some one word prompts . ( send one of the words for our muses to interact based off that word )
goodbye : my muse kissing and/or hugging your muse goodbye.
secrets : my muse sharing/confiding their deepest, darkest secret with your muse.
nightmare : my muse coming to your muses aid when they awake from a nightmare.
push : my muse pushing your muse out of the way of danger.
embrace : my muse abruptly throwing their arms around your muse, hugging them tightly.
bloody : my muse coming to your muse with blood stains on their clothes and hands, shaking.
drunk : my muse takes care of your muse while they are in a drunken state.
bed : my muse wakes up in the same bed as your muse with little recollection of the night before.
slap : my muse slaps your muse across the face out of anger.
gone : my muse stays by your muses side while they take their last breath.
scream : my muse hears your muse scream and quickly runs to their side.
sleep : my muse falls asleep on your muse, making it hard for my muse to leave.
stalk : my muse gets caught by your muse trailing behind them, watching them.
sacrifice : my muse jumps in front of your muse, sacrificing their life for your muses life.
trail : my muse watches as your muse traces one of my muses scares, asking them about it.
love : my muse confronts your muse about why they never say ’ i love you ’ back.
piggyback : my muse jumps on your muses back, my muse gives yours a piggyback ride.
jump : my muse runs to your muse and jumps up, my muse holding yours up by their thighs.
dance : my muse holds their hand out, waiting for your muse to come out and slow dance with them.
carry : my muse carries your muse to their house, either drunk, or a weakened state, can specify.
lighter : my muse pulls out a lighter and lights it for your muse to use to light their cigarette.
shot : my muse gets shot and struggles to your muses house for aid.
wound : my muse patches and bandages a wound your muse has gotten.
fight : my muse stops your muse from getting into a physical fight with someone else.
arrest : your muse finds my muse arrested in cuffs with swarming police everywhere.
hospital : my muse awakens in a hospital, finding your muse by their side, asking what happened.
gun : my muse pulls out a gun on your muse, your muse tries to talk them into putting the gun down.
betrayal : my muse finds out that your muse has betrayed them in same way and confronts them about it.
nude : my muse walks in on your muse accidentally seeing them naked.
karaoke : my muse pulls your muse up on stage with them to sing some karaoke songs.
laughter : my muse hears your muse laughing uncontrollably and approaches to see if they are okay.
murder : my muse walks in on your muse committing a gruesome murder.
wet : my muse strips down to their under garments and runs into the water, motioning for your muse to join them.
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❝ you’re holding on to things that are holding you back. ❞ [ajax + selene]
Ajax’s accusation is quiet, said with an air of kindness, of i-can’t-seem-to-understand-you-but-let-me-help-ness, which may as well be a condemnation at the top of his lungs from the way Selene stumbles back from him. Her hand comes up to cradle Zephyr’s soft, fragile head as he squirms in the baby carrier strapped to her chest. Selene has never attended a religious service (save from trips to the local Hare Krishna temple for an occasional photo-op and a few hours spent in a swarm of people at a Sunday Service during Coachella), but she feels like a child being scolded by a priest.
“I don’t know anything else,” Selene confesses. They could be referring to anything — her marriage, her career, the thick layer of artifice lacquered over every part of her personality for public consumption. It’s a thin sliver of truth that does nothing to address Ajax’s concern but will hopefully placate him long enough for her to find an excuse to get away.
Shame colors her cheeks but she looks otherwise nonplussed as she looks Ajax (a maddeningly insightful man) straight in the eye: “We’re late for our Mommy-and-Me Paper Making class. But this was fun! We should do this again.”
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unchosens:
WHO: rolf and astoria / @strvngemagics
WHERE: st. mungo’s hospital.
