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chngbok · 6 years ago

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50 Questions Tag ✨

thank you for tagging me @sprouttsse ♥

under the cut, because this is LONG ~ [ also beware of major oversharing ]

what takes too much of your time?

social media? games n stuff

what’s makes your day better?

@linos-teeth cough

what is the best thing that happened to you today?

I went to a really cool castle n i took LOADS of pictures (mainly flowers oops) and I made two my new lock&home screen ~

what fictional place would you like to go to?

hmmm thedas,, away from whatever shits going on at the time i guess.

are you good at giving advice?

i dont know? for some things maybe?

do you have any mental illness?

LEts noT

have you ever experienced sleep paralysis?

i used to a lot, one time i had it while i was on a school trip away and it was the first night and god it was horrible,,,, then quite a few times when i lost my grandparents.

what musician inspired you the most?

hmmm skz?

have you fallen in love?

i d k dude

what’s your dream date?

ok plS SOMEONE GO ON A WALK WITH ME LIKE,,,, I JUst wanna go on a walk and take photos i cry.

what do others notice about you?

:’) good thing? my eyes r pointed out a lot,,,, bad? i get told that i crack my knuckles a lot smh.

what is an annoying habit that you have?

im told its cracking my knuckles lmao fdkdkfdf

do you still talk to your first love?

doNT have one r l y idK?

how many ex’s do you have?

gonna sound rLY SHItty after what i just said wow but idk,,, i’ll say 1 serious one?

how many songs are in your playlist?

main playlist is like 400 then i have a smaller one which has like 200 and then a writing one which is like just piano n shit which is about 70ish,,, so not that many t b h

what instruments do you play?

t r i e d piano and guitar but not anymore lmao

who do you have the most pictures of?

hmMmm my pets and skz? @linos-teeth collection is growing tho <_<

where would you like to go before you die?

Korea germany and australia.

what’s your zodiac?

Leo

do you relate to it?

n a H

what is happiness to you?

o god hmm,,,, no idea idk how to word it

are you going through anything right now?

well sure?

what’s the worst decision you’ve ever made?

i’ve always hated how i used to reject my grandads hugs and avoid him a lot when i basically spent time there everyday and idk wish I’d shown him more love while I could.

what’s your favorite store?

uMm,,,, dude I dont go shopping enough for this smh. no idea.

what’s your opinion on abortion?

dude they’re valid as shit,,,,, if you want one its up to you dude.

do you keep a bucket list?

NUpe

do you have a favorite album?

our queen I am who,,,, closely followed by miroh oh my fucking god.

what do you want for your birthday?

(made an amazon list already oops bc I have a lot of family far away so,,, but yeah thats literally only a couple of albums but iDK,,,, I’m on holiday for my birthday so it’d be nice to relax anD NOT WALk up too many hills,,,,, we’re going to the lake district)

what are most people’s first impression of you?

so i recently started a new college and people there always think im in a mood shrug,,,, app to them im really grumpy.

what age to you seem according to most people?

people always thought I was older because of my height,,, idk anymore tho. I feel like I have a stupidly young face for my age now i d k.

where do you keep your phone while sleeping?

on the window sill or like down the side of my bed, there a lil crack bc the radiator stops half way flfdfd

what word do you say the most?

out loud? dude, typing? idk fuck probably lmao

what’s the oldest age would you date?

idk about dating in the first place,,,, but maybe if i wanna and im like at an age i feel comfy dating idk? iDK,,,,, 4?5? years older idk watch me just date at like 60.

what’s the youngest age would you date?

idK WHats with aLL the dating s m h,,,,, but again whEN I WAnna idk,,,, 2 years youNGER? 3?

what job/career do most people say sould suit you?

im told i’d be good with kids but i hate them with a passion???? also been told i would be good at teaching,,,,

what’s your favorite music genre?

no fucking idea

if you would live in any country in the world, where would it be?

no i dea,,,, korea? but i doubt i’d survive with their standards,,,, can i cheat n just like go hop a few miles to wales?

what’s your current favorite song?

chronosaurus my baby

how long have you have this blog for?

had this blog since,,, late august? first blog was years ago tho i cry

what are you excited for?

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, i d k...

are you a better talker or a listener?

listnener 100%

what is the last productive thing you did?

put off homework and write other stuff??? iTS WRITING So?

what do you want for Christmas?

changbin,,,

what classes do you get the best grades in?

history

on a scale of 1-10 how are you feeling right now?

it plummeted to a solid 3 bc of me being hyper jealous for the smallest of reasons.

what can you see yourself doing in 10 years?

history teacher maybe?

when did you first get your heartbreak?

dude i d k what counts as a heart break? loosing my grandparents? looking my cat?? was a fucking mess that one time i didn’t talk to a friend for a week AND lost a friend the sAME WEEk id k.

at what age do you want to get married?

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, d o i wanna get married? me n my friend who r both ace n probably aro used to be liKE LETs just do it when we’re oldER BUT THat didn’t work out so like,,,, to my other friends hmu if ur sad n lonely in the future.

what career did you want to have as a child?

always wanted to be a teacher?

what do you crave right now?

