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august 28th, 2023 [ministry of magic] ben&♈♈♈

Ben sat perched upon a bench on the edge of the Ministries' atrium, rolling his wand between his fingers, and wishing he might be anywhere else in the world. He breathed out a sigh, low words coming out within the air. "Nothing quite says fun like the ministry in the summer time."

#iidystarter #[chat: starter]#[event: past week]

❖ ❤

❖ Describe their Hands

Long and thin. That’s the two words Benjamin would choose if he had to depict his hands to anyone else. They’re long and thin. Simple. Plain.

They’re soft of course, the boy has never worked a hard day in his life, how could his hands be anything but soft? He has callouses on his right hand though, on his forefinger from holding his quills, and his skin is peppered in scars.

He doesn’t always remember how they got there. The scars, that is. One came from the time Eleanor ran over his hand while they were skating (he’d always been better on the ice than his sister, but of course the one time he’d fallen she’d managed to scar him.) Another comes from his time in Borgin and Burkes, the first summer after he’d lost his sight and he couldn’t remember what his hands looked like—(he still doesn’t, couldn’t tell you if he tried, but he can feel the scars this time)—when he ran into the counter and dropped the glass piece he’d been carrying.

He’d insisted he could clean it up himself, but he swiped a piece over his palm while searching, and had ended up with a long scar along the life line of his palm. He still runs his fingers over it from time to time, wondering if it looks as harsh as it feels.

His parents tell him his hands are strong. They come from his grandfather, a man of tall stature and hearty build who’s fingers danced over pianos, and raised wands against enemies. He could play piano if he tried—he learned when he was young, (just another set of skills to add to his resume), but he thinks his shaking fingers would look rather silly trying to play a beautiful song.

Benjamin can’t remember his hands, can’t remember what they look like, doesn’t know if they’re different from when he last saw them. He can feel them though, can feel their softness, feel the way they shake and tremble, how they trail along walls, and spin quills and wands. He knows they’re long and thin, knows they come with a family lineage, but thinks they’re incredibly plain.

❤ describe how they show affection.

Yaxley’s are not affectionate people. They shake hands with firm grasps. Kiss cheeks and foreheads on holidays. Place hands on knees in comfort. They are cold and crass in their emotions. They teach their children to keep their feelings inside, don’t say what you feel, don’t feel what you do.

But Ben is a boy desperate to be loved. He won’t seek affection, he’s been conditioned not to. Not to expect it, not to give it, not to have it. But he’s been loved, and he does love, and when he truly cares for a person he gives them what he can.

He doesn’t have full use of his senses, not like most people do. His heavy reliance on touch leads him to be careful with his hands—but also to give them more importance than some other people. He likes to interlock his fingers with loved ones, likes to run his thumb over the ridges of their knuckles, likes to grab their hands and press his lips to their open palms.

Ben is not known in affection, doesn’t have an affinity for kisses or playing with hair. But he likes to lean on others, place his forehead against their’s and just be, likes to feel their breathing mingle together, likes to run his nose along their cheek, to skim his lips over their cheek, run his thumb along their cheekbones.

He’s not one for wandering hands, up shirts or down pants, but his like to make a home on the tops of hipbones. Thumbs running along their curves and dips. He likes to lie in bed and curl his arms around their waist, to pull them close and bury his nose in their neck.

Yaxley’s by nature are not affectionate people, but Ben is a boy that needs to know what love feels like.

#[headcanon]

spiritscalling

Headcanon Meme Time!

⌆ a nervous tic or habit they do

⏀ describe their usual smile

⇅ do they look up or down while thinking?

❧ describe their usual sleeping position

✑ describe something they like without naming it

✜ what’s their posture like in a normal situation?

❖ describe their hands

❞ write a quote they would find themselves saying

§ how would their hair gray? or would they lose their hair first?

❤ describe how they show affection.

✭ what is one of their favorite items?

#[ask meme]

“Better to die on one’s feet than to live on one’s knees.” | “We are our choices.” | “Fear? If I have gained anything by damning myself, it is that I no longer have anything to fear.”

"That sounds like something someone might say when they expect things to go wrong—when they expect you to live just to die. I—I don’t want to die lying down, letting people that don’t deserve to live survive; but, I would think it better not to die at all." He’d laugh lightly, his head shaking. "Maybe I’m just being naive."

“And?" His fingers were shaking, hovering over the artifact he held oh so carefully in his lap. “I know that Medea, I know.” His head would tilt downwards, long fingers wrapping themselves around the piece he held. “We are the culmination of the decisions we make, but what decisions did I make to be put in this place? What decisions did I make to make someone I never knew want to harm me? And why—” His voice would crack, the object in his hands shaking violently. “Why am I continuing to make choices that harm people? I—I don’t want to hurt anyone Dea, so why, why do we? Why do I?”

His fingers would scratch at the wood of the countertop, running along the grain of the wood with his nail. His head would be tilted over, leaning along the edge of the counter, listening as Medea spoke. “Does that come with time?” The words would come out quietly, his movements never faltering, while his heart rate rose steadily. Medea would pause in her words, and he’d wish he hadn’t spoken. “I mean—being fearless, having nothing to be afraid of.”

His shoulders would shift, tongue running over his bottom lip. “You say it comes from being damned, but I think, I think I’ve been damned enough to qualify. And yet,” he sigh, his fingers pausing in their ministrations, so that his hand could fall flat on the counter’s surface. “And yet I’m still so afraid.”

#[prompt]#[medea nott]

“Fear? If I have gained anything by damning myself, it is that I no longer have anything to fear.” (Emilio)

"If I could be so brave as to believe you, then maybe I’d have no fears myself." His lips would turn downwards, his fingers running upwards along his own neck. "We all have fears, to say anything otherwise just makes you a liar, or a fool."

#[prompt]#[emilio d'eath]

roleplayaskmemes

Jean-Paul Sartre starter sentences - put one in my ask! (Part one)

“Commitment is an act, not a word.”

“Man is condemned to be free; because once thrown into the world, he is responsible for everything he does.”

“Freedom is what you do with what’s been done to you.”

“If you are lonely when you’re alone, you are in bad company.”

“We must act out passion before we can feel it.”

“Hell is other people.”

“Life begins on the other side of despair.”

“One cannot become a saint when one works sixteen hours a day.”

“I hate victims who respect their executioners.”

“When the rich wage war, it’s the poor who die.”

“Three o’clock is always too late or too early for anything you want to do.”

“Everything has been figured out, except how to live.”

“A lost battle is a battle one thinks one as lost.”

“One always dies too soon or too late. And yet, life is there, finished: the line is drawn, and it must all be added up. You are nothing other than your life.”

“Words are loaded pistols.”

“I have no need for good souls: an accomplice is what I wanted.”

“As far as men go, it is not what they are that interests me, but what they can become.”

“Fear? If I have gained anything by damning myself, it is that I no longer have anything to fear.”

“Words are more treacherous and powerful than we think.”

“I’m going to smile, and my smile will sink down into your pupils, and heaven knows what it will become.”

“Better to die on one’s feet than to live on one’s knees.”

“We are our choices.”

“There may be more beautiful times, but this one is ours.”

“She believed in nothing. Only her scepticism kept her from being an atheist.”

“In love, one and one are one.”

“Only the guy who isn’t rowing has time to rock the boat.”