cosmic baby

antoinette zabini. fifth year. slytherin. ( i'm not evil to the core. )

[airaesthetic]

✤  ♚  ROYAL AFFAIR  ♚  ✤

➢  AESTHETIC NO. SIX ❝ caviar and cigarettes. well versed in etiquette. extraordinarily nice. she’s a killer queen. gunpowder, gelatine. dynamite with a laser beam. guaranteed to blow your mind, anytime ❞ 

[doingthings0-1]

[morbiditi-blog]

THESTRANGESOLDIER.

we never win but the battle rages on, for toy soldiers / cassius & antoinette. 

Eyes darting to the tip of his wand the Bulgarian boy understood why his arm had refused to move: it was not a phantom but a human— fragile flesh and breakable bones—standing a few feet away from his location, silently seething with rage after becoming the unintended victim of a mad boy’s target practice. Cassius smiled. If the female was this angry after he had missed he couldn’t help but wonder the consequences if the rock had in fact collided with her body.

Trying to come to terms with the painful fact that he truly wasn’t alone as he desired Cassius had to find a way to compose himself—and quick. The first step was to force his sore muscles and bones to stretch and allow for a straight posture instead of one resembling a man hunched by his misery. Inhaling—and releasing the air a few moments after in a quiet and prolonged exhale. He’d calmed slightly, but not fully, just enough to conjure up a few words for an evasive reply.

“Looking for peace.”

The Durmstrang boy kept his answer short and to the point hoping to prevent any further prying questions. Hands still shaking rather violently he felt the need to ball them into fists, so thigh his knuckles turned white. As quick as it happened he shoved them deep into the pockets of his black jeans before nails could dig at the flesh and draw blood. His wand had been tucked away into a hidden pocket of the jacket, hopefully not to be needed once again that night.

Show no weakness. At least that much the bastard had taught him well. But by now the damage had already been done; the girl had witnessed him break, howl at the empty woods like a mad wolf. So the only thing left to do was pick up the pieces of whatever shred dignity he had let and glue them together long enough to last the conversation. Exhaling loudly once again he allowed himself to glance her way, though just with the corners of his eyes.  

“Are you ok?”

It didn’t matter much, but it was the polite thing to ask and maybe placing his remaining energy into trying to as polite as he could—instead of his usual arrogant self—would prove distracting enough to keep the voices away while she was there. 

  Her wand was still held tightly between her fingertips. There was a sense of safety with it extended, as if it were simply a part of her arm. With Durmstrang, something dangerous had been dragged into her home. The smell of dark and decay followed them. It had intrigued her but also frightened her. The possibility of a magic prohibited being practice within these walls was exciting, her limbs aching to search. 

   Looking for peace. Peace did not exist, she thought. Her own mind a chaotic storm of demons howling at the morning sun. Peace did not exist. And certainly not at the edge of a forest known for dangerous creatures. As that is why it had been Forbidden. Her eyes flickered across his face, watching as he had attempted to transform. Remnants of teachings etched into the crevices of his face. She recognized it. But his was far more dangerous than an old grandmother telling her that grass stains were never ladylike. 

   “You look for peace in the strangest of places.” Her voice had clipped through the air, louder than she had ever dared inside the castle walls. A voice reserved for those who deserved it.

   She dropped her arm, slipping the intricate wand back into the lining of her robe. Wishing strongly that she had been rid of this company but all too interested in why he had been out here alone. But she would never question. It was not in her nature to pry into the minds of others. Instead, she would search for the external causes. The whys, the hows. The impending apocalypse that threatened the sanctity of the mind. She cared nothing for the rotting corpse. Only the weapon. 

   Her dark eyes had held his gaze. She was not a coward, afraid of the glances of others. It had shown a weak heart. And the Zabini family had been laden with strong women unafraid of themselves and their power. She took a step closer, noticing that her familiar had traveled with her. His padded paws soft on the ground. So, strange. Her cat had hated to be out on the grounds. Disliking the way dirt clung to his feet. Perhaps he had believed her to be in danger.

        “Do you really care or is this only a formality?”

[dailyzendaya]

[stability]

What you know about me is what I allow you to know; be wary of your assumptions.

NSA (via stability)

[morbiditi-blog]

like ghosts in the hardware, they haunt me. | antoinette & open.

The quiet had been interrupted by a loud crack of thunder. And her heart had stopped so violently she thought herself dead for a few moments. The dungeons had extended beneath the Lake and the water had churned like a bubbling cauldron dangerously close to spilling. The common room was full with students, excited about a storm that would soon bombard the castle. But Antoinette could only hear her pulse as it raced beneath her skin. 

She had kept her gaze on the large book laying open on her bed, the words beginning to lift off the page and fuse together into an image she had spent so long trying to forget. She could smell the morning rain, mingling with the scent of the sun as it warmed the trees. Antoinette had never liked that smell. Reminding her of a wet canine, an animal she had always loathed for its disgusting mannerisms. 

