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ask meme Eden! #09
9 – something that frightens your character
warning for mention of verbal + physical abuse
There used to be a time where Eden feared nothing. Disappointing his father had been a subject of worry upon being sorted, sure, but even as an eleven year old he had known exactly what to say to appease his old man, and that worry had dissipated with the clouds.
It’s back now, with a vengeance. The fear struck him like a punch to the throat when, after being summoned back to his ancestral home by his father, he had felt the ice coming off Orcus in waves and he’d known. That same ice had dropped in the pit of his stomach as the question echoed around him, like it had been asked over and over again instead of once. Orcus Rosier wasn’t the kind of man to repeat himself.
Why did you bring that girl to the ball?
That girl. The one he had scorned for years but who had now become the best part of his daily routine. The one he had refused to stop talking to even as his father had crowded him and roared and threatened and drawn his wand. There had been no mark, or Eden had glamoured it so well even he had forgotten about it. But he had felt the push of the elm stick’s tip against his throat for days after the fact, and wakes up in a sweat with the memory of it clinging to his skin to this day.
But even then he feared his father’s hatred like some feared death, disease, old age. Anticipation was a more fitting name for it, knowing the ineluctability of loss and feeling one’s powerlessness in every fibre of one’s being. No, what scared him to the point of tears, what had made him want to run was how natural, how instinctive it had been to push back against his father’s command for her. How his mouth had formed the words before he could think on them, how his resolve had strengthened and solidified upon hearing his rebuttal like a bomb dropping in his father’s reading room.
Feelings scare him. The depth of his own emotions, the will to do something right for no other purpose than being able to live with himself. How hard he has fallen, how fast, how he knows he’d rather cut off his limbs than go back to the way it used to be.
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ask meme Albus! #17
17 – what kind of books your character reads
As a child Albus loved being told stories of brave knights who triumphed over evil by fighting side by side. Dragons, kings, evil mages – it mirrored the very real stories the adults in his life never talked about, the bits and pieces he picked up from the wind on happy family afternoons turned quiet nights, full of whispers and silences too heavy for the child to understand.
Then came time for school, and Albus understood all at once the world was simpler and more complex than he had imagined. His sorting othered him: he could see in some people’s eyes that he was the evil mage in their story, and that was when he didn’t have those thoughts hurled at his face.
He stopped reading fairy tales then. Those books didn’t teach him how to defend himself against the handful of people whose mere presence tied his throat in a knot. Other books though, the type he wasn’t allowed to check out at the library, volumes and scrolls aunt Hermione had in her office and refused to let them touch, those had much to teach him. From runes to rituals, necromancy to blood bonds, he devours them all in a frenzy not unlike that of a drowning man.
Yet maybe, just maybe, he has been picking up a book or two about made-up families triumphing over evil in the past couple months, learning to loosen the protective barrier he erected around himself.
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Text: tits 🍒🌰🥛🤹🎈
Lily: HELLO!!! HI!! ARE YOU AT YOUR APARTMENT??!!!?
Lily: HELLO
Lily: HELLLLOOOOOO
Lily: I'm coming over tonight. Three days off.
Lily: AND YOU DON'T CARE
Eden: HELLO I'M AT MY APARTMENT ken was reading me the last nasty notes his bf sent him im wheezing. Will read 2 u when u show up
Eden: three days off = three days w/ me or do u have to see the parents?
Eden: i know what i wanna eat but do u want takeout?
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Find Something Else To Pretend
@crybbmalfoy​
The chair supporting Gwyn’s weight was slowly driving him mad. The creaking he could try to block out, but the thin wood the seat was made of sanded his backside if he dared move an inch. His mother better believe in her son’s dedication when she received her birthday gift – which better be flawless and not cost too much, either. Gwyn’s finances were still monitored and he only had so much he was willing to spend on something as useless as a painting, after all. It wasn’t like he loved his mother that much.
How long had he been waiting there? He had asked for validation five times now that the student he had been recommended was aware of his presence on school grounds, and that he was on his way to meet him. Gwyn’s knobbly knees were no good for writing essays on and he had ten more inches to write on the impact of the second wizarding war on the community’s economy. Not his favourite subject, especially when he had been warned off stating his negative appreciation of the war’s outcome.
Finally and after twenty minutes that had felt like days Gwyn heard a steady footfall and wasted no time standing up. He even had the time to pull a face at the pain in his rear before schooling his features into a pleasant expression before the mysterious art student turned the corner a few feet away from the teen. Time slowed down, Gwyn froze, and the words came out before he could replace them with a more coherent thought: “ew, it’s you? I mean– Malfoy. You are the person I was told about? Or are you just an emissary for the talented artist I am here to see?” Please let him be an emissary, please let him be an emissary. There was no way Gwyn could work with that blood traitor Malfoy without doing something that would cost him his freedom. “Didn’t even know you go here.”
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They Can’t Recall Who They Are Again
@wickedgrinspaintedlips​
School your face, Angharad used to say, repeating orders she had once been on the receiving end of. Unless it’s disdain. Disdain you can always show. And oh how it showed, curled lips, squinted eyes, scrunched up eyebrows like the foulest smell had just hit his delicate nose. The stench of rot and distilled blood, made impure by all that clung to it. Jacen Wood. Suffice to say Gwyn’s luck was such that on the one day he had to head to a specific shop he would cross paths with the worst of the worst.
