Fandom Hogwarts // CS Thread

[pastelfox]

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
• Wren Grey

• 
  
  
  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

  
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

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

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  © weldherwings.
  
  

  Character Sheets

  Its all here you might have to go into dark mode to see it I'm not sure why I'm sorry
  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
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  
  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 Finn Rowan Morgan
  NicknamesN/a
  Age42
  GenderCis male
  PronounsHe/him
  FaceClaim Jensen Ackles
  
  Patronus Maned Wolf
  
  Wand Type
  Blackthorn Ten inches Rougarou Hair core unyielding
  
  Do They Sponsor Any Clubs?
  N/a
  Are They a Head of House
  N/a
  
  Boggart
  Not a creature, not a nightmare, but himself—just… wrong.The face is sharper, almost skeletal, with deep-set, emotionless eyes, like someone who has lost everything His wand is cracked and flickering with unstable magic.The way it moves is wrong—too slow, too deliberate
  
  Riddikulus
  It starts suddenly starts tripping over his own feet, like a marionette with tangled strings.His wand misfires into harmless fireworks.and starts coughing like an old man, struggling to keep up with him.
  
  Blood Status pure-blood
  
  Pet(s)
  Crup-unless I can't then tell me
  Eurasian Eagle-Owl
  
  Crup
  
  Looks like a Jack Russell Terrier, but has a forked tounge and just a bit fluffier than normal, and an almost supernatural sense for danger.
  
  The breed used to be a hunting dog, trained for tracking dark wizards though now they are mostly use pets.
  
  They bark when they sense dark magic nearby, making it a watchdog for dangerous situations. Though it isn't always right. Somthing the right mix of two different magics can confuse their noses. That was why they are no longer hunting Dark wizards.
  
  They are fiercely protective, scarred, and unwilling to trust strangers.
  
  
  Personality (traits or paragraphs)
  World-Weary
  Unapologetically Blunt
  Dryly Humorous
  Tactical
  Nonconforming
  Protective but Aloof – deeply invested in keeping students safe, not be openly warm or affectionate at first
  
  
  Special Abilities N/a
  
  What Do They Teach? Defense Against the Dark Arts
  
  What Hogwarts House Were They In? Griffindor
  
  Sexuality Orientation Bisexual in the closet
  
  Romantic Orientation Biromanic demisexual in the closet
  
  Relationships - relationships with OCs go hereBlaine Morgan son
  

  Headcanons / Fun Facts

  
  Headcanons / Fun Facts
  

  
  
• 
  
  
  

  Character Sheets

  
  Full Name Wren Marlow Grey
  Nicknames Little Wren, Birdy, Wrenny, Wrenagade (a childhood nickname) open to othersand response to anything
  Age 26
  Gender pangenderflux
  Pronouns Any would work but if unsure they/them is just fine.
  FaceClaim @/im_still_growing - tiktok
  
  Patronus Raven
  Wand Type Apple wood phenix core 12 ½" and supple flexibility
  Do They Sponsor Any Clubs? Art club
  Are They a Head of House no
  Boggart A mirror — tall, ornate, and cracked into small bits- showing her reflection but just pitch black showing her eyes, people she knows are standing behind her in the mirror, staring at her with fear and disgust. Some are backing away.
  
  Blood Status half blood
  Pet(s) A Maine coon– Thistle A savannah cat- Rune
  Amortentia Old parchment and ink, crushed mint, scent of rain
  
  Personality (traits or paragraphs)
  Rebelliously Creative-They don’t follow the rules just because they’re there. They have a creative streak — enchanting their broom for silent flight, crafting homemade Seeker gloves or modifying spells. Though they shouldn't really.
  
  Curious & Obsessed with Mysteries: Give him a riddle, a locked door, or a magical anomaly and he has to know more. He loves puzzles of all kinds—even emotional ones.
  
  Introvert with a Bite
  
  Social but selective. Keeps a small circle of trusted friends. Has a sharp wit and doesn’t hesitate to clap back with sarcasm when provoked. Likes long nights, quiet corners, and sketching in journals no one else is allowed to see.Independent – Hates being underestimated or coddled, and thrives when allowed to figure things out alone.
  
  Special Abilities lycanthropy werecat
  What Do They Teach? art
  What Hogwarts House Were They In? ravenclaw
  
  Sexuality Orientation Omniromantic
  Romantic Orientation poloyamus, Demiromantic
  Relationships - relationships with OCs go here
  Headcanons / Fun Facts
  

  Headcanons / Fun Facts

  
  
  Headcanons / Fun Facts
  
  

no slide

 

[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

 

[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: Character undergoing maintenance <3

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

​

 

[mementowhori]

───────── ⋅ ✧ ⋅ ─​

run from the town, all you need is your name​

─────────────

name ─ ⋅✧

maverick hale.​

age ─ ⋅✧

18.​

gender ─ ⋅✧

cis male.​

pronouns ─ ⋅✧

he/him.​

sexuality ─ ⋅✧

demiromantic + greysexual.​

house + year ─ ⋅✧

seventh year gryffindor.​

quidditch position ─ ⋅✧

captain + beater.​

patronus ─ ⋅✧

spotted hyena.​

amortentia. ─ ⋅✧

Petrichor, the earthy rich scent that saturates the air after rain falls onto the trampled mud of the quidditch field.​

boggart. ─ ⋅✧

countless changing faces of scouts for different national teams telling him that he doesn't have what it takes to make the team, and at the end of the day he really is just a talentless hack from a poor family and no amount of hard work and perseverance can change that.​

blood status. ─ ⋅✧

muggleborn.​

───────── ⋅ ✧ ⋅ ─​

And the sweat on your brow​

─────────────

persona ─ ⋅✧

answer.​

vices ─ ⋅✧

callousness.

obstinacy.

voracity.​

virtues ─ ⋅✧

honesty.

perseverance.

