A SOFT EPILOGUE !

[demelzarbins]

𝔬𝔭𝔢𝔫  𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯  𝔩𝔦𝔣𝔢  -  𝔬𝔭𝔢𝔫  𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯  𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔰  !   (  demelza  robins  for  noxtms , written  by  prince  )

wind  whistling  past  her  ears  and  the  burn  of  cold  wind  on  her  cheeks.  -  calloused  fingers  with  baby  pink  fingernails  -  the  smell  of  bubblegum  and  fresh  cut  grass.

𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖗𝖔  -  𝖜𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖓𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘  -   𝖆𝖘𝖐 𝖇𝖔𝖝

[demelzarbins]

efflcrescent​:

             𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉   𝒅𝒊𝒂𝒈𝒐𝒏   𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒚   𝒐𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒅   𝒖𝒑   nothing   but   strange   sights   ,   a   professional   quidditch   player   sprawled   across   the   bench   that   ajay   usually   took   his   lunch   break   at   was   still   outside   of   his   realm   of   normalcy   .   he   considered   taking   his   meal   back   to   the   backrooms   .   the   idea   of   eating   around   spare   wand   ingredients   ,   however   ,   turned   him   away   from   the   thought   .   ❝   maybe   giving   them   a   comfier   perch   than   a   public   bench   might   help   ,   ❞   he   suggested   ,   rather   unhelpfully   ,   as   he   shifted   foot   to   foot   in   front   of   the   girl’s   perch   .   it   wasn’t   like   he   had   a   wealth   of   knowledge   about   spells   to   offer   her   up   a   compelling   solution   besides   .   ❝   you   could   try   something   cold   .   ice   bath   ,   maybe   .   or   some   good   old   -   fashioned   ice   cream   therapy   .   fortescue’s   didn’t   look   too   busy   earlier   .   ❞

𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎  𝚊𝚛𝚎  𝚊𝚕𝚕  𝚏𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚕𝚢  𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎  𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚜.  there  is  a  singular  but  looking  issue  involved  in  any  of  them  -  one  she  turns  over  within  the  confines  of  her  skull  multiple  times  over  before  parting  her  lips  to  bring  them  to  voice.  “problem  is  all  of  those  require  moving,”  she  does  move  but  it  is  not  what  one  could  consider  far,  merely  making  room  for  another  to  sit  comfortably  on  the  bench  so  he  might  join  her  if  he  wished.  seems  to  her  he  had  been  hoping  to  alight  upon  the  same  spot  she  had  found.  “and  i  think  maybe  i’ve  done  enough  of  that  for  the  day.”  well  that  is  something  of  an  over - exaggeration  and  demelza  is  well  aware  of  that  fact  even  as  words  depart  from  her  and  that  knowledge  lures  with  it  a  little  laugh,  “well.  for  the  hour,  at  least.”

[demelzarbins]

anxtherhxliday​:

Rhea’s gaze turns back to Demelza quickly, surprise written across her features. Not that she’s entirely unused to being recognized–it came with the territory of giving zero shits about house lines and befriending damn near anyone who would let her–but not for quidditch. At least not for quidditch from school…. or at all, really. If she got recognized for something to do with sports these days, it was because of Oliver–and god did that go to his head. “Y–yeah.” They nod, offering a hand as they reacquaint themselves with the idea of how this conversation will go. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name–kinda makes me look like an asshole, huh?” 

𝚒𝚝'𝚜  𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚢  𝚝𝚘  𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕  𝚜𝚘  𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚌𝚔  𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛  𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎  𝚠𝚑𝚘  𝚒𝚜  𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚢  𝚗𝚘𝚝  𝚊  𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛  𝚗𝚘𝚠,  𝚋𝚞𝚝  𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜  𝚑𝚘𝚠  𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚕𝚣𝚊  𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚜.  it  might  be  nothing  more  than  the  reminder  of  a time  before  she  ever  knew  the  feeling  of  flight,  of  sitting  with  electric  blood  pumping  through  her  veins  and  buzzing  static  in  her  ears  in  the  lofty  heights  of  the  quidditch  pitch  for  the  very  first  time  at  age  eleven  with  her  heart  in  her  throat.  “no,  not  at  all  -  sorry,  i  was  a  first  year  when  you  were  in  ...  i  think  your  sixth?  so  it’s  not  like  we  had  any  overlap.  demelza  robins!”

