…" His head was still a little sore and he pinched at his temples as he gave her a half smile. "Sorry, this old brain clearly doesn’t work properly." They could joke, couldn’t they? They could still joke about it? Should he ask her what happened? "––We’re okay aren’t we, Tonks?"

#chat: last night #chat: remus #c: rjl #riidiculum #v; rabbit hearted

She gives him a dark look at the word 'old'-- something partway between a scoff and a scowl to let him know that she disagrees, but otherwise doesn't say anything. She liked him- a lot, and she'd been under the impression he liked her too. Right? Elsewise he wouldn't have kissed her back at the pub--

"Yeah, yeah. We're okay." Tonks gave a smile (only the slightest bit forced) and ignored the way her ears were burning. "O' course we're okay," she clarified, this time with a bit more force.

Merlin, if he wasn't so damned adorable when he was stumbling over what he wanted to say.

The Auror pops up, then, unable to be still for more than a nanosecond it seems, and moves to fuss over the teapot (ignoring the fact that she could've done all of this from her seat- it gave her a reason to move about). "D'y' want tea?" she asks over her shoulder, then smirks. "I won't make y' what m' mum made me drink the first (and second and third) time I came home a bit faded."

"You’re welcome, here." As he passes her his gloves, raw fingers, still fresh from last nights terrors reveal the smallest injuries from the previous night he holds out a cupped hand. "This might help too––" Wandlessly, he concentrates, and his bare hand reveals a little ball of blue fire. The incantation whispered out of the corner of his lips. "––Keep it close, it’ll warm you right up." They had a long night of waiting, and he wasn’t going to let her freeze.

#thread: remus #c: rjl #riidiculum #v; rabbit hearted

To say she's disappointed might be an understatement, but the expression flickers quickly from the metamorphamgus's features, replaced by a grin when he offers the small, blue-tinted fire and it reflects in her eyes as they briefly flicker a brilliant blue.

"But what about your hands?" she asks, already slipping her fingers into the proffered gloves. She pulls them over her hands and laughs at the way the cuffs are loose and surpass her wrists entirely, hanging loosely around her forearms. "These fit you?" Tonks asks incredulously, as a joke.

The little blue flame is held protectively in her now-gloved palms and she's wondering what would happen when she dropped it (when, not if- this is almost a given). Tonks shifts against him- their backs are pressed against a stupidly uncomfortable brick wall, their legs bent and feet resting against a low-lying stone barrier that provides just enough cover for them to be able to see over without quite straining.

She hated this most- the waiting. Observation missions were the worst. But at least she'd landed a good partner.

iorhael

If I follow you & don't roleplay with you...

100% chance is that I’m stalking your blog from afar, reading your roleplays, sending you anons, & wishing I could be one of the lucky people who write with you but AM JUST HIDING IN A CORNER TOO AFRAID TO SAY ANYTHING.

Long Overdue| Remus & Dora

Remus beamed at her, his fingers curling into her hair as she stayed close. They’d been together so long, how could Dora put up with this constant absence? Teddy was about to complete his last year of Hogwarts, at the ripe age of seventeen, and their sixteenth wedding anniversary had only passed last summer. It felt like a whole new life had started after the Battle, and Remus wouldn’t change it for the world.

Part of him was sure they could leave dinner and put the office to better use than paperwork, but despite that urge, which was growing thanks to Dora’s lips brushing against his again he tugged on her hands. "Lets go, I’m sure we’ll get a good seat." And hands leaving her hair, he gripped steadily on one of her hands as he side apparated into London town.

#chat: long overdue #c: rjl #riidiculum #v; tbd #chat: remus

If he was the moon, then she was the sun; always moving in tandem and chasing each other through the sky. Destined, it seemed, to be in pursuit of one another forever- but this was far too serious a comparison for a relationship that'd lasted through the war and flourished in the peacetime after. They had their respective careers, yes, and the bond of their souls transcended the absence of their partner. They cherished their time together, however brief.

She smiled into his skin and finally pulled away. After sixteen years, the metamorphmagus was still always trying to distract Remus. She drew some sort of impish pleasure from it.

That familiar tug on her hands, the pull of apparating and then they were in London, wet and dreary (so constant, it seemed, that it was a required state of being for the place, but Dora didn't mind- colors and lights seemed so much brighter amid the grey and shining puddles).

