tell me --

is your father a good man? Ottavia "Otto" Crabbe . 23 . 

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Ottavia Crabbe

⧽   ━━   hey, isn’t that OTTAVIA “OTTO” CRABBE? i read a daily prophet article on them, once ; the TWENTY-THREE year old pure blood WITCH is a SLYTHERIN alumnus who has gone on to be an EMPLOYEE AT 2ND HAND BROOMS & CHARMS TUTOR. i’ve heard they can be quite FORTHRIGHT & HIGH-SPIRITED, but i don’t know… they came off very NERVOUS & INSECURE in that interview. it really is hard to know what to believe these days though, isn’t it?

dependent Harry Potter rp blog penned by Caro!!

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Name: Ottavia Crabbe Pronouns: She/Her Nickname(s): Otto Age: 23 Birthday: June 12, 1998 Sexuality: Pansexual Living Relations: Vincent Crabbe Sr (Father,??); Luca Moltisanti Crabbe (Sister, 30); Julius Crabbe (Brother, 27); Aurelius Crabbe (Brother, 28);  Adora Crabbe (Sister, 19) Profession: Employee at 2nd Hand Brooms; Charms Tutor Education: Hogwarts; Slytherin

[endeavorisms]

stainedglcss​:

     even though gerrie themself, made it out of the event untouched, they had witnessed bits and pieces of the destruction before managing to fly away, escape without any sort of injury. they were constantly aware of how their presence affect folks, never missing a grimace, glare, muttered words, or angry shouts, but still gerrie felt the need to assist somehow. showing up at st. mungos to volunteer for any sort of support they might need as they tend to the victims of the devastation. gerrie made sure that they didn’t speak, or even look at folks in the eye as she scurried around doing whatever was asked of them. that was until they turned the corner of course, noticing someone further down the hall. ‘ you a’right ? ’ what a useless question, they scolded themself before trying again, ‘ need anything ? ’ gerrie walked closer, slowly, hoping not to startle them. 

Even through the war raging in her mind, Otto knows that voice. It’s startling, perhaps, to hear it again after as long as it’s been, but there’s too much else going on to process that. Her head lulls, rolling slightly to the side as she fights to open her eyes. And sure enough, there they are.  Her expression tightens a fraction, brows tensing, lower lip quivering. The relief of someone familiar is overwhelming. The fact that it’s Gerrie of all people is an afterthought. 

In. Out. In. Out. 

“Um. I just--just need a minute, I think. Got dizzy and I’m... hmmm.”

[endeavorisms]

exsilivm​:

—

“i’m, uh, mopping, kid.” lavinia stood there, her cart full of cleaning supplies pushed up against the wall and spell still active on the mop in question. “cleanliness standards don’t stop just because of tragedy, you know?” the kid probably didn’t know, really, but that didn’t stop lavinia. “still gotta clean and shit. you’d be surprised how quickly gunk builds up here.” she looked around the hall, looked around for some sort of nurse or healer to wave over, to hand off the young woman to, and came up empty. “i can’t make you go back to your room.” mostly because it was outside the bounds of their job, probably some sort of malpractice thing if she even tried. “but can i get you to at least stand somewhere else.”

It’s only distantly that Otto processes she’s being spoken to, like a light through the fog of her mind. There’s something there, trying to push through, but it takes a few moments for it to register. Cleaning. Right. That’s-- “S-sorry.” She stutters out the word, side-stepping a moment before she opens her eyes. The hall tilts and turns around her, but the part of her that is determined not to be be an inconvenience is fairly certain that she can at least make it down the hall before stopping again. Her legs, however, seem to disagree.  

She makes all of three steps before her legs wobble dangerously and she’s forced to drop the chocolate in favor of grabbing onto the wall. “One second. And then I’ll--I’ll be out of your way. Promise.” 

