NOUS PROTEGONS

“I hate to hear you talk about all women as if they were fine ladies instead of rational creatures. None of us want to be in calm waters all our lives.” Alice Fortescue

[porcelaindagger]

since this won’t show in the tags from the actual blog

After speaking with some people privately, I had been under the impression that I had been doing a good enough job keeping my head down, minding my own business, and not making a fuss, but it’s evident that this is not the case. I have been back in the community for about a year now as Elle, and since then I have made every effort to use this new alias as an opportunity to turn over a new leaf, make a new start, and be an unobtrusive and altogether quiet presence in the community. I came back simply to write – not to make a fuss or make waves, and I was open and honest about my identity and my past mistakes with those who came to me to ask, and have a small group of people who know that I am Beth, who have known for quite some time now. It was not my intention to “fool” anyone by returning under a different alias, but to exercise the change that I’d implemented in my own life and to show both myself and those who I’d so horribly hurt in the past that I have changed, and that it is possible for people to change for the better. I think the fact that I’ve flown under the radar until now is decent proof that I am not the person I was a year ago; a year ago, I would have gone absolutely nuts in the face of the PSA that’s floating around, and I would have lashed out with irreparable damage – we all saw it happen last time, and it’s because of that that I was so determined not to do it this time. I understand completely why people would not want to be close to me given what I’ve done in the past; I lied, I talked about people behind their back, I pretended to be someone else to hide from what I’d done, I spread slanderous lies about someone who had been nothing but a dear friend to me, and I kept that same friend’s group from receiving the love and praise it deserved simply because I was bitter, paranoid, and malicious in my mindset. I was in a horrid place and going through a downward spiral in which I could not recover from – and though I knew I could not recover, I lashed out and pulled people down with me simply because it was the only option my toxic mindset gave me. I wrecked people who I’d considered family, who’d followed me through hell, high water, and two roleplay groups which ended with my complete meltdown. It was all building up from mistakes I’d made, even before that – in 2013, I copied things from a drabble someone had written; in 2015, I encouraged a friend to write a PSA about another friend simply because I felt that they were drifting from me, and I was so selfish and paranoid that I just couldn’t handle it. I was immature, and felt as if I didn’t have to own up to my mistakes, but as I see the error of hiding from this all and hoping that it’ll just blow over, I think that it’s time for me to put it out there. I was Wesley, I was Beth, and this blog was supposed to be Elle – the new leaf. Elle would never start a positivity blog, only to filter the messages; Elle would never send nasty messages; Elle would never vague blog; Elle would never strongarm someone out of playing the same character; and Elle would certainly never steal, though Beth once thought she could get away with it, and owned up to it.

In my personal life, the last semester has been an absolute trainwreck, and this blog, in my own corner with a small collective of people who I’d told, and in the roleplay groups that I’d chosen to join, was an oasis, and I am incredibly proud of the progress and of the changes that I’ve made in my life, as reflected by my unobtrusive and quiet presence in the RPC. I’ve done my best to be nothing but positive – and those who I’ve found myself close to can attest to that. I never thought of this attempt at a positive new start as an attempt to “trick” anyone with friendship and kindness, and I am so sorry that it’s come across as that, or as anything even remotely underhanded. I hoped that by being Elle and by starting over I could somewhat start to make right the wrong I’d done when I was Beth, and by being kind to those I’d wronged in any way I could, I thought that I was. I never intended for any of this to become a question of lies, victim shaming, or anything of the sort – I was just trying to keep my head down, and mind my own business. I’d even become close friends with one of the people I’d wronged in the past, proving to them that I’d changed before they even knew who I was, and I spoke to another, leaving things on what I assumed was a peaceful note. Perhaps it was a mistake to apply for a character that I’d played so often while I was using my old alias – but I never thought that it would start the wildfire that it did, since I’d been nothing but supportive in doing it. If anyone would like to message me privately, and not anonymously, to discuss the things that I have done, I would be more than willing to do so openly and frankly at my new url, which was created not to hide but to post fandom content rather than rp content without clogging up anyone’s dash.

I do, however, wish to address the claims of plagiarism that have been floating around, as this may be the only chance I have to do so. I understand that everyone’s concerns have merit; I have been a horribly sketchy person in the past, but the claims that are going around now are ones I hold issue with, and I’d like to address them here. Firstly, I’ll start with the claim that I plagiarized an OC from the group I used to run, Fidite Nemini. The character in question is named Holly – I don’t even remember the OC’s last name. A wonderful OC, written by a wonderful person; perhaps the best OC I ever had the pleasure of writing with. But the fact that I also have two characters named Holly is now being called plagiarism, and with this I take issue. First, I have Holly Blanchard, named as such for Holly Golightly. I’ll link her biography HERE. Second is a character in another roleplay that I ran named Holly Gilmore, who was named as such for the plant reference, and because I was going through a heavy Gilmore Girls phase at the time of writing her. Her bio is HERE. I cannot link you to the bio of the OC simply because I deleted the Fidite Nemini main and have no way of finding it. I don’t know where it is, I don’t know what her last name is; the only similarities between these characters is the fact that they’re named Holly and that they’re generally nice, sweet people. I can see how, upon first glance, having a character named Holly might raise some eyebrows, but upon actually reading the bios, it is quite clear that there is no other overlap.

I was also accused of stealing things from the person who played Bellatrix in my group – I cannot link anything here since the Fidite Nemini main has been deleted, but I used, in applying for a Marauders group recently, the bio that I, as an admin, had written as a jumping off point for an application. I’d gone through the old player’s blog to find the biography that I’d written since the main was deleted and I hadn’t saved anything for my own use, and I understand how that must have looked, but had I not deleted everything I could when I left Tumblr the first time. I’d be happy to dig through my google docs and link the application that I’d written up in this post, but I regrettably cannot access the Fidite Nemini bio anymore, or I would. The person who played Bellatrix at Fidite Nemini is, without question, one of the greatest writers I’ve ever had the pleasure of collaborating with, and I must say that it would be very obvious had I stolen from them, as their writing truly stands alone.

