you don't get me high anymore

Try explaining a life bundled with episodes of this-- swallowing mud, swallowing glass, the smell of blood on the first four knuckles.

[dreamergirl939]

you look just like your mother i guess i do carry her tenderness well you both have the same eyes cause we are both exhausted and the hands we share the same wilting fingers but that rage your mother doesn’t wear that anger you’re right this rage is the one thing i get from my father

Rupi Kaur, Milk and Honey (via dreamergirl939)

[uranodioning]

“are you a top or a bottom?” i’m a threat

[tcrquinmctavish]

ofrosier‌:

Evan understood Tarquin’s resentment towards the pureblood community. When they were younger and they were bound by nothing more than the ties of a tentative companionship, the contrast in their backgrounds was jarring to him. His father always told him that solidarity was the foundation upon which their community was built; that it was both the sinew that tied the bones of lineages together and the blood that fed into their power. Pure blood brings forth pure ties, his father had once said. Evan had put his faith in that principle; as he always did with all the words of wisdom that his father bestowed upon him. But then he had met Tarquin, with his bruised knuckles, tussled hair, and a hatred that could have burned Hogwarts to the ground. A testament that your lineage could break you down just as easily as it could lift you up; a truth that, for the longest time, Evan had trouble comprehending. Until his father died and that truth made itself plainly known to him as grim, bare-faced apathy, hardening the eyes of his father’s comrades and tilting their mouths in cruel, welcoming smirks as they welcomed him into their treacherous ranks. That was the moment when Tarquin’s resentment transformed from a mere notion that they both acknowledged, to a commonality. A scar that marred both of their hearts and chased away the hope they once carried; defiling and defacing them until they were nothing but charred lumps of flesh, pumping life and blood out of mere habit. “We’re still part of it, Tarq,” Evan said, a shadow falling over his eyes and easing them into a half-mast. “Regardless of how we feel about it, we cannot allow the war to end with our society being snuffed out. We would wind up losing a lot more than we would gain.” The words were spoken factually, with utter detachment and not an ounce of hesitation. It had become an instinctive response at this point. Thankfully, Evan didn’t dwell on it much longer as Tarquin’s following statement cut off his trail of thought, prompting an eyeroll from Evan, followed by an exasperated huff. “You are the one making it complicated. I told you that I’m aware I should have done that, didn’t I?”

“And you’re just as difficult,” He shot back; not returning his best friend’s smile but allowing his eyes to glimmer affectionately. Evan parted his lips in preparation for a long-winded argument that he was not a child and that he didn’t need to be looked over as though he were one as he was fully capable of taking care of himself—but then the words lodged in his throat, the breath dying in his lungs as he looked up at Tarquin, subtly wide-eyed and tense. He looked away, clenching his jaw; he swallowed then looked up at his best friend, unable to help the emotion that lit his eyes aflame. “What do you hope to achieve with that, Tarquin? Surely, there must be some benefit you aim to gain from this and if that benefit is forcing me to stand where he once stood and reminisce, then you might as well give up on it.” He emphasized the words venomously, upper lip coiling in disgust if only for the emotion he could feel tightening the cords of his throat and constricting the mass of his chest. He let the words hang between them like an abandoned noose but he viscerally knew that Tarquin didn’t have any ulterior motives in mind; if anything, he had Evan’s best interest in mind. Despite knowing that, Evan only saw it for the cruelty it wasn’t, especially when Tarquin mentioned the engagement only a moment later. Couldn’t they just sit in the open air? Couldn’t they just go anywhere else? Do anything else? Reigning in the pain threatening to push into the aggravated squint of his eyes, Evan sighed, reaching up to briefly rub his forehead before looking up at Tarquin with an implicit apology, shaking his head softly. “I can’t, Tarq. I don’t… want to face it, alright?” I don’t want to face his memory. I can’t stand where he stood.