[endeavorisms]

dolors​:

salazar     spare     him     .     she’s     not     the     first     of     her     kind     ,     shellshocked          &          dazed     ,     an     unmoored     spectre     aimlessly     treading     crowded     corridors     .     nor     ,     he     reminds     himself     when     impatience     dares     to     sour     the     straight     lines     of     his     mouth     ,     will     she     be     the     last     .          (          &          sick     as     it     seems     ,     he’d     relished     the     chance     to     fall     back     into     what     came     so     naturally          :          first          &          foremost     ,     leonid     thicknesse     is     a     mediwizard     .     steady     hands          &          a     calm     rationality     ,     he’d     apparated     into     the     thick     of     it     at     the     first     sign     of     imminent     harm     ,     champagne     bubbles     still     popping     dourly     on     a     spoiled     tongue     .          )          exorbitant     suit     exchanged     for     𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐜𝐤     -     𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐝     scrubs     ,     he     inhales     a     deep     breath     before     approaching     ,     like     he     might     just     need     it     .          ❛          are     you     lost          ?          the     wards     can     get     a     little     confusing     ,     i     understand     .     patients     really     shouldn’t     be     wandering     ,     though     .          ❜

“Um.” Stops and starts. There’s a tidal wave of panic waging war against her steadier faculties, and even the most present parts of Otto aren’t all there. Not in that singular moment. Not when despair is so close behind and fear is raging its way through her veins. Not when it seems like the worst parts of her life are popping back up all over again, just when she was finally starting to move past them, and it feels like the whole world is crumbling around her. Dramatic? Maybe. But she’s certainly not known for her steady emotions. “Sorry.” That feels right on her tongue, concise. It tastes familiar. “I just um... got a little dizzy, I think. I’ll be fine. You don’t--you don’t need to stop or anything.” Even to her own ears, it doesn’t sound convincing. 

[endeavorisms]

chacswins​:

Tonks came to support the Weasleys, but felt too out of place and like she was intruding on a delicate moment to stick around much. She manages to squeeze out of the hallway into an empty one, one where she can assess what the hell just happened. She has to get to work, she can’t stay long. The thought of leaving them, leaving them now with everything that has happened, makes her sick.

Otto’s exclamation makes her jump. Immediately, Tonks jumps into action and kneels in front of her. “Hey, kid - hey, it’s going to be okay.” She digs out a water bottle out of her bad and hands it over. “Sip this for me, alright?”

She’s not expecting the kindness of strangers. Not ever really, but certainly not now. In what is undoubtedly the highest dose of self-disregard anyone could ever provide, Otto reasons that there’s way worse off people than her and that she’s the least of anyone’s concerns. In another time, maybe she’d see that for what it was. This is not that time. Hazel eyes drag open as the bottle is pressed into her hand, lashes fluttering. 

“Oh--I--sorry. I’m fine, I just--”

In. Out. In. Out. 

“I’m fine.”

[endeavorisms]

solapuerx​:

.

Michael had narrowly avoided the attack at the Derby, an event he would previously had never missed. This year had been a different story, a clash of obligations kept him from attending and he came back to the news of what had happened. It made his blood run cold, needing to know if his friends were okay. 

He’s navigating the long, bright halls after asking several nurses where a patient was and became lost, every hallway looking exactly the same. Michael slows at the sight of a distressed young woman, his steps slowing as they pass one another. 

“H-hey,” he calls out softly, polite smile a little wobbly. Michael extends an arm, but thinks otherwise before touching the second to youngest Crabbe sibling. “You alright?” He winces at his own question. People have been attacked by Dementers, of course it would take time to recover. “Where you headed? I can walk with you if you want.”

“Um...” It takes effort to push the word off of her tongue, to keep it from hovering just at the top of her throat. Alright seems like a world away, and based on his tone, it seems he’s picked up on that, so she doesn’t bother with an answer. Otto’s head presses back against the wall, what’s left of her carefully-done updo shoved unceremoniously between the crown of her head and the pale painted surface. 

It’s only by the grace of whatever higher power may exist that she doesn’t crush the chocolate bar in her hand. Swallowing hard, she forces her eyes open and ignores the way the hallway tilts around her.

“I don’t... um. I need to find my siblings.” 

