𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒍𝒖𝒎𝒐𝒔 ,

multimuse blog for NOXTMS.

[dearlumos]

/ 𝑹𝑶𝑨𝑫 𝑴𝑨𝑷 — *

this is a multimuse blog written by gwen , for @noxtms . there will be explicit content on this blog , personally , i have no triggers , but will of course respect those of others . please note : i am much faster on plotting , etc - through discord . please feel free to message me there anytime !

𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔 — *

please utilize the names below as links to access the character page where you will find all pertanent information and links relevant to that character .

nisrine aradia chen is a twenty nine year old half veela witch who splits her time between muggle and wixen london , mostly , and occasionally visits her family in japan . she owns a karaoke bar in muggle london , where she magically enhances her drinks - unbeknownst to her muggle clientele . she grew up mostly in japan where she attended mahoutokoro school of witchcraft and wizardry . though, she still spent all holidays in wixen london .

cara o'donnell (macdonald) is a twenty eight year old half blood witch who has spent most of her life straddling the line between the muggle and wixen worlds. raised in ireland, largely outside of wixen society, she was homeschooled in magic with guidance from caradoc. in 2021, she and her mother returned to wixen london, pulling cara into the magical world she had always longed to explore. after years of traveling and training in defensive magic and charms, she returned to london in 2023/2024, uncertain of her next steps but eager to carve out a place for herself—perhaps in healing, potions, or magical history.

[viridislumos]

may the 19th | present, what present?

LOCATION : diagon alley TIME : 19th of may FEATURING : open ! @startertms

The late spring light clung to the cobblestones of Diagon Alley, as Daphne stepped out of St Mungo’s, exhaustion settling over her shoulders. Her shift had ended later than expected—or rather, later than contracted. She was always at odd hours ever since her rotations in the maternity ward had started, which now felt like the new normal.

Her thoughts were still half-caught in the cries of the last newborn of the day (or rather, the first, as her day had already given way to a new one), when a realisation struck her: time was slipping through her fingers. What day was it? Had she missed it already? No—surely not. She still had time. Didn’t she?

She moved through the alley without truly looking, mind drifting from shopfronts to memories, to the kind of gifts that could have made up for her mistake. How could she have forgotten to plan for her sisters’ birthday? (And hers, too.) She barely noticed the noise around her until— a shoulder touching hers, altering their equilibrium.

“Oh,” she breathed, trying to steady herself, one hand reaching out instinctively not  to fall—  on the floor, or on the person she had bumped into . She raised her gaze — and for a brief moment, her steps faltered again, while standing, as the world around her seemed to pause, like a breath held under starlight. Was she surprised, or worried? “Apologies," she whispered. "Are you well?” she asked, the apology in her voice edged with something warmer—  motherly, even.

[dearlumos]

It was late enough that most of the shops along the alley had gone quiet—shutters drawn, lanterns low—save for one or two still open just long enough for someone chasing a last-minute brew. Nisrine moved with unhurried ease, the hem of her dress whispering against her calves, one hand tucked into the pocket at her side, the other lightly grazing a shop window’s chipped frame. She wasn’t in a rush—she rarely was—but her attention was clearly somewhere else. Maybe debating whether she needed dried lionfish spines, or just liked the sound of them. Then a shoulder collided with hers. She stepped back easily, steady on her heels, head tilting as her gaze rose to meet the voice that followed. That voice—soft, apologetic, familiar in a way she couldn’t quite place all at once—pulled a flicker of amusement to her lips before the rest of her had caught up. “Daphne?” The name slid out without hesitation but with just enough space to make the familiarity uncertain—like finding a pressed flower in a book you didn’t remember reading. Her eyes narrowed a touch, smile crooking sideways. “Didn’t expect to be tackled tonight. Or is this how you’re greeting people these days?” There was no heat in it. Just the lilt of teasing—light, ambiguous, easy to follow or brush off. “No apologies needed,” she added, a hand fluttering vaguely at her side. “But you look like you’ve been through it. Let me guess—long night at Mungo’s, or are you planning to haunt Diagon until it coughs up something good?” Another beat passed before she gestured toward the apothecary behind her. “Need help, or just a friendly collision?”

[viridislumos]

may the 19th | present, what present?

