Ficcer Than Water

[incorrect-drarry-quotes]

Draco: Yeah, we're arch-enemies, but I would fuck you if you asked.

Harry, blushing: What?

Draco, blushing: What?

Ron, eating chips in the background: He said he would fuck you if you asked.

[f--o--r--e--v--e--r]

[allwaswellforharrypotter]

Never forget in POA when Harry blew up aunt Marge, ran away, AND THEN proceeded to plan his life as an outlaw

[azkaabanter]

If The Marauders were Still Alive (headcannons)

(In response to an ask)

-If they were still alive…

•When Harry got his Hogwarts letter James immediately ripped it open without even showing it to Harry because he was just so excited for his son. Without even acknowledging Harry’s presence or Lily’s laughter, he just sits cris-crossed on the floor making little comments about Harry’s school supply list.

“What? You don’t have to read {insert book title}. It was the best! Don’t worry Harry, you can borrow my old copy, though it may have some old doodles in it from Sirius-”

•When Harry is really young he thinks that they have a dog because whenever Sirius is over he turns into his Animagus form and he’s over at the Potters’ so much that it’s kinda hard not to think that.

And James, Lily, Remus and Peter go along with it and one dayJames brings home a bright pink glittery dog collar and asks little Harry to put it on ‘Snuffles’. Harry does it and even though Sirius hates it, he keeps it on because he loves Harry so much (Remus like it too, but for *coughs* other reasons).

•When Harry turns eleven and has to go to Diagon Alley, It’s not just James and Lily that take him shopping, it’s the whole damn Marauders squad. They’re just casually walking through the streets and suddenly someone starts clapping for them, and then more people join in and it turns into just the whole street clapping for the Marauders because most of them remember hearing tales about what the group did, and many parents were friends of theirs.

Needlessly to say James and Sirius take a dramatic bow while Remus and Lily are looking at each other like

“These are the people we chose to marry”

And Peter is just laughing along and buying Harry a chocolate frog off of a street witch while Harry asks him why all those people are clapping for them. Peter just chuckles and goes “We had a bit of a reputation at school”

•When Harry goes into Madam Malkin’s and sees Draco, James immediately steps in front of his son as if to protect him.

“What’s wrong, Dad?”

“There’s a Malfoy there… can’t mistake him. I remember his father-”

But then Lily comes over and whispers in his ear

“Remember Sirius’s parents? They were awful people but look how Sirius turned out?” They look out the shop window to see Sirius with his arm around Remus’s shoulders sitting on a bench in conversation with Peter.

“You’re right”

And James himself introduces Harry to Draco, and the two immediately hit it off.

•Just before Harry is about to leave for Hogwarts, the Marauders get together (without Lily, because she’d definitely disapprove) and tell Harry all the stories they can. Harry just sits there in wonder like

‘How will I ever live up to that’

But at the end of the night, James goes and gets a box out of his room and puts it in Harry’s hands.

“This is yours now. Use it well.”

Harry opens the box and it’s the invisibility cloak. Remus then takes the Marauder’s Map out and shows Harry how to use it, then hands it over (“use it responsibly”)

•When Harry comes home for winter break he talks about how great Gryffindor is and his best friends Ron and Hermione, but also about Draco from Slytherin and how he has “the prettiest hair and his eyes sparkle-” and Remus and Sirius just give each other knowing looks.

And he’s about to say something else after talking about his classes but hesitates; everyone asks him about it, but he denies everything.

•He goes back to school after winter break and some time after his second Quidditch match as the youngest seeker in a century, one morning at breakfast he gets a howler.

He knows fully well what it is because he grew up in a house with the Marauders who liked to send them back and forth for fun-

“WILL YOU PASS THE SALT?”

“I CAN’T THROW PETER THAT FAR!”

But anyway, he gets one and looks at his friends and then at Draco across the hall because he’s absolutely terrified an doesn’t know what he did. Eventually (with much convincing) he opens it.

“HARRY JAMES POTTER! HOW COULD YOU NOT TELL ME THAT YOU MADE THE QUIDDITCH TEAM?

YOUR MOTHER AND I ARE SO PROUD OF YOU HOLY SHI-” and then it’s Lily’s voice.