ANOTHER SOLO CHANGBIN LIVE

tagging @changbiinn @trashfbin @linos-teeth @honey-innie and anyone else shrug

#tag #tag games #misc #y e a h jealousy struck about a 3rd of the way in help #i feel like crap now #fdkkfdkfkfdk :')

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softboywriting · 7 years ago

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Together | Shawn Mendes Oneshot

Summary: (This is a sequel to Messy) You’re Shawn’s PA (personal assistant) and both of you have admitted your feelings but now it’s time to tie up loose ends before you can go all in with Shawn, and what happens when the team finds out about the two of you?

Warnings: swearing, break-up (non shawn)

Word Count: 3k

| Masterlist |

It’s been a week since you’ve answered your phone calls and texts from Max. You know he deserves to know what’s going on with you and Shawn. You know he deserves closure and an explanation, but you just can’t bring yourself to do it. There is no way of doing it where you don’t look like an asshole but you had accepted that part. It was the whole hurting someone part of it that you was stopping you from talking to him.

Your phone lights up and Max’s picture pops up on the screen. He’s trying to facetime and you look over at Shawn and Scott sitting at the soundboard. You could easily slip out without them noticing probably. You were going to have to talk to Max and doing it face to face would be better than breaking up over text. Getting up, you squeeze past Shawn and Scott from behind and just as you reach the door, Shawn’s hand catches your shirt.

“Where ya goin’?” he asks, eyebrows raised, eye on the phone in your hands.

“To take care of some business. I’ll be right back.”

Shawn releases your shirt and blows you a little kiss followed by a cheesy wink. You roll your eyes and slip out of the door while they go back to work. There is an empty office a few doors down from the room you were in and you step in. You don’t bother to close the door because there wasn’t anyone in the studio besides you, Shawn and Scott right now. Everyone had gone for lunch.

The phone rings again and you look at it. Taking a seat at a table in the room you slide to answer. Nerves make you feel sick, bile rising in your throat. Max appears on screen and you have to look away. Neither of your greet each other. It’s just awkward silence as you stare at each other through tiny screens thousands of miles away from each other.

“So this is how it is then?” Max asks after what felt like an eternity. “Do you know how I had to find out?”

“Find out what?” you snap and immediately close your eyes. Now was not the time to be defensive. You told yourself you were going to handle this calmly and give him closure.

Max raises his eyebrows and chuckles sarcastically. “How I found out Shawn fucking Mendes was fucking my girlfriend. My now ex girlfriend.”

“We haven’t slept together so I dont know what-”

“Maybe you should check social media,” Max hisses and you glare at him. “I don’t know how, but some fans got pictures of the two of you in bed together. I’m surprised you haven’t been talked to by his managers yet. It’s spreading like wildfire.”

You swallow thickly as you start to tremble. Someone had taken pictures of the two of you? How was that possible? You’d only been in LA for a couple days now. “Max, Shawn and I have only slept together. As in sleeping not fucking.”

“Yeah? And how long has that been going on?”

“Since tour began, but it was never sexual and we both promised to-”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Max snarls and you look toward the window across the room. “You’ve been that friendly with that kid for almost a fucking year? God if I’d know you were so easy I never would have started dating you.”

Your voice is broken as you speak. “Max, it’s not like that.” Tears form in your eyes and you were feeling like an asshole but Max was being unnecessarily rude as well. Sleeping with Shawn really did look bad on your part but how were you going to deny him? Shawn needed you. Sure it wasn’t in your contract to give him that sort of assistance but it was just easier than seeing him sleep deprived or reliant on a sleep aid. That shit can fuck someone up over time. The worst way you’d seen Shawn get himself to sleep was getting so drunk he passed out. Sure it worked but the hangover after was a bitch. It was just easier that he slept with you.

“I figured this would happen.” Max says quietly. “Don’t worry about it. Shawn’s a far better choice for anyone.”

“Max don’t start that. This isn’t about you not being good enough. It’s about me not feeling the same way for you anymore.This is on me. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Max scoff and rolls his eyes. “Whatever. I just don’t care. Have a good life fucking your boss.” WIth that Max hangs up and your screen closes to the background picture you have saved of Shawn laying on your lap, looking up at you with a grin.

“Have a good life fucking your boss? Wow, that’s a dick thing to say.”

You turn around and see Shawn leaning against one shoulder in the doorway. He looks at you softly, knowing you were torn up inside and you break into tears. He opens his arms and says, “C’mere” and you walk over to him. You tuck your face against his chest and let out a pitiful sob. The guilt and the hurt was crushing. It would take time but you would heal and you knew Shawn was the right choice. You wish you’d never decided to try and keep dating Max. You wish you had just broken up with him before you went on tour with Shawn like you planned, but you couldn’t go back in time.

Shawn walks you back into the recording room and Scott gets the hint as you walk in sniffling. He steps out and closes the door behind him. Shawn sits you down on the little loveseat behind the chairs at the soundboard and you sink into the cushions. “Talk to me.”

“I fucked up. I shouldn’t have ever started letting you sleep in my bed. I should have never kept dating Max. I should have never taken this job.”