Rolf didn’t think much of St. Mungo’s, but then again, he had never liked being confined. It was too brightly lit, too unnatural, sterile. His window, he had seen, looked out onto a dazzling view of a mountain side, but it was false, stilted. An enchantment. It was no doubt meant to ease his mind and distract him from his pain. He supposed it had, in a way. He’d been stuck thinking about its very falseness for hours now. Better that than replay the attack again and again. Luna’s pain, as he did nothing, could do nothing, to save her or their home. He would, he thought, be grateful for any distraction from that, but if there was something Rolf would feel ashamed of later, it was that he flinched when Astoria entered his room. There had been part of him that simply thought, Hermione is gone, the Ministry is falling, my home was invaded, my wife almost killed, and wondered, where she had been in all of that, situated as she was so powerfully in the Ministry, so powerfully amongst all those families they suspected.
It pained him to entertain suspicion, especially about a friend, but it had been there, an instinct that felt contrary to everything Rolf was. But maybe he was growing new instincts, finally, even if it had taken almost dying to do it. Somehow he didn’t like the thought, smoothing out any doubt in his expression by force. Astoria was a friend. “It’s kind of you to visit. I’ll be out of here soon, most likely. I’m glad of it. I know they need me out there.” His tired expression was clouded by growing fear. “Just as we all need you at the Ministry. You may even be our last hope.” Difficult to admit that, that right now he felt like almost all hope was gone. He’d never felt like that in his life, or at least not for many years. “Astoria, please, tell me. What’s happening? You must know. All I hear is that friend after friend is being called in…” He could do nothing here, and worse still, Rolf thought he could probably do nothing if he wasn’t here, either. It wasn’t only the feeling of safety in his own home that had been destroyed, but the illusion that he could do anything to fight.
Rolf saw things. Astoria always guessed that his life before Luna wasn’t a charmed one, but she never inquired about his past; a leftover from her stifled pureblood upbringing that valued privacy and never showing one’s hand above much else. It was for this reason that she hoped he would recognize the frantic look in her eyes that didn’t match the emotionless one on her face: while Rolf had a knack for perception, there were a thousand more prying (Death Eater) eyes and ears in the hallway outside his room. “Mr. Scamander,” she greeted, and the serene, even sound of her own voice sickened her. “I’m glad to see you’re awake.”
When he flinched, something flooded her senses — an echo of fear, she supposed, or even worse, a realization. Ah, a little voice whispered in the back of her head. He doesn’t trust you anymore. And why should he, when you’ve always kept out of conflict? Prioritized professionalism over friendship? Her cowardice glued her feet to the floor. It took all of her strength to slowly, slowly close the door behind her and shake the mask off of her face.
“Rolf, I—” Shame hung itself from her shoulders, settled deep in her belly. “I’m so sorry. The Death Eaters, they’ve taken over the Ministry — or at least, they’ve begun the process. I’ve been trying to figure out where the Minister was taken and how they found your house — and I won’t stop trying, I promise.”
‘You may be our last hope’ was still ringing in her ears. “I don’t know if you’re right to say that I’m much of anything. I’m not a fighter, Rolf, I can’t—” The fatigue of the last few days started to catch up with her, and she took the nearest seat to his bedside. Astoria explained to him the parameters of her blood curse, how easily her life could end if she recieved half the injuries that he’d gotten, the risks she could and couldn’t take. It wasn’t easy to open up, but she felt the need to tell Rolf, so he could see, so he could understand — she was doing all that she could.
“I can’t put myself directly in the line of fire,” she continued. “But I believe — we believe, my husband and I — that we have a way in. My sister. She’s one of them. If we infiltrate, we can help the Order. Get information.”
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“I’m sorry” (selene and penny)
“You know, Pen?” Selene begins, and it’s innocent enough, if you don’t consider the way she is aggressively filing her already-pristine manicure and the murderous look in her eyes. “I really admire this ability you have to be honest and forthcoming with me about your mistakes, I really, really do. As women, it’s so important that we just like, own it. We don’t have to be perfect all the time.” The snick, snick, snick-sound of the metal nail file against her fingers fills the space between Selene and her assistant.
“The thing is, we’re working on deadline today and I haven’t left my office to eat in a minute, you know? And my nutritionist has given me a really important macro goal to hit that I’m eating for two—” she gestures to her swelling stomach, lip pursed in a pout. “—so I’m going to need those pine nuts on my salad, okay? There’s a Sainsbury’s about six blocks away from the office, love, I’m sure you can find them there.”
