Fandom Hogwarts // CS Thread

[snowyleopard]

welcome everyone to the CS thread for Hogwarts! Below you'll find some premade forms! You are welcome to use a code for your form(s) if you would like but it's not required at all!

PREMADE STUDENT FORM:

Spoiler

Image Goes Here
Full Name
Nicknames
Age
Gender
Pronouns
FaceClaim

Do They Play Quidditch?
If Yes, What Quidditch Position Do They Have?
What Hogwarts House Are They In?
What Year Are They In?
Patronus
Amortentia
Boggart
Blood Status

Personality (traits or paragraphs)
Backstory/History : optional!

Pet(s)
Wand
Special Abilities
Least Favorite Class
Most Favorite Class
Are They in any Clubs?
Role (example would be them being a prefect)

Sexuality Orientation
Romantic Orientation
Relationships - Relationships with OCs go here
Headcanons / Fun Facts

PREMADE PROFESSOR FORM

Spoiler

Image Goes Here
Full Name
Nicknames
Age
Gender
Pronouns
FaceClaim

Patronus
Wand Type
Do They Sponsor Any Clubs?
Are They a Head of House
Boggart
Blood Status
Pet(s)
Amortentia

Personality (traits or paragraphs)
Backstory/History : optional!

Special Abilities
What Do They Teach?
What Hogwarts House Were They In?

Sexuality Orientation
Romantic Orientation
Relationships - relationships with OCs go here
Headcanons / Fun Facts

 

[dowagers]

• circe
• mason
• cregan

• cersei sówka

  ❛ head girl ❜

  never love an anchor

  the crane wives

  i am all the things they might have said to you.

  code by opaline

  it would have buried you

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    general

    name

    cersei marguerite sówka.
    

    nickname

    
    ✷ circe / a common nickname that is used a lot more than her actual name. there is something comforting about being referred to this; it’s as if people actually care about her enough to shorten her name to say it faster. It’s not true, she knows. but still, it feels nice.
    ✷ ce / sei / pronounced as sea. less common than the others, but still it’s here. her mother is the one that used this name the most. as beautiful and dangerous as the sea, her mother used to say. perhaps that is why circe finds it uncomfortable.
    

    age

    eighteen. december 14th.
    

    gender

    transfeminine / non-binary.
    ✷ mainly uses she/her, but doesn’t mind they/them or various of other pronouns including neopronouns. she is much like her father in this regard; the way people perceive her is amusing and people can use just about anything for her and it won’t rattle her one bit. and if anyone doesn’t like how she expresses herself when it comes to gender, well, just like her namesake, she is very fond of turning people into animals with the spells has learned over the years.
    
    ✷ above all, circe is a women even if she doesn’t fully view herself as human/mortal. pronouns don’t equal gender and that’s especially true for circe. it doesn’t matter what pronoun she uses in the moment, she is always going to be a woman.
    

    sexuality

    unlabeled.
    
    ✷ circe may not be experienced in the arts of romance, but she is far from naive. she finds herself suspicious of others flirting with her, much less actually taking an interest in her, and that makes her wary when it comes to romance. she is convinced that most people want something from her; the thought that someone can be genuinely fond of her, much less fond enough of her to want to hold her hand or kiss her or actually be with her, doesn’t even pass her mind. any romance with her would be a slow-burn. oblivious to love, not because she is unaware, but because she refuses to admit that she isn’t as above it as she thought she was.
    
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    appearance

    height

    6'0".
    

    in depth

    cersei is a woman of striking presence, one who commands attention not with brute force but with the effortless grace of someone who knows exactly who she is. she moves with the ease of a woman who has never doubted her own worth, her steps deliberate, fluid, always with an air of unshaken confidence. she does not hurry—there is no need. the world bends to her, drawn in by her warmth, her fire, her undeniable magnetism. she carries herself with the casual elegance of a sun-drenched princess, someone who has never had to demand a room's attention because it is given freely, instinctively, the moment she enters.
    
    her face is angular, with sharply defined cheekbones and a strong jawline that seems forever set in determination. her skin carries a sun-kissed hue, freckled lightly across her cheeks and nose, and there’s a permanent fatigue in her gaze—eyes that are a dark, icy blue, but still intense, as though they are constantly assessing, constantly calculating. her voice draws ears, low and velvety, with an undercurrent of authority that demands respect without needing to raise her tone. still, her tone is calm, and it can shift to something more personal when she allows it, like a switch from a head girl to just circe, vulnerable and open.
    
    her hair is a sandy blonde, light and somewhat unruly, falling just past her ears and always in need of a quick brush to keep it out of her face. she doesn't bother much with grooming beyond keeping it out of her eyes, allowing the wind and the constant motion to tousle it into a natural, windswept look. when she speaks, her hair will often fall across her forehead, and the habit of pushing it back with a hand, sometimes impatiently, betrays her confident nature, ever preoccupied with the next task at hand.
    
    when others see her, they notice her stoic demeanor first. she carries herself with a quiet confidence that borders on arrogance. her expression is often set in a serious, sometimes unreadable mask, her lips pursed in thought or contemplation. her eyes, though sharp and intense, are not quick to show warmth, though those who know her well can detect the rare flicker of emotion—whether it’s a hint of humor, frustration, or vulnerability. when she’s focused, circe is all business—her movements purposeful and efficient, her gaze never wavering, her attention never straying. yet, when she’s at ease, perhaps with close friends or in the company of those she trusts, there’s an ease to her movements, a lightness to her steps. it's not that obvious—but it is there.
    

    faceclaim

    alex consani.
    
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    persona

    personality

    cersei sówka is many things. a fierce burning anger, a bleeding heart dripping onto the floor, a playful tilt to a voice. she is almost confident and cocky to the point of foolishness, but the truth is that she can afford to take that gamble. everything about her screams power: the echo of her voice, the tingling of her skin, her intense eyes. she is the wild forest: a force not to be reckoned with. defiant to almost a fault, circe is almost wild with her passion, unafraid with the power that is on her hands. she is a very extroverted person, determination clings to her eyes like it belongs there. people are part of the reason why she is even like this in the first place. she is wild with her intentions to help and save. people are important and they are all she, and everyone else, has. she isn’t the type to give up easy. she isn’t the type to run and hide from danger.
    
    cersei is fierce: she is gritted teeth and flashing eyes. an almost animalistic quality to her. she is almost always angry even when it doesn’t seem like it. an anger is always bubbling up inside her, always festering. she is blunt, and while she doesn’t want or mean to hurt others feelings, she tends to anyway because of her lack of filter. because she can’t help but snap in anger when she’s really just worried or afraid. when she can’t help but growl and bite as if she is a cornered dog. she is an impulsive little witch, committing to things as soon as it enters her head. not allowing her mind a place for doubt or insecurity. A lot of people mistake cersei sówka as the brawn, and while that is true in some cases, it’s not completely the point.
    
    cersei is clever in ways that aren’t expected. she is obsessed with witch history and spells. she is far more knowledgeable about books than you would expect since circe is not the type to sit around and read. she doesn’t think of herself as smart or clever, but the way she thinks is just unusual to the point that it circles into something far more intelligent than she realizes. she is fiercely protective and loyal to people, especially to those around her, and that’s another thing people don’t expect. cersei seems like a stray animal, a wild one, one that shouldn’t be tied down. but the truth is that she craves love and affection like a stray dog craves a good life but is just scared.
    
    the thing with cersei is that she will always give her life up for another. It’s what she was raised to be: a protector. and she takes that seriously. she would sacrifice herself for the greater good every time. it's gotten to a point that she almost doesn’t care about herself. she doesn’t care if she’s hurt or if she’s endangered as long as no one else is. she will pick the world, people, animals over herself every single time. and she has made peace with that. the fact that she is going to die at some point in her life, doesn’t scare her anymore. instead it makes her at ease. if she doesn’t have anything, at least, she has this. she has death like an old friend that is patiently waiting for her.
    
    cersei may not seem the type, but she is an optimist person. a kind one that isn’t full of gentleness and softness. she is full of roughness and sharp edges, but that doesn’t take away from that fact that she is kind and well-meaning. she uses the future as a tool for greatness, not a tool to look for doom and wallow in her own misery. she is someone that takes action. someone that wants and gets things done regardless of the consequences. she is a wild thing with sharp teeth and sharp claws, but she will never be a monster. she will not be the vile person that everyone expects her to be with her harsh words and rough winds. the end always justifies the means, her father tells her, but she thinks his words are lacking. she believes that the world that they have right now matters more than a potential future that she sees. the future is always changing, but the present is here right now.
    
