je ne sais quoi;

Pierre Christopher Dubois; part Veela, part Beauxbatons air elemental, forever 18

[elementumchristmas]

On the first day of Not Secret Not Santa, my true love gave to me…nothing that matches the song. You’re getting softer world edits. If (s)he writes her a few sonnets, (s)he loves her. If (s)he writes her 30 sonnets (s)he loves sonnets. What can you do?

@letterofscarlet

@pierredubious

[pierredubious]

Excellent hearing, even for an owl. This symbolizes being a good listener & clairaudience capabilities. This excellent hearing is a result of it’s large facial disc, the largest of any raptor. The facial disc appears to have the eyes as the central receiving point, but in actuality it channels sounds into the ears, which are located on the sides of the head, near the eyes. The proximity of the ears to the eyes suggests the ability to “see” sounds. The combination of the use of the eyes and ears to hunt it’s prey teaches us to not rely solely on what we hear but to verify it by what we see. They do not migrate like most birds, however they do show signs of being somewhat nomadic. This implies people with this totem are less likely to “follow the crowd” and march to the beat of their own drum, taking the road less traveled. This is another secret to its wisdom. By having experiences outside of the norm, they are able to provide others with a totally different perspective on things.

[allxrd]

✍️ Pierre (just fuck me up)

I thought I heard it

Your voice calling out to me

I failed to hear, again

[allxrd]

Iris

Iris: If your character could send one person a message, who and what would it be?

Dear Pierre,

Can you play the piano there?

Your friend,

A. R. Dupond

[pierredubious]

part ii of beth’s gift, twelve thousands years later

[tristan-not-naive]

Tris and Pierre, as requested by Nicole

[tristan-not-naive]

Tristan and Pierre Moodboard, aka OTP: and then what, aka Raluca, trying to make me sad.

[goodoldmoon]

you’re putting up your armor when you leave you leave because you’re certain of who you want to be

[agooduniverse]

i’m asking my hands to turn into midnight, into timber, carefully carved out cliffside, i don’t wanna hurt anyone, i don’t wanna run. at sunset i get graceless, my body hurting like a snow fall & making ugly shapes. nothing gets remembered, i paw at the dirt & hear myself howling, the neighbours tremble kindly at my fear. early morning touches my face like a burn, i apologize profusely. every shard of sun revelatory; it says forgiveness is arbitrary, what we do to ourselves doesn’t matter.

SPECIFIC AFFLICTION / agooduniverse (via agooduniverse)

[meiringen]

“Planet of Love”, Richard Siken

[rabbitinthemoon-blog]

You play along, because you want to die for love, you always have.

Richard Siken (via to-my-king)

[pierredubious]

Coming home tonight | self para

He didn’t expect more from the night out Olivier promised him. In fact, Pierre left the castle with little expectations, half-heartedly following the strange group from behind in spite of his old friend’s best efforts to get him in line with everybody else. Just out of spite, howsoever, he would always remain one step away from them, as if not walking in the same pace with them would mean he wasn’t breaking the rules shoulder to shoulder with Olivier, his new friends and freaking Lily Potter. Breaking rules he didn’t mind, though something deep down in his mind was constantly whispering about how that was a big mistake and a bad idea, not because it could get them expelled, but because the danger of being out after curfew was, for this time only, real and there was a reason Hogwarts was locked down and they had more trouble than they usually would have sneaking out. But he didn’t comment. For once, he wouldn’t be the one to kill the party vibe, even if he wasn’t sharing it. 

Getting inside the club turned out to be an easy part of the plan. The blonde excited girl seemed to have made fake IDs for all of them, which was convenient. Pierre wouldn’t have wasted time making them in the first time and besides, he was already eighteen. Yet, he used what the blonde girl he later learned was named Scarlet (or was it Glinda? We wasn’t sure, but one of them was the so unnecessary cover. No one really cared about any of their names, he was sure.) made for him and agreed to call himself Richard for the rest of the night. He didn’t, of course, but he told her she would. They joked about his name fitting the character perfectly because he was a dick (Lily Potter having the nerve to initiate the trend while nudging her cousin), and even Olivier understood the joke. He was a little disappointed he did. His friend was making memories with other people now, that was clear to him and didn’t hurt, but, at the same time, he was growing and Pierre wasn’t around much to pat him on the back as he was learning how to say “psychology” without choking on his words or having his accent transform the word into something completely different. He smiled bitterly though. A bitter smile was still a smile and Pierre knew it was the best he could give in return. The alternative was a pout and he promised he would try to have a good time.

