baby, i could be your saviour

paris moody; twenty-four; desperately seeking a plan for the end of the world

[moodyparis]

"trail" + molly

molly’s fingers are smooth, delicate - a far cry from molly herself: a firebrand, a rebel, all burning anger and purpose. the thin line that dances its way up paris’ arm is by no means ugly, but it stands in opposition to all that she is. it’s a million miles from perfect porcelain, unbreakable beauty, from simplicity and from icily carefree ease. her skin twitches beneath the touch. but paris will not budge from her demeanor: she will ooze only cockiness and charm, not disappointment, not a hint of pain, not a hint of disgust or contempt. “just like yours, huh?” she grins, and once again, it’s an unfamiliar thing to be this close to comforting someone. it’s still hidden behind a million-muscle-smirk, and layer upon layer of plausible deniability, but it hides there and it gnaws. “they really shouldn’t let fifteen year olds anywhere near alcohol. or, y’know, other substances.” she lets molly stare at the thing as long as she wants to, not allowing herself to think too hard on how annoying it is that no matter how hard she tries, no matter how much effort she puts in, the damn scar will never be gone. how stupid she was, at the time, to reject magical healing. all as part of the joke, all as part of the pointless, worthless rebellion. “nothing more than a broken bottle and a bit of teenage idiocy.” she explains. “hardly dark magic. it’s a little disappointing, really, isn’t it?”

[moodyparis]

“Fuck you” (dove)

paris grins. it’s not glee at their anger - it’s defiance. it’s power - power in being emotionless, power in knowing that she can still elicit that same reaction. she tilts her head. “oh, you’ve been there, done that. i’m sure you remember, darling.” she fishes a cigarette out of what seems like nowhere, but in reality is just her pocket, and lights it with the same free, unthinking sort of movement. “but tread carefully, don’t threaten me with a good time, longbottom. i don’t think i’d like to break your heart all over again. it’d just be... too much, i think. the anger from my family, not to ention yours, that was all bad enough the first time around.” she takes a drag, sends a wink towards her. “if you think you can handle it, though...”

[moodyparis]

❝ i feel like you’re dragging me down with you. ❞ - molly

paris’ lips twitch, just slightly upwards, in the hint of something. not a smile, not even a smirk. fascination, agreement, confusion, anger - it could have been anything. in reality, it’s just satisfaction. satisfaction that someone is thinking of her, thinking anything. scared, worried, it doesn’t matter - she’s on molly’s mind, in a way that makes her more powerful than actually dragging her down would be. “am i?” she leans closer, lets a smile roll around her mouth, only to be replaced with a challenge, a dare, something that begs molly to reveal herself, without paris ever having to open her own mind, her own soul to being read. she knows damn well molly’s not about to stray, not about to do anything foolish, and yet, she can’t help herself but let her tongue dance over her teeth in a testing sort of smirk. she cannot help herself but flirt, not when it’s something she’s so good at. “and where am i dragging you, exactly? hell? or somewhere a little more... fun?”

[moodyparis]

thirdwars​:

“Well, who could blame her, if she had lost her common sense?” Sophie knows she should speak more kindly of Granger, as that is what she does in the office, but she likes speaking more candidly, for once. Better in front of Paris than any of their goody-two-shoes colleagues, anyway. “Losing her best friend, being almost framed for it … must take quite a toll.” Augustus Rookwood was a mastermind, Sophie thought, and she did not often give people their due credit. “I’m sure she must be desperate. Poor woman.” There’s some feigned empathy in her voice, but she doesn’t try too hard. She takes another drag from her cigarette, thinks about the state of the Ministry ever since Kingsley’s throat had been ripped out. It was only bound to get worse. Or, depending your stance, better.