    cersei may be harsh, but she is a fierce bleeding heart. she can find herself becoming sympathetic to almost any cause. she is retracted claws around those that are hurting even if she doesn’t know exactly what to say. she wasn’t made for comforting words. she is trying to control her anger and it shows with every softened word she says. circe is a wild kind of playfulness: a crooked grin and teasing words. her eyes lighting up for a challenge or simply bickering. she finds it easy to purposefully go back and forth with people: a sweet, youthful charm clinging to her words. she is like a dog purposefully shaking the wet off their fur, playful in a disarming way. cersei is also someone that becomes defensive quickly. she doesn’t like others pitying her. she doesn’t like when people get in her way. she doesn’t like people caring about her. it makes her feel wary with tight shoulders and a tighter feeling in her chest. cersei sówka can care about others, but doesn’t understand why they would care for her back. it’s uncomfortable.
    

    likes

    the moon and stars. stargazing. the late night hours. quiet places. outdoors. the vastness of the forest. the murmur of the wind through the trees. summertime. autumn. bonfires. reading by candlelight. literature. poetry. storytelling. sketching in solitude. acoustic guitar music. the slow hum of forgotten hymns. childhood memories, faded but never quite gone. astronomy, searching for something that can’t be found. strategy games, the slow burn of calculated moves. herbal tea, though it never quite soothes. whiskey, dark and heavy like old regrets. lavender scent, carried on a summer breeze. vanilla scent, like memories of a home that never felt like one. cooking, a desperate attempt at normalcy. baking, so the kitchen always feels too cold. footsteps on wooden floors that creak under the weight of silence. rare trinkets, relics of a time long passed. cats, with their knowing eyes and silent paws. confronting her father, a battle fought in whispers. pine scent, wrapped in the fog of a forgotten memory. earth after rain, damp and clinging to the past. sunrise, though it feels more like the beginning of a long, aching night. vengeance, sweeter than anything she’s ever tasted. blankets, pulled tight but never enough to keep the cold at bay. freedom, elusive and fleeting, just out of reach.
    

    dislikes

    betrayal. dishonesty. false promises. helplessness. feeling vulnerable. emotional displays. the idea of “fate” or “destiny,” twisted ideas that never led her to any good. lawmen. sheriffs. cowards. those who look down on her, as if they know her better than she knows herself. overconfidence, loud and unearned. crowded places, where people think they know the way. nosy people, poking into places they shouldn’t. sleeping in unfamiliar places, away from the cold comfort of her own. foctors. medical professionals, with their sterile hands and empty promises. hospitals, places that never healed. cold nights, when the shadows creep too close. wintertime, like the sówka family’s heart—bitter, frozen. fake promises of hope, empty words that echo in hollow places. exploitation, the way others make use of what’s left. forgiveness as a virtue, a weakness she can't afford. bugs, crawling, relentless, much like the whispers about her. insubordination, the refusal to kneel to anyone. exhaustion, that weight that hangs over every thought. sneezing, a small weakness that could be used against her. reptiles, slithering things that make her skin crawl.
    

    fears

    list here
    
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    background

    cersei sówka was raised knowing what she is. there was no moments of uncertainly or even fear. her father was a powerful wizard while her mother was an ordinary woman. a lot of her childhood felt like a tug of war: her father pushing her farther and farther into the world of magic and her mother desperately pulling her back. her father was a protector of witches, a man that prides himself in his magic with his cocky grin. her mother and father could only love each other so much and it wasn’t shocking when they went their separate ways. and little circe looked her mother, who loved her so much, who cersei hated for no reason other than the whispers of her father: who complained that her mother was trying to keep her away from her destiny, and she choose her father over her. the heartbreak and anguish in her eyes when cersei grabbed her father’s hand still haunts her when she is trying to sleep.
    
    cersei sówka was destined for greatness, her father claimed. loud to the point that there was no way to refute him. He was a seer, and his powers far surpassed hers, and yet, held to the same regard. she was born to be a protector, to lie down her life for a greater evil, he said with wild arms moving every direction. and her, small and clinging to his words, thought that this was her life now. she was born to die: that is what the fates has decided for her. and who is she to fight fate? to argue about something that is beyond her control?
    
    as circe got older, her father’s aloofness to her started to become clear. he was down a path of self righteousness and he didn’t have time for the child he had. she was raised by many people, mostly friends of her father, and still. she never quite got used to it. one of his friends explained to her that he didn’t want to get attached to a child that he thought was going to die. he was afraid for a child that he hasn’t even lost yet. but cersei still isn’t sure that she completely believes that. her father has always been a wanderer, a man haunted by his visions of the future, a man that hides his hauntedness with charming words.
    
    she hasn’t seen her mother since the day she choose her father over her. she isn’t sure if she deserves to, but she still thinks of her. thinks of the way she smelt like lilacs and the way she sang lullabies off-key: her voice not made for singing. cersei's childhood was spent going place to place, from wilderness from wilderness as her father preferred the woods to the city. she was like a stray dog as a child, hungry for attention and affection from anyone who wanted to give it to her. and she doesn’t think she has changed that much: she is still a stray dog, isn’t she?
    
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    miscellaneous

    blood status

    half-blood.
    

    wand

    11 ¾" sandalwood wand with wolf fur core, unyielding.
    

    house

    slytherin; 7th year & head girl.
    

    patronus

    afghan hound.
    

    amortentia

    cashmere, moss after rain, sandalwood, nail polish, and wet fur.
    

    boggart

    a vision of her mother with her new family, smiling and shiny-eyed- truly happy without her.
    
    

    favorite class

    divination.
    

    least favorite class

    flying.

    
    
• mason dagon

  ❛ the lover boy ❜

  brazil

  delcan mckenna

  well, he talks like an angel, but he looks like me.

  code by opaline

  i'm faithless now

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    name

    mason james dagon.
    

    nickname

    
    ꩜ mace / "mace" is the simplest and most common nickname for mason, used mostly by close friends. it’s short, informal, and feels natural on their tongues, especially in moments of camaraderie or casual conversation. he doesn’t mind it; it’s familiar, like an old pair of boots. when someone calls him “mace,” it reminds him of simpler times, when his world wasn’t so heavy. he’ll answer to it without hesitation, though it doesn’t stir much in his heart—it’s just a name, stripped of anything grand or significant, which sometimes feels like a relief. the people who call him “mace” actually see him—not just the golden boy, but the brother, the son, the friend. sometimes, that’s enough for him.
    ꩜ sonny / this is a rare nickname, usually used by someone trying to tease him or lighten the mood. his best friend called him sonny when they were young, giggling as he tugged on his sleeve. to mason, it feels a little too soft, too childish, like a memory that doesn’t quite fit the man he’s become. if someone calls him sonny now, he’ll let out a laugh or roll his eyes, brushing it off as harmless. still, a small part of him aches for the innocence the nickname holds. it is a name that makes him feel exposed, vulnerable in a way he doesn’t always know how to handle. yet he never asks anyone to stop saying it. deep down, he clings to it.
    

    age

    eighteen. may 14th.
    

    gender

    cisgender male and he/him.
    

    sexuality

    bisexual with a lean towards men, though he doesn't label himself rigidly. his sexuality is something that feels natural and fluid to him. mason has a carefree attitude toward his sexuality. he doesn't feel the need to hide who he is or put labels on his attractions. love and attraction are simple pleasures in his eyes, and he indulges in the pursuit of both without guilt or hesitation. his ease with flirting and the way he daydreams about new loves show that he falls for people quickly, often getting caught up in the idea of romance and the excitement of a new connection.
    