I would now like to address the claims that I stole a fair bit of characterization from the user who wrote the PSA about me. I’ll start by saying that yes, I did pin a few of their pins on Pinterest (but I went to a lot of Pinterest boards to create my own), and we have reblogged some of the same things – were I to remain a large presence in the RPC, I would make a point not to reblog musing from anywhere but inspo blogs to avoid this. But I must raise some issue with the claim that I stole a headcanon about sunflowers, a headcanon about running/athleticism, and a FC. I use flower symbolism in a fair number of my applications and characters, and this particular headcanon was written when I read the ProFlowers description of what sunflowers meant (in fact, at the time I was buying flowers for my grandmother, whose birthday I had forgotten, and thought sunflowers might be nice according to the description). I’ll link the headcanon HEREas it includes a link to the article. The running/athleticism headcanon is twofold – the graphic linked HERE is from a quiz which many people in the tag were using, and was therefore not my own doing. But I had put some stock in the character’s athleticism, since it’s both canon that she’d have to be athletic, and because the character is suffering, in the plot, from severe PTSD. It is often recommended to sufferers of PTSD, like myself, and like my combat veteran father, to put much of their anxiety into athleticism, as linked in the headcanon HERE. I put a lot of myself into my characters, and I thought that, as I am dealing with my own battle with PTSD, it would be appropriate to make a point of expanding upon it in the development of a character who very clearly has it. This is not copied and pasted from any blog, nor was it written in an attempt to mimic anyone else’s portrayal. And to insinuate that I am stealing simply because there is overlap in the usage of two face claims is also up for question – I will admit that I did take an interest in Lindsey Morgan as the character because the author of the PSA used her, and I commend you for your excellent FC choice. But the second mentioned, Deborah Ann Woll, is merely a coincidence, and I must take issue with the idea that face claims are exclusive.

In the PSA, it linked things from my old Alice blog that I’d recycled because I am who you all now know I am – were I trying to hide, I wouldn’t have done that. I’d have never been so obvious. I was too optimistic, I suppose, in that I’d kept my head down enough to play this character again, and I truly am so sorry for making you all uncomfortable, and for making you all feel as if I was trying to be devious by going under another alias. All I was doing was trying to mind my own business – and that is what I’m doing now, by turning my writing blog into a simple fandom blog. I’m even further in my corner now, and though I have no intention of leaving my corner, I thought it appropriate to leave this here as both an admittance of everything I’ve done, and a defense of the new character that I’ve built for myself. I understand that the PSA was made to warn people about someone horrible – but I’m not that person anymore. I have nothing but remorse for what I’ve done to those I’ve hurt, and I will never stop regretting the friendships that I destroyed. I considered so many of you my family, and I hurt you. It’s irreparable, and I will never ever stop trying to be a better person because of it. All I wanted was to turn over a new leaf, and to have fun writing with those I could reconnect with, and I apologize from the bottom of my heart for drudging up old hurts. I never want to hurt any of you again, and I never plan to. If anyone wishes to come talk to me about this, so I can explain and own up further, or if you would like a direct apology, I’m now at arhwen. I hope you’re all well, and finish out 2017 well, too.

[omanapoove]

fangirl challenge 2.0 » [45/?] characters

Rosa Diaz (Brooklyn Nine-Nine)

[porcelaindagger]

ALICE FORTESCUE MOODBOARD:: ON THE SUBJECT OF ALECTO CARROW

@harrowingcarrow [ but also about @theconstellationsinhereyes and @faceuptothesun ]

[theconstellationsinhereyes]

Moodboard 3 || ∞

Mary + Alice { @porcelaindagger }

[diver5ion]

[goodnightgideon-blog]

“A professional badass,” he agreed, sidestepping the vicious swipe of claws from beneath an armchair as the morning’s labyrinth-run commenced. A combined chaos of his and hers to be found amidst the files and scarce furniture; a bunch of flowers set into an empty bottle of Blishen’s, her toothbrush proudly displayed next to his (and a third, undisturbed for seven months now.) Stepping up behind her as she turned, he reached up into the cupboard, sifting through an army of mismatched fine china tea cups of dubious origins and novelty mugs to produce two, one bearing the chipped logo of the Tutshill Tornadoes and the other a misshapen four-year-old’s interpretation of a Peruvian Vipertooth, setting them behind her onto the sink and beaming down at her.

Change was just a shiver in the air, a splash of red on the horizon, the sharp smell of coffee filling the air. 

“No cows this time I’m afraid. There was an unfortunate incident with a bathtub, a laundromat and something about sticking my head on a wall as a warning to other patrons what becomes of those who don’t pay their tabs, but Bletchley and I have an understanding.” He waggled his eyebrows in a manner that seemed to suggest their understanding read more like a  racketeering scheme and reached down to tug at the hem of his shirt with an amused twitch of his lips. 

There were a million and one things to get done today, none more inviting than the prospect of celebration later that night, but far too pressing to keep him out of bed. He tipped a thumb beneath her chin, craning his neck to drop a kiss against her forehead. “I’ll tell you what, after tonight, the drinks are on me regardless. Meet me at The Three Broomsticks after and I might even pay my tab.”