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hoggleswart​:

‘     You  don’t  have  to.   It’s  your  birthday.   You  can  wear  whatever  you  want  on  your  birthday.   It  might  earn  us  a  few  weird  looks,   but  who  cares?   It  wouldn’t  be  the  first  time.     ’           Rambles  continue  and  Justin  takes  her  acceptance  as  an  invitation,   sliding  in  through  the  space  Otto  steps  aside  to  grant.   He  forgets  sometimes,   that  not  everyone  exists  with  the  same  enthusiasm  he  seems  to.   Like  an  over - excited  puppy,   his  father  would  often  refer  to  him.   Always  bouncing  from  one  thought  to  another,   chasing  its  own  tail  or  stopping  to  take  in  EVERY  scent.   It’s  a  freedom  not  everybody  feels  able  to  embrace  and  while  the  Hufflepuff  never  means  harm,   that  doesn’t  mean  his  energy  can’t  sometimes  cause  slight  upsets,   this  moment  being  a  prime  example.   The  skateboard  that  brought  him  here    (    impressive,   while  balancing  two  hot  drinks,   but  practice  makes  perfect    )    is  quickly  propped  up  against  the  wall  before  Justin  heads  to  where  he  knows  the  kitchen  is,   taking  in  the  interrupted  breakfast.           ‘     You  go  get  changed.   I’ll  tidy  this  up.     ’           It’s  more  a  statement  than  an  offer,   already  pushing  up  the  sleeves  of  his  shirt  in  preparation.   Anything  for  the  birthday  bestie.          ‘     Another  thing  you  don’t  have  to  do  on  your  birthday?   Clean.     ’

In the midst of the self-derision and self-pity, there’s a shining moment, a brilliant overlay, of sticky-hot affection. Justin could spend today any way he wanted, could have forgotten her birthday same as so many other people seemed to yearly, and yet didn’t. ( Notably, she doesn’t fault anyone for forgetting. It’s less self-pity in this sense and more practicality. The hand she’d been dealt--the hand so many of her people had been dealt--didn’t leave much room for the frivolities of birthday celebrations. ) She’s a third of the way across the room before she doubles back, coffee set carefully on the counter to keep from spilling, and throws her arms around his chest. Overwhelmingly endeared, Otto takes this moment to say thank you without words. To press the feeling of her gratitude out through her pores to hopefully soak into him. To ensure that he knows she’s really and truly grateful. For this and for all of the other small moments. “You’re the best,” she murmurs between his shoulder blades, smile a little more genuine as she pulls away this time and snatches her coffee back up. There’s still things to be done, lists to make, but now she can at least smile while she does it. And off she goes to her room, tossing through clothes to find something suitable for going out. 

[endeavorisms]

𝓁𝑜𝒸𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃: a hallway of st. mungo’s hospital 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓉𝓊𝓈: open ( @startertms​ ) 

Strictly speaking, she’s not sure how it got there but as Otto meanders down the hall, stressed and slightly dissociative but deemed physically fit by the healers, she’s got a chocolate bar clutched in one hand. The other remains clenched tightly at her side but otherwise empty. The effects would wear off, they assured her, she’d get back to feeling normal sooner rather than later and ultimately it would all be fine. But the healers’ expressions had been pinched and tense and she really can’t blame them because everything has gone to shit. The good part is: she’s free. The bad part is: she doesn’t know where anyone other than Justin is. Or if they’re okay. Or where to even start looking. And it’s that sort of anxious distortion of possibility, the kind that has the hall stretching out longer on either side of her like a fucking funhouse, that has her leaning back against the wall, eyes closed, forcing herself to breathe. 

In. Hold it. Out. 

Again.

In. Hold it. Out. 

“Shit...”

