dork-cresswell-blog

[dork-cresswell-blog]

hi everyone -- sorry for going mia the last few weeks. as some of you may know, i've been having issues with inspiration and muse and such lately, and this writers block just wouldn't let up. i think i've lost inspiration for the harry potter universe entirely, and thus had struggled with putting together a decent reply that i could be satisfied with for awhile now. i absolutely loved being part of the crt family and have learned so much from writing and plotting with all the creative minds here, and you've all been so kind and lovely and welcoming. this has been the single best rp experience i've had since i started, and i hope i'll be able to return at a later time in the coming months. but i don’t want to hog space and keep y’all waiting on replies and such. you can find me at my personal @snowy-writes and my skype is snowy.write@gmail.com. stay in touch babes <33

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♦

“ministry.”

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♦

“light.”

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he leans forwards, cups his hands around his mouth, “LOUD!!”

he grins, clearly holding back a laugh. “better?”

♦ - Hestia

“LOUD.”

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♦

“affection.”

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♦ - Hestia

“LOUD.”

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♦

“safe.” “happy.” “family.” “abandoned.”  “cedric.”

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♦

“ugh.”

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♦

“tea.”

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♦ (rab)

“chess.”

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Send me a "♦" for the first word my muse thinks of when your muse is mentioned.

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he’d been here for over an hour -- sipping champagne and weaving through the crowds, running into figures he recognized and people he wished he didn’t, but even as time dragged on and the room filled with people, as he weaved deeper into the tiled floor of the vast space, dirk’s eyes did not tire of sweeping the room -- the ceiling, raised so high he had to crane his neck to see it, the paintings and the charms and the lights dancing across it’s surface, the artistically sculpted arches carved from the walls of the vast space -- say what you will about his impulse control and lack of sensibility, but dirk cresswell was nothing if not inquisitive, and as he stood witness to such cleverly placed charms all around, the future charms master within him simply wept with joy and longing.

the sweets table, inevitably, caught his attention, and he drifted towards it with an attempt at latency -- it wouldn’t do to bring too much attention to oneself, masked or not -- and looked not at the hors d’oeuvres and assorted unnameable sweets, but rather at the way in which they were laid out before them, the charms used to suspend the silver plates just high enough to be within arm’s reach, the way the sweets themselves hovered above the plates and bobbed along in a small dance over silver, and -- most interestingly, to him -- the way the bite of chocolate drifted towards his hand when he’d reached for it, seemingly of it’s own accord.

he was deeply contemplating the risk of simply pulling out his wand and testing it himself, just to find out the charmwork that went into them, when a nasally, grating, familiar voice interrupted his thoughts. his eyes slid up towards the speaker, the corners of his mouth tugging up into a smirk -- he didn’t need to look to know who it was, a retort already in mind before he looked down again. “well i didn’t come here to kiss ass and lick boots, so i guess so.” he teased, plopping the sweet into his mouth swiftly as gild demonstrated the exact opposite. 

with an eyebrow raised, he leaned back against the table, eyeing his friend from the side. the way he did not meet dirk’s gaze had not gone unnoticed, and dirk decided not to name the apprehension he felt at this. “like what you’re seeing?” he grinned instead, lifting the lapels of his suit slightly before dropping them, his hands going to his pockets as he shrugged. “if you want me to answer your questions then you’re gonna have to ask them first.” he paused. he squinted. “and anyway, i can match clothes better than you any day.” 

a teasing tune | gilderoy&dirk

Date: March 31, 1979  

Time: 9:14 pm  

Location: Selwyn Spring Ball

@dork-cresswell

Having feared falling into a passive role at the event, Gilderoy didn’t dare to question neither how he found himself swapping fictionalized stories and forced laughter with a small circle of other party guests nor the true identity of such guests, hidden behind masks similar to his own. Instead, he basked in every aspect of the moment - the attention they granted as a complimentary gift to their breath, the interest they offered on a silver platter, the laughter that was almost more sophisticated than the music, which the man had determined was his new favorite. The war outside and rumors of those who would attempt to bring it inside that night forgotten, the man couldn’t help but feel as though this was where he belonged.

It was certainly not where his best mate belonged, however. 