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    appearance

    height

    6'1".
    

    in depth

    mason is a man you notice without even realizing it. there’s an undeniable magnetism to him—something about the way he carries himself, effortlessly commanding attention without ever asking for it. he moves with the fluidity of someone who’s never had to worry about where he’s going, like he’s always in a hurry to get somewhere but is just as content to take his time. his posture is open and loose, like he’s ready to leap into action at any moment, yet there's a certain calm in the way he lets his body flow with the rhythm of the room.
    
    mason's face is an easy reflection of his character—sharp features softened by a casual, yet bright grin. his jaw is square, and his cheekbones stand out with a slightly angular quality, giving him an air of someone who’s been through their fair share of scrapes. his light brown hair, though neatly kept, is often tousled with that trademark look of someone who couldn’t care less about styling it. it’s thick, unruly, and slightly longer on top, it looks just like another detail he doesn’t bother to fix. his eyebrows, dark and slightly arched, are constantly expressing something, whether it’s amusement, curiosity, or the occasional challenge. his eyes, though, are where the real story lies—deep brown, sharp and focused, yet constantly flickering with something deeper. they speak volumes even when his mouth doesn’t, and there’s a restlessness in them, as if he’s always scanning the horizon for something just out of reach.
    
    there’s a natural grace in the way mason moves, one that borders on effortless, like he’s always been at ease in his own skin. his actions are fluid—whether he’s speaking to someone, gesturing with his hands, or just walking, there’s no stiffness, no hesitation. he has a way of making everything look easy, like there’s no weight in the world that could slow him down. when he’s in a group, mason is often at the center of it, not necessarily the loudest, but always the most present. he doesn’t demand attention, but it gravitates toward him anyway. his voice, when he speaks, carries an easy confidence, yet it’s warm and inviting, like someone who genuinely wants to hear what you have to say. he's the one cracking jokes, making others feel comfortable, all while paying attention to the little details—how someone laughs or the way they gesture. he's the first to make you feel like you belong, even if you're just an observer.
    
    when mason walks through a crowd, it’s almost like he’s gliding, weaving through people without breaking his stride. he doesn’t rush, but there's a purposeful nature to his movements, as if he has somewhere to be but doesn’t mind how long it takes to get there. he doesn’t shrink away or try to blend in—he simply exists, and people notice. he’s magnetic without trying, drawing the eyes of anyone around him with a quiet energy that feels both grounded and untouchable. there's a confidence in the way he steps forward, like he knows the world will make room for him, and it always does.
    
    it’s in the details that mason's true nature shines through. his movements are always fluid, never hurried, yet always purposeful. there’s a warmth in the way he interacts with others—a certain ease that invites people into his space. his laugh is a full-bodied sound that resonates in the air, contagious and carefree, the kind of laugh that makes everyone else want to join in, even if they don’t know why. there's no pretense in mason; what you see is what you get. his presence isn’t loud or demanding, but it’s the kind of presence that fills up a room without trying to. he’s the guy who could talk to anyone, make them feel like they’re the most important person in the world, and leave them smiling long after the conversation has ended.
    

    faceclaim

    silas johnson.
    
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    persona

    persona

    there's something about mason dagon that feels like a runaway breeze—always moving, never quite touchable. some people are built for stability, for foundations and fences, for the heavy weight of duty pressing down on their backs. mason? he was born to slip through cracks, to run barefoot where others build roads. he moves through life with a kind of reckless grace, as if every second is meant to be tasted, savored, and then left behind in pursuit of the next. he’s never been the type to plant roots; he’s the type to chase the horizon, to carve paths through the sky with nothing but faith in his wings. ( it’s the kind of movement that makes you wonder if he’s running from something or toward something—maybe both, maybe neither. ) he moves like he’s always searching, but searching for what exactly? he’s not entirely sure. it’s not just freedom that calls to him. it’s a kind of elusiveness, a hunger for something beyond the visible world. his spirit yearns for the intangible, for the things no one can name.
    
    but freedom, for mason, isn’t just about movement—it’s about choice. the choice to laugh when the world tells him to be serious, to feel when others tell him to harden, to embrace life without hesitation. he doesn’t believe in cages, not for himself and not for others. he’ll fight tooth and nail to keep the people he cares about from being shackled to anything they don’t want, whether it’s duty, expectation, or fear. he is a man who refuses to be held down. yet that doesn’t mean he refuses to stand still. when he stops, when he lingers, it means something. it means everything. he isn’t one for idle chatter or empty promises, but when he commits to something, or someone, it’s with an intensity that can burn, fierce and all-consuming. you can see it in the way his eyes soften when he’s with someone he trusts. the once-impetuous wildness recedes, replaced with an intensity that makes you feel like you are the most important thing in the world. he’s the kind of man who makes freedom look easy. ( but freedom has weight, and it has teeth. it requires sacrifices, compromises that you don't always see until it's too late. )
    
    mason's love is anything but casual. it is not hesitant or partial. his love is wild, untamed, full of contradictions—it can make you feel like you’re soaring, even when your feet are firmly on the ground. when he loves, it’s not in half measures. he loves fully, without restraint, with a kind of devotion that can be overwhelming. of course, there are fears—fears of being needed, of being depended on. but fear does not stop him. mason doesn’t shy away from love or its depth. if he commits to you, you will feel it—undeniably, without question. he will love you with the intensity of a storm and the warmth of the sun, with a devotion that can be both a blessing and a burden. because if there’s one thing mason understands about love, it’s that it’s worth every risk, every fall.
    
    mason laughs like the world is his for the taking—loud, unrestrained, the kind of sound that makes people want to laugh with him even when they don’t know why. his laugh is contagious, a spark that ignites the air around him, turning any room into a place of light and warmth. there's something golden about him, something that makes people lean in rather than away, something effortlessly magnetic. he has the rare ability to make anyone feel like they belong, as if their presence is the very thing he’s been waiting for. he doesn’t just meet people; he makes them feel as though they matter, as though they are seen and heard in a world that often moves too fast. some people build walls, but mason? he builds bonfires. he invites people to sit close, to share stories, to warm their hands against the glow of him. ( and that smile—so genuine, so infectious—that it feels like you’ve known him for years, even if you’ve just met. ) there’s a magnetic warmth to him, a kind of fire that can’t help but pull people in. it’s not about charm; it’s about connection. mason doesn’t try to impress; he simply wants to share.
    
    but warmth, real warmth, isn’t just about laughter. it’s in the way he listens, in the way he pays attention. he’s the kind of man who remembers the smallest things—the way your voice trembles when you talk about your dreams, the soft sparkle in your eyes when you’re telling a story that means something to you. he notices things—small things, quiet things, the things people say when they think no one is really listening. and he holds onto them, not because he has to, but because he wants to. his attention is a gift he gives freely, like sunlight spilling through an open window. he’s the kind of man who will know how you take your coffee, who will notice when your hands shake even if you pretend they don’t, who will give you his jacket without a second thought and then pretend he wasn’t cold in the first place. his love for others is tactile, not just a sentiment but an action. he expresses care through touch, through the kind of attention that makes people feel seen and important in ways they didn’t realize they were missing. there is an unspoken promise in his gestures—a quiet assurance that you are seen, you are cared for. mason isn’t just a man who offers warmth; he is warmth, poured out in endless measure, never asking for anything in return.
    
    still, for all his warmth, there’s a weight to him, too. a loneliness that lingers at the edges of his joy, like a shadow he can’t shake off. he gives so much of himself to others—his time, his laughter, his light—that sometimes, there’s nothing left for himself. people see the sunshine, the infectious joy, but they don’t always see the quiet moments when mason retreats into himself, alone with his thoughts. but even with this loneliness, mason keeps giving. he gives not because he expects anything in return, but because he believes that people are worth the sacrifice. still, there’s a part of him that wishes someone would notice the sacrifices, would see the gaps where his light flickers out and fill them with their own.
    
    mason is a walking contradiction. he is the sea—vast, wild, and unpredictable. he is the sun—radiant, powerful, and unyielding. he is both warmth and fire, a man who burns brightly but who also carries the scars of having done so for far too long. ( he is golden, wild. And maybe, just maybe, he’s still trying to figure out how to be all of those things without losing himself in the process. ) mason doesn’t need to be perfect, he doesn’t need to be invincible—he just needs to be real. and in a world that often demands the opposite, that authenticity is everything. it’s what keeps people coming back, keeps them yearning for more. his desire to love with everything he has can sometimes be his undoing, pulling him in every direction at once. he loves with an intensity that burns like the midday sun, a passion that leaves him vulnerable, exposed. but the thing about mason is that when he loves, he gives everything—every ounce of himself, every piece of his heart.
    