[endeavorisms]

dolors​:

newest     wave     of     her     invective     earns     another     twist     of     his     features          ;          no     longer     vaguely     bored          &               mildly     irked     ,     now     hovering     on     the     precipice     of     a     real     storm     .     beneath     the     𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧     fabric     of     his     shirt     ,     shoulders     slide          &          rearrange     ,     muscles     gathering     like     he’s     anticipating     a     physical     punch          /          temple          &          jaw     flex     ,     tick     in     tandem     with     each     other     .     it’s     the     BLAME     that     does     it     ,     the     one     she     weighs     squarely     on     his     shoulders          :          go     on     ,     then     ,     she     says     ,          &          there’s     a     part     of     him     that     wants     to     .          yes     ,     otto     ,     for     fuck’s     sake     ,     it     is     your     fault     .          instead     ,     he     shrugs          ──          casual     as     he     can     𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛     ,     despite     the     way     he     stews     over     the     guilt     she     levels     at     him     so     easily     .          ❛          cut     the     dramatics     .          ❜          momentarily     ,     he     pauses          /          gathers     a     breath     that     he’ll     huff     out     just     as     quickly     ,     wish     that     it     sailed     on     a     cloud     of     nicotine     that     might     have     a     chance     at     calming     whatever     rattles     the     inside     of     his     chest     .          ❛          nobody’s     fuckin’     saying          ──          christ     ,     otto     .          ❜          bitten     -     off     sonance     takes     turns     roiling     mollifying     ,     then     defensive          /          a     half     -     assed     apology     ,     inhaled     when     he     makes     the     SNAP     DECISION     that     he     doesn’t     want     to     extend     it     .          ❛          it’s     not     just     about     who     i’m     friends     with     ,     though     ,     is     it          ?          we     both     know     that     .          ❜          somewhere     ,     beyond     the     grave     ,     vincent’s     ghost     must     thrum     with     the     silent     acknowledgement     .          ❛          ‘cos     you     don’t     act     like     this     with     anyone     else     ,     not     really     .     which     makes     me     think     it     isn’t     even     about     grace     .     s’about     vincent     ,     isn’t     it          ?          not     like     YOU     have     a     leg     to     stand     on     there     .          ❜          slow     ,     so     fucking     slow     ,     molasses     moves     quicker     than     julius     does     when     he     tilts     his     head     ,     scrubs     one     hand     across     his     features     .          delivered     with     a     𝖈𝖗𝖚𝖊𝖑     wrench     of     the     mouth     ,     one     that     a     younger     brother     would     be     devastatingly     proud     of          :          ❛          one     thing     to     be     friends     with     his     ex     -     girlfriend     ,     sure     ,     but     another     to     be     FUCKING     his     best     friend     .     how     is     greg     ,     anyway          ?          ❜

Otto, for her part, sits through all of it. Lets him huff and puff and twitch and tick and shift. She listens to the half-assed, unfinished apology and the silent blame that he throws right back at her. The gaps between his words say plenty on their own, and she is well-versed in the unspoken language of Julius. ( His being the silent language she speaks second best, preceded only by the aforementioned dead brother whose ticks and mannerisms she learned out of a sense of self-preservation she’s not sure she still has. ) It’s fair to say--and somewhere deep down, she knows--that it’s not fair to cast the blame on him. Her actions are her own, her choices are her own, and the way she has internalized anything to do with Vincent is, at times, wildly unfair to the rest of the people who knew him. The ones still standing. It’s different with all of them, the way it manifests, but particularly around the family, her resentment has turned cold and biting. And for Julius’ part, perhaps he’s right: maybe it’s less to do with Grace herself and more to do with the ever-present ghost that accompanies her. Maybe, had he not been the way he was, died the way he did, tortured her as he chose, this all would have been long gone. But, simply put, that’s not how it went. And there’s a thousand things, ripples in the never-steady lake surface of Otto’s life, that are impacted by it now. Even through his accusations--which again, if she were less afraid of her own feelings, she might realize held a weight of truth--she stays steady. Until the end. Until he yanks Greg into the picture--a spitting, acidic truth that she’s worked hard to keep from her siblings. Evidently, to no avail. Of course, public affection will do that, but she’d just sort of assumed they’d all missed it and if they hadn’t, it wouldn’t come up, but... clearly, stupidly, ignorantly, she’d been wrong. Hands stop fidgeting in her lap, stilling suddenly and without warning. Her shoulders tense, pulled tight together as if a real attack has been leveled against her. Jaw clenches so tight that it hurts. And for a moment, she just stares at him. He’s prodding, gunning for a reaction, surely. She knows that. She also knows it’s working. “As if you have any room to preach to me about relationship choices, Julius.” It comes out slow and mean, sharper than she really means it to. “Seen Parkinson lately? Started any more fights with actual friends over bitches who never gave a fuck about you?” Regret. Immediate and scathing, it blooms in her veins and takes root. She inhales hard through her nose and looks away. “I didn’t mean--just--fuck.” This isn’t the hill she wants to die on. Not by a long shot. “The Greg thing is fucking complicated, okay? I realize it’s... weird or whatever. But it’s not a cut and dry as you’re making it out to be.” A beat of quiet as she haphazardly dashes for humor, something to make light. “Since when do you care who I fuck, anyway?” 

