ahhhHH. i’m so sad to see this closing but i totally understand birdie’s decision. y’all are all so talented and amazing, i had an A+++++ time writing with you guys. my personal/writing blog is cyndxqvil if you wanna keep in touch!!!!<33333

Shots by Imagine Dragons

Act like you trust people, but don’t.

(via putawrites)

          She had managed to catch him off guard, and admittedly, it had rendered him somewhat bemused. He wasn't flustered or embarrassed, no, Tarian possessed too much self-restraint for such a slip to happen—yet, the controlling streak in him was indeed grumbling a little in displeasure. He watched silently as emotions flitted across Andrea’s countenance. Intrigue, consideration, then the faintest trace of a civil smile.

          The boy let out a huff of breath, his expression falling somewhere between polite nonchalance and amusement as she struggled to remember his name. “Yup,” said he, gently popping the p. “Excellent memory you’ve got.”

          The autumn wind howled against his eardrums, the eerie sound reminding him of the countless rumours and creepy stories surrounding the Shrieking Shack. Tary stood, soaking in the atmosphere, a dim glint of curiosity flitting across his features as his gaze settled upon the shack that seemed to be on the verge of collapse. Some underclassmen liked to sneak out after nightfall, daring each other to enter the supposedly haunted building, only to hastily scamper out upon hearing the tiniest creak or a groan. He would know, since he had caught a fair share of them.

          “So,” he began. “the Ravenclaw curiosity extends to ghosts, then?”

shrieking shack rendezvous • andrea & tarian

      A natural and, quite frankly, unavoidable wave of curiosity suddenly coursed through Andrea’s veins. She couldn’t help it; Slytherin Chasers were known for being very in-tune with their surroundings, she thought he would’ve noticed her presence from a mile away. But he didn’t. He was apparently so lost in thought that he didn’t even notice when she walked up to him, he seemed to realize she was there only when she spoke up.

      Whatever had his mind so occupied, Andrea wanted to know about. Her instinct was to pry, but she knew better. She never liked it when people pried—- particularly if their prying interrupted her thought process. Andrea decided, she wouldn’t ask directly, he’d tell her if he found it fitting. 

      For a quick moment, if only to make the situation just a bit more amusing to her, she played with the idea of lying. She decided against it; that wouldn’t make him want to talk to her. “Andrea, yeah.” She confirmed with a nod of her head and the slightest hint of a smile. It disappeared quickly, though, as she flipped through her endless thoughts. She had to have heard his name some time, and not remembering it was more than just a little bit irritating. “I know it starts with a ‘t’. Ter– Tar— Oh! Tarian. That it?”

          A curious, analytical look flitted across his features. This one wasn’t brooding about the pressure and the threat of death looming over him, no. He was happy and unafraid, satisfaction rolling off him in sanguine waves. Not nervous, not anxious, not overly zealous. There was a calmer quality to his enthusiasm. Either the French boy strongly believed in his chances of winning, or he happened to be a brilliant actor. Whatever it was, he was playing it well. Softening his sharp gaze, Tarian simply offered: “Good luck.”

          The duel seemed to be dragging on. He shifted on his feet, bored, then cocked his head towards the Beauxbatons kid as he spoke. “J'ai volé ça des cuisines. Ne le dis à personne." Tary shrugged, his face still deadpan as ever. Every Hogwarts student knew food couldn’t be stolen from the kitchens, since it wasn’t forbidden in the first place. What a shame that there were no microwaves here—it would’ve been much less of a hassle.

          “Nah,” he replied with a slight tilt of his head. Many of his housemates were members, but he simply couldn’t comprehend the appeal of the club. The duels were fun to watch, sure, but participating in them and getting unnecessarily hurt? No. Miscast spells were the worst, and Merlin knew how often they ended up in the Hospital Wing. “Just watchin’. This is the closest thing to reality entertainment you can get here.”

           “Then I guess we’ll wait until someone goes limp?” In spite of the smirk that tugged at his lips, he was only partly joking. Gaze fixed on the platform, it was clear that neither competitor was letting up anytime soon. They rapidly countered each other’s spells with grace, their slow dance around the stage seemingly never-ending. Was it so vile that he almost wanted someone to get hurt? He quickly brushed the thought aside. “Can’t argue with you there,” he remarked, lightly nodding in agreement. He admired the boy’s nonchalant humor; Lucien was far too expressive to be able to even try to imitate that kind of composure. “The Durmstrang girl’s a sight for sore eyes, but definitely no competition for shirtless Brad Pitt.”