“Must be quite a life, to be so ignorant. I do wonder, sometimes, what it must be like.” Though never out of longing, more so out of curiosity. Sophie was clever enough to be able to reflect on her own childhood and pinpoint what had made her into what she was now. Not with pity or glee, but with something detached in stead. “Oh, that I know. It’s why I like you.” She wonders if she would be able to do it, imperio Paris. She almost says, cockily, that she thinks she would be, but thinks better of it. Sophie leans her head on one of her hands as she turns on her side to look at Paris’ a little more closely. “I do love the sound of you desperately wanting to keep me. You should, after all, want to. Perhaps you cheated, but I did not, and now you’re so desperately filled with regret while I’ve made my decision.”

paris looks away for a moment, unsure if she can keep her usually perfectly curated expression of nonchalance. common sense. she can’t say she knows what it would be like to lose a best friend. she can’t say she even knows what it feels like to have one. but she’s seen it. she’s seen them - harry, ron and hermione - she’s seen them all, the three of them, together. like three parts of one body. she remembers that, even fleetingly, from her childhood. watching them, and wondering. “i’m not sure we can call being driven to devastation to that point, lashing out in grief... i’m not sure that’s just losing common sense.” she’d rather hoped to avoid the topic altogether. “i do feel sorry for her.” almost framed. something about the words sits crookedly in paris’ mind. they just don’t feel right. “i’m not one for pity, usually, but that... i don’t know.” and for once, she doesn’t. she has no words, nothing to say.

and then the moment is gone, and she’s able to look at sophie again, a lilting smile dancing over her face. composure won back, again. “probably a lot more boring. and a lot simpler. i genuinely think i’d rather a dragon ate me alive than live like that.” she says it with a small wave of her hand. inane. boring. meaningless. but still, a little probing. that’s why i like you. she grins, and winks at sophie. “oh, i know you do, darling.” she likes me, for now. until i get boring, or until i’m useless, or until i do something to offend her. the same is true of her own affections, however. they’re utilitarian. she wonders if she’ll ever be anything but utilitarian. whether that is truly how to live a life. she ignores the thought. the idea of the imperius curse is forgotten - paris is rather certain she could resist most anyone, or scare them off before they tried. besides, she wouldn’t be much use to anyone, as a puppet. not for now, at least. “oh, i love it. fake begging for you to come back to me. they’ll eat it up.”

[smallballz-deactivated20240713]

darling (condescending, with a bit of gay subtext)

[moodyparis]

i’m doing good, i’m on some new shit. (tonks) (hahaha)

“oh yeah?“ paris grins, eyebrows raised. she’s known for a long while she’s not what tonks wanted from alastor’s grandkid - she’s far from it. a rebel only in the sense of not joining the rebel cause, a girl more willing to save her own skin than anyone else’s. but looking at alastor, at her own father - she knows what being good costs. she’s simply not willing to pay that price. tonks hates it - even if they’ve never said it, paris knows. she can see it. and, well, she doubts tonks is talking about drugs, but she can’t waste the opportunity just to be a shit. “what is it? reckon you could hook me up with some?”

[moodyparis]

strvngemagics​:

the lovely-dark fades to a blinding light, and molly lets out a rattling, tortured whine: “nhngh!” it hurts again, but in a newer way then it did (hours? days?) before; it’s dull and aching and all over. for a few heartbeats, she lets her eyes focus on the overhead light, and counts her breaths. ‘i’m alive.’ she thinks in time with each one. ‘i’m alive. i’m alive. i’m alive.’ she has never felt more gratitude for whatever forces guide the universe around her, for the pain she can feel from the tips of her toes to the ends of her hair, to the weird, anti-septic-potion-smell of the hospital room she lies in. 

she looks around the room expecting her dad, expecting her mum, expecting lucy — and the sight of a stranger covered in blood sitting leaning against the window sends a pang of fear that courses through her body and erases her floaty-relief in an instant. “where’s my—” and wow, her throat is on fire. “who are you? where’s my family?!” 

the sheer pain of the sound is grating, and paris is right back on that street again with blood pooling around her knees. it’s hard to maintain neutrality, hard to retain her trademark smugness, her usual smirk. but she keeps it plastered on - for molly’s benefit as much as her own. a look of horror is hardly going to help the girl now, terrified in an unfamiliar bed, the smell of hospital all around her. paris wonders if muggle hospitals smell this bad, or feel this unnatural. she steps closer, towards the bed. best not to make the girl shout across the room at her. she finds herself next to molly’s bed, unsure if she should sit, crouching down instead.

“hey,” she says it quietly, though she can’t help herself but maintain her knowing sort of smile. “it’s okay. they’ve just gone to get clothes, or food or something. i told them i’d stay with you.” she wishes she could smoke in there. a cigarette would do wonders for the unease she feels at being open, honest, genuinely good, without a remaining motive. “don’t strain yourself - you’ve been through a lot, okay?” she runs a hand through her hair. “i’m paris - maybe you don’t remember me, i only really knew you lot when we were younger. mad-eye’s granddaughter. there was a battle, last night. i pulled you out.”