A Third Year had questioned her indifference, plopping herself rudely onto her sheets and crinkling the pages of her book. But it had taken her from delving too deep into her memories and she was thankful, if not annoyed. Until another roar of thunder shook the stone walls and instilled in her another sense of dread. Giving the the girl a look that could curdle milk, she had hastily pushed herself off the bed and returned to the gathering students. 

The image had come back. Surrounding her vision like a storm. The bright, morning light blinding and hot. The feel of electricity still in the air from the night before. Her doll clutched to her chest, dewy grass between her toes. She had remembered how much she had loved the feel of grass underneath her bare feet. Now, it only sickened her. 

Antoinette had felt her fingers beginning to tremble. Making it impossible for her to read her book in peace, limbs acting on their own accord and she was terrified of others noticing. Her legs taking her past the group of students and out into the hallway where it had been cool, soothing her heated forehead. But she heard the beginning of rain, the harsh and large droplets of water falling down on the walls outside. Quiet thunder rumbling in the distance. A choked, painful sob escaped her lips. The image beginning to consume her and she could not breathe. 

She saw the large, swollen body. Her hair thin and wet after being drenched in the water from the little pond. Antoinette had attempted to push the image away but as the rain continued and yet another crack of lightening illuminated the little hallways it had only gotten stronger. And on impulse she began to walk farther away from her common room. The smell of rain seemingly permeating the thick stone walls. For a moment, she thought she could smell the scent of the woman’s burnt flesh as she laid face down in her large backyard. So many years after and the image had only gotten stronger. The kitchen maid killed by a thunderstorm. 

The crying had gotten worse, spilling onto her cheeks. Fingers shaking as she rode through her panic attack. She found a quiet corner, carefully placing herself into the little nook and wrapping her arms around her knees in an attempt to steady her breathing. But the thunderstorm had only gotten worse now and Antoinette could not force the image from her mind. 

[morbiditi-blog]

NIKOLAZOLTAN.

“Will you hand me the powdered lavender?” Nikola asked, sweat beginning to bead on his brow as he overlooked the steaming cauldron. A hazy, pink effluvium had filled the Potions dungeon; the boy had peeled off the crimson Durmstrang jacket, proving to be suffocating once the class’ arbitrary fumes had accumulated into a single, humid miasma. Professor Slughorn had ordained his students with the task of brewing a conservative love potion that day (to some of the female students’ delight), and despite that Nikola felt it was a waste of time, he still wanted a неуреден in the class. Glancing towards his partner, the boy grumbled before plastering a kind smile on his face. “Will you start cutting the newt’s tail, please? That’d be wonderful, I wouldn’t want us to fall behind.”

“Am I to do all the work while you simply stir the pot?” With a voice of disdain, she had placed the little vial of lavender in front of him. The smell had gotten overwhelming. Mingling in the moist air. She’d already mastered this silly potion and refused to make such another again. Disliking the way the liquid moved in her cauldron, the scent lingering on her skin. It had followed her the entire day, her cheeks warming and turning a soft pink. Though, now she stood in the crowded dungeon, partnered with a boy she realized she did not like very much. “It’s already done. You would have noticed if you weren’t so enamored with your work.” Her eyes were half lidded, avoiding his gaze. His presence had angered her. His voice filling her with an annoyance she could not ignore. She realized, he had held a sort of control over her. And this was something Antoinette could not afford.

[morbiditi-blog]

confines of gravity ||  aurélie & antoinette

“Maman!” she laughed, wobbling around her family’s bedroom, tiny feet engulfed in her mother’s ruby red heels that she would not be able to fill until numerous years later. The apartment the family lived in was cramped, hardly big enough to call a home; the kitchen could just fit two grown adults, and Aurélie at the age of eight could nearly touch both walls of the bathroom with her arm span. It was as good a home as any, however. They made it their own, and the three of them were happy. Happier than most families, out there inhabiting three story mansions.

Her mother had just finished preparing dinner, and had popped into the bedroom for a peek at her cackling daughter. “Oh, my little princess,” she said with a grin, lips quivering in an attempt not to burst with laughter as Aurélie tottered up to her mom, draped in an old opal necklace that was once her grandmother’s and an evening dress that was a rusty, deep wine color, dragging across the floor. “Do I look pretty, maman?” the girl said, attempting to spin before tripping over the dress’ skirt. Her mother released a guffaw and picked up Aurélie, setting her on the bed. “My little princess. Give maman a moment, and I’ll dress you up in something better,” said her mother. She pulled the ratty, grease-stained apron off her waist and tossed it into the hamper before picking a small, floral dress from the closet. “I was saving it for your birthday, but it won’t hurt to try it on now, non?” Aurélie clapped in delight as her mother slipped off the evening gown, replacing it with a dress that fit perfectly. “And one last touch, to make it perfect.” The woman grabbed a miniscule crystal bottle from the dresser, the sapphire stopper gleaming in the light. She yanked the top off, and turned the bottle upside-down, finger over the opening. Her mother dabbed the perfume behind Aurélie’s ears and then gave a poignant smile. “There. Perfect.”