He was really trying, in fact: ignoring Lily Potter’s snark and pretending it didn’t bother him that it turned to that from regret and need for her friend back, laughing in a cheeky manner at how Dominique was trying her French on him and correcting her patiently when she was slipping and almost having the same friendly attitude, no awkwardness attached, towards Olivier. At some point, he even allowed himself to flirt for a short while with the Gryffindor boy, Tristan - he reckoned, and as soon as he made sure with a glance that Lily Potter was looking in his direction, he made a move and glued his lips to his, kissing him like he meant it, not like he did shots with Olivier and Scarlet a new moments ago. He did it as if it was easy and he realized it wasn’t as difficult as he once thought it was. Having fun wasn’t in his blood much anymore, but that was proof that it wasn’t against his nature either. It was probably more than he expected. There was a drop of hope in his eyes by that time of the night - even though his eyes turned from blue to grey from all the monotony in his life.

And then it happened. Too soon for his personal taste, an explosive potion destroyed half the wall of the club. The attacker was nowhere to be seen, though Pierre wasn’t finding it difficult to connect the dots and know it’s the man that escaped from Azkaban. His heart was beating really fast - he could feel it booming inside his chest as he watched in a frozen position how most people were evacuating the club, yelling in panic and stepping over each other. The blonde girl - he knew her name by then and it was Scarlet Burke - started breathing very fast and it looked as if she was having a panic attack. Panic was nowhere near Pierre, howsoever. In fact, all he did was stand still, back against the bar they were hiding under, fingers clenched on his wand so tightly that he was about to break it, and contemplating. He wasn’t paying attention to anything but his own heartbeat, trying to fix its rhythm and calm himself. The agitation around didn’t help much, but he eventually managed to keep it under control and catch Johanna Corner’s intention to jump into battle. A few offended frowns flew towards her and he didn’t understand why (since he wasn’t paying attention to the moment before her lines were delivered), but didn’t care much at that point. They seemed to agree, howsoever. He didn’t understand why, but Scarlet was left behind, shuddering as her cheeks were soaked into tears and her left hand was holding tightly, yet in a completely wrong position, her wand, just like the right one was holding Tristan’s hand. 

After taking one last deep breath, they all stormed into the battle, shouting hexes back. Not even the five wands pointed at the criminal were enough to take him down. They weren’t properly trained and too unmethodical to stand a chance. Pierre figured that out, so he tried to step away and get closer to the man with the dark cloak, spitting curses like crazy towards his friends (whom he called friends in his mind without even realizing). If he could get close enough, he could isolate him in a bubble of air or suck the air out of his lungs... maybe. The least he could do was try. 

He was steps away when he heard a pitched voice - if he turned around he’d see Scarlet from behind the table, but instead, he saw a wand shooting red, pointed at someone behind him, and he knew exactly who - yelling “Lily!”, and before he knew it, he took the two steps to left he needed to take in order to be the perfect shield and took the hex fully. At first, it didn’t hurt because the cut in his throat was smaller than the shock, and not even after realizing he was lying on the ground with blood pouring out of him did he feel actual pain. Instead, he focused on listening, for a moment. He heard an auror voice shout the concluding hex and then the motion before him stopped all of a sudden. He heard his name being gasped more than once and he felt a couple of bony hands trying to do something to stop the bleeding. What exactly, he did not know or feel. 

The last thing he had seen before pressing one eyelid against the other, as a silent conclusion, was Mercy’s blonde hair and, for a moment only, it looked like his mother holding his head up, with her cold, distant icy eyes and pursed lips. He heard a couple of more sounds, probably cries, probably he didn’t know, but it all blended together into his ear, before it all cut out. Just like that.

And Lily Potter would make more bitter jokes, and Olivier would learn more English words and how to say them correctly, and Tristan would kiss dozens of other boys on their lips, and Scarlet would come up with fake names for other people, too, and Dominique would whisper French words into other ears. But he? He would never.

[pierredubious]

tristan-not-naive:

*Hums and smiles back at him, closing the last bit of space left between them* I think moving closer is always a good idea. And you should definitely touch me back…or something.

*Grins* Yes, fate. Definitely.

I don’t think I need to tell anyone that; the stereotype seems to be that all Russians drink vodka like water, anyway. I don’t even need to try.

Of course. There always has to be an exception; like Russian boys who don’t like to drink, and French ones who aren’t charming. There must be a cool Eugene somewhere.

[A smug smile appears on his face as he leans in a little closer, and he mirrors his act, leaving probably a centimeter between them. The smirk melts as he starts whispering, so smoothly that he fears Tristan didn’t even hear him to begin with] Where? [then, with a nonchalant push, he glues his lips to the other boy’s, sliding his hand behind his neck]

[pierredubious]

tristan-not-naive:

In this case, yes, it definitely does. Especially when it’s for the purpose of keeping things interesting. *Smiles at the tipsiness* Of course. Eye-contact is very important; along with the not-so-casual touching. *Touches Pierre’s elbow for a moment in example before grinning again*

Taking my mind off it is the best idea I’ve heard all night, after Scarlet suggested I tag along.

