#ns: intro

[narcissae]

narcissa's skeleton.

BASICS.

FULL NAME. narcissa malfoy. NICKNAME(S). cissa, cissy. AGE + DOB. twenty six & june 26th. ZODIAC. cancer sun, aries moon, cancer rising. GENDER. cisgender woman. PRONOUNS. she & her. ORIENTATION. she's never thought too hard about it. SOCIAL CLASS. upper class. HOUSE. slytherin. BLOOD STATUS. pureblood. OCCUPATION. student against her will, ancient runes track.

BACKGROUND. LANGUAGE(S). english, french. FAMILY. cygnus black ( biological father ), druella black ( adoptive mother ), bellatrix lestrange & andromeda tonks ( half - sisters ), draco malfoy ( son ), scorpius malfoy ( grandson ). PET(S). none.

APPEARANCE.

FACECLAIM. havana rose liu. HAIR. light brown, dyes blonde. EYES. grey. HEIGHT. 5’3. TATTOO(S). none. PIERCING(S). none. SCARS + MARKS. the tiniest, faintest little scar on her nose. she keeps it glamoured because she hates it.

OTHER.

WAND. 10 inches, poplar wood, dragon heartstring core. PATRONUS. tells people it's a swan. it's a kitten. BOGGART. draco's death. AMORTENTIA. tbd :) LOVE LANGUAGE. quality time, acts of service, words of affirmation. MBTI. ISFJ. MORAL ALIGNMENT. true neutral. ENNEAGRAM. 6w5.

tws : infidelity, infertility.

born of a mistake : a baby left on the black family doorstep with a threat attached to her. take her in, or the affair is exposed. to the public, the story is that narcissa is the poor orphan daughter of a beloved family friend, taken in by druella and cygnus instead of the product of an affair by cygnus. if narcissa were to describe how she grew up, it would be different, detached, like her family had a missing puzzle piece & she couldn't fit into the slot it made. but she did her best to be liked, particularly by her mother, druella, who could never quite look her in the eyes. obedient narcissa, good narcissa, the perfect daughter who always does as she's told. praise from cygnus was accepted. advice from druella was revered. she wanted her mother to love her.

her biggest ambition has always been to make her family proud of her, so marrying lucius was never something she questioned. the moment the proposal was drawn up, she attached herself at his side. there's something powerful about a marriage where the love isn't quite there : you see someone's flaws first and you learn to adapt, to deal with them. still, a part of her yearned for more. silly girl dreams of lucius learning to love her, adore her, in private instead of just for the public eye.

she wanted to give him an heir. at least, that's what she told him. selfishly, she wanted a child of her own. had always wanted to offer the love she did not feel from her own parents. she tried, tried, tried so hard, with no fruit to bear from her efforts. until she received the news from a healer : she could not have children at all.

draco is narcissa's blessing. like her, he's his father's birth son. unlike her, his mother adores him. she'd made sure of it. she didn't care if her boy grew up spoiled : she would dote on him, would give him everything he asked for, and make sure he would never, ever long for the affections of his mother.

more to come but someone hand her a phone and make her experience texting

[mcnored]

━━     ˊ     𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘺, 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝙙𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙤 𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙛𝙤𝙮. 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵.

general : 

full name: draco lucius malfoy. nicknames: draco.  age: forty-nine. date of birth: june 05. pronouns: he / him. blood status: pureblood. house: slytherin. alignment: the order of the stag ( undercover ). code name: dragon. occupation: auror for the ministry of magic.

physicality : 

faceclaim: joel kinnaman. hair color + eye color: blonde & silver. height: 5’9. other notable features: hallowed looking cheekbones, dark circles surrounding his eyes, pale complexion, & hidden/faded death eater tattoo on his left forearm.

magic : 

daemon (patronus) : dragon.  mirror of erised : there is peace within the wizarding world with his son finding the happiness he deserves. draco just gets to watch him grow & lead a life he never could or deserved.  wand type : hawthorn, 10” inches, unicorn hair. boggart : when he was younger, it was disgracing his father / today, it’s his son hating him or losing him to death.  amortentia : to be determined. 

family tree : 

mother : narcissa malfoy ( resurrected ). father : lucius malfoy ( resurrected ). partner : astoria malfoy (née greengrass) resurrected. children : scorpius malfoy ( adopted ).

head canons to add : infertility, trauma, death, dismembering mentions, & grief tw

when the second war came to a close, the malfoy name remained tarnished due to his father's unyielding faith in the dark lord. even with the pardon's that came following his mother's help toward harry, draco knew that there would be a cast over his name for the remainder of his life. at least, that's what he'd firmly believed with his father still alive. due to the family wealth, he did not have to hold a profession. for a great deal of his early twenties, he spent it without a job -- living off the family means. social gatherings came as a means for draco to mingle but with the lingering betrayal of the dark lord, most pureblood families turned their noses to him. lonely was the heir of malfoy manor. 

astoria greengrass came into his life unexpectedly. having been daphne's friend in school, he never looked at the younger of the greengrass sisters. she'd been a year his junior and his interests had always lied elsewhere. she was inviting. warm. her wit was as sharp as her tongue and he admired that she didn't dote over him. at least, not at first. she was different from most pureblood women. she had a kindness that seemed to be unrelenting, unlike her sister. it took about a year but in time, draco malfoy found himself in acceptance. he loved astoria more than he believed he was ever capable of love. 

they wedded at the manor one spring evening. despite both his parents being unsure of the marriage to the youngest greengrass, in time acceptance was met by them as well. he loved her fiercely. defended her honor even for the smallest of things. it was summer into their first year of marriage when she told him that she wanted a child. it was the summer that followed when they discovered that she was barren. 

it took them time to process that they were never to have their own biological child. astoria took it hardest, knowing that she wasn't able to provide draco an heir. he didn't take it as hard. he believed the malfoy bloodline should end with him. that was until the idea of adoption came into astoria's mind. she pleaded with draco to consider and it took him no time to oblige his wife, knowing that she wanted more than anything to be a mother. while he never saw himself fit to be a father, he couldn't ever argue when it came to her. 

for never believing in being a father, draco seemed to eat his words when scorpius came into their lives. a bright eyed, gentle baby boy that had a curious resemblance to draco despite not sharing genes. he was intelligent and persistent. stubborn yet timid. he was everything that draco wasn't and yet all he hoped to be. the malfoy parents fell in love with their boy. and oh, did draco love him. he was convinced he would never love anyone so much as he loved his son. he vowed from that day on that he would never be anything like lucius was when he was a boy. he would be patient, even when he had none. he'd be understanding, even when he disagreed. he would be gentle, even though his hands were stained with war. astoria would convince him that they would raise him to have no pureblood ideologies. that he would be accepting and honorable to all wizards and non-magical folk alike. never did he think it would be possible but -- draco malfoy agreed. 

there were many times after the second war that draco considered removing the tattoo that felt like a weight along his arm. though he knew that it was nearly impossible with the blood oath that he took when the dark lord graced him with the burning ink on his arm. he chose it, like the dark lord chose him. he often even considered dismembering it in the effort of turning away from all that his bloodline — that his father — got him into. when his son was born, he debated heavily on it. never wanting the curse of his family’s name to harm him any more than it already would. it wasn’t until scorpius was older that draco showed it to him in an effort to show him that he must always stand up for what was good. a lesson learned. a generational curse broken for a better life for his son. 

narcissa passed in the autumn before scorpius would begin school. her death came quickly. in few short months, he was grasping at the idea of letting go of his mother until it hit. draco never had been less prepared. she was buried in the malfoy cemetery, his father beyond himself in grief to the point where he was inconsolable. draco tried to extend the consolation to his father but in the end, their feud was years past the point of reconciliation. even if narcissa wanted it for them. he would grieve narcissa for a year after she took her leave from this world.

parenthood fit draco well, even if it took him a while to get his footing. he invested in every interest scorpius had. every talent, he wanted to help mold into brilliance. astoria and draco would soon find themselves awaiting every moment that he was in school at hogwarts to hear from him by owl. they would never miss a response to his letters. 

it was the spring of scorpius' rest from school in his third year when draco would come home from an outting at hogsmeade. astoria had explained her plans of gardening with their son while he was home, knowing that he'd enjoy sitting with a book while she tended to the garden as she always liked to. long forgotten was the headaches that were so persistent when their son returned from school. as he apparated back into the manor, the stillness was eery. the quiet outside the trees that swayed in the sunlight found itself to be dreadful when he called out again and again for his wife. for his son. no answer. just quiet. entering the garden was a memory that would replay in his mind for years and years to come. the blood that pooled out of his wife's ears, sticking to her ebony locks. life was gone from her eyes as their son sat still in front of her in a case of shock. ' what happened? scorpius, what happened?! ' his son wouldn't have the words to tell him until a week after they buried astoria in the malfoy graveyard. he would grieve his wife until his final breath.

lonely were the halls of malfoy manor. with just him inside, draco found that grief was all consuming when half of a person's heart was in the ground. sleep never came and when it did, it never fully took him. memories became taunting and the bed that was once shared in union seemed to grow cold. he would make his bed in his study. unable to share the same bed that once served as refuge for both him and his love. for a while, he felt like the ghost of malfoy manor -- roaming the halls until he found solace in numbing the pain with a tonic or two. he waited for scorpius' letters. he would reply hurriedly and would lay in waiting for the next to come. time never healed but with scorpius' aid, draco soon began to stand on his two feet once more. 

despite many efforts to rid himself of his past, he was met with quite a few challenges at first in the ministry. though draco had all the familial wealth to never work, he intended to become an auror to shed himself of the death eater name. with every challenge came the acceptance that he wasn’t doing this for anything or anyone else but for his family. he eventually moved up in ranks and when he finally was able to be trusted by the ministry, he was shockingly met with a dinner at malfoy manner made by his son. the pride that swept through him was enough to make him realize that even if his parents old, closed minded ways never changed — his true family would always be with the youngest malfoy.