courage.​

headcanons. ─ ⋅✧

— hates seeing excessive wealth
— hoards his coin like a dragon, do not ask him to borrow any. it will not work.
— never goes to hogsmeade as he doesn't have the spare money
— very blunt and can come across as mean/a dick
— lacks an understanding of basic emotions within others and doesn't understand that what he says can hurt people
— "why are you crying I didn't hit you" after telling someone they look godawful ugly in that dress and they should stick to what they're good at which is being plain and unnoticeable
— does not come from a place of malice
— his entire life is quidditch, it's all he cares about
— not very intellectually smart but very street smart
— the only books he'll willing read are about quidditch and even then it takes him a long time and he struggles doing so
— not very good with complicated spells
— at the end of the day he'd rather throw a punch then cast a hex
— has gotten into many brawls throughout his years at hogwarts
— very very disciplined about quidditch
— gets up every morning at 4 am to workout & then practice on the field
— has a strict bedtime & nutrional diet for himself
— his body & health is extremely important to him because his role is especially demanding
— not very well liked
— guarded towards friendships and has very few
— protective over the few he has
— has zero fears (besides never playing quidditch again)
— only time he seems to smile is on the field and then its a deranged grin that makes people feel unsettled
— while he is seemingly not approachble and can be "harsh" with his words he is actually quite soft at heart
— if it doesnt interfere with quidditch he is the first to help someone out in a sitution, but is rarely thanked due to his rough and brutal demeoner
— struggles in school and his little free time is often dedicated to trying to study
— constantly on the brink of failing a majority of his classes
— if it wasn't for the fact that failing = being suspended from quidditch he wouldn't care
— brillant when it comes to quidditch strategies however
— the team has a mixed opinion on him, on one hand he is very harsh and demanding to them but everything he puts them through he expects the same of himself
— does not scream at them however, but his stony silence is almost worse
— expects complete victory every time
— the first however to take a hit to protect one of his teammates
— very skilled at being a beater, one of his biggest advantages is his muggle views on athletic training and conditioning which gives him more power in his hits then most beaters
— his biggest dream is to join one of the national quidditch teams and become a professional beater.
— more to come later​

───────── ⋅ ✧ ⋅ ─​

And the blood runnin' through your veins​

─────────────

history ─ ⋅✧

Maverick's family moved to Scotland from America when he was young and from the very beginning, he never fit in. His family was very poor, and his parents worked multiple jobs just to keep food on the table. Maverick learned from a young age that life isn't easy, and that quickly shaped who he is today. If you're dealt a poor hand in life, it is your responsibility to claw from the ground up and make something for yourself. He did his best to take on odd jobs and errands to contribute. His clothes were well worn, and he got used to no lunches at school. All these factors plus his callous and aloof personality did not endear him to his fellow classmates. Being alone became his normal. The only time he seemed to be wanted was when athletics were involved. Naturally sports gifted, he took to any activity with a single mindedness and hard drive that led to him dominating in whatever it may be. Basketball, Soccer, Volleyball, Rugby, you name it. His parents bemoaned everyday about their lack of wealth and their inability to encourage their son's ability. Unable to afford gear or tournament fees, Maverick was unable to do much with his talent. Until his 11th birthday when he got a strange letter. Due to their scholarship fund Maverick was able to attend the illustrious school of witchcraft and wizardry and on his second year during a casual pick-up game of quidditch in flying class, he once more found a sport he was gifted in, but this time he was able to nurture and grow it. The former captain saw something in Maverick and personally mentored him, seeing past the prickly personality to the raw skill and dedication that laid under it. He knew Maverick would one day make a great leader.​

code by valen t.

I HAVE A CONFESSION,
OF A SIDE THAT I HIDE.​

Full Name: Vissarion Volkov.
Nicknames: Professor Volkov, Volkov, Viss (only for those close to him).
Age: 50.
Gender: cis gender male.
Pronouns: he/him.
FaceClaim: mads mikkelsen.

Patronus: a nundu.
Wand Type: Black Poisonwood. [Seeks a companion of strength and determination, however indifferent to its owner's will. Excellent for defensive spells, curses, or protective magic.], threstal hair core.
Do They Sponsor Any Clubs?: Dueling Club.
Are They a Head of House: Yes, Ravenclaw. The house his daughter was in.
Boggart: His daughter lying prone of the ground, hair flared out behind him coated in her blood, bright blue eyes, dim and unseeing. at her side, weeping over her corspe is his granddaughter, hatred and pain splayed across her face, accusing gaze locked on Vissarion. "this is your fault, YOU LEFT US!".
Blood Status: pureblood.
Pet(s): Northern Goshawk named Artem.
Amortentia: copper and iron, the sharp scent of fresh spilled blood.

Personality:

- Former member of the Russian magical military, after his term with them ended he did full time dueling competitions​

- made a name for himself in his ruthless application of charms​

- on retirement became a professor and an academic​

- published an essay arguing that dark & light for magic is an incorrect labeling system. Light magic such as basic charms can be used to cause just as much pain/death if used creatively. Meanwhile some specific dark magic spells that are banned can be used to help/save.​

- tends to use a large assortment of barely legal spells but is also very adept at twisting light charms spells to do more harm than good​

- has his own idea of morality that doesn’t always fit the normal view​

- has a tumultuous relationship with his daughter due to her growing up with him constantly away for his job​

- not outwardly affectionate​

- shows his love in small easily missed ways​

- very pragmatic and sees people for what they can provide to wizarding society​

- very poised and elegant, every motion carefully controlled​

- does not raise his voice, but instead it is cold and crystallized anger when he is mad​

- very two faced in that he presents himself as this calm poised, strict yet coldly polite man. however at his core he is vicvious and callous to death.​

- feels dissapointed at the loss of potentional but that's all he feels. does not mourn the fallen nor feel guilt for those he's had to kill.​

- the only deaths that would affect him would be the feew who have chiseled their way deep into his being, such as hos daughter/granddaughter​

- while he does form an "attachment" to a few students at the end of the day if they were to die it would be a pity but not something that would greatly affect him​

- a pro at repressing his emotions​

- was a weapon for so long he has forgotten how to be anything but that​

- comes from an old pureblood family​

- acts in the way of high society, and places a lot of bearing on the rules of it​

- politeness & courtesy are important to him• very strict on his students​

- not very well liked by them and often disagrees with his fellow staff about matters as well​

- do not cry near him, he will very politely rip you to shreds as tears are useless to the situation, and then will leave​

- finds something poetic in silent mourning however​

- has no respect for useless complaining but those who have been deeply hurt and push on despite the pain are endearing to him​

- he finds it fascinating, much like a lion watching a wounded gazelle push themselves forward for no reason other than survival​

- known for his dramatic coat twirls​

Backstory/History:
will add later

Special Abilities: particular talent in barely legal spells.
What Do They Teach?: charms.
What Hogwarts House Were They In?: formerly of durmstrang but his daughter was a ravenclaw.