[porcelaindagger]

“Thank you, sir!” she grinned, scooping the mismatched mugs up from the counter and sidestepping around Gideon and his too-small shirt, setting to work upon the clunky coffeemaker, which was a beast not easily tamed. But it was one she’d grown accustomed to wresting with, for late-night investigations had often turned to early mornings -- some more haphazard than others, and some less clothed -- and coffee was always a necessity. As the ancient machine roared to life, Alice looked down at her hastily donned shirt, realizing with a sigh that she’d put it on inside out, and hopping up onto the counter beside the waiting mugs, she went to work at wriggling out of it once more. 

“At least wait to get your head mounted on the wall until after you’ve bought me a drink,” Alice laughed, absently thumping her heels against the cabinet below, brows quirking in a mirror of his mischievous expression, “One of these days I’m going to have to get you to help me get Bletchley; she bloody despises me, for some ridiculous reason. Not as much as you, though -- mounting your head? A bathtub? Honestly, you need to start writing all this down; you could sell more books than Gilderoy Lockhart.” 

Every convoluted plan, every hare-brained idea, no matter how strange, how ambitious, how utterly insane seemed more doable from the safe haven of Gideon’s flat ( as safe as a fortified bomb of a tinderbox could be ) than anywhere else. The idea of taking him to meet the dubious Lorena Fortescue seemed nothing more than a walk in the park; the idea of attacking the home of Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange a mere blip upon the road to a night of drinking and celebration. Anything was possible where Gideon was concerned -- were she not half-naked on his kitchen counter, she might have mustered the courage to tell him such a thing. 

A kiss to her forehead, beneath a whirlwind of mussed hair and above an ostentatious crimson flush, and Alice’s harried mind was stilled, grin spreading across her visage, pulling her cheeks taut. For just a moment, she wrapped her legs around his hips to hold him in place, listening to his offer as if it were gospel, despite her predisposition to tease. “You’ve got yourself a deal,” she grinned, releasing him from the grip of her legs at his hips, and dropping from the counter once more to attend to the coffee. “You pay your tab, and I’ll spring for the food -- I owe you at least that much.”

[porcelaindagger]

theconstellationsinhereyes:

She gasped. Of course she knew people had died, but lost in her denial, she hadn’t exactly thought of anyone at all. After hearing about Rabastan and the way he had died, Mary had tried her best to think positive and hope for everyone’s safe return. Not in a million years would have she ever imagined that Gideon had died, not when he was so strong, so young, and so full of life. She hugged her friend tighter, if it was possible, as there was nothing she could say that would ever make this better. People didn’t know, they wouldn’t understand, but she knew how important Gideon was to Alice. Mary had seen them, they look on their faces when they were together in the same room. It wasn’t that she understood much about love, only that she knew Alice better than the back of her hand.

“It’s okay, Alice.” She had just lost an important person in her life, and Mary didn’t want to say anything that could upset her ever more. Aside the Inferi attack, Mary had been safe and Alice shouldn’t worry about her, not at the moment. And she just couldn’t judge it all, because she knew how it was to lose a person who meant so many things. She wasn’t sure, a cryptic message could have more than just one meaning, and she wanted to hold onto hope for as long as she could. Telling Alice that she didn’t know anything about Dmitri’s whereabouts, about the message, the fact that he could be dead, would only make it real and she wasn’t ready to face that just yet.

So she focused on her friend, gently leading her to the living room where they could seat. With Alice’s head on her shoulder, Mary pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I am never going to leave you. Alice. I love you. You’re my sister and we’re in this together, no matter what. I promise you that. You’re the most important person in my life.” And she couldn’t lose her. The very idea that something could happen to Alice had her heart dropping to her stomach. Gideon and Rabastan were dead, and who knew if Alice had been in danger tonight. Mary didn’t want to think about it, not now, not ever. “I’m so sorry.” There was nothing else she could say, as she fought the tears and tried her best to be strong for both of them. “What happened?” It didn’t make sense. They had prepared for this, it was just one more mission and they were supposed to be safe.

Alice clutched Mary as if she might die upon letting go -- and perhaps she would. Dying of a broken heart had seemed to become a much more viable way to go, as of late; first with Frank, and now with Gideon, the loss of whom made her feel an acutely different sort of pain than when she’d lost Frank. A part of her had always known that she would lose Gideon, in one way or another; it was silly to think that she could hold onto him forever, but she’d so horribly wanted to. Not twenty four hours ago they’d been talking about going to meet Alice’s parents, about decorating his flat, about going places together, in a more domestic way than either of them had ever expected. She’d let an “I love you” slip, and it had fallen from him just as nonchalantly, as if it was something they’d been telling each other for years. And now he was gone -- his body was in the other room, and it was all Alice could do to keep her face pressed into Mary’s shoulder. 

Back heaving, she allowed herself to really cry for the first time that night; if time would prove to be repetitive, she would have repressed the tears until they made her sick. She’d have lost a good fifteen pounds, turned horribly pale, and lost the will to rise from bed for weeks at a time, staying indoors with boxes upon boxes of files. But Mary, wonderful Mary, had appeared at just the right time, and the tears had been allowed to flow without hesitation. He’s dead. He’s DEAD. Gideon’s DEAD! Over and over, muffled by Mary’s shoulder, incredulous and horrified and full of disbelief all at once, it seemed to be the only words that Alice could muster. The best thing about Mary, it seemed, was that she was more than willing to allow Alice to be weak. And that was just what she needed. 

She clung to Mary as they sank down to the couch, lifting her head from her shoulder in a mess of tears and smeared dirt. What had happened? It had all been too hectic for Alice to keep track of; one moment, Gideon had been barreling through the crowd toward Bellatrix -- fucking Bellatrix -- and the next, the manor had been falling down all around them. “It was... it was the house,” she began, sniffling through raw voice and stuffed nose, “He went inside after Bellatrix, and then -- it was on fire and -- and he was crushed beneath the rubble, but when I found him there, he was already dead, and so was Bellatrix, and -- and --” Alice shook her head, voice dissolving into splutters and horridly concealed tears. “We were -- he’d promised we were going to go out after -- he was going to meet my mum, and we were going to go to -- to Scotland, and --” she was blubbering, rambling, horridly out of control; she tightened her grip upon Mary’s arms and put her face in her shoulder once more, stifling her voice before talk of love could pass her lips.