[gildcdmind]

about marlene.

if only the stars contained me. if only everything kept happening in such a way that the so-called world opposed the so-called flesh.

personal. name: marlene ai mckinnon age and birthday: twenty-four, march 30 gender: cis female sexuality: openly bisexual occupation: university student, studying care of magical creatures allegiance: the order of the stag family: father; douglas mckinnon - world war ii veteran, now dragonologist [deceased] | mother; meilin mckinnon (nee tcheng) - diplomatic envoy at french ministry of magic [deceased] | siblings; angus mckinnon [deceased], alastair mckinnon [deceased], rowan mckinnon [deceased] birthplace: killin, scotland residence: in childhood, killin, scotland & marseille, france; now london, england languages known: english, french

physical. faceclaim: natasha liu bordizzo style preference: very “effortless indie rock” mixed with "hippie lovechild", long skirts and doc martens, oversized denim jackets and daisy dukes, no makeup and unstyled hair tattoos: a small "a" on her wrist, a rising sun on her bicep scars/beauty marks: many, many scars ranging from quidditch practice when she was younger to much darker battles as part of the order

personality. zodiac: aries mbti: estp-t alignment: chaotic neutral enneagram: the challenger good: determined, strategic, loyal, adventurous, humorous bad: scathing, insulting, impulsive, emotionally-detached, envious neutral: daring, ambitious, intense, straight-forward, fearless fears: losing those close to her, never being good enough self-esteem: marlene projects confidence and is shamelessly herself, rough edges and all. insecurity settles in her blind spots in the form of jealousy and the feeling of never being enough. she struggles with dissecting her emotions and properly understanding them. to make up for this, she’s constantly on the defense, putting up a wall of fire to prevent anyone, including herself from reading too deeply into her.

personality, a deep dive. sharp tongue, sharper insight; marlene’s humor is quick and often scathing—her sharp tongue a weapon as dangerous as any spell. but beneath that biting sarcasm and bravado is a mind that picks up on everything. she’s perceptive, able to read between the lines and catch the things others try to hide. her sharpness doesn’t just come from her words; it’s also in her ability to see right through a person, to understand their motives, desires, and weaknesses without them ever saying a word. while she often uses this insight as a shield, marlene isn’t blind to her own contradictions. she knows when she’s pushing people away with her words, and she does it anyway, because allowing herself to be vulnerable feels like a weakness she can’t afford.

pride and shame: the unseen tug-of-war; marlene’s pride runs deep. she doesn’t ever want to admit she’s wrong or that she needs help. admitting vulnerability feels like admitting failure—a weakness that she cannot bear. this is a constant internal struggle for her, as the emotions she tries so desperately to ignore—shame, guilt, sadness—are always knocking at the door. her pride makes it hard for her to accept help, even when she’s drowning. but when she finally does, it’s not because she’s learned to ask for it—it’s because she’s been broken open. sometimes, the cracks she fights so hard to keep closed are the only things that allow her to grow.

unyielding love; despite her walls and her sharp edges, marlene’s heart is enormous. it’s raw, untamed, and it burns with a fierce desire to love, to protect, and to fight for what is right. she may not always show it, but marlene feels things deeply. she’s not one for soft words, but the care she shows is no less profound. when she chooses to let someone in, they get the whole of her. her affection may come in the form of a joke, an insult, or a challenge, but underneath it all, there’s a burning desire to give all of herself. for those she loves, marlene would set the world on fire just to see them smile.

magical. status: pureblood house: gryffindor wand: 10.5" cherry wood, phoenix tail feather, unyielding boggart: herself, struggling against invisible bonds, alone, screaming for help. one of her greatest fears is being abandoned by everyone she loves and left for dead. patronus: tiger. a very strong, independent patronus. they have a fierce personality to them that they show openly, and have no problem doing it. however, there is more to them than just an impression, they have parts of their past that are a bit dark, and that has caused them to grow a bit cynical. they don’t like to show their feelings to others, as they like to maintain the impression for themselves and for others that they are unbreakable. they are not fast to warm up to anyone, but once they do they will protect you with all that they have. amortentia: fresh dirt, campfires, her mother’s perfume best discipline: offensive magic / transfiguration / potions worst discipline: medi-magic / astronomy

backstory. (tw child death) chapter one: ignition

From the moment she was born, Marlene McKinnon was a spark, a restless flicker in the dark. she was the darling daughter her family was praying for. Her parents, so vastly different in nature, met in the blaze of war—her father, a war hero who fought alongside Muggles in WWII, and her mother, a French diplomat whose elegance and wit were admired throughout the nation.

Theirs was a love forged in the fires of war, a collision of steel and silk that burned brightly enough to defy the odds. When Marlene was born, she became the living embodiment of their passion—a tempestuous child whose spirit seemed to promise something greater. Her father, ever steadfast and visionary, looked at her and saw the fire that would one day carve her path. Her mother, though full of dreams for Marlene’s grace, elegance, and refinement, could only watch as her daughter’s spirit raged against those confines. She was a tempest in the making—always too much, always too wild.

“She’s a fierce one,” Her father had said the day Marlene first wrapped her tiny fingers around his thumb. His voice, weathered but warm, held a note of pride. “A spark, just like her mother.”

Her mother had smiled softly, her gaze never leaving Marlene. “She’s more than that, mon amour. She’s a flame—one that will burn brighter than either of us could dream.”

chapter two: kindling

As a child, Marlene was always surrounded by the warmth of family. She had two older brothers—Alastair and Rowan— who, though older, were her entire world. The trio were an unstoppable force, united in their defiance of authority and their endless curiosity. They ran wild through the countryside, their laughter echoing like embers crackling in a hearth. Yet, even in their mischief, there was a silent understanding: Marlene was the spark, and they were the sturdy kindling that fed her flames.

Then, when she was three, her youngest brother, Angus, was born. The soft, smiling boy with his innocent wonder seemed to calm her spirit. From the moment she held him, her heart swelled with fierce love, a vow imprinted on the back of her heart to protect him from the world's storms. But not even that could stave off the inevitable. She was twelve when Angus fell ill with dragon pox. When his chest fell for the last time, there began a smolder behind her ribcage with a kind of agony she'd never felt before.

chapter three: inferno

Her brother's death was a strike of lightning, sudden and shattering. The spark in Marlene that had once burned with youthful defiance now became an all-consuming inferno, churning with grief, guilt, and anger. Her parents, whose marriage had once been a testament to love’s endurance, crumbled under the weight of their loss. Her mother retreated, locking herself away in sorrow, and her father, the stalwart soldier, drowned his pain in silence. There was a chasm that opened between her and her brothers, keeping them all stranded lonely and yearning in their own circles of Hell.

By now, the world had known her—reckless, bold, and full of laughter that could shake the walls of Hogwarts. She made her name not just through her wit but through the sheer intensity of her spirit, always charging headfirst into life’s chaos. Her words were as fiery as her heart, and her temper could ignite a room, but beneath that wild energy was an unshakable loyalty to those she loved. But it all changed after the incident. Detentions and fights, where you found trouble, you found Marlene.

It wasn’t until the summer after her third year that the walls began to close in. Her parents received countless owls from the school, urging them to guide their daughter before she threw her life away. Marlene’s rebellion, once a source of pride, began to feel like a burden, a fire that consumed her and left nothing but ash behind.

chapter four: smolder

The weight of her future, and the worry it stirred, pulled the family from their collective grief, forcing them to confront the unraveling threads of their lives. Her father, despite his sorrows, took her to work with him caring for magical creatures—teaching her patience, discipline, and the importance of control. Her mother, whose love had always been fierce and tender, took her to her own motherland of France, where strong women with their own stories of defiance and rebellion breathed new life into her.

“Strength isn’t just about burning brightly,” Her mother had told her over tea one afternoon. “It’s about knowing when to smolder and when to ignite.”