    mace holds space for others in a way that is almost sacred. it’s as if he knows that to love someone is not to just admire their strengths but to accept their weaknesses, to see their flaws and still choose them, every single time. his empathy is like a magnet—people find themselves drawn to him when they are at their lowest, needing someone who doesn’t flinch at their brokenness. he has never been one to shy away from helping those in need, whether it’s lifting someone’s spirit with a well-timed joke or offering a shoulder when the world feels too heavy. there's no pretense in mason's care. no calculation. he simply loves people for who they are, without judgment, without expectation. ( and maybe that’s the secret to mason's charm—he makes people feel like they matter, like they’re worth noticing. ) it’s a rare gift in a world that’s often too preoccupied with its own interests to see others. mason has a way of making people feel like they’re the center of the universe, if only for a moment, and that is a rare and precious thing.
    

    likes

    flying ( it’s not just a hobby—it’s his whole damn identity. he's never felt more free than when he's in the sky. ) the first sip of coffee in the morning. late-night conversations. the feeling of finally cracking a tough spell after hours of frustration. the way the sky shifts colors during sunrise and sunset. keeping his sneakers clean. the snug fit of his silver chain resting against his chest. the feeling of stretching after sitting still for too long. the first sip of an ice-cold drink after a long day. the sense of accomplishment when something broken starts working again. keeping his hands busy, even if it’s just fiddling with a pen or his own fingers ( or even with someone else's hand. ) talking while working on something. finding a song that perfectly fits his mood. the smell of fresh laundry. running his fingers through his hair when he's thinking. when people laugh so hard they can’t breathe. walking barefoot on cool tile floors or grass. when someone remembers the little things he mentioned in passing. the feeling of the sun in his skin. humming. fireflies. when he manages to catch something mid-air before it hits the ground. the smell of pine trees. quiet, early mornings before anyone else is awake. finding something he lost ages ago ( they always seem to appear in the pockets of his old jackets. ) sticking his head out of the car window to feel the wind on his face. watching the stars.
    

    dislikes

    people who are overly serious, lacking any sense of spontaneity. waiting in silence for too long. when things don’t go as planned. over-structured schedules. being told to 'sit still' for too long. people who are dismissive of others' ideas or feelings. having to follow rules or procedures that don’t make sense. repetitive tasks that feel like a waste of time. arrogant attitudes that mask insecurity. fakeness or insincerity in people—it’s a quick way to lose his trust. people who make decisions for others without considering their opinions. being told what to do without an explanation. being rushed when he’s trying to think things through. people who don’t take responsibility for their actions. when the weather messes with his plans, especially when flying. shoes that don’t fit right and cause blisters on long treks. piles of paperwork that get in the way of more important tasks. lighters that don’t spark when you need them to. the sound of nails on a chalkboard—it makes his skin crawl. people talking over each other. the pressure of deadlines and the looming stress they bring. not being able to find something when it's misplaced. the feel of rough fabric against his skin. people who pretend to be experts on things they clearly know little about. the feeling of damp socks. waking up before his alarm goes off. the sticky feeling of humidity in the summer ( it feels suffocating when he's flying. ) being grounded ( literally and metaphorically. ) silence ( it lets his thoughts catch up ) deep water ( he can swim, but the idea of sinking unsettles him. )
    
  • i.

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    v.

    background

    mason dagon's arrival into the world was anything but ordinary. he was born to a family that floated on the edges of conventional life, where even the most familiar notions of family felt faint. his father, a pilot, was a man of the sky, always drifting between home and distant horizons, his presence often brief and fleeting. his mother, a mechanic, was grounded in the world of machines, her hands forever stained with grease and oil, tirelessly working on the very planes mason would one day hope to master. the hum of engines, the scent of gasoline, and the ever-present sound of the wind whispering through the trees were the lullabies that rocked him to sleep. normalcy, to mason, was a concept too far removed to grasp. it was a dream spoken of by classmates and distant relatives, their lives anchored in predictability, in routines that seemed as foreign to him as a life without flight. he was already carving his own path, choosing the boundless skies as his playground, where the ground below could never tether him, where the world felt endless.
    
    mason grew up in a small town on the outskirts of a military base, a place where the skies were rarely still. every day, something moved above—planes, helicopters, the occasional jet slicing through the clouds like a sharp breath. the hum of engines was the pulse of life there, and the air always felt alive, vibrating with possibility. in a town like that, a child could look up at any given moment and see a plane cutting across the heavens, and for mason, the sky was never just a void above—it was a canvas, a place to paint his dreams, to chase the winds that pulled at his soul. ( his father’s absence, though a quiet ache, only fueled his obsession. The sky, vast and infinite, became his refuge, a place to fill the silence left by his father’s long, unpredictable missions. ) the planes weren’t just machines to mason; they were living things, creatures of the air, soaring free where the ground could never hold them. and he, too, longed to be one of them.
    
    at the age of five, mason experienced his first true thrill—a spark, an ignition of something deep within that would burn inside him forever. It was a bright afternoon, the sun high in the sky, when mason slipped unnoticed into his father’s hangar. the planes stood in the shadows like giants, their sleek bodies gleaming with an untold promise. they were powerful, graceful, and to mason, they were the embodiment of freedom. he crawled into one of the smaller aircrafts, his hands brushing against the cold metal, his fingers tracing the lines of the controls. in that moment, the world outside faded away, and mason was no longer a boy—he was a pilot, a voyager of the skies. his heart raced, the cockpit feeling like the cockpit of destiny itself. but his mother found him before he could soar. she didn’t scold him, as most would. instead, she stood there for a moment, her gaze calculating, as if weighing her son’s dreams against the practical realities of life. and then, in her quiet, no-nonsense way, she taught him the basics—how to read the gauges, the hum of the engine, the rhythm of the machine. she didn’t dismiss his dream. instead, she nurtured it, knowing that some things couldn’t be stopped—only guided.
    
    from that day forward, mason's obsession with flight became his heartbeat. it wasn’t just a fascination anymore; it was a calling, an unshakable desire to rise above the earth and into the heavens. the rules that grounded others—those small, limiting things—could never hold him. his mother, though rooted in practicality and a world of tools and grease, supported his dream in her own way—finding old planes for him to tinker with, encouraging his experiments, no matter how messy or impractical they were. but the truth was, mason was wild—untamable. he wasn’t the type to sit at home and do as he was told. he was a boy who would rather run barefoot through fields, testing his limits against the wind, than be confined to the small, predictable world that everyone else seemed content to accept. ( in his heart, he longed to escape that world entirely—to feel the rush of the unknown, to touch the edges of something larger than the life he knew. )
    
    adolescence only deepened mason's yearning for freedom, a fire that seemed to burn brighter with each passing year. ( it was as though the walls of the world were inching closer to him, the weight of expectations and norms growing heavier around him. ) the world he had always known, the open skies and boundless horizons, felt more distant, more elusive than ever before. a world above him, untouched.
    
  • i.

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    miscellaneous

    blood status

    muggle-born.
    

    wand

    10 ½" redwood wand with jackalope antler core, slightly bendy.
    

    house

    gryffindor; 7th year and seeker for the quidditch team.
    

    patronus

    abraxan winged horse.
    

    amortentia

    vanilla and mahogany (notes of his cologne), crisp air, willow branches, and peanut butter.
    

    boggart

    a visage of the sky falling beneath him into vast ocean, empty and all-consuming.
    
    

    favorite class

    flying.
    

    least favorite class

    alchemy.
    
• cregan gaunt

  ❛ ghoul studies ❜

  how to never stop being sad

  dandelion hands

  repeat to yourself that they're not really gone.

  code by opaline

  overanalyse every single word

  • .
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  • i.

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    general

    name

    cregan isaak gaunt.
    

    nicknames

    
    ✧ creg / "creg" is the nickname that strips away all pretense. it is simple, unadorned, a name used by those who see him not as "professor gaunt," but as a man—fallible, stubborn, and human. his younger brother uses it when he’s frustrated, voice sharp like the edge of a blade. his closest friends use it in jest, a drawling tone when they’re ribbing him over a misstep. the people of hogsmeade use it with quiet familiarity, murmured in taverns and markets as though he’s just another villager, one of their own.
    
    cregan doesn’t mind the name; in fact, he almost prefers it. there’s no weight to the name, no grand expectation. it’s a reminder of who he was before titles, before hardship, before the endless sense of duty that now defines his life. when someone calls him "creg," it’s a reprieve, a chance to step out of the armor, both literal and figurative. but there’s a bittersweetness to it, too. when he hears it spoken by the few who still remember the boy he was, it feels like they’re calling out to a ghost. "creg" is the name of a youth who used to laugh more, who once dreamed of sailing beyond his alum. sometimes, in the stillness of night, he wonders if that boy is still inside him somewhere, buried beneath the layers of responsibility and steel. yet when the name is spoken softly, with warmth and without judgment, it feels like a tether to the man he might have been, had life been kinder.
    