[endeavorisms]

hoggleswart​:

Justin  knows  almost  instantly  that  he’s  asked  the  wrong  question.   The  realisation  washes  over  like  bitter - cold  water,   biting  at  his  skin  and  making  him  wish  he  thought  more  before  opening  that  bloody  mouth  of  his.   It’s  something  he’ll  be  kicking  himself  over  all  night,   but  can’t  waste  too  much  time  lingering  on  now.   Not  when  there’s  amends  to  be  made  instead.           ‘     Damn,  comrade.     —     Then  I  guess  it’s  a  good  thing  I  remembered.  I’ve  had  it  scribbled  in  my  calendar  for  months.   Even  drew  a  little  crab  next  to  the  date.   A  true  work  of  art.     ’           He  holds  up  two  muggle    (   and  REUSABLE.  His  mom  would  never  forgive  if  he  didn’t  keep  doing  his  bit  for  the  planet.  )    cups  like  they’re  some  kind  of  prize,  something  to  be  marvelled.          ‘     One  very  overpriced,  but  delicious  hot  chocolate  with  extra  cream,   extra  shavings  and  extra  marshmallows.   We’ll  need  the  sugar  high  to  keep  us  going.   I’ve  got  big  plans  for  today.     ’           And  if  he’s  suddenly  brimming  with  a  new - found  determination  to  make  sure  this  birthday  is  the  greatest  birthday  Otto  has  ever  had,   then  what  of  it?   It’s  nothing  less  than  what  his  best  friend  deserves. 

Otto stands there, staring at the outstretched cup, in her oversized sleep shirt and ratty athletic shorts and mismatched fuzzy socks, for just a moment too long. She’d absolutely forgotten and she’d slept in a bit and about the time she’d settled on making breakfast, he’d shown up at her door. So now her eggs are probably cold and the toast has gone squishy and even though he surely doesn’t mean anything at all by it, Otto feels like a monumental fuckup the likes of which the wizarding world has never seen. ( It’s an over-reaction, to be sure: catastrophizing to the nth degree, but she hopes desperately for a gaping chasm to open up in the floor and swallow her whole. ) Finally, one hand reaches out for the aforementioned drink, fingers brushing his as they close around the width of it, and she pulls it in towards her chest. The warmth is an unexpected comfort in her hand, melting through some of the anxiety scratching around in her bones like squirrels in the wall. “I need to get dressed, I guess,” she offers lamely, stepping back to let Justin in. Even as she does so, she’s making a check-list of all the things to be done before she leaves the flat. Close behind that is a list of all the things to do when she gets back. Cleaning up breakfast dishes lands decidedly on the first. Far too late and undoubtedly lackluster, she supplies a hurried, “Thank you, Justin. Really.” 