“If you lose any more weight you’ll be the first wizard in history to turn fully invisible.” It could have sounded like concern from anybody else’s mouth, in a different tone perhaps. But from Gwyn it invited a challenge, like the accomplishment would be worth it. All he wanted was for the wix to turn the other way and disappear, go as far away from the Slytherin as possible. There was something boiling inside of him, besides the hatred, besides the rage, something only the Wood twins could make him feel and it grew larger with every meeting, every new hair colour, every too-feminine laugh or not-feminine-enough clothes and it had his fists trembling just a bit. “I’m trying to move in that direction here. Skinny as you are, you’re still in my way.”
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Only Dead Men Are Free
@faux-propriety​
There was a certain amount of joy in knowing he would leave Hogwarts behind for good in a few months. The place had brought Gwyn nothing but headaches from the neverending buzz of voices around him, deep annoyance towards the adults in charge of his education, and renewed distaste for mudbloods. More and more they thought they were entitled to certain things like their strange devices and modified uniforms and new dorms for whenever they were feeling quirky. No, Gwyn would certainly not miss that place one bit.
But he would, he thought as he was walking towards the Quidditch pitch, mis playing under Karis’ command. She was an excellent captain and a good friend, in spite of her frankly liberal ways. But she told him no and benched him and argued with him at times, and there weren’t many people willing to do all that who meant much to the boy. Which explained the smile currently on his face, he thought as he tried to fight it, keep any hint of happiness under wraps. Too many enemies around to risk presenting them with an angle of attack.
“I’ve been training harder than usual,” was all the greetings he gave the blonde. His hurried walk and familiar speech spoke better on how glad he was to see her. “There’s no way we’re leaving this place without the Quidditch cup in our hands. I will burn the whole castle down otherwise.”
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SEND ME A NUMBER AND HELP ME DEVELOP MY CHARACTER!
01:  A memory from your character’s childhood
02:  A memory from your character’s teenage years
03:  A memory from your character’s career
04:  A memory that your character cherishes
05:  A memory that your character wishes to erase  
06:  Something that makes your character angry
07:  Something that makes your character happy
08:  Something that makes your character laugh
09:  Something that frightens your character
10:  Something that turns your character on
11:  Describe your character’s childhood friend
12:  Describe your character’s parents
13:  Describe your character’s former lover
14:  Describe your character’s present best friend
15:  Describe your character’s worst enemy
16:  What your character does on a day of
17:  What kind of books your character reads
18:  What kind of music your character likes
19:  What your character does when they wake up
20:  What your character is like at social events
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Old Friend It’s Bittersweet
@thesocialbadger​
He had found her entirely on accident, social media algorithms getting him to jump from one page to the next until the smiling face of one Tallulah French was looking up at him from the screen of his phone. In that moment something had taken over Nikolai, he didn’t know what, but he had sent her a message. Ridiculous when one knew he couldn’t stand the girl from the day he had met her; she was always smiling and helping and treating him like a fragile little thing. He had very much been fragile in the beginning, and had resented her terribly for reminding him of the fact day in and day out.
Things could be different now, he supposed. He had matured a lot since he’d left school, and people like Talli could be useful to have around. Free babysitting was not a service Nikolai would ever refuse. Of course before asking for favours of any type he had to make sure he didn’t feel like bashing her head against the nearest surface anymore, something he would verify in a set up of his own choosing.
The café wasn’t bad at all. Much better than the place Griffin and Nik called their own, but that went without saying. This one held more light and space, nicer smells too. The level of concentration needed to notice Tallulah’s familiar smell before catching sight of her would be almost impossible that far from the full moon, but Nikolai tried anyway. Better that than get bored to death. Why had he come a whole half hour early, again? He was about to let his current reading swallow him whole why long brown hair stepped inside the café, and he sat up straighter. Eyes meet eyes, he thought as he didn’t even blink, waiting for the witch to look his way.
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Call It By Name
@noblestofintentions​
There was no way to avoid the mandatory meeting, no matter how much Calixte longed to be anywhere but in the busy, noisy trash bin of a career prospect that was the ministry. Anyone and their father went there in search of a half-way decent job and, he supposed, they were rarely disappointed. Being processed took forever as usual, and the monotonous report (“no,” “no,” “no,” “no,” “not that I can tell”) had the Zabini heir missing his favourite time for lunch. Everything would be packed now, and he’d rather starve than wait in line with paupers.
Exiting the ministry at a brisk pace he would have apparated to the tattoo parlour right away, but a silhouette caught his attention. Or truth be told, he felt he had to look around, and he found her.
Andromeda Noble wasn’t much compared to him. She didn’t have the class and refinement Calixte exhibited and certainly no parents or lineage as important as his. Not that he blamed her: nobody could equal him except for his own sister. But his interest was piqued all the same, and so Cal walked up to the redhead with his usual open expression and self-confidence. “Andromeda, hi. Long time no see.” Had he been anyone else he would have made a formidable pun there. Familiarity would feel wrong though. “How are... things?”
Not the best approach, but Calixte had never talked with the other seers from school much, miffed by the fact that he hadn’t been the only one. Especially when the third wheel was Griffin Riley – but who was he to judge who magic itself decided was worthy of superior gifts? Blaise Zabini’s son, that’s who he was. Ergo he had more than a right to judge and could look down on the other two as cheap fortune tellers if he damn wanted to. But he was charming and expressed himself in a soft, tranquil voice, and so they had never known. Unless their parlour tricks had told them, which would be amusing. Oh, well.
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