LOCATION : diagon alley TIME : 19th of may FEATURING : open ! @startertms

The late spring light clung to the cobblestones of Diagon Alley, as Daphne stepped out of St Mungo’s, exhaustion settling over her shoulders. Her shift had ended later than expected—or rather, later than contracted. She was always at odd hours ever since her rotations in the maternity ward had started, which now felt like the new normal.

Her thoughts were still half-caught in the cries of the last newborn of the day (or rather, the first, as her day had already given way to a new one), when a realisation struck her: time was slipping through her fingers. What day was it? Had she missed it already? No—surely not. She still had time. Didn’t she?

She moved through the alley without truly looking, mind drifting from shopfronts to memories, to the kind of gifts that could have made up for her mistake. How could she have forgotten to plan for her sisters’ birthday? (And hers, too.) She barely noticed the noise around her until— a shoulder touching hers, altering their equilibrium.

“Oh,” she breathed, trying to steady herself, one hand reaching out instinctively not  to fall—  on the floor, or on the person she had bumped into . She raised her gaze — and for a brief moment, her steps faltered again, while standing, as the world around her seemed to pause, like a breath held under starlight. Was she surprised, or worried? “Apologies," she whispered. "Are you well?” she asked, the apology in her voice edged with something warmer—  motherly, even.

[dearlumos]

Cara hadn’t been watching where she was going, too distracted by the slow bloom of late-spring light against old stone and the way shop windows caught it, throwing flickers of gold and glass across the path. She’d been walking without much aim—drawn more by instinct than direction, letting herself wander. Sometimes she liked to let the street carry her wherever it wanted. The soft impact was gentle, but it still surprised her. A shoulder, a shift, a hand brushing instinctively to catch balance. She blinked, taking a step back, and found herself face to face with a woman who looked just as caught off guard—but something in her apology made Cara pause. The tone wasn’t just polite. It was careful. Earnest. Cara’s brows lifted slightly, not in alarm but in quiet reassurance. “I’m alright,” she offered, voice bright with surprise but not unkind. “No harm done. Honestly, I think I was the one floating more than walking.” She gave a small, sheepish smile, brushing a hand through her hair. “Spring does that to me. Makes everything feel sort of... untethered.” Her gaze lingered on the woman for a beat longer—something about the stillness behind her eyes, the way she spoke like she'd just come from somewhere heavy and sacred. There was a story there. Cara could feel it. “I hope I didn’t startle you,” she added, with quiet warmth. “Long day?”

[rebuildeds]

there's  something  familiar  about  the  girl  who's  shoe  she's  stepped  on,  but  clem  is  too  flustered  at  first  to  really  put  her  finger  on  it.  she's  walking  with  purposefully  smaller  strides  to  try  and  avoid  it  happening  again,  the  forced  pep  sounding  out  of  place  the  second  it  comes  out  of  her  mouth.  she's  really  not  sure  what  to  say  :  there  aren't  any  words  that  really  encompass  the  feeling  that  seems  to  settle  over  everyone  at  the  memorial,  even  taking  into  account  the  brief  moments  of  respite  they  get  when  they're  all  chatting  and  forget  the  event  that's  brought  them  together  today. 

then  the  puzzle  pieces  click  into  place,  and  clementine  realises  what  makes  this  particular  ‘stranger’  look  so  familiar,  as  opposed  to  the  usual  maybe  we've  been  at  the  memorial  at  the  same  time  before  or  maybe  you  were  one  of  the  kids  who  searched  for  judy  or  maybe  i've  served  you  coffee  once  or  twenty  times.  she's  a  touch  shocked  to  see  how  much  of  mary  she  can  spot  in  her  features.      

“  is…  are  you  cara?  ”     she's  stopped  in  place,  a  hand  hovering  over  the  other's  elbow  to  try  and  prompt  her  to  leave  the  accidental  procession  they've  all  joined,  voice  matching  the  other's  softness  and  warmth.        “  sorry,  i  don't  think  we've  met.  i  know  your  mum.  ”

[dearlumos]

cara blinked, surprised to hear her name spoken aloud — soft, uncertain, but sure enough to catch her fully. her gaze lifted to the woman beside her, studying her face for a beat, searching for familiarity and finding none. still, there was something kind in the way she lingered, like she wasn’t just making conversation. “ yeah. i’m cara, ” she said, her voice quiet but steady. and then — i know your mum — that part hit different. cara’s expression shifted, not with suspicion, but something closer to awe. her chest tightened, caught somewhere between surprise and warmth. “ you do? ” the words came out a little breathless, almost like she didn’t mean to say them aloud. a small, reflexive laugh escaped her, the kind that came when something landed just a little too close to home. “ sorry, i just — i wasn’t expecting that. ” her eyes dropped for a moment, her fingers brushing the edge of her sleeve. “ being here’s made me think about her a lot. about everything she kept me safe from. ” she glanced back toward the crowd, the weight of the day pressing in again — but softer now, shared. “ how is it you know her? ” she asked after a beat, genuine curiosity blooming beneath the question.