[endeavorisms]

dolors​:

they     don’t     do     things     in     halves     ,     not     in     a     family     like     theirs          /          tension     is     no     stranger     ,     no     remarkable     exception     to     that     rule          ;          it     settles     into     every     filthy     nook          &          crevice     ,     thickens     his     tongue          &          whittles     his     mood     into     something     barbed     .     it’s     not     like     either     of     them     intends     for     the     atmosphere     to     𝖇𝖚𝖇𝖇𝖑𝖊     with     a     turbulence     that     feels     inevitable     ,     not     really          ──          push     never     MEANS     to     come     to     shove     ,     isn’t     that     how     this     goes          ?          otto     doesn’t     mean     to     provoke     him     ,          &          he     doesn’t     mean     to     𝙹𝚄𝙼𝙿     to     an     irritable     defense     .          (          &          he’s     sure     that     it     goes     just     beyond     his     choice     of     companion     ,     but     he     won’t     pry     .     more     than     happy     to     let     it     sit     ,     fester     ,     can’t     be     fucked     fighting     over     something     that     he’s     not     going     to     change     .          )          their     arguments     never     quite     start     with     malign     intent     ,     but     the     way     otto     AVOIDS     looking     at     him     ,     he’s     confident     in     its     aggravating     direction     .          ❛          yeah     ,     well     .     flint’s     different     ,     isn’t     he          ?          ❜          it’s     not     quite     a     snap     ,     lacks     a     certain     sting          ;          like     he’s     𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐞𝐝     to     it     ,     the     back     -     and     -     forth     that     he’s     confident     will     snowball     from     this     .     it’s     a     study     in     pulling     punches     .          ❛          even     then     ,     you     had     a     problem     with     him     in     the     beginning     .     begs     the     original     question     ,     though     ,     ‘cause     if     you’re     gonna     take     offense     to     every     person     i     hang     out     with     ,     i’d     like     to     know     in     advance     .          ❜

“Insofar as he’s been around for so bloody long, sure. He’s an acquired taste, and I guess it finally took.” Her tone is, in turn, not sharp. It lacks a certain oomph, a particular brand of push that is vital to actually starting an argument with intention. Rather, it’s supplied with a sort of mild forced-apathy. The kind she reserves for the moments just before the fawning kicks in, when she’s digging her heels in deep and working desperately not to fall back into the position of Scared Little Sister that she’s seemingly always taken up. ( Even in this, of course, she takes up a steadfast second place. Adora, of course, taking up an undisputed first. ) Though she was never strictly a middle child, she feels one now, like perhaps it’d be better if she just fell between the cracks somewhere. As if she would cause less arguments by simply fading into the background. The worst of it, because there’s always something worse isn’t there, is that she knows deep down that neither of them are doing this on purpose. That it just fucking happens sometimes. That siblings disagree and fight and take up stupid little arguments for the sake of blowing off steam or something equally ridiculous. It isn’t the end of the world. But it feels so deeply and intensely personal. A very intentional push of her away from him. Though can he really be to blame when she technically started it in the first place? But he pushes again, not hard, not sharp, but a little. Enter: push-back she doesn’t know she’s capable of. “I don’t know, Julius, alright? It’s not like I go out of my way to have an issue with everyone you befriend. But I suppose it’s my fucking fault anyway, so go on with it--tell me why I’m wrong and broken and get it done. It’s probably the trauma, right? Broke us all in different ways and I guess mine just put me at odds with you--which fucking sucks, for the record. But I get it. It’s on me for whatever the fuck it is, so go on, then.” 

[endeavorisms]

chacswins​:

“Hey, there. Careful.” He chastises gently as she winces. “I’m full of sage advice, actually. Not the first split lip I’ve ever seen in my life.” Words pause for a moment, though he nods to acknowledge that he heard what she asked. A balm is placed with delicate precision. “I do.” He finally answers after a long moment. “It boosts my ego when something goes wrong in public and someone asks for a medic. Boosts my hero complex.”

---

“Me neither,” she says softly, though it comes out perhaps a bit more dejected than she’d like it to have. There’s something sort of bitter to it, a memory ghosting its way around her mind that she’d much rather ignore. If only it were that easy. Otto fights to keep still as Kaz applies the mixture, fighting the urge to flinch away from its healing sting. “Oh you have a hero complex, do you?” Pushing her thoughts aside for the sake of teasing, that’s the best way to go, surely. “Let me guess... Gryffindor?” 