    ✧ crey / "crey" is the nickname of intimacy, used only by those who dare to reach beyond the armor he wears—not just the steel of a man scorned, but the quiet stoicism he has perfected over the years. it is not a name of jest or familiarity; it is spoken softly, almost tentatively, by those who see the parts of him he keeps hidden. his younger sister called him this as a child when tugging at his hand. his mother used the nickname when he was a boy, a murmur of affection as she ruffled his hair or tucked him into bed. to her, it was not a name of grandeur but one of closeness, a word that softened the sharp edges of the world outside their home.
    
    few dare to use it, but one or two still let it slip, usually in moments when his walls are down. an old friend from his school years says it quietly, with a crooked grin, while offering him a drink after a long day. a lover whispers it in the dead of night, tracing the scars on his back. cregan doesn’t know how to feel about "crey." it carries a weight that is both comforting and painful. it is a name that makes him feel exposed, vulnerable in a way he doesn’t always know how to handle. yet he never asks anyone to stop saying it. deep down, he clings to it—not as a man, not as a warrior, but simply as cregan.
    

    age

    twenty-eight. october 29th.
    

    gender

    cisgender male and he/him.
    

    sexuality

    bisexual.
    
    ✧ at one point in time, pinpointed to his teen years, his sexuality was more a topic of contention and strife. at the age of twenty-eight, he can state that this is no longer the case. the struggles have softened, the questions have been answered, not by others, but by himself. there is no shame in it now. no confusion. somewhere along the way, he must have stopped trying to cut himself down to fit into what people expected of him. so that seems healthy, but then there’s the unhealthier side to his sexuality too. cregan's indulgence in hook-up culture is marked by something deeper than autonomy—it’s the intoxicating need to feel wanted, even if only for a few hours. it’s a brief, desperate escape from loneliness, where his self-worth seems almost determined by someone’s touch. it's not about love, and it’s not about connection, it’s about affirmation. a fleeting validation, where in those moments, he is tangible. to hold up a middle finger to society and simultaneously rely on other people as a mental crutch is the kind of hypocrisy which does define him.
  • i.

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    appearance

    height

    6'1".
    

    in depth

    cregan's presence carries a quiet, almost unnerving intensity. his tall, lean frame carries a delicate elegance built from grace and purpose, like a craftsman sculpting his own body through years of smithing. his movements are purposeful and deliberate, never hurried, always grounded, like someone who knows exactly where he stands. his gaze is sharp, dark eyes that seem almost black at times, staring with a weighty silence that leaves little room for comfort. he doesn't need to speak to command attention; his eyes alone do the work, often clouded with a weariness from a life lived on the edge.
    
    his face is hard, with sharp cheekbones that catch the light in an almost wolfish way, making him look both fierce and detached. the hollow planes of his cheeks and the sharpness of his jawline give him a harsh, almost brooding appearance. his lips rarely curl into a smile, and when they do, it’s long, toothy and fleeting, demonstrative but unsure. his natural expression is one of quiet defiance, a barely-there scowl that makes him seem perpetually irritated, even when he's at peace. his thin eyebrows always furrow, giving him an even more intimidating, arrogant air. it’s clear that he doesn’t care much for the opinions of others, preferring to keep his thoughts to himself, which only adds to his demeanor.
    
    cregan hair is a dark, unruly mess, constantly falling into his eyes and giving him a rugged, unkempt look. he never bothers to tame it, and it often seems as if the wind itself have claimed it as their own. his hair doesn’t reflect the polished appearance of a professor; it’s wild, untamed, just like him. it hangs heavy over his forehead, often obscuring his intense gaze, only adding to the overall mysterious, unsettling appearance he projects.
    
    he has several scars scattered across his body, the most prominent of these is line a scar across his sternum. a jagged line —most of the time silvery, other times a painful, irritated red. it gives him a dangerous, intimidating look, like someone who’s been through fire and emerged unscathed but with a permanent mark to prove it. the top of the scar peeks out from beneath the collar of his shirts.
    
    his wardrobe is practical. he often wears thick, dark leathers that offer protection and durability, with an elegant edge that his own appearance provides. his tunics are simple, fitted, and made from sturdy cloth, often in muted colors—browns, blacks, and deep grays. they are designed for function, ease of movement, and comfort.
    
    despite his sharp features and intense, almost threatening aura, there’s something magnetic about cregan. people are drawn to his presence, even if they can't quite figure out why. his voice is low, measured and with a rough edge from hours of not speaking. it carries a certain weight that demands attention. his overall appearance radiates a rugged, almost untouchable quality. cregan's posture reflects someone who is always at ease, yet, if you look closely enough, slightly tense. his broad shoulders stand as a testament to his strength and training, but they are slightly curved inwards, giving him a slightly closed-off posture, as though he’s always keeping part of himself hidden. though not overly tall, cregan's presence is imposing. like a shadow filling a space.
    

    faceclaim

    robert pattinson in the batman.
    
  • i.

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    persona

    personality

    if there is one thing that both the wizarding and muggle world can agree on about cregan gaunt, it’s that he’s difficult to work with. volatile and radical to his core, he’s stubborn, uncooperative, and prone to lashing out at the first person to test him. he operates on his own rhythm and anyone who tries to impose their agenda or expectations on him finds themselves facing brutal resistance. he doesn’t care much for compromise and prefers to keep things on his own terms, even if it means burning bridges or going against the grain.
    
    he’s intense, there’s no way of sugarcoating that. his presence fills a room, demanding attention without ever needing to raise his voice—that being said, he can be very loud, when he wants to be. he moves with purpose, and even when he appears calm on the surface, underneath there’s a constant buildup of impatience. his moods shift like a pendulum, one moment docile as a lamb, the next a blaze of fury. there’s a reckless abandon to everything cregan does, a force that burns through everything in its path. elegance and finesse aren’t in his vocabulary. he doesn’t need them. what he relies on is power—pure, unrefined, overwhelming power. the kind that leaves an impression not through subtlety or grace, but through sheer force and audacity.
    
    acting on impulse would usually be a weakness, but so many hold themselves back that it becomes that very unpredictability that makes his impulsivity a strength. when cregan makes a move, it’s usually loud, sudden, and violent. but it’s effective. and it’s that unrelenting aggression that earns him begrudging respect from his peers. his behavior is not measured, it’s instinctive, and his impulses might border on unhinged, but they drive him to places others would fear to go. most people don’t try to control him. they can’t. the more they push, the harder he’ll push back.
    
    societal norms don’t appeal to cregan. he doesn’t try to be normal—he delights in being abnormal. one it’s not that he doesn’t know how to blend into a crowd, but he chooses not to, because to him, any kind of attention is good attention, it doesn’t matter if it’s negative. ao he’s blunt, brutally so. he can tell a straight-faced lie if he wants to, but he will just as easily say things how they are without the slightest hint of softening the blow. he’s not interested in pleasing people, and that indifference seeps into every interaction he has. if something needs to be said, he’ll say it, no matter how harsh or uncomfortable. in fact, he’ll say it even if it doesn’t need to be said.
    
    depending on the person, this either makes him likeable, or a pain in the ass. for those who appreciate clarity, cregan is a welcome asset because he doesn’t pretend to be something he’s not, and his directness means that time never feels too slow around him. you could almost call it charisma, but it’s not quite a smoothness to him, it’s the sheer force of his will. he's the closest thing to the sun that you can get, a burning entity that pulls everything in its orbit. his presence is undeniable, and even those who don’t care for his brashness find themselves drawn into his gravitational pull. but while he can be intensely captivating, it’s not always a comfortable kind of attraction. cregan doesn’t put up walls to protect anyone from the truth, especially not himself, and that kind of rawness can be unsettling.
    