[veriidicals]

the job was simple enough. even if it was only ever contained to the businesses around diagon and itʻs connecting alleys, for the businesses who could afford for gringottʻs quality cursebreaking. the easy thrill of it was enough to have bill looking forward to it all year long. it was like clockwork: someone or other received some sort of heirloom for christmas and immediately following into the new years—with all it’s resolutions and cleaning—foisted it on some unfortunate pawn shop to spare themselves the hassle of trying to match great aunt hildegardʻs vase with their current furniture. the fun of it was when the vases weren’t just vases. ❝ iʻd be careful if i were you, ❞ he warns, voice mired in amusement even as he nimbly plucks a rather unfortunate looking brooch out of hand-reach, just in the nick of time. the dragonhide gloves are his only saving grace, and even those start steaming at the places of contact with the silver of the jewelry piece. not so pretty an end result. ❝ nasty bit of anti-theft warding. banned now, but probably not when this little darling was commissioned. ❞ he explains, not bothering to hide any of the interest that leaks into his consonance. it was the habit, the vice, to dig his teeth onto the exciting bits of magic, especially when those bits of magic bit back. the brooch gets slipped into an acromantula silk-lined bag, with all the nullifying properties: a specialty of the goblins, who knew how to manipulate magic in ways that wixen could hardly grasp at. ❝ might i suggest those lovely little earrings over in the corner ? they should be in the clear. ❞ the grin that crosses his face is an honest attempt at trustworthy: sales associate charm for all that heʻs never actually been in sales. ❝ checked ʻem myself. promise. ❞

[dearlumos]

“ are you always this charming, or is it just the fumes coming off that brooch? ” the words are light, playful — but nisrine doesn’t take a step closer to the earrings. instead, she tilts her head slightly, eyeing the cursed jewelry in his gloved hand with clear amusement. her gaze lingers on him a moment longer. there’s a flicker of something behind her smile — curiosity, maybe, or calculation — but it never quite settles into something readable. “ i’ve seen less dramatic things in knockturn. what kind of curse scorches dragonhide like that? ” she pauses, then adds, dryly, “ let me guess — old, illegal, and absolutely not worth the inheritance tax. ” she finally takes a lazy step toward a nearby shelf, fingers brushing along the edge of a cracked display case. there’s no fear in her body language — just ease, comfort, and a subtle alertness that doesn’t announce itself. then comes a smile, slow and a little sly. “ still. you’ve got decent instincts. i’ll give you that. ” her eyes flick to the earrings, but she doesn’t touch them. “ i don’t usually let strange men pick out my accessories, ” she says with a lift of her brow. “ but i am curious what else you’ve tested. ”

[rebuildeds]

LOCATION : hogwarts grounds TIME : just after the speeches, may 2nd FEATURING : open ! @startertms

it's  a  sting  to  be  back  here.  clementine  had  come  every  year,  stayed  for  the  full  length  of  the  memorial  weekend,  until  they  lost  judith.  the  last  couple  of  years  since,  she'd  stayed  for  a  day  but  somehow  it  felt  disrespectful.  both  to  judy  and to  those  who  had  been  lost  before  –  for  the  former,  it  felt  like  no  one  had  the  space  or  will  to  acknowledge  her  loss,  and  for  the  latter  it  felt  inappropriate  to even  want  to  mention  judy.  it  was  a  lose-lose  all  around.  this  year,  well,  she's  trying  to  do  better.  the  solidarity  that  went  into  this  event  was  so  vital  in  the  first  few  years  after  the  war,  and  there's  a  part  of  her  desperate  to  re-capture  that.

