ivancvas

[ivancvas]

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[ivancvas]

The days that followed the full moon were always the same. A body covered in marks and bruises, each of them accompanied with varying levels of aches and pains, the likes of which often prevented her from getting much, if any, restful sleep. Such had been the case for Clara the previous evening, managing an hour or two of rest at most between her nightmares. Having been sitting up in bed for the better part of an hour, attempting to fall back asleep with no level of success, this seemed as good of a time as any to get some fresh air. With any luck, she would have returned before Alastor and Jupiter had even known she departed. In the unlikely event that wasn’t the case, she grabbed a nearby notepad, scribbling a message that mentioned her whereabouts, before dropping it upon his nightstand and bidding her boyfriend farewell with a quick kiss to the forehead.

With no particular destination in mind at first, after a brisk walk through the neighborhood, she eventually settled  on stopping by River’s for a quick visit. Clara wasn’t scheduled to work for another two days, but she had found she missed being there, while recovering from her last transformation. Particularly the company of the animals, but also Fawn, and the solitude of the greenhouse. It was a welcoming space, with equally pleasant company, particularly for someone of her… affliction. Walking into a shop, she is almost immediately accosted by a group of shoppers when she steps behind the counter, each of insistent that the reason for their visits were tended to at once. She manages to address their concerns, though hardly with the finesse that her boss always managed to do.

The shoppers eventually depart, though not nearly fast enough for her liking, and Clara is quick to notice Fawn once she appears. “You just missed them. A few shoppers dropping by. Count yourself lucky you did. About as stupid as an ass, the lot of them." She tries to mask her annoyance over the whole experience, but her scowl is quick to give her true sentiments away. There's a reason she chose to work in the back with the animals. "But now that I am here, is there anything I can help you with?”

open starter

where: River’s Garden flower shop

Fawn wasn’t sure how she felt about being back in England, the place she once called home. She had been a teenager when she left and now she was a woman. A widow. When she looked back, all she could say was that she was a survivor with many scars and her emotional stability hanging by a thread, but she was still standing and moving forward, because that’s what she promised David.

Oh, David…

Her fingers instinctively moved to the wedding ring hanging in the golden chain around her neck and took it to her lips. There was not a day in which she didn’t miss her husband. Her attention went back to the hydrangeas, they were recovering from a nasty infection. “Look how better you all look… so colorful…” she murmured to the flowers as she sprayed them with some medicine she brewed herself. It was then when she heard the doorbell ringing, indicating someone walked into her shop. Fawn looked through the leafs and flowers first to see who this person was, but she couldn’t tell properly. 

“I’ll be with you in a second!” she said before finishing with the hydrangeas. Once she was done, she approached to the counter, drying off her hands with her apron. “Here I am… how can I help you?”

[ivancvas]

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@madeyeinmotion

[ivancvas]

dcrxsswxll·:

Dirk was… utterly oblivious to the tension in Alastor and the mirth in Clara, as the woman sat down he let out a small ‘aww’ sound and cupped his head on his open hands, “You both look so good together it’s nice.” he tilted his head to the side until it bumped gently against Alastor’s arm and chuckled, “I’m real happy you found a nice lady Mr. Moody, you deserve to be happy and relaxed and have a puppy and kids. Ohhh! Are you both gonna have kids? Can I be a Godfather? I’d be a great Godfather, I could teach them Japanese.”

“You’re very nice Mr. Moody, you looked after me that time I was scared after the Giant’s nearly killed me,” Something he probably shouldn’t be disclosing at conversational level at a Ministry Gala but there was nothing like alcohol to loosen lips. As Alastor continued, Dirk heaved his head up, looked the man straight in the eyes (well eye) and asked, “Mr. Moody Sir, can I please have a piggy-back at some point? It would mean the world to me. Ms.Ivanova, tell Mr. Moody he should give me a piggy-back, pleeeease!”

“Strays… Oh!” Dirk’s unfocused eyes went wide, “Do you have a puppy! That’s so cool! I’ve always wanted a dog, but I’m so busy at work I don’t think I’d look after it and love it as much as it would need. They have super cute noses though, I just wanna squish’em and give’em kisses. Ms. Ivanova, you give Mr. Moody a lot of kisses right? Cause I think he needs’em too.” he nodded, suddenly an expert on the kissing needs of Alastor Moody.