As soon as they're still, Nymphadora takes his hands and moves quickly, her feet light (and only a little clumsy) as she moves backwards, sloshing one boot through a particularly deep puddle of water. "Oh, it's been too long. I've been meaning to get you out of that stuffy castle for ages--" (She doesn't seem to share his love for the place, though there is a sort of affection- it represents a lack of freedom to her.)

She rejoins his side, looping an arm through his and pulling him close so that their legs are brushing as they walk. "Tell me I have you for the night and not just for supper," she says (demands?), her cheek pressed flush against his shoulder, a smirk wafting upward as she tilts her face to catch his gaze.

Confession | Remus & Dora

Despite it all, he has to stay positive. He has to keep calm and do the right thing, and that’s continue as normally as possible. If it happens, it happens. If it doesn’t then they still have a rich life together until a natural end. Her body against his is so very soothing, his arms around her as they’re curled in the corner of the room now, instead of standing as they had been. "I know love," he whispers. His eyes close as he inhales her too, the bubblegum pink hair is still one of his favourite colours in all the world, radiating in the darkness. "I have to tell Teddy too, I can’t keep him in the dark and we have to remain positive. You have to promise me we’ll continue as normal?"

#chat: confession #chat: remus #c: rjl #v; tbd #riidiculum

The feeling of his body against hers is comforting, grounding in a way. She inhales and works at memorising the scent of his skin. The tea he'd last drank, the old parchment smell that seemed to cling to his robes, the way the outdoor air seemed to emanate from his hair. Her fingers curl around the back of his neck, pressing against his flesh and holding him to her.

"We have to tell Teddy," she corrects him. There was no way she could allow him to bear this burden as if it were his own. She can't bear the thought of telling her son that his father would die sooner rather than later. It was something she didn't like to think about, leaving their child alone in the world (even though it was the way things always had been- children buried their parents, this was a fact of life and she thanked Merlin that it wasn't the other way around--)

Her lashes dust the side of his face as she shifts, pressing her mouth to his jaw.

Tonks exhales slowly, her breath warm and spiced with the mead she'd had less than an hour before and it still coursed through her veins, heating her ears and cheeks and the very tips of her fingers.

"I promise," she finally agrees, even though she can't imagine ever doing so. "Remus, please. This can't be all-" She's arguing with him again as though he has some semblance of control over the situation. If only.

snakepotter-blog

“Yeah, I just- I explore, I guess.

Probably not a good idea in this place.”

He turns to look at her, as much to be polite as it is to tear his gaze away from that infuriatingly bewitching instrument to the side of the room, much as he wishes to go over to it, to try playing it even despite himself.

”I don’t even know how to play. Hermione does, though.”

They’d had a keyboard for Dudley, at one point, but Dudley had refused to practise or to go to his lessons, and Harry had always been forbidden from touching the machine lest he break it

- of course, Dudley broke it, after a few months.

“I’d like to learn, though, I guess.”

#chat: harry #c: hp #wholesoulandcompletelymyown #v; rabbit hearted

Nymphadora could understand the yearning to poke around the old and stately townhome. For all it's dark artifacts and thickly cloaked secrets, shrouds of heavy fabric that seemed to be hundreds of years old; dusty bookshelves that seemed to hum with a desire to be touched, to be held once more-- there was a history emanating from the very core of the place, darkness or not.

It was hers, partially, and therein lay her curiosity.

The thing doesn't seem to have the same effect on the metamorphmagus, and perhaps it's focusing all of its energy on the tousle-headed boy.

"Nothing good t' be found here, I can tell y' that," Tonks affirms, a lopsided smile like a slash mark across her face, though the look in her eyes isn't quite as bemused as the expression would suggest- her eyes flicker between the harpsichord and Harry.

"I never could play- never really tried, though. Probably wouldn't work anyway."

She holds up her hands and wiggles her fingers as if to suggest they'd tie themselves into knots at the mere idea of playing a series of notes in order.

