#excerpts from the archive

[panoptical]

MAG 123:

ARCHIVIST (under his breath) Where did the – (sighs) [SOME SHUFFLING AS HE LOOKS THROUGH PAPERS/WHATEVER’S ON HIS DESK.] (salt) Coma, great! Let’s rearrange his office. Sleeping people don’t need – pens.

MAG 140:

BASIRA But I think – Have you got a pen? ARCHIVIST Uhh – Yeah, i-in the drawer. [BASIRA OPENS THE DRAWER.] BASIRA Ah, John. What’s this? [SHE PICKS SOMETHING UP.] ARCHIVIST Hm? Oh. That’s… I, th, uh – that’s my rib. BASIRA (Pythagorean theorem, volume of a cone) Right. [SHE PUTS IT BACK.] ARCHIVIST Yep. BASIRA And… the jar of ashes. ARCHIVIST (stress.exe) Not – not, m,mine – I mean, it belongs to me, I, I, I guess, but it’s not – stationery is in the, uh, other drawer.

The implication of these two scenes is:

Jon got some pens after MAG 123 and put them in his desk drawer. Alright.

He uses a separate discrete drawer for storing both Prentiss' ashes and his own rib, which contains no stationary.

The use of "other drawer" implies these are either the only or the biggest drawers in the desk.

Conclusion: Jon has two drawers in his office desk that are organized by either "office supplies" or "human remains".

[psychadelic-psyuicide]

Gerard Keay's raging alcoholism ladies and gentlemen

[iwriteasfotini]

Chapter X

Sirius POV, first year

“You can do underage magic in extreme circumstances and not be punished,” Remus said. “I read about it in Modern Ministry: An Overview of the Ministry of Magic in the Twentieth Century.” Sirius gave him a long look, “you willingly read a book called Modern Ministry: An Overview of the Ministry of Magic in the Twentieth Century?” “It was interesting,” shrugged Remus.  “When did you read it?” “When I was nine.”  “Sheesh Remus, didn’t you have any friends to play with?” Remus looked down and Sirius immediately felt ashamed. After all, who was he to talk about not having friends before Hogwarts. 

From The Heir and The Spare, Chapter X - Quidditch and Quarrels

[the-hotel-bella-muerte]

Rip Peter Lukas you would have loved the lighthouse starring Robert Pattinson and Willem Dafoe

[thepathetickind]

[ archived poems & writings by laurenmaerie ]

[tothepointofinsanity]

Exuberance has shown its smile. The golfer is unwavering. — Track 7, Concrete Pillars.

[thanatika]

wtf... is there a text limit on tumblr posts?

[mai-library]

And I need to know my dear, if you could stop existing for just one moment, would you? Would you disappear like you never existed? Would you finally become that ghost you have desperately wanted to be? Do you think anyone would mourn you? Probably not. It would be for just a moment. Barely a full blink really. No one would realize you were gone, not because you wouldn't be missed, but because you wouldn't be gone long enough to be missed. But I need to know my dear, if you could take one deep breath and hold it forever, would you?

~things I wrote at my job I hate instead of doing my job: part 4

[empyrean-thrones]

As usual, Mother’s face is about as emotionless as rock. She stares out at the horizon, solemnly nodding to whatever the Queen’s murmuring about into her ear. The latter’s hand casually rests atop her thigh and I don’t miss the way Mother’s pinky finger twitches slightly in her direction.

[millyrocking]

another serious inquiry: does anyone have bret’s calgary sun column archive? ive searched and came to a reddit post about it where they posted a link to the full archive, however, it is defunct. if you have any columns or can lead me to archive itself, PLEASE let me know. i will be very appreciative 😊

[theoffingmag]

I am a ghostwriter. I write to the ghosts. I write to the ghosts because when I consider their lonelinesses, I am sad for them. I imagine they are lonely. They never write back, so I can’t say for sure.

— Andy Sia, "The Ghostwriter"

[panoptical]

[ID: A small mspaint doodle of Jonathan Sims, a brown man with long greying curly hair and scattered scars on his face and neck. He looks down with a troubled expression. The text above reads "bro has seen the horrors" with a skull emoji. END ID]

Jon visible only via microscope

[tma-angst-king]

“Tim never hated his brother. Not when he broke his limited edition Transformers toy, not when he was running through the house and accidentally bumped Tim down the stairs. Not when he grew bored of every conversation halfway through.

Not even when Danny stole the hearts of every one of his friends.

No, Tim never hated his little brother in life.

He only despised him when he died, leaving Tim without him.”

[iwriteasfotini]

Chapter III

Sirius POV, first year

“What’s the word for tedious?” Sirius asked as he tried to pry miniscule seeds out of the small pile at their workstation.  “Kaṭiṉamāṉa,” informed James.  “Well this is kaṭiṉamāṉa work if there ever was any,” Sirius sighed.  Professor Sprout called loudly, “now, if you have identified all ten seed varieties, I’d like you to take out parchment and create a table with a box for each seed you have, drawing an image of the specimen, labeling it properly, and writing a brief description of the plant it would germinate into.” “Ugh, I don’t think I like Herbology much,” groaned Sirius.  “Not many chances to be a hero huh?” Remus responded.  Sirius gave him a withering look. 

From The Heir and The Spare, Chapter III - Mine and Yours

This chapter has a theme song which is dedicated to Sirius.

[un-hinges]

Staying is not always a good thing when you stay only for the sake of naked falseness. For the sake of an excuse to become something else. Or nothing entirely. Just limbs in the dark. Breaths catching. Teeth biting. Bones grinding. Naked, afraid of getting the heart exposed. Staying is not always a good thing when you stay only because it's easier to spread your legs apart than to crouch and empty your thoughts. Or because it's easier to ask for a harder fuck than to ask for a sweeter love. Or at least one that lingers. That doesn't make you afraid of saying "I love you." Doesn't make you have to beg for "I love you too." Don't even consider sticking around just for a while if things are like this. Just leave. But don't forget. So you'll know it the next time it happens again. The next time you need to start packing up your stardust and dried daisies before leaving a note by the side of the bed with your soon-to-be ex-lover lying asleep and uncovered that you must. You just must. Leave. The only love that stays is your love of new things. Of finding out. Of getting surprised. Looking and jumping around and just not sticking around.

So leave (un-hinges on tumblr)

[thepathetickind]

[ archived poems & writings by laurenmaerie ]