[moodyparis]

❝ you could, but you just don’t want to. ❞ ( alya + paris )

paris looks at the girl - at the sharpness of her, the pointed edges constructed out of skin and anger and memory and emotion. paris likes to think she appears smooth in comparison: uncaring, cool, rational. she looks alya in the eye, and allows the coolness to seep all over her. “which means that i can’t. i am not in the habit of doing things i don’t want to.” she says. she’s well and truly used to the same begging, the same questions. why not fight? “my grandfather was ruined by the first war. my own father barely survived the second. a third does not bode well for me. i do not want to because i have a brain. one i’d rather listen to than the bleeding distaste of the heart. and if i do not want to, i can’t. sorry to disappoint, except for the fact that i do not care if i have disappointed.” she allows herself back into her usual wittiness, her usual charm, and laughs a little. “if my family can’t convince me, what on earth makes you think you can, hm?”

[moodyparis]

❝ your mind games don’t work on me. ❞ ( sophie & paris. )

paris looks up from her desk, her fingers pausing in their slow, dramatic tapping atop the table. she may not have an office to herself, but she does have the solitary desk outside her head of department’s office. it’s private enough for her to grin and lean smugly back in her seat. “nor yours on me, darling. though, i can’t imagine what this is about - unless you thought having flowers delivered to you was playing mind games. i was bored, thought you might enjoy the drama of roses from a secret admirer. if i’d known it would upset you, i’d have sent twice as many. you know i enjoy you when you’re mad.”

[moodyparis]

❝ now don’t assume that this suddenly means we’re friends. ❞ ( dove & paris. )

paris can’t help a grin. she is not naive enough to believe they could ever be friends again - they might sleep together again, she’s not ruling that out - but dove holds onto their pain far too tightly for them to ever like paris again. and paris herself is far, far too unconcerned to want anything from dove again. “come now, darling. i know we’re far past friendship by now.” she winks. they may not be friends, but paris is not going to let that stop her from doing whatever she can to get a rise from dove. “besides - friends don’t normally have the history we do, do they?”

[moodyparis]

thirdwars​:

She wonders sometimes, what Paris would say if she knew what Sophie did outside of work, where she stood in this war. Decades ago, their grandfather’s had stood on opposites sides, and it had been the other’s that had killed her own, and here they were again, in another war. She doubts that the other is part of the Order, and knows that if she is, it’s not with pure intentions. But would she disapprove, if she knew of the blood on her hands, and the lack of remorse she feels? Or would she look past it, and try to figure out how she could use it? She hoped the latter. If the Ministry was to fall in their hands soon, she’d like to keep Paris on her side, or at least, something like it. “I’m not sure who she is kidding. She must be involved in some kind of revolution that’s not authorised by the Ministry,” Sophie says, thinking out loud. “The excitement will reach our offices soon enough, I’m sure.”

It isn’t a promise, but it’s something. She chuckles a little, taking a deep drag from her cigarette. “Even the most cynical of them are wearing rose coloured glasses, if you ask me.” And how thrilling it was, to face them all with a world that was less than kind. Sophie has always known that the world is cruel, after all, and she thinks it’s made her stronger. Softness only suits her when it’s feigned. “I’d love to meet the fellow who manages to imperius you,” she says, giving the other a wink before sipping her wine glass. She’s glad, that Paris is giving her this: it’s something she’ll remember. “Ah, thank you. I can’t say I disagree.” Sophie is quiet for a moment, hums in thought. “So, why should I break your heart? Did I find a new lover? Are we just a lost cause, and do we need to stop trying before we run ourselves into the ground?”

she knows enough of the weasleys to know that it’s bullshit - the idea of an unauthorised revolution. hermione granger had been there and done that. she wouldn’t want the same again - but she’s not about to disagree. if paris had ever had doubts about sophie’s loyalties, they were answered now. not that she cares, really - sure, there’s a bad taste in her mouth at the thought of the death eater’s creed, but it is no so different from her own. and holding sophie in her pocket may well help, given her own family name. the world has always expected her to pick a side - the right side, her father would say - but she cannot see the point. better to be alive. sophie knowing her sheer indifference would be useful. she shrugs. “or she’s just lost her common sense in her middle-age. i’m betting on the latter. why bother starting a revolution from inside office?”