“Oh babe,” Shawn mumbles as he reaches for your face. He cups your cheeks and wipes tears away with his thumbs. “You didn’t fuck up, you just learned a hard lesson. The right choices aren’t always going to be the easiest ones, sometimes you have to learn as you go and take the hard road to get to where you need to be.” You nod and sniffle, eyes cast down at Shawn’s lap. “Are you happy when you’re with me? Do you like when I sleep with you?”

“Yeah, I love sleeping with you.” You reach up and rub your eyes and Shawn slides his hands to your shoulders so he can pull you closer into a hug. “I’m very happy when I’m with you, I know you’re the one I want,” you mumble into his shoulder as he rubs up and down your back.

“Then that’s what matters.”

Shortly after you left the studio with Shawn, Andrew called. Apparently Max hadn’t been lying about some photos circulating of Shawn in bed with you. They were from Jamaica and you’re pretty sure it was from one of the last days you spent there because in the photo you can see you’re wearing Shawn’s kombucha shirt and that was the only time you had worn it. It made you feel sick, the fact that someone had gotten into the resort to get the pictures, clearly from a distance and zoomed in, but pictures nonetheless. Just the thought of your privacy being invaded like that...it was uncomfortable.

Of course since those photos had been released Andrew was having to work to cover it up and smooth things over. Shawn Mendes sleeping with his personal assistant? Scandalous and harmful to his good boy image. Not that Shawn wasn’t a good boy, he was...to an extent. You’d witnessed, and experienced, otherwise. But Andrew had a job to do and so a day later you were sat down with him and Shawn and talked to.

The solution reached was that you would go back home and assist with scheduling from there and Shawn would remain in LA to finish recording and finalizing the album. There would be a month between the time you left and Shawn would return home to Toronto for the whole scandal to blow over. A whole month where Shawn would have to do everything he could to get to sleep. A whole damn month without Shawn. It made your heart ache.

Three days later you were at the airport with your bags and Shawn nowhere in sight. Geoff had dropped you off and helped you to your gate before leaving. He wasn’t happy with the arrangement either. The two of you had become like brother and sister over the last year. To suddenly have you removed was upsetting more than just you and Shawn. Within an hour you were on the plane and on your way back to your apartment just outside New York City.

Shawn texted you the moment you landed. He had used one of those flight tracking apps to find out when you touched down. All he sent was “call me”. You get off the plane and head to baggage to pick up your stuff and on your way you press the call button and bring the phone to your ear. Two rings and Shawn picks up.

“I hate this,” he says in a whisper and you know he must be somewhere he can’t talk too loud. “I don’t know why it’s such a big deal.”

“It just is, Shawn. I told you this would be messy.”

“Messy? This isn’t messy it’s just cruel. Andrew didn’t need to send you to the other side of the country. How am I supposed to sleep? What am I supposed to do without you?”

You stop at the claim carousel belts and stand there as some bags start rolling through. “We can facetime when ever you want. I probably won’t be going out much anyway. I’ll talk to you every night.”

“You better. I swear I’m going to do everything I can to get home faster.”

“Don’t rush the album. I’ll always be there for you when you get home, the album is so much more important and you can’t change it once it is released. Don’t rush it or I’ll kick your ass.”

Shawn scoffs. “You? Kick my ass?”

“Shawn Pe-”

“No! No don’t you say my name like that.”

“PeterRaulMendes,” you say quickly and Shawn yells in anguish. You grab your bags and start crossing the airport to the cab lanes outside. “I gotta go bud. I’ll call you at bedtime okay?”

“Okay. I’ll talk to you then. Text me?”

“Of course.”

The days get harder without Shawn there. You go to bed cold and alone. You wake up cold and alone. Never did you realize how much you needed Shawn. Never did you know just how much you would miss him until he was taken away from you. The first two nights you laid awake, mind racing, bed feeling too empty. Both nights you reached over for your phone and call Shawn, knowing he would always answer for you. You would lay there with him on facetime, phone propped up against the pillow until both of you fell asleep. You were always tired, always heart sick whenever you did the smallest things that reminded you of him during the day. The first week was the worst.

The second week was okay. Both of you had adjusted to the nightly facetimes that turned into morning facetimes. Calling was frequent, texting almost every couple of minutes it seemed. You snapped him all the time and he would snap back goofy faces. The second week was far easier.

Third week was hell. It was at the point where there was only one more week until he was home and it was so close yet still so far away. Shawn was getting antsy, telling you how much he missed you every couple of texts. Even Geoff had texted and told you that Shawn was climbing up the walls he missed you so badly. He said he was distracted, often distant. The album was nearly finished, only a few more things to wrap up with the label and a photoshoot next week for promotional and cover art.

The fourth week finally arrived. Shawn was due home Friday evening and you would be damned if you weren’t at his place the moment he arrived. So you dug around in your bag to find the little set of keys Shawn gave you ages ago. There was one for his apartment and one for his storage unit a few blocks from his building. There was also a little fob with his building’s door code and the parking garage code on it.

On Wednesday you pack a bag and drive up to Toronto. It’s a couple hours but that was no problem for you. Once you arrived you parked in the parking garage and went up to his condo. The place was gorgeous, decent sized and spacious. It was cozy and warm while still being very modern and sleek. You had only been to Shawn’s place a couple of times and usually it was nothing more than just waiting in the kitchen or the living room for him to get ready.