Sometimes Tarquin wondered if they would still have been friends if he hadn’t been a pureblood. He would have liked to think that they would be, that their friendship was strong enough to have crossed the boundaries constructed in the magical world but if he was honest, he also knew that in all likelihood they wouldn’t have been. Evan would probably have considered him beneath him and Tarquin would have considered him just another Pureblood who was far too blinded by his own self importance to see what was right in front of them. Though his family had no money to speak of, they did have a pure lineage and in a way it was what had brought them together. They had fallen with each other in their childhood when factors such as social standing made no difference but if it hadn’t been for their blood status, they wouldn’t have met each other until Hogwarts and till then the first seeds of mistrust would already have been sowed. Instead, by the time they had entered Hogwarts, their friendship was already strong enough to withstand the social pressures and had grown stronger since with every storm they had wavered together. How ironic that Tarquin harbored such deep hatred for the society he was born into but the person he called his family was so deeply rooted in it. The sudden change in Evan - the almost robotic way he repeated the words that Tarquin imagined he had probably said countless times before -  was alarming. It made him want to shake Evan, to remind him not to lose his own self even if he did someone else's bidding. “What would we lose, Evan?” he questioned, letting out a hollow laugh. “Lose a tradition that will have you trapped in a marriage you don’t want where the best you can hope for is that you don’t want to murder each other in your sleep just so you can have children who will continue this same way because they believe in this same bullshit?” Tarquin was all blunt edges and sharp words but Evan lied best when he lied to himself and it was something he didn’t- couldn’t indulge him in. “Think of everyone you know of who’s left this hell, either willingly or because they were forced out of it. There’s a reason no one misses it.”

Tarquin responded with a slight laugh, he could hardly dispute that. But then his words struck Tarquin like a physical blow. Strangely the first thing that registered was how Evan had called him by his full name. He could not hide the split second of hurt that crossed his face until he turned it away, his jaw set and schooling his expression in his usual one. This was the power he gave Evan; to send him reeling with nothing but a few words even when he heard so much worse on a regular basis. His hand was grasping the recliner far too tightly and the look he finally set on Evan would have made anyone else flinch. It certainly wasn’t a look Evan usually found himself on the receiving end of. “First of all, fuck you for ever thinking I would make you do anything for my benefit.” What Tarquin aimed to gain from this was one goddamn morning where Evan would actually relax. “I get it man, you think that because that’s the way you work and that’s the way everyone else around you work but don’t you fucking dare think that way about me.” The effort of keeping his tone at that controlled level burned through him but Tarquin knew that Evan was aware he only wanted to best for him. He was only trying to protect himself from a threat that wasn’t there but Tarquin understood so he couldn’t even be angry. “Evan-” He cut himself off, taking a sharp breath because what he wanted to say was too hard to put into words and yet he knew it needed to be said anyway. Tarquin flexed his fingers, looking down at the ground before meeting his eyes again. “Ev, fishing with you two was maybe the first time I felt-” his throat closed around the emotion but he forced the words out anyway. They sounded so pathetic to his own ears but that was simply another built in defense. “A part of a family. I just want us to remember something good.” Vulnerability wasn’t something he was used to but somewhere between him fighting against every instinct that had told to stop and knowing that this was what he needed to do, his features had softened. He kneeled down beside Evan’s recliner. He saw the apology in Evan’s eyes and knew a similar one was mirrored in his own. “Your life didn’t end when his did and that may fucking suck sometimes-” he laughed dryly, the words a bitter reminder, “Trust me, I’d fucking know but you can still-” Tarquin let his words trail, wanting to tell him that he could still enjoy all those things but that would have just made him sound like a hypocrite. He forced his lips in a smile in an attempt to dismiss the remaining tension, “And besides I want to go fishing so do it for me if nothing else.”

[lifeinpoetry]

listen the first language they teach you to speak is loss

— Destiny Hemphill, from “prophecy for when you try to return,” Oracle: A Cosmology

[tcrquinmctavish]

☤ , ↕

☤ — a memory of death/loss

Tarquin remembered his mother’s funeral in flashes.

 More than the actual events he always remembered the sinking feeling in his chest, he remembered feeling so completely untethered from everything going around him. It didn’t help that he had known it was going to happen, after all she had been sick for a while. Only that the reality of it was so crushing, absolutely nothing could have prepared him for it. He was drowning in his own misery, in all the things he should have said. He didn’t remember her funeral but God, he remembered every single bitter word that had crossed his lips. He remembered the way her face had caved in every single time until without fail, she had pulled herself together, patted his cheek and laughed it off. More than anything else he remembered his mother’s laugh, the way it had lit up any room she was in. Her children had that same laugh but no one would have guessed it because few had heard Tarquin laugh freely and Theia was far away. 

