Imagine if Sirius could have raised Harry and when he sent a howler to him in his second year for driving the car to school.
"I’M NOT EVEN MAD, I’M ACTUALLY IMPRESSED. MERLIN’S BEARD I’M PROUD."
And Remus in the background “SIRIUS NO.”
*awkwardly tries to be fandom and aesthetic at the same time*
Marauders Aesthetics: Remus Lupin, pt. 2
Awakening by Jacky Suharto for DEW Magazine
Stone and snow, that was all that was left of Winterfell. Just like she and Jon.
claire + possession
it’s been too long since i’ve reminded you guys of my claire fixation
When an angel vacates its vessel, it leaves traces of grace behind.
Nobody taught Claire this. Nobody thought she’d needed to know. She’d figured it out for herself, when she’d gone looking for answers to why she sometimes woke up screaming, or why her soul felt half a step out of synch with her form.
She’d gotten her answer: Angel grace. Like divine ectoplasm, just the crap they leave behind. And to that, Claire doesn’t know what to say or to think. She wonders if her dad had felt like this in the face of angels: bitter, resentful resignedness. She’d seen behind the curtain and it was… well, it wasn’t peaceful. It wasn’t even very wise, at least not in the all-knowing, restful way she’d been taught Heaven should be. There had been doubt, and rage, and sick confused grief.
So she asks herself, is this all there is? And realizes it’s not even an existential answer she holds any more; it is literal, concrete, truth. It makes her laugh sharp and then sink.
Claire still goes to church. She even holds her mother’s hand. But when she says, hail Mary, full of grace, she wants to laugh and sink again.
Did Mary feel the wash of ichor, brushed under her skin in a susurrus? Or the black shadow it cast, that chasm of truth that made her fondly remember faith?
If she did, Claire pities her, as she pities herself, sullen and aimless.
And yet there’s power to celestial grace that Claire cannot ignore. It echoes the brief moment when an angel lived inside her skin, great and terrible and terrible and bright. It seeps into her dreams, where she drowns in a dazzling light, and into her bones, where it squeezes until she feels like she might shatter.
Untaught, unwanted, unnecessary: Claire is an empty vessel. The angels have forgotten, but she’s reminded every day.
Ciaran Murphy - Wolves (2010)
Half armor related to King Francois II. Musee de l’armee Paris