Sexuality Orientation: sad werewolf men.
Romantic Orientation: sad werewolf men x2
Relationships: - ??

VISSARION

code by birth of venus.

 

[herwritings]

scroll

scroll

❝

The trees, they whisper paths unseen.

unknown

mother nature

MS. FLOQUET

full name

rosamund floquet

nicknames

ros, mundie,

age

twenty-nine

gender

female

sexuality

bisexual

house

former “bellefeuille” (ff)

into dust

mazzy star

01.

visage

height

five'six

pronouns

she/her

hair c.

chocolate brown

eye c.

hazel green

faceclaim

àstrid bergès-frisbey

features

rosamund carries both natural and given attributes. she has various beauty marks speckled across her face, each one acting as a unique break from her pale complexion. her ears are pierced with multicolored jewelry, climbing her lobes and stretching across her cartilage. dipping to her lower back, she has dark ink twisting along her waist resembling branches. which, the same ink can be found beneath her bosom, grasping vines and wildflowers.

02.

psyche

NURTURING ------ SPIRITED ---- COMPASSIONATE
PESSIMISTIC --- INDECISIVE ------- ENIGMATIC

---

personality

the earth lives through rosamund floquet and her odd presence. upon first glance, she appears as an enchanting figure with her natural, homey appearance but there's an air of quiet eccentricity that seems to hum beneath the surface. her fascination with nature borders on the obsessive and it is not unusual for students to find her barefoot within the grass, speaking softly into the wind. there's an unsettling quality to her gaze, hazel green eyes that resemble all that she deeply admires, a depth that feels like she's staring far beyond the present moment--as if she sees things others cannot. her love for nature is not at all a profession or even a hobby, it is an all consuming force that shapes every decision she makes. when she speaks of the trees, or other flora, her words come in a cascade, almost frantic in their urgency. she is not just teaching her students to understand the elements of xylomancy--she's teaching them to listen, feel, and live in harmony with the pulse of the natural world.

likes

hand-dried herbs, when the wind whistles through the gardens, birdsong at dusk, grading papers within the grass, bitter herbal teas, stargazing late autumn, pressing flora, soft jazz, warm potted pies, the gentle touch of another, natural warm earthy aroma after rain, the soreness after knitting, authentically spun yarn with natural dyes, visiting farming-lands, freshly baked goods, reveling in her knowledge about the trees, when books have yellowed pages, a lack of ink, shopping during the holiday seasons, old architecture, speaking french,

dislikes

loud & hostile environments, cold hearty meals, unnecessary use of natural byproducts, a lack of sustainability in certain towns, when people speak over her understanding, invasive magic, the smell of the sea on a hot afternoon, visible disinterest, luxury-taste, any caffeinated beverage other than tea, the use of fluorescent lights, new technology & social media platforms, the feeling of sticky hands, societal pressures,

witching traits

[ WAND ]. 12 ¾'' black walnut wand with hippogriff feather and dryad’s hair, supple.
[ BLOOD STATUS ]. half-blood.
[ AMORTENIA ]. patchouli, early morning fog, poached pears, a room full of old books, & smoldering incense.
[ BOGGART ]. a gigantic decaying stag, though it is not fleshed like the living. it's body decomposes like it and a child-like blanket is webbed through its antlers.

extra information

- tba..

03.

history

WIP --on the coast of france, born to a muggle father and magically inclined mother.

04.

gallery

06.

history, cont.

reputation

WIP--professor weirdo tree-hugger.

student confessions

“professor floquet is a well articulated woman. her studies are vastly intriguing and she always goes out of her way to offer understanding. course load is.. questionable, but exams are easy if you pay attention during her lectures.”

“besides smelling like a green house, ms. mundie is great.“

“xylomancy is boring and this course is bollocks.”

“i swear i’ve seen a bloody birds nest in her hair. not that it matters, but i just figured everyone should know."

connections

tba..

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[roguedaisy]

M

A L L I S.
Full Name: Kelly Barton Mallis
Nicknames: GIVE HIM SOME (though friends and foes alike simply refer to him as Mallis)
Age: Seventeen years
Gender: Male
Pronouns: He/Him

Quidditch Player: Yes
Position: Seeker. He began as a Beater, being restless and determined in his early years, but rose to prominence as a Seeker. Kelly is small, wiry and agile, with an affinity for reaction and evasion.
House: Hufflepuff
Grade: 6th Year

Patronus: Thestral, due to his deep understanding of death and hardship, and ability to find strength in what most cannot see.
Amortentia: Vanilla and cedarwood, cigarette smoke
Boggart: Changing items from his dilapidated home. A sunken and worn couch, a shattered window, a screaming and chipped kettle
Blood Status: Muggle-Born

Personality
Kelly Mallis is a tough case, sharpened by years of hardship and a deep rooted understanding that the world isn’t always kind. He’s hard-shelled, prickly, and often comes across as antisocial, cynical and impatient, all to protect a fiercely loyal and gentle heart. He doesn’t care for authority or institutional structures which often puts him at odds with his teachers and peers, stubbornly abiding by the rule that it’s ‘every man for himself’. Empty words branded down to his core by a cold and careless father, words he has never been able to let go of. Kelly may seem unapproachable, though those who earn his trust discover a person who— despite his flaws— will always have their back. His actions speak louder than his words, and he will go leaps and bounds for those he cares about, showing kindness through acts of service and spontaneous giving.

