artemthevictorious

[artemthevictorious]

dedalusdigg​:

Oh, well, that was just ideal, wasn’t it? Dedalus couldn’t even find it in himself to summon any sort of exasperation at the news because that was exactly the kind of muted feeling he was in too much of a frenzy for. Running, however, was much simpler; his legs were already following long before his brain had caught up.

“Aren’t they all mad as hell?” he huffed quickly as they tried to put some distance between them and their pursuer – it didn’t seem to matter too much, though, as a blast of something without a doubt deadly flew past his head. Dedalus cursed quickly but didn’t stop running even as he threw a charm over his shoulder – aimed at the ground, not at Death Eater. Hopefully, the newly formed rubble would at least slow him down a little.

And oh, did he hate being the voice of reason but alas, sometimes it was just inevitable. “We can’t keep running, it’s only a matter of time before we run into more of them.” And as he said this, he glanced back, instinctively by now. This time, he sent a blast straight at the Death Eater and it shouldn’t have been a surprise that he managed to dodge, but it was discouraging nonetheless. With another huff, Dedalus looked back at Artem; not even he himself knew what he was looking for, whether it was guidance or protection or something else.

“Probably,” Artem shot back as the two of them ran. They saw out of the corner of their eye Dedalus send back a spell. Good. Fighting on the run was always good. They ducked down as they heard a curse behind them, but it ricocheted far overhead. Apparently whoever it was didn’t have good aim with a moving target.

Artem glanced back as Dedalus shot out another spell. “I know, but we needed to do something.” Facing front again, Artem saw a doorway approaching on their left. “In there!” they called, leaving little time for Dedalus to do anything but slow down before they shoved into him, pushing both through the open doorway. No one was inside, which was good. Artem nearly slipped on the papers strewn across the floor; someone must have left here in a hurry. 

Righting themself, Artem stepped around the pile and over toward the wall. “He’ll know it’s an ambush, but at least we’ll be ready.” They raised their wand. As soon as the handle turned, Artem shot out a stunning spell, but they went too quickly. It bounced harmlessly off the door, and Artem barely got a shield charm up before a spell came flying at them. The strength of it shattered the shield, and Artem’s eyes widened as they hoped that Dedalus managed to get some spells in while Artem held his attention.

[artemthevictorious]

dedalusdigg​:

Ministry of Magic | Dedalus Diggle & Artem Tremblay May 2, 1982 Closed starter for @artemthevictorious

Chaos didn’t even begin to cover it, but then again, there also wasn’t much time to ponder on word choice. From the moment Dedalus had apparated into the atrium, he’d had to dodge bodies and curses alike; any thought that didn’t have to do with that was pushed to the very back of his mind. He didn’t have a plan. He just made his way deeper inside the Ministry, turning corners and duelling Death Eaters until it all blurred into an endless cycle of doing the same thing over and over again.

Initially, it was a relief. He held his own, and that was exhilarating in a way. With adrenaline rushing through his veins and his magic let loose, it was easy to get caught in the moment. But the moment was indeed just a moment – once it passed, fear reared its ugly head once again. The Death Eaters didn’t stop coming; for every one that fell, it seemed two more were ready to take his place. And it was chilling.

What choice was here, though, but to keep going? Death certainly held no appeal. So Dedalus kept firing spells, one after another, making use of his surroundings where he could, just as Bran had taught him. Contrary to those lessons, however, it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep a clear head. And when he heard footsteps approaching from the hallway behind him, he was half-certain it was over for him.

Naturally, the relief that came from seeing Artem instead was very nearly overwhelming. “Oh, thank all the gods,” he sighed. “I’ve never been happier to see you!”

The Beast Division office was no place to be once screams started from the halls. Artem had stiffened, stared at the woman before her for a moment, then bolted for the hall. The masked figure they found on the other side confirmed all Artem’s worst fears. They lifted their wand, but before Artem got a spell out, the Death Eater moved first. 