Tarquin wanted to only remember the good things about his mother. He had wanted to remember her as the mother she had wanted to be; the one who had called him mi cielito ( he couldn’t remember the last time she had called him by his name and not some term of endearment) and loved to hear him play the piano but the resentment almost choked him every time he thought of how time and time again she had chosen the man who had hurt them over her own children. It turned everything inside him smoldering red, the way she had never defended him but never defied him either. It left him grasping for breath whenever he thought of the ways she had let them down when they were too young to fight for themselves.

And yet, she had loved him. She had loved everyone she came across, even those that weren’t worthy of her but she had loved him in a way made him fall to pieces at all the ways he had rejected it. 

And so, this was what he remembered of his mother’s funeral:

he remembered his sister setting foot in the manor that her father had thrown her out of for the first time since she was eleven, looking every bit the image of their mother. he remembered evan speaking to him but he didn’t remember what he had said, instead he remembered feeling as if he was floating above the whole scene; evan’s hand on his arm and him standing completely still until evan had fallen silent as he realized nothing he was saying was reaching him.

 he didn’t remember until later how his relatives were talking about his sister being cursed and how she had walked away from them with more iron and strength than he could ever possess. at that time he had only felt evan tightening his hold on his arm which was just as well - the last thing he needed to do was cause a scene at his mother’s funeral. oh no, he would find plenty of ways to give in to his rage later.

he remembered sitting next to evan and feeling like a ghost; a shell of a person, someone who was present but not alive. and hell, even he had known that was wrong and so, he had dug his nails hard enough in his best friend’s arm to leave crescent marks. evan had covered his hand with his own for one brief moment and he had used evan as something to hold on to as he forced himself back inch by painful inch.

he remembered his sister wiping away her tears but he had never cried, he was chiseled out of stone and stone didn’t weep and he would never put his pain on display like this, but then she had always been stronger than him. he remembered how their father had been walking towards them, how his sister had taken half a step behind him and he had steeled himself but all he could think of was not here. not now. he didn’t have the energy for this. and just like that, evan’s mother had stepped in front of them, shielding them from any more damage that day. he didn’t remember the sharp words she had spoken but he remembered his father wilting. he remembered evan’s solid presence behind him and he remembered feeling not so terribly alone in that moment.

↕ — a memory that may or may not have happened

there were many reasons tarquin didn’t drink. the first one was obvious; it was what he had seen his father do his entire life and there were already enough similarities between the two of them without him forcing another. besides tarquin was quite capable of ruining his life without the drinking. he didn’t need alcohol to have a temper that could be triggered at the slightest of infractions, didn’t need alcohol to give in to the violence coursing through his veins. 

he also could never properly remember what had happened the next day and that was another one of the reasons. there was either a blank where his memory should be or he only remembered fragments, the edges always blurred. it scared him in a way and so, tarquin had innumerable flaws but drinking wasn’t one. 

the months after his mother’s death were spent in a haze though and it was cruel because he knew seeing him downing one bottle after the other would have broken her heart. but she wasn’t there anymore so what was the fucking point in thinking of her. it was the first time he understood his father to some degree, drinking made him forget and there was a sort of bliss in that.

he was drunk when he showed up at the rosier manor that night and he knew that had happened because it was where he woke up the next day but anything else was up for debate.

his broken memory was hardly reliable but evan had opened the door, his eyes tired with exhaustion but still somehow sharp as he took in tarquin’s state. tarquin had readied himself for disappointment but there was only relief in evan’s eyes and he felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulder. he had been avoiding him but isolation was the only way he knew of to deal with this overwhelming sadness. this grief was what he owed his mother for the necessary crime of going on living without her.

his hands were bloody, the result of yet another underground fight, a sort of high he chased because God he was so tired of feeling hollow. this one had been bad though but he knew he had won. if he hadn’t he wouldn’t still be standing.