When his blue eyes landed on a familiar form near the sweets table, he told himself that it couldn’t be - that Dirk wasn’t reckless enough, stupid enough to make an appearance at the ball, even if it was behind the security of a mask. A minute or two of conspicuous observation was all more than what was necessary for him to confirm the identity of the man. He knew his friend like he knew the back of his hand, which made the question of why he was there all the more curious. It made him feel angry for a reason he couldn’t quite explain, as though by endangering himself Dirk consequently was jeopardizing Gilderoy’s good night. 

Politely excusing himself from his current company, he made his way gracefully to the table at which the other man stood. “Did you come here just to eat all the macaroons? The chocolate ones aren’t that good, and you’re supposed to get a plate.” He spoke lowly and without meeting Dirk’s gaze, instead demonstrating the process of how to properly eat a sweet: one he had learned from observing others throughout the night. Glancing over, he inspected his friend’s wardrobe with furrowed brows. “I didn’t know you owned a suit, or more than one mask - or the ability to match them, for that matter,” He remarked, waiting expectantly for an explanation.

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why.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

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xeno:

The streets of Diagon Alley had been packed all day in anticipation of the evening’s events. Decorations being enchanted into place, drink and food stands being piled high with all sorts of wonderful treats, music beginning to fill the air. Later, he would return to these streets, dancing, drinking, and taking part in all sorts of debauchery. But first? It was time to do something worthwhile, and with the crowds already gathering, the timing could not be more perfect. Xenophilius picked a spot that was out of the way enough to keep himself from being trampled, while still intrusive enough to catch the crowd’s attention. “Perfect.” He sighed contentedly, finally relieving himself of the half a dozen sings he had had tucked under his arms. They clattered to the ground around him. The magical writing danced and wiggled across the cardboard canvases. “Protect the Gnomes!” some of them read. “Say GNO to Violent De-Gnoming!” said others. There were plenty of variations, but they were all preaching the same message. Some simply featured painting’s of smiling gnomes sporting rosy cheeks and little golden halos.

He jammed the signs into the grass surrounding him, held the “Say GNO” sign in one hand, and a clipboard in the other. He cleared his throat and began shouting at the crowd as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “Ladies and gentleman! Witches and Wizards! Open your eyes to the cruelty happening right beneath your noses! In your very own gardens! End the senseless violence against innocent gnomes! Sign the petition to outlaw gnome abuse today!” He went on like this, brandishing his sign and shouting his mind at strangers. Other then the wayward glare, or the barely-hidden snicker, he was ignored by the crowd. Not that he cared. They weren’t going anywhere. There was going to be free alcohol flowing on these streets in just a few short hours, and he had all the time in the world. “Save the Gnomes!”

the day of the celebration has come too soon, he thought, as he weaved through the crowds of diagon, a bag of parchment and potions strapped against  his side. the clinking of bottles rang softly against the noise and hubbub of the busy streets, and he repositioned the bag again to keep the glass from clanking. too soon, he thought, though not unpleasantly. it had felt as though only days have past since the announcement of the festivities to come, only days since the flyers were scattered about these streets, since talk of the ball at selwyn manor had weaved through the crowds, rather than the weeks they’ve actually been.

the people of wizarding britain seemed all too ready to throw themselves into this – into the prospect of peace, of relief, of celebration. the streets are covered in decorations already, enchanted fairy lights and music playing into the air. dirk, an optimist himself, was not one to miss such an opportunity to enjoy his time.

one particular british wizard, however, seemed to take this as an opportunity for something else – and as his loud chants reached his ears, dirk’s head whipped to the side, and he slipped between the crowds towards the voice, a grin already pulling at his lips before he even saw the man.

he stopped in front of him, hands shoved into his pockets, leaning back on his heels rather far before straightening up again. his grin did not falter as his eyes flickered between the signs. “hey.” he said, dropping down beside the other, carefully placing his bag onto his lap as he did.”what are we protesting today?” 