the  final  speech  is  finished  up,  and  the  crowd  is  slowly  moving  towards  the  great  hall  for  the  feast.  clem  walks  slower  than  usual,  her  body  filled  with  fatigue.  her  eyes  are  pinned  to  the  grass,  but  she  still  manages  to  not  fully  watch  where  her  feet  are  going  until  she  realises  she's  trodden  on  the  back  of  someone's  shoe.  it's  a  talent  !      “  oh  merlin,  sorry.  ”   she  calls  over  their  shoulder,  forcing  some  pep  into  her  voice.   “  should  be  looking  where  i'm  going.  ”

[dearlumos]

cara  had  been  lost  in  thought  since  the  moment  she'd  arrived.  her  gaze  tracing  the  grounds  with  a  quiet  heaviness.  the  speeches  had  stirred  something  inside  her—curiosity,  grief,  something  she  couldn’t  quite  name.  the  faces  of  those  lost,  the  words  spoken,  it  all  felt  so  foreign  to  her.  she  hadn’t  grown  up  in  this  world,  hadn't  been  a  part  of  all  the  suffering  that  had  touched  so  many  here.  and  now,  with  her  protective  shields  finally  lowered,  cara  found  herself  standing  amidst  it  all,  wanting  to  know  and  understand. the  footsteps  behind  her  pulled  her  out  of  her  reverie,  but  before  she  could  step  aside,  she  felt  someone’s  heel  press  down  on  the  back  of  her  shoe. cara  glanced  over  her  shoulder,  her  hand  instinctively  brushing  off  the  area  where  her  shoe  had  been  stepped  on.  her  lips  pulled  into  a  slight,  rueful  smile  as  she  caught  sight  of  the  other  woman,  still  slightly  off-balance  from  her  own  moment  of  distraction. “no  harm  done.”  cara  responded,  her  tone  soft  but  warm,  not  quite  the  briskness  of  her  usual  self.  “it's  alright,  really.” she  paused  for  a  moment,  considering,  before  adding,  almost  quietly,  “i  suppose  we’re  all  a  bit  lost  in  our  own  thoughts  today.” cara's  voice  was  gentle,  like  she  was  speaking  more  to  herself  than  the  woman  who  had  stepped  on  her  shoe.  the  weight  of  the  event  hung  heavily  in  the  air,  and  cara  felt  it  weighing  on  her.  as  strange  as  it  felt  to  be  here,  she  knew  this  was  something  she  had  to  do.  she  needed  to  be  part  of  this,  even  if  she  couldn’t  yet  fully  understand  it.

[chacswins]

Ah, fate. The damned thing. Fate never usually was on his side, he actively worked against it most of his life truth be told. Maybe now he can let it work and maybe, for once, he won’t be scared. He smiles at her musing, then again when she finally looks at him again.

“I’ll be better.” He repeats, perhaps he’ll believe it as well. Damien leans lightly on a bookshelf and pleads in his thoughts for it to not tip over. “Oh, definitely fate. Finally lost its patience and pushed us back together, I’d say.”

He laughs gently and nods. “Happily. Anything but fate, I beg of you.” He moves out of the way so she can go in front of him. “We could talk about the utterly random array of books you’ve picked out."

[dearlumos]

A grin tugged at her lips at his comment, her gaze drifting toward the modest stack of books she’d collected. “Utterly random?” she echoed, brows lifting as if scandalized. “I’ll have you know this is the result of years of deeply refined instinct and questionable taste.” She let the moment hang, a quiet laugh escaping as she stepped past him, leading the way toward the little tea counter tucked into the corner of the shop. “Though I’ll admit—fate might’ve had a hand in the one about soul bonds. I swear it leapt off the shelf at me.” Her glance tipped back toward him, warm and easy. “But you’re safe. For now.” A beat. “Unless you insult my book choices again— then all bets are off.”

[dearlumos]

13, 23, 33, 63, 83 !!

✧ Nisrine Aradia Chen

13. How do you speak about others when they’re not around?

“I try to be fair. That said, I’m not above venting with a bit of flair if someone’s been awful. But I don’t say anything I wouldn’t stand by. My honesty doesn’t take a lunch break.”

23. What is the most interesting white lie you’ve told?

“That the drinks at my bar are just that good. Muggles think it’s artisanal bitters and charm; they don’t know it’s actual charm. Magical enhancement—tiny tweaks. No harm, no foul.”

