don't disappear

“I always marvel at the humans’ ability to keep going. They always manage to stagger on even with tears streaming down their faces.”

[shepherdchang]

silentlysilas:

It was simply easier to spend all his time in the library than even see his mother, so Silas had taken to practically living at a long table, only leaving for the odd cup of tea or when the librarian kicked him out. And for classes, of course.

But Silas was a little starved for human company. No, he was desperate for human company, for someone to talk to, even if it was just at a whisper, for someone to joke with. Books, his research, his own brilliant mind, could only keep him occupied for so long. So, when he heard someone else walk in, he spoke a bit louder than was wise.

“Hello!”

He needed to write another letter home. He woke with the thought, and it had followed every string of conversation he had throughout the day. At this point, Samuel knew he couldn’t dismiss the nagging sensation that he, at the very least, update Isabel on the events that had transpired. There was hope he wouldn’t have to write her for a while, but...ah, the Lord always had different thoughts.

The library was the best place for now, as his bed was a nasty temptation, especially when he didn’t dare close his eyes. Not yet. The sleeping tonics were working better -- perhaps the presence of aurors assisted with that -- but he needed to snatch a semblance of a sleep schedule. It would work better for him in the end.

At this point of day, he expected to be the only one, or one of few. It meant quiet, a place to organize what he wanted to write. Alas, that expectation unraveled as he jumped at a sudden outburst.

Furrowing his brows for a moment, he caught sight of the source, and gave a small smile. He pressed a finger to his lips, looking over his shoulder to see if somebody was coming to scold. As he started walking toward the other boy, he made sure to keep his voice soft as he said, “Silas, hello. How are you today?”

[shepherdchang]

adevittdevil:

“Darn you, Shepard. How do you know me so well?” She grinned and reached for a cookie–nudging him a bit. 

“Thank you for having some compassion for this poor soul,” she joked.

“There are few in this world who can resist something sweet. And I thought this would be a nice bolster of spirits for every poor soul.” Beaming, he let loose a chuckle as he selected his own cookie from the platter he held.  “Who doesn’t feel better after eating cookies? And to think, we’ll get better ones tonight.”

[shepherdchang]

"I see you eyeing one,” he said, mirth dancing in his gaze as his smile turned sly. “This isn’t the ‘best batch’ of treats supposedly -- those will be saved for tonight’s feast -- but I still think they taste delicious. Have one!”

[aliceanders-blog1-deactivated20]

gold-faced watch Δ w. samuel

[shepherdchang]

lutherblckwood:

No grip could be kept upon himself; Luther remained lost upon the spikes of the elements and in the gusts of wind curdling through his otherwise vibrant body. 

Taking in all the breaths which seemed forbidden, he attempted to steady himself, and these efforts revealed little to no sustenance in return.

                                      ( He was a monster to this world. )                                                 He would be dashed to ruins tonight.

When he was being spoken to, this pulled him from the nether reaches, and the kick of a shoe against plastic, feathers, and imitation-magic gossamer echoed against his eardrums. He saw from a distance, so it seemed, the actions of the other; he felt the weight of the hands, and the world slowed down, lethargic and chilling.

                                                                      “Samuel.” 

He could bring himself to say no more. The name emerged as a shudder more so than syllables and to attempt to annunciate them would bring his ruin. God above, he hoped Samuel would forgive him for lacking such cohesion. For coming undone in his hands.

“How can you be so certain? I terrorise, I lurk, I march, I am n o t h i n g. I cannot –” His breath hitched, and seemed to tighten his lungs. I am not who you think I am.

The words continue to sing it out. I am not who you think I am, and I am living a desperate lie, and you must put me out of my misery, so help me to God above, before I am sent downwards for eternity.

                            “Please.” His voice rasped. He couldn’t release. Samuel couldn’t, didn’t, took his hands and pulled. He was warm. A lantern’s light to a scavenger, a meagre and dark one. It took great effort to move forward as though through a bog. Please take me from here. But he did little more than plea for it, leave the rest for God’s ears.

Everyone was terrifying. He saw them all, animals and monsters and illusions, and he could not reach his wand, could find no shears to stick between their ribs. He was being led from this and into another place - he was being taken somewhere else, somewhere SAFE. Samuel would lead him to this safe place. He always did.

                          For seven years he had done so.                                     Almost remarkable, how time passes                                              as eyelashes tick together and blink.

Then, he broke free of the suffocation, and the swirling images left him, and he gasped when the outside air reached his lungs, and his clammy hands clung to the boy beside him.

                       I am nothing, for I am Death.

Luther’s words scattered in his mind, echoing with every step. Too many thoughts were cluttering, but the worry had already started to gnaw its way to the forefront. N o t h i n g. Did Luther always feel that way of himself? They both had witnessed each other in distressed states, where defeat was adamant in the drop of their shoulders or lackluster gaze, but this...Samuel never expected it. How much had he not seen in years prior?