Kelly’s rough past and fractured family has burdened him with a strong sense of guilt. He was not the child his family wanted, and blames himself for the way things fell apart despite it being beyond his control. He secretly longs for connection but feels deeply unlovable, which is why he is so determinedly stubborn and independent, pushing himself beyond reasonable limits to be seen, to be something.

He harbors a dislike for Slytherins and Ravenclaws, fed by his disdain towards the elitist and materialistic. He finds himself most at ease among Gryffindors and fellow Hufflepuffs, where hard work, loyalty, grit and respect are of the highest value.

History
Kelly Mallis was born third in a line of five siblings, lodged right in the middle of a family that was falling apart at the seams. Life in the Mallis household was survival, not childhood. Their mother (overwhelmed, battling obesity and increasingly immobile with each birth) eventually became confined to the threadbare couch in their tiny living room—her presence more a shape in the corner than a member of the family. Their father, unable and unwilling to cope, drowned himself in drink and gambling, barely present in the ramshackle apartment they packed in. When he was, he was best off avoided, volatile at the best of times and violent at the worst.

It was the children who kept the family afloat, if you could even call it that. Kelly’s older siblings turned to petty crime early: lifting food, breaking into nearby homes, pawning what little they could. It was dirty work and desperate work, but the natural born rascals took to it with earnest. Kelly, younger and softer at heart, had trouble keeping up. His gentler nature made him a liability in their eyes. On one job, his hesitation led to his eldest sister getting caught and arrested. After that, he was even alone among his own blood, treated as a burden.

Then one bleak winter's night his father slipped on black ice, alone and intoxicated, quietly dying in the street. As grim and unfortunate in death as he was in life. It could have been a turning point, a strange chance at freedom for the kids, but things only got worse. First the power was cut, the fridge barren, and nobody could sleep with the unbearable cold and endless wailing of the youngest Mallis. Eventually, a neighbor tipped off child protective services, and the fractured family taken apart. For Kelly's best interests, he was placed in foster care alone.

That was when the magic started.

His emotions had always run deep—anger he didn’t know how to express, grief that turned to fire in his chest, fear that trembled under his skin. But now, they had consequence. Doors slammed when he shouted. Lightbulbs shattered when he cried. He was rehomed twice due to these destructive and inexplainable outbursts. One schoolyard altercation ended with shattered glass, paper cuts and burning buntings— the incident that triggered a deeper investigation. It wasn’t long before the Ministry of Magic got involved.

Strings were pulled by the powers that be, and Kelly was placed with a wizarding family at the age of eleven. strangers to him, but the first adults who seemed to see something more than trouble in his eyes. They gave him a name for the chaos he carried. Magic.

Hogwarts was a fresh start, but not an easy one. His past clung to him like cigarette smoke—hard to scrub away, impossible to forget. He was rough around the edges, quick to push people away before they could reject him first. But he found solace in Quidditch, where his chaos was useful. In Care of Magical Creatures, where misunderstood beings were met with wonder instead of fear. And, slowly, in the few people who saw past the armor to the fiercely loyal heart beneath.

Kelly Mallis doesn’t fit the mold of a traditional wizard. He doesn’t care for rules, or bloodlines, or reputation. But he knows how to survive, and the rest he will find a way to figure out. He always finds a way.

Pet: A small, scruffy runt of a Barn Owl named Hawk
Wand: 10 ¾ inches, Ashwood, Dragon Heartstring core. Ashwood is for those with a tough and resilient nature, and the dragon at the core reflects the fiery, often uncontrollable magic he contains
Special Abilities: Kelly has an affinity for connecting with magical creatures, particularly the more misunderstood or dangerous ones. This comes from a deen, unspoken empathy born of hardship. He also has an edge with non-verbal magic, though it is never predictable.
Least Favorite Class: Potions. Kelly dislikes following instruction, and the craft of potions involves so much structure and control, both areas he struggles with
Favorite Class: Care of Magical Creatures. He finds a sense of peace and belonging in this class, among creatures that are misunderstood, much like himself
Are They in any Clubs?: No, though he’s very fond of his Quidditch team, and often found sneaking around with them in the Castle, and out among Hogsmeade
Role: None. Kelly would never have the patience or behaviour to carry the torch of Prefect, though he is a key cornerstone of his Quidditch team.

Sexuality Orientation: Bicurious (VERY reluctantly, denying his own curiosity)
Romantic Orientation: Demiromantic

Relationships:
Macy "Mace" Lane - A fellow oddball from the Hufflepuff house, who I will add more about once I've done her character sheet. A flippant wealthy heiress, treating Hogwarts like a summer camp.

Facts
He has a soft spot for small, fluffy, scrappy animals. He can be extremely brusque with people, but he’s not afraid to be seen cooing and speaking gentle words to a small creature
He’s a surprisingly good cook. Having to step up and take responsibility for his siblings for a young age, Kelly took to this skill early. He enjoys the mess and experimentation of the kitchen
He collects strange trinkets. A scrap of fabric, the first coin found on the floor in Hogsmeade, an old hat. He lost almost everything of his childhood, and was moved so frequently in foster care, so he finds sentiment and comfort in strange things, and has a deep longing to hold onto them. He’s well adjusted to living out of suitcase, but will always keep a small biscuit tin of trinkets with him
Hates being praised. He has a deep rooted inferiority complex, and is very uncomfortable and awkward with compliments
He runs frequently, often waking early to jog the school grounds. Exercise is his main form of self care
Because he is so restless, he has an anxious habit of tapping his fingers. You could read Kelly like a book by his physical habits alone. He jigs his leg when bored or anxious, has a habitual sniff if he’s annoyed or irritated
Having grown up in poverty and having to find creative means to scrape by, Kelly is expert at sneaking around and incredibly resourceful. Whether it’s patching up Quidditch uniforms or crafting a charm from scratch, he always finds a way.
[/i]

THE WILDCARD ♠

Kelly Mallis

location:

hogwarts

outfit:

interactions:

 

[Charlotte003]

Credit: Unknown model on Pinterest.

