hello vonnie
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Today's Document
@theartofmadeline
Xuebing Du
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Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
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@allthathype-rion
SLYTHERIN: “The nation that will insist on drawing a broad line of demarcation between the fighting man and the thinking man is liable to find its fighting done by fools and its thinking done by cowards.” -William Francis Butler
For sin shall no longer be your master, because you are not under the law, but under grace.
Romans 6:14
If anyone else claimed to love someone the way he felt he loved her, Scorpius would have informed them they were mental and would’ve taken four large, careful steps away from them. He would’ve called them pathetic for their heartsickness, pitiful for how enraptured they were by their own desire, absurd for the way that they allowed themselves to be dictated by a mere feeling they had for a girl.
Except it was not anyone else who felt this way. It was him. And because it was him, because he was the poster child for careful, measured, calculated emotional response, he was all too aware of the kind of thing an otherwise sensible man became when he fell in love. He became a slave to the most fundamental parts of himself he had long worked hard to push away, the parts that beckoned him to abandon the security of the known and rush headlong toward a girl that was light filtered through water, a breath of warm air puffed in hot mist against the cold, the sturdy ground beneath his feet, the lick of a flame in the night. Because heaven ceased to be an abstraction from the moment he first touched her, it no longer was some theoretical place where souls went when their bodies departed–it was how he felt alive from that point forward. Being in love with her was feeling things he had been determined not to feel, had banished from possibility to save himself from yet another opportunity that might bring the cruel sting that was familiar to him on account of who he was born. It meant that his very person was torn to pieces and reborn with a fragile heart that was fickle and could be bruised but that he could feel and use in his instinctual endeavor to have her. He had never chosen Lily–he had no doubt that something much more ancient than choice had paired them with one another.
When Lily Potter yells at you.
@wililypotter
And I won't fight in vain I'll love you just the same
Making a way
“See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.”
Isaiah 43:19
The therapist told Scorpius and Lily to write down what they wanted in a partner and how they thought a partner could give them whatever it is they wanted so that was what Scorpius was doing with a cup of coffee at his desk when he should have been cataloging the stock of ingredients in the potions lab.
What I want in a partner, he scrawled across the top in his normal neat, slightly sterile-looking marching capitals. He thought for a moment, taking a sip of the slightly-cool coffee, and began writing again.
Lily. Lily. Lily. Someone to shag who likes shagging me. Someone with pretty eyes. Someone who holds me to my word. Someone who understands me or at least tries to. Lily. Someone who makes and keeps promises. Someone who adjusts my tie and helps pick out my cufflinks. Someone to come home to, someone who makes me excited to come home. Someone who is strong and is her own person. Someone who fights for what is right. Someone who fights me when they’re right and I’m not. Lily. Someone who knows what I’m thinking before I do. Someone who challenges me and doesn’t put up with my shit. Someone who I want to be better for. Someone who touches me like they won’t touch anyone else. Someone I can orbit around. Someone I can make my life about. Someone who steadies me. Someone who lets themselves need me. Someone who I need. Lily. Someone who will wear a ring on her left hand for me. Lily. Someone I can see myself with when I’m old and disgusting. Lily. Someone I can’t live without. Lily.
He rubbed a hand over his brow, crumbling the paper before tossing it into the rubbish bin at the other side of his station before starting anew, rubbing a bit at the splotch of ink he’d inadvertently made on his desk.
What I want in a partner, he wrote again in well-practiced cursive, the ascenders and descenders of the letters dipping and whirling somewhat elegantly across the page. He reinked his quill before writing again.
Someone who is patient with me. Someone who trusts me. Someone who believes in my ability to change and adapt in life and our relationship. Someone who believes I am trying. Someone who loves me in spite of the things that are wrong with me. Someone who is strong and compassionate and stands for things. Someone who will fight me when I need to be fought with. Someone who puts themselves first. Someone I can put ahead of myself. Someone I can make sacrifices for. Someone who calls me out when I am selfish which is pretty much always. Someone who wants a life with me. Someone who actively chooses me. Someone who points out my many flaws. Someone who listens. Someone who loves me enough to want to work it out with me rather than running away when maybe that would be easier. Someone who lets me hold their hand in public. Someone who wants a family with me. Someone who won’t give up on me. Someone who won’t get complacent. Someone who will make me be better. Someone who doesn’t put up with bullshit. Lily.