[porcelaindagger]

01 - nikolai, alice, rabastan

001 | Send me a list of characters and I will tell you my:

5 Favorite ships (canon or non-canon): Gideon/Alice, Alastor/Alice, Nikolai/Evan, Nikolai/Holly, Rabastan/AmycusCharacter I find most attractive: Can I just OT4 with all of them? They’re all so beautiful; my heart very much belongs to Theo James, though. I could stare at that dude forever. Character I would marry: NIKOLAI Character I would be best friends with: Alice, totally. Once she gets over this funk ( an understandable funk ) she’d be an awesome roommate and drinking buddy. A random thought: Rabastan never really got a chance to express his love for goats, and I think that’s the most tragic part of his death. Most badass character: Alice!!Favorite friendship: I’ve talked a bit about Alice and Mary already so I’ll just say that I’m really digging Alice and James. There’s so much history there, and so much current kinship and fun there; I just need them both to be okay and to actually go to New York together like they keep fantasizing about!

[porcelaindagger]

03 - alice

How I feel about this character: I love her with all of my heart, even though she severely needs to sit down and chill out; I’ve been playing Alice for three years now, and have come to love her more in the one year that FN’s been up and running than I ever thought I could!All the people I ship romantically with this character: Alastor, Gideon, Frank, BellatrixMy non-romantic OTP for this character: Alice and Mary, my wonderful nerd children! As far as I’m concerned, Alice isn’t an only child -- Mary is her sister through and through! A headcanon with my character: Alice speaks Spanish and French, in addition to a very profane English. Her father spoke mostly Spanish, and her mother mostly French; it makes for an interesting stream of consciousness whenever Alice goes on a tangent. There’s no telling what language she’s going to switch into at the drop of a hat!My OTP: Don’t even make me sort out her love life; I ship Alice and a good night’s sleep more than anything. My OT3: Alice / a good night’s sleep / spooning with Mary

[phemiec]

001 | Send me a list of characters and I will tell you my:

5 Favorite ships (canon or non-canon):

Character I find most attractive:

Character I would marry:

Character I would be best friends with:

A random thought:

Most badass character:

Favorite friendship:

002 | send me a ship and I will tell you:

when or if I started shipping it.

my thoughts:

What makes me happy about them:

What makes me sad about them:

My happily ever after for them:

003 | Give me a character & I will tell you

How I feel about this character: 

All the people I ship romantically with this character: 

My non-romantic OTP for this character: 

A headcanon with my character:

My OTP:

My OT3:

[porcelaindagger]

moodyalastors:

Smoke had started to billow thick, curling around the corners of the crumbling West Wing, filling the air and clawing a hacking cough from his chest. Alastor could barely see: the heat was searing; fire devouring the room, flames licking at the ceiling and gliding across charred floors; ashes painting the room in nothing but shades of grey. The crackle of the blaze was deafening, sharp and thunderous, sounding from all around him, closing in closer and closer until he could barely hear his own screams carry over the din. They needed to get out of there now. That was all he could focus on; the chant growing louder and louder at the back of his head, consuming all other thoughts and leaving him to struggle against the collapsing ruins surrounding them. Every second they stayed was another second wasted; and every moment counted right now - every step, every breath, everything. One wrong move and they’d be done; one lost chance and they wouldn’t be given another. 

Grief was a paralytic; love was vicious, hatred was a motivator, but grief was deadly; it demanded to be felt, demanded to be let loose. But he couldn’t let it do that to Alice - not now, not here, not this way. Gideon had been a friend, he understood that; he understood the need to protect your own, to keep them out of harm’s way. If he could help Gideon - by Merlin, he would have. He would have carried him out on his back if he fucking could. But the world was burning down around them in a roaring flare, and he needed to protect the living if he couldn’t help the dead. Lunging forward, Alastor kept Alice from ripping away from his grasp, his voice a choked and hoarse yell as he kept telling her to stay put;  to let go. It seemed like another lifetime when he’d taught her never to stop in the middle of a battle; when he’d insisted that you kept moving. No matter what. No matter who you were leaving behind. He’d learnt that when he’d watched his partner die; he’d etched into his memory, and he’d passed that message on to every Auror who crossed his path; vehement, understanding. 

But that memory floated on water now; washing away with time and being replaced with new ones, worse ones, locked away in that one room in his mind that he knew was haunted by the ghosts of his own past. Of the ghosts of everything he’d done. One day, he’d open the door and see Gideon staring back at him, the grooves of accusation hammered stable in his gaze. 

But for now, he kept going. 

“Listen to me!” Alastor cried out, one arm looped around her struggling form as tightly as he could manage, screeching to a halt. He cupped Alice’s chin; holding it steady as he spoke to her. I can’t panic, he thought hurriedly, breathing heavily. I can’t panic because of her, I can’t. This was why he never got attached; this was it. If he stopped, he wouldn’t be able to go on. If he stopped, and looked back, he wouldn’t survive. That was how it was. For all that Bellatrix had told him, for all that he knew she had kept from him, secreted away and never given him the liberty to understand - never given him the chance to, he was going to stand here in the middle of this building and save the woman he fucking loved or wait for the world to fall down on him as he tried. If he had to break every inch of his own heart, pull it apart piece by piece, just to keep her safe, he’d do it without hesitation. “We can’t help him now, Alice!” His tone didn’t leave room for argument; it didn’t leave room for emotional rationalisation or hysteria. One foot in front of the other, get her the fuck out before you do anything else. “And we’re going to fuckin’ join him if we don’t get out, do you understand that?”