evan had taken one look at his hands and led him to the couch. tarquin didn’t know if they had exchanged any words though he did know that there had never been any need for them. evan understood him better than he himself did. he had returned moments later with a bowl filled with clean water, cotton and bandages. evan had made him sink his hands in the water and tarquin had watched with indifference as it turned red. it had hurt when evan disinfected the wounds but evan had treated him with such care, his movements so slow and gentle that tarquin had to swallow against the infinite tenderness he felt for this man.

 no one else had ever bothered with him and there had been so many times he had expected evan to give up on him but he had been right there every time he turned out without fail. his fingers closed around evan’s wrist as he finished bandaging his other hand. he didn’t want him to move away and the next thing he knew their faces were inches away. tarquin could never make sense of what happened next - no many how many times he tried to sift through the blurry memory- but then their lips met for the briefest of moments, it was a kiss but not quite, not really, it was more of a ghost of a kiss. they moved away at the same time, both of them at the precipice but never taking the leap. tarquin knew he couldn’t, he would not let himself ruin the one real relationship he had left. he treasured their friendship far too much to play with it. he touched evan’s jaw with aching fingers, until his fingers fell to the hollow of his neck. tarquin let out a shaky breath, and then another as he let his head fall against evan’s shoulder, willing his heart to slow down and his mind to stop spinning. he let out the saddest laugh because he had already lost too much and he wouldn’t let himself lose this as well.

the next day he woke up with a raging headache but in a bed. he sat up the moment the fragmented memories started to come back but the things he remembered were senseless. he flexed his hands in a fist to find them completely healed - which made sense. why would evan bandage him when he could heal the injuries far more effectively with a flick of his wand? had he just dreamt the whole thing? tarquin couldn’t completely rule out the possibility, not after a night of drinking and not after the events had taken on the same liquid form of dreams, blending in one another. every time he tried to hold onto a memory, it slipped away. when he finally dressed and left the room for breakfast, everything was as it should be. evan clapped his shoulder in his usual way and when their eyes met, tarquin saw nothing that would make him believe that anything out of the ordinary had happened. of course evan would know for sure but tarquin never found the words to ask. 

he buried the incident in the deepest recesses of his mind, never let himself touch on it and never spoke to evan about it. he told himself that nothing had ever happened, that it had been a dream or his mind playing tricks on him and god this was why he didn’t drink. he would have convinced himself too, if it hadn’t been for how evan was a beacon in a field of gray, all blending in each other. if it hadn’t been for how, for that one infinitesimal moment when their lips had touched, he had felt so goddamn alive.  

[tcrquinmctavish]

sullivanmock‌:

clearliquors:

BOLD what applies to your muse.

PLACE IN SOCIETY

financial: wealthy / moderate / poor / in poverty.

medical: fit / moderate / sickly / disabled / disadvantaged.

class or caste: upper / middle / working / slave / unsure.

education: qualified / unqualified / studying.

criminal record: yes, for major crimes / yes, for minor crimes / no.

FAMILY

married - happily / married - unhappily / engaged or betrothed / partnered / single / divorced / separated.

has a child or children / has no children / wants children.  

close with sibling(s) / not close with sibling(s) / has no siblings / sibling(s) is deceased.

orphaned / adopted / disowned / raised by birth parent(s).

TRAITS + TENDENCIES

extroverted / introverted / in between.

disorganized / organized / in between.

close minded / open-minded  / in between.

calm / anxious / in between.

disagreeable / agreeable / in between.

cautious / reckless / in between.

patient / impatient / in between.

outspoken / reserved / in between.

leader / follower / in between.

empathetic / unemphatic / in between.

optimistic / pessimistic / in between.

traditional / modern / in between.

hard-working / lazy / in between.

cultured / un-cultured / in between 

loyal / disloyal / in between.

faithful / unfaithful / unknown.

BELIEFS:

monotheist / polytheist / atheist / agnostic.

belief in ghosts or spirits: yes / no / don’t know / don’t care.

belief in an afterlife: yes / no / don’t know / don’t care.

belief in reincarnation: yes / no / don’t know / don’t care.

belief in aliens: yes  / no / don’t know / don’t care.

religious: orthodox / liberal / in between / not religious.

philosophical: yes / no.