Artem felt their legs lock, but as they fell, they shot out a desperate relashio that connected and sent the Death Eater flying in the other direction. Their head hit as they landed, but Artem grit their teeth against the pain and scrambled as upright as they could to unlock their legs. As they looked up at the Death Eater, they saw Cuthbert Gibbon glaring back, both wand and mask lying a few feet from him. As Artem scrambled to their feet, Gibbon turned and crawled toward his wand. Shit.

They founded the corner, already tripping as they stopped so quickly upon finding Dedalus. “Don’t be too happy,” Artem said, grabbing him by the hand to keep moving. “Death Eater back there, and he is mad as hell. Pretty sure he’s about to throw something around this corner.” Perhaps they should have stayed and fought, but Artem wasn’t about to set themself up to get cornered. Having a partner for themself was certainly not a bad thing.

[artemthevictorious]

arabellafiggaf​:

It was nice to hear him say that, but it didn’t really change much. She was too used to it. And the Squib marches, even though it’d been nearly twenty years since, were still fresh in her mind. Not the memories, perhaps, but the disappointment. The resignation. But she didn’t want to burden Artem with those same feelings, not him, not anyone else who still managed to find hope somewhere in the middle of all this insanity. “Maybe one day the Ministry will see that too.”

But she did tend to forget, sometimes, that people could seek her out for her. It wasn’t self-pity; heavens knew she didn’t mind solitude. But even so, it was always a pleasant surprise. “That’s good to know. They might’ve been a little too proud of themselves, anyway, if they’d scared away a visitor.” Although Artem was really doing quite well; she hadn’t said that just because. Still, it was no surprise that as she went to get the treats, Tabitha followed. No amount of pleading looks worked, however; Arabella was very careful to keep the bag out of reach as she handed it to Artem and it was entirely too funny to watch the way Tabitha’s eyes followed the bag the entire time only for her entire expression to close off as soon as it landed in Artem’s hand. Arabella didn’t say anything as her kitten seemed to struggle to choose between pride and dignity, and wanting a treat. Sandy, on the other hand, had no such issues and her tiny meow was perfectly clear in its demands.

It was just easier at this point to focus on the cats, especially when he and Arabella could talk some on shared experiences but not much. They’d both been hurt by the average wix but in such different ways. No, talking of cats and paying attention to them seemed a better bet.

“Well, I can’t deny the girl that likes me,” Artem said, glancing up almost guiltily at Arabella has he offered up the treat in his hand to Sandy. He didn’t want to offend her after all. “But just that one,” he told her as it disappeared off his hand, her little pink tongue scratching against his palm. “The next one is for Tabitha.” He looked back up at Arabella. “Can I have another to coax her with. She didn’t seem like she planned on walking over, but given how closely she’d watched her sister gobble the other, Artem hoped she might be swayed.

[artemthevictorious]

horseheartedmarlene​:

“Yeah, at least you always know you’ve got something to do,” Marlene quipped back. It was nice that Artem seemed to understand the appeal of her routine, or at least to not mock her for her own contentment; so many other Ravenclaws had turned up their noses or rolled their eyes, interpreting it as equivalent to inertia or stagnation. It wasn’t. Marlene had no lack of interest in the world, no surfeit of curiosity; she just found comfort in a life that was otherwise predictable, which gave her a foundation from which she could stretch herself in any and all directions that caught her fancy. Maybe Artem did understand that; they had gone off to live in the Muggle world for a while, hadn’t they? And then come back. Just like Alaric, they’d come back to what they knew – whereas Marlene had simply never left.

She listened avidly (telling herself that it was the story that was so appealing, not the source; Marlene wasn’t sure she believed herself, but it was what she needed to hear regardless) to Artem’s words, to Artem’s life. “I’ve never been to Ganymede’s, actually,” Marlene said, a little surprised herself now that she thought about it. “I’m not sure why not – I’ve just never actually thought about going there.” She blinked and mused, “Maybe I should sometime.”