33. Have you stopped trying to control things yet?

“I’ve never been someone who needs to control others — honestly, I hate when people try to control me. But I do like to control how I show up in the world. I manage the edges, keep the compartments of my life tidy so they don’t bleed too much into each other. It’s not about secrecy, exactly — it’s more about survival. My whole life, I’ve had one foot in and one foot out of every world I belong to. And that balance? That illusion of having a handle on it all? It’s a kind of control I haven’t quite let go of. But part of me knows… eventually, I’ll have to.”

63. What is one fear that you’d be ashamed of your friends knowing about?

“That deep down, I wonder if I’ll always feel a little... split. Like I’ll never fully belong in either world. It’s easier to act like I’m above it all than admit how much I want to feel at home somewhere.”

83. How often do you take responsibility for other people’s crappy behavior?

“Outside my family? Almost never. If someone’s out of line, I’ll call it what it is. I don’t babysit egos. But when it’s my family... I don't take the blame, but I protect it. I cover, smooth it over, change the subject, take the edge off the truth. I’m not sure if it’s loyalty or habit—or maybe I’m just not ready to admit how much it still matters to me. I haven’t let myself belong fully to either world, so I sit in the space between and try to make it all make sense. Some days, it feels like a choice. Most days, it feels like survival.”

✧ Cara O'Donnell (Macdonald)

13. How do you speak about others when they’re not around?

"If I love you, I’ll guard your name like it’s breakable. If you’ve hurt me, I go quiet. Not out of grace — out of fear I’ll say something I can’t take back. My silence isn’t forgiveness. It’s restraint."

23. What is the most interesting white lie you’ve told?

"I’ve said I was tired when I was shattered. I’ve said I was fine when I was furious. The lies I tell aren’t clever — they’re camouflage. A way to survive conversations I’m not ready to have."

33. Have you stopped trying to control things yet?

"I’ve never really had control. But I crave it. I daydream about what it would feel like — to be certain, to be steady, to not always be reacting. I build emotional contingency plans in my head like that makes me safer. It doesn’t. But it lets me pretend I’m not at the mercy of everything I can’t hold still."

63. What is one fear that you’d be ashamed of your friends knowing about?

"That being left isn’t my biggest fear — being pitied is. I’d rather someone walk away than stay just because they feel bad for me. I want to be chosen, not tolerated. And sometimes, I push people just hard enough that I don’t have to find out which one it is."

83. How often do you take responsibility for other people’s crappy behavior?

"Too often. I rewrite the story in their favor, every time. I’ll carry the weight of what they did if it means I don’t have to face the fact that they meant to do it. If it’s my fault, maybe there’s still a way to fix it. That lie is easier to live with than the truth."

[a-lady-and-her-quill]

[dearlumos]

-ˏˋ⋆ 𝙰 𝙲 𝙲 𝙴 𝙿 𝚃 𝙸 𝙽 𝙶 ⋆ˊˎ-

˚｡⋆ ↪ 𝚉𝙾𝙳𝙸𝙰𝙲 𝙷𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙲𝙰𝙽𝙾𝙽𝚂. & ✱ ↪ 𝙰𝙶𝙰𝚃𝙷𝙰 𝙰𝙻𝙻 𝙰𝙻𝙾𝙽𝙶 𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚂.

・❥・ for nisrine aradia chen + cara o'donnell (macdonald) .

[chacswins]

"Ah, understood. Though, you do have to admit that the library is quite fitting for us." He smiles a bit as she laughs. He realizes quickly he forgot how much he missed the sound of it. "I'm happy to see you."

Her next words settle and Damien feels this heaviness in his chest. For years, he has run from everything and anyone. Then he finds Cara and they're forced apart against his best efforts. "I was just starting to feel like it was getting lonely here." He admits. The unspoken, before you've arrived now, he allows to hang in the air. "They're...okay. They're okay now. I could be better I suppose, but alright all things considered."

[dearlumos]

Cara’s lips quirked slightly at his first remark, a quiet acknowledgment of the truth in it. “I guess some things don’t change,” she mused, letting her gaze drift over the bookshelves before settling back on him. But then he said it—I was just starting to feel like it was getting lonely here. And for a moment, she didn’t know what to say. The words hung between them, unspoken yet understood, and something in her softened. Her fingers traced absent patterns against the book’s worn cover. “I’m glad they’re okay,” she said first, because she knew that mattered. And you? She studied him, taking in the weight behind his words. “And you’ll be better,” she added, quieter but certain. A beat passed, and then—because she never was one to let the air grow too heavy—she let out a breath of something between a sigh and a small laugh. “Maybe we both just have impeccable timing.” She hesitated, then with a small, knowing smile, added, “Or maybe Fate knew something we simply didn’t—or couldn’t admit.” Her fingers finally released the book as she shifted slightly toward him. “Join me for a cup of tea? We can talk about books, or—” her lips twitched, playful now, “anything but fate, if you’d rather.”