"Not on that y' don't. C'mon, Harry." She motions for him to come with her, because surely anywhere else would be better than here- how much trouble would she get in if she delivered the boy to the next meeting with half of his fingers left on one hand? She could practically hear the roar of the old Scot (re: Moody) now. Tonks winces. "Let's go downstairs," she adds, more insistent this time.

blastedblack-blog

Mother Dearest, Feb 1996

blastedblack-blog

It was a failing that she’d never quite managed to overcome. As her daughter threw her arms around her, Andromeda stilled. It was something she didn’t understand. She had thought, when Nymphadora was small, that it was easy. Emotional attachment and affection came easy with a child. It was when her daughter had become more adult than child that she’d started to find it more and more difficult. To say it was harder given the girl was consoling her over a woman that had barely ever touched her, was an understatement. Her arms moved hesitantly, yet automatically, around her daughter.

"What are you sorry about?" she found herself asking. Why should she be sorry? A woman had died. A woman who had wanted nothing to do with her since her birth. So why should she express her condolences for this woman’s death.

Her hair was brown, Andromeda noted as she let the young woman embrace her. It had been brown for some time. And for the first time she found herself glad she could not see her daughter’s face. There were always changes, here or there, but when she was upset her abilities - her gifts - seem to fade. She had discovered in time it was easier not to see what her daughter really looked like. There were too many similarities. She’d see Bellatrix in a mischievous glint. Narcissa in a curious smile. Her Father appeared in a laugh. Her Mother appeared in a smirk. Her daughter was everything she shouldn’t be - the family that didn’t want her.

#thread: mother dearest #thread: andromeda #blastedblack #location: tonks household #v; rabbit hearted

Nymphadora Tonks was a simple creature, not in that she was stupid, mind you, but because she understood innately the simplistic nature of human relationships. Things that other people didn't quite get, or perhaps they refused to believe. She'd been born on the brink of a war and had been thrust into another before she was hardly old enough to understand that this wasn't her fight and it never had been. People were to be valued and she didn't have to be half-blooded to understand that. Everyone meant something to someone else, regardless of how things ended up. A mother was a mother, a daughter was a daughter. It seemed as though her grand old ancestry seemed keen on pretending that these relationships did not mean a thing. Dora couldn't imagine her own mother treating her the way her grandmother had shunned her daughter for an apparent disgrace. Even if Druella refused to acknowledge the fact that she existed, that she was worth more than the status of her blood and not simply a symbol of centuries of purity muddied and ruined.

She didn't understand her mother's question. Or, she did, but she didn't exactly understand how to answer. The query implied that Andromeda was perhaps trying to play off the fact that her mother had died and that she did not care, but Nymphadora knew that no one was that heartless. "Family's family. 'm sorry," she said again. Family is family, even if they didn't want to. Their loss, she wanted to say. I'm sorry that they didn't- but I don't really mean it, because this way I have you all to myself. Nymphadora was aware of the fact that had her mother not fallen in love with a Muggleborn, that if she hadn't fled the confines of her purity-obsessed family, that she might never have existed at all. She could be sorry for her mother's loss, but only the idea of it, because she was selfishly glad for how everything had actually turned out.

More and more she'd become aware of the loss that was pervading their world. It was written and smeared across every ink-etched page of the Daily Prophet. You could read through the reports of who'd died and practically keep score for all the major families as if it were some sort of competition (and in a way, it was- everyone wanted to win if that meant keeping their family in tact). Nymphadora was in the thick of it, too, and she'd already seen enough to make her want to owl home every day to ensure that her own family was safe. Her arms remained around her mother's neck, comforted by the warmth and closeness of another human body (so often she'd searched for the same comfort in someone else, but it never quite felt right). "Where's Da?" she asked lowly, having noticed the stillness of the house and the wine glass on the floor- one, not two.

; i hate it when people come into cafes and sit RIGHT next to me go awayyyyy

entertainingtheidea-deactivated

Peter Gallagher and Olivia Thirlby will co-star opposite Ben Aldridge and Joey Morgan in FOX’s single-camera comedy pilot Detour, inspired by the real-life story of Weezer lead singer Rivers Cuomo. The project follows the story of Michael Sturges, a charming rock star who made the unexpected choice at age 30 to quit his band and go back to college; Gallagher will play the notorious Professor Zaring, while Thirlby plays Gabrielle, his confident teaching assistant.

#; yesssssss #olivia thirlby #MORE OF HER PLS

snakepotter-blog

dxntcallmenymphadora replied to your photo:making progress on CoS

; LOVE that shirt omg

OMG, you can’t actually see the full thing - you see the pink thing? It’s a canary on a rest, because it’s in a rib cage? I honestly consider it one of the most subtly funny shirts I own, omg.