Artem’s mock-excitement made her laugh, and some of the tension that gripped Marlene’s shoulders whenever she was in the scarily-appealing presence of the half-Veela eased. “Oh, well, nothing more exciting than an illicit breakfast before bed, is there? How truly scandalous of you,” she quipped back. “No wonder you work at Ganymede’s, behaving like that.” When Marlene smiled, it was almost wholly genuine as she said, “Any rate, I’m glad you did. We don’t really see much of you around here, do we?” Or maybe that was just Marlene, avoiding Artem and the charms she couldn’t ignore any more than she could let herself trust – but it was easier to say we. She didn’t have to admit to anything if she said we.

Artem nearly laughed at the confession, not out of malice but because it seemed so foreign from their day to day. Maybe slightly at Marlene’s expense, though. Artem wondered if she realized how often her brother stopped by, but if that wasn’t comment knowledge, they certainly weren’t going to rat Alaric out. “I know there used to be a time when women weren’t allowed through the door, but that’s changed. You’re welcome to stop by and get a drink, maybe play some cards or dance with someone pretty enough to pretend you don’t have to pay them for it at the end.” Artem winked. “You might find you like it.”

They grinned at the easy way she dished things back, the friendly sass of it. Artem had friends here, of course, but they often wondered if there was anyone they hadn’t known before that they could actually call a friend. Perhaps if this continued, Marlene would fit that bill. 

Still, they bristled slightly at the next comment. Artem knew they didn’t put as much time in as some people, but they tried to be around. “I try to stop by at least once a week,” they said, trying to keep anything defensive from their voice. “Bring some things and all that. I can’t say I hang around long, but I’m sure if you asked around, I’ve been seen.” Even with the work Artem did to hide it, they still tended to be pegged as part veela or at least remembered, even if people couldn’t say why.

[artemthevictorious]

alices-husband​:

Nothing Ventured

“So you didn’t name yourself after any dead people, I hope?” Frank found it amusing, but he had to agree on the strength of their name. He wasn’t good with name meanings at all, unless it was a very literal and frank meaning. “I like it too. It suits you.”

He grimaced at the idea of the Ministry court battles; it was hard to imagine anyone else taking over the ice cream parlor and even harder to think about the possibility that the ice cream parlor would be replaced by something different, like a frozen yogurt place. 

Was there anything worth salvaging? He thought of Sirius, but there wasn’t anything he could give him to make him feel better. 

Frank stepped forward, reaching for the sign that had fallen to the ground due to the explosion. It was cracked, splintered, and the colors faded—but the name was still inscribed clearly enough to make out the name of the place. 

“I guess this is the best we can do for now.” He dragged it with his good hand and leaned it against the wall, and he had to bite his lip to keep it from quivering. He didn’t feel the loss quite as potently as he did now, realizing that anyone can just come and kick the sign away if they wanted to. There wasn’t any real way to pay his respects other than staring at the sign. 

He let the silence pass between him and Artem, and he bit his lip before pulling himself back to ask. “So—if you were a dark wizard teen and you just murdered an ice cream man, where would you go next?”

Artem chuckled and shook their head. “No dead people, no,” they promised. “Although I’m sure there’s a dead person or two with it. They just don’t happen to be related to me.”

It was hard to keep any lightness to their conversation in such a dark place, especially as Artem watched Frank pick up the Fortescue’s sign. They grimaced. The brightness and happiness of the sign was trying to pop through, but the explosion and resulting battle had left it worse for wear. Artem wondered if this was where it had fallen from the initial impact or if someone had moved it, maybe tried to use it as a shield. 

They were still focused on that haze of thoughts about the sign when Frank spoke again, and it took several moments before Artem processed even part of the request. “Wait, what? Say that again.” More of it started to filter, though, and Artem stared. “Well, um... I can’t say I’ve ever been a dark wizard teen, but... A kid murdered Florean? A kid? Holy shit. Um... I guess probably back to their parents? Or whoever their approval figure is if it isn’t a parent. If they were here to murder Florean and that was the point, I can’t imagine they wouldn’t want to immediately go shout that they’d done it.”