Scorpius turned the sheet over, starting on the second half of the question: How my partner can do these things for me he wrote in the same looping hand.
Stay with me.
Stay with me.
Stay with me.
Scorpius imagined his life as a forest or a jungle or somewhere dark but with scenic places if you knew where to look off of the trail. And he imagined Lily as the scenic place everyone aspired to find but very few ever did. If life was a forest and he was a trailblazer, he was the kind of lonely traveler who steered off coarse and left broken twigs and a disrupted habitat in his wake because he had gone against the order of things because he had to see this waterfall of a girl, had to pave a path that led to her. It would have been easier, he knew, to turn back and keep straight ahead because the fastest way from one point to the next was a straight line, not a rambling, steep climb to a girl with eyes like morning and stars, who was brilliant and kind and more fragile than she let on. She was sea foam and clouds and undriven snow; delicate, unmarred, and fine. While he was rough with brambles and left heavy treads where he went, she was deft and persistent and fluid, eroding rough edges with her measure. If she were a constellation she would be Constantia for she was as firm of purpose as the other parts of the cosmos dictated by reason and rationality and as formidable as them too. And if he was a traveler and she a world wonder of a girl, he would not be the kind of man who would claim her as his and make her beauty about him nor would he neglect to notice her beauty nor would he ignore the fact that she was more than a beautiful place but was sustaining, vulnerable, and meaningful in her own right, the fact that he existed aside. Because Scorpius had vowed not to be the kind of man who took Lily Potter for granted, pretended she existed only for his benefit, or ignored that every fucking inch of her was more remarkable than he knew how to say.
The memory hit him so hard it was like he’d been physically punched, the recollection striking him violently as he reread the list, the impression forcing him to his feet and driving him down the hall of the lab to the washroom as if he’d been compelled by something outside of his body. It was a good memory, perhaps even a great one, which was why as the sobs racked his chest as he clutched the edge of the sink he found himself terrified by his own emotions. What his body knew before he did.
They had been laying in bed mumbling nonsense to each other before things had turned serious and she had been naming the things she loved about him. And then it had been his turn.
"First of all, I'd mention all of the things I thought about you before I ever thought of you how I do now." He smiled a little at that. "How headstrong and bossy and confident I thought you were...some things never change," he laughed quietly. "And how the first time I saw you like I do now was in the common room and how you looked with firelight on your face and your hair and your eyes. It would be a waste of time talking about how you look, because Salazar, whatever I say would be a disservice. All I can say is that you are completely unaware of how many eyes are on you when you smile or laugh or just stand in a bar." He paused. "I would say that you're incredibly resistant and tough and that's why, when do that thing like you do when you're angry, the tone of your voice, it's absolutely terrifying, almost as bad as when you cry." He paused, shaking his head. "All of the things that are most important about you are hard to put words to. How it feels when you say my name, first or last, but especially last, especially when you're teasing me, especially when you're smirking. The way your hair looks against a pillowcase. How it feels when you put your hands on me, the look on your face when I touch you." He paused, clearing his throat. "The best part for me though, and what I think everyone ought to know, is how good you are--I swear, that word's been abused and seems so ordinary by now, but that's what you are. You're a pain in the ass and too fair with me and gorgeous and brilliant and compassionate and it's just....you're just good. I wish I knew what I meant when I said it, but it's the only thing that makes sense. Which is why I wanted to kiss you the first time I ever did, which is why I'm sure that kissing you is the best thing I ever did at school. You just make everything better. Life is better when you're here."
He left work early, his face peaked and body flushed at the same time, the therapist’s homework folded in his pocket. He apparated himself to the market, bought a bouquet of flowers, and headed down the street to start over.
Passio sanctae Perpetuae
Do not be afraid; you will not be put to shame. Do not fear disgrace; you will not be humiliated. You will forget the shame of your youth and remember no more the reproach of your widowhood.
Isaiah 54:4
That Scorpius felt moved, above all else, by fear was something that had bothered him from a young age--he knew what fear could, had made people do. If feelings could be inherited like eye color or skin tone, Scorpius knew that he would have a swatch of receptors in his brain dedicated to firing the emotion to his consciousness that would be tripped regularly by common things that had once bothered his father, grandfather, great grandfather.