           “Never,” he replied resolutely. Just one night of shots and cheap wine wasn’t anything he couldn’t regularly get roped into at Beauxbatons. “The Tournament hasn’t even started yet. I’ve still got a whole year of celebrating ahead of me.” His optimism likely came off as overconfidence, he knew, but that had never dissuaded him before. He scooped a small handful of popcorn into his palm, and popped a few pieces into his mouth. “Merci beaucoup. Name’s Luc, by the way. And this was a great idea,” he added, gesturing toward the bowl in the other boy’s arms. “Are you in the dueling club?”

Jennifer Donnelly, Revolution

          The Head Boy shrugged, corners of his lips twitching downward in a dismissive expression. “Dunno. You got picked as champion, and you’re here cryin’ your eyes out. Didn’t really strike me as satisfied.” Of course, everything was all assumed based on what was laid before his eyes. But her tears weren’t those of joy or delight, no—they were heartfelt, he knew that much for certain. He had caught her in the most fragile of positions.

          Had this been any other situation in which he was called a dick (and its creative variants), he wouldn’t have hesitated to fire an unabashed retort, something along the lines of Excuse you, I’m fucking nice. He opened his mouth to say exactly that, then closed it abruptly, considering how to play this. A show of vulnerability required an action similar in honesty in return—that’s how trust was built. How a feeling of comfort was shared.

          Thus, instead of spouting out a cheeky comment, Tarian pursed his lips. “Can’t afford to be otherwise when you’re a Muggleborn.” The answer was a plain and genuine one, a stark contrast to his previous languid, nonchalant words.

          This was a rare occurrence, considering that the Slytherin seldom revealed his real thoughts regarding his blood status. Saddled with stigma and prejudice, the wizarding society—despite the Ministry’s claims of progress—wasn’t kind to people like him. However popular and social he may be seen as in Hogwarts, he knew the real world was a different matter altogether. 

          “Now that I don’t think you’d know about,” he drawled without looking her way, yet his voice was neither confrontational nor accusatory. The added remark was meant to be received as both a statement of fact and an implication of his awareness on what the Dolohov family believed in. (What they stood for. What they had killed people like him for.) Granted, the extent of his knowledge was limited to newspaper articles and books written about the war, but he supposed it was enough.

Caught || Laurinka & Tarian

          Laurinka wiped her eyes before her hands fell into her lap again Everything about her felt heavy, every muscle was exhausting to move. It was hard to blame him for being callous; she was just as annoyed with herself as he must be, maybe even more. Each word he spoke cut sharply through the air. It was similar to the harsh wind that whipped against her ears; annoying, but all around tolerable enough to stay.  

        Her, on the other hand, didn’t seem tolerable enough to stay, and Laurinka looked away as the boy sat down in an attempt to hide her befuddled expression. She didn’t know what force of nature had caused him to come closer, letting his muscles sink down beside her, just an arm’s length away.  

      She looked back as he spoke again. Now he was illuminated by bright, and silver moonlight. Making out his features now, she could see his looks matched his sound quite nicely. Hair kept, clean, and fair skin. It wasn’t that anything about him was ugly… just noticeably righteous.  

     “What are you trying to hint at exactly? What did I want, and not get?” she asked him honestly. It sounded like he could read what she was upset about just by glance, but there must be something he wasn’t quite understanding right for him to believe she hadn’t wanted this. She couldn’t really blame him, her feelings confused her, too. 

      “– Also, is it just your thing to be a dick, or have I slighted you in some way?” she managed to ask before forgetting. Surely, she didn’t have to tell the boy he was being a dick for him to know, but maybe he never stopped long enough to wonder why.

"'Course I would, you're my favorite source of entertainment. I'm not as heartless as you think I am,” Tary countered smoothly, his countenance as indifferent as ever, since he knew Evie wasn't going to take him seriously. (He suspected she never did.) It was bizarre to think that once the tasks started, there would be death and danger lurking at her—or any other champion’s—wake, laid out in plain sight yet repeatedly disregarded. No, he didn’t think about it. Not his problem. They had chosen to put their necks on the line for fame, glory, money, adventure, or whatever their motive might have been. What came after, therefore, fell upon them.