[artemthevictorious]

dedalusdigg​:

That much he could understand, certainly. “Oh, goodness, no. I valued my sleep much too much for that – very Ravenclaw smart of me, isn’t it? Now, waking up on time, that was a whole other matter. Nothing sounded more tempting than five extra minutes of sleep before a test early in the morning, did it?” He shook his head at the memories, nothing but fondness. “Which is part of why I made my watch, actually. It would’ve been of great use back then! Not that it’s not useful now, Merlin knows I’d probably forget my head if it wasn’t attached to my body, but you understand”

He was almost offended Artem would assume he didn’t know about movies, though. “Of course I know about them! Well, not the science fiction bit, evidently, but the rest is familiar, yes, yes.” Unfortunately, he knew significantly less about Muggles and dragons. “Surely some of them know. I can’t imagine it’s possible not to. But then again, sometimes the Muggle World can be very confusing.”

.

Artem could honestly listen to Dedalus ramble for a while. He was quite good at it and made interesting points as he meandered his way through various subjects. Still, they knew they couldn’t focus too much on him. They were still at work, after all. “That it can be,” Artem agreed. “Who knows what muggles know? I don’t even think I do, even after time with them.”

A gesture from one of the card dealers caught Artem attention, and they nodded. “We’ll have to keep this up another time,” they promised, glancing back at Dedalus. “I have some things I need to take care of real quick. Help yourself to a drink at the bar. I just wouldn’t be here by the door in about three minutes.”

[The end]

[artemthevictorious]

The First Wand

At age eleven, a then female presenting Artem was dragging all the way to France for school shopping, primarily because Alanna wanted her half-Veela daughter to have a wand as exotic as she was. She also insisted on a Veela hair core, despite the fact that none of the wands really spoke to Artem. The child kept gravitating toward the simpler wands, but Alanna spoke over the wandmaker they were working with to get exactly what she thought Artem needed. The wand they walked out with was a firm 8 inch African Blackwood wand with a Veela hair core. Everything from the wood to the core radiated a stubborn and finnicky personality that Artem never clicked with. Even the ornate design of the wand was hard to hold. They did terribly their first year at Hogwarts, and in hindsight, Artem blamed their wand.

Artem can’t even pretend they snapped the wand accidentally because they looked their mother in the eye and broke it in half. She was understandably pissed, and Artem suffered the consequences of it all summer. Once they had a new wand, though, Artem couldn’t help feeling it was worth it.

The Second Wand

Artem’s father took them to Ollivander’s at the end of the summer because they couldn’t well be sent back to school without a wand. He had a much more hands off approach, but Artem also suspected that Ollivander wouldn’t have let himself be bullied as much as the French maker had. He helped Artem select a wand that in some ways was similar to the last. It was on the shorter side and unyielding, but instead of the finnicky stubbornness of the other, this one felt like an ally Artem could trust from the moment it was placed in their right hand. It was 9 1/4 inches of fir wood with a dragon heartstring core. It was simple but sturdy, and that’s what Artem needed.

It’s been hanging at their side ever since.

[artemthevictorious]

Date: April 1, 1982 Location: Private Library Starter: @ainsleyabbott​

Artem had spent the last week going in circles mentally. He’d kept his information about who had helped him to himself. Dorcas hadn’t noticed, and who was he going to tell? Bran had enough frustrations when they’d argued over bringing in Avery, and the Inner Circle member had immediately focused on him too as Artem saw his way out. In the time since, he’d wondered if he should bring it up, but he’d always stopped himself in concern of who to bring it up to. 

Eventually Artem had decided that if he couldn’t pass it along to someone else, he needed more information. Before work the past few days, Artem had hung out in Diagon Alley, hoping to catch Ainsley on her way out of The Prophet, but so far, he hadn’t been successful. Fine, if he couldn’t catch her in public, Artem would figure out where he could. Ainsley had mentioned her occasional visits to the library in passing, and it hadn’t taken long for Artem to verbally charm--not Veela charm, they wouldn’t stoop so low--his way into an open invite from the little old woman who ran it. He also asked if she’d let him know when Ainsley next visited since he was hoping to surprise her. Artem hadn’t expected an owl for a while, much less the next day.

Still, he dropped what he was doing and left half his dishes sitting in the sick as he apparated to the library. Moments later he was talking into a backroom, face to face with Ainsley Abbot in such a way that he could see for the first time since she’d killed James Potter.