“Harry, sweetie we’re so proud of you! You must’ve gotten some of James’s talent-” (you can hear James going crazy in the background; knocking stuff over and generally screaming like a psychopath) “where James got his, I have no idea”

And then it’s just Remus, Sirius and Peter going crazy (yes, even Moony).

When it finally ends, the great hall just sits stunned for a moment, before Dumbledore starts slow clapping and everyone joins in. All the teachers are just rolling their eyes because they definitely remember the Marauders. About 5 seconds later the Potters’ owl flies in with a new Nimbus 2000 and a note that says ‘Don’t tell your mother’

•Harry bringing Draco home in their 5th year to meet his parents over Christmas break, and when he goes home Harry has to remind his parents and uncles that “No, we aren’t dating! That’s absolutely absurd!” And everyone just looking at each other like ‘yeah, sure kid’

•Harry choosing to be a pro Quidditch player as his profession after admitting to his parents that he snuck out one night with Ron, Hermione and Draco to go try out for Puddlemore United because they had just lost their seeker and he made the team.

And James and Sirius crying with pride because their little Harry is going to be a world famous Quidditch player.

“There won’t be a person alive who doesn’t know his name” James said while ruffling his son’s hair.

•Harry in his 6th year asking Remus when he knew he was gay and coming out to Moony and Padfoot as Bi and both of them going

“Yeah, we know”

And Harry just looking so surprised and then telling them that he and Draco started dating in October and that he wanted to have him for Christmas but didn’t want to tell his dad why, and James (who was under the invisibility cloak)

“Yeah, sure he can come. But no sex after 11 pm.”

And Harry screaming like a girl from surprise and then sputtering like an idiot in response to the sex comment.

•Peter taking Harry to honeydukes before he was allowed to go with his school and Peter just completely spoiling him and buying so much that they can hardly get it home.

They sneak through the house to get to Harry’s room but meet James in the middle, who of course joins them.

They open the door to Harry’s room just to find Remus and Lily sitting on the bed with the most bored expressions on their faces. Harry looks down in shame and drops all the candy on the floor, but Lily just raises an eyebrow and goes

“Well? Aren’t you going to share?” An everyone eating their fill of candy just on Harry’s bed, and Sirius taking all the good stuff and running from the room and everyone chasing him around the house.

•When Harry turns seventeen the Marauder’s teach him to become an Animagus (and get registered). James is incredibly proud when he turns out to have a stag Animagus form as well.

Draco being terrified because he walks into Harry’s room over summer break and there’s a fucking deer casually chilling on his boyfriend’s bed like what

And Ron riding on Harry’s back to make a stupidly grand entrance picking Hermione up from her house in the middle of a muggle neighborhood

•Just the Marauders being alive please and thank you

[slashficcingacrosstheuniverse]

Stranger than None

It has been...perhaps it has been months, actually. The house is passably clean. It’s fine. It’s a bachelor pad, and there’s dust in the corners and the towels smell like damp, but that’s not the worst thing anyone has lived with. And the grout is an unappetising peachy orange and the plates are a little bit sticky all the way around but he has washed them and he is coping and he’s fine.

Being fine is why Ron is staring at the window. The light is on inside where he is, and it’s night outside so he can’t see anything out there, but that’s fine too. Windows have made him jump for a long, long time. A blank, bright window with only walls to shine at him is just fine.

Being fine is why the beer in Ron’s hand is warm, why he’s been picking idly at the same snacks all week, why his middle is soft and his eyes are tired. Being fine has been terribly hard work.

When Ron gives up and goes to bed, he sleeps on his own side of the bed, and he carefully doesn’t put the light on or look at the rest of the room. `He hasn’t changed the sheets in...in too long. He hasn’t changed the sheets since.

He has stopped trying to keep track of time. He knows with uncomfortable clarity that this is what no on e says after a war. He has survived every single second one after another and now there’s nothing left to fight but he can’t stop. He isn’t barrelling drunk through pubs or women or jobs like some, instead he is stuck in inertia. He’s solidified so thoroughly that he can’t always distinguish waking from the sleep paralysis that haunts him. Sometimes he can’t move his limbs at all. He’s just so busy fighting.