“ah, i just think they avoid looking too close. it’s not that they try to see us that way - they just can’t fathom reality. one thing to ignore it, another to be incapable. but you may be right. i couldn’t care less, either way.” she smiles, her own cynicism creeping into her words as amusement rather than anger. then paris can’t help but laugh. “mm, i bet you would. have to be a pretty damn powerful wixen, if you ask me. i’m not easily fooled.” she looks up to the ceiling, tilting her jaw open as she thinks. “mmm,” she hums, nodding slowly. “or perhaps we’re both cheating, and i’m the only one who’s refusing to see things for what they are. or, of course, i did something irredeemable, and you’re mad about it, and i’m desperately trying to keep you.”

[moodyparis]

thirdwars​:

She doesn’t mind the work she does, if only because there’s the promise of there being more. Obliviating is one thing, but once the Death Eaters’ thickly planted roots start sprouting and taking over the Ministry, she will climb. Kick Percy Weasley off his throne, and pull the pieces to her side to the board. She’s sure Paris has the same kind of ambition, though none of the involvement in the war. She’s a good ally, but a good enemy too. That’s why Sophie likes her. Paris isn’t easily satisfied, and neither is she, and they will both go over bodies to get what they think they deserve. What that is? Only the world. Sophie fills her glass, and then reaches for Paris’ pack of cigarettes, slipping one out for herself. “One would think that a new Minister would bring a little more excitement.” She places the cigarette between her lips, moves to the other side of the bed where she sits down, filling her own glass and placing the bottle on the floor. 

She lets out a soft laugh. She’s sure Paris has her reasons to want to stir the pot and create a little drama, and she hardly cares for them. For her, it’s Alya, always in the back of her mind, but also a desire to see her colleagues on edge. Disturb the easy lives they live, in whatever which way she can without losing her innocent facade. “People see what they want to see,” she says. “They see us –– a pair of young, pretty, accomplished women who know when to smile and when to be sharp. Where does the truth fit in, with an image like that?” She shrugs, takes a drag from her cigarette. Then, she rolls her eyes. “Oh, please, you’ll be able to take it, I’m sure. It’ll humanise you.” Sophie shoots Paris a smirk. “Besides, after our chaos of last year and George breaking my heart, I simply need a win. I refuse to be known as a dumpee.”

it’s not really boring - she’s part of the core team dictating wizarding england’s place in the world, dictating the rules, the laws, all of it. but paris has always wanted more. and she’s never found herself to be enthralled by routine. wake up, go to work, do work, come home, go to bed. that’s not enough. some turned to war for their excitement. paris turned to something more dangerous, and infinitely more exciting. manipulation. power-seeking. statecraft. she doesn’t even duck out of the way as sophie leans over her - pratically atop her - to retrieve a cigarette. she takes a sip of wine. “the excitement is all happening outside the ministry, these days. it’s not surprising our beloved minister merely wants to stay the course.”

paris twists to face her companion, her body posture screaming openness even though she’s far too intelligent to truly be open with anyone, let alone sophie rosier. she’d sell paris out for a candy bar. paris would do the same, at the end of the day. she laughs. “all too true, love. they’d rather conceive of us as lovesick idiots than what we really are.” and she doesn’t blame the world. the pair of them could probably end the world, if they wanted to. she takes another sip, follows it with smoke. her head leans backwards, and she watches the grey clouds curl upwards from her lips. fine. she can give sophie what she wants, this time. who knows what she might get in return. “ugh, fine. only because i’m starting to think half the office thinks i’m imperiused.” she smirks. “oh, you’re far too hot to be a perpetual dumpee, darling, you’ve got that one right.”

[moodyparis]

paris moody + instagram

[moodyparis]

ccacoethes​:

he smiles, not from a sense of humour over the situation, it’s a defense, a trait he notices in his father. “ it has the ability to catch some people off guard. the kinds of people that can’t be held back by a few charms.”  they shrug, eyes darting to the crowd on the streets consistently, clearly not relaxed to be standing in such a busy place but making no move to relocate. “ international affairs—”  it leaves their mouth before they can catch it, but they can’t stop now. dae refuses to fumble in front of paris, it would be like a gazelle offering it’s neck to a lioness. “ don’t you go mad talking to.. people like that all day?”