You carry your bag as you walk down the short hall to the last door and push it open to reveal Shawn’s bedroom. It’s not really more than you expected. The big king size bed is a mess and pushed into the corner, clothes strewn about around a hamper. There was a bedside table that matched his bed frame and it had all the essentials on it; lamp, tissues, deodorant, lotion and chargers hanging from the corner of the small drawer. His closet was standing open, a couple guitar cases propped up inside with some clothes on hangers and shoes littering the floor.

You sigh and shake your head, tossing your bag on his bed. He literally left for a world tour and left his bedroom a damn mess. He had been home a couple times but god, he was such a messy boy. It didn’t surprise you much because you had been on tour with him for months and you knew his habits. He wasn’t always messy, but he wasn’t captain organization either. First things first. Laundry.

After cleaning his room and making the bed you settle down on the couch and turn the tv on to see what movies were playing when your phone rings. It’s Shawn and you bite your lip, staring at the screen and debating on answering the facetime or not. If you picked up and he saw that you were in his apartment than the surprise would be ruined when he came home. You slide to decline and opt to text him instead.

A few hours later and you were curled up in Shawn’s bed in your pajamas. Now you think you could probably get away with facetime because the room was dark. All he could see was your face in the phone’s light. You call him up and he’s not in bed yet, but he was three hours behind you in time. The two of you talk for a little while and when you start to drift off he wakes you up and says he will see you soon and that he misses you. He blows a little kiss to the screen and you giggle before hanging up.

The sound of rain wakes you up and you wrap your arms around the pillow in front of you. It smells like Shawn and you pull it closer. Well. You try to but it doesn’t budge. In fact it was really abnormally warm. You sit up and the blanket falls to your waist. Petting along the ‘pillow’ you realize it’s no pillow. It’s a warm body.

Quickly you turn and reach over and scramble to get the bedside lamp on to flood the room with soft light. The first thing you’re met with is a mess of curls when you turn to see who was in the bed. It’s Shawn, still in his tee shirt and jeans, curled up on the bed beside you. Reaching over, you shake his shoulder and he rolls on to his back and his mouth falls open.

“Shawn what are you doing here?!” You pat his chest and he doesn’t wake up. You go for his face, patting at his cheek until his eyes open and he looks up at you. “Why didn’t you wake me up? When did you get home?”

“Mmm, what time is it?” You shrug and he shakes his head. “Honey I’m home,” he sings playfully, smiling sleepily as he grabs your hand rested on his chest, tangling his fingers with yours.

Tears fall down your cheeks and you don’t even know why you’re crying, you suppose its because you’re so happy. You lay down and he pulls you on top of him. “I missed you so much,” you cry, body shaking gently, the tears coming freely now. “I know it was only a month and we aren’t really a couple yet or anything but I got so used to you and I-”

Shawn noses along your neck to your ear and shushes you softly. “I feel the same. I felt so empty, so incomplete without you.” He puts his arms around you and hugs you tight to his chest. “I think I'm falling for you.”

“I think I'm falling for you too.”

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes oneshot #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes writing #oneshot #oneshots

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decadentrpg-blog · 6 years ago

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WELCOME EMILY, YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF HELOISE DELACOUR

Admins Note: Heloise was certainly a difficult choice to make but after much assessment, I want to say that I absolutely adore what you’ve brought to the table! From build up of her background to every little historical reference that was placed within your application, it cohesively created this duality that Heloise has! I’ve enjoyed every interaction she has as well as the clarity and rationale behind her thinking! Your faceclaim request for Virginia Gardner has been approved. Congratulations on your acceptance again, please make sure to head your way to the checklist and submit your account within the next 24 hours!

Out of Character

Name / Alias: Emily

Pronouns: She/Her

Age: Twenty-two

Timezone: GMT.

In Character Application

Full Name: Heloise Delacour

Sexuality: Lesbian.

You like girls. No, that’s wrong. You love girls. You love the smoothness of their skin. You love their gentle curves, their bodies like oceans, refreshing and divine. You love stroking their hair as you lie between sweat-soaked sheets, curling it around your fingertips. You love sharing lipstick shades so it won’t get too messy when you kiss and the sound beaded dresses make when they hit the ground. Most of all, you love who you become around them. Bursting at the seams with euphoria, without a trace of shakiness in your footsteps, you unveil the creature you fought so hard to become - self-assured and valiant. You always slipped into her without thinking about it, knowing instinctively, that this was right. This was who you were supposed to be.

Gender/Pronouns: Cis-female, she/her

Hogwarts House: Gryffindor.

The hat was adamant. They wanted you in Gryffindor. They wanted you to learn to harness your own roar, the find power in your sort of bravery - perhaps even to tame the brasher instincts of your peers, to calm the storm inside of them. Not every kind of bravery favours the bold, the defiant, the loud. There are different kinds of bravery. The courage to carry on when the chains around your neck drag you to the ground. The strength to try and try and try. The valour in turning yourself into an anchor, a steady weight for the rest of the world to ground themselves on. There are all sorts of bravery in this world, each as useful, each as needed, as the last. Children, yourself included, see so much, but so little at the same time.

You didn’t glimpse the potential in yourself. You wouldn’t for many years yet.