[artemthevictorious]

moaningmaddy​:

The look on Maddy’s face didn’t disappear. She still couldn’t pinpoint it, the thing that sounded off, but she knew it wasn’t Artem’s fault because she’d heard it all before, and it had always bothered her. “Yes,” she eventually said, “yes I think that’s what I mean too.” But the confusion had returned and while she was sure of it, sure that it all made sense somewhere, she was now looking at Artem as though he could explain it better. 

“A twin?” she asked, curious as always. “Any other siblings?” And then just as eagerly: “What’s his name, do I know him?” She smiled. “What do you stand for, Artem?”

“Ah, that’s a shame. I think love is neat.” She laughed. “Then again, I guess it’s also dangerous, here in the Wix World, with people turning to ghosts and all that. I mean, I know that most times they do that because of a dissatisfying death, we all learnt the theory in school, but really, most ghosts I know, got stuck because their loved ones were still alive.”

Artem shifted, unsure what exactly had changed but able to tell something had. Oh well, best to focus on what Artem could control, and currently that was family conversation. He didn’t really talk about them much outside the people who actually knew them, especially friends from school or--around here, it seemed--Ellie’s friends from school.

“Not exactly twins,” Artem admitted. “I was adopted. My mom...” wanted a girl. “Well, she thought a token Veela would be a perfect way to completed the family.” Artem shrugged. They’d spent enough time dwelling on it that it didn’t sting just to mention, not truly anyway. “You might. Ellwood Tremblay. Or perhaps you’ve heard of my brother Douglas. He’s at the Ministry now and rising, I suppose. Neither of them are involved around here.” Artem had almost brought it up time and time again to Ellie, but it never seemed right. He couldn’t drag his brother in.

“Stand for?” Artem repeated and leaned back against the counter. “Hmm, that’s an interesting one. Cheesy to say the moment probably, but that’s been true for I think my entire adult life. Stability. Simplicity. That’s what I’m trying for anyway.”

Artem couldn’t say he’d spent a lot of time thinking about ghosts, but it seemed that perhaps Maddy had. “I guess that would be hard, knowing you’re leaving people behind, especially if it seems impossible to face what’s ahead without them.”

[artemthevictorious]

[artemthevictorious]

bristlybranwen​:

Her new friend. Bran grinned but it looked like she was showing her teeth with angry mockery and disgust. If Avery, or any of his cousins or brothers, ended up being a friend of Artem… “Yeah. Better prove your loyalty.” 

Avery listened to Artem as though she was one of those stupid religious Muggle leaders, gaze wide and brain dead. Then his eyes flickered to Bran. ‘Please…’ he begged, voice hoarse, and Bran sucked in air through her teeth and stunned him. “Take him home, Tremblay.”

Artem grimaced as they took hold of Avery’s limp form. They’d kept him from dying here in the street, but was that better? A small, bitter part of them was thankful that at least they wouldn’t have to watch. They nodded once, made eye contact with Bran, and apparated away.

[end]

[artemthevictorious]

alices-husband​:

Nothing Ventured

“I don’t have any idea,” Frank shrugged. “I believe I was named after my grandfather. He and my grandmother died before I was born. Maybe the name was longer before, just—you know, everyone eventually goes by a nickname and that gets passed down because everyone, for some reason, really likes naming their kids after dead people. Now, I certainly hope you weren’t named after a dead person, no?”

He kicked some of the brick on the ground and let it clatter down the street. None of it seemed to be salvageable, but there didn’t seem like an attempt had been made to do anything to try and help. Nor did he think that there would be any children running around anytime soon named Florean.  

“Do you think they’d just leave everything a mess like this?” Frank asked, referring to the giant crater in the street. Most everything had been swept or vanished away and while some of the storefronts were boarded up, the wrecked ice cream parlor didn’t have anyone to take ownership of it. “I mean—it’s kind of hard to think that it can’t be fixed, just because… I don’t know. We’re just so used to fixing everything, you know?”