    for those who struggle with his bluntness, cregan becomes a constant source of irritation. his refusal to temper his words or adhere to the usual rules of politeness can make him a frustrating figure to deal with, the kind of person who will refuse to say please just because he doesn’t have to, or who’ll tell you your fly is down when it’s not, just to fuck with you. he’s not a person who’s easily placated, and this can alienate him from those who prefer smoother social interactions. but that’s the thing about cregan: he’s perfectly fine with that. he doesn’t seek approval, nor does he expect understanding. the only thing he seeks is the satisfaction of saying what’s on his mind, regardless of how it lands.
    
    his greatest strength is the fact that there is no pretense to him, and in a world full of masks and hidden intentions, that makes him an anomaly. he's transparent—what you see is what you get, and often, that’s a lot more than people are ready to handle. and even if you don’t like him, you can’t ignore him. he refuses to fade into the background, and his disruptive presence often forces people to engage, to react. It’s exhausting, but it’s also intoxicating. he has a way of infuriating you, but to the point where you’re almost flattered that he seems to be so fixated on talking to you; he has that way of speaking which makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world. some people like that.
    
    see, cregan has this habit of obsessing over people. he loves people. just as an entity. his behavior can be obsessive as a result. he's not intentionally manipulative, it’s just a part of him. he tends to latch onto people, maybe because he finds them fascinating, or just because he gets caught up in the moment. when he fixates on someone, they become a point of focus—the object of his attention that eclipses everything else. it could be a brief interaction or something longer, but either way, his intensity is hard to escape once it’s trained on you.
    
    some find that unnerving, others love the attention, and he’s happy to give it. his obsession is never subtle. it’s loud, it’s in-your-face, and it’s impossible to ignore. his constant questions, his excessive or inexceqsive eye contact, his attempts to understand every little thing about you—it can feel like a performance or a test. but it’s genuine. it’s his way of connecting, even if his approach is all wrong. he tends to overanalyze the people that interest him, learn their habits, their weaknesses, what makes them tick. often, it becomes a mirror of his own desires—what does he need, and what does he want from this person?
    
    it’s true that not everyone can withstand being in cregan's orbit. and once someone burns out from the heat, cregan doesn’t chase them. he watches them fade from his radar, unaffected, moving onto the next intrigue. but those who manage to survive his focus, who can handle the weight of his obsession, are the ones who he calls allies—or enemies, because some people are his adversaries because they enjoy mutual destruction. cregan isn’t just obsessed with people. he’s obsessed with connection. and in his own twisted way, being such a force to be reckoned with is his way of being someone worth connecting with.
    
    but he’s not dehumanizing in his approach. his masochistic streak actually means that more often than not, he’s dehumanizing himself. as uncooperative and reckless as he can be, there is a part of him that wants to submit, to worship like a dog. the desire to submit and kneel before something greater is hidden beneath layers of raw aggression and dominance. it’s not something he acknowledges often, and he certainly wouldn’t call it weakness. but in the quiet moments, when he’s not the kind of man who’s earned the infamy of man scorned, there’s a tortured part of him that longs for release. the need to let go, to be guided.
    
    it’s a dangerous thing for someone like cregan to entertain, because it’s not the kind of submission that seeks safety or peace. it’s the kind that craves destruction, that doesn’t mind being broken, as long as it means feeling something, anything, other than the constant hell in his mind and the complex ptsd of witnessing his parent’s murders that he pushes down, down, deeper, so deep that it’s almost unidentifiable. he doesn’t want to submit in a soft, gentle way. he wants to be shattered by the experience—overpowered, humiliated, tested, torn apart. it’s the kind of masochism that fuels his recklessness.
    
    it shows in the intensity of his interactions, the way he lets himself slip into vulnerability, even if it’s only for a moment. he might argue to hell and back with someone in his life, and in the next moment have them stroking his hair while he leans into their touch, eyes closed, as if the connection could erase the pain buried so deep inside. he craves those moments because they pull him away from the overwhelming chaos inside him, the overthinking space that he’ll enter if he remains stagnant for too long. even if it’s just for a few seconds, it’s the closest he gets to peace.
    
    for all his cruelty, cregan is not someone who lacks the ability to empathize, he’s someone who suppresses it when it suits him. he's a perpetrator in some ways, but he’s also a victim of circumstance, and knowing about his childhood is an immediate insight into why he is the way he is. he’s problematic, definitely, but he does have his moments of softness. and he’s not as unprincipled as he seems. he would never harm an animal or cause a child distress, though adults are a different ballgame. frankly, some part of him resents adults for how they failed him, but he’s always been good with children.
    
    his intense loneliness and the lack of any permanent fixtures in his life means that he’s very sociable, always engaging in meaningful conversation with strangers. cregan always tips incredibly well, even for the small things—it would be almost malevolent not to with how much money he has. but in general he enjoys feeling like he’s doing something for someone, all these small acts of services. and that bleeds into his interactions even with coworkers.
    
    so, he lives in the in-between. too rough to be good, too soft to be evil. a contradiction wrapped in chaos, driven by the kind of pain that will either destroy a man or make him indestructible. For cregan, it’s both. he's the wreckage and the survivor, the storm and the shelter, the fire and the ashes.
    
    somewhere, deep down, he wonders if there’s still a way out, if redemption is something he can reach for, if it’s just another thing the world will taunt him with. he’s not sure he wants to find out. because if there’s one thing worse than being condemned to humanity, it’s opening pandora’s box and finding the hope that things could ever be different.
    

    likes

    expensive cologne. vintage watches. fast cars. cheapskate behavior. tailored suits. darts. night drives. smoking. drinking. dogs (especially german shepherds). betting. dark humor. private jets. art collecting. high stakes poker. classic movies. fine dining. yacht parties. deep conversations. skiing. fine tailoring. collecting rare books. watching classical ballet. champagne. luxury hotels. crime documentaries. one night stands. private museums. visiting art galleries. old school music. violent video games. pain. knife-throwing. coffee With cream. playing the stock market. private villas. crosswords. working out. physical affection. helicopter rides. extreme sports. dark chocolate. reading. philosophy. speed boats. auctions. street racing. getaways. jazz music. action movies. rare steaks.
    

    dislikes

    weakness. small talk. incompetence. arrogance without substance. following the herd. tight spaces. social media. mediocrity. silence. fake empathy. weak handshakes. being ignored. overcooked food. white cats. useless traditions. boring meetings. dullness. dependence on others. losing. repetitiveness. overly perfect people. solitude. weak opponents. cracked screens. mud. badly mixed drinks. queuing. outdated technology. people who don't use coasters. tight spaces. broken glass. being irredeemable. vulnerability in public. pretentiousness. complacency. being manipulated. empty compliments. losing bets. cheap alcohol. playing it safe.
    
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    background

    cregan is not someone who looks back. looking back is how you get yourself broken, with memories like his. as far as he’s concerned, his parents were always dead, because if they were always dead, then he wouldn’t have to think about how happy his childhood had once felt. but they weren’t always dead. that’s reality.
    
    
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    miscellaneous

    blood status

    pureblood.
    

    wand

    12" elder wood wand with baboon fang core, brittle and rigid.
    

    class

    ghoul studies, an extracurricular class that explores the evolution, existence and state of the standard ghoul. it looks at the undead as a species and life after death. it covers the philosophy, culture, and sometimes the day to day lives of undead. their rights, customs, laws, and how they interact with the wizarding world.
    

    former house

    slytherin.
    

    patronus

    greater mouse-eared bat.
    

    amortentia

    leather, coffee with cream, the smell of wet cobblestone after rain, clove and the glue on old books.
    

    boggart

    an ornate floor length mirror that shows him his future: nothing more than a sad, sagging old man with a toothless smile smiles back at him.

 

[Quibbles]

Full Name: Theo Avery
Nicknames: Dop (short for "doppelganger" for their tendency to copy others instead of retain a form of their own), Theodore/Theophany (Mostly from their siblings who didn't really "get" the idea that they weren't just "pretending to be another gender" when using their abilities and were applying social pressure to force them to conform)
Age: 11
Gender: Fluid
Pronouns: They/Them
FaceClaim: Ron Howard, if I have to have one. Most of the time though they're just going be making it up on the spot or stealing someone else's appearance.