In the chaos of it all, Marlene found her brothers once again, their bond solidified by shared loss, their laughter a reminder of the strength they still carried. For the first time in her life, Marlene understood that the fire within her didn’t need to burn everything to the ground—she learned that to live was to burn.

chapter five: ashes

It seemed that life had already dealt her so many blows, yet it was still unrelenting, still cruel in ways she couldn't have foreseen. Her parents and older brothers were taken by a curse—struck down in a brutal, merciless attack, their lives extinguished in an instant. She had been miles away, too far removed from the storm she had felt whispering in the air. Her heart had sensed it, a creeping dread that gnawed at her edges, but she had been too absorbed in her own business heed the warning. Marlene was left alone to carry their names and their legacy, the weight of their absence heavier than anything she could bear.

But she would not let their death be the end of her. Marlene had always been a flame—a bright, unpredictable, and sometimes dangerous force. Now, with the last embers of her family smoldering in her chest, she realized that her fire was no longer just her own. It was theirs too. And she would burn brighter, fiercer, for them.

Her loss had forged something different in her. It had tempered the rage she had once known into a quiet, determined fury. She no longer shouted at the world, demanding it bend to her will. She was more deliberate now. More strategic. But beneath it all, that same untamable fire still burned. It was quiet at times, subdued, but never fully extinguished.

Her body fell amidst the chaos, but her spirit—unyielding, unbroken—was carried on the winds of memory. Marlene's sacrifice, though a quiet one, was no less profound, a silent testament to the indomitable will of a soul that refused to bend beneath the weight of war. Her name became another whispered legend of the First Wizarding War, a story told not with fanfare, but with reverence, a reminder that some flames, no matter how fleeting, are destined to burn brighter in the hearts of those they leave behind.

chapter six: the phoenix

But fate, it seemed, was not done with her. Death itself had a different plan. The veil, already gossamer-thin, trembled at the call of the Hallows, and in that tremor, Marlene found herself drawn back. Not reborn in the way the living would understand, but resurrected—her body, once broken, now remade, her soul returned to a world she had left behind. In her eyes, the world had changed, yet it was she who had changed the most. Her heart beat still, but it beat in a silence broken only by the whispers of the dead, and the faintest, most haunting echo of a fire that could never burn as brightly again.

For as the returned, Marlene was no longer a woman of flesh and bone, but a tool of fate, her existence bound to the whims of those who controlled the boundary between life and death. And yet, within her, the ember of defiance remained, waiting. Because though death had its grip on her, she had never been one to surrender. Not then, not now. And perhaps, just perhaps, the fire that had once given her life could be used to take it back.

wanted connections. “the devil’s voice speaks in the language of the heart” ; a member of the erinyes drawing her in. i think marlene could find herself torn between her loyalty to the order of the stag and the allure of the erinyes and this individual sees the darkness in marlene—her pain, her rage—and subtly encourages her to embrace it. they might offer her a way to use her grief as power, challenging her to throw away the moral constraints of her family’s legacy. the temptation they represent is dangerous because they understand her struggles better than anyone else, and they offer a solution to her frustration with justice. this could be someone who fought alongside her in the original Order or as part of the resistance, but who has since embraced the darker side

“I will find a way, or I will make one" ; a fellow grief survivor. this person could relate to marlene’s grief on a profound level, and their bond is built on mutual understanding and shared pain. they don’t need to speak much to each other to communicate their inner turmoil, yet they find solace in each other’s presence. their shared grief could lead to an unhealthy co-dependence, where both of them rely too heavily on each other to cope with their losses, hindering their emotional healing. alternatively, this relationship could evolve into something of a redemption arc for marlene, where she helps the other person find peace, thus healing a part of herself in the process.

"we could be heroes, just for one day” ; rival order member. in my head, this is someone who is from a different era than her. this person might challenge marlene’s views and decision-making, often questioning her recklessness or her approach to leadership. They could be an ally on the surface, but with a strong rivalry underneath. an initial thought was marlene could unexpectedly left in charge during a crucial mission when senior members are incapacitated. perhaps her decisions spark tension with the current leaders of the order once they return. while marlene proves her ability to lead under pressure, the aftermath reveals deep-rooted frustrations and differing philosophies about the order’s direction.

“Some sins cannot be washed away, but I will keep trying" ; the death eater that killed her. this would have been the last face marlene saw before she died. this could be an interesting relationship to build out whether the death eater that killed her was part of the resurrection and chose to defect or stayed aligned with the wraiths OR an relationship to build out with a child of her killer.

“the stories we grow up with are only the shadows of the real things that lived" ; an ally in a future generation. this could be interesting to explore with a character who was born after marlene's death, perhaps the child of one of her friends from the order or a young member of the resistance who only knows marlene as a figure of myth and legend. this person might look to her for guidance, but also be hesitant about the idea of befriending someone who has been returned from the dead.

“I lost you once, and now you’ve returned—but not in the way I imagined ” ; a soulmate lost in the veil. this could be someone who shared a deep, profound connection with marlene before her death—someone who might or might not have been a romantic partner, but in general, someone whose bond with her transcended typical friendship or family.

[furieuxse]

Dorcas Meadowes - an introduction

Basics

full name : Dorcas Meadowes age : 24 birthday : 3rd November gender : woman sexual / romantic orientation : lesbian blood status : halfblood occupation : studying to become a cursebreaker allegiance : erinyes

full introduction

[dhmitri]

𝑾𝑯𝒀     𝑪𝑨𝑵𝑵𝑶𝑻     𝑰     𝑫𝑶     𝑨𝑺     𝑻𝑯𝑬     𝑾𝑶𝑳𝑽𝑬𝑺     𝑫𝑶        ?   man kills. so, a humming violence settles without hesitation. don't call this destruction, this was a deliberate act, a quiet noise in the back of the room that everyone ignored. i am choked by the gentleness of killing and too aware that there was always a softness in this, this undoing of the first thing to be done.

BASICS.

FULL NAME. byeon jaeha dmitri greyback. NICKNAME(S). dima. AGE + DOB. 25 & october 31st. ZODIAC. scorpio sun, sagittarius moon, taurus rising. GENDER. cisgender man. PRONOUNS. he & his. ORIENTATION. heterosexual. SOCIAL CLASS. previously lower middle class. now… werewolf. HOUSE. gryffindor. BLOOD STATUS. halfblood. OCCUPATION. student, dragonology track.

BACKGROUND.

LANGUAGE(S). english, some korean. FAMILY. fenrir greyback ( father ), freya greyback ( older sibling ), greyback siblings to be added. PET(S). none.

APPEARANCE.

FACECLAIM. sang heon lee. HAIR. dark brown, almost black. EYES. dark brown. HEIGHT. 6’2. TATTOO(S). none. PIERCING(S). none. SCARS + MARKS. scar running through upper lip, scars littered through his torso/arms/hands.

OTHER.

WAND. 13 inches, apple wood, dragon heartstring core. PATRONUS. non-corporeal, has never been corporeal. BOGGART. fenrir greyback. AMORTENTIA. tbd :) LOVE LANGUAGE. acts of service, physical touch, gift giving. MBTI. ISFP. MORAL ALIGNMENT. chaotic. just chaotic. ENNEAGRAM. 4w3.

tw : kidnapping, implied parental neglect, parental abuse, death of a parent, implied murder, there’s a lot going on guys i’m sorry dmdnskdmska !!

born to an old wizarding korean family that had lost their fortune & came to london in an effort to rebuild. his mother was muggleborn, arranged to marry his father in order to strengthen the byeon family’s dying magical line. however, his father was a pureblood purist, and this combination made for a hell of a home — but they insisted on staying together, mostly because each had their own idea of how they wanted to shape their heir.

that heir being jaeha, their first-born son. born with an eidetic memory, he remembers everything about his brief time with his old family. it was terrible. constant fighting between his parents, constant expectations weighed upon him — that was the story of his early childhood, the song and dance of never being enough.

there’s only one thing he doesn’t remember : the night that jaeha became dima. he doesn’t remember how fenrir found him. he doesn’t remember the bite. he doesn’t remember the next full moon, the first transformation. has locked it out of his memory by force. but he does remember the aftermath of the change, the death of his parents — they might just be the only death at his hands he’ll never regret, because it offered a brief freedom. for a moment, the house was silent. for a moment, he didn’t have to be anyone but himself. at least, until fenrir found him again.

fenrir has never been a good father. really, he’s a terrible one in every aspect — but he’s the only father dima has, and there’s an edge of loyalty that ties them together. but dima has always been not enough : too full of regret, too mouthy, too disobedient to be a monster. never enough to cross the line — but enough to have fenrir’s eyes on him, always watching, waiting to see if that disobedience grew too loud. it never is. deep down, dima wants to make him proud. he wants to make someone proud. he wants to finally be enough, even if it means destroying himself in the process.

sorted into gryffindor against his will. asked the hat to be sorted into slytherin but the hat completely ignored him. he DOES resent hatstalls who got a choice. why not him!!!

currently, he’s allied with the wraiths but is undercover as a knight. very much a ‘i need to find the avatar’ zuko situation : he doesn’t want to be a wraith, he doesn’t agree with them, he doesn’t like how they disrespect his siblings, he kind of really likes the knights he’s lying to, and somehow he still insists on making the bad decisions because he’s told himself he must. tentative on this so it may change but i don’t think he has a rune yet.

the good thing about being a greyback in his mind is his siblings. originally an only child, dima embraced being part of something bigger, even if none of them had chosen each other as their family. he would do anything for his siblings.