When he wakes, the other side of the bed is still empty. Very, very slowly, with limbs like branches that have never belonged to him, he hauls off the duvet and peels away the cover. He climbs, slowly, slowly, over the bed, dragging the sheet from the corners of the mattress, until all of it is a limp heap of rags in his arms. He throws them into an old tin bath in the garden, and slowly remembers the spell to make them wash, and then he watches the suds slip gaily over the edges, and sits on the back step, and feels late autumn sun warm the toes of his slippers, and he cries into a mug of tea until he has cried all he had to cry and drunk all he had to drink.

He finds himself apparently without moving to have walked into the living room. Everything is fine, except there in front of his eyes is the letter with Hermione’s results from St Mungo’s. Lying flat on the top of her to-read pile, just perfectly at eye level, with the slightest fur of dust.

Hermione’s inky fingerprints are still on the corner, and the seal is unbroken, and he thinks about finding her here, with her mouth open and all her last breaths already gone, and he is glad. He sets his empty cup down next to hers, and finds himself speaking into the air. ‘There now, love. Soon have the place fixed up.’

[slashficcingacrosstheuniverse]

Hermione: Guys, I'm not sure you're allowed to do that.

George: Don't worry about it.

Hermione: But it's against the rules!

Fred: Don't worry love, we have permission. *hands her a piece of paper*

Hermione: This is just a scrap of paper that says "we do what we want".

[slashficcingacrosstheuniverse]

Molly: Alright, listen up you little shits.

Molly: ...Not you, Harry. You're an angel and we're thrilled you're here.

[the-marauders-gang]

Fleur delacour

Reading hp and the half blood prince and then I get to the part where Bill gets attacked and has a scar and molly just jumps in saying “oh well I guess that’s the wedding cancelled” and all I think is fleur looking her dead in the eye and saying “I think the fuck not” just this girl is amazing don’t think she’s some stuck up bitch cause she’s just amazing and I love her

[slashficcingacrosstheuniverse]

The Art of Precision

A Gryffindor, a cottage, a time after the war.

There is a pleasure to routine.

In the morning, he rises when the sun breaks over the fields, casting the long shadow of the cottage over the cliffs.

A scoop of tea leaves, a muggle kettle set boiling, a single mug. The brief tannic steam, the lid clinking on; the sound is flat because he drops the teapot lid regularly, and it’s held together now with muggle glue.

He wraps his fingers around the too-hot mug and lets the searing heat gather in his blood, until his cold fingertips ring with it. He stands with his hips against the scrubbed-clean wood and gazes down into the tea. He takes it black because he has never quite got the hang of shopping for himself, and too many curds of yellow milk have rather put him off.

When he has drunk his tea and showered, he puts of clothes that have been folded precisely, stored with care. Every few months, he takes everything out and puts little cedar disks into the cupboards to ward off moths. His clothes all smell like cedar now, but he only notices when he’s fresh from the shower, or on long summer evenings when he finally closes the window against the darkening sky and the scent of his own room warms against the sea air.

He walks every morning, down the long cliff path to the beach. It is a walk without purpose, and he likes that. He runs his fingers against the marram grass, or smells the coconut-sweet gorse where the sun touches it. He picks up sea glass, letting its silky warmth rest in his palm. Sometimes he takes home driftwood for the fire, so he can sit and work while it cracks and spits in the grate.

For a while, now, his wand has been resting on the fireplace. Sometimes he thinks about casting it into the fire and being done, for ever, with who he was. He twists away from the thought. He has become an expert at not thinking about it, about anything that makes him feel that way. He succumbs to routine, to sea glass and tea and the smell of woodsmoke.

He bakes. It surprises him. A routine of precision, ingredients and heat, gratifying results guaranteed by absolute focus. He bakes rather more than he eats, so his neighbours come to like the quiet, strange man with his shy gifts.

When he first moved here he bought a car. They are far out from the nearest muggle town here, and further from a wizard population, and he thought it would make him look less out of place, but he never uses it. He walks into the village when he needs something, though he tries not to need very much.

Sometimes the baking overwhelms him. He rolls out pastry and the flat fat slab reminds him so sharply of Molly that he has to turn away. Or a cake emerges perfect from the hot muggle oven and it seems entirely likely that the twins will appear to steal slices and burn their mouths. The twin, he supposes now.