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❝ i don’t want to do this anymore. ❞ ( Pippa + Astoria )
“you must,” astoria dares not to let her voice rise above a whisper; all sense of urgency is communicated by the way her thin fingers grasp pippa’s shoulders. “i know that you are exhausted. i know that the past year has tested your strength in ways you never imagined. but pippa...” try as she might, her rage and hurt at daphne tints every syllable: “she did not break you. she never will. and we will get through this together, or not at all.”
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❝ you’re wasting your time. ❞ [eden + paris]
a puff of air leaves her lips in a mocking scoff, sending wisps of grey smoke curling out into the night. eden is perched on the roof of this townhouse with her back so straight, she could be sitting on a throne instead of sloped tiles sticky with tar. she’s never been good at recieving criticism — her best and longest friend is her own ego. paris is poking at it with sharp words that make her want to rear back and strike the younger woman across the face. but for now: restraint.
frustration burns deep in her belly; eden has no patience for the likes of paris moody — she can respect a healthy dose of self-preservation, but the girl’s teetering neutrality is boresome. she has no idea why her grandfather sent her combing through scummy house party after house party looking for this person who clearly has no intention of swearing fealty to anyone or anything.
“fuck you,” she replies, finally. she gestures up and down at paris with her cigarette. “at least i am doing something with it. do you think you’re doing any better? you can only play both sides until one of them loses, love.” and where will you be, then? “remember that, when you have no allies left.”
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things that are hard to hear.
**possible triggers - abuse / death / suicidal implications
change pronouns as needed
for things you’d WANT to hear, click here!!
❝ i don’t want you in my life anymore. ❞
❝ i don’t want to have a relationship with you. ❞
❝ she’s not coming home. ❞
❝ that wasn’t meant for you. ❞
❝ i don’t love you, okay? i never did. i never will. ❞
❝ you’re wasting my time. ❞
❝ you’re wasting your time. ❞
❝ you’re not listening to me! ❞
❝ i feel like i can’t tell you anything. ❞
❝ you’re too late. ❞
❝ you don’t give yourself enough credit. ❞
❝ you don’t give me enough credit. ❞
❝ it’s time for things to change. ❞
❝ you failed me. ❞
❝ fuck you. ❞
❝ i can see right through you. ❞
❝ things are getting bad again. ❞
❝ are things getting bad again? ❞
❝ move on. ❞
❝ that’s on you. that’s your fault. ❞
❝ you’re holding on to things that are holding you back. ❞
❝ you haven’t changed. ❞
❝ i’m not changing my mind. ❞
❝ i’m dying. ❞
❝ you’re good – but you’re not as good as you could be. ❞
❝ it’s always about you. ❞
❝ nobody cares about your problems. ❞
❝ i don’t trust you. ��
❝ you’re being taken advantage of! ❞
❝ i feel like you’re taking advantage of me. ❞
❝ did you hear what she said about you? ❞
❝ life isn’t fair. suck it up. ❞
❝ i didn’t mean i liked you that way– ❞
❝ maybe it’s better this way. ❞
❝ i wish i’d never met you. ❞
❝ you ruin my happiness. ❞
❝ i think we should see other people. ❞
❝ i’m not ready to settle down. ❞
❝ i want to love someone like you love me. ❞
❝ you can do anything you set your mind to, but you won’t. ❞
❝ stop crying. ❞
❝ don’t come back. ❞
❝ i’m not coming back. ❞
❝ i don’t care enough about you to hate you. ❞
❝ i feel like you’re dragging me down with you. ❞
❝ why don’t you smile anymore? ❞
❝ something happened today. ❞
❝ i don’t want to do this anymore. ❞
❝ stop letting it get to you. ❞
❝ i’m sorry. ❞
❝ i’m not sorry. ❞
❝ you’re not sorry. ❞
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✉ cassius
[ eden dolohov ✉ → cassius rookwood ] you and zelda were quite the pair tonight. i’m extremely jealo [UNSENT]
[ eden dolohov ✉ → cassius rookwood ] i often wonder if you were the brother i was meant to have and fate had us born to different families. i’d like to think that [UNSENT]
[ eden dolohov ✉ → cassius rookwood ] dio’s mustache causes me physical pain cass i don’t know if i can take one more second [UNSENT]