[ginnysweaslcys]

𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐫𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐭. — made it out alive, but i think i lost it said that i was fine, said it from the coffin. remember how i died when you started walking? that's my life, that's my life. i'll put up a fight, taking out my earrings. don't you know the vibe? don't you know the feeling? you should spend the night, catch me on your ceiling. that's your prize, that's your prize, well.

𝙿𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙾𝙽𝙰𝙻. FULL NAME. ginevra molly weasley polat. NICKNAME(S). gin, g. AGE + DOB. forty eight & august 11. ZODIAC. leo. GENDER. cis woman. PRONOUNS. she & her. ORIENTATION. bisexual. BLOOD STATUS: pureblood. RELATIONSHIP STATUS: married in limbo rn.OCCUPATION. retired quidditch player, sports reporter for the daily prophet.

𝙰𝙿𝙿𝙴𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙴:

FACECLAIM: alexandra breckenridge. HEIGHT: 5'7. EYE COLOR: green. HAIR COLOR: red. SCARS: various scattered through out her body. PIERCINGS: ears. OTHER NOTICABLE FEATURES: faded freckles across her cheeks.

𝙵𝙰𝙼𝙸𝙻𝚈.

PARENTS. molly & arthur weasley. SIBLINGS. bill, charlie, percy, fred, george, & ron weasley. HUSBAND. harun polat. CHILDREN. jan sirac, altan sever, lila lunara polat, teddy lupin. IN LAWS. jan polat, lila evren polat, hermione granger, audrey weasley, angelina weasley, fleur weasley. NIECES & NEPHEWS. victoire, dominique & louis weasley, rose & hugo granger weasley, lucy & molly weasley, roxanne & fred weasley. the entire wizarding world jfc.

𝙼𝙰𝙶𝙸𝙲.

HOUSE. gryffindor. WAND. 14" 1/8 inches, yew wood, phoenix feather core. BOGGART. used to be voldemort, now it's her family murdered and her being the only one left. ALLIANCE: order of the stag. PATRONUS. horse.

𝙱𝙸𝙾𝙶𝚁𝙰𝙿𝙷𝚈:

trigger warning for mentions of pregnancy complications, death.

the first weasley daughter in generations. a miracle. lucky number seven. but ginevra was anything but soft or gentle. how soft can you truly be when you have six older brothers? she learned how to hold her own from a very young age, trying to keep up. and she did. a force to be reckoned with. she had always loved that about herself. her ability to stand up for herself, for others. but how come no one noticed she wasn't her self her first year at hogwarts?

possessed, left to die. it was so isolating. it was so hard to explain. no one understood it. she was supposed to be safe at hogwarts. weren't they all? it was terrifying — not knowing what every year ahead held. she was scared, but never let it show too much. she let her strength carry her, carry others who needed it with pleasure. the story of her life. she could handle it. the fire that's been there since before she was born, a welcome friend. tom riddle didn't have power over her anymore. and he never would again.

amidst the grief following the battle of hogwarts, ginny went back to her first love: quidditch, of course. it healed her. she played a few seasons with the holy head harpies, winning a world cup. but she always knew when her and harun had kids, she would retire. and that's exactly what she did. first came jan, and how her mother did it seven times, she had no clue. it was difficult from the get go. all pregnancies were hard, she supposed, but not all pregnancies end up with you nearly losing your life.

she saw her brother. and everything felt so... warm. but as quickly as he appeared, he was gone again. his face replaced by the relieved faces of the healers and her husband. once again, she was a miracle. once again, saved from the brink of death. pretty on brand for the polats. if nearly dying from her first pregnancy wasn't traumatizing enough, she thought why not try her luck two more times? back to back to back in a very molly weasley way. however, unlike her mother, she cut it off at three. whether she got her girl or not, no more kids. but thankfully, she got her girl.

in retrospect, she should've known one day everything would start up again. because history always repeated itself. the first time he died, the moment she saw hagrid carrying him in his arms, something in her died. the hopes, the dreams, everything she wanted for them, dead and buried. not for long. because of course they were going to grow old together. they deserved a soft epilogue. but once again, that was too much to ask for. the cruel hands of fate gave ginny everything she wanted, just to rip it from under her.

the woman kept her grief to herself for the most part. she didn't want her kids to worry about her. no, she was the parent, that was her job. to take care of them, to protect them. when your kids are young, it's so much easier. then they grow up into adults and they make their own decisions. good decisions, bad decisions, the stupid, foolish decisions. the resurrection fell under the latter. maybe that made her a little angry. no, it certainly did. but there wasn't anything that her children could do that could make her stop loving them. wasn't like she could be surprised, they were cut from the same cloth of their parents. and merlin knows their parents and friends did their fair share of stupid things, just not.... resurrection.

and then the love of her life doesn't have his memories, which of course he doesn't. that would be too easy. some days ginny just doesn't want to deal with any of it. some days the gravity of every single thing she's ever been through hits her like a freight train and all she wants do is rot in bed. certainly a sensible reaction for anyone in her shoes, but she can't. not when she has so many people depending on her, looking to her. not that she wants to anyways, keeping herself busy keeps her sane. well, as sane as she can be. just like everything she's been through, the fire in her still burns bright as ever, maybe the brightest it's ever been. she allows herself to feel what she needs to when she needs to, then she gets back up and focuses. the story of her life.

[siinvrs]

war is a slippery slope. what would you do? becomes what will you do? becomes my god, what have you done?

click here to be redirected to lucy's biography!

[prongspolat]

━━     ˊ  𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙡 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙚𝙣𝙙.

general : 

full name: jan polat. nicknames: prongs.  age: twenty-four. date of birth: march 27. pronouns: he / him. blood status: pureblood. house: gryffindor. alignment: the order of the stag. code name: prongs. occupation: resurrected.

physicality : 

faceclaim: oktay çubuk. hair color + eye color: brown & brown. height: 5’9. other notable features: oversized glasses along the bridge of his nose, messy curls similar to a bed head, & a cheeky smile of mischief.

magic : 

daemon (patronus) : stag.  wand type : mahogany, 11” inches, phoenix feather. boggart : lila & harun dying before him.    amortentia : fresh lilies of the valley, library parchment.

family tree : 

partner : lila evren polat ( resurrected ). children : harun polat. in-laws : ginny weasley-polat ( daughter in law ), dursley family. grandchildren : jan sirac polat ( grandson ), altan sever polat ( grandson ), & lila lunara polat ( granddaughter ).

head canons ( more to be added ): death tw

often described as the 'glue' of the marauders, jan relied on his mischief brothers more than he led on. growing up as an only child, whispers around hogwarts deemed him as spoiled rotten at times. a child that was never told no but got everything he ever asked for. it was actually the loneliest of times, growing up. he begged for a close friend. he wished more than anything for his mother to give him a brother or sister to diminish the weight of the loneliness but with his mother's older age, he knew it wasn't a possibility. when he arrived at school, eleven years of age, he was arrogant - show offish. he wanted more than anything for people to be impressed with him enough to beg to be his friend ( to kill the lonely within ). soon he would realize that true friendship hadn't anything to do with the skills he had nor the things he could provide them - it was actually about his heart. the bond between brothers that was forged when he sat next to sirius black on the first day of classes. it was about the encouragement they would give one another when jan found out the secret that remus kept. it was about the chance he gave peter when he knew what loneliness looked like in a boy. the brothers not by blood but the brothers by honor and declaration.

when harun was born in late july, jan couldn't put up enough charms to keep the little house in godrick's hollow safe. each enchantment that was spoken was a promise he made to lila that nothing - no one - would ever harm the family they created with one another. even in the midst of the war, the newfound parents sought normalcy in their cottage. bedtime stories, even if harun would have no recollection of them ever being told. breakfast at the table, even if he couldn't sit without the support just yet. a stroll around the limits of the fence line, just for a bit of fresh air when the crying got to be a little too much for both of them. he craved the normality. he painted lila pictures of it for when the war would cease and their life outside the walls of seclusion would come again. oh, the dreams that never came to be. it was the evening

of october 30 when a storm barreled through godrick's hollow and outside on the steps of the cottage jan sat, just under the railing so the rain wouldn't topple him. the clouds in the once brightened sky felt like a warning. a sign that he failed to see as his son slept upstairs in his crib. it was then that he felt a pair of arms wrap around his middle from behind, a head pressed into his back as though they were resting against him. a smile formed along his lips, his left hand with the golden vow he made to her resting on her own as they listened to the rain fall against the grounds. a comfortable silence between the two of them before jan spoke with all confidence he had saying, 'when this is all over, we'll have a house of our own like this - i'll build you whatever you want. no matter how high. it'll be ours. our lives will be ours again. i promise.'