[demelzarbins]

chacswins​:

“Unfortunately, I only know spells to help broken bones and heal colds.” Molly has had to become an impromptu healer with her rambunctious kids. The twins alone needed ailments healed at least once a week, going to St. Mungos for every problem was simply not feasible. “Come down with a nasty cough and I’ll be your hero.”

𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝  𝚒𝚜  𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎  𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗  𝚜𝚑𝚎  𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚜,  𝚜𝚘  𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚕𝚣𝚊  𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚝  𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚗.  not  that  she  would  complain  at  all  -  there  is  little  to  be  done  for  aching  muscles  other  than  whinge,  apply  heat  and  cold  in  even  and  carefully  timed  measures,  and  take  rest  days.  demelza  is  well  aware  of  these  facts  and  yet  wishful  thinking  cannot  help  but  snake  tendrils  of  wonder  through  her  mind.  were  she  better  at  casting  perhaps  she  could  have  forged  some  spell  to  soothe  the  burn - ache  that  runs  through  her.  demelza  smiles  from  her  spot  sprawled  on  the  bench  and  heaves  a  put - upon  sigh  as  she  levers  herself  more  upright  and  shakes  her  head  with  a  laugh.  “there  must’ve  been  a  lot  of  broken  bones  at  yours.  hey  -  it’s  better  than  when  i  broke  my  wrist  over  summer  holiday  one  year  and  had  to  wear  a  cast.  my  mom  was  trying  to  figure  out  how  to  ship  me  back  over  here  early  to  get  it  healed  after  a  week  of  me  trying  to  break  out  and  do  things  the  doctor  told  me  to  stay  away  from.”

[demelzarbins]

anxtherhxliday​:

location: a public quidditch pitch status: closed for @demelzarbins​

“Not that I’m an expert or anything,” Rhea starts, using one hand to brush hair from her face as the other grips her broom tightly. “But you’re damn good up there.” They gesture up to the sky with the words, though the meaning is clear enough without it. A general sort of familiarity floats in the air–some might even call it comradery–the sort of acknowledgement of each other that comes from being interested in the same things. This time, in the same sport. “Haven’t seen anyone move like that since I left Hogwarts.” 

𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜  𝚘𝚗  𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑  𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕  𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛  𝚐𝚎𝚝  𝚘𝚕𝚍!  demelza  cannot  conceive  them  ever  losing  their  luster  ;  there  is  something  about  such  comments  that  makes  her  feel  sparkling  from  toes  to  head  with  an  electric  sort  of  buzz  that  refuses  to  subsist  for  quite  some  time  afterward.  stray  hairs  that  have  flown  from  confinement  stick  to  her  forehead  with  sweat  that  already  has  began  the  path  to  clammy  and  uncomfortable  in  the  chill  and  immediate  reply  is  stuttered  to  a  sudden  stop  when  eyes  alight  on  a  FAMILIAR  FACE.  RHEA  HOLIDAY  had  not  crossed  many  of  the  same  years  as  demelza  while  in  hogwarts,  but  demelza  remembers  watching  her  play  in  the  two  years  they  had  walked  the  same  halls.  “THANKS!  i  remember  you  -  rhea,  right?  you  played  in  the  first  game  i  ever  watched.”

[hunterschafer]

EUPHORIA (2019)

[demelzarbins]

wildwixen​:

grayson is all too familiar with an all-consuming aching  ━━ though he’s never before attributed it being from plank jumps. “huh,” he breathed out, considering the healing spells that he knew and wondering if there was something specifically for reattaching limbs. eventually, he settles on, “there may be, if not someone can make one.” there’s always a way to find some bit of magic, from somewhere. “oh, that looks rough, are you planning on staying on this bench overnight? i can give you a hand getting somewhere if you need.”