Biting his lip, he wove them through the crowd, protective spells falling from his lips. Wayward spells disintegrated at the shield he built, sparks fraying into mere wisps. But there was nothing to block the wailing, nor the inherent fear that if he turned in the wrong direction, an Inferi would lurk in the corner. Chaos seemed to beckon it, and after the memorial ---

                                             ( focus, focus, focus )

Samuel squeezed Luther’s hand once they reached the doors, bursting into the hallway with a relieved gasp. But he still led his housemate down the hall, away from the chaos, letting the noises fade in the distance. It wasn’t until he deemed they were far enough away that he turned back to Luther, gently pressing him back until the boy was against the wall.

“I am certain,” he softly began, “I am certain because of all things you are, Luther, terrible is not one of them. Not with the care you give to others.”

Swallowing, Samuel cleared his throat and finally released Luther’s hand. The warmth lingered. “Do we need to move further away or are you feeling --- alright?”

[shepherdchang]

seraphina-bones:

Seraphina returned Samuel’s smile, taking her dropped pen from his hands. “No, no, it’s okay! I just…get lost in my work. It has proven to not be a good thing, seeing as I can’t even be aware f my surroundings.” She shook her head in disapproval at her self; with everything that was going on around the castle as of late, it was probably not the brightest idea to put herself in a state such as this one. But Seraphina decided not to project her worries to Samuel, especially when people were trying hard not think about the Inferi. 

Instead, she looked back at the girl in the distance, who was now moving away from her spot - a friend had apparently showed and the two were giggling away into the castle. Seraphina gave a small shrug and put aside her drawing - it seemed this one would go unfinished. She thought for a moment maybe she would show her progress to him ( there was a chance he may have seen something if had stood in front of her ), but the prospect made her nervous. She was always nervous when it came to her drawings. But then again, he had not asked, so why would he even have the interest? You sound self-centered, Sera, stop.  

“It will most definitely be a sight,” Seraphina agreed. “In fact, if you are lucky enough to find me in the crowd, attempting the dance, then I am sure you will laugh. I am not as graceful a dancer as I am assuming my grandmother hoped.” She laughed at the statement, knowing full well all the instruction her grandmother would spew at her. “That is why I will try my best to avoid it at all costs – or just wait until a very slow song is played.” 

“Well, seeing as you’re in the Hogwarts courtyard, I think losing yourself to your surroundings here is a better place than most.” Licking his lips, he then added, “Besides, getting lost in your work means you’re passionate towards it, right? And it makes you happy? There’s nothing wrong with doing what makes you happy.”

There was a reason he missed the long expanse of meadows and the noise of sheep; there was a reason he remained a shepherd despite what Professor Patil always told him.

His gaze shifted from Seraphina to the drawing she was tucking away. He turned back to who was his housemate’s subject, watching as a friend took the girl’s hand to walk wherever they wished. Their giggles were subtle in the air, yet it still filled him with --- relief? Because that was what Hogwarts should be about --- laughter and wonder. This ball would be a good idea.

“You and I share the same idea then,” he chuckled. “You’d be laughing at me and what my feet are incapable of doing. Hopefully we won’t be dragged onto the floor -- I overheard Professor Pettigrew wanting to point out those he believes aren’t having fun and nag them from their ‘sad solitude.’” Shaking his head, he ran a hand through his hair, resting it at the nape. “But I think it’ll be fun. If not, then I’m sure the kitchens will house food to cheer us up.”

[shepherdchang]

lutherblckwood:

How embitterment against the circumstances did not manage to seep into Samuel’s bones more often than not was near inspiring. Now if there was something which the world could benefit from, it was such a transformation. “So it would seem. But attempting to gather a large following whom might agree would be damningly unsuccessful.”

When silence befell them,           it was oftentimes so comfortable, neither of them bothered          to change it, as nothing needed to be changed. And this was         no different. Listening to breaths or attempts at them was - fine.

He counted himself to be amongst the fortunate in this regard. So often others succumbed to the need to - continue something, even if it had no hopes for continuation, due to the lack of manners performing otherwise might provide. Luther found himself hoping that no matter what happened in their lives, Samuel’s sister would retain her fire. Such things were difficult to re-acquire once someone had vanquished them.

“It might be the first step in the removal of the binding lenses we all need. Little passes over the reverend mother’s mind; she would recognise what is true in curiosity and what is instead being uttered as a chance for impudence. To her, the difference is clear.” At times, he so wished he could speak of his own mother through such means, that he could share HER tendencies with those who asked. But he was grateful he had tales to share at all. “She is strong. Perhaps too much so, as she says, for it bleeds into obstinance.” 

Regardless of how she classified it, it was much needed in a darkening place, in the streets of London, which were growing quite terrible. “She is what would be considered a village elder, I do hasten to express. She has gained much wisdom in her age. I never quite comprehended the reason behind - blatant disrespect for those who have their knowledge and use it wisely. Of course, questions are welcome, but to strive to be the undoing of someone who has existed, purely and simply, longer than you have? It does not boil in my blood as a desire.”

“Maybe not unsuccessful,” he mused quietly, “simply something that would take a long time. Unfortunately, time isn’t always on our side, is it?”