He remembered being afraid the first time he stepped on the Hogwarts Express, the way the feeling crippled him increasingly with each step he took away from his mother, with each rotation of the train wheels on the track as they took him away from known and into the unknown. He remembered the way fear felt like ice in his veins the time the Sorting Hat called his name and then a roaring “Slytherin!” after it. He remembered the sort of familiar dread that accompanied his grandparents visiting when he was young, the fear that you grow out of but never truly away from. He remembered the twist in his stomach of fear and hatred and disgust and shame that hit him every time he saw Theodore Nott coming down the corridor toward him and how those four feelings mutated and replaced each other over the years.
Fear did something to your very make up when it was a fiber that strung your life together. It had the potential to combust under the right circumstances or pool in the pit of your stomach like bile. It filled empty spaces in conversation and spun itself with conjecture in a way that make the innocuous into the noxious. It amplified everything to extremes and it meant that Scorpius had spent a decent amount of his life trying to sort out what was real and what was in his head, grappling with emotions that betrayed his logic.
Losing Albus had ignited a kind of fear in him that he had never felt before. He thought of Atlas holding the world on his shoulders and envied him, envied someone who was so necessary even in his burden. Being friends with Albus had given him a point in life, someone to orbit around when he before had felt unnecessary. But to have his sister, Scorpius had had to chose--somewhere deep down he had known that was what it was going to come to, he realized years later--and he had made his choice. Maybe it was because he had first kissed her in the light of the fireplace that Scorpius had conflated his notion of Lily Potter with warmth and light and fervor. He had burned for her.
Scorpius had thought about what it meant to lay fear aside for something bigger and brighter than his own inner musings. He thought of the saints, the early female martyrs like Perpetua and Felicity, and the word passion; how passion meant love and zeal and devotion and also suffering and fury and agony. Perpetua, Felicity, Joan had loved and so they had known torture but they had not feared because they had faith--faith in themselves, in their futures, in he whom they loved.
Liam Hemsworth
Scorp x Lily
@wililypotter
In Retrospect
Therefore, I urge you, brothers and sisters, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God—this is your true and proper worship.
Romans 12:1
That night, when he saw her, he didn't dare hope for more than eyes locked across a crowded room. Because she was not the kind of girl to need, at least not the kind to need someone like him. She could have anyone, everyone, no one--she would not be dictated by the desperate want of a boy who was supposed to fancy her cousin, be a best mate to her older brother. No, that night, all Scorpius could hope for was a few seconds worth of attention. He was learning what her looks meant, what confusion or pride or irritation looked like on her face. That night, after he’d taken a fist to his jaw complements of Warrington, he had been introduced to something akin to concern. He would never forget how her face looked in the light from the street lamps when she followed him outside, how the shadows flickered and fell across her brow, her cheeks, her lips. The crinkle that appeared on her forehead. The barely-detectable whisper of something new in her voice that he couldn’t quite place.
When he realized he wanted to marry her, it wasn’t all at once or slow and steadily built but a sputtering, irregular series of epiphanies. Sometimes, it was meeting her eye and seeing her smile. Or watching her from across the room while she put on a coat or turned on the stove or spoke with a friend. When she let him inside of her, how her body rose and fell against him, how her breaths sounded as she came undone around him. When her fingers found the hair at the nape of his neck. When she smiled, anytime she smiled at him--sleepy, amused, coy. He knew he wanted to marry her most of all because the thought of a life without her terrified him more than he’d ever been terrified before, a crushing feeling like a cave falling in on itself at the pit of his stomach, the part of his chest near where his heart pounded. Although Scorpius did not have much to call his own, even less that he could claim to have earned outright, he counted her above it all; he counted having her in his arms, his home, his bed the greatest thing he had. He would have moved hell and earth to keep her, if that’s what being worthy of her love required. He would have damned himself, too.
Back at the beginning, back when they had lost the opportunity to keep what they were doing a secret, Annie Belby had accused him of being in love with Lily. In those days, their relationship--if it could have really been called that--was in its infancy. In those days, Scorpius had kept his cards drawn close to his chest, willing a quiet, casual disposition for himself. And yes, he had been in love with her. Deeply, troublesomely, in love with this girl who smiled at him and challenged him and put her hands on him. He wouldn’t call that squeezing in his throat love aloud for a few weeks still, but it whispered through his veins and flowed circuits throughout his body in warm, dark quiet.
Scorpius x Valentine’s Day.