Full Name: Camile Bronte
Nicknames: Cami, by close friends
Age: 25
Gender: F.
Pronouns: She/her
FaceClaim

Patronus: Northern House Wren
Wand Type: Cherry dragonstring 9.5 inches.
Do They Sponsor Any Clubs? Yes, the duelling club.
Are They a Head of House Yes, Slytherin.
Boggart: Her fiance disappeared when he was 24 and she was 21. This wouldn’t be so bad if for the fact that no one has heard from him since July 13th. Her deepest fear is that the familial curse surrounding her family had finally acted on its’ promises and eliminated her intended.
Blood Status: Half-Blood
Pet(s): None.
Amortentia: Parchment and the faint smell of cigarettes.
Personality (traits or paragraphs)
Camile tends to be towards the quiet side due to her injury. Yet, her temper is one to be feared amongst the students. The woman may be unable to hardly utter a word beyond spell casting - yet her detentions were universally feared for the sheer amount of pinpointed critiques of form. Even the best student’s of their year were quickly broken under the woman’s berating. Yet, at the same time, the woman could be extremely kind to the innocent first years who came from broken homes. Camile was always quick to offer a personal tutoring session on duelling to the specific student in question. Along came a brief education on wizarding rights and loopholes. To summarize, Camile is a complex person with her own strict moral code, that rarely makes sense to others.

Backstory/History: Camile had damaged her throat, permanently while experimenting in her apprenticeship for Potions Mistress. For teaching, she relied on tapes that were pre recorded for lectures. These took great effort and had required a good deal of numbing potions, and resulted in magical exhaustion. Yet, the results were worth their weight in gold. For other methods of communication, she typically answered students’ questions by owl, which they received at breakfast the next morning.

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

Sexuality Orientation Bisexual
Romantic Orientation Bisexual
Headcanons / Fun Facts

 

[Gordon_Greenwood]

​

Listen to me, Son. For every chip in an Edo Period vase, its value depreciates. People are the same way. Kenneth Lake

I'll come back for you, dragonfly. I promise! Allyson Lake

• General Information
• Hogwarts Career
• Appearance
• Personality
• Background
• Skills

• Name: Adrian Lake
  Nickname: Dragonfly (Childhood - Mother Only)
  Father: Kenneth Lake
  Mother: Allyson Lake
  Career: Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
  Age: 34
  Birthday: May 8^th
  Sign: Taurus
  Gender: Male
  Pronouns: He/Him
  Face-claim: Dougie Poynter
• Year of Admittance: 1997
  Year Graduated: 2008
  House: Gryffindor
  Classes Taught: Transfiguration and Flying Lessons
  Patronus: Scottish Deerhound
  Wand Type: Maple wood with a dragon heart-string core. 11.75" -- Solid flexibility.
  Head of House: Yes, Gryffindor
  Boggart: A black, silent, empty void
  Blood Status: Pureblood
  Pet(s): None
  Amortentia: Campfire smoke, caramel, and Ogden's Reserve
• 
  
  

  Stats

  Height: 5'10
  Weight: Mid-Weight/Average
  Build: Toned/Ectomorph
  Hair: Strawberry-Blond/Messy/Shaggy
  Eyes: Almond/Cobalt Blue/Defiant
  Notable Features: Light Freckles/Right Arm Sleeve Tattoo/Gauged Ears/Stubbly Reddish-Gold Beard

• 
  
  
  

  
  
  

  Bold, Flirtatious, Mischievous.​

  
  Adrian's mother and father are responsible for the person he became. Adrian's mother, Allyson, spent her time as a socialite, hosting extravagant events and parties. Whereas most wizarding, upper-crust parties were dull affairs, Allyson Lake went out of her way to make a nuisance of herself as a host. At least, that's how her attendees usually felt—Adrian adored them! From murder-mystery themed dinners to parties piled with pranks secretly hidden away for unwary guests to stumble into, Adrian's sense of mischief, humor, and outspokenness all stemmed from his mother.
  
  His father, Kenneth Lake, worked as an antiquities dealer and historian, sparking an ever-present curiosity in his son. No love could ever outpace the love Adrian's father had for exploration and discovery—except the love he had for his wife. To say that the two of Adrian's parents were romantic would be an understatement. Their displays of public affection and flirtatious remarks were downright obnoxious. They made eyes at each other until the day they disappeared from Adrian's life.
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  December 15th, 2001
  1:58 am.
  
  "Wake up, dragonfly."
  
  Normally, Adrian would wave away a request like this, mumbling for five more minutes at his mother, but the panic in her tone set him upright immediately. Allyson Lake's reddish-gold hair hung around her face haphazardly, grey eyes flitting around the room by way of wand-light. His mother's cloak dangled off one shouldered, as if she had dressed in the dark and was too hurried to fix it.
  
  "Mum?" Adrian rasped, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Wha-time issit?"
  
  "Get dressed, love." She hissed. "Get your wand. We need to leave."
  
  Adrian pushed himself out of bed, stumbling over a pile of yesterday's clothes in the dim lighting. Crossing to his desk by the window, he carefully felt the surface for his wand. It didn't take long for his fingertips to brush the maple wood, but he managed to send it rolling in his sleep-deprived state. It clattered behind the back.
  
  The boy grumbled under his breath. Latching his hands to the front leg, he tugged the desk back from the wall. Lukan, his barn owl, must've been perched on the edge of the desk, its sudden movement giving Adrian's feathered friend a fright. He let out an indignant squawk at the Gryffindor.
  
  "Shut her up, Adrian," his mother demanded. Her shoulders tightened, head whipping to the bedroom door. She fired a silencing ward at it.
  
  "What's going on, mum?"
  