But the hat knew.

You pleaded for Hufflepuff, knowing you’d be able to carve a home out of the house. The world underestimated badgers, sneering at their perceived lack of intelligence, wit or ambition. You didn’t see that at all. You saw steadiness, a bedrock to build a person upon. It wasn’t a leap of faith. But society couldn’t be built around those who flew. Someone had to be waiting, down below, rooted to the earth, ready to catch falling angels.

The hat laughed.

“Better be…” Panic rose in your chest, a knot tightening inside of you. “GRYFFINDOR.”

They weren’t unkind to you. But you were the fawn in the pride of lions, the hovering figure in the background, the mute who never could make herself heard. Years later, with your personhood more fully attached, half of you wistfully wishes you could go back and do it better. Do it again. And yet, in your heart, you know there’s no value in looking backwards. You must journey on.

Head canons:

Trigger warnings for violence, war, alcoholism and mentions of abuse.

I. la petite fille

Your father - and you only have the confidence to say this now you’re a fledgling, grown to use her own voice - always cared far too much about what people thought. Cream of French society, darling of the elite, a career-hungry politician intent on climbing the ladder. Ironically, the sunshine in your soul can be traced directly back to him. And yet, where yours is woven into the very essence of your being, a warm touch to steady a storm, an easiness to still a monster, a brightness to diminish the darkness, his is a mask, a choking falseness. It was that, more than anything else, that scared you. He changed before your very eyes - shaking hands and kissing cheeks one second - to plotting behind their back the next. Nothing about him was real. He slipped between your fingers, never a solid thing to hang onto.

(The feeling, you know, is mutual. You were a grand disappointment. Too timid to follow in his footsteps and too honest to lie. You’re mostly strangers now, each unable to understand the other).

Your mother you know a little better. An English rose, she fell for your father’s charms one summer, a fling that never was supposed to turn into a marriage. You were the bump that interrupted those plans, the shame that would have befallen her good name. Both parties were hastily married and that was that. You’ve always wondered if she blamed you for it. Always been too afraid to ask. Your mother, you know, was miserable, far far away from home, shackled to a man she barely liked, forced to play the part of politicians wife. When she played it well, there was harmony in the household. But if she slipped up…all hell broke loose. And her, with her love of expensive wine and flirting with other people’s husbands, did mess up. You never witnessed the war inside of your father unfold, merely lived its after effects. Silently, you’d pull a blanket over your mother’s quivering frame and give your father his favourite cigar.

(As you grew, you became rather good at predicting the ticking time bombs. So before the storm ravaged, you nearly always scrambled to safety, grabbing your teddy bear and retreating to the back of the wardrobe. You never found a secret world in the back of there, but you did find safety - and that was a comfort in and of itself).

Peacemaker, your father would sometimes say with affection, your mother with scorn. You’d gulp and nod silently, opinions kept to yourself. Over time, a survival instinct became a pattern and from a pattern into a habit. Such things are hard to shake.

Ii. maison choisie

Your mother hailed from London’s big smoke and your father made Paris his home, so you’ve always been accustomed to cities - you could even say it’s in your blood. But nowhere ever felt like home more than your Grand-Mere’s home a stone’s throw from Amiens. Reluctantly, with great effort, your father would make the bi-annual privilege there, dragging your mother in tow. You never had to be forced, you galloped ahead, a country girl at heart. There was something so liberating about Amiens, especially in the summer, where the line between the fields and sky was impossible trace and wildflowers bloomed. Your grandmother was kinder than your parents, the only one who could pull you out of your shell - but even then, only when you were alone. More a hedgewitch than practiced individual, she used to set you upon a stool as she practiced her potions, entrusting you with the responsibility of stirring from time to time. She was the one who taught you that magic had more than rigid purpose, that it would be as beautiful as life itself.

She also taught you a second, valuable lesson.

You remember the very first muggle you met. You remember them because they waved joyfully as you stepped into the town square - and knew your father by reputation, your Grand-Mere by face. Your father, ever the diplomat, turned his face away, pretending not to have heard. You, bashfully, didn’t meet their eyes either. It was only later, when your parents had been placated by a bottle of wine or two, that your Grand-mere took you aside.

“Why didn’t you wave back?” Dumbstruck, you look for somewhere to scurry away and hide. Gently, she took your hand into her own. “I won’t hurt you chérie.”

“Maman et Papa didn’t.” And you never were awfully comfortable around strangers, bashfulness seizing control of you.

“They were wrong to.” Bopping your nose, your grand-mere drew giggles from you. “They didn’t wave because he was…” her voice strained over the English word. “A muggle. Have they told you not to talk to muggles?”

You shook your head.

“Don’t let them. There will be some, especially when you go to school, who tell you not to talk to witches who have muggle parents. You musn’t let them order you around. No one is any better or lesser because of the blood in our veins. Even muggles…they’re not witches. But they’re not the enemy. After all, if I never spoke to a muggle, I’d never speak to anyone! Never forget that.”

You promised you wouldn’t. You haven’t since.