Do They Play Quidditch?: No
If Yes, What Quidditch Position Do They Have?: N/a
What Hogwarts House Are They In?: Hufflepuff
What Year Are They In?: First
Patronus: Jellyfish
Amortentia: Hasn't developed yet
Boggart: A swarm of people ignoring them, reminding them that nobody actually cares about them or loves them.
Blood Status: Pureblood

Personality: They have serious issues around self esteem and desperately want to be liked, though even being hated is better than being forgotten or ignored. They love their ability to become someone or something else because they feel like who they are isn't good enough for anyone. The only upside is that there is no need to be perfect in them like exists in some of their siblings. They don't give up when they fail, instead accepting that it is indeed proof that they aren't good enough yet, but growth has taught them they can improve. They might not be good enough today, or tomorrow, or in 50 years, but everyday they can improve and get closer to being good enough. Maybe, someday, when they're good enough someone will love them.

To avoid others feeling like they do, they try to make them happy and be thoughtful. A task made easier by their ability to pick out thoughts in their head and subtly adjust themselves. They're the sort of person who brings you your favorite treat when your craving it, because they know you're craving it. They take on a face they know is pleasing to you because it's pleasing to you. The problem is, that they end up burying themselves behind the masks as they do this, afraid that if they ever actually ask for what they want, they'll be rejected and reminded that others only care about what they can offer.

Backstory/History : They grew up on their family's estate, having no cause to deal with most people outside of it. The house elves ran the errands and took care of many of the chores. Their was a life of ease and privilege. Their father was skilled with potions and his mother was a master wandmaker. The problem came in the fact that they were expected to live up to nearly impossible standards. While underage wizardry was prohibited, they were taught the basics of spellcraft, potioncraft, magical history, how to fly, etc. from a young age. Their siblings were miles ahead of their classmates when they went to school and got tutors. Meanwhile, they were "playing with" their shapeshifting abilities and trying to control their ability to pick up things from others. They had little interest in spells and history when they had so much to explore within themselves and the minds of others.

The thing was that his parents knew how to help their other kids and nurture their interests. They didn't know how to help Theo in ways that didn't feel like they were either helping teach a sideshow trick or giving them body issues. How do you help someone with their shapeshifting form without criticizing their body and picking apart their features? So, they largely left Theo to their own devices which meant less time spent bonding. It wasn't an intentional thing on their part, but they ended up caring for them less than their other children and feeling less proud and invested in their success. Theo had become the black sheep in the family without any ill intent.

Pet(s): None
Wand: A specially developed composite, nine inches
Special Abilities: metamorphmagus and natural legilimens
Least Favorite Class: Any of the non-magical ones honestly
Most Favorite Class: Potions and Ligilimency (when it's taught)
Are They in any Clubs?: Shapeshifter club


Sexuality Orientation: Pan
Romantic Orientation: Pan
Relationships - Budding big sibling relationship with Ambrosia?
Headcanons / Fun Facts

 

[Soul_]

• Hogwarts Character's
• Blaine Morgan
• Nathaniel O'Neal
• Abigail William
• Finn Morgan

• 
  
  
  Wip
  
  
• 
  
  
  

  " Everything has a price, so tell me what's your price?"

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  My Touch is Power.

  
  
  
  

  My touchis lethal.

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  ♡coded by uxie♡

  
  
  
  
  

  Character Sheets

  Full Name Blaine Oscar Morgan
  
  Nicknames: none at the moment
  
  Age: 15
  
  Gender : Cis Male
  
  Pronouns he/him
  
  FaceClaim Froy Gutierrez
  
  Quidditch Position Chaser
  
  Hogwarts House : Slytherin
  Year: 4
  
  Patronus Ragdoll Cat
  
  Amortentia
  
  Boggart: His mother but she seems to have no face
  
  Blood Status pure-blood
  
  Pet(s) a ferret named Scout who he had for three years before moving.
  
  Wand Cedar Wood with dragon heartstring 12 ½
  
  Personality
  

  • cunning
  • sharp wit,
  • resourceful
  • stubborn
  • thrives in competitive environments a
  • high standards for himself and those around him.
  • Can come off as snotty but isn't.

  
  Backstory/History : Blaine Morgan comes from a proud lineage of pure-blood wizards and witches originating from the mystical landscapes of Scotland. Raised in the enchanting city of Edinburgh, Blaine's upbringing was steeped in the rich magical traditions and rugged beauty of his Scottish heritage. His family's lineage boasts a history of influential figures within the wizarding community, fostering in Blaine a deep sense of pride and responsibility. Though many outside of his hometown have no clue who they are, not that Blaine cares.
  
  His father was a potions teacher at the Edinburgh School for Witchcraft and Wizarding. Though it is a smaller school it is still held in high esteem. His father got a better job as a professor at Hogwarts, so Blaine and his father moved. His mother was an Aurora back in Edinburgh. He never really knew her only ever seeing pictures that his father had of her. All he ever saw was a woman with his hair and green eyes that, to him were haunting to look at.
  
  Special Abilities N/a
  
  Favorite Subjects
  
  Potions,
  
  Charms,
  
  Ancient Runes.
  
  
  Least Favorite Subjects
  
  Divination, it fun but to Blane it just isn't his kind of fun.
  
  Beast, while he likes to watch best from a far he hates having to be near them tend to make him nevous.
  
  arithmancy-now how does any of this make since?
  
  Clubs? Dueling Club, LGBTQ club
  
  Outside of Classes
  
  Outside of academics, Blaine is an avid duelist and active member of the Hogwarts Dueling Club,
  
  Additionally, he frequently indulges in playing the piano, displaying a remarkable proficiency in the instrument.
  
  He also draws mostly people.
  
  Role Student
  
  Sexuality Orientation Bisexual
  
  Romantic Orientation Demiromantic
  
  Relationships - Relationships with OCs go here
  
  Headcanons / Fun Facts

  
  
  
• 
  
  WIP
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  anything worth doing starts with a bad idea
  
  
  
  Nathaniel O'Neal
  
  Seventeen

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  © weldherwings.
  
  

  Character Sheets

  Full Name Nathaniel Casey O'Neal
  
  
  Nicknames Casey, NateWhisker (very few people can call him that)
  Age seventeen
  Gender genderqueer
  Pronouns he/they
  FaceClaim Maxence Danet-Fauvel
  
  Quidditch? Nope
  Hogwarts House Griffindor
  What Year Are They In? Sixth
  Patronus Canada lynx
  Amortentia
  Boggart A vast, bottomless body of water, stretching endlessly in all directions. Though for Nathaniel it I'd what would be in the deep dark water.
  
  Blood Status half blood
  languages
  Personality (traits or paragraphs)
  

  • Smooth-Talker
  • Laid-Back
  • Overconfident
  • Reckless
  • Daring
  • Avoidant

  Backstory/History : optional!
  
  Pet(s) a orange cat nsmed Gingersnap though they call her Ginger and had her for seven years now.
  
  Wand Holly Dragon Heartstring 11 inches Unyielding
  
  Special Abilities Canada lynx animagus
  
  Least Favorite Class History of Magic (it's naptime)
  
  Most Favorite Class Astronomy
  Herbology
  
  Are They in any Clubs? N/a at the moment
  
  Role prefect
  
  Sexuality Orientation pansexual
  
  Romantic Orientation Paromantic
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  WIP
  
  Abigail William.

  11, 1st year, Hufflepuff cis woman, she/her, questioning

  role:

  Student

  fc:

  luca Hollestelle

  Rome wasnt built in a day,

  But it was burned in one

  ♡

  ♡

  ❀

  ꕥ
  
  

  Character Sheets

  Full Name Abigail Jane William
  
  Nicknames Abby, Sunflower,AJ
  
  Age 11
  
  Gender cis female
  
  Pronouns she/her
  
  FaceClaim Luca Hollestelle
  
  Quidditch? No
  
  Hogwarts House Hufflepuff
  
  Year 1st
  
  Patronus Fennec fox
  
  Amortentia sunflowers, fishy wayer like rivers and lakes.
  
  Boggart: a pack a large dog's of a unknown breed.
  
  Blood Status Muggleborn
  
  Personality (traits or paragraphs)
  

  • Observant & Clever
  • Mischievous & Sneaky
  • Cheerful & Energetic
  • Collector of Random Things
  • Easily Distracted
  • Not the Best at Rules – Rules? What rules?
  • Cunning in a Fun Way – Not quite a Slytherin, but they know how to work situations to their advantage while still being loveable.