She was still sobbing, writhing and trying to pull away, trying  to go back, begging her to let him go. They were both bloodied, and if he’d paused long enough to think, he’d have wept too. “You can,” Alastor replied, screaming the words over the noise, shaking her. “Don’t you ever bloody tell me you can’t fuckin’ do somethin’, Alice. Let him go!” He needed to be the villain. He needed to pull her away, needed to take her to safety, needed to get out of there as quickly as he could get them. He needed to do what he had to do. That was who he was. It was in his bones, it was all he was; all he had. “Someone will get his body, I promise ye,” he added, softer, shaky, but urgency clearly lacing his words. It was true; sooner or later, they’d retrieve his body. Everyone following up the steps after him would find Gideon’s body, would pull his out from the rubble and get him to a secure location. They’d honour the dead when they had the time. “But right now - ” Alastor gripped Alice tighter, holding her arms down as he reached for his wand. “ - right now, we have to fuckin’ leave!”

His mind raced with thoughts, locations, allies. Where could they go, where could they escape to? He couldn’t carry her down. Not like this. She was thrashing, face wet, injured; and there was danger below just as there was death waiting for them up here among the burning remains of the Manor. He couldn’t fight with someone in his arms - he couldn’t risk another death. “Hold on and don’t bloody let go, okay?” Alastor ordered. There was only one place he could think of; one family he trusted with everything he had. The Potters. He needed to get them to the Potters. Raising his arm, he began to Apparate them away; the world began to blur into nothing but blackness, constricting them, swallowing them whole as they shifted through the universe. 

And then they fell onto hardwood floors, the overwhelming sound of battle fading into the quiet of a home; of safety. 

     Let him go. 

        Let him go? 

There was simply too much there to let go of; she had lied to Alastor too many times to explain it now, why she needed him so desperately to be alive. Her fingers dug into the steel bar that was his arm around her waist; in a few hours she would think to be thankful for his foresight, for pulling her from the burning rubble surrounding Gideon’s body. Had he not, she might have been crushed beneath the burning beam that crumbled before them, landing atop Gideon’s hips and eliciting a horrified wordless scream from the raw depths of Alice’s chest. He pulled her back, through a crumbling doorway and onto a porch that she’d once spent so much time lurking upon; the last time she’d stood here, she had been hundreds of scars short and one guilty conscience less. 

Her tears flowed freely over his fingers as he gripped her chin, causing her lower lip to jut out in a pathetic display of emotion that she would certainly think to be ashamed of later on. She could feel the universe laughing at her as she took her punishment; did she deserve this? Had she brought this upon herself? Was Gideon’s death simply a horrid turn of fate, or was it something tipping the scales against their favor? They had been making such progress, crossing names off an extensive list and narrowing down the scrawl upon the wall in his living room. If only Alastor knew what strides they were making, perhaps he would understand. if only she had the decency to tell him that her lies had all been fabricated around the basic need to protect Gideon from the law, for it had only been a matter of time before her own indiscretions would catch up with her. 

She could barely understand what he was saying, for his words -- no matter how vehemently he screamed into her ear, deafening her in an attempt to comfort -- were covered by a crackling of wood from somewhere above them. Alice might have been happy to be crushed right then and there; she would deserve it, undoubtedly. But Alastor pulled her further away from the rubble, further away from Gideon’s body, and her screams dissolved into horrendous sobs, ugly and raw, with tears dripping over the tip of her nose and framing her lips like a mocking, fluid, mask. Nevertheless, she clung to his arms as instructed, determined to keep her eyes upon Gideon through the smoke and rubble for as long as possible; perhaps she would see him rise from within the rubble to join them on the porch. Alice called out to him, fingers digging into Alastor’s arm, as if to rouse him from his slumber beneath the ash and flame. He could escape with them, if he just hurried; if he could just pick himself and dust himself off -- 

But her back and her skull thumped upon a hardwood floor before she could finish her thought, the smells and sounds of smoke and roaring fire replaced by a startling silence. It took her a moment to realize that they were gone, that Gideon’s body was suddenly far away, that Alastor had apparated them elsewhere ( for she was far too hysterical to truly process that she’d just been ripped through the air to end up... wherever they were ) without Gideon in tow. A deep inhale, eyes wide upon Alastor’s face, and then another scream, harrowing and full of regret, for she’d never wanted to abandon them there. He’d been left there -- and when he awoke she would not be there to help him from the rubble. Alice flipped onto her stomach with panic and horror scrawled upon her face, scrambling across the floor and leaving garish streaks of blood across the hardwood as she scrambled toward the door, legs wobbling and weak beneath her and head spinning from the impact of the fall. She could just barely feel her nose beginning to bleed as she let his name rip from her chest again, though it came out sounding like nothing more than a garbled screech. 

It hardly occurred to her that people were watching, that there were others in the room in which she and Alastor had landed; it hardly occurred to her to turn to him, to check up on him, for he had been at the siege just as she had. Were she thinking properly, she would crawl back to him, hold onto him, and never let go; he was safe, at least -- and she loved him, did she not? But she was not a woman possessed by sense, for she scrambled across the wooden floor, head spinning and arms bleeding; her head had made harsh contact with the floor, and so she pitched to the side with dizziness and panicked fervor. It was too quiet; her sobs and belabored breaths sounded like screams compared to the sudden silence. There was no doubt that she would not get far, should she actually manage to make it to the door, but her body was already moving where her mind was far from logical. 

“We have to go back!” she croaked, petite frame shaking as she clawed across the wooden floor, “We have to get his body back!” 