[endeavorisms]

hoggleswart​:

𝙼𝙴𝙼𝙴  :   ‘      we  MUST  remain  emotionless.  i’m  talking  kristen  stewart  on  the  red  carpet.     ’ 𝙵𝚁𝙾𝙼  :  otto  crabbe   (  @endeavorisms​​​  )

Justin  doesn’t  know  what  satisfies  him  more.     —    The  casual  pop  culture  reference  alone,   or  the  fact  he  knows  it’s  a  reference  she’s  probably  learnt  through  summers  at  the  Finch - Fletchley  house,   introducing  her  to  the  muggle  world  with  chest  puffed  proud  because  he  truly  does  believe  it’s  a  wondrous  place  to  be  sometimes.   Full  of  it’s  own  magic,   even  if  it  isn’t  quite  Hogwarts.   It  has  him  beaming  from  ear  to  ear,  though  he  quickly  tries  to  calm  that  down  in  an  attempt  to  follow  instruction.           ‘     We  celebrate  one  Awards  season  together  and  suddenly  you’re  an  EXPERT.      —     Right.   Kristen  Stewart  on  the  red  carpet.   I  can  do  that.     ’            No,   he  probably  can’t.   He  has  a  habit  of  wearing  his  emotions  in  the  exact  same  place  he  wears  his  heart    :    on  his  sleeve,   for  all  to  see.   He’ll  try  though,   for  Otto.          ‘     Exactly  why  must  we  remain  emotionless?   I  feel  like  I’ll  be  able  to  act  better  if  I’ve  got  some  background  info.   It’ll  help  me  get  into  character.     ’

His smile--self-satisfied and proud and amused all in one--has Otto warring with one of her own, shoving it deep down in favor of the neutrality she’s already lined her face with. But it’s nice to see him smile, to see him happy, though this is often his default. Still, in contrast with much of the generally mellow-to-depressing state of a lot of the rest of her life, Justin is a brilliantly shining star and his amusement, his light, is infectious. And yes, she’s using references only he would understand specifically because she can. And furthermore, yes, she learned them on one of her trips to visit his family home in what was inarguably one of the better vacations of her life. But all the same... “Can  you?” She prods, tone amused and heavily disjointed from the neutrality on her face. Because this is Justin, after all, and she knows better than some how his sunshine prevails in the face of damn near anything. What she wouldn’t give, sometimes, for that kind of resilience. “Not everyone gets to be a golden sunshine boy all the time, you know.” It’s teasing, once again lighter than the expression on her face. Something about him does it to her, every time. “If we walk in there all sunshine and rainbows, we’ll stand out even more than we already do. And the goal here is to slip in and out unnoticed. So, as a default, we must be as sullen and emotionally constipated as the purest of purebloods.” 

[endeavorisms]

tiimetvrners​:

“regardless of your intentions, it stops being polite once you’ve over stayed your welcome,” theodore commented, his eyes narrowed. it was no secret that he wasn’t a friendly person, it also wasn’t a secret that he wasn’t a huge fan of the crabbe family. but, all things considered, he was being remarkably polite to otto. “i would’ve thought you’d received etiquette lessons.”

Any and all attempts at genuine civility, a low bar to begin with, have been tossed out the door as Otto rolls her eyes decidedly harder than she has to. “It’d probably serve you well to stop making assumptions about me, Budak.” There’s no bite to it, no real malice, but she’s not going to bother playing nice with someone this casually awful either. What’s the fucking point? “As would finding a healer, I rather think. With any luck, they’ll be able to extract whatever lodged itself up your arse and died there.” 

[endeavorisms]

6 & 18

6. If your muse could erase a single event from their memory, would they take the opportunity? What would they erase?

Oh she would absolutely take it, beyond a shadow of a doubt. She would erase the moment where Vincent used the cruciatus curse on her: their relationship prior to that had been tense, uncomfortable even, but that moment? That was where it took a turn for the worst. She’d give almost anything to let go of that moment. 