[regartieblack]

REGULUS ARCTURUS BLACK

you were supposed to embody perfection, to mask the shameful story of the spare turned into their only hope. you could only utter the right words, display calculated moves, stand under the infinite weight of the name black. legacy embodied, father used to say. proud to dominate every room, mother demanded. and so it went. you broke yourself enough to fit into their sick little game. shame that it couldn't really last. unfortunate that you decided to hide your depth under such precarious façade. because now you are back, and when you look at your memories, at the life you led into death, you can only see a study in drowning.

google docs. pinterest board. playlist. penned by nina.

[revcntulet]

  𝓻𝓮𝓿𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓾𝓵𝓮𝓽      …     twenty-six, healing student, knights 2ɪᴄ, 𝖌𝖆𝖜𝖆𝖎𝖓.

[ PINTEREST ]

makes you think of ... the stillness of the world the moment you take the first step into fresh snow, cashmere & fine wool brushing the inside of your wrist, the pearlescence of dreamless sleep draught, the scratch of a quill on parchment, faintly tremoring fingers, draping yourself dramatically onto the sofa like a fainting couch, a shiver up your spine in a warm room, the exhilaration of a problem solved, chin up high as your heart beats out of your chest, a thunderous grey overcast sky, the bite of a stitching charm, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, petrichor, the burn in your eyes before a well of tears, the long victory even if it takes years of late nights and sore bones.

always a riddle in the world, she said.

FULL NAME: Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy GENDER: shrug | he/they AGE: Twenty-six BIRTHDATE: January 20th PARENTS: Draco Malfoy & Astoria Malfoy (née Greengrass) Adopted

always a riddle inside your head.

BIRTHPLACE: St. Mungo’s Hospital, England HEIGHT: 5’11” WEIGHT: 56 kg ATTRACTION: Demiromantic Bisexual NATIONALITY: British MARKS: A ragged diamond shape scar at the base of his throat that almost looks opalescent in some lights.

always a thing to wonder the way we come to be.

BLOOD STATUS: Pureblood HOGWARTS HOUSE: Slytherin WAND ARM: Right PET: A crested toad named Jarvis (IV). PATRONUS: Arctic Fox WAND: 11 2/3 inches, Willow, Supple, Dragon Heartstring.

Willow is an uncommon wand wood with healing power, and I have noted that the ideal owner for a willow wand often has some (usually unwarranted) insecurity however well they may try and hide it. While many confident customers insist on trying a willow wand (attracted by their handsome appearance and well-founded reputation for enabling advanced, non-verbal magic) my willow wands have consistently selected those of greatest potential, rather than those who feel they have little to learn. It has always been a proverb in my family that he who has furthest to travel will go fastest with willow.

TRAITS: brilliant, innovative, empathetic, magnanimous, resourceful, loquacious, conscientious, adaptable, fair, individual, inventive, logical, diligent, over-intellectualizes emotions, dismissive, anxious, crotchety tempered, capricious, stubborn, facetious, rigid, prone to self-isolation & intellectual arrogance.

revontulet, which literally translates to “fox fire.” legend says that an arctic fox dashed across the tundra swiping snow up into the sky, while others claim his bushy tail caused sparks when brushing the peaks of tall mountains to create the aurora borealis.

[ parental death cw, substance abuse cw ]

I.

Centuries of tradition manifest, Malfoy Manor in its cold glory leaning in around you like a protective set of gnashed teeth has always been your home. Every first conscious memory is of your mother's smile above you and the kindness in your dad's hands. Consequence and penance aren't concepts you're privy to, not yet, they patiently explain every 'why' and 'how' question you fire off as soon as you get your clever tongue around the syllables; feeding your mind whenever it leaned helplessly toward knowledge like a plant toward the sun.

There was a warmth to the place, thick piled rugs and less oppressive air of rank fear and misery, more delicious cooking smells with whatever bounty had been harvested from the walled gardens for the vases that day. Your memories are of falling asleep high in the boughs of a weeping willow, dipping its thin tresses into the clear brook far below, its susurration lulling your eyes closed. Reading in high-backed armchairs in the library swaddled in furs, your mother's wand refilling your hot chocolate every two hours.

No blood varnishing the lacquer in the dining room, or the afterimage of torment ringing in the main hall.

Though sometimes late at night something ancient makes your teeth ache, and you wake up with your heart in your molars as something huge and without limbs propelled itself through your dreams across the floor in the hall into your waking thought.

Altan's knee pressed alongside yours on the stairs in Grimmauld Place, grazed by the escalating antics that only a house full of siblings could bring. One small hand of yours feels magnetized, warm and almost singing. When you bring those digits away the sluggishly bleeding mark is gone, your grin crooked and shining.

It isn't always so easy, for you. Ministry functions, grown-up family events filled you with dread and boredom. That incessant buzz of a hundred souls swarming around you, their emotions striking up the broad side of you like you needed wards to help you from absorbing it all. Taking up the pigmented hue of feeling like watercolour, the blues running and running no matter how hard you tried to stay in the lines.

When you were eight you got caught owling multiple senior mediwixen at the best institutions across Europe to ask their professional opinion, on how best to seal up your tear ducts when you finally got your wand.

II.

School is everything, the anticipation makes you glow and flicker in equal measure. A place dedicated to learning... Leaving the only home you'd ever known. You're more fully formed, finally, smart-mouthed but still caring, an uncanny wiseness to your smallness, a voracious appetite for knowledge.

Slytherin. The old thing so torn between the incessant questions you fired and the pure unbridled entitlement driving behind it that you stalled it for a minute and a half. You're not sure if your parents are surprised, your letter reaches them first thing September 2nd.

Since the world got bigger and you could no longer cinch your fingers tight in your mother's skirt and hide behind her leg; you'd always lived with some great yawning fearful dread, feeling on the precipice of something terrible that had your stomach heaving great swoops of vertigo at random times as though your body could prepare you.

You realise on your knees in the garden, on your knees in the blood, the blood that will feed the grass and make it grow; when the forget-me-nots open in the spring because time won't listen to your grief you'll lie in the shape they make in the dearth of her and pretend. Pretend. You realise, on your knees in the garden, you will never be ready when the other shoe drops.

The birds in the distance hadn't even stopped singing, only a lone Jobberknoll had flapped its wings out of the closest oak. The orangery stained glass hadn't shattered, rainclouds hadn't drawn in, there had been no accompanying swell of heartrending orchestral music. Just her absence, the absence of life stark against the world already moving on without her and how she didn't make sense in it anymore.

What happened? Tell me, what happened!

You don't speak. For a week, two. You can't, it isn't true. It isn't until Lila has to wrap her arm across your shoulders and help you duck away from the Shrivelfig planters in the greenhouses the first time you see Thestrals breach the canopy of the Forbidden forest. At heart you're a scholar, the hard evidence makes your chordae tendineae fray, near snap like broken piano strings.

What you'd dreamed of your whole life lands neatly in your lap. Apathy, curled around you like a familiar cloak. Standing three feet behind and one step to the left of yourself preparing for your OWLs, physically you were where you'd always been at Hogwarts, stepping carefully in the footprints of the boy you were a year ago, the boy as dead as his mother.

Your mind is keen still, the part that categorizes data is still working the auxiliary systems. Quill to parchment, nose in a book. Your father needs you, you need each other. Your grip on him now, like iron. If you puppeted things just right you could have the right to be indignant if anyone called you on it, even if they saw you with cleaner eyes than you'd ever caught through a glimpse of yourself in any mirror. Even if they saw how you wore yourself like an ill-fitting coat, as though old boots pinched your soul too tight.

III.

Prefect. Quidditch Commentator. The work. Make sure dad eats, forget to eat yourself. Take dreamless sleep draught to rest, repeat.

You've got some colour back of your own now, you can feel it again but you distract yourself with never pausing for a moment, never sitting still with the grief that creeps sluggishly toward you. You work like it's chasing you, like the world's slowest wild hunt could crawl into the dungeons at any moment but, you know. You know that you can't run from something that originates from you, deep in the pit of your belly, dark and knotted against your ribs.

You're so blinded by your petty teenage troubles and your own eclipsing darkness that the world starts to slip, outside your window. The careful cradle of post-war prosperity, the previous reform of the ministry. The shadows start to creep back into frame.