But was he concerned? Troubled that something might happen to her? He supposed yes, though it was unlikely that he was going to lose sleep over it. The Gryffindor followed her whims, free and careless with the force of a whirlwind that she was. Nothing he (or anyone) said was able to deter her once her mind was settled. He’d just be supportive from the sidelines. In truth, the reality of the Tournament had not sunk into him just yet. Caught up in the excitement, Tarian’s mind simply couldn’t process the notion of something veritably horrifying occurring. The tasks were said to be life-threatening, but surely they wouldn’t be that bad, would they?

“A committee. So, basically a gang of old people sittin’ around the table, thinkin’ about the best possible ways to kill some teenagers.” The boy snickered. “I thought the Ministry had better things to do.” Reaching out a hand to scratch Hendrix’s back, he replied: “Just make sure your new mates don’t trample you to death. That’d be unpleasant. And definitely not the start of a blooming friendship, either.”

“Oh my God, I know.” She rolled her eyes. “I suppose that’s why heating charms exist, but it’s not as if they have one that covers the entire castle. Which, if they don’t invest in electrical heating, they should totally do.” She supposed floo travel would be the most logical reason for the fireplaces, but as far as she was aware, that wasn’t even allowed (and neither was Apparating, unfortunately). The castle was absolutely abysmal during the winter, students huddled in robes and around fireplaces. “If I didn’t know it was 2023, I would think time machines really did exist and we’ve been transported to the middle ages.”

“You’d miss me, admit it,” she teased, throwing him a lazy smirk. It was easy to say she wasn’t afraid—not of death, not of anything—and it was far more difficult to admit that was a lie. If the last Tournament had dragons and mermaids and people nearly drowning, tied to the bottom of the lake, then what would this one have? Hopefully history wouldn’t repeat itself. Shaking those thoughts from her mind, she settled on the exhilarating aspect of it: the thrill of these dangerous tasks and the adrenaline already coursing through her.

“Oh, same. Who doesn’t love creatures that could be turn you to ashes in one go?” She laughed, leaning her head to one side. “Hell if I know. I haven’t heard anything. Maybe there’s a committee or some shit like that. The Forest? I’ve been there so many times already, that’ll be easy. Not sure about the centaurs, but hey, maybe I’ll make some new friends.”

          Blinking languidly, his eyes settled upon the fuming brunet with a keen, gauging look. In all honesty, he hadn’t expected James to get riled up in such a short period of time. Should he be proud of this achievement, or was it due to the sheer hot-headedness of the other? How quintessentially Gryffindor. Tary flashed him an innocuously smug grin. “I was just tellin’ you some health-related benefits,” he gave a smooth retort, his nose wrinkling a bit in a playful manner. “It’s all very scientific, you know. Google-approved with a stamp and everythin’.” An odd sense of hunch slowly dawned on him that there was more to this, there was something that ran deeper than just a stupid and childlike feeling of shame that accompanied being sexually inexperienced—and his hunches were known to be accurate from time to time.

          It didn’t seem like the other boy had planned on blurting out his lack of a sex life to another student, much less someone who was practically close to a stranger. Regardless, Tarian filed away the information for later. He wasn’t sure where exactly it could be used—or if he would choose to use it at all—but he liked having every card he could gather in his hands.

          Oh, he adored a good challenge as much as the next Gryffindor—but only when he thought the outcome to be worth the effort. Diving headfirst with no consideration was an idiot’s move. Emotions did affect his judgment (he was only human, after all), but the boy preferred to think he had them taken care of relatively well. The key was to keep them under control so as not to let them control him. 

          There was a pause, long and thoughtful. “Are you?” he retorted pointedly. Then, one of his shoulders moving in a halfhearted shrug, he let his gaze transform into something more relaxed, and less intently observant like it had been. “It ain’t a bad thing, you know. Don’t have to get your knickers in a twist about it, being—” A virgin. “—uninterested.” Yes, that worked nicely. Despite his slightly bored tone, what he said was more or less genuine. Sex was sex. No point in arguing when you had it.

the most fun a boy can have without taking his clothes off • james & tarian

              A sense of loathing welled up in him. He hated to be laughed at. From what he’d heard from Evie and others, he was fairly certain Tarian wasn’t pushing all his hardest buttons on purpose – he wasn’t the type of Slytherin to be cruel on a whim. But what for him was fun was merely confusing and shameful for James. Men were supposed to be interested in sex. The fact that he’d never even had a glimmer of it made him sick to think about. It only added to the list of things that made him weak and wrong, and as unlikely as it actually was, it felt like Tarian could tell. 