It wasn’t on his side, at least. There wasn’t enough hours in the day to prepare him for sleep, not enough to keep downing sleeping tonic after sleeping tonic, or pouring over books and shaping unfamiliar words on his tongue to make sense of senseless dreams. There were days he didn’t mind the lack of time, for he took what was given to him without complaint. But that was when what he was handed were beautiful things. Nightmares and paranoia on the other hand...those were forever unwanted.

                 ( stop stop stop. take comfort, take comfort. )

He took a slow, deep breath. Changed focus, tried to keep it unwavering. But the sunlight filtering through was losing its luster --- the clouds wanted to make their presence known.

“At least she recognizes the obstinance within herself,” he said, trying to keep track of the conversation. “Being aware allows the chance for change if one desires it so. But even a little indulgence in negative traits aren’t as bad as we always think, for they balance a person. We wouldn’t be human without them.

“As for the disrespect, towards her and others her age, it is --- troubling. Proves there are different people in the word who --- should have their perspective changed. But I know Isabel isn’t one to give disrespect. Neither am I, in that regard. We share the same desire in that.”

Closing his eyes, he let out a sigh and dipped his head. He had other desires, some playing out right before him --- but they would be kept silent, frozen instead of blooming to realization. Well, all save for one, but it was one that had consequences. Yet he couldn’t stay awake forever, could he? At least Qing had arrived the day prior with what he had left behind at home.

Running a hand through his hair, he slipped the strap of his sack over his head, adjusting it as he gave Luther a small smile. “I’m afraid I have to take my leave. I can’t distract you too much from writing the rest of your letter.” Standing, he hovered for a moment, lips pressed together until he took another slow breath and asked, “We should talk again soon, though, yes? Despite the circumstances?”

[laygion]

151216 Old Nine Gates official weibo update

[aliceanders-blog1-deactivated20]

gold-faced watch Δ w. samuel

[shepherdchang]

lutherblckwood:

He had to retain concentration. All previous encounters of the night, the whirlwind dance and the bubbling audacity from fun, faded into a blurriness, a sort of indiscernible mush. To think all it took was the ignition of a spark in a single moment, a BLINDING FLASH for the entire change to take effect, to take HOLD of the body and mirror paralysis. And that was where Luther chose against his will to reside: in the middle of that forced catatonia, that lack of knowledge of where he was, what he had been doing, who was around him, where the safe place could be - all of which previously he could have swung against and dragged himself out of this from.

                  Hands upon his face. His father once                   boxed his ears for askance of a question                   that was out of line and out of character.

This touch was nothing like this. It climbed the slats of his temples, and pulled at the ribbon at the back of his head, just below the knot ( now tousled, strands of hair now plastered to the sweat-riddled forehead ) of his hair. Tugging, tugging, t u g g i n g and touching against his hands and a bringing-back-forth from the catatonia.

                                            ( He could not look up. He could not.                                                His monster would ruin everything. )

“A netherworld,” came the rasp, and he saw the remnants of a butterfly’s cocoon toppled on the floor. He recognised that - before it grew errant wings made of cobwebs and hissed a dark and guttural song against his acute ears. He winced against it. “A netherworld of creatures, a liquefied consensus of this place, everyone and no one is HUMAN, everyone is their mask. The mask comes – the masks are ALIVE. What is living, what is dead.”

A hard swallow. Then - the hands. Oh, there were the HANDS again. His head whirled, he looked against their pressure, and his vision continued to swim, but nothing harsh plagued him. The tension of the ribbon had faded, fallen to his shoulder, slid down the arm of his robe. His hands had removed themselves from his ears, where the shrieks rang out and echoed in an odd skittering sort of melodic dissonance. And there was Samuel. A face. Not a hallucination. And his own hands went to the wrists, but he did not wrench him away.

Wild gaze, flickering lashes, dark irises. “You - are yourself.” He repeated this, almost forsaken in believing such a thing. No one was themselves. He could speak no longer than this whisper. Samuel knew him. Seven years - those could not have been wasted. A heaving breath. “You - and I.” And I you. Another hard swallow. His gaze, clouded, and his frame shifting in place. But he could not move. [ Now he did not wish to. Safety was here. ]

“But I have such a terrible self.” Hoarseness, a clenching of the heartbeat. Still dizzied. The floor wished to meet him, wished to frame his expression with its cold solidarity. He swooned, gaze rolling into the back of his head before he f o c u s e d. Look at me and focus on that. “Such a terrible - self. A monster inside. And that is what I see - that monster reflected. But you - must not have drunk of it, and you are still you.” 

Samuel scanned Luther’s face, trying to see if any harm had come his way beforehand, to see how far the distress plagued the physical aspect. There was nothing save for the downward pull of lips, the scrunching of eyes shut closed. Fear was coursing through Luther, of course it was, but it was something entirely different than what Samuel was experiencing.

                                        ( Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name --- )

“Luther --- ” Samuel started, stopping once he saw his housemate open his eyes and gasp. Brows furrowed, Samuel bit his lip as he tried to make sense of the babbling. Masks coming a l i v e, a netherworldof evil --- this was not hell, but it was forming into one for the both of them.