You know what is right, you've always known it. Your friends are good for you, bringing you a self-assuredness that didn't come naturally. You'll fight for it, die for it. You aren't a natural dueller but your defensive charms are incredibly strong, your potioneering knowledge even more so, poisons and venoms develop into careful weapons. Non-lethal and terrible.

You staunchly oppose the resurrection. Watching the ever-present spark in Lila's eye turn flinty in shock. Everything in you, fibre to your bones rails against it, is it because you've finally grown accustomed to the howling grief, just got it to quieten? Jealousy? Guilt? You dig your heels in, it's so rare that you rise to occasions but the only way the other Knights were wresting this snake was to cut off your head.

IV.

You nearly lose your apprenticeship developing the modified patronus charm, passing out at your desk in the labs. You are consumed by it, the project, the experimentation. You darken doorways at strange hours for opinions on obscure theory, elements of the magic, the importance of ritual and their thoughts on your experiments with dementors. It wasn't said, in any sort of terms, they all knew that you wouldn't let it go if they forbade you, that you'd go down with your jaw locked around the puzzle by yourself if they did.

What they didn't know is that even if they did assist you, you'd go ahead anyway. As the first iteration of what you had all made bloomed to fruition before your eyes, beneath your hands, a gnawing doubt started to form. Not an alarm but irritating, like a hang nail.

You could never ask anyone to take that risk, not when it was your responsibility. Not until you knew it was safe.

You find the fixed point of yourself in the universe as the ritual completes, you tear it up. Every single layer of your soul flays away from you, matter coalescing something to form in colours your eyes have no cones to capture. Time, space bend like wire and there is light shining out of you in every direction, cutting thread whilst also weaving it. You reach out with no bodily hands but the whole singing ream of you toward ribbons of your magic: inhaling it home with its torn, ragged edges.

You die. For one minute and thirty-seven seconds, after you slump limply to the floorboards from the piano stool, you stop breathing. A ball of snow-white fur is encircled, bracketed by your unmoving chest and you don't wake up. Rennervate jolting your form hopelessly, unoccupied.

You're good at your work. You limit the burnt, iron taste that lingered in the back of your sinuses for weeks, the numbness of your extremities and the crimson-eyed stare of the burst blood vessels, your ears trickling scarlet, your nose. No one else has to see what you have seen, they come to you and ask if it's ready and if they didn't already have every step in this intriguing dance of experimentation in too many minds to obliviate: you'd destroy it. You'd destroy it all.

You love Cleo. You're terrified for her, the sleek little arctic fox putting to word feelings you'd much rather bury.

You still can't take any life other than your own.

Always had somewhat fragile health tending toward sickly. Hands are never warm. Bruises like a peach and scars so easily.

Views quidditch as a good fly spoiled.  

Is a very skilled pianist.

Has a fabric sling that he wears across his torso that Cleo (his daemon) is often curled up in. Looks like a single dad at meetings, toad on his shoulder.

While very eloquent and well-spoken, he is markedly less posh than when he first arrived at Hogwarts.

When he isn’t prone to bouts of insomnia he can take a nap pretty much anywhere. He was once found in a tree after several frantic hours search.

graphic template <3

[daisyalices]

𝐝𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐲 𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐦. — i see the great escape, so long, daisy mae.

personal:

full name: daisy alice longbottom.

nicknames: dais.

age: 26.

date of birth: june 7th.

gender: cis woman. she/her.

sexuality: bisexual.

blood status: pureblood.

occupation: student, was once on a herbology track, now potions.

languages: english, spanish, french.

appearance:

faceclaim: fiona palomo.

hair color: dark brown.

eye color: hazel.

height: 5'4.

piercings: ears, belly button.

scars: literally everywhere from falling i mean?

tattoos: flowers on her inner arm.

magic:

patronus: an albatross. but just like her brother's, it's been non-corporeal since her dad died.

wand: cherry wood with a dragon heartstring core, 11 ½ inches, extremely flexible.

house: gryffindor.

amortentia : tbd <3

boggart: her brother dying before her.

alliance: the erinyes. code name: enyo.

biography:

trigger warning for depression, death.

she was born in the summer. perfect for a girl who radiated sunshine. nothing could stop daisy from the moment she came out screaming. a wild girl at her core, curious. afraid of nothing. you know those people that you just automatically feel better around? that make you feel seen and heard? that make you feel like you can be yourself around because they were so authentically themselves? that was her. her sensitiveness was never seen as weakness. no, of course not. it made her feel human. yes sometimes she felt like she was too soft for the world, but that didn't mean she wasn't strong or that she couldn't handle anything that was thrown at her. it was one of her favorite parts of herself. keyword: was.

but then the worst day of her life came. her father, the most amazing man she'd ever known, was dead. this was a pain daisy, never in a million years, could have prepared herself for. because it was so... unnecessary. it wasn't like he had died of old age. that would've been easier to stomach. no, her father taken away for the resurrection of another. she knows her friends are apologetic. no one knew that was going to happen, but it didn't really matter, did it? it still happened. it not being intentional didn't ease her or her family's pain. all of them were messing with something too big for themselves. the only reason she knows she's still alive because of the beating heart in her chest, because it felt like it was ripped straight out the day they found him. screaming at the sky, cursing at the gods, begging for things to change. the woman always relied on the light in her to get her through things. however, she had never thought she had to kill the very light and softness in her to survive. nevertheless, it was necessary. because she's drowning in grief. her grief, her mother's grief, her brother's grief. she holds it all because she has to. she's the oldest, no matter how many times ollie tells her they're twins it doesn't count. but it does. of course it does. she'll do anything for her family. she'll hold them up, even if she can't do that for herself.

the grief, the anger in her was more powerful than the light. truthfully, daisy is terrified of who she has become. how she could change so drastically in such a short amount of time. she has killed her old self more times than she can count lately, but it's still in her. aching to get out.

her old self, the girl that radiated sunshine wherever she went, the girl who wanted to be a herbologist, that passion stripped away right when her father was. she can only mourn her because that girl is bringing her down. her father's daughter, the person he loved so much, was bringing her down. never in a million years could she have imagined that to be her fate. but it is. because she believes in justice under any circumstance necessary, more than anything she believes in vengeance. her old self can try her hardest, hell sometimes she'll sit with her, but that doesn't mean she'll let her co-exist in their body for long. daisy will make things right or she'll die trying and if that means embracing the darkness that has enveloped her, then so be it. the pain, the darkness, it's just who she is now. that's how she knows she's still alive because that's all she feels. it courses through her veins. it was just another form of love, she's learned. no matter how terrifying, she can't turn back now.

[oleahnder]

click here for oleander's biography.

[wartorns]

𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 : is it a god chanting inside you? you are athena in bloom, with her wisdom and wit hymning within you – your entire being calls for revolution, but you are more than just divine wisdom now. you are practical magic and desperate measures and the kind of cleverness that comes from surviving things that should have killed you.

basics:

name: hermione jean granger

age & birthday: forty-nine, september 19th

gender & pronouns: cisfemale, she/her

sexuality: pansexual

face claim: lupita nyong'o

magical:

blood status: muggleborn

occupation: former minister for magic

allegiance: the order of the stag, leader

patronus: otter

hogwarts house: gryffindor

personality:

personality type: istj

moral aligment: lawful good

temperament: choleric

positive traits: compassionate, loyal, curious, intelligent

negative traits: dogmatic, blunt, obsessive, argumentative

headcanons:

motherhood: hermione may have never considered children on her own. she wanted to see ron as a father, to raise a next generation that did not have to fight in the way they did. some aspects of motherhood came easy ( she loves her children dearly, will sacrifice herself for them ) but some didn't ( she can care be overbearing, her warmth looks different than most, she can lose herself in everything else she has sacrificed for.)

order plot hooks: her internal battle of logic and love for harry makes her choices complicated. she grieved her best friend, is still grieving him, and is faced with an impossible choice. she wishes he could've stayed at rest. she thinks that harry would want his memories, to be given a choice once more once he had all of the information. but memory is a tricky thing, she knows this well (never able to return her parents memory), and she wants to rip him from the prophecy. he's still a pawn in this state. she wants the deathly hallows to be destroyed, but not understanding the resurrected gives her pause, if they'd be able to use them to right everything once again.

career: hermione never had blind faith in the ministry, even when she was a the helm. though she knows the influence it can have, especially under the wrong rulers. she was removed forcefully removed from office, though she put up quite a fight. she still carries herself as she did when she was minister, as she did for many years before. she is barred from having any career that could make a difference, but she pours all of her free time in research and leading the order's strategy.

muggleborn ways: she still insists on doing some things the muggle way, even if tedious. some of her favorite books are by muggle authors, she'll watch the telly, she keeps up with muggle news and some of their fashion. some of it's out of habit, some of it's clinging to her childhood, some of it is out of spite.