“Mr. Mockridge let us go early cause of the gala! So me and my friends went to the Green Dragon and had some drinks this afternoon,” he said with a lazy grin, “I had a shot… and then another shot and maybe another’nother one.” He shook his head a little and boldly continued, “Would you both like a shot? Maybe if I give you a bunch of shots you’ll give me a piggy-back and- Oh! Ms. Ivanova, I never told you that you look very pretty tonight! When you two get married you should wear a nice outfit like that, but in white, cause that what you do- unless you’re Merfolk, then you wear nothing cause they get married in the buff… Would you wanna get married in the buff? I’d be worried about being cold-” Dirk trailed off as he tilted his glass to his lips.

@ivancvas·

---

For someone who preferred to remain in solitude, Clara had been quite the social butterfly since arriving at the gala. For her, this meant conversing with the few people she knew, and partaking in what had been a necessary amount of liquid courage. Perhaps excessively so, but the worries she initially felt over her surroundings were long gone, and in its place emerged an unusually cheerful and contented disposition. Not quite to the level that Dirk maintained, but about as close as she was capable of.

Having wasted no time at making herself at home in her boyfriend’s lap, placing a kiss upon his cheek as Dirk questioned them about the various levels of intimacy in their relationship. Her annoyance was nominal at best, though she was sure Alastor didn’t maintain her passive amusement about the topic of conversation. She could practically feel the irritation radiating off of him. Or maybe that was another sensation entirely? It was hard for her to tell, in her altered state. In her case, more often than not, they were one in the same.

Wrapping her arms wrapping around Alastor's neck, she watched Dirk with a piqued interest as he continued to bombard the pair of them with another set of intrusive questions. She would normally find his presence incredibly bothersome, second only to an eagerness on her part to immediately depart from his company. But now, even as she attempts to answer one of his questions before being cut off by another, she cannot help but find a certain humor in the scene playing out before her. It was a bit overwhelming, sure, but mostly entertaining. “You know, Dirk, I think Mr. Moody could really use a shot. Or two. Or five! Yes, definitely five. Think you could go grab some for us? Then you can tell us all about these merfolk weddings.”

@madeyeinmotion·

[ivancvas]

[ivancvas]

dcrxsswxll·:

-

“Sure you are! You’re a nice man, you just don’t like letting people know that Sir.” Dirk grinned up at him, his eyes a little fuzzy (he and the younger members of his department had been given an early leave by Mr. Mockridge and spent it drinking in the build up). “But it’s okay,” he stage whispered, “I’ll keep your secret.”

“Ohh okie!” he chuckled, plonking into a seat and nudging it close to Alastor till their arms were brushing, “You’re very tall, do people tell you that a lot? Bet you give great piggy backs.” he chuckled and downed half his drink in one go, “Clara! She’s your lady friend! You’re so cute together, you’d have some very badass kids.”

“Oh! There she is, Ms. Ivanova! Hey!” Dirk stood up and waved, a few people looking over at the call and grinning at Dirk, “I was just talking to Mr. Moody about piggyback rides and kids and you and then you got here! Isn’t that cool?” he lent across the table, almost knocking over Alastor’s drink, “I’m so happy you’re both happy together.” he grinned, “So when are you gonna get married?” 

@ivancvas·

After spending the last two sets moving about the ballroom floor with Emmeline and Sirius, Clara needed a break. She was hardly dressed to partake in extended periods of dancing, at least not without someone to hold her steady, and the protests of her body had finally won out. Noticing a hand erratically waving in her general direction, she started back towards the table, offering a similarly emphatic greeting once she arrived. Hearing only the end of what was surely a long and entertaining of questions, the prospect alone being enough to send her into a fit of laughter, the loud and light-hearted sound rising above the conversations that surrounded them. The interaction between them was the most comical scene she had come across tonight; truly a sight to behold, if she had ever seen one. Trying unsuccessfully to conceal her amusement, cupping a tight hand across her mouth to suppress the sound that emerged just as quickly.  “Oh, I would love to know the know the answer to that one,” she started, grinning like a proper idiot as she settled into Alastor's lap, nuzzling her face just below his neck to restrict the laughter that threatened to overcome her yet again. Eventually adjusting her posture to rest comfortably upon his shoulder, her gaze as sparkling as the champagne sitting upon their table. “Please, Mr. Moody, won’t you indulge us?”

@madeyeinmotion·

[ivancvas]

madeyeinmotion·:

His hand lifts to cup her cheek, “I honestly hate how worthwhile you make these things. I already found the prettiest girl in town.” His hand shifts fingers tracing her jaw until his index finger folds under her chin and nudges her head just a little higher. Something near playful lights in his remaining eye and curls his mouth into a hungry smile. “You’re going to dress like that and all you want is me to dance with you? Cruel,” he murmurs letting his hands slide down her throat and across the exposed skin of her chest, gaze following. His eyes close and his hand drops with a slight growl. If he lets himself go any further they’ll never make it to the gala and he promised. He promised.