[porcelaindagger]

jamespotter-x:

It’s fine. That was the line right? The appropriate one that actually said it wasn’t entirely but they were strong enough to deal with it. James had always believed that there was a way to handle everything. A good and bad way. A funny way. A distracting way. Thousands of choices could go into handling a situation and everyone had to chose one at the end of it. The one that marks it down like fine script in the time stream to make it reality. 

“Why not?” he asked about not being able to be in the house. “Is it Gideon?” he added, more whispered out in a deep hurt voice. He shuttered. Knowing his body was in there didn’t concern him so much as he knew they would have to bury another. He walked around the punching bag– wishing he could sit by his partner’s side and offer her a hug and comfort like they had in the hospital. But James wasn’t doing well either. His mind was racing with emotions he was typically better had hiding. The crack in his walls were very clearly revealed right now. He felt raw. Exposed. And ashamed. 

“I just– “ he threw a couple hits to the bag, the bandages along his knuckles and wrists making him able to strike it harder than he had before. The stability in his forearm shot out into a sharp jab, rolling his shoulders and releasing another few quick hits to the center. The bag swayed in response. “I just wish he hadn’t been divided. I want to do more, and I work my self to the bone and still there is no win in sight. Nothing is working. No choices we make have a decent outcome. I can’t–” He paused, his breath elevated from having punched the bag through his words. Sweat dotted along his brow, and top lip, James wiping his face. Not finishing his sentence because it wasn’t like him to say I can’t to anything. But he felt soon it might be true. That he can’t do this anymore.

James said his name, and Alice felt as if she might explode; the punching bag was looking more and more appealing by the moment. His body was shut up inside a dark room, the blood unwashed from his skin and the soot staining his clothes. Alice had not been strong enough to see him, no matter how much time she spent lingering outside the door to his room. She’d refused to talk to anyone about her inability to simply open a door, but it had proven true time and time again that James had been the easiest person to talk to concerning just about anything. 

She ran her bruised fingers through her hair and nodded, gulping before finally mustering the strength to answer him. Even speaking of Gideon’s body made her feel as if she was going to be sick. Then again, she’d felt sick since he’d fallen beneath the rubble of Lestrange Manor; she’d never felt quite so rotten inside. “Hard to believe it’s really him in there,” Alice muttered. It was hard to believe that not forty eight hours before she’d been in bed with him, smacking him over the head with a pillow, scrambling across his flat with a cup of coffee and a stolen muffin, insisting that he invest in decorations when all they would be investing in would be a funeral and a burial ground. “Keep thinking I’ll open the door and he’ll be sitting up, laughing at all of us, like it was some ridiculous prank just to get us all to lighten up. Hell, I’d murder him myself for that.” Her lips persisted in twisting into a cynical smile, though it looked more like the grimace of a wounded hyena than anything remotely jovial. 

“We’re not going to stop,” Alice muttered, gaze trained upon a beetle that slowly made its way over the hay, toward her slippered feet, “Not now.” She paused for a moment, lifting her foot to make way for the beetle to scuttle past, appreciative and silent as it carried a piece of lint around the side of the hay bale. Looking up at James, then, she frowned, a morbid thought springing to the forefront of her mind. “Do you think we’re being punished for something?” she wondered; Alice knew that she had plenty to be punished for, but what had James ever done? Lily? Mary? Tilden, Emmeline? They had done nothing to deserve this -- was the universe really so cruel?

[unmillierdevies]

Upsetting Alice hadn’t been his intention and it truly seemed that it was the only thing he could do now, with his fake death and his sudden return, he simply couldn’t get it right. And Frank had tried to stay out of her way, to give her a break and disappear if he had to. It wasn’t like he wanted to run away from his problems, that was what a coward would do so he stayed and faced the consequences even if they meant losing his wife to his former boss. The idea had his heart clenched painfully, jealousy swirling in his chest like black hole.

He had no right, he kept telling himself. He had left, he had lied, he had brought this on himself and yet he still hoped for a second chance. They had been so happy. Frank had truly believed their marriage would last forever, that they would have it all if they stayed together. Only that they hadn’t. Perhaps it was for the best if he just walked away and left her alone, especially now that she was recovering and seemed that she was happier than the last time they had seen each other.

Yet… Yet he rushed to her and, without any word, he helped him to gather all the packages, trying not to think of her buying stuff for Moody. Frank was gentleman after all, he couldn’t just ignore her when she obviously could use the help, and to be honest, it was just one excuse to be close to her without invading her life. “I think I got all.” Or least he thought so. “I can leave them here for you.” So she wouldn’t have to deal with his presence longer than necessary.

[porcelaindagger]

A rather cynical part of Alice’s mind thought that perhaps he had appeared here just to torture her; why else would he persist in appearing whenever she was at her happiest, just to remind her of why she shouldn’t be? She had been perfectly happy thinking of nothing but Mary, with whom she was determined to spend as much time as possible, but seeing him now only made her feel tired. Alice was tempted to simply leave her things on the ground and leave, but he was very suddenly there, and for a moment, all she could think of was when he’d done the same thing when she’d dropped her books at school, or had let an armful of scrolls scatter across the Great Hall. 

She’d first kissed him in a position rather similar to this; she’d dropped a bag full of candies smuggled from home upon the train platform, and as he’d helped her pick them up, she’d leaned forward to give him a chaste peck upon the lips. If only she could justify doing the same thing now; at least she didn’t feel much like slapping him again. 