Samuel looked down at where the masks dropped, as if their stagnant figures would provide answers to all the questions he had. He kicked them both, away, away, away.

The sensation at his wrists drew his gaze back to Luther, and despite himself, Samuel smiled. Clarity shined, if just for a moment of recognition. “We’re both okay,” he whispered, and the last syllable wobbled. “We’re okay.”

But that was a lie as well, wasn’t it? They weren’t out of the woods just yet. His eyes widened at the sight of Luther’s rolling back, and his thumb brushed along the other’s cheek. With the death-like grip Luther had on his wrists, there wasn’t much else he could do. “You do not have a terrible self,” he said when he found his voice, conviction ringing with every word. “You are not a terrible person, Luther.”

Whatever Luther was feeling right then, Samuel needed to remove him from the vicinity. There were still wails reaching a crescendo; lights of every color flashed, the crackling of spells running through the air. This wasn’t the place to calm Luther until he could think, until he could BREATHE.

“We’re going to head outside, okay? Please, let me lead you out of here.” There was no time for confirmation; even if Luther said no, Samuel would still lead. It was what he was meant for.

Gently, he pulled his hands away, slipping from Luther’s grip. But his hand only slid to Luther’s, not away, away, away. Gripping tight, he tugged, beckoning Luther to follow, to weave his way through the Great Hall. His free hand began digging in his robes for his wand, fingers trembling for a wretched second. He swallowed and took a breath. 

He would not falter. Few things could match a lynx.

[aliceanders-blog1-deactivated20]

gold-faced watch Δ w. samuel

[shepherdchang]

lutherblckwood:

He had to focus on how to B R E A T H E. Lungs tightening, abdomen clenching, the body just born to work against natural instincts, and the mind, continuing to race, attempting to uncover something tangible to which it could cling with mud-covered talons. Luther leaned into the wall, allowed for it to support him, allowed for the rest of him to be W E A K. 

                  To be weak-minded was to allow the dark wolf to win.                   He thought of hard teeth and pinned back ears, and a                   lack of recognition to those who had helped him in an                   extravagantly violent exchange to name them as enemies.

                                     GET AWAY FROM ME, YOU MONSTER!

Cries and outbursts of emotion, wands flinging damaging spells, professors attempting to get a salvageable moment out of this spiralling situation - and he could not move. He trembled, but it felt as if his limbs were locked, and his hands plastered to his head, and fingers wrapped about the base of the mask, but he could not tug at it, could not remove it. Vision blurred. This was all mad, all of it madness, all of it S I N K I N G D O W N into hellish territory. 

So this was what it felt like to die.

Then, a voice. Above his heartbeat, above his racing pulse, a voice, and it was loud, and it was there, immediate, lacking of suffering, a safe place, but even after seven years of besting the downside of the lucky coin together, Luther did not realise who it was. His head whirled, and the effects of the drink had him whirling. This night had stolen things from him.

                     And this punch had stolen seven years right from under his nose.                                    ( For that, he would hunt down and slaughter whomever did it. )

“Samuel –” The name choked out, barely above a whisper, and he forced his face to remain to the floor. “Everything is monstrous. Everyone is - I cannot –” 

He felt his arm being shaken, and his breathing sped up, and he pursed his lips with such force that he felt the sharpened ends of his teeth digging into the flesh on the inside of his mouth. 

“I know not what to do. What I see is false but it looks so real. Everything, twisted. I cannot look at you for you are not yourself. I am not myself. Please – Samuel.” 

                   [ Please take me to the safe place, I cannot find you. ]

There was a moment, where he could feel the tension in Luther’s muscles heighten, that he would have to launch himself backwards. He was already on his toes, ready to react should Luther stand and throw a fist. If seven years of friendship informed him of anything, it was that he was no match for the strength that had rippled in Luther through the years. 

Samuel didn’t want to act like that around him. He didn’t want to feel fear with someone like Luther.

He barely caught what Luther was saying, his voice so low compared to the noise surrounding them. He bent closer, loosened his grip on Luther’s arm. He didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know...

                                          I cannot look at you for you are not yourself.                                            But he WAS. He would always be Samuel.                                        ( the being had to call him something, after all )

Samuel untied the knot of ribbon at the back of his head, let the engraved butterfly wings of his mask drop to the floor. Reaching for Luther’s hands to tug them away from his ears, he said, “Luther, I don’t know what you’re seeing -- what anyone else is really seeing right now -- but if you’re saying it’s false, you need to focus on that. The danger you see is not real.”

There was a lie laced in there, for if Luther opened his eyes to the chaos, he would see how dangerous it was for them to remain still. But whatever Luther saw, whatever the first year or anyone else screaming was seeing, it wasn’t the truth. It couldn’t be.

Samuel released Luther’s hands, his own softly grabbing Luther’s face. two fingers slipped beneath the tie to the other boy’s mask, and with lips pressed together in exasperation, he quickly untied the knot. It took an extra few tugs, but once it was falling, Samuel’s hands cupped Luther’s face.