In lieu of vodka, we could always be terribly boring and have a couple shots of Firewhiskey. Predictable as it may be, it’s not bad so far as alcoholic beverages go. *He downs the last of his drink - and steadies himself on the edge of the bar when it makes him sway a little, offering Pierre a sheepish smile - before turning to the bartender and ordering a couple of shots, leaning against the bar while he glances back at Pierre and grins.* I think Eugene is the Eugene of France, to be completely honest; and I don’t think anyone can pull it off, no matter how pretty or funny when drunk.

[laughs lightly but nods his head slowly at the same time in appreciation as Tristan shortly grabs his arm as demonstration] Oh, is that so? And then, what? [unintentionally raises eyebrows in a challenging manner] 

Oh, you’ve been dragged here last moment? Then it is clear to me, this must be fate and nothing else. 

That sounds so boring I almost feel like it describes me. I’m in. No, it’s not bad at all. Just the cliche choice everybody makes. You know, I used to tell them I’m French and that the French have a rule about allowing drinking at sixteen, just so they would give me alcohol. If somebody ever asks, you should tell them they feed babies with vodka back in Russia. Please, there must be some cool Eugene’s somewhere in the world. Just to prove the stereotype wrong.

[pierredubious]

tristan-not-naive:

I think we’re both moderately bad choices, but that’s not necessarily such a bad thing. Everyone needs to make a bad choice once in a while. I’ve swept you off your feet, have I? I suppose I should look pleased, then; if a little bashful, just to keep it realistic. Maybe duck my head a little more, look up at you through my eyelashes but keep smirking a little bit.

It’s not like her to go into something without a clear and well thought-out plan; she probably took his reputation under consideration before this happened. I’m just obliged to worry. *Rolls his eyes at himself* But I’m going to stop, now, because tonight is supposed to be about having fun and making bad choices. No more about my sister and her love life.

Well maybe you should drink more, then, become even funnier in these abnormal conditions. *Grins* Yes, thank Merlin for small mercies. I don’t think you could quite pull off a name like Eugene.

Bad cancels bad, right? And besides, yeah, you’re right. Bad choices are just the healer’s recommendation. To keep things interesting and all that. [nods slowly, in a way that indicates he is tipsy] Totally. Don’t forget to maintain eye contact. [tilts his head and looks at Tristan] 

Of course. It’s part of the brother job description. It only makes sense. It’s okay to talk about it if it’s troubling you, but maybe alcohol and fun can take your mind from it, which is a good equivalent. Short termed, at least.

I should, but sorry to offend your country, it won’t be vodka again. I could pull off any name. Pierre is the Eugene of France anyway, and I survived. Besides, broccoli isn’t that bad if it’s cooked right.

[pierredubious]

tristan-not-naive:

*Smiles* Well if that’s what you were going to say I should look soft, and understanding; because I don’t, but even if you were I wouldn’t really mind all that much. Alcohol fuelled bad choices are my speciality. Here, I’ll touch the back of your hand and look earnest for a moment, too.

She can handle herself, I’m sure; and I believe she knows what she’s doing, even if I do suspect some of her reasons are the wrong ones. And if it all goes down in flames, well; she’s a water user. She’ll be fine.

Oh, he’s funny. That’s always a plus. *grins* Hey, it’s at least marginally better than broccoli. It’s like…carrots. Or sweetcorn. Could be much worse.

Do you consider yourself one or it’s me that’s the bad choice? And I’ll smile as if I’m swept off my feet but trying to keep it cool. 

I’m sure she is. Chances are she knows best what is happening and if the risks of getting married to Colin Nott are worth it. I mean, his reputation can’t be a secret to her.

I’m not funny, alcohol is making me funny. Like I said, I’m not exactly the life of the party in normal conditions. Thank you. I much more enjoy having a carrot level of terrible name. At least my name isn’t Eugene. 

[pierredubious]

tristan-not-naive:

It depends entirely on what you would have whispered to me in the first place. Though I think smirking is the better choice, and if we step a little closer together at the same time..?

See, almost every other person I’ve told has had a very similar reaction to his name. I don’t know whether I should be concerned, or if my sister’s miraculously found her soulmate. I’m not quite sure which would be worse. *smiles*

I think ‘traditional’ is the word they’d prefer. Though my sister’s name is Mercy, which is reasonably inventive. *Grins* Well thank you; Pierre is a nice name too, even if it is an especially common French name.

I was going to ask how to say “I hope you don’t think I’m using you to get to her” in Russian. Because, if anything at all, it’s the other way around. Oh, like that? 

Well, he leaves quite an impression, but I’m sure your sister had her reasons. Whether it was mad love - which is, regardless of how much I’d like to cancel it, a good enough reason for the moment - or just some scheme to get somebody jealous. 

Why didn’t they have mercy of you too, then? [chuckles] Yeah, it’s nice. Like broccoli or techno music.