  "Just get your wand and grab my hand!" Allyson snapped back.
  
  Adrian did as he was told, clinging tightly to his mother's arm. The familiar squeeze of a side-along hit him right as his bedroom door came off the hinges in a blinding flash of red light. A moment later, and the two of them were standing in a clearing, the moon hanging high above them.
  
  "I have to go!" Allyson told him. "Your father needs my help."
  
  "Wait, mum! What was that?" Adrian pleaded, clutching the edge of her robe.
  
  "There's no time! I love you so very much. I'll be back with your father, so just wait for me here." She turned, striding away from her son. He was still gawping at her when she faced him again. "I'll come back for you, dragonfly. I promise!"
  
  And with that, she vanished. Hours ticked by as the moon drifted lower toward the horizon.
  
  

  
  

  
  Those hours turned to days
  

  
  
  
  and those days turned to weeks
  

  
  
  
  
  
  then years
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  And still, she never came for him.
  
  
  
• 
  Animagus - (Sun Bear)
  Parseltongue
  
  
  

 

[blue tea]

still transferring stuff over, bear with me !

code by opaline

ambrosia galanis

hufflepuff perfect

introduction

Ambrosia is a whimsical soul, peculiar in the most enchanting ways. He speaks in riddles and reverent murmurs about ancient gods and forgotten pantheons, echoing a language older than memory itself. He is silver mist and rose-tinted sunsets—ephemeral, ethereal, and quietly radiant. Within him burns a flickering flame: tender with motherly devotion, yet fierce in his promise of protection. He is both cradle and sword—soft for the weary and sharp for the wicked. At his core, Ambrosia is a broken-hearted queen still mourning the loss of his king, draped in grief that glimmers like shattered stars.

basics

𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄.

Xiao Yingsu Ambrosia Galanis

𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆.

Food of the Gods

𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄.

Amb, Ambri, Bri

𝐀𝐆𝐄.

18

𝐙𝐎𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐂.

Cancer

𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘.

July 7th

𝐒𝐄𝐗.

Intersex

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑.

Male

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐒.

Masculine & Feminine

𝐒𝐄𝐗𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘.

Gay

𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

Demi

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒.

Single

wizarding info

𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑.

7th

𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄.

Hufflepuff

𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

Perfect

𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒.

Pureblood

𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘.

An animagus that shifts into a petite, long-haired lilac smoke albino chimera kitty with soft pink irises

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐃.

An 11 1/2" English oak with a chimera scale fragment core with flexibility

𝐁𝐎𝐆𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐓.

content

𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐔𝐒.

Swan

𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐀.

Rich honey, new parchment, nature, fallen rain, sunlight against bare skin, peonies

𝐏𝐄𝐓.

A black barn owl named Makarios, a cream cameo long-haired male Maine Coon named Zeus, and a deaf white long-haired female Maine Coon named Hera

𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐋 𝐂𝐋𝐔𝐁𝐒.

Book club

𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄.

Herbology, Astronomy

𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄.

DADA

appearance

𝐁𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐃.

Lithe, Petite

𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓.

5'10"

𝐖𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓.

125.4lbs

𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐍.

Smooth, milky white

𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒.

Warm mocha, though Ambrosia uses an eye-color changing spell to make it a soft, jeweled pink hue

𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑.

Soft, silky blond which stops a little past his knees

𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓.

Plum blossoms and ylang ylang (a sweet, delicate floral honey-like aroma with fruity undertones - almost like a rich honey perfume)

𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐓𝐘𝐋𝐄.

Depending on his mood, Ambrosia opts to wear more feminine clothing, often stylized in honor of the home he left behind in Greece, with flowing, delicate dresses spilling from his lithe frame to sweaters he's stolen from others, backless shirts, form-fitting suits, off-shoulder shirts with billowing sleeves, two-piece outfits usually paired with delicate jewelry, heeled boots, doc martins, and fingerless gloves. Of course, Ambrosia's typical comfy outfit consists of an oversized sweater, cotton shorts, round glasses, and bare feet.

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄.

Delicate, otherworldly frame - femine yet masculine in nature

𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂.

His voice is honeyed moonlight laced with silver sighs, carrying an orotund richness that never oversteps its bounds. It is soft—achingly so—like a melody remembered from an ancient dream as each word unfurls with the gentleness of falling lace. Though his speech curls through the air, bearing a cadence of old riddles and antique grace, it is never sharp. A voice meant not to command, but to coax one's heart into listening, lulled by the gentle thrum of his vibrato as it settles over weary shoulders like an eternal lullaby.

𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐒.

A silver scar traces a haunting sonnet across his porcelain skin. It begins at the curve of his lower left hip to curl upward in an elegant, sorrowful arc to rest at his back beneath his third rib. A quiet testament of things long past, forever veiled in mystery.

𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐒.

A watercolor back tattoo of a delicate maiden, ethereal as moonlight, rests with closed eyes amid an eruption of lush peonies

𝐀𝐂𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒.

Never seen without blooms freshly plucked and woven into golden tresses that cascade like wisps of sunlight over a gaunt shoulder, blushing peonies and seasonal flowers as a whispered devotion to Persephone. He wears body chains that glint like morning dew, with delicate chokers nestled around his slender neck with subtle elegance.

𝐅𝐂.

爱拍照的玉老师 (coser)

𝐕𝐂.

Xie Lian from Heaven's Official Blessing

𝐀𝐓 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐆𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄.

A stranger might pause, spellbound by Ambrosia's lithe and otherworldly beauty. His androgynous frame glows with a pearlescent hush, with golden hair tumbling over his shoulder like the sun's final kiss at dusk. His pale hands, delicate as sculpted marble, move gracefully. His eyes, a soft, jeweled pink, hold ancient galaxies behind their moonstone depths as if the stars were whispering secrets within his knowing gaze. He is a Goddess draped in mortal skin. A child of Aphrodite longing for light and love's first breath.

𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒.

content

persona

𝐌𝐁𝐓𝐈.

INTP

𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐓.