Iii. armes de guerre Ultimately, it was war that drove you away from your beloved France and your cherished Grand-mere, who refused to stand down and flee when the German troops overran Amiens. You like to imagine she would not take a cowards way out, apparating whilst the others were rats in a barrel, trapped by the advance. You like to imagine she fought to defend her farm with every trick up her sleeve. You like to imagine she remained strong and valiant until the very end. But you’ll never know. The war snatched her from you, her story lost to the wind. All you had left was an owl from the French ministry and the personal condolences of the French Minister La Magie.

It took you a very long time to summon the courage to return. And even then, you couldn’t do it alone. Kenshin stepped in without being asked, the year after you left Hogwarts, stability at your side as you confronted the ruins of the happiest parts of your childhood. Violence had ravaged the landscape, scarring those who survived. Left with nothing, you saw the hallows of hunger in their sunken cheeks and poverty wrecked on their bones. Beauty had perished and been left to die. But in the ruins of her farm, you saw all was not lost. The Peach trees were still rooted, their bounty just as sweet. The goats, against the odds, made it out of the shelling alive. The old stool you had once assisted your grandmother had merely cracked, not splintered. Life went on - and through the cracks of darkness, light emerged.

You saw something of yourself in that light.

A hopeful creature, timidly taking her first steps into the world. A passionate believer in the strength of goodness, in victory and vanquish over evil. That progress, ultimately, would triumph. That even in the face of blasphemy, there is room for beauty, for brightness. The trick is in finding it and nourishing it, so that it may grow.

From seed to sapling to great oak.

The spark within yourself ignited that day. You felt your grandmother’s presence and smiled. You mourned, not in sadness, but in joy - for all the happiness that had been, for all that would yet come.

The world treads down on optimists, mocking their faith. But you’ve learnt there’s courage in that kind of relentless determination. That day, you felt its whispers in your soul. That day, you swore to let it go free.

Iv. soldat improbable The time that followed ‘The Great War’ was supposed to be the long peace. If you look with hooded eyes, you’d find that in the cityscape of New York. Illicit drinking. Parties that last until dawn. Jazz bands. Woman’s emancipation. There is so much beauty, so much progress. But squint harder - and you’d find an underground war, a cold one, lurking just below the surface. It’s cause is more just than any muggle one ever fought. It isn’t a battle between great powers, princes and their cousins. It’s between right and wrong, progress and past, egalitarianism and inequality.

You know you’re not a likely candidate to fight in it. Most overlook you, sneering at your daintiness, soft smiles and open heart. They should understand that it’s what makes you strong, too. All you want is some small part in this larger battle, to be a part of the greater good. More than anything else, you’re a visionary, able to picture a world beyond this hatred. If you can see the brightness, you can be the brightness, a bedrock for those wearier than you, a guide for those who might come in your direction. You’re no warrior, not in the conventional sense, but not every battle should be fought with a weapon. Some need softer tools. You could be that person.

It is the sum of your duties with Dahlia. You see yourself in her, the girl you were but a few years ago, timid and unsure of the power in her own voice, but possessing a rosy heart. She deserves better. You long to show her that, to share your brightness and certainty in betterness, to pull her from the den of snakes and away from the Pride Society. You’re not asking her to fight, for the Coalition, for you…never. You simply want to help her. You would do anything - give her the means to runaway, a safe roof to shelter under, because you long to see her flourish. You’re just so afraid of failure…of failing her, your duty and yourself. The powers against you are overwhelming, those who wield the weapons lethal. The horrors she confesses terrify you. Light, as bright as it is, can be snuffed out. That is your greatest fear where Dahlia is concerned.

V. Coup de main As fun you’ll admit the parties Wren and Kenshin drag you out to are, you couldn’t carve a life out of them. Pleasure is for hedonists - and you do not count yourself among their ranks. When you found your own voice, the grit beneath porcelain skin, you were determined that it should count. You sought purpose in yourself, a way to matter. Almost as if you were trying to prove yourself…to yourself.

You found clarity in the most unlikely of places. A non-descriptive building in Queens - that would appear empty to an unsuspecting muggle. It’s purpose only became clear when you stepped inside, finding an overworked and overwhelmed refugee agency. In the aftermath of the great war, the creation of a dozen new states in Europe, thousands of wizards chose to emigrate instead, heading to the United States in search of a better life.

It’ll be tough work, the supervisor warned, staring you up and down, disdainfully. You bit your lip. Old habits die hard.

I’m tougher than I look. Promise. Your voice rang with clarity, in how true that statement had become.

You began volunteering on a trial basis. You distributed donations and held shaky people in your arms. You played with children and made puppets dance. After a fortnight, you began to offer your services as a translator, hoping to connect people into the interior of the US. A little while after that, you suggested you could be used by the organisation at large, rather than ad-hoc.

You felt a rush in your chest, advocating for yourself. You felt strong and brave and…right.

VI. bizarreries personnelles

Here are the little things that make you, you.

You never broke the habit of walking on your tiptoes, a legacy left from a childhood full of ballet dancing. Slender limbs, porcelain skin, your teacher used to sigh and wish you centre stage. Bashfully, you refused, your cheeks darkening. The spotlight was never yours to claim.

You cannot cook without making a mess. In your presence, the kitchen comes a bomb sight, ravaged by war. Nose flour-stained, fingers sticky, you chase Kenshin around the kitchen. You always catch him. He always allows himself to get caught.