[ eden dolohov ✉ → cassius rookwood ] i know malfoy passing you over for the undersecretary position is a disappointment. but did you ever consider that now you’re open to other oppor [UNSENT]
[ eden dolohov ✉ → cassius rookwood ] it’s not that i don’t think you could replace the dark lord. it’s just that i believe the dark lord can and will carry forth our cause, and the only thing i’ve ever known you to believe in is that you deserve power [UNSENT]
[ eden dolohov ✉ → cassius rookwood ] nice work during battle. i know you’re frustrated that mudblood isn’t dead, but, all in due time. [SENT]
SEND ME A ‘✉’ FOR FIVE TIMES MY MUSE DIDN’T TEXT YOURS, AND ONE TIME THEY DID
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✉ ( dio )
[ eden dolohov ✉ → diomedes avery ] i don’t need your money, but if i asked, would you buy me gifts like you do cassius? [UNSENT]
[ eden dolohov ✉ → diomedes avery ] helen is truly a beautiful child, but i have absolutely zero desire to see any more photographs of her trying solid foods [UNSENT]
[ eden dolohov ✉ → diomedes avery ] you look great. i wonder, though, would you consider a goatee? or perhaps a full beard? [UNSENT]
[ eden dolohov ✉ → diomedes avery ] the fact that i can no longer apparate to your home at any time of night with a bottle of elven wine in hand and expect you to have a chat with me is EXACTLY the reason why i didn’t want you to marry [UNSENT]
[ eden dolohov ✉ → diomedes avery ] you and cassius are the biggest idiots alive but i love you bo [UNSENT]
[ eden dolohov ✉ → diomedes avery ] is helen at the age where she keeps her shoes on, yet? auntie eden has a pair of dragon scale booties with her name on them! [SENT]
SEND ME A ‘✉’ FOR FIVE TIMES MY MUSE DIDN’T TEXT YOURS, AND ONE TIME THEY DID
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5 and/or 6, molly
the timeline in which they continue on from the current point in their lives to the best happy ending that is within their reach, where nothing that has happened so far is negated but from now on, the happy things start piling up.
‘the second wizarding war of britain and ireland was over before it started,’ some up-and-coming journalist writes in an all-too-soon retrospective in some paper that molly picked up on her way home from the grocers. she’s scanning through it with a protest on her lips when her fiancé (god, she loves that word) beckons her over for a taste of the marinara simmering on the stove.
the paper lies discarded on the kitchen island in their little flat and molly’s got olive in her arms and the bright tang of herb-y, rich tomato sauce on her tongue. “perfect,” she compliments, and it’s just as much about the young woman’s cooking as it is about the young woman herself.
part of molly wishes to reach back for the paper, read the article about their dead loved ones back out to olive, and curse every mistake in the reporting as if her words would form red inked corrections of the text. but this is what they’d fought for, she supposes. the right to the mundane, quiet moments in their lives, the right to simple pleasures like snogging in the kitchen as a pot of pasta boils.
she’ll read it tomorrow.
@amortcntias
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boss babe. // a playlist for selene
truth hurts — lizzo // woman — kesha // money — that poppy // judas (lady gaga cover) — gemyni // primadonna — marina // do it like a dude — jessie j // blow your mind (mwah) — dua lipa // cruel 2 b kind — mïrändä // bombastic — bonnie mckee // s.l.u.t. — bea miller // chained to the rhythm — katy perry // hate myself — dodie // why am i like this? — orla gartland // fake happy — paramore
(listen) @potterinspo
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molly: my sexuality doesn't define me.
victoire: hey, how are you?
molly: gay.
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selene: about that. i have some exciting news. i canceled the exorcist and and got us something better: my guru, otho!
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selene: hi, i'm sorry i'm late for our coven, i was polishing my oyster forks with a cage-free olive oil broth.