18. What is your muse’s favorite part of their job or their everyday life?

Her favorite part of her every day life is just the general freedoms that come with being an adult. It’s that she has the ability to go where she wants when she wants, that there’s no one there to tell her ‘no’. There’s something so incredibly appealing about not having anyone there to tell her what not to do. 

[endeavorisms]

dolors​:

𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙼𝙿𝚃          :          ❛          i’m     telling     you     ,     gracie’s     out     to     get     me     .          ❜ 𝙳𝙴𝙻𝙸𝚅𝙴𝚁𝙴𝙳     𝙱𝚈          :          otto     crabbe          (          @endeavorisms​​          )          .

when     it     comes     to     his     siblings     ,     let     it     never     be     said     that     he     doesn’t     have     an     almost     SAINTLY     amount     of     patience          ;          he     extends     a     tolerance     to     them     that     most     others     are     rarely     privy     to     .     regardless     ,     something     dangerously     close     to     annoyance     flashes     in     stormy     hues     when     he     rolls     them     ,     ostentatious     as     always     ,     at     otto     .     jaw     TIGHTENS     just     perceptibly     ,     brow     knits     into     a     dark     rimple          &          despite     the     smug     grin     that     seems     almost     permanently     attached     to     the     slope     of     his     𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐇     ,     there’s     something     tired     about     the     way     it     curves     .          ❛          is     it     all     my     friends     that     you     take     offence     to     ,     or     is     it     just     gracie          ?          ‘cos     i’m     not     seeing     a     lot     of     evidence     to     prove     that     it     isn’t     .     just     because     she     insulted     you     a     couple     times     at     school     doesn’t     make     her     your     𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑙     𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑚𝑦     or     sum’mat     .          ❜

It is a wildly rare occurrence that Otto’s living siblings make her feel small, but here and now, Julius is accomplishing it in spades. She can tell when he’s agitated--can tell when any of them are, they all can--and the signs are all there. And directed at her. She should’ve just kept her fucking mouth shut. Any other time, she’d shoot back a joke about his judgement of people and how it desperately needs improving or even offer something to the effect of Crabbes having generally shit taste in company, herself included. But that doesn’t happen this time. No, tonight, she just averts her gaze and keeps her mouth a passive line. Admonished. The following silence is heavy and telling, a dialogue in and of itself, as she searches for something to say that won’t further darken his mood. Now seems perhaps an ill time to mention she’s been in conversation with his best friend about a potentially lucrative situation, whether or not she’s made a decision on it be damned. Perhaps the real ringer here, the reason this feels so deep and personal, is that it’s not just Julius. It’s all of them. Every single one of them seems inclined to picking Gracie when the question is posed, and it would be too pretty a lie to say it doesn’t bother her. It is an acrid and bitter truth nesting just behind her breastbone. Not that it would help to mention that, so she doesn’t ( Other things she doesn’t say: why do you like her better than me? What did I do wrong? Do you think I deserved this? ) . Instead she settles for mumbling “Flint’s not all that bad.” 

[endeavorisms]

❛  you  forgot  your  own  birthday ?  ❜ -- justin finch-fletchley ( @hoggleswart​ ) 

For a moment, she looks acutely uncomfortable, fingers playing with the hem of her too-big t-shirt as her eyes drop towards the floor. This moment, though she’s sure he means nothing by it, is a too-sharp reminder of the fact that while they’re similar in more ways than makes sense, there’s staggering differences as well. She’s not sure how to say that yeah, she forgot because rent’s due in two weeks and she’s a week behind on having her portion. And that birthdays, while technically celebrated, tended to be more bitter-sweet in her experience than she’d imagine they were in his. ( She’s been in his childhood home, spent weeks with a family made of academics and sunlight, of unfiltered love and devotion. She knows how warm it is there, how safe, how secure. And so she knows, without having to second-guess, that his birthdays were never once forgotten. ) “It’s not a big deal, really. I get older every day, right?”