“Thanks,” she muttered, stuffing her things back into the bag that looked worse for wear; it was no surprise that it had fallen to bits under the duress of her purchases for Mary. “Serves me right for trying to carry it all at once.” The thought of Frank simply turning and leaving again, while it had once been all she’d wanted, was something that did not sit right with her. She’d had enough time to think; her time spent in St. Mungo’s, reevaluating all that had happened and all that she could not afford to lose -- Frank being one of them, regrettably -- had informed her that she could not be cruel to him forever. They certainly would never go back to the way they were, but to actively and outwardly hate him was a waste of energy. 

“So,” she began, glossing over his offer as she straightened, making a point to pull her sleeves down over the scars upon her arms, “are you... what are you doing out here?” A horribly awkward question it was, stilted and poorly worded, but it was an attempt at nicety. Alice shifted, regretting not thinking of it first; it was Diagon Alley; he could be here if he so chose. 

[goodnightgideon-blog]

He’d been awake for nearly a full hour before Alice stirred, pacing before the windows as the sun crawled up over the horizon, smothered beneath a thick blanket of clouds that turned the sky to rust and ash.  A current of electricity crackled beneath his skin, through his fingers and the shake of his bones, a promise that spoke of storms to come and a change in the air.  On the street below the world was stirring to life, the thump of chairs and tables in the restaurant beneath beginning as they prepared for morning service, but the world sat differently today beneath this red dawn.

No time to savour the thunder rumbling in his chest or the elaborate choreography of Alice attempting to dress on the move, hopping and struggling against still damp skin, when his shirt was still abandoned across the bedcovers in favour of the view. “Coffee,” he agreed belatedly, groping for his shirt to drag it over his head, they had so much to do today, but the night already called to him. Finally, action.   

“Cocky,” was the muffled reply, before his head emerged from the neck of his shirt, hair a riot of red and a wicked smile already carved across his face as he tried to tug the hem downwards and found the fabric appeared to have shrunk since it’s last wash, “You’re going to owe me a bloody bottle before the night’s over.”

Finger combing through the snarl of curls and static as he edged through the living room, nudging an overflowing box of files out of his path with his toes on the way through to the kitchen he added over his shoulder, “I hope Rosmerta’s restocked the pub recently, last time I was in Bletchley threatened to pour every bottle of Blishen’s down the drain if I didn’t pay my tab. We might have to go in disguise.”

[porcelaindagger]

She’d learned well enough how to navigate the maze of Gideon’s flat; it was a small triumph to see her own influences here and there as she danced through the sea of papers, takeaway boxes, and discarded clothes, but she had little time to feel smug about her ability to smuggle knick-knacks into his flat. It was the toothbrush left in his bathroom that truly meant something -- but her mind was not there. “Well, I can afford to be cocky,” she grinned over her shoulder as she reached the kitchen, giving a little hop as she buttoned her jeans, “I am a professional, after all.” 

But she would give him anything he wanted, in reality, be it a full bottle of whiskey or an artful disguise to evade the notorious Gretchen Bletchley. He had put something foreign and warm in the pit of her stomach, and it was just enough to make her horrendously weak. Perhaps it was the anticipation; perhaps it was the promise of what was to come; perhaps it was the fact that her legs were still shaking and her stomach still rolling from the night before, but as Alice began the usual battle with the old coffee maker she knew one way or another that something was different. 

( a mental note to buy him a new coffee maker, and the curmudgeonly machine roared to life ) 

On the tips of her toes, she reached for a pair of mugs in the too-tall cabinet by the sink, but laughter at his comment kept her wiggling fingers from quite reaching. Ungracefully, she turned about and huffed, one brow raised and hands propped on her hips. “You’re public enemy number one there, too? Please tell me there were flying cows involved; I’m not letting that go.” She turned back to the cabinets, stretched up once more, and then with another huff and a grunt of pouting displeasure: “Could you, uh -- do you mind? Told you I’d make you coffee and I can’t even reach the mugs; I’m oh-for-one here.”

With a grin, she tugged at the notably smaller hem of his shirt. “Unless you’ve shrunk everything that could be turned into a disguise; you ever used Polyjuice Potion? Or perhaps I could smuggle you a bottle myself, and we could just come back here; no Bletchley required.” It was undeniable, though -- and went without saying -- that a fair amount of celebration would follow shortly after the raid later that night; they would not get a moment to themselves until long after. But her impatience was far outweighed by the fact that victory was imminent. And Gideon was worth the wait. 

[emmacarstairs]

lindsey morgan for ‘the 100’ portraits at comic-con, july 22nd, 2016

[theconstellationsinhereyes]

Her arms tightened around Alice’s petite figure, pulling her closer to her as she felt her hot tears soaking through her shirt. It was true that she didn’t know any detail, that whatever had happened at the Lestrange manor had been a terrible, horrifying thing, and she couldn’t bring herself to ask when everyone seemed affected by it. She was a curious person, but not a cruel one. So she was waiting for someone, anyone, to spill the beans when they felt ready to. Only that seeing Alice like this confirmed that someone close to them had died and that Alice had been there to witness it.

“I’m fine,” she managed to breathe out, running a hand through her friend’s damp hair. “I’m not hurt. I’m fine.” Fighting the Inferi had been a nightmare and one of them had caught her off guard, but Dorcas had already taken care of it and there was nothing to worry about. She rested a hand on Alice’s cheek, wiping the tears off her face. But as the kept rolling down, she simply gave up. Something told her that the question wasn’t just about what she had gone through but about everything that had gone down that night. “I don’t know.” There was no explanation to the hell that had somehow found them.

“I was at Hogwarts and then was this explosion, people were screaming and Inferi were all over Hogsmeade. And now I’ve heard things, about his return and Rabastan, and I… I was so worried about you! People were talking about someone– And I thought– I couldn’t– If something ever happens to you, I will lose my fucking mind.” Alice was there, and even though she was still worried about everyone else, she felt like the weight on her chest wasn’t as bad as a few moments ago. So she hugged her best friend again, fighting the tears as they found a way to her eyes.