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a slightly altered timeline. send me ‘ timeline ’ and a number and i will tell you how my muse and their life would have turned out in a life slightly altered compared to their canon one—same universe, but where something little, or something big, went differently.
the timeline in which they live an ideal life, had no opportunities taken from them, were subjected to nothing terrible, where they grew up to fulfil their full potential.
the timeline in which they never met who would become the most influential or important person in their life, or that person was taken from them before they were capable of forming memories.
the timeline in which something important to them happened in a different stage of life.
the timeline in which they knew beforehand of something they would have prevented if given the chance.
the timeline in which they continue on from the current point in their lives to the best happy ending that is within their reach, where nothing that has happened so far is negated but from now on, the happy things start piling up.
the timeline in which everything that could go wrong from this point on… does.
the timeline in which they never experience the loss that taught them something important.
the timeline in which they gain everything they want, except for the thing they wanted the most.
the timeline in which they live the life they currently see the most likely for them.
the timeline in which something big to them never happened.
the timeline in which something very little happened differently, but it changed a lot.
the timeline in which they had a person in their life when they needed one the most.
the timeline in which instead of the most influential person in their life, they had a person who had the complete opposite effect on them.
the timeline in which they took a chance they didn’t in canon.
the timeline in which they let a chance go by.
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who: selene & wick
where: the blishwick’s silly posh household, london, england.
when: dec 22, 2029
“oh, fuck.” selene’s joints are crackle-pop!-ing a frightening amount as she collapses, fully clothed, on top of the (soft, large, comfortable) duvet her husband is currently underneath. they’re home earlier than she can ever recall returning from a holiday party, but their son is tiny and just starting to sleep through the night, and she can’t jeopardize that for anything. she feels her spine shift into realignment (or out of it, she hasn’t seen her chiropractor-slash-energy-healer, gerald, in ages) and it puts uncomfortable pressure on her (heavy, still-lactating) breasts, so she rolls over, practically on top of wick, and blindly reaches to poke his face.
“pay attention to meeeeee,” she sing-songs, a frequent refrain in their household that is usually more funny than annoying (but always a little annoying); a commentary on each other’s tendency to hyper-focus on their phones. their son is snoozing across the (large, expensive-looking) room in his crib that selene could swear moves closer to the door by a few inches every day. “hi. hi hi hi hi. i have never been this exhausted in my life. please tell me we’re taking a family vacation after new year’s. a long one. preferably on a yacht.”
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felix:
He feels like the entire weight of the world is pulling him down. He keeps moving anyway. Felix’ days exist out of this now: visiting the hospital for , helping out at the store and trying to remember that Diagon Alley holds good memories too, trying to work on an article but coming up empty, and owling Winnie and Flynn and hoping they’ll even receive his words, and tears, tears, tears. He’s not sure he’s capable of handling this. He’s starting to think that his big, open heart is a curse more than a blessing.
As he lingers in Molly’s door opening he tells himself that there’s no room for tears. He wants to be strong for her, or at the very least not a bubbling, crying mess. Her voice is hoarse. He feels his heart drop into the pit of his stomach. “Molls!,” he gives her a grin, as he approaches. “I didn’t prepare for a rescue mission, but I’m extremely good at improvisation.” Felix slides into the chair next to her bed. “I brought you canary creams, though, so you can create a little chaos.”
The amount of time it takes for Molly give Felix a half-hug and grab the box of charmed biscuits from his hands is embarassing; even worse is breaking into a sweat and the wheeze she lets out as she collapses back onto her pillows. Despite all the water she consumed since waking, her throat still feels raw; every swallow twinges with an echo of the blood that she choked on a few days back. She is still so grateful to see her cousin (one of a handful of people she considers a kindred soul, if she’s being honest), and doesn’t relinquish his hand as he sits at her bedside.
“Thank you,” she rasps out. Clears her throat, tries again, her cheeks turning red: “Thank you. I haven’t been able to leave the room—” Because she hasn’t been able to stand, a fact which lingers in the space between them. “—so I haven’t seen anyone else who is injured. How’s the family? Is everyone awake?”
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