𝚒𝚝'𝚜  𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝,  𝚊𝚗𝚍  𝚒𝚝  𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜  𝚊  𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑  𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐  𝚘𝚞𝚝  𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖  𝚑𝚎𝚛  𝚕𝚒𝚙𝚜.  “thanks  for  the  offer,”  she  stretches,  groans  at  the  feeling  of  muscles  worked  so  long  they  feel  wrung  out  being  extended  despite  the  stinging  warmth  of  use,  and  smiles  at  him.  “this  bench  is  way  less  comfy  than  my  flat,  so  i’m  hopefully  going  to  make  it  over  there  at  some  point.”  demelza  points  vaguely  in  a  direction  that  is  most  certainly  not  where  her  flat  is.  the  task  of  apparating  home  seems  monumental  in  this  moment  of  screaming  muscles  and  sore  arms  -  and  perhaps  a  mite  dangerous.  it  would  be  difficult  to  have  training  to  moan  over  should  she  splinch  herself.  “i  think  i  should  be  good  to  walk  on  my  own,”  smile  is  a  bright  one  and  demelza  levers  herself  upright  properly  with  a  huff  that  sends  loose  fair  strands  spinning  about  her  face  from  where  they  had  declined  to  remain  restrained  by  the  array  of  clips  holding  her  hair  back.  “in  a  minute.”

[demelzarbins]

praefcrtis​:

Daisy watched her with amusement. She sat at a table. A half-eaten sandwich sat on the table in front of her, forgotten in favor of people watching for the rest of their lunch break. Sometimes, after hours of jumping between making potions in the backroom and dealing with customers in the front, Daisy sometimes just wanted to exist, surrounded by people but not exactly expected to do anything. She rested her elbows on the table, leaned forward. “I can’t think of one unfortunately.” Not that that said much.  She hadn’t played a sport a single day in her life, except for in the way that kids played them—haphazardly and occasionally. “Have you tried a hot bath? Heat helps, right?”

𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐  𝚒𝚜  𝚜𝚘  𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚛  𝚒𝚝  𝚒𝚜  𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚛  𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚕  𝚗𝚘𝚠.  demelza  complains  and  whines  but  the  sting  of  work - sore  muscles  is  something  she  has  known  for  more  years  than  it  has  been  foreign  to  her.  “heat  helps,  yeah,”  head  tilts  so  that  she  may  peer  properly  at  the  speaker  with  the  beginnings  of  a  friendly  grin  stretching  the  corners  of  her  lips  in  friendly  greeting,  “i’m  honestly  considering  splurging  on  a  massage.”  the  admission  is  highly  conspiratorial  for  no  proper  reason  beyond  the  fact  demelza  thinks  it  is  perhaps  somewhat  ridiculous  to  spend  her  money  on  a  massage,  but  perhaps  she  can  convince  herself  into  believing  it  is  well - earned.  “a  bath  is  way  cheaper  than  that,  though.  and  probably  easier  to  schedule.”

[demelzarbins]

𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎:  hogsmeade 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚜:  open @startertms​

𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚎  𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝  𝚑𝚊𝚜  𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚗  𝚞𝚙  𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎  𝚒𝚗  𝚑𝚎𝚛  𝚋𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜  𝚒𝚜  𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝.  bones  is  not  an  over - statement,  shoulder  blades,  knees,  arms  all  weeping  with  overexertion  from  a  combination  of  drills  repeated  ad  nauseum  ;  she  could  not  recall  the  number  if  she  were  offered  some  obscene  amount  of  money  for  an  accurate  answer.  limbs  are  spread  akimbo  from  the  bench  she  had  rather  pitched  herself  upon  and  demelza  gazes up  into  the  sky  she  had  been  a  part  of  not  too  long  ago.  “is  there  a  spell  for  when  your  legs  fall  off  from  plank  jumps?”  boot - clad  feet  are  held  up  as  though  to  illustrates  but  she  instead  groans  and  lets  them  plunge  downward  once  more  as  hands  find  the  depths  of  the  pockets  of  her  team - branded  zip - up.  “because  mine  can’t  take  it  anymore  today.”