Disgrace is not what he thought it might be. He was on the wrong side - not the dark side, that at least is true, but the stupid side, the blind and proud side. His family have forgiven him, they miss and infrequently bother him, but forgiveness is not something he can think about. He has lost a brother, and perhaps that needn’t have happened. Perhaps that wouldn’t have happened if not for him.

On quiet nights (they are all quiet nights), he watches the bats wheel about the sky, dashing under the eaves, or he sits and watches the fire. He eats things that he has grown, and sometimes he reads, but mostly he carries on working. Quiet little pieces of work with which a clever but problematic man can be trusted, he supposes. Calculations, analytical problems, geographical puzzles on the populations of necessary herbs. Weather that might affect spell plant crops, or the migrations of important beasts. All numbers and unthreatening words.

In the trials of the terrible and the unkind and the deviant, he is too small and unimportant to count. He lives his quiet life, alone by the sea, and when he is feeling at his strongest, he reckons with himself.

It is raining when someone knocks at the door. This doesn’t happen often. Family members insist on apparating despite his muggle neighbours, and his colleagues simply owl. He has almost forgotten he has a front door, let alone a knocker upon it. He looks up from his work, gazing blindly at the sea as he tries to remember what the sound can be, and then he walks barefoot down the steep stairs to the door.

Draco Malfoy has grown lean and silver-grey with age. ‘Percy Weasley. We should talk.’

[shotagunatthewall-blog]

On Ron and Draco’s wedding day, after they got married, Harry walking up to them and saying to Draco “Blonde hair, brand new robes, you must be a weasley”

[every-broken-bone-blog]

A pic to keep the blog active and shit :)

[slashficcingacrosstheuniverse]

AUGH, I die 😍💀

[enemies-to-lovers]

[rivkat]

(gasp) I just saw that your post about the fic authors asks! If you'd indulge me, since I go back and read this fic every few months or so--would you do #11, #12, and #14 for 'Rough Riders'?

Rough Riders

 11: What do you like best about this fic?

 I’m still very proud of this overall!  I thought it integrated character well withthe sex scenes, and I liked trying to show that Dean was not necessarily areliable narrator in that he was also afraid of the vulnerability that tendersex with Sam specifically would show.

 12: What do you like least about this fic?

 Sam repeats essentially the same question in two different interactions, only rewordedslightly, and it annoys me every time I notice it.

 14: Is there anything you wanted readers to learn from readingthis fic?

 I’m not sure I’d put it that way, but I wanted to explore howpeople can be really well-meaning, sexually, and still not communicating.

[slashficcingacrosstheuniverse]

A Cave in a No Sea

'We spent a lot of time together, once' Baelfire is seventeen. His fingertips are callused but now he knows the way through the caves by touch alone. The rains come in mid-afternoon, sweeping up from the bay; they drench the forest and hurl themselves back out to sea. The water pours down the hillside and it is the safest Bae ever feels. The rough wooden door becomes glossy and green with a slick of leaves and mud, and his path is washed clean through the forest. Pan will find him. Pan has always found him, but he has not found this place, and cold beneath the hill he feels safe. Hook is a childish tyrant. His pirates rebel, and play, and spill across the dirty deck of the ship. He rolls, laughing and drunk, onto the sands. He dances with lost boys and they terrorise each other with a careless kind of glee. He is slumped against a tree when the rains come. Bae sighs and tucks his arms around him. He isn't careful, dragging Hook through the forest, and when they fall through the door Hook is muddy and soaked. Hook smells. He smells like a boy who lives only with boys. Bae chances a fire and his warming clothes make the cave smell like feet and beer and it fills the air in a fug. Hook wakes and grins lazily at the heat. 'Baelfire. You took me home.' His breath is a gust of old beer. 'I should tell you that I sincerely regret it. When did you last take a bath?' Hook tips his head back against the mud floor and laughs. 'Sailors don't have baths. At best we fall in the sea but as you may have observed, Bae, I am nimble.' 'Nimble. Really? You're a drunk and an idiot. I'd believe you spend more time in the drink than on the deck if only you smelled better.' Baelfire stands back, leaning against the wall of the cave. 'In fact, there's a chance the lost boys smell better and you can track them for miles' Hook stands, stretching his arms up and scratching at his stomach. 'Well Bae, it's been delightful. I can't thank you enough for your gracious hospitality. Your kind words are a balm to my weary soul.' He pulled Bael close with a sweep, pressing his mouth to Bael's temple. 'For you, I might even have a wash' and he was gone.