“Luther,” he said once again. “Look at me, alright? It’s me. I’m myself.” This close, he realized they weren’t that far apart in height. He always believed Luther to be so much taller. But maybe there was a greater height difference; it wasn’t showing right now because Luther looked so -- so small. “You are yourself too. A little frazzled, but still yourself. Can you look at me and focus on that?”

[shepherdchang]

lutherblckwood:

Sometimes, the should and the must and the have-been were whispers of nameless fears. That which took on a different personification before presenting itself to the public, therefore leaving individuals to their marks of English and foreign language in attempts to classify it properly. In hearing Samuel whisper of them, Luther realised no one was resilient to their persuasive charm. Eventually, that seed of FEAR wheedled its small frame into even the hardest of scales. And no world outside of these walls stretched thin enough for softened ‘Puffs, those who preferred the gardens and flocks to the penetration of shadow. Some whispered such people would be lost to the throes of the oncoming changes in the wind, shifts in the tide.

         Unfortunate for them, for it was those who remained underestimated who could rise and perform great feats for the remnants of mankind. He wanted to relieve this stress, but some of these darkening clouds could not be ignored, and to stick oneself within an ignorant frame in thinking of them was now unwise. Therefore, he allowed for it to rest between them.

“Progression,” he responded simply. “That is the upheld secret to it. If others were more willing to view it through such a unique perspective, we might be elsewhere indeed.”

He had turned most of his attentions back to the parchment when the breathless chuckle came from across the table. Immediately, he resumed his focus on Samuel’s face, which pinked too distinctively to be overlooked, and although it was not a look of lacking comfortability, it was a look Luther had not seen before. Almost as if the other knew not what to make of the words. It troubled him. Had others not said such truths before? Perhaps not, considering his class; it did not matter sometimes the nature of a person, solely their background they could not choose. It made him chuckle in return, the words that followed.

“Of course we are. It’s prudent such things are expressed.” ( Wasn’t it? ) Luther felt weighed in the area of his heart, which thudded slow, lethargic, almost as if it had forgotten how to beat. Then, just as quick as it had come over them, the moment passed.

He listened to the liveliness of Samuel’s sister and thought of the reverend mother. She had the knack for seeing beneath the exteriors and downward into places no one else thought existed to the outside world. “Alma would welcome such questions and quick-thinking. After all, she is the one responsible for - my unprecedented skill in the knowledge of words.” I am literate due to her efforts. But that was a pill of embitterment he did not wish to swallow. “She is brave, for I view such characteristics as a mark of courage rather than something with which to find fault. Alma is much the same, although she sometimes presses a hand to her heart at certain sorts of outbursts. Such is due to the nature of her position - and her age, of course. But she has a sort of - irrevocable quality of invitation. Normally, one might be hesitant to set foot in a church due to previous circumstance, but she erases such experiences.”

                            ( what might she have said to that                                               odd happenstance of lacking breath? )

“She sees merely what the heart has to offer.”

Samuel chuckled. “If everyone had that perspective, I think the divide we experience wouldn’t be so much of one.” Pursing his lips, he withheld a sigh. There was no bitterness swelling within him at the notion of their class. He was hyperaware of it, yes, for it was something he couldn’t deny, but he would not let it wholly define him. 

Still, there was always a slip of a statement. Something along the lines of --- discontentment. Perhaps Luther felt the same way,

Ah, it was no matter. The cards they had been dealt could not be discarded, only pocketed as they received more. And right then, he had to deal with the card of breathing through he could feel fading away only by a bit.

A smile lifted his lips at Luther’s statement. Prudent indeed. But Samuel did not say anything more on the matter. He let the moment pass, snatching a piece to tuck away for later. With the sun warming the table, his attention never wandering from the conversation, the dilemma of Luther’s letter, an image of two and two conversing --- he could rely on this memory keeping him awake so nightmares would stay at bay.

The smile transformed to a beam, and this time, he let loose a sigh of relief. “That’s wonderful to hear! Isabel doesn’t have the sense to gauge people’s change of emotion when it comes to her asking questions, so it’s always a bit worrying when it’s not me. Brave she may be, but she lives as such without considering who she is speaking to.” He paused for a moment. His vision shifted; Isabel being chided in the village, snarled at for speaking out of turn. A blink, and then it was gone. 

With a quick breath, he continued. “Your reverend mother sounds kind. Strong -------- A wonderful person.” He wondered what her presence could have done for the village, if her words would have been any different from the local priest. “It takes a long time to reach the point of looking at what a heart has to offer, I imagine. I commend her for such a feat.”

gold-faced watch Δ w. samuel

[shepherdchang]

lutherblckwood:

All of the world had fallen into ruin. Marble overturned, tables scattered, familiar hands clawed at masks which no longer allowed for recognition to shine through. Those who had D R A N K had been unable to remain in the land of the living and so cowered in this shadow-realm. Think that the punch was supposed to be a method of security and fascination? False. 

Now it was a redeemer of virtue, a harrowing decline into vice. No one knew one another, all had their stranger-face impaled with the thoughts of illusions and twisted skeletons and the hard laughter of impenetrable expressions. Robes torn. Dresses ruined. The punch bowl taken, confiscated, disappeared, perhaps never there at all, and others SCRAMBLING for a glimpse of their stolen reality. The universe spun itself about on its axis - and Luther Blackwood, he who had prided himself so immensely on retaining control, was right in the centre of it.