[acciodreamland]

Gail Ollivander (Starter) 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: diagon alley. 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬: open ( @startertms ) Gail had sat down for a drink in the leaky cauldron, eyes cautiously scanning the room. They’d already been greeted by a plethora of names and faces that they somewhat recognized, all greeting them warmly with the familiarity of being old friends. They doubted any of the patrons of the bar knew them as friends, but responded to them in a manner that didn’t immediately send them away. After all, having fans was a big part of their role as a musician, and they knew that anything they did would go to the press if they made a mess of it. Sliding into a seat at the bar, they took their butterbeer and gave it a short sip. 

“Do you come here often?” they asked the person next to them, trying to hide their disgust at the drink. Not everyone knew they were a vampire, and it typically caused a panic when they were recognized as one. Of course, there were rumors, but they hadn’t been proven. A manicured hand tapped the table, nails sharp and painted a maroon red.

[dearlumos]

Cara had been nursing a hot butterbeer, fingers curled around the warm mug as she let the rich, spiced scent rise with the steam. She hadn’t been paying much attention to the movement around her until the person beside her spoke, their voice cutting smoothly through the din of the Leaky Cauldron. She turned toward them, an easy smile tugging at her lips as she took them in. “More than I probably should,” she admitted, amusement threading through her tone. “Though I can’t say I’ve ever seen you here before.” Her gaze flickered to their nails as they tapped against the bar, the sharp edges catching the dim lighting. “Not a fan of butterbeer?” she guessed, arching a brow. She let the question linger before adding, “I’m Cara, by the way.” Because conversation was always easier with a name, and she’d never been one to turn down the chance to meet someone new.

[dearlumos]

open to anyone @startertms

The air in Hogsmeade carried the crisp bite of early autumn, the scent of warm butterbeer and freshly baked pastries drifting through the streets. Cara pulled her cloak a little tighter around herself as she stepped out of Honeydukes, a small bag of sweets crinkling in her grasp. She hadn’t planned on stopping in, but old habits were hard to break, and a bit of sugar never hurt. She lingered just outside the shop, tucking a stray curl behind her ear as she glanced around. The village was alive with its usual weekend bustle—students laughing over steaming cups of tea, shopkeepers calling out their latest wares. It was the kind of energy that made her feel a little less like a stranger, even if she wasn’t entirely sure what had drawn her here today. Pulling a sugar quill from her bag, she twirled it between her fingers before flashing an easy smile at someone who stood nearby. “There’s just something about magical sweets, isn’t there? Sweeter than anything you’ll find anywhere else.” She tapped the quill against her palm, considering. “Or maybe that’s just nostalgia talking.” she hummed thoughtfully before extending the bag in their direction. “Care for one?”

[dearlumos]

fawley family dinner, a self para.

Nisrine cradled her glass of plum wine between her fingers, the deep, golden liquid catching the low light of the room. It was a smooth, familiar indulgence—one she rarely drank with her mother’s family but found herself reaching for tonight. The conversation around the table ebbed and flowed, voices dipping in and out of civility as they navigated politics, lineage, and the ever-present undercurrent of expectation. Nisrine listened more than she spoke, watching the delicate dance of words and power play out before her. She knew this game well— when to nod, when to let a well-placed smirk say more than words, when to sip her drink to mask amusement or irritation. Her aunt made a pointed remark about the state of Wixen society, lamenting how ‘things simply weren’t as they used to be.’ Nisrine let out a soft hum, noncommittal, though her fingers tapped idly against her glass. “The past has a way of looking better the further away you get from it,” she mused, lifting her drink to her lips. Her mother shot her a look— subtle, but enough. A reminder. She wasn’t here to challenge, only to endure, in the same way her mother always had. Nisrine let the weight of it settle before offering a small, knowing smile and shifting the subject toward something safer. It was always a balancing act, keeping the peace while keeping herself intact. And yet, it exhausted her. This intricate performance, this delicate threading of words and restraint. She had spent years away from it, away from the quiet suffocation of legacy and whispered judgments. She had built a life in the Muggle world, where no one cared about blood status or ancient family names, where her reputation was shaped by the choices she made, not the ancestors who came before her. But being here again, sitting at this table, she could feel the pull of it. The subtle expectation that she should care more, that she should invest in this world with the same fervor as those around her. That she should, at the very least, pretend. She wondered if they ever truly saw her— if, to them, she was anything more than a wayward daughter, a reminder of what could have been had she stayed within the lines they had drawn for her. Still, she played her part well. She smiled when appropriate, laughed lightly at the right moments, and let the conversation wash over her like an ocean tide she had long learned to float upon rather than fight. Another sip of plum wine, another carefully measured glance, another fleeting thought of escape. It would pass. It always did.