[slashficcingacrosstheuniverse]

Sharp as Blunt

NOW Dean wakes. The room is hot as hell, drenched with humidity from the river. There is a vampire stood at the end of the bed. As Dean's eyes focus, the vampire puts his hands on his hips, tilting his head, eyes narrowing. Dean clears his throat. 'Honey. Come to bed.' THEN Dean is scrabbling at the brickwork. A knuckle splits, his nails tear in the gritty mortar, but he gets himself upright and jesus, before he can even breathe the vamp is on him again. It's fighting like he has never fought before. No holds barred, nothing is safe, and Dean's poor sore guts are pulsing with pain from that punch. It's so dark Dean can't see him moving but he knows this thing isn't feinting; this fight is not technical. It's a fight to the death and in the back of his head he is fucking scared. There is blood on his face and he can hear himself scraping in breaths as hard as he can, neither of them quite managing to get in front. The vamp's hands are on his throat but he twists away and both fists are going for its face but it is so fast, and Dean's mind is yelling the sand word, Sam Sam samsamsamsamsam. The no-Sam Dean, the one who won't look at other hunters because he is the only surviving Winchester, he reads sports books and the diaries of dead hunters and frankly anything in front of him, and he knows that this is when you lose. This is when it slips out of your grasp, this is the moment you - you don't let go, exactly, but you fail to hold on. There is no Sam and no Dad and no other hunter and no Castiel and suddenly, from nowhere, he is so angry he is winning. The vamp has apparently been punching the living hell out of him for the entire duration of his little mental monologue, and all Dean has to do is grab him and turn him around and slam him into that same shitty wall and grab the stake and that's when someone screams 'NO!' down the alley. Dean stops because he knows that scream and because for a long moment he had forgotten there was anything except this fight. He turns. 'Lucy. Honey. This is the fucker that-' 'Why are you hitting him Dean!?' 'He's the vamp that-' 'No! No Dean that's the man that saved me!' Dean turns to look at the bloodied up vamp, which is standing with its hands on its knees, puffing. It hasn't even tried to kill him while he was distracted. Wincing, it straightens up and offers him a hand. 'Hi. I'm Caleb. How long have you been in the stake first, ask questions later business?' TBC

[sideraclara]

no but bi harry deliberately fucking with ron like they’re at christmas dinner or w/e and harry just goes “you know ron i’m in love with your sister and everything but if bill was single…goddamn. i’d go there”

bill winks across the table at harry

ron screams

[thatwriterchickyouknow]

“GODDAMN IT YOU CAN’T TAKE ALL MY SIBLINGS, HARRY.”

[thatcouldhavegoneworse-moved]

“Don’t worry, Ron, you can keep Percy.”

[sasstronauuut-deactivated201906]

I FUKCGIN PISSED MYSELF

[drarrycontrary-blog]

Oh God…and Harry flirting shamelessly with Fred and George and them flirting back just to piss Ron off…..I need it

[drarry-queen]

Ron wakes up to harry wearing a different Weasleys sweater every morning

[zombb-8-deactivated20190924]

bless this post

[marauders4evr]

Hey Warner Bros, have I got a cash cow for you to milk.

Now I never got into Pokemon. But all of this hype surrounding Pokemon Go has given me an idea.

And that idea is an app where you turn the real world into the wizarding world.

Think about it.

Make the entire world into a Harry Potter video game. You hold up your phone and all of a sudden there’s a Dementor in the street. Facing him now will surely mean death. So you have to go around the neighborhoods and collect Bertie Botts Beans (again, Harry Potter video game) so that you can exchange them for the Patronus Charm. You can also collect Wizard Cards and can do things to earn house points. (Much like Pottermore.) Along the way, you run into all sorts of creatures and characters. I’m not sure why Bellatrix Lestrange has decided to hang out at your grandmother’s house but you know what, there’s no time to question it, you need to open up your spell inventory and choose the right one to defeat her. Your loyalty is to your house but at the same time, you also want to collect as many beans/cards and defeat as many evil characters as you possibly can. The ultimate goal of the game is to find the locations of the horcruxes so that you can destroy them and defeat Voldemort. 

Seriously, Warner Bros. do it.