if you'd like to read, the writing sample from the apps:

the tales of beedle and bard sat on her desk - pages well-worn from the previous owner, slightly fraying through decades of use - flipped open to a tale hermione could site from memory. how foolish that once she had thought she fully understood it, had thought it morphed from a guide back into a children's story. death's true master. they were all fools to play with death, to think anyone came out victorious from the very thing itself. a lesson she thought they had learned, had taught to the next generations. obviously not. hermione lets out a strangled sigh, flicking her wand to adjust the piles of open books that sit before her and hang in the air, moving them all slightly so she might catch something new this time. the words blur together on the pages in front her, but her mind has already strung them out, flipping and rearranging and translating. but still, something's missing. her tea stirs itself, warming charm long forgotten on the cup that her husband had placed in front of her hours ago.

there's a clock ticking down - though it's been there all this time. for years it ticked on dormant, lighter in the distance, and she swore sometimes only she and harry could hear it. paranoid war heroes, they said. they moved on with their lives, creating life and attending sunday roasts. it was a life, but it was never not a fight. one that she had bleed and sacrificed for. she ached for it to be different, for it to be different for her children, but she knew better. sometimes she wished she didn't. a part of her longed to stand up, to slowly move muscles that have grown achey, to call her children just to hear their voices, to join ron ( who was likely asleep in their bed, or trying to move quietly about the kitchen. ) but her best friend's empty eyes won't leave her head, the prophecy splayed in blood repeating itself in her mind, the image of her office at the ministry burning decades of progress.

honestly, she doesn't have a choice. her wand raises, the books flip to the next page.

[gildcdmind]

about electra.

call me medusa for my monstrosity is not mine to bear, but yours to fear.

personal. name: electra lestrange age and birthday: twenty-seven, august 28 gender: cis female sexuality: openly bisexual occupation: university student, studying alchemy allegiance: the wraiths family: father; birthplace: london, england residence: london, england languages known: english, french, latin, italian

physical. faceclaim: ella purnell style preference: clothes made of silk and satins, expensive jewellery and sky-high heels, red lipstick and perfectly curled hair tattoos: na

personality. zodiac: virgo mbti: intj-a alignment: neutral evil enneagram: the challenger good: articulate, confident, independent, charismatic, methodical bad: aloof, emotional, delusional, patronising, exploitative neutral: ambitious, intelligent, reserved, calculating, extravagant fears: losing control of both herself or the situation, death self-esteem: electra radiates a quiet confidence and generous amounts of self-assurance. she has a very grandiose sense of self-worth, believing her abilities are infinite. she will never admit being wrong about something or apologize for her actions because knowing she’s wrong and accepting she’s wrong or two completely different things.

personality, a deep dive. silent venom, deadly charm; electra’s words are carefully chosen, calculated to strike where it hurts most. her charm is a weapon—sweet, almost intoxicating at first, but laced with poison the moment you drink it in. she’s learned to manipulate with a smile, to bend others to her will with the softest touch, all while hiding the venom beneath. behind her alluring beauty and measured grace lies a mind that never stops calculating, a strategist always thinking five moves ahead. she’s a master of the subtle art of control, using charm not just to win, but to dominate, without ever seeming to break a sweat. yet, for all her mastery over others, electra remains distant, a queen in her own kingdom of shadows, never fully allowing herself to be known.

calculating empathy; electra may seem cold and ruthless, but her ability to empathize with others is one of her greatest tools. she’s not driven by compassion, but she has a keen understanding of what makes people tick. she can read a person’s needs, fears, and desires with uncanny accuracy, and she uses this knowledge to manipulate and control. in her mind, empathy is a currency—something to be spent strategically. she may not feel for others the way most would expect, but she knows when to use empathy to her advantage, knowing how to soothe or stir others’ emotions to get what she wants. her capacity to understand others, despite her attempt at emotional detachment, makes her even more dangerous—because she knows how to push all the right buttons to turn people into pawns on her chessboard.

haunted by the past; there’s a part of electra that quietly mourns the relationships she’s lost in her climb to power. her connection with iphigenia, once filled with warmth and understanding, now seems like a distant dream. even her rivalry with orestes has turned into something darker—an estranged relationship where the bonds of family have been broken. deep down, electra yearns for real connection, the kind of unconditional love she once shared with her sister. she doesn’t know how to repair these bonds, and part of her is too proud to admit she needs to. yet, a small part of her still longs to reconcile, to find some redemption in the broken pieces of her relationships. but she keeps that part buried, too afraid of what it would mean to let someone in again.

magical. status: pureblood house: slytherin wand: 11.5″, vine wood, dragon heartstring, hard boggart: herself, dead. cassandra considers herself invincible so the mere concept of her dying – something so out of her control – frightens her. rune: mental enhancement rune; this rune grants extraordinary powers of legilimency and the imperius curse, making electra an even more effective manipulator. amortentia: aftershave, a smoky wine, roses best discipline: transfiguration / nonverbal magic / necromancy worst discipline: wandmaking / herbology

backstory.

chapter one: the first drop

Electra Lestrange’s life began with poison—not the kind that kills quickly, but the kind that seeps into the bloodline. The Lestranges were masters of it: their legacy a potent brew of power, pride, and manipulation. From the moment Electra drew her first breath within the cold, shadowed halls of Lestrange Manor, she was marked by it.

As the second-born, she was not the heir, but her father saw in her an untamed potential. “You will be my greatest work,” he once said, a chilling promise that shaped her existence. Her mother was more subtle, planting seeds of doubt and ambition in equal measure. “Strength lies in silence,” she would whisper, pressing a cold hand to Electra’s cheek. “A woman who speaks too freely invites others to poison her words.”

Electra’s childhood was both a gilded cage and a crucible. Her older brother, Orestes, was the golden son. She, on the other hand, was the experiment—a child whose sharp mind and sharper tongue fascinated and frustrated her parents. Their praise was rare and always barbed: a reward laced with expectation. In the rare moments of solace, Electra found herself drawn to her younger sister, Iphigenia, whose warmth and sincerity seemed untouched by their family’s toxicity. But even as a child, Electra felt the poison in her veins: a simmering ambition, a hunger for validation, and a sense that love could never be freely given or received.

chapter two: absorption

As Electra grew, her parents’ lessons became more exacting. Every day was a refinement of her skills: in dueling, diplomacy, and deceit. “The world is a game of venom and antidote,” her mother told her once, brushing Electra’s hair. “You must be both to survive.”

Her father took her under his wing, teaching her the politics of pureblood alliances. He believed in power through control, and Electra learned quickly that love, like power, was a tool best wielded sparingly. With every triumph—a flawless hex, a masterful negotiation—she felt his pride, but it came with a cost: the further alienation of her siblings.

Hogwarts was the perfect crucible for her, a place where she could hone her skills of manipulation and control while slowly, almost imperceptibly, drifting away from the possibility of ever forming genuine human connections. She was too focused on her studies, her power, her ambition—too absorbed by her own world to allow anyone inside. But deep down, buried beneath her calculated exterior, a small, tender part of her still yearned for something more—a connection, perhaps, that wasn’t built on manipulation. Yet, she quickly learned to stifle that longing. After all, power and control were the only things that mattered.

chapter three: paralysis

By her seventeenth year, Electra was no longer a girl but a weapon sharpened by her parents’ ambitions. When she failed to secure an alliance her father had carefully cultivated, his disappointment was like a toxin in her bloodstream, paralyzing and inescapable.

This failure was a turning point. Electra vowed never to falter again. She immersed herself in her studies, mastering the arts of manipulation and charm. She learned to read people as one reads potion ingredients: discerning their weaknesses, their desires, and the precise formula needed to bend them to her will.

But the cost of her ambition became evident in her relationship with Orestes. Their father’s attention was a prize that neither was willing to relinquish, and their once-innocent sibling rivalry curdled into something darker. Orestes accused her of embodying the worst of their family’s legacy, and Electra, wounded, retaliated with the only weapon she had left: her words. “You hate me because I’m what you could never be,” she hissed. “Strong enough to survive.”

chapter four: a poisoned heart

By twenty-five, Electra had transformed herself into a force to be reckoned with. As a key strategist for the Wraiths, a clandestine collective of pureblood elites led by her cousin Orion, she wielded influence like a toxin—subtle, deadly, and inescapable.

Her beauty became her most potent weapon, her charm the sweet taste that masked the poison beneath. Yet the very skills that elevated her left her isolated. Relationships were transactions, alliances mere calculations. Even Iphigenia, ever forgiving, seemed distant, her warmth dimmed by Electra’s growing coldness. Orestes had become her rival in all but name, their battles playing out in political maneuverings and whispered threats. Though she would never admit it, Electra missed the simpler days of their childhood, when the only poison between them was an innocent rivalry.

Despite her triumphs, Electra felt the toll of her choices. The poison she wielded so expertly had seeped into her soul, leaving her hollow.

chapter five: lethal dose

At twenty-seven, Electra stood at the height of her power, but the victory felt bitter. The Wraiths revered her, and her name was whispered with both fear and admiration, yet she was more alone than ever. Her cousin Orion, whose ambitions mirrored her own, became a reflection of everything she despised and desired. The Wraiths, like her family, thrived on secrets and betrayals. Electra began to see herself in their machinations, a queen presiding over a kingdom of shadows.