His head spun. His breath came in scrambled gasps, and though it was not near a full moon, its light seemed to waffle through his head, cause his brain to halt in its thinking. He could hear his individual heartbeats, riotous and filthy against his chest, and his blood racing. Someone ran past him, someone grabbed his shoulder, he saw the echoes down into the cavern of a yawning mouth and elongated teeth and shook it off, putting his hands in front of him.

He could not even bring himself to APOLOGISE.

                                      This had turned him into something ghastly.

Perhaps the room spun, perhaps it did not, but his own visualisation of the environment tilted and toppled and made his hands slap hard against the nearest flat surface, prints pressing into the cobblestone. He would stain it with blood, be stained with it. Get AWAY, all of you monsters - and if they had been turned into malevolent creatures, when that was he, half BEAST and no longer man, panting as if he was about to shed this human form?

He exchanged his hands for his spine to the wall, he pressed them instead to his ears, and he pushed down the high-pitched, agonised and frightful whine bubbling in the back of this throat. Nothing was safe. Nothing was human. Nothing was real.

There were very few things that could match a lynx.

The way the other students spoke of lesser jobs, Samuel knew they didn’t truly think of the dangers that came with protecting a flock. With no dog, with no other shepherd on a horse to act as a scout, he was only person who could stand between a predator and his sheep. Samuel was lucky; he had only faced a lynx once. But the stories of those injured -- or worse -- always came to mind in reflection when he remembered staring into the eyes of the predator.

He could liken the gaze to that of the I N F E R I during the memorial.

But now --- he had been dancing with a first year Hufflepuff, guiding her through the steps taught at the mandatory dance lessons. There were smiles, laughter. And then her eyes widen, her body jerking back as she lifted her hand from his shoulder. He had narrowly missed her swipe at him, nails turning to claws, and he released her.

                                        get away, get away, G E T  A W A Y!

Too many students were screaming the same phrase; too many students were withdrawing their wands, spells on the tips of their tongues. The first year had ran off, wails bleeding throughout the room, and Samuel would have ran after her if another students hadn’t tried to shove him away.

Hunger led a wild animal to conduct acts of violence every day. And yet fear was worse, for it drove the kindest of souls to the same violence.

Samuel was staring into too many gazes with the same look, and he couldn’t battle them all at once. But he could at least try one by one.

Heartbeat thundering in his ears, he weaved through the crowd, trying to find another person who wasn’t screaming, who wasn’t reaching for another’s face in an attempt to harm. When he tripped, though, he straightened to find the sight of another housemate.

                                           ( he would know that tall frame wherever and whenever )

His steps hurried, though he was slow in reaching a hand out when he drew near. “Luther,” he called, loud enough to be heard over the din of wailing. ( loud enough to block out the resounding wail echoing in his own mind ). He shook Luther’s arm, b e g g i n g him to look up. “Luther, are you okay?”

[shepherdchang]

seraphina-bones:

Seraphina was so lost in her work that she did not notice when a familiar face stood before her. It wasn’t until he said something that she startled from her trance, dropping the pen she had been working with. “Samuel! You startled me!” But despite the small surprise, she smiled to show there was no rue seriousness in her words. 

“I was drawing that person over there.” She pointed behind him to a girl–younger than herself, from the looks of it–pouring over a book. “I felt the need to reward myself with a small break. With added dance lessons to our regular class schedules, I needed a moment to breathe. But please, join me!” she insisted, motioning to the open seat beside her. 

He jumped himself when Seraphina startled, though he was the first to recover as he snatched her pen from the ground. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to surprise you.” Biting his lip, he then offered a small smile, offering the younger girl’s pen to her.

His gaze then flicked to where Seraphina pointed. At the sight of the girl reading, he tilted his head, memorizing general features. Temptation called to him, and he answered as he snuck a glance at Seraphina’s drawing.

It was coming together pen stroke by pen stroke. There was talent hidden in those lines.

Shaking his head, he quickly sat at Seraphina’s offer, making sure to keep the dress robes from brushing the ground. “Ah, I believe everyone needs a break. But to think, the dance classes are close to being finished. All we have to do now is showcase what we’ve learned at the ball.” A short laugh sounded. “It’s going to be a sight, don’t you think?”

[shepherdchang]

lutherblckwood:

Words were fickle creatures. Coming and departing as they so wished, leaving behind ghostly residue and little else. When Samuel took a moment, Luther held his breath, for who knew the state of the words which would ultimately be chosen? Then the explanation came, and dropped itself with all the caution of depositing gold pieces into one’s delicate purse, wishing that luck remains on one’s side so that none of them spill onto the precarious ground. He listened with as an equal amount of caution as he could manage in return. It was what Samuel deserved, when in most situations, no one allowed others to gain themselves, their bearings. 

Luther wanted to provide him with this escape. It seemed to be working - and he was grateful for this. He leaned backwards in his chair a little, put down his quill, clasped his hands.