Your pastries are infamous, light and puffy, the sort only the french know how to make. You refine your recipes with magic and tap your nose whenever anyone asks for their secrets. (Later, in fine ink, you pen them a letter, containing the details).

You despise British food. You ate dutifully at Hogwarts, too shy to even dream of asking for an alternative. Toad in the hole. Pies. Casseroles. Blegh.

You bit your fingernails until you were fifteen years old. Your mother enchanted them after that, exasperated at your lack of self-control. The spell has long worn off, but the manicure never lasts long. It’s a nervous tick.

You used to chew your hair. You threw off that habit by twelve.

Birthdays are your favourite times of the year. You take great pride in the gifts you give friends, a thoughtful gesture behind each one. You do, however, despise your own birthday. Being at the centre of attention makes you uncomfortable, you’d much rather spread and share the joy. Luckily, everyone’s learnt not to throw you surprise birthday parties. Instead, you have small, intimate gatherings.

(You and Kenshin have a ritual. A cupcake at midnight as eve becomes day.)

You’re hopeless at keeping plants alive. There isn’t a green bone - or thumb - in your body. You failed herbology miserably.

But you’re incredibly attentive when it comes to writing in your diary, daily and in french, to prevent eavesdropping eyes. A habit you haven’t shaken since your days in Gryffindor.

Your patronus is a lamb. An individual with a lamb patronus has a sort of natural innocence about them, and have a very serene disposition. They are kind to most, though they tend to have a difficult time reaching out and expressing themselves. They have a shy aspect of them that is not only social, but inner, which makes them hesitant to do many things. That said, they are very patient and calm creatures, which allow them to be workable with this nature.

You talk too much when you’re nervous. Far too much. About things that have nothing to do with anything. The weather. The latest show that opened on Broadway. The dance craze everyone’s talking about. Whether you should get a bob. You blabber, filling the space with…words. It’s endearing to most, but you despise it in yourself.

Your wand is 9 ½”, french-made and slim. Beech and Unicorn Hair. “The true match for a beech wand will be, if young, wise beyond his or her years, and if full-grown, rich in understanding and experience. Beech wands perform very weakly for the narrow-minded and intolerant. When properly matched, the beech wand is capable of a subtlety and artistry not seen in any other wood, hence its lustrous reputation.”

Languages are your forte. You have a knack for wrapping your tongue around them, inheriting a little of your father’s silver-tongued mantle. French is your mother tongue, but you’ve added English, Spanish, Italian and a pinch of Latin to the mix.

When you’re making a bold declaration or gesture, you rehearse the words in your mind the night before, like a politician preparing for a speech. You muse over the most effective way to get your point across, the comfort a person will be most receptive to, or whether it’s better just to hold someone and let them cry.

Connection expansion:

I. meilleur ami (Note: I’m happy to change all of this if the Kenshin player disagrees, this is merely my interpretation).

“Mon Frere…” Kenshin catches your grin. Deliberately, his mouth forms an ‘o’. “Ma sœur” You wince at the deliberately butchered pronunciation, but smile nonetheless. He’s always had a particular knack for that, drawing the happiness out of you. And you for him. The only label that fits your description is that of platonic soulmate. Or big brother. For truly, the lines between friendship and family have blurred, that you can’t tell them apart. Certainly, he feels more like family than your own blood ever did.

You met on your tenth day at Hogwarts, in the middle of Herbology class. Devil’s snare wrapped around your hand, you panicked, but were too shy to raise you concerns, suffering in silence. Where few did, Kenshin noticed you - and calmed you down with that bluntness of his. Before you knew it, you were smiling, then laughing and then free. You’ve been attached at the hip since - and shall be, until death do you part. The years did little to change the pair of you. Where some friends grow apart, you grew together, slotting like two jigsaw puzzle pieces. By third year, you were spending Christmas together, Kenshin sensing your unspoken reluctance to go back to France and face the holidays with your parents. After your first one together, you confessed the truth, honesty no one had even known. But most of all, he brought light into his life - different to yours, more brazen and bold. Like two twinned suns, strung across the sky. He is your confidante, secret keeper, joker, dance partner and now, roommate.

The latter made sense. When the two of you ended up in New York at the same time (it’s impossible to imagine the two of you oceans apart, impossible and terrible and dreadful), it made sense for the pair of you to find a two-bed apartment in Manhattan and make it your home. You are as compatible roommates as you are friends.

And, for the first time, he made a house a home.

II. le fruit interdit (Again, I’m happy to alter things dependent on plotting w/ Prosperina’s player) You shouldn’t want to kiss her. If you are the doe, she is the wolf - a huntress determined to strike clean. In your heart, you know you should hate that dynamic, as you know you should despise her - resent the intimidation that rises through your bones, abhore the uncertainty she makes you feel.. You should be afraid. Very afraid.

And in so many ways, you are. You’re scared of what your attraction to her says about you, now that you are both girls grown, living with the choices you make as adults. You aren’t school children anymore, you aren’t praying to be noticed, doodling hearts with your names encased in it. You’re fearful of what might happen if you find yourselves alone, in a dark - or a light - room. But you’re more frightened, in a strange way, of nothing happening at all.