SEXUALITY + ROMANTIC INCLINATION

heterosexual / homosexual / bisexual / asexual / pansexual.

sex repulsed / sex neutral / sex favourable.

romance repulsed / romance neutral / romance favourable.

sexually: adventurous / experienced / naive / inexperienced / curious.

potential sexual partners: male / female / agender / other / none / all.

potential romantic partners: male / female / agender / other / none / all.

ABILITIES

combat skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none.

literacy skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

artistic skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

technical skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none.

HABITS

drinking alcohol: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

smoking: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess. 

other narcotics: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

indulgent food: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess. 

splurge spending: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

gambling: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

[the-write-ideas]

do you believe you are incapable of love, or just unworthy of it?

[oldschoolteenflicks]

[xxmoved-blog]

memory meme.

[justanotherrpmeme]

past experiences help shape who we are currently, how we see the world. Send in a symbol and I’ll write a drabble of one of my muse’s memories. 

❥ — a childhood memory ♣ — a fading memory ✂ — a vivid memory ✖ — a repressed memory ✈ — an eye-opening memory ✤ — a memory that involves romance/love ☤ — a memory of death/loss ✍ — a memory of their mother ☽ — a memory of their father ♘ -- a memory of their sibling(s) ✌ — a memory of a relative ↕ — a memory that may or may not have happened ♚ — a memory of something paranormal ✓ — a sexual memory ♬ — a friend/best friend memory

[annakareninas]

The Secret History, 1992. 

[tcrquinmctavish]

ofrosier‌:

“Yes, it isn’t. What would I have written to you, anyway? A tally of those who were swallowed up by the flames?” Evan drawled, his words deliberately callous; not because he was apathetic towards the incident but simply because it was easier to hide behind the illusion of apathy than confront the root of it. In actuality, there was several aspects of the fiendfyre that he still couldn’t process; primarily the fact that he could have lost both his mother and Barty. The thought prompted him to steal a glance at Tarquin and Evan’s eyes shuttered with renewed relief that his best friend hadn’t been subjected to such danger. Not that he wouldn’t have counted on Tarquin’s survival but knowing him, he definitely would have compromised his safety to find Evan and his mother. Another aspect of the fire that unsettled him was howunprecedented it was. The Minister officially announced that despite continued investigation, it was established that the fiendfyre had been nothing more than a ‘practiced joke’ but Evan was reluctant to believe that. A charm of that scale couldn’t have possibly been a mere joke but at the same time, if it were a premeditated assault, what was the purpose behind it? And who was the perpetrator? Could it have been a covert Death Eater mission? He wouldn’t put it past Voldemort to order an attack that could result in the demise of his own followers but even that narrative seemed to have a missing link.

The risks, the causes, the fallen; they were all aspects that Evan deliberately forgone. Right now, he only wished to focus on his relief that he hadn’t lost anyone in that incident. The emotion lingered, foreign yet calming; easing his bones from their usual tension and halting the rush of his thoughts before gentle fingertips latched onto his chin and just like that, his body seized with tension once again. He looked up at Tarquin in a mild glare of exasperation. “No, Tarq, we would have only slowed each other down and you know that. Besides, you couldn’t have seen that coming. No one did.” He willed his body to relax, briefly reaching up to grip Tarquin’s forearm in silent reassurance before urging his hand away. He gave a sharp exhale as his companion settled in his seat before frowning, mild irritation pushing into his tone as he responded, “God, you’re relentless. The fire grazed my arm, alright, but the burn was mild and I treated it as soon as I came back. That’s it. Have I quelled your suspicions? Are you satisfied now?” Evan looked away, jaw clenching as he battled the scowl that threatened to take over his expression. Anyone else would have received a scathing response to such an observation but Tarquin was always an exception to the rule; Evan merely shrugged despite his inward discomfort. “Work’s been a bit hectic so I’ve had a lot of paperwork to go over, that’s all. I stay up late for it and you know that. It’s nothing new.”