[demelzarbins]

auguriies​:

the  apology  hangs  in  the  air  between  them  for  as  long  as  it  takes  for  catherine  to  meet  the  beady  eyed  gaze  of  her  feathered  friend  &  tap  a  fingertip  gently  against  the  glass,  head  tilted  just  barely  to  the  side  as  if  she’s  listening  to  something  he  has  to  say.  “he’ll  forgive  you,”  she  says  once  the  moment  passes,  the  bird  seemingly  agreeing  by  dropping  the  bone  he  still  carried  onto  the  windowsill  (  she  could  collect  it,  later  )  and  unfurling  his  wings  and  setting  off,  once  again.  only  once  he’s  disappeared  into  the  heavy  clouds  does  she  turn  to  look  at  demelza,  the  corners  of  her  lips  twitching.  “was  it  that  bad?”  she  asks,  running  one  hand  along  her  bare  arm  in  a  motion  that  would  read  as  nervous  on  anyone  but  her  (  but  as  such  betrays  a  kind  of  curiosity  in  the  residual  chill  she  finds  there  )  &  giving  a  tiny  shake  of  her  head  and  the  soft  exhale  of  an  almost  laugh,  “i  didn’t  feel  it  until  now.  it  must  have  been  unbearable.”

𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝  𝚒𝚜  𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐  𝚒𝚗  𝚊  𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚛  𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚕𝚣𝚊  𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕  𝚗𝚘𝚝  𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝  𝚞𝚙𝚘𝚗.  her  reticence  is  not  born  from  any  notion  of  propriety  or  even  nerves  at  bringing  up  something  that  may  be  disquieting,  but  rather  due  to  the  fact  catherine  seems  wholly  unworried  herself.  demelza  is  not  one  in  the  habit  of  forcing  issues  if  the  concerned  party  does  not  see  it  as  such.  “good.  i  don’t  know  what  i’d  do  if  there  was  a  bird  out  there  with  a  grudge  against  me.  they  seem  tricky  to  ward  off.”  the  gift  of  the  remnants  of  some  poor  passed  creature  seems  an  omen  of  what  may  come  should  such  a  beast  decide  you  deserved  hate.  demelza  will  not  focus  on  such  things.  “it  was  pretty  cold,”  she  is  willing  to  admit  that  much,  though  the  gooseflesh  making  its  way  up  the  curve  of  her  neck  and  the  way  breath  still  materializes  in  the  form  of  small  white  clouds  before  the  pair  of  them  so  close  to  the  progenitor  of  the  draught  ought  to  be  proof  enough  of  that  statement  to  the  point  of  not  needing  words  to  illustrate  it.  “seriously  -  do  you  want  my  coat?  you  look  like  a  popsicle,  and  i’ve  at  least  got  my  sweater.”  broom - calloused  fingers  curl  around  the  thick  maroon  cuffs  that  hang  to  mid  palm  as  though  to  paint  a  proper  picture  of  the  warmth  that  is  at  least  trying  to  encompass  her.

[demelzarbins]

gelsemivm​:

( 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 ) — belby arboretum & orangery  ( 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬 ) —  open

“careful.” dionisia called out. beyond the part of the orangery open to the muggle public, dense with foliage and flowers that otherwise couldn’t be found in the area, there was the carefully closed off area of magical plants. the glass walls that separated the two areas to show only more of the more mundane plants and required a reference or display of magic to get into. push further into the orangery and one would find a door that opened only to dionisia and hande—leading to their workspace and housing a few plants better left out of the public’s reach. 

she walked into the magical section, shouldering a sack of soil. “we have the signs up for a reason.” with her free hand, she gestured towards a sign hung on the glass near a section of the plants. ask before you touch. some of us bite! the sign warned. it was a warning she gave to anyone who walked in, mostly to avoid liability. “is there anything in particular you are looking for, today?” she asked as she set down the soil. 