With Prosperina, there are so many unspoken anxieties, so many things you can’t possibly wrap your head around, that you can’t possibly know. Why she notices you now. When you began to crave the burn. If the risk is worth a moments ecstasy. How beauty could wear such thorns.

You know, now, how Eve felt, in the Garden of Eden. Just one bite, the snake hissed. Just one kiss, Prosperina whispers. You have no wish to shed your wings and toss yourself from Paradise’s gate. But she’s just as beautiful as any angel you’ve ever gazed upon.

In Character Paragraph:

Thursday night, 9pm sharp, the Yale Club. Dress elegantly. Heloise didn’t need to glance down at the invitation to know its contents, her heart having memorised them ten times over, skipping a beat each time it paused at a cursive. Even Prosperina’s writing was beautiful. She would have liked to say that the invitation was unexpected, out of the blue and had been firmly rejected. Yet, since she distastes lies, she could not.

Heloise had, however, made an attempt or two to excuse herself. Sending an owl in return, she had outlined her disapproval of the Pride Society and its galas in no uncertain terms. Prosperina had take an age to respond - deliberately, Heloise supposed, to make her nerves hop and jump. When she had, Heloise could almost taste her tone. It’s not one of those. It’s for charity. Don’t you support charity? She had caved. Heloise couldn’t be sure if that was strength or weakness, good or bad.

Three days later, another letter had arrived. Wear pink. It matches the blush on your face.

Stepping into the room, Heloise steeled herself, a picture of defiance in angel-white, beads reflecting the light back.

Not so long ago, she would have cowered, a ghostly slip of a thing, trembling in the corner. Glass of champagne stitched to her hand, she would have sipped until someone had taken pity on her - and even then, she might have fled. That worked under the assumption she plucked the courage to attend at all. Time sandpapered everyone, some for the better, others for the worse. Heloise liked to think she took after the former.

The first eye she caught was from across the room, her gaze instantly drawn to the slip of a girl shrouded by demons, unable to do anything but stare from her cage. Dahlia. It hurt to see her here, to see the shackles bound and to know she was powerless to help. To approach her, to take her hands into her own and wrap her arms around her shoulders was to betray her newfound friend, to expose her doubts to the world. There was cruelty in watching her suffer - but there was greater cruelty in taking a hammer to the foundations below her feet. That wasn’t Heloise’s job. Hers was to encourage Dahlia to flutter her own wings, to learn how to fly. All in good time. Smiling softly across the room, she let her face say what her tongue couldn’t. Stay strong, keep the faith.

The second pair were Prosperina’s - appearing from nowhere, sneaking up behind. Departing from conventions and norms, she didn’t bother with small-talk. “You look ravishing. But not as pretty as you would have had in pink.”

Tongue-tied, Heloise searched for a response. No one had the power to shrink her anymore, now that she had freed her voice from its restraints. And yet, that didn’t mean anymore wit had returned to it. In times like these, she prayed for Kenshin’s presence at her side, always ready with a sharp retort, the sort that drew him closer to someone. Or even Wren, brazen and bold, who spoke without thought. You don’t want to impress her! One voice screamed.Not like you imagined you might, a lifetime ago.

And yet, a little bit of her did.

Heloise spurned her interest. But a little bit of her didn’t want to do without it either.

“I - Thank you. You look…” Staring at Prosperina for the first time, Heloise felt the breath be stolen from her lungs. Divine. Enchanting. “Like a million bucks.” Slanting her voice into an American accent for comedic effect, she immediately regretted her choice no sooner had it been said. “And this…it’s certainly big. Very big. I suppose that’s good. The more people you can fit in, the more donations you can collect for charity.”

Prosperina laughed. Heloise was never sure if she was being laughed at or with. She preferred to think it was the latter.

“The committee had a few reservations. Something about…vermin control. The guest list is rather exclusive, you see.”

Confusion flashed across her face. It wasn’t as if New York was a stranger to rodents…but something about her tone, about the look on her face…made it clear that it wasn’t animals she was referring to. Without noticing, Heloise had become a player in the game. The smile froze on her face. “I sure hope that isn’t a reference to the architects who built the place. Or the perfectly nice people going about their business on the floor below. They’re not doing any harm.”

“Ah yes, the No-Maj’s, as our Yank friends love to say.”

Heloise tensed on the mention of that word. She despised it. No-Maj. So…derogatory. And rather rude. As if they didn’t count as people, or deserve respect, on the merit of something they didn’t have - and had no choice in having. “I hate that term. I hate - you shouldn’t talk about them like that. Nobody should. They’re hardly hurting anyone. And technically, this is their territory so really we should - be respectful.” Exhaling heavily, she steadied herself.

“Oh,” Prosperina leaned in, all smiles now, tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear. “You’re such a doll. I was only playing. But I can be nice, if you ask nicely.” Her touch felt like electricity, the sort of chemistry that couldn’t be duplicated or faked. When it was real, it was real. “I’ll go fetch us expensive champagne to make amends.” Half-purr, she broke off and Heloise dropped her gaze. “Pink Champagne, I think.”

Cheeks deepening into rosy-red, Heloise watched her depart, wishing she could look away.

Extras:

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