“You think I would have given a fuck if the entire Pureblood society went up in flames?” He replied derisively, scoffing under his breath. His resentment for the place he had been born into it was always present and always simmering, it was only in moments like these that it came to the surface. It was hardly out of jealousy as many had assumed, but because no amount of wealth could hide the ugliness lurking underneath. It was only then that Tarquin thought of his father for the first time since he had heard of the incident. The man was desperate enough to attend any gala he could but he was probably alive if Tarquin hadn’t heard of his demise. A pity. “Good riddance when it comes to most of them and it seems like the quickest way to end the war,” his words might have been heartless but Tarquin could count the people he truly cared about being alive on one hand. He was thankful his sister was far away from this war, no matter the circumstances that led to it because he knew there was simply no way his outgoing and vivacious sister would have ever missed a party. That only left Evan and his mother - his family - and a select few people. “God, just fucking send me an owl telling me you and your mother are fine. It’s not that fucking complicated.”

Tarquin had been too consumed by worry to think about where the fire originated from but he had dismissed the idea of a prank as soon as he had heard it. If it had been the Death Eaters, Evan would have known but clearly he had been as in dark as Tarquin was. No wonder, the whole thing was making him so anxious. He tensely nodded in acknowledgment of his words and willed himself to relax; Evan was here and he wasn’t hurt; or well not too badly. “You’re just difficult,” he shot back, his lips curving in a small smile. His eyes immediately shot to his arm, “Not really and I won’t be satisfied until you show me.” Tarquin’s brows rose at that answer because he did know; he had been seeing Evan stay up late to work his entire life but there was something else weighing on him. Clearly by how annoyed his questioning had made him Evan was in no mood to talk about it but that didn’t mean he was about to leave it alone. He jumped to his feet, clapping his shoulder. “Come on, we’re going fishing,” he didn’t pose it as a question, didn’t give Evan a chance to say no. They hadn’t been fishing since Evan’s father had died and Tarquin knew he would avoid it. “And then we’ll have lunch with your mum, I haven’t visited her in ages,” Tarquin would have pulled him to his feet himself but he remembered the burn on his arm. “Come on Evan- you know this is the best time and you’re wasting it-” his lips curved in a grin. “Besides you’re getting engaged soon and who know if we’ll still be able to hang out like this,” He said, mentioning his engagement only to gauge if that was part of why Evan looked so tired.

[leekangdoo]

You are lashing out because you’re too sensitive. Yes, I was narrow-minded for a short while. Get over it.

[hitvvitch]

date: august 1st time: 1:19pm location: outside the ministry of magic status: open

Birthdays never felt like they were meant to be a holiday or a special occasion. Just another year of survival, another page on the calendar ripped off, another day with an ‘x’ through it, and another set of wrinkles around the eyes. It’s not like she couldn’t have cake every day if she wanted. That was one of the perks of being an adult with your own money and no one telling you what you could or couldn’t do. 

And yet, here she was. August the first, nineteen seventy nine. Thirty three years old. Ugh. Someone inside the office had magicked a party hat on her head when she wasn’t paying attention and then taken a picture and now the moving photograph of her in a sparking spotted hat with her thumb stuck in her mouth, deep in concentration, was posted all around the entire department, even the regular Auror section. 

So she had come outside for a smoke and some fresh air. An ironic combination. Head pointed towards the pavement, Hestia sensed someone approaching, but didn’t pay any mind until the a pair of shoes stopped right next to her. She addressed the person, whoever it was – well, their shoes anyway – without looking up. “I’m sorry, was I not looking closed off enough for you? Do I need to try harder?”

[tcrquinmctavish]

Tarquin had been in London, visiting his sister and so was in a much better mood than he was usually found in. He had decided to walk back to Diagon Alley, rather than apparate since the breeze was actually enjoyable. Besides he often liked the anonymity that came with being in Muggle London. In the Wizarding World, people tended to know each other or at the very least had heard of each other.

He glanced at the deceivingly decrepit building that he knew led to the Ministry of Magic and couldn’t help the slightly bitter taste in his mouth. He hadn’t been inside the place since his arrest; even when he dropped by to see Evan, his friend always met him outside. It was then that he spotted the woman, her head down as she smoked a cigarette. Tarquin didn’t usually interrupt people, he liked to be left alone himself and recognized the signs in others but right then, he could really do with a cigarette.