Moody stands straight, sighing; trying to control the libido that’s gone a little unchecked since their reunion. He had used a sick day then, three actually and anointed more than a few surfaces in his house. He sighs again when he opens his eyes, unable to keep from looking at the plunge of cleavage and daringly high thigh slit on her dress. She was cruel and beautiful and perfect and his. Always his.

--- 

In the moments before his hands move from her cheek, her hand had found its way upon his, her gaze amorous and unmoving as she leans into his touch. “I don’t believe I ever said anything about wanting only to dance.” It is an instinctive response that follows, both the faint blush that paints her cheeks and the soft moan that escapes from her, as his hands make their way across her chest.  But she is not submissive in her response, eyes wide and equally ravenous, pressing her body against his, hips gently swaying as she tilts her head at him. Eventually, realizing almost in time with him that they needed to depart, she steps back, letting out a quick and shallow breath before interlocking her fingertips within his once again.

Her senses still remained heightened after pulling away, though every part of her still craves to do the opposite. She reminds herself just how much she had been looking forward to attending the gala, and the efforts that Alastor made for the two of them to attend, despite knowing just how little he cared for these events. Thankfully, the night was still young, and would inevitably provide ample opportunity to indulge in both of their urges, and then some. “I promise you, by tonight’s end, where we’re sitting and whose company you have to endure is the last thing you’ll be thinking about.” Pausing for a moment, she takes another step backwards, her eyes quickly scanning the entirety of his body, in an excessively obvious manner. “Maybe even before then.”

[ivancvas]

Since the moment he walked downstairs, Clara had been scrutinizing every aspect of her reflection in the mirror. If it wasn’t the design of her updo, it was the scent of her perfume. And if it wasn’t the elasticity of her dress, it was the height of her heels. She had never been particularly concerned with outward appearances, or what others might think of them. But the prospects of the night ahead had settled in, many of which included rubbing elbows with those who thought she belonged in a cage, locked away from the rest of the world. But Alastor had provided every assurance that she had no cause for concern, not when he would constantly remain at her side, if that was what she needed. And despite the lingering apprehension that still remained on her part, that was enough.

Averting her direction from the mirror to the dresser, she grabbed the item he requested, as well as another that he had not — a small container next to her jewelry box, its clear exterior revealing a small but intricately-designed boutonnière. A classic and modest design, one that perfect accentuated the clips that adorned her updo. Departing from their bedroom, she started down the staircase, all but stumbling upon the landing below. “Hmmm. Near the bar and far from Cornelius? I’m not sure our luck will be quite that miraculous, skapi.” Reaching for the corner of his lapel, she begins to pin the floral arrangement to its order edge, her features brightening considerably once her eyes meet his. “Suppose you’ll just have to find a pretty girl to keep you company instead. Maybe even escort her to the ballroom for a dance or two?”

@ivancvas​

“Are you ready Beebee,” Alastor calls up the stairs of his home, using the nickname of a nickname for Clara. He tugs at his shirt collar already and undoes a button. It’s not much but it’s enough to feel like he can breath better. Something to take the edge off the idea of spending a noxious evening with all the worst of the ministry. If he had his way he’d be showing up in his grey sweatpants just long enough to eat something and disappear into the darkness. Instead, wholly in part to doe eyes of Clara, he had stuffed himself into a respectable tuxedo and even tamed the most wild curls of his hair. 

He hated it but she was worth it in the end, “I want a table near the bar and away from Cornelius… and can you bring down my eye? The normal one!” 

[ivancvas]

[ivancvas]

🍃精兩 🅻𝗶𝗸𝗲ﾠ᥊ﾠ𝗿𝗲𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗴 ⇉ alexandra daddario ! ៸  𝗶𝗰𝗼𝗻'𑂘 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗉𝗌𝖽. ⤿ 𝗰𝗋𝖾𝖽𝗂𝗍𝗌 𝗺e 🍂

[ivancvas]

madeyeinmotion·:

“I don’t know,” he answers her question quickly, with a voice like rock salt. His eye dropping to the ground. He does know, in truth. The same way he knows the sun will always rise even after the worst night. The same way he knows he will feel better after a shower. The same way he knows both of his nieces will try to jump into his shoulders for a piggy back ride at the same time. He knows because she is part of him now. She is a fixture of his existence and the loss of her presence has left him sleepless and even more disagreeable than normal. 