“hm,” paris hums, pretending to think for a moment. in truth, it makes sense. it’s a tactic she uses herself - just in more personal, subtle ways. “people don’t expect what they aren’t accustomed to. smart.” she watches their nervous eyes, smirk growing into a grin. she looks at the watch on her wrist, and feigns surprise at the time. “i should probably get going. walk with me?” she begins moving before she waits for an answer. then she laughs. “oh, careful now - someone might think you meant the wrong thing. like, that you thought i’d be uncomfortable around foreigners.” she keeps striding, glacing back at dae. “but what do you mean? bureaucrats? politicians? well-meaning folk trying to make the world better?” she laughs around the last one - the ministry is the last place you’d find such people, in her opinion. everyone has an agenda. “enlighten me.”

[moodyparis]

date: november 1st, 2029

where: st. mungo’s hospital [ft molly weasley ii @strvngemagics​]

there’s a knot in her neck from the weight of heaving molly’s limp form around, and from the stiff, unyielding chair she fell asleep on. paris moody is not the kind of woman who falls asleep in hospital chairs. she is not the kind of person who saves another’s life, not when the situation would put her at risk. but she’s done both those things, now, in the space of just a few hours. remember it’ll be worth it, she reminds herself to cool down. you saved a weasley’s life. that’ll be worth something, in the months to come. she left the room only when the family arrived. she knew them all from childhood. she wonders, with the hint of a smirk, if they’d be disappointed in her now. disappointed in her lack of desire to fight. it’s pragmatic, she might tell them. my family lost so much skin. why should we lose more? the sight of molly crumpled, the sight of her in the hospital bed, future uncertain - life uncertain - solidifies that. but it also makes paris wonder who she might have been, had she chosen a different path.

she’s back in the room, now, leaned up against a window, staring at her nails. she doesn’t dare look at the bed again. “you’d better wake up soon, sweetheart. work’s going to be a shit show, and i’d really love a shower before i get there.”

[theanimalmemes]

[thirdwars]

paris and sophie.

where – sophie’s flat. who – @moodyparis

Sophie pulls a silk robe over her skin as she moves to the kitchen to dig a bottle of rose out of her fridge. It’s a Friday night, she has a beautiful woman lying in her bed –– the one ingredient that is missing is a glass of wine. After grabbing the bottle and two glasses, she returns to Paris, giving the other a conspiring smile. “You know, I think the office has been much too calm these past weeks.”

That is far from true, of course, as the Ministry is falling into chaos more and more with heartbeat of the war, but Sophie isn’t satisfied by it. “Remember our … fight last Christmas? Weasley’s face was to die for.” It’s nice, to have someone in her life who knows how to speak in lies and manipulate as she does. “Perhaps it’s time we throw a little scene again. I’d like to be the heartbreaker this time, though.”

[moodyparis]

paris watches the woman disappear with a smirk sitting smugly upon her face. it’s not an unusual expression, but for once, it’s not necessarily put on for others. she’s simply pleased with herself - she’s not idiotic enough to think this doesn’t serve sophie as much as it does her, in exactly the same way - but there she is, lying atop freshly washed sheets, watching the woman fetch wine for her. “ugh. it’s been heinously boring, you’re right.” her job is easy - too easy. all she does is arrange appointments and replace the minister when she can’t be there. she knows the words that need to be said like the back of her hand. paris is a political animal, a career climber. something is wrong when work is mundane - when anything in her life is mundane. perhaps that’s why she enjoys sophie so much.

she laughs. “how could i forget it?” she asks, sitting up in the bed, modesty forgotten. she reaches to the bedside table, fishes a cigarette from a box and lights it. together, the pair of them had created chaos. destruction, almost. at the very least, months-long discomfort for all their colleagues. that, at least, had been fun to act out. she takes a long drag from her cigarette, lets the smoke roll over her tongue, into her lungs. “you’d think after so long working with us, they’d realise we’re not the type for feelings. least of all for each other.” she can’t help but grin, and hold out her glass, waiting for it to be filled. “i suppose i can allow that. though, my reputation of breaking hearts precedes me. so many of them know about longbottom, we’ll really have to sell it this time.”