“I can see your point. Perhaps it is simpler to refrain from assigning blame rather than spending a tonne of vibrational energies against assigning blame to all. Perhaps it is also simpler to stick to what we realise we, ourselves, could have done to make a change. But then we must not let ourselves dwell upon what might have happened, for this is an unfortunate carrier of events that has been started and finished to a certain apex. Now, we must concentrate on what we can do as individuals for the future, whether it involves progression, prevention, or otherwise.”

So was his returning claim. He was not as CAUTIOUS as Samuel was, at least not in manners of hesitance and thinking. Instead, his manifested in his roundabout explanations. He found no harshness in Samuel’s words: merely the staccato voice of a quick-stream conscience.

“– And I you.” There was no such a concept as being too forward amongst men. But still he felt somewhat - chastened, as if he had done something, overstepped a boundary in speaking this truth. It began as a clench of the stomach, dissolved into a strange air in the veins. “It would be an honour for you to make her acquaintance; she would quite adore you. And I have no doubt it would be the same towards your sister.”

He, too, wished to cling to this - so he did. “What is she like?”

Many times he was able to hold his own in debates. He had proven it within the first week at school with the Slytherin girl. But those conversations were always subtlety defined with worry for him; he always wanted to be heard, to have arguments that others wouldn’t dismiss. Though this fear rarely came to reality, it had happened often in his younger years. And he knew the reason why.

Yet with Luther -- the doubt was still there, lingering in the back of his mind, but it shrunk to something easily swept away when in the presence of his housemate. Perhaps it was because they’ve had conversations like the one they shared right then, perhaps it was because Luther showed he wasn’t like that ---- whatever the reason, there was comfort in knowing Luther would listen and soak what Samuel said to him.

Closing his eyes for a brief moment, he opened them and gave a flickering smile. “The should’s and the must’s,” he exhaled in a whisper. Then, stronger and louder, “I agree wholeheartedly. Dwelling, in the long run, inhibits more than it heals. Once the lessons are found to do and know better, taking those steps forward to what you mention is key for a better future.”

                                  ( and now, it was done.                                            he could not dwell any longer.                                                 the lessons were learned. )

Leaning back against his chair once more, he forced his shoulders to ease under the tension that had built there. And then, when he met Luther’s gaze, the image of four he had created still slowly forming in his mind, he watched the boy’s lips part and -----

                                                                and i you

The reaction began in his chest, the heat crawling upwards from there, to his neck, and finally pooling at his cheeks. A breathless chuckle sounded, and his head dipped when he scratched the back of his neck.

He knew what to say to Isla when she shared a similar sentiment. But it wasn’t the same at all, in the end, and Samuel was taken off-guard.

“That’s good, I suppose, since I consider us friends,” he soon said once he managed to take a breath. “It would be quite awkward if one of us didn’t share the same feeling, wouldn’t it?”

Running a hand through his hair, he licked his lips. “My sister is lively. Very bright for being a girl stuck in a house or the yard every day. Sensible, though open like a book. She’s only fifteen, though, and the environment we live in -- she doesn’t interact with a divide of classes as much as I do here. She finds no fault in showing her entire ocean of emotions all at once.” Smile softening once again, he picked at a loose thread poking through his robes. “I miss her thirst for knowledge. When I learn something new, I always want to tell her immediately. She would have a lot of questions for your reverend mother, for I’m sure her experiences in the church are different than what we have at home. Would your reverend mother be patient in her answers, though?”

[shepherdchang]

He was lingering near the tarot reading for the third time that night. Professor Pettigrew had already met his gaze twice, beckoned him to join, but Samuel had yet to stand in line for the odd psychic reading. Divination in general wasn’t his strongest class, and the thought of cards spelling out whatever he sought left him -- struggling. Though Samuel was one to seek understanding for what didn’t make sense, there was always a stutter in his step when it came to the journey of Divination’s unknown.

Yet --- he had the same dream for over a year now. Barely anything had changed with it, save for the heightening v i o l e n c e. If he was to wake sweating and his whole body shaking from the staggering fear every night for the rest of his life ------

                                                  he would go insane.

A tarot reading promised a form of an answer. Something to stop that dream from pounding against the forefront of his mind again and again. But --- it wasn’t exactly a promise, was it? He could be reaching for nothing at all, couldn’t he?

Closing his eyes for a thundering heartbeat, he quickly turned, and jumped at the sight of someone behind him

“A, bù qiánxíng!” he hissed. An immediate blush stained his cheeks, and he bowed his head. “My apologies,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean to snap -- I was the one who almost ran into you.”

[shepherdchang]

seraphina-bones:

It was a beautiful day out, the sun rays falling perfectly the courtyard while a soft breeze flew through the air. Seraphina had just finished her dance lessons for the day, and though she should have probably been working on school work, she decided she would work on some sketching. After all, she felt she had done a decent enough of a job in her lessons today that she could reward herself the break. 