In rare, unguarded moments, she allowed herself to dream of another life—a life where Iphigenia’s hope wasn’t a distant memory, where Orestes wasn’t her enemy, and where her parents’ expectations didn’t weigh on her every breath. But these dreams were fleeting, banished as quickly as they arose. Electra had chosen her path, and she knew there was no antidote. The poison that had shaped her was no longer a curse but a part of her identity. To abandon it would be to abandon herself.

And so, she raised the poisoned chalice to her lips, drinking deeply of her own legacy. She was a Lestrange, after all, and poison was both her burden and her power.

wanted plots.

"You’re so busy trying to be my hero, you never stop to think that maybe you’re the villain." ; a mirror. electra crosses paths with someone from her past (or a new individual) who has been shaped by the same values, but in a more extreme or toxic manner. this person could be a former mentor or a peer from her youth, someone whose obsession with power, control, or cruelty has gone even further than electra’s own. This figure could push her to confront what she could become if she continues down her path of ruthlessness, making her realize that her coldness might lead to her eventual isolation and destruction. their relationship could begin as admiration or fascination, with electra feeling intrigued by the person’s confidence or power, but over time, it reveals the true cost of embracing complete emotional detachment.

"I loved you, but I loved myself more" ; a previous relationship, potential betrothal? electra’s past is likely filled with brief, transactional relationships, where love is a tool rather than an emotion. however, a former lover who might have known her before she became fully consumed by power could re-enter her life, forcing electra to confront the part of her that still longs for genuine connection. this lover might have been someone electra genuinely cared for at one point—maybe someone who was destroyed by her ambition or left because they couldn’t endure her coldness. the ex-lover might return seeking revenge or closure, confronting electra with the consequences of her calculated manipulation. or there could be an emotional tug-of-war, with electra feeling the pull of the past while trying to keep her guard up, fearing that letting someone in would weaken her.

"The higher you build your barriers, the taller I become" ; an adversary in the ranks. a charismatic and ambitious new member of the wraiths rises through the ranks, challenging electra's control over the group. this individual is sharp, manipulative, and knows how to turn electra’s own tricks against her, potentially becoming a threat to her influence. they might even attempt to manipulate electra emotionally, possibly by using her vulnerabilities or by showing interest in a romantic or intellectual capacity.

"We are all monsters, but only some of us wear masks." ; a ghost from the past. someone from electra’s past—perhaps a childhood friend or even a former ally—returns, someone who has been silently observing her rise to power, waiting for the right moment to make their move. this individual could know all of electra’s secrets, including the more tender parts of her past, and holds a certain amount of power over her. at first, electra views them as a mere threat, but over time, their connection becomes more complicated. this person could either serve as a rival or a potential ally—someone who challenges her in ways she doesn’t expect.

[bxllxtrix]

bellatrix lestrange. twenty-eight. resurrected. wraiths. styx

a serpent coiled in the dark, you are poison and hunger, born to devour and be devoured — but there is something hollow beneath the fury, something cold that no inferno can touch. your name is carved into history like a curse, a hymn to destruction sung in whispered tones by the broken and the brave. the ghosts of your bloodline walk beside you, their whispers filling the silence — a mother’s fierce pride, a father’s unyielding will, a legacy that chokes and chains you even as you revel in its weight — they have all made their home in your marrow.

lovingly penned by cee

bio // stats // playlist // pinterest // nobodyssoldier

[jansirac]

Name: Jan Sirac Polat

Age: 26

Birthday: 29th of March, 2005. “Aries leads with blind optimism, barreling through life with an electric joie de vivre that perfectly complements their distinctive impulsivity. These fire signs think after they leap, which often results in lessons learned the hard way.” 

Gender & Pronouns: Cismale, He/Him

House: Gryffindor

Face claim: Emre Bey

Blood Status: Halfblood

Occupation: Hogwarts University student, currently an Auror-In-Training. While Jan technically should have completed the courses by now, he finds himself falling behind with the rigorous training.

Allegiance: One of the Leaders of the Knights of the Round Table (Leader of the Carnwennan Rank)

Tattoos: a small stag on his arm. The three Polat siblings all share this tattoo in honor of their father.

-Jan carries the weight of a thousand legends on his back. Like Sisyphus, he holds it every day, transporting the burden in every twinkle of gold in his eye and every furrow of his brow. The eldest son, the eldest boy, there is a sense that he must prove that he is worthy of the Polat name to everyone around him. He carries his grandfather’s smirks and his uncles’ carefree nature, but he also carries his mother’s fierceness and his grandmother’s unwavering protection for those he loves. He carries their sense of justice for right and wrong. But how long can Sisyphus push the rock until it rolls backwards and he is collapsed by the weight of it all?

-The dream of becoming an Auror came from childlike admiration for all his father was able to accomplish as Head Auror. He had moved through the job with a sense of purpose and determination to better the Wizarding World, to make it the best and most equitable place it could be. Perhaps it was a vision of this oasis that Jan shared that thrust him into the career-path more than the actual desire to do the job. 

-There may be some foul play happening with the N.E.W.T.S. Jan needed to enter the Auror program. While he is fairly gifted at Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts, he was not particularly gifted in subjects like Transfiguration and Potions. His professors certainly weren’t the only ones to note how uncharacteristically well he performed. But what’s a little slip of something extra to help fulfill his dreams in the long run? He knew he could do it, he just needed a little extra push. His parents were able to accomplish so much at half his age, so why is he struggling so much?

-Jan became a natural leader when it came to forming the Knights of the Round Table. A natural smooth talker, he put his persuasion skills to a good use leading the Carnwennan rank of the Knights of the Round Table, gathering dedicated new recruits left and right. Clinging to the comforts of Hogwarts, he felt himself unaware of what exactly it all meant to form such a group before it grew out of his control. It felt righteous to fight for a cause when that cause felt manageable inside the walls of Hogwarts. It was his desperate idea to try and resurrect his father, but didn’t everyone go along with it? It wouldn’t be the first time one of his ridiculous ideas got a little too grandiose, but never have the complications been so detrimental. 

-He now finds himself at a crossroads. If Lila and Altan said that the Knights of the Round Table should disband, he would go along with their wishes, although for once this is not an idea he would bring up. Perhaps they were just kids playing pretend after all. Perhaps they were too young to fight in a war they didn't understand. The Order of the Stag certainly has more years of collective experience. Who better to take charge than them? Jan was the first to jump to help in the attack on Godric’s Hollow the night that Harun died, despite his parents' wishes against it. Were they right all along? He doesn’t fully doubt that the Erinyes don’t know what they are doing, either, considering how many members they lost. Daisy and Ollie are some of the brightest wizards he knows. Perhaps they can handle it on their own, too. 

-A spiral of unnamed guilts and deaths chomp at his mind clamoring for more room to remind him that this is his fault. He convinced everyone that bringing his father back was the right thing to do. A just thing to do. He would know more than anyone else how to best handle the evils ahead of them. Selfishly, he would be a pillar of hope to guide them towards the light when grief feels insurmountable. When all of that went awry, he lost the vision of himself that was once so clear. The path to success in all aspects of his life seems blurred. The father he needs right now can hardly remember his name, let alone save him from himself. The Polats must have some idea that he is suffering--his eyes that once shimmered with playfulness are now sunken and gaunt. But why should they care? The ghost of their father that saunters through the halls isn’t the great man they know. He can hear his mother’s tears from galaxies away. He can feel their cause crumbling in his hands. 

-While the Order now has full control over the Resurrection Stone and the Elder Wand, the Invisibility Cloak still remains with Jan, locked away in a suitcase never to again be seen. It was gifted to him, as it had been gifted to the Polats for generations and he intends to keep it a sacred treasure of a simpler time.

-Jan’s daemon is a hoopoe. A hoopoe is a small, colorful bird notable for their crown of feathers. Hoopoes can be associated with violence, war, scrappiness, and defense. In Muslim culture, hoopoes are known for speaking the truth, but are not always depicted in a good light. These birds are known to stab their enemies with their bills to blind them in fights. Despite their close bond, Jan’s hoopoe has sometimes caused him more trouble than he would like to admit. Particularly around the Resurrected, it can flutter away, something that is very worrisome to Jan. 

-He uses nicknames for people that he has used since a young age. It’s cute! It's affectionate! Even if not everyone thinks so.

-Character Parallels: Alexander Hamilton (Hamilton), Christopher Moltisanti (The Sopranos), Pierre (Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812), Roman Roy (Succession), Kendall Roy (Succession), Flynn Rider (Tangled), Jay Gatsby (The Great Gatsby)

-He was a Beater for the Gryffindor Quidditch team his 5th year onward.