𝚜𝚑𝚎  𝚠𝚊𝚜  𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛  𝚊𝚗𝚢  𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍  𝚊𝚝  𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚋𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚢.  it  had  been  a  spot  of  contention  upon  her  grades  every  term  -  middling  at  worst  except  for  the  scarlet  mark  of  barely  scraping  by  when  it  came  to  muddy  hands  and  tender  green  shoots  that  seemed  wont  to  wither  whenever  demelza  was  the  one  trying  to  tend  to  them.  it  had  been  a  boon  every  holiday  that  her  parents  scarcely  understand  what  her  courses  were  (  divination,  darling?  what  is  that  -  i  didn’t  know  there  was  enough  on  the  subject  to  teach  a  course!  )  beyond  the  enthusiastic  diatribes  on  quidditch  and  the  feeling  of  flight  demelza  gave  ;  they  could  not  truly  be  upset  over  marks  they  only  tenuously  grasped  the  understanding  of!  what  then  is  she  doing  here  of  all  places?  it  is  a  fair  question  and  one  she  is  asking  herself  upon  laying  eyes  on  a  sign  that  warns  on  the  dangers  of  carnivorous  plant  life.

“are  they  all  bitey?”  eyes  are  aglow  with  rampant  but  restrained  curiosity  at  the  very  thought  of  a  glass  room  brimful  with  flesh  eating  plants,  their  verdant  jaws  agape  and  tongues  striped  in  petal  colors  wagging.  “yeah!  my  mom  -  she’s  a  muggle  -  she’s  interested  in  magical  plants.  i  was  wondering  if  you  have  a  starter  plant  she  could  keep  potted  in  the  house?  it’s  her  birthday  coming  up  and  i’m  a  garbage  gift  giver  so  i  was  hoping  to  get  her  something  neat,  but  i  don’t  think  that  a  plant  that  might  eat  the  cat  is  the  way  to  go.” 

[demelzarbins]

auguriies​:

𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍:   the leaky cauldron, london   !

the single stove that sat in one of the far corners of the quiet, post lunch rush bar is doing its best, but it isn’t making much of a dent in the cold that has swept in from the thrown open window that catherine sits in front of, bare feet swinging back and forth. dressed in a silken slip of a white dress & with no coat available to throw around her shoulders, it’s obvious from the goosebumps raised along her skin that she has to be freezing, like anyone else currently braving the leaky cauldron, though she hasn’t reacted - her focus is instead on the crow that stands a foot away from her outstretched hand, crumbs from her uneaten sandwich between them, something that looks like a small animal bone held in its beak. just as she seems to have been successful in her effort to coax it closer, the window slams shut without warning & catherine actually jumps, twisting around on the windowsill she made a perch of to look towards the culprit with accusatory eyes and a disappointed frown. “you scared lyle.”

𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗  𝚒𝚗  𝚑𝚎𝚛  𝚘𝚕𝚍  𝚑𝚘𝚐𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜  𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛  𝚜𝚑𝚎  𝚒𝚜  𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍.  the  window  was  not  meant  to  slam,  but  the  pane  had  shuddered  down  from  its  position  with  more  alacrity  than  anticipated  and  meant  the  force  (  used  to  wrenching  down  hard  upon  the  windows  in  her  flat,  stubborn  old  things  )  had  been  unwarranted.  “sorry  lyle,”  bright  gaze  alights  first  upon  the  black - feathered  bird  and  then  catherines  face  and  demelza  gives  a  smile  that  offers  a  flash  of  pearly  whites  and  concern  masquerading  as  nonchalance.  “i  was  worried  your  lips  were  gonna  turn  blue.  want  to  borrow  my  jacket?”  length  of  warm  camel - toned  wool  is  left  draped  over  the  rickety  chair  she  had  been  lazing  in,  eyes  upon  the  figure  freezing  upon  the  windowsill  in  the  arctic  breeze  that  had  served  to  suck  even  the  memory  of  warmth  in  the  leaky  cauldron  like  marrow  from  a  bone.  call  her  soft  (  many  have,  many  will  )  but  sitting  watching  one  freeze  like  the  little  match  girl  is  scarcely  bearable  ;  she  could  not  have  sat  idle  another  moment  without  the  bonfire  of  worry  being  slowly  built  in  the  pit  of  her  stomach  being  set  alight.

[plainglow]

HUNTER SCHAFER on jimmy kimmel (2022)