[acciodreamland]

Gail Ollivander (Starter) 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: diagon alley. 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬: open ( @startertms ) Gail had sat down for a drink in the leaky cauldron, eyes cautiously scanning the room. They’d already been greeted by a plethora of names and faces that they somewhat recognized, all greeting them warmly with the familiarity of being old friends. They doubted any of the patrons of the bar knew them as friends, but responded to them in a manner that didn’t immediately send them away. After all, having fans was a big part of their role as a musician, and they knew that anything they did would go to the press if they made a mess of it. Sliding into a seat at the bar, they took their butterbeer and gave it a short sip. 

“Do you come here often?” they asked the person next to them, trying to hide their disgust at the drink. Not everyone knew they were a vampire, and it typically caused a panic when they were recognized as one. Of course, there were rumors, but they hadn’t been proven. A manicured hand tapped the table, nails sharp and painted a maroon red.

[dearlumos]

Nisrine’s fingers traced the rim of her glass, the amber liquid inside catching the dim lighting of the pub. She hadn’t been paying much attention to the comings and goings of the room—not until a voice pulled her from her thoughts. Dark eyes flicked toward the source, taking in the person beside her. A smirk ghosted across her lips at their question. “Depends on who’s asking,” she mused, tipping her glass slightly in their direction before taking a sip. “But let’s say often enough.” Her gaze dropped briefly to the way their fingers tapped against the bar—pointed, precise. Interesting. She set her drink down, head tilting slightly as if appraising them. “And you? Passing through, or?” The words were light, teasing, but there was an edge of curiosity to them, an unspoken invitation for them to shape the narrative however they pleased.

[dearlumos]

open to anyone @startertms

Nisrine sat at the bar, the soft clink of glassware and quiet hum of conversation in the background as she took a slow sip from her drink. She'd arrived early to meet her aunt for drinks— besides, it gave her a chance to savor the quiet before the evening's inevitable energy kicked in. She glanced at the clock on the wall, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her glass. It wasn’t unusual for her aunt to be late, but Nisrine couldn’t help but smile to herself, wondering how many more minutes she'd have to kill before that familiar face appeared. The door opened, and a figure slid onto the stool beside her. Nisrine turned, the corners of her lips curving upward. "Was starting to think you'd forgotten about our little drink," she said, only to blink, her smile faltering slightly. "Oh, you're not—" She paused, raising an eyebrow, as her gaze shifted, trying to place the person next to her.

[chacswins]

Perhaps it was his pessimism, but Damien truthfully did not think he would see Cara again - or that she would want to see him. They parted on uncertain terms, not quite bad at all.

"Were you hoping to find me a different day?" He asks, attempting a joke. He was nervous suddenly. His palms felt hot, it was embarrassing. "I didn't know you were coming back."

[dearlumos]

A soft laugh escaped her, quiet but genuine. "Maaaybe," she admitted, tilting her head slightly, her words dragging on as she considered the thought. "Or maybe I just liked the idea that when we finally ran into each other again, it’d be on our own terms. Not that I’m complaining." Her gaze flickered over him, something unreadable in her expression before she offered, just a little softer, "I’m happy to see you." His next words made her hesitate, fingers brushing idly against the cover of the book that still kept her hands occupied. "I didn’t know I was either," she admitted, huffing out something between amusement and thoughtfulness. "I stuck it out, finished my training, but… France was starting to feel a little lonely." She let the words settle before offering a small, almost self-aware smile. "Guess I figured it was time." She hesitated, a moment before continuing— part of her worried if she hadn't, their conversation might just fade away in the same light they had. "How's the family by the way— and you, how are you?"