Alastor lets out a sigh, presses a cool hand to his still stinging cheek one more time before taking Clara’s hand into his own. “That’s a lie. I do know. Suppose it was foolish to think you’d see me and run into my arms, proclaiming how you’ve missed me and we’d go have a good romp in my hotel room, or the woods depending on whichever one has less bugs…” he ought to be embarrassed being so candid, but there’s no point in it. He suspects in few months together, she’s become more than capable of recognizing his desire. 

He tugs her close to his chest anyway, “I owed you the chance to tell me your story and at the first test of my courage I withered like a dehydrated mandrake. Make me understand,” he offers more softly, “because the woman I know, the woman I can’t stop thinking about, is good and honest. Talk to me because… because the idea of waking up and you’re not next to me again is killing me.” 

---

Clara wants to hear him speak. She needs to hear him speak, more than she needs her next breath. She spent what felt like every moment since their departure waiting for this moment, only for such hopes to be in vain. Even at his arrival, she hadn’t been sure what to expect at the sight of him. Was he there to offer welcome or a warning? The latter had seemed like the far more likely option, given their last interaction. Only at their embrace does she find the assurance she craves, one that confirms this is real, that he has come all this way, to find her. For a moment, wrapped in his arms, she can breathe easy. Even if these moments will be the last she sees of him, for now, it is enough.

“I did try to find you, you know. To try and give you the explanation you deserve, that you still deserve. Hoped I might be able to catch you in one of your usual spots. But after four days of running around London — looking like an absolute fucking tikvenik, I might add — I figured you didn’t want anything more to do with me. And… I understood. I understand. You deserve so much better than that, Alastor. Better than me.” She pauses briefly, thinking upon those days, and how excruciatingly unbearable they had been. The most painful of her transformations paled in comparison, and revisiting them was the last night she wanted to do. But for his sake, she wanted to. She needed to.

Reaching for him, she interlocks her fingers with his, pulling both of their hands against her chest. “I swear to you on my mother and sister, I will tell you everything. Every rotten, dirty and agonizing detail. But it’s probably better we don’t have this conversation out here in the open. Baba Yaga over there looks like she’s about come at us both with her spoon.” Averting her eyes towards the woman who still lurked in the background, Clara wasted no time in glaring at her, shouting at the elderly villager in Bulgarian before offering a particularly obscene gesture before quickly pulling them away. As they entered the clearing towards the woods, an area that is still mostly covered in ash and debris, she reluctantly pulls away from him, turning away completely as she encounters a set of bricks sticking out from the muddy ground beneath them. “Well, here you have it. Where it all began. Where my childhood home was burned to the ground, where the remains of my mother and sister are still buried somewhere, where Greyback gave me every assurance of a better life, all in exchange for…”

[ivancvas]

madeyeinmotion·:

“Clearly making friends,” he retorts with more bite than he intends, but the side of his face still stings and he’s more disoriented than he’d like to admit. Like once before, some time ago, his hand rests with hers in it for a moment too long before curling around the prosthesis. He puts Clara’s picture in his back pocket and pats around for some eye drops. Alastor busies himself with the process of moistening the eye and putting it back in so that he can delay answering her question. He knows he owes her an apology as much as he wants one and it’s incredibly hard for him to be the first one to offer it up. Moody had never lacked for the pride-complex of the average Ravenclaw. A discernible muscle clearly ripples across his clean shaven jaw as he clenches it, “I was looking for you but the people here are mean. She beat me! With a spoon! Before she even finished looking at your picture! A spoon Clara, I’ve never been so insulted.” He touches the side of his face where a angry red welt in the shape of a wooden spoon stands out against his skin; a shameless bid for sympathy. 

—

“You got off lucky. She usually takes off after strange men with a meat tenderizer.” A small grin tugs at the corners of her lips, the result of her amusement at the state of him, and the disbelief at his presence before her. Given the nature of their last encounter, Clara did not expect to ever see Alastor again — much less in Bulgaria, and in her village, of all places. “Who would have thought, an elderly woman the size of a garden gnome would be your undoing?” In spite of herself, and every part of her that tries to convince herself otherwise, she cannot deny that she has missed him. The time and distance that has passed between them has done little to lessen her desire for him. On the contrary, her feelings for Alastor are as all-consuming as ever. But she cannot let herself think about it. She cannot consider the prospect of any scenario that might lead to a favorable outcome.

“I might have something that can help, back in the…” she pauses, not wanting to disclose the nature and location of where she had been living the last several weeks. Instead, unable to help herself, she runs a finger across his chin, a breath escaping her lips as sapphire meets herself. As their eyes  meet, the sensation that follows is instantaneous, one that he and he alone had ever been able to illicit. A few moments pass, amd Clara wills herself to pull away, standing to her feet. It’s the last thing she wants to do, but she fears what might come if she allows their touch to linger — or what might not come, in her case. “I suppose I could grab the last of my wound-cleaning potion. But not until you answer my question. Why did you come looking for me?”