  
  Backstory/History : optional!
  
  Pet(s):
  
  Wand 10" Ash wood with unicorn hair core
  
  Special Abilities Fennec fox Animagus
  
  Least Favorite Class
  Flying -she isn't a fan of hights.
  
  Astronomy – she preferd hands-on learning, memorizing constellations feel tedious.
  
  Most Favorite Class
  Charms- she had always had a thing for it picking it up fairly fast.
  
  Care of Magical Creatures- she just loves the class. She loves learning about the animals
  
  
  Clubs? N/a at the moment
  
  Role Student
  
  Sexuality Orientation ????¿?¿¿
  Romantic Orientation????¿¿¿?

  
  
  
• 
  
  WIP
  
  

  Character Sheets

  Full Name
  Nicknames
  Age
  Gender
  Pronouns
  FaceClaim
  
  Patronus
  Wand Type
  Do They Sponsor Any Clubs?
  Are They a Head of House
  Boggart
  Blood Status
  Pet(s)
  Amortentia
  
  Personality (traits or paragraphs)
  Backstory/History : optional!
  
  Special Abilities
  What Do They Teach?
  What Hogwarts House Were They In?
  
  Sexuality Orientation
  Romantic Orientation
  Relationships - relationships with OCs go here
  Headcanons / Fun Facts

  
  
  

 

[Squad141]

Professor Rutland Worley
52 - Male (He/Him) - FC (Nicol Williamson) - Bi[sexual/romantic]
​

Patronus ~ Shoebill
Wand Specifities ~ Dragon Heartstring / Mangrove / 11"
Boggart ~ A walking corpse, riddled with chemicals and poisons.
Status ~ Half-Blood
Amortentia ~ Smoked Leather


Personality ~
An inquisitive man. Talks at a tone that rarely changes and is often collected. Innovation and the ways of the world are topics that interest him and thus are included in his teachings.
Teaches ~ Muggle Studies
Former House ~ Ravenclaw

 

[blue tea]

place holder for xiao yingsu ( hufflepuff perfect ) and youkai zankoku ( hogwarts headmaster )

 

[EmilySmith]

CASSANDRA JONES
The Nice Girl, 17, SHE/HER, Cutie​

Full Name : Cassandra 'Samantha' Jones
Nicknames : CJ, Cass, Cas, Sandra, Sam, Sammy, Andra
Age : 17yrs
Gender : Female
Pronouns : She/Her
FaceClaim : Camila Mendes

Do They Play Quidditch? No
If Yes, What Quidditch Position Do They Have? N/A
What Hogwarts House Are They In? Gryffindor
What Year Are They In? 3rd Year
Patronus : A deer
Amortentia : vanilla, strawberry icecream
Boggart : her friends and boyfriend dead bodies
Blood Status : Half-Born

Personality : Cassandra is a brave, nice and intelligent girl. She would always be there to help you out and comfort when needed. When your sad, SHE'S YOUR GIRL
Backstory/History : N/A For Now

Pet(s) : A kitten
Wand : Hermione's Wand, basically
Special Abilities : She's an Animagus and turns into a cute white kitten, ironic right?
Least Favorite Class : Herbology
Most Favorite Class : Transfiguration
Are They in any Clubs? Nope
Role (example would be them being a prefect) N/A

Sexuality Orientation : Heterosexuality
Romantic Orientation : Straight
Relationships - Relationships with OCs go here : N/A for now
Headcanons / Fun Facts

 

[Scoopy Catnip]

Spoiler: All Appearances

Spoiler: Outfit 1

Spoiler: Outfit 2

Spoiler: Outfit 3

Spoiler: Outfit 4

Spoiler: Makeup 1

Spoiler: Makeup 2

Spoiler: Makeup 3

Full Name - Madame Venoire Spindleweave
Nicknames - Silken Shadowseer; Madame Spinneret; Dusk Widow Weaver; Cobwebs (affectionately); Legs
Age - 51
Gender - Cis Female
Pronouns - She/Her
FaceClaim - Witches of Google (names not provided by Google)

Patronus - Spider/Vulture (pls help me decide xwx)
Wand Type - English Oak wood with a unicorn hair core, 14 ½ and slightly springy flexibility
Do They Sponsor Any Clubs? - Knitting & Crochet Club (get it? because she spins webs)
Are They a Head of House - No
Boggart - "Infinity... Eternity... The unknowable unknown... Could it be, she fears naught but God itself?"

Spoiler: Boggart Appearance

Blood Status - Pureblood
Pet(s) - All over the place! Don't worry though, they won't harm students.
Amortentia - "Insects, the things she feeds to her many spiders. She spends hours outside collecting them."

Personality (traits or paragraphs) - While she puts off a serious and creepy air to others, she is actually quite anxious on the inside, her mind on many things at once. This often makes her look a bit scatterbrained, but still pretty creepy. She even shows a soft, if adoring side to her legion of arachnids that scurry about the classroom. They seem to move at her beck and command when they're not roaming free, like an orchestral mass flowing to every swish of a conductor's baton. Don't underestimate her. When she's scorned, she will eat a whole man for breakfast, as does the black widow. And don't even think about stepping on one of her precious spiders!

Special Abilities - Full and partial spider transformation; controlling spiders; predicting and seeing future possibilities (the future is always changing); eavesdropping; venom injection (through fangs); hanging from ceilings; changing her clothes; full magical knowledge and skills yet unknown
What Do They Teach? - Divination
What Hogwarts House Were They In? - Ravenclaw

Sexuality Orientation - Homosexual
Romantic Orientation - Homoromantic
Relationships - TBA
Headcanons / Fun Facts - "Some say they've seen her eat bugs... is it really true? She doesn't normally eat with people around..."
- "The scariest part about her? She does this thing where she transforms halfway. Half lady, half spider. I don't know why. Maybe she just likes to mess with us. But she sure looks freaky, with those eight legs, and her gross body, and her... webbing."
- "Nobody knows if she's actually eaten somebody before... rumors are rumors, but she won't tell. Still... she does lick her lips a lot when she looks at us..."

 

[COIIAPS3]

PROFILE

NAME: Olivia Forsberg
NICKNAME: Liv
GENDER: Female
AGE: 18
DOB: November 03
PRONOUNS: She/Her
ORIENTATION: Homosexual

ACADEMICS

QUIDDITCH: No.
HOUSE: Gryffindor
YEAR: 7
PATRONUS: Norwegian Forest Cat
AMORTENIA: Winter Candy Apples, Firewood
BOGGART: Severed Wrists and Veins
BLOOD STATUS: Pureblood

PET: Bengal Cat
WAND: Yew wood; phoenix feather core; 13 ¾; supple flexibility
SPECIAL STUDIES: Occlumency
FAVORITE STUDIES: Care of Magical Creatures, DADA
LEAST FAVORITE CLASS: Herbology
CLUBS: Dueling
ROLE: PENDING

PERSONALITY

Olivia is a taciturn young woman who holds herself to incredibly high standards and expectations, levelling an intense focus and deep dedication to her responsibilities. She doesn't flinch at the face of danger or punishment, and she is a quiet guardian in the eyes of many.

However, this partially comes from place of arrogance - she believes that nobody else is strong enough, resilient enough, or good enough to take on the role of a guardian other than herself. She doesn't trust that there will be anyone else who can endure the same punishments she has, or bother to dedicate the same care and attention to the things she cherishes. Anyone can tell, she's tense, and she will snap sooner or later from stress alone.

BACKSTORY

Olivia is a transfer student from Durmstrang Institute. The unforgiving and harsh curriculum imposed on its students have left her with many sleepless nights; in an environment where failure was unacceptable, harsh lessons were carved into their bones over years, but it made its students more united than ever, in their shared trauma and tragedy. Olivia was afforded a level of comfort, coming from a pureblood family, punishment and pride alike had been known to her - and her peers' resilience inspired her to endure. And when she had to bury them, she couldn't endure any longer - transferring to Hogwarts to heal these old wounds in warmer lands.

EXTRAS

Russian Accent
Basically, the curriculum was so out of hand, so cruel, so dangerous that many of her peers died in a live field assessment.
She comes from a cold place, relying on magical creatures was a way of life and so she adores them and wishes to learn more
She wishes to become an apprentice for Wand Making

RELATIONSHIPS

TBA

TBA​

BY: COIIAPSE

​