The Empress

𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

Abnegation

𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓.

Water

𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐘𝐏𝐄.

The Caregiver, The Lover

𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓.

Neutral Good

𝐄𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐌.

6w5

𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓.

Phl-Mel

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐆𝐄.

Physical Touch

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐒.

Quiet, Open-Minded, Ruthless, Imaginative, Overly Idealistic, Meticulous, Devoted, Hardworking, Protective, Self-Confident, Intellectual, Reactive, Steady, Empathetic, Compassionate, Sensitive, Daydreamer, Kind, Loyal, Observant, Clever, Curious, Helpful, Warm, Withdrawn, Motherly, Generous, Passionate, Self-Isolating, Self-Critical, Reserved, Introvert, Analytical, Self-Reliant, Creative, Sentimental, Cold, Aloof, Affectionate

Ambrosia is a soul spun of stardust and lullabies, his presence as gentle as a half-remembered dream. He drifts through the world like mist over moonlit fields—soft, elusive, and quietly enchanted. Words fall from his lips like petals in twilight: tender, melodic, and laced with truths that feel older than time.

He is a creature of myth and memory, a hopeless romantic whose heart beats in rhythm with forgotten fairy tales and heavenly fates. Yet beneath his wistful gaze lies a mind sharpened by logic, honed not by cold reason, but by the quiet discipline of clarity. His insights cut clean through illusion, wrapped in kindness, delivered in a tone that seems to hum with ancient music.

Ambrosia does not seek power or walk in another's shadow. He steps aside when ideals clash like clanging bells—not in fear, but in sacred knowing. He is an unmoving star in a whirling sky. A grounding presence in a world of unknowns. His comfort is touch and voice: a hand to the shoulder or a whisper of reassurance that seeps deep into the bones—a brother to some and others a guardian spirit. When jestingly called a mother hen, he offers only a knowing smile, eyes alight with mischief and mystery.

Ever watchful, Ambrosia sees what others overlook—the language of glances, the tremor in a held breath, the weight behind unspoken words. He weaves these glimpses into quiet acts of care. And when darkness threatens those he loves? His gentle spirit gives way to something far older and fiercer. His vengeance is graceful like Poseidon’s waves crashing down on unsuspecting sailors forever trapped within a cold watery grave.

He bears the pain of others like an oracle bears visions by absorbing sorrow until it dances wild beneath his skin. His warmth may fracture in those moments, giving way to brash words and haunted glances, but the magic remains. Ambrosia speaks the language of silence, of grief wrapped in shadow. He knows what to do when no words will come—how to be still, be near, and hold others within delicate hands.

And still, he is a private being, drawn to the quiet between heartbeats. He finds sanctuary in solitude, sipping tea beneath flowering branches, listening to windchimes and half-told stories. His emotions are veiled like moonlight through gauze—present, felt, but never unruly. Even in chaos, he is composed: a mysterious flame that flickers but never truly falters.

𝐀 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓.

content

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐋 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐖.

content

𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐘.

content

𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐒.

content

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐒.

content

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒.

content

𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒.

content

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒.

content

𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒.

content

𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐒.

content

𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐑𝐊𝐒.

content

𝐇𝐎𝐁𝐁𝐈𝐄𝐒.

content

𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐌𝐒.

content

background

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Nam nec felis consequat, tristique tellus nec, sodales elit. Curabitur rhoncus felis sed ante blandit, sed tempor nibh tincidunt. Vivamus ultrices, dui nec fermentum convallis, ex est pretium lectus, eget elementum dolor velit eu nibh. In metus lacus, pulvinar vel scelerisque vel, molestie a mi. Curabitur velit arcu, tristique eu felis eget, volutpat viverra ex. Quisque ut risus nec elit accumsan feugiat a sed lacus. Nulla facilisi. Vivamus id tellus urna. Vivamus pulvinar feugiat mattis. Nunc enim ante, luctus quis molestie ultrices, congue nec purus.

connections

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘.

content

𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐋 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐌.

content

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆.

content

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐒𝐁𝐘𝐘.

content

𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐔𝐃.

content

𝐊𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐒.

content

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐀𝐊𝐋𝐄𝐘.

content

𝐊𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐑.

content

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐊𝐀𝐈 𝐙𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐎𝐊𝐔.

content

𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐓.

content

𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐖𝐀𝐍.

content

𝐍𝐏𝐂 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.

content

misc.

𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓.

content

𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓.

content

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆.

content

𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘.

content

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒.

content

𝐎𝐓𝐏 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒.

content

 

[blue tea]

still transferring stuff, bear with me !

code by opaline

youkai zankoku

the headmaster

introduction

Youkai is a creature carved from grief and the wreckage of promises long broken. He carries a weight to him in the way he moves with broad, battle-worn shoulders that never quite rise like he’s been carrying too much for too long. His body a map of ruin, marked by the ghosts of failures he can’t forget, as each scar tells a chapter in a story he doesn’t speak out loud. He’s stubborn to the bone—a storm-scarred soul who’d rather bleed quietly than burden others with the howling cries clawing at his skin.

His gaze carries the weight of things never said, ff horrors buried in silence and memories too sharp to hold gently. There’s something ancient within him in how he stares at the world like he’s already lived a hundred lives and left pieces in his wake. A father. A husband. A soldier shaped by loss. And maybe that loss is what will undo him in the very end.

A warrior who deserves rest but refuses to take it because he sees nothing but a monster when he looks in the mirror.

basics

𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄.

Youkai Zankoku

𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆.

Cruel Ghost

𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄.

Pops, Old Man, Gramps, Koku

𝐀𝐆𝐄.

65

𝐙𝐎𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐂.

Taurus

𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘.

May 15th

𝐒𝐄𝐗.

Male

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑.

Male

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐒.

Masculine

𝐒𝐄𝐗𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘.

Demi

𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

Demi

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒.

Single

wizarding info

𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑.

None

𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄.

Former Slytherin

𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

Headmaster

𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒.

Pureblood

𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘.

An animagus that shifts into an obsidian Northwestern wolf with a molten copper iris

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐃.