[porcelaindagger]

She was crying before she could stop it, her face pressed firmly into Mary’s shoulder and her arms gripping her around the middle as if she might fall to pieces should she let go. Guilt prickled at her ribs, scolding her for not trying harder to find Mary in the chaos; she had been entirely too concerned with Gideon’s whereabouts to think of anything else, and for that she would never stop feeling sorry. Sorry that she’d left her, sorry that she’d not protected, her sorry that she was now soaking the shoulder of Mary’s blouse with her tears, and that she could not stop. But Mary was home, Mary was her safe place, and she simply could not let go for fear of losing it entirely. 

“Gideon’s gone!” Alice gasped, voice a horrid sob, raw and visceral, and entirely unlike Alice in tone and candor, “He’s gone! He’s dead!” Saying it aloud, though Alastor had done a fair enough job of screaming it in her ear as she’d clawed at his face just hours before, was a stab wound, deep and gushing, festering between the third and fourth rib where no salves could properly reach. “He’s g-gone!” pathetic, small, but loud; Alice clung to Mary and let the tears fall free again; Alastor had quelled the hysteria, but the wound still spread, deepened, pricked at her side in a harsh reminder that he’d left her behind. 

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Alice gasped, holding her breath to still the tears, to remain coherent, “I couldn’t find you in the -- the madness, and I -- I’m so sorry I didn’t come for you; I -- I didn’t know what to do because Gideon --” Words dissolved into spine-shaking sobs again, fingers knotting in Mary’s blouse, her hair, like to collapse where she should have been strong for her dear friend. “I love you so much,” she cried, “Please never leave me, Mary. Please.”

[porcelaindagger]

“I’ve always wanted to go cow-spotting,” she grinned, tightening the grip of her arms around his broad chest – too broad to reach all the way around, and just broad enough to block the sunlight from her sleepy eyes – in a show of theatrical excitement, a shiver through her spine at the feeling of his fingers playing at her hair. It was strange how easy this was, this lying in bed with him, lounging about as if they hadn’t a care in the world, as if the next room over wasn’t plastered from wall to wall with papers stolen from the ministry, lists upon lists of names, and obituaries like morbid punctuation. A strange juxtaposition, sure, but in a sense it made the moment even more precious. Gideon was an anchor, a buoyant ship, and a lighthouse all in one – and the sea was much to terrifying to brave alone. He knew all her secrets, all her worries, all her wants; she’d never had anyone who she didn’t have to lie to. 

She laughed again at his joking jab, eyes squinted and cheeks aching from how vehemently her visage was determined to remain in a smile. “Hey, I’m not that short,” Alice gave his chest a playful smack, pouting theatrically up at his wiggling fingers, “I’ll have you know I’ve grown a whole inch since last year. No monster in the woods is gonna touch me.” As long as he was there, nothing bad could happen at all when Gideon was present; such a sappy and utterly dramatic sentiment was obvious enough without the embarrassment of admitting it aloud. She was reduced to no more than a smitten little girl; that was not something she could readily admit. 

She could just hear Fabian mocking her from somewhere far away. 

“Are there any other children-eating beasts I need to know about?” she cocked one brow, tone mockingly critical, “I remember you comparing me, once, to a garden gnome, so I have every right to be concerned. And you, if you ever come back home with me, should be horribly afraid – good ol’ Lorena Fortescue is a horror all in her own right.” The idea of bringing Gideon home to meet her mother had never been a strange thing before; Lorena knew who Gideon was – but she knew not what he meant. But, then again, neither did Alice. 

[goodnightgideon-blog]

The shadows from the window stretched longer and longer as the sun rose in the sky, but Gideon paid the passing of time little mind as the echoing smack of her hand against his chest only summoned laughter from it, a growing rumble that shook the mattress beneath them until he conceded, hands raised in surrender. “I think that monster might find he’d bitten off more than he could chew if he tried to take on Alice Fortescue.”

Flattery would get you anywhere, or so he’d been repeatedly told, but Gideon had never quite been able to let a compliment rest without the devil in his ear, “Thought there is the infamous toe-biting monster, found almost exclusively in the garden outside the Burrow — but I’ve heard rumors that you and Arthur’s fighting gnomes have a lot in common. I’m sure they’d protect you from its teeth if you agreed to join them.”

Anticipating the follow-up smack before it came, he grinned at the mention of Alice’s mother. Like many pureblood mothers before her who’d experienced the decade or so of the Prewett brothers reign of terror against summer garden parties and Christmas celebrations, he had no doubt that Lorena Fortescue too would regard him (and, subsequently, the colour red) with deep suspicion. There was a wavering from the light in the window as it dimmed, but Gideon was already thoroughly invested in this story and even the drop in temperature as the sun rose above the roofline was ignored in favour of it.

His grin sharpened as he shifted, propping himself up higher onto his elbow to insist, “I have impeccable manners and sometimes I even shave. Your mother would,” if history had anything to say about it, be horrified that someone had let one of those red devils into her home, “Tolerate me. Maybe.”

It was surreal to talk so casually about such things, as if mothers or childhoods or families were things that were so willingly shared when those were the things guarded so carefully these days. What Alice’s place in his life had become was a mystery, a poorly crafted foundation that she’d gone crashing through right to the heart of him. He didn’t know what she was but he knew that she was important, integral and messy and entrapped inside that big empty space lodged in his chest.

With a suddenness that was alarming the light abruptly dimmed, sunshine slipping back towards the window in retreat as the sun continued onwards and the shadows crawled back in. His skin was still warm from it, but now it was only a matter of time. Light and warmth and happiness and time, there was never quite enough of it to stick around.

[porcelaindagger]

END