  “I don’t play games,” James seethed. “If you’d like to say something, come out and say it instead of being a fucking toss about it.” It was so very Slytherin of him, to toy this way. Like a cat playing with its food. That helpless feeling continued, stuck in James’ throat. He never knew how to take things less seriously. It was so rare for him to joke like that with people he didn’t know that he marveled at the idea Tarian could at all. 

                     The moment he said it, he wished he could’ve taken it back. People might’ve assumed or thought, and James was certain Claire must know, but he hadn’t ever actually told anyone he was a virgin. Not out loud. This was the closest to any admission he’d ever gotten. Despite his fear, the Gryffindor bravery welled up inside him and refused to let him back down or pretend he meant something different. To let Tarian know he was insecure about his virginity was to let him know his weakness, and he’d had enough of that, really.

     Looking Tarian up and down, he assumed people probably found him attractive. James, however, wasn’t one of those people. Neither boy nor girl had ever gotten him interested, and this one certainly wasn’t going to be the person to do it. “If it was,” James drawled, putting on his best haughty Gryffindor tone, “I don’t really think you’d be up to it, mate.” 

          CLANDESTINE DREAMER.    — [ listen ]

                                                                  There is so much                                                                                    d u s t   in your lungs,                                                                      you’re coughing up fallen cities.                       

          The sound of a low chuckle and the following response made his head take a languid turn towards the source, a corner of his lips twitching in amusement. Tarian recognised the Beauxbatons champion, of course. Lucien something. “The third rule of Fight Club is—well, I don’t think anyone’s gonna yell ‘stop’ anytime soon,” he remarked, eyes flickering over the duel taking place. The girl in blue-and-silver robes seemed to be winning, her wandwork quick and accurate, but only by a small margin. The Durmstrang student was just as unrelenting, casting spells with the intensity (and the subtlety) of a charging bull. They were a good match, he thought. “If only there was a shirtless Brad Pitt in the vicinity,“ he deadpanned in mock ruefulness.

          He wondered if the sudden rise in popularity of the Dueling Club reflected the competitive vibe surrounding the Tournament. Lucien seemed to be in good spirits despite the pressure. He knew the same couldn’t be said for other champions. “Done celebrating?” he asked, referring to the endless stream of parties that had followed the announcement. Head cocked to the side, Tary held up his popcorn in an offer to share, his gaze keenly inspecting the other boy.

           Lucien had been searching the corridors for something to do when the clamorous cheers and chants drew him into the crowded room. Judging by the platform at the center of the sea of students, he guessed that it must have been a meeting for the dueling club. While dueling for sport had never piqued his interest, he figured that watching a few duels could be a promising source of entertainment — and any excuse not to go back to the carriage was fine by him.

           He couldn’t help but chuckle upon hearing the Hogwarts student standing beside him; the parallel he was drawing was obvious. “The second rule of Fight Club is: you do not talk about Fight Club,” he replied sternly, his American accent coming out smoother than he had anticipated, though not nearly as uncanny as the other boy’s.

The club meeting eventually drew to a close. Catching the eyes of the usual group of kids he sat with, he nodded in greeting, then turned his head when the other boy spoke up. He let out a snicker, loud and dismissive, not being able to hold it in anymore. It was blatantly obvious that this poor nervous wreck of a Ravenclaw was squirming to escape his presence. Tary wasn’t sure why he kept on lying about it, though, as he really didn’t care. “You sure about that? Seems like your mates are leavin'.” he interjected, a hint of teasing in his tone. Throwing his stuff into the satchel, he added: “Mind if I borrow your notes, then? ‘Cause I missed the first part.”

The allotted time for the club was drawing to a close, and a few of the more eager students managed to filter quickly out through the rear doors. Isaac breathed a sigh of relief and began to subtly gather his belongings, all the while trying not to go fast enough to give away how desperately he was trying to escape. The other boy had an unnerving way of looking at him, and the way he said his name was even worse. “Oh, n-no. No, not at all,” he said, watching forlornly as his classmates started to leave arm-in-arm with their friends. Soon he’d be alone with this guy. “I don’t have anything important to do anyway,” he said, internally cursing himself even as the words left his mouth.

MOODBOARD; 

   ↳ Tarian Lloyd + Evie Quinn (evieqxinn)

Nirvana - Smells Like Teen Spirit 1991