An 13" holly wood with a dragon core and resonablly supple flexibility

𝐁𝐎𝐆𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐓.

content

𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐔𝐒.

Dire Wolf

𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐀.

Oakmoss, smoke, leather, old parchment

𝐏𝐄𝐓.

A peregrine falcon named Oriel

𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐋 𝐂𝐋𝐔𝐁𝐒.

Shapeshifter Club

𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄.

DADA

𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄.

Flying

appearance

𝐁𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐃.

content

𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓.

content

𝐖𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓.

content

𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐍.

content

𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒.

content

𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑.

content

𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓.

content

𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐓𝐘𝐋𝐄.

content

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄.

content

𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂.

content

𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐒.

content

𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐒.

content

𝐀𝐂𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒.

content

𝐅𝐂.

content

𝐕𝐂.

content

𝐀𝐓 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐆𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄.

content

𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒.

content

persona

𝐌𝐁𝐓𝐈.

ISTP

𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐓.

The Emperor

𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

Dauntless

𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓.

Earth

𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐘𝐏𝐄.

The Ruler, The Hero

𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓.

Lawful Neutral

𝐄𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐌.

5w6 / 9w8

𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓.

Phl

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐆𝐄.

Quality Time, Words of Affirmation

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐒.

Ambitious, Wise, Adventurous, Practical, Creative, Calm, Rational, Analytical, Caring, Passionate, Reliable, Troubleshooter, Open-Minded, Tolerant, Kind, Self-Aware, Adaptive, Flexible, Supportive, Even-Tempered, Assertive, Observant, Independent, Compassionate, Mysteroius, Blunt, Enigmatic, Strict, Logical, Quiet, Contemplative, Honest, Reserved, Reckless, Stubborn, Aloof, Relatively Easy-Going, Introvert, Stoic, Diplomatic, Determined, Insensitive, Cold, Impatient, Ruthless, Isolated, Withdrawn, Hardworking, Self-Critical, Protective, Secretive

Youkai is an old soul wrapped in a body that never quite mended with scarred bone and bitter memories as each step echoes a quiet pain he learned to carry like a second skin. His sins weigh like iron chains draggin’ through the dirt leavin’ a bloody trail in his wake, convinced he’s beyond savin’ with ghosts and demons alike hoverin’ over his broad shoulders like buzzards over a man too stubborn to lie down. He’s been countin’ his sins since childhood. He ain’t about to start countin’ what little blessings he has, biddin’ his time until death comes knockin’ like old friends long overdue.

Maybe it’s because he lived all these years while kin dropped like flies—one after another without remorse. Unable to do anythin’ but watch as vultures tear into viscera with blood drippin’ from bony beaks. He ain’t too sure he’d be strong enough to lose another person. His gut curdlin’ with guilt at havin’ to bury another friend when he’s nothin’ but a sinner just waitin’ for damnation.

He’s civil when he has to be—diplomatic, sure—but that doesn’t mean he likes you. He’ll tip his hat and grit his teeth till yer outta earshot ‘cause he knows better than most how folks’ll crawl under yer skin if ya let ‘em. He ain’t got the patience for pretense, and sure as hell don’t want sugarcoated words. Tell him he’s an old man—bitter and rugged, Youkai’ll just crack a smirk and shrug weather-beaten shoulders like it's the truth.

Youkai walks with a presence that steadies the room, whom folks naturally look to when things go sideways. He’s calm, nearly distant. His voice a gravel-warmed baritone that commands silence without tryin’. He ain’t one to speak about his emotions like somethin’ sacred or dangerous, but when things go sideways, he’s on the frontlines as a steady, unflinchin’ figure. Stoic in the storm. He’ll take the hits, lead the charge, and damn well bleed if it means keepin’ his people alive.

He doesn't take kindly to strangers, keeps 'em in his sights like a hawk watchin' somethin’ from the skies—silent, patient, and measurin’. Prove yerself, or move the hell on. It ain’t handed out like candy, but earned through hard work and resilience. And if ya so much as threaten his kin? He won’t just warn ya. He’ll make damn sure ya don’t get the chance to try again.

Whatever the job demands, ugly or brutal, he’ll shoulder it without complaint because someone has to. And Youkai was made to carry the burden the moment death struck him across the face.

𝐀 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓.

content

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐋 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐖.

content

𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐘.

content

𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐒.

content

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐒.

content

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒.

content

𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒.

content

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒.

content

𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒.

content

𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐒.

content

𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐑𝐊𝐒.

content

𝐇𝐎𝐁𝐁𝐈𝐄𝐒.

content

𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐌𝐒.

content

background

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Nam nec felis consequat, tristique tellus nec, sodales elit. Curabitur rhoncus felis sed ante blandit, sed tempor nibh tincidunt. Vivamus ultrices, dui nec fermentum convallis, ex est pretium lectus, eget elementum dolor velit eu nibh. In metus lacus, pulvinar vel scelerisque vel, molestie a mi. Curabitur velit arcu, tristique eu felis eget, volutpat viverra ex. Quisque ut risus nec elit accumsan feugiat a sed lacus. Nulla facilisi. Vivamus id tellus urna. Vivamus pulvinar feugiat mattis. Nunc enim ante, luctus quis molestie ultrices, congue nec purus.

connections

𝐀𝐌𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐀 𝐆𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐒.

content

𝐂𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐈 𝐒𝐎𝐖𝐊𝐀.

content

𝐉𝐀𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄.

content

𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐍 𝐆𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐓.

content

𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐍 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐍.

content

𝐖𝐑𝐄𝐍 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐘.

content

𝐉𝐀𝐄𝐖𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆.

content

𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐓.

content

𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐕𝐎𝐋𝐊𝐎𝐕.

content

𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐖𝐀𝐍.

content

𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐄 𝐃𝐔𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆.

content

𝐀𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐋𝐀𝐊𝐄.

content

𝐍𝐏𝐂 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.

content

misc.

𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓.

content

𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓.

content

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆.

content

𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘.

content

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒.

content

𝐎𝐓𝐏 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒.

content