He recognized her voice and immediately regretted it. Apparently his day was about to be ruined and he hardly had anyone else to blame. There was no love lost between him and the Magical Law Enforcement. He was aware that he could be unfair sometimes but he didn’t exactly care. “I just meant to ask you if you had another cigarette,” he said with a hollow laugh, “But since it’s you-” he shrugged, pushing his hands in his pocket, “Never mind.” 

[tcrquinmctavish]

ofrosier‌:

The moment he felt the tug in his gut alerting him to a presence within the barrier set around the manor, Evan immediately knew that it was Tarquin. The last time they had seen each other was a few days before the auction and it made sense that he would rush over here to make sure that Evan was alright upon seeing news coverage of the fiendfyre. Besides, the aura of his magic was as familiar to him as his own. With a sigh, Evan took off his glasses before throwing them atop his papers and exiting his office room. Tarquin was already halfway up the stairs.

“I had no reason to, Tarq, but I recognize that I should have sent one, anyway.” Evan responded with a placating smile, trying to assure his best friend’s concerns before they escalated. He descended the stairs, coming up in front of Tarquin before grasping his shoulder, privately indulging his relief that he didn’t have a reason to reciprocate the other man’s concern. “Come. Let’s sit in the balcony.” He patted his shoulder heartily before leading them both down the stairs and towards one of the broad balconies in the reception area; it was their favorite place to spend time together inside the manor but they usually elected to hang out either on the grounds or somewhere in London. Evan actually had it in mind to ask Tarquin that they go somewhere tonight; mainly out of a desire to rid him of his worry rather than an actual need to go out. He had done quite enough of that last week. He waved his palm nonchalantly behind him, indicating that Tarquin had nothing to worry about. His right forearm was grazed by the fire but the family healer had already coated it with a salve that ought to leave it completely healed by tomorrow. That was the only injury he had sustained aside from a cut on his cheek from a collapsing piece of rubble. Overall, his injuries were inconsequential enough that there was no need for Tarquin to know about them; they would be gone in a matter of days.

He took a seat on a recliner, stretching his arms behind him. “I know I should have sent an owl as soon as that shit show was over but I just thought it was unnecessary. Just as your current fussing is unnecessary.”

“A fiendfyre isn’t enough reason?” his tone was flat, the raise of his brow unimpressed as if to drive home the fact just how ridiculous it sounded. They both knew that Evan had, in the past, reacted just as strongly to incidents much smaller He rolled his eyes but his lips quirked in a small anyway, mostly from relief than anything else. “There was reason and yes, you should have,” he corrected him under his breath as Evan led them down the stairs. Evan was all assurances, just like he knew he would be. His hand had been a solid weight on his shoulder and though seeing him had somewhat calmed the storm in his head it had not yet been quelled completely. He hadn’t exactly answered his question and the cut on his cheek hadn’t escaped his notice; Tarquin was sure there were other injuries he was hiding. He didn’t seem to be in any pain but Evan would always hide it until he simply couldn’t anymore. Until it showed through the cracks he had learned to look for.

 The Rosier household had become somewhat of a sanctuary for him in his younger years; he had explored every little corner of the vast estate with Evan and he knew it better than the downtrodden manor he had grown up in. The openness and the view from the balconies usually had a soothing effect on him but this morning, he was far too focused on Evan to let himself be distracted. Instead of taking his usual place on the other recliner, he leaned over him, holding his chin between his fingers and tilting Evan’s face to the side in order to get a proper look at the cut. It wasn’t that it was too bad a cut - in fact, he should have thought nothing of it. He often had bruises of the same variety on what was a fairly regular basis - only that it unsettled him because it was Evan. “You are hurt,” he said quietly and if it had been anyone else, he would have resented the emotion in his tone. But then, had it been anyone else, it would never have been present. “I should have been there,” he added almost apologetically as Tarquin grazed the edge of the cut with his thumb. “It’s not that bad.” Evan already knew that and Tarquin mainly said it for his own benefit than anything else. He needed to hear the words aloud.