Save the Gnomes II Xenophilius & Dirk

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rabastan:

Clearly, events like those were both a blessing and a curse. With his parents out of the picture, Rabastan had to be present to represent his family and the prestige they had. In fact, the smile he currently wore was just a positive side effect to his name, all those eyes watching him, voices whispering his name. He liked to be seen, to be respected and feared – love rarely got him nowhere, so he mostly faked a smile, shared a laugh and shook unclean hands to further his own goals – purebloods were, after all, a bunch of sinners all caged in a golden cage. So as he approached Dirk in hopes of being greeted with the same fear and interest, he quickly found the other to be unimpressed – something he’d expected, but still didn’t wish for. “No, I used to impress you in other ways,” Rabastan replied as he recognized the other man’s voice.

His tongue quickly slipped over his own lips to moisturize them. With a snap of his fingers, Rabastan demanded those around them to give them some space, hopefully to clear some things, to just talk like they used to. “Bold choice to come here, I’m impressed. But then again, I’ve always been impressed by you.”

“oh, did you?” he asks, with a confused tinge to his voice, before the words fully register in his mind. he does not drop the flute between his fingers, but only just. something familiar and undefined rises in his throat, skin prickling with hostility he doubts he could ever act on – not with rabastan, not with him, and he is yet to understand what made it so. the pause is almost long but not quite, and his voice does not shake when he speaks. “well, what can i say. young and silly, i was easy to impress.”

it wasn’t as though he hadn’t expected rabastan to attend – this was a pureblood function, after all, and rabastan was a name his mind seemed to pull up whenever ‘pureblood’ was mentioned – it was simply that he hadn’t imagined they’d run into each other. which, all things considered, is rather stupid. he brings the flute to his lips and takes a sip. his eyes flicker to the other man’s lips and flicker away again. he shifts, and his voice takes on a haughty, mock-deep tone. “the selwyn spring ball is a most prestigious event, lestrange, it’d be awfully rude and uncivilized not to come on such a special occasion.” he shrugs. “anyway, i don’t know what you’re talking about. i was invited.”

Silhouette | Rabastan + Dirk

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If you were born with the weakness to fall you were born with  the strength to rise.

Rupi Kaur (via avouer)

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dirk was not raised among pureblood society – he was not raised among these walls of deceit, of extravagance, of opulence, did not share the purity of their blood or the divinity of their lineage. he had no right to be here, as many of them would believe, had no right to stand anywhere near them – which, of course, made sneaking in the most obvious thing to do.

the fact he had an actual, legitimate invite resting in his pocket as he hid behind the bushes and watched the guests trickle in was too amusing -- something about crashing a party you’ve been expressly invited to made him ticklish. something about crashing this party in particular made him ticklish. sirius didn’t have to ask twice, dirk was ready to do this before he even knew they were going to.

he turned slightly towards his partner, devilish grin matching his own, eyes lighting up at the other’s words. “you’re mad.” he said, in a tone that suggested no opposition from his part. “absolutely bonkers.” he shifted, tapping the other’s head with his wand and muttering an incantation, before casting it on himself as well. the Disillusionment Charm took effect immediately. “now we’re ready.”

{la foule} | dirk&sirius

31 March 1979 Selwyn Manor - Spring Ball (@dork-cresswell)

The annual Selwyn Spring Gala was a night of festivities and politics in the Pureblood world. Intrigue, deceit, seduction, scandal: a sprawling reception to delight those who remain pure, be they friend or foe. Social standings - highly regarded - were brought to the forefront, every move, every word judged, for better or for worse. It was the event of the season, ushering in Spring and the rebirth that came with it, and any Purebloods that wished to better themselves would be seen there.

The invitation, however, does not extend to blood traitors, Muggle lovers, or - Merlin forbid - Muggle-borns. Yet, here they are, Sirius’ eyes fixated on the grand estate, clad in dress robes akin to Muggle tuxedos, hair carefully tousled behind the ostentatious mask. He can hear the melody of a waltz sounding from within, watches the steady trickle of guests through the front gates, and he looks at his partner in crime, a grin stretching over his mouth.

“I brought fireworks,” he offers, hand patting a pocket. “Distraction, y’know. Draw people away, create some chaos, we can slip in undetected.” Fireworks, Sirius thinks, are the answer to many of life’s problems, such as how can we break into the ball without being caught? The most brilliant answer, in his opinion.