[ivancvas]

Mornings in the village marketplace are always a busy time, but Clara is far from its commotion. Much preferring to remain in solitude, she has just finished a stroll in the forrest, located a few paces behind the tent she inhabited. Emerging from its outer edge, she is about to head inside, upon hearing a commotion in the near distance. She should pay it no mind, she ought to pay it no mind. Yet, against her better judgment, she doesn’t, and her curiosity is rewarded by a sight she never expected to see: Moody, attempting to shield himself from a neighbor, who had run off in the opposite direction shortly after arriving upon the scene. Despite herself, and all that transpired between them, she cannot prevent the smile that emerges at the sight of him. “Making friends already, I see.” Crouching down to his level after carefully approaching, she places what is now a dirt-free eyeglass in his hand, brows furrowing at the sight of the recently inflicted marks upon his cheek. “What are you doing here, Alastor?”

@ivancvas​

“Stop it you bloody bitch!” Moody’s voice is an angry yell as some Bulgarian grandma a third of his size, beats whatever she can reach with a wooden spoon. He hods an arm up protecting himself, holding a crumbled picture of Clara in his other hand. He was starting to regret tracking her down in her hometown, or what remained of it. A village built on top of rubble and apparently not a single person who was willing to help him. “Loo-bove-neet-sa,” he enunciates poorly showing her the picture again, only to be hit by the spoon along the side of his face. It knocks his fake eye out leaving the woman to scream in horror and run away while he’s left searching the dirt for the prosthetic. 

[ivancvas]

Moodboard Meme

send one of the following symbols for a moodboard about my muse:

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🧦 for a moodboard of my muse’s sense of style

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🐍 for a moodboard of my muse’s biggest fears

💕 for a moodboard of our muse’s romantic relationship

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[ivancvas]

yourstrulyrita·:

Rita scrutinized every single aspect of her body language. She could sense the hesitation, she probably also felt uncomfortable. She couldn’t blame her, but she wasn’t here to feel sorry for anyone, people did things and that wasn’t Rita’s fault. Sure, it probably wasn’t Clara’s fault to being bitten by a werewolf, but she was and now there was a story to tell, a story that was important for the people to know. Or at least that what she thought. “And how would you put it then?” She asked, her smile not flatering in the slightest, but she did raise a brow. She could play the passive agressive game, she could play any game, she was that flexible.

“Well, I figured that you might not want to discuss your lycanthropy in the middle of the street” she commented, bluntly and unforgiving. It wasn’t a secret, not when her name was on the registry. “But if you prefer, I can just fire away” she said at the same time as her flying quill and her notebook floated out of her bag. “I’m working on different profiles of different people and you happen to be selected for it given your recent addition to the official werewolves registry. So, how old were you when you were bitten?” She asked right away.

Clara remained quiet at her initial question, refusing to give the woman the satisfaction of an answer, or anything other than an icy stare. That smile, bright and beaming, told her everything she needed to know. They might not have been formally acquainted until now, but she knew her type quite well: charming, crafty, and ruthless, particularly when it came to getting what they wanted. In this case, it was a story, one that Clara wasn’t willing to give her.

Continuing to inspect the woman with equally watchful eyes, she considered what were very limited options. Rita was the last person she would choose to explain pleasantries with, let alone field endless questions about her lycanthropy. “Came to that conclusion all on your own, now did you?” she asked, her words laced with vitriolic mocking. But before she could offer further objection, the questioning began, quill scribbling away on paper as she spoke. “Surely a woman of your capabilities knows all of those details are in the registry, which has long been a matter of public record.” Her tenacity was almost admirable, had Clara not been the one under its scrutiny. “Find somebody else for your profile, I’m not interested.”

[ivancvas]

🐇- For a secret item they keep (stuffed animal, comfort object, etc)

Clara has never been a particularly sentimental person, at least not where physical objects are concerned. Having to go without for most of her life, it seemed pointless to place value in what few material possessions she owned. Not when she might need to exchange them for food at the black market in the village, or when her father would raid the house for anything that could further fund his gambling addiction. The one exception she maintains is for an oversized patchwork quilt, one of her own making. The material is well-worn, featuring an assortment of plaid and floral patterns, the remnants of what she had been able to salvage from her mother’s and sister’s wardrobe. Whether it is because she is feeling particularly yearnful for their presence, or she is worried about the condition that Alastor will be in once he returns from patrols, Clara wraps herself in the blanket to alleviate her worries and lessen the burdensome weight of the world that surrounds her.