He let go, finally sitting down. “I’m not-” Tarquin cut himself off because there was little else his excessive worry could be construed as. He threw him a sharp look and leaned forward, “Fuck’s sake, Ev, just answer my question like a normal person for once. What other injuries?” Up close the signs of exhaustion and weariness were even more apparent. “And you haven’t been sleeping.”

[ofgenerosity-blog]

Colors of the Rainbow Meme

Send Red for an honesty post on what my muse dislikes/hates about yours.

Send Orange for a self-para/drabble about our muses.

Send Yellow for some headcanons about our muses.

Send Green for a moodboard on our muses.

Send Blue for an aesthetic of our muses.

Send Purple for a playlist of our muses.

Send Pink for an honesty post on what my muse likes/loves about yours.

Send Bronze for a list of plot ideas (i.e a wishlist) the mun would like to play out with our muses. 

Send Silver for our muses to set up a Skype convo (or some sort of IM), talking as themselves, to each other.

Send Gold for a starter between our muses, unplotted, that the mun comes up with on the spot. Can be of any length.

Send Black for my muse to show their dark side, through whatever means the mun chooses.

Send White for my muse to show their light side, through whatever means the mun chooses.

Send Rainbow for me to come up with something unique for our muses.

[tcrquinmctavish]

date: 17th july 1979 time: 1:15 pm location: borgin & burkes status: closed for @ofshacklebolt

The interest in the shop brought all kinds of people to their doorstep. Those who were enticed by curiosity weren’t half as bad as those who he could tell had no intention of buying anything. His curt behavior made quick work of getting rid of those but the worst were easily the law enforcement officers that popped by every now and then. They were no longer operating as much in the shadows as he would have liked and though Tarquin was sure that anything of substance was hidden away properly, it was still an inconvenience and effected business.

He had been in the backroom, going over the accounts of last week when one of the salesmen interrupted him. Tarquin only had to take one look at his ashen face before figuring out yet another Auror had decided to pay a visit. He suppressed a sigh as he followed him out but froze in his tracks when he recognized Shacklebolt, his hands curling in loose fists out of their own accord. Even the mere sight of him made Tarquin anxious. It was impossible to look at him and not be reminded of Azkaban- of the small, dark cell and the Dementors. His words when he had arrested him rang in his head, at the time Tarquin had been dismissive of them and later he had tried his very best to bury everything related to Azkaban. The few other people who had been present were now shuffling out of the door and he let his eyes drift to them, more so for the sake of giving himself a moment to collect himself. He forced his shoulders to relax, and when he looked at Shacklebolt again his face was a blank slate. To let him see how much Tarquin was effected would be a weakness. He crossed his arms, raising an indifferent brow, “What do you want?”  

[tcrquinmctavish]

date: 15th july 1979 time: 7 am location: rosier manor status: closed for @ofrosier

Tarquin regretted not attending that wretched auction. He made it a point to avoid events like those like the plague- he had, had enough of Pureblood society as it was but he knew Evan had been present and the news of the Fiendfyre had jolted him. At least if he had been there he would have been able to keep an eye on him. He tried telling himself that Evan could handle himself and if he had been hurt, someone would have let him know but logic never stood a chance in front of his overactive imagination and his fear for Evan’s safety. 

It was too early for a visit but their friendship was far past formalities of any kind and so, Tarquin found himself apparating outside the manor’s doors, his mind a mess of jumbled up thoughts and worst case scenarios. Unreasonably, he dreaded the scene that would greet him and wasn’t particularly comforted as the house elf opened the door and it was the same as it always had been. He hurried past the creature, his footsteps echoing in the hall. “Evan!” He called as he headed for the stairs. He needed to see him, anything would be better than the worry gnawing at his heart when he received no reply. He took the stairs two at a time, calling out his name again. And then Evan, appeared at the top of the stairs. His heartbeat slowed down as he swept his eyes over his figure. He looked fine but that meant nothing. His knuckles were white from holding onto the railing so hard and he loosened his grip, letting out a sigh of exasperation and concern. “Would it have killed you to send an owl?” His voice was still tense, and his eyes sharp and intent. Evan looked exhausted but that was a different conversation. “Are you hurt?”