Taking an empty seat in the courtyard, Seraphina’s eyes searched for her next subject. They landed on someone sitting not to far from her, their profiled facing her. The way the sun shined an breeze slightly ruffled their hair was perfect. Quickly taking out her sketch book, she began to draw, carefully drawing the lines and watching the person before, glad they weren’t moving around too much. She let herself get lost in her drawing, her mind slowly shutting down, her senses losing their sense, until it was just her and her sketch book. 

There was a debilitating pressure when it came to approaching other for help. It was part of his life, part of his status. The circumstances would not change anytime soon.

But --- so what? So what if his voice dropped when Professor Gaunt raised a brow at him? So what if the color of the robes he now carried were faded with age? So what? He was not drowning in his circumstances; he was working with them, living because of them.

It didn’t matter that he had to excuse himself early from dance lessons to meet with Professor Gaunt in the courtyard as the older man was collecting ingredients. It didn’t matter that the shame was still tapping his shoulder, adding itself to his exhaustion ( and p a r a n o i a ) as he clutched the borrowed dress robes tighter to his chest. There was no room for bitterness, and he would shake it off as easily as he had in the past.

There was positivity to be found in every aspect of life.

Still, it didn’t mean he wouldn’t snatch a distraction when the opportunity presented itself. Though there were still errands to complete and rush through before the throes of students headed to the masquerade, when Samuel recognized a familiar figure with her head bowed --- well, he changed his objective.

He was careful in approach, waiting to see if Seraphina would notice his presence before he said anything. But when a few moments ticked by, he bent forward, careful not to look at her sketchbook, and murmured, “What are you drawing, Seraphina?”

[shepherdchang]

isleblack:

She giggled when he knocked against her elbow with his, her cheeks blooming red at his mention of her improvement in her marks. “I suppose so. I’m getting better grades, but I still don’t understand most of it. I think that I’m still at the bottom of the class.” She shrugged, a small smile tugging at her features. “Well. People have different skills! I’m glad that there are people out there that are skilled in Charms, because I am not.” Her giggles returned in full-force, puncuating the end of her sentence, before settling down into a large smile at his kindness. “Thank you, Samuel, for your offer and for your letter. I am so grateful, both to you and for you.” She beamed up at him, bright and unwavering. “How are your classes going? Please do let me know if you need someone to revise with!”

At the burst of her giggles, he let loose a chuckle. This was the sound that should always fill the halls of Hogwarts. How it resonated and shined toward the darkest corners on the stretch of stone.

“While you’re right that people have different skills they’re proficient at, I know you’ll become just that with a magical subject by the time you graduate!” he said with conviction. “And you don’t know if you’re in the bottom of the class, so I say don’t worry. For all you know, you’ve climbed to a rank much higher than expected.”

Then a warm smile crossed his features, and he shook his head. “Thank you for being so willing to learn and a joy to each! Truly, spending time with you always makes me laugh! So I extend the same sentiment: I am grateful to and for you, Isla.”

At the mention of his classes, a rare, dramatic sigh passed his lips. “Oh Isla, I fear Defense Against the Dark Arts will play out the same way as every year. Professor Han had such a look of disappointment already, and classes have barely started!” Shrugging, he soon laughed. “But i feel the other classes will be manageable, though I will probably take you up on revising and reviewing again. There is nothing late-night reviews won’t fix!”

[shepherdchang]

silaslongbottom:

Silas was never much of a dancer. Sure, his mother had made sure he new every step known to man and wizard alike, but after years of being forced to perform like a trick pony, he had cooled to the concept. Still, he liked the idea of an escape from the tedium of classes, and there was something about a disguise that was, well, intriguing, and Silas figured if nobody could recognize him, he might as well do a bit of poking around.

For this moment, he stood in the Great Hall, watching dancers spin by. He was prepared, a flask of cheap Muggle whiskey in one pocket, to sneak sips from on the sly, and maybe offer to a pretty wix who passed. As far as he could tell, the professors were occupied, or at least not looking for him, so he lazily removed the flask from his pocket.

“Care for a sip?”

He resisted the urge to run his fingers through his hair. Slicked back for the evening, Samuel had to admit when he caught his reflection that, when there was no hair blocking his forehead, he was ---

Well, he could pass for someone else.

Which was the point of the event, wasn’t it? At least for a few moments, the masks were meant to create a false air. Once people spoke, the illusion cracked. But those few seconds were meant for pretend, weren’t they?

He pressed the corners of his mask against his skin for the fifth time that night. Pretend would last longer if his one costume piece stayed in place.

Forgoing the next dance, there was an attempt to calm his breathing as he lingered at the outskirts. A twitch of a smile crossed his features as a laughing couple passed him, as he brushed leaves from the air before they could touch his hair. 

Such wonder of happiness. This was a good event to have, to recover from the memorial, to f o r g e t if just for a moment and a good event for a ----- drink?

Taken aback, it took too long for him to recognize a flask dangled before him and for his gaze to meet the one who was offering. “Ah, no thank you!” he blurted out, the breath he had finally caught relinquishing in a whoosh. Clearing his throat, he bowed his head, a small smile appearing in apology. “Thank you for the offer, though. I imagine others might take you up on it later in the evening, if only to make it through the night.”