Artem flashed him a smile. “I named myself,” they said, not necessarily intending to give him more but figuring they probably should. “I changed it in school. Doesn’t matter what it was before. My brother and I spent weeks pouring over possibilities once I’d decided I needed one. It just fit. Good references. Strong enough to stand on its own.” They shrugged. “I like it.”

That smile faded as they looked back at the mess in and in front of the ice cream parlor. “I think the street will probably get done first. The parlor... I don’t know. Feels like a bad omen to immediately build something new, but I’m sure if Florean didn’t have it willed to anybody, there will be some big Ministry court battle over who even gets the location. Probably less than there would have been if he’d, well, if it was natural causes, you know?”

Artem’s mother lived for the kind of petty drama involved in things being parsed out after death. They’d heard far too much about such things. They hadn’t seen their mother in the past few days, but with everything else, surely even sure wasn’t speculating quite yet. “Someone it’ll fix it,” they said quietly. “Or replace it. It can’t sit here like this forever.” Perhaps it should. Perhaps it should be a reminder of just how little regard the Death Eaters had even for pureblood life, the thing they claimed to be protecting.

[artemthevictorious]

bristlybranwen​:

Bran, still thinking about the dead bodies, shook her head, looking both disgusted and disappointed alike. “And just because it wasn’t your business you just dropped it? You just thought, ah, well, my job is done, time to go back to my lousy barmaid job and let other people bother with it? Is this the type of person you are, Tremblay?” Bran wasn’t even surprised. Of course he’d be. He had no skin in the game. He was just like every other Pureblood Mary was always yelling about, and Bran finally got it. Leave the Muggleborns at the door like your coat on your way home, after all, their lives wasn’t your business. And their deaths wasn’t your fault. 

She looked at the Avery on the ground. But it was his fault, wasn’t it? She kneeled down before him, letting the blade of her knife glide up his chest to his throat. “You hear that?” she asked the unconscious face, “Revenge fantasy my dear cousin calls it. Like he thinks killing you would satisfy anything.” Because that was the crux, wasn’t it? Bran could cut open as many people as she wanted, as long as it wasn’t the one right one, her job wouldn’t be done. With a tight fist, she punched Avery in the face, who woke with a start. After some squirming and trying to get away, Bran had him pinned back against the wall again and his attention was on her.

“Hello, Avery,” she said, “would you rather die right now or rat out on your friends first with a bit of pain?” His eyes widened, not familiar with the metal pressing into his throat but understanding the situation easily anyway. His gaze jumped to Artem, and with a hoarse, panicked voice he let out a begging: ‘Tremblay…’

Artem huffed out a breath. No, he hadn’t continued on, but unlike Bran, he didn’t have the luxury of being able to say whatever he wanted to whoever he wanted. Better hold that Veela temper, he’d heard more than once, and perhaps this was just another example of it. She was trying to kill a witness, and he was being berated for not being committed enough. “I’ll get right on that,” he snapped. “Right after I get done with dropping off your new friend.” Artem might not have had some strong conviction toward solving everything. He’d always left puzzles for other people. He was here to help where he was told because that’s all he could do, and he didn’t know how to put it in terms that she’d get. 

For a split second, Artem considered the unthinkable before quickly dismissing it. No only would it make him physically sick later if he charmed Bran, but he also couldn’t say whether it would work. Even if he was willing to push it so far, Artem wasn’t going to try it. It was easy to dismiss.

“I’m not here to save you,” he said, voice clipped as Bran started playing with his food. “But I suggest you take her options seriously. She very much wants to kill you right now. Do you want to die right here in the alley? Or would you like to make yourself useful?” First. Useful first. That was the full phrase, the full intent, and Bran had made it clear that Avery wasn’t getting out alive. Artem just couldn’t quite bring himself to repeat the whole thing.

[artemthevictorious]

dedalusdigg​:

“Right! Right.” It did make sense, when they put it like that. But those were small, mundane things and he just didn’t think they applied that much to the bigger picture. When it was a matter of life and death, when something pivotal was on the line, he had to imagine people would be less rash. Abruptly, he turned to Artem, eyebrows furrowed. “Has that happened to you? To fall asleep in the middle of an exam because of an all-nighter?”

The little sound caught both his attention and his curiosity and he was very much looking forward to the explanation. When one didn’t come, however, he raised a hand to ask them to pause. “What does that mean? Is it another Muggle genre?”

And while he knew, technically, that Muggles were more than magicless Wix, it was still difficult to wrap his head around the fact their entire world and understandings were so fundamentally different from his own. “They�� don’t know about dragons? But what if they come across one? What do they think dragons are? Do they know to stay away? How do they write about it if they don’t know it exists?”

.

Artem nearly laughed aloud. “Trust me, when it came to studying, I was not the all-nighter type. Or if I was, it was because I sat up enjoying the frustration of and slightly harassing my brother. I studied, sure, but not like that. Was that something you did often?”

Although Artem was sure Dedalus would be fascinated by Rocky Horror, they weren’t sure they had that explanation in them after so little sleep. “No, it’s from a song,” they said instead. “A song in a movie. You know, the things muggles have that are like our pictures but with sound and always moving the same way? It’s science fiction again actually.”

His confusion over dragons, though, had Artem nodded emphatically. “Right? I don’t get it. I think at some point they must have known they existed, probably left over from before the Statute of Secrecy, but the fact that they haven’t figured out that so many cultures write about them because they do in face exist boggles me. Something so big and so visible if they’d just look, but I guess we do a good job of making sure they can’t see.” Artem shrugged. Such spell procedures was a bit beyond their knowledge.

[artemthevictorious]

You should have the opportunity to be more than one person with different people because you have that within you. It’s not like you’re faking it. If everyone knows you so well and can always get a hold of you, then you’re stuck to this thing that people think you are. You should have the opportunity to reinvent yourself. Because you do. Naturally.

[artemthevictorious]

🥊 - Amelia, Frank, Lu

🥊 - pinch, slap, punch

Pinch: Frank? 

Slap: Lu? (Seems slightly more likely to happen than Frank, but could flip very quickly)

Punch: Amelia (With gloves on in a workout scenario, of course)

[artemthevictorious]

alices-husband​:

Nothing Ventured

Frank stepped over the rubble, wondering if anyone had been around to actually help put some of it back together now that the shop owner had been murdered. He glanced over at where the counter used to be, and his hand tightened into a fist in his pocket, following the same motion he used with his wand when he tried to heal Florean. 

“Yeah, I know,” Frank answered. “You would think that we’d be much more effective against terrorist groups, but—”

The end of the sentence felt obvious (that it was probably really likely that the Death Eaters were operating within the Ministry). It was hard to suspect anyone he worked with, but much like he had been saying about the possibility of dying and/or near death experiences, it might just be an inevitability. 

But Frank just shook his head with an amused smile.

“I think my mother would have wanted me to have a name that was less… frank.” He had a love-hate relationship about the puns made about his name, but he was old enough at this point that it didn’t matter. “You know, something that would help me rub elbows a little more with the Selwyns or the Blacks. But you know what, Art? You can call dibs on a longer name for me.”

Artem nodded, letting Frank’s thought trail off. They got it well enough. When no one cared to fix something because the people in charge benefited from the thing staying that way, they weren’t exactly going to spend a lot of time and energy trying to stop the group further reinforcing that status quo. Not that the Order had done much to convince the public they were a better alternative. Just last night, Artem had overheard two customers who didn’t seem like the Death Eater type whispering about “those phoenix terrorists out the exterminate purebloods.” It was rich considering the number of purebloods the Order had, but how would the general public know that? All they had was the fearmongering from those very purebloods and a Ministry happy to let them have that reputation.

The name thing was easier to focus on. A simpler thought and a less dangerous one in public. “How’d you end up with Frank then?” they asked. “Why not Frankford or Franklinson or Francion? Your name is far too... well, not ridiculous to truly blend in among that bunch.” Their lips quirked in half a smile as he called them Art again. Would that be charming or get annoying? Time would tell apparently. “I’ll keep that in mind, Frankius. I’ll keep that in mind.”