Sandalwood. Heliotrope. Rose, jasmine, peach. It didn’t even have to be a particularly good day for the scent to have uplifted her spirits; she would have gone the rest of the afternoon bathing in the warmth of a happy memory.

Today was not that day. Aurélie cringed upon the perfume reaching her nose in the crowded hallway; it was gone just as swiftly as it came, lost in the rush of students bustling to their next class. Yet its effect was not so expeditious. The usually sweet fragrance was sour in that moment, time seemed to delay. Passing conversations became murky and distant in her ears. Tunnel vision darkened her sight and she felt her heart beat in her throat.

Aurélie dove into the nearest classroom, slamming the door shut behind her. She collapsed into a seat, gasping for the air that seemed ever so abundant just moments before. It wasn’t helping. The girl more so fell out of the seat than slipped out of it, and lied on the floor. Slowly, the black shadows that had clouded her vision began to recede, and her palms stopped sweating. She thought she might start to become well enough to at least stagger back to the carriage, until she heard the door open. “Oh,” she said, mustering up as much strength as possible and at least raising herself off the floor, not realising tears streaked her face. “Hello! Don’t mind me, I’m just—just practicing—my, um…nonverbal magic.”

She recognized the signs of panic. The all-consuming feeling of being swallowed by the universe. Her observant eye had caught sight of the Beauxbaton’s girl, her happy demeanor suddenly morphing into something she knew quite well. Antoinette had been no stranger to letting your memories envelope a vulnerable mind. Briefly remembering the way her body shook during thunderstorms, how her hands could never stay still and they ached from being curled tightly into her palms. The memories were irreplaceable. They were ancient ghosts haunting her footsteps, staining her skin and rotting her mind. There was no getting rid of them, no matter how hard she scrubbed them away.

Antoinette had recognized the way Aurélie slipped anxiously into the nearest classroom. One that would soon be crawling with impatient First Years looking for a bit of entertainment. Merlin knew she was never a giving person. She would never sacrifice her precious time to help another. But something had sat uncomfortably in the pit of her stomach as students continued to roam the hallways, ignorant to whatever plagued the girl.

Her long legs had carried her gracefully across the large hallway, slender fingers pushing the door open to quietly slip inside. The sight of her had only served to pluck at her memories. When heated tears pricked at the corners of her eyes only to spill over on the tops of her cheeks. Her eyes were unrelenting as she gazed at her, lips pressed together until she had found the right words to say. “Pick yourself up.” Her voice stern, something she did not let slip into her voice often. “Don’t tell me what’s wrong. I don’t really care. And for your sake, I hope you are able to put yourself together and come with me.” She glanced at her dirtied robe, dust and debris clinging to the fabric.

[morbiditi-blog]

LUCYWEASELYS.

Lucy knew. She just did. “So, what’s his name? Is he cute–where does he go to school?” God, this was so exciting! But, of course, they were in a similar predicament. Lucy wouldn’t make it obvious, though. “Just..who is it!”

Her chest tightened, heart constricting violently beneath her ribcage. Her fingers had folded together gracefully in her lap, refusing to glance away from her companion. Refusing to give way to whatever fantasy she had created in her head. “You’re looking for things that aren’t there.”

[diamondsandkings]

[morbiditi-blog]

ANTOINETTE CHARLOTTE ZABINI

❛ I’m starting to lose myself. ❜

[morbiditi-blog]

im v bored and v musey. ; _______ ; i dont know what to dooooo. ( i tried going through the starter tag but oof.... i wanted something more recent?? ) considering changing up my main plot for antoinette since im not sure if i wanna go that route anymore. ooof. you should hit me up and stuff to plot !!! bc this bab is so lonely. 

[goodishmusic]

Visit Original Link

fairly local | twenty one pilots

[morbiditi-blog]

ANDREABONHAM.

      Andrea rarely ever got an easy day. She rarely ever had a day where she could just sit down and read. The classes were getting hectic, the Triwizard Tournament was happening, and Beauxbatons and Durmstrang had already arrived. Honestly, easy days and moments filled with comfortable silence had withered to being practically nonexistent, and, for lack of better words, it pissed Andrea off; it was all starting to get on her last nerves.

      But, lo and behold, Andrea found her moment. One of her classes had been cancelled for a reason she never bothered to find out, and, to her, that was her golden ticket. Merlin’s gift to her for dealing with getting bumped, shoved, and rushed, and somehow not exploding in the middle of the long corridors. She thought of it as her reward for keeping herself collected for as long as she did, and she’d be damned if she didn’t take it. 

      She sat against one of the library’s towering bookcases, legs crossed, school bag resting against her side, and a heavy, worn out book on her lap. Her gaze sped down the faded words in record time, hazel eyes shining with genuine curiosity and contentment. She was happy, relaxed, even, for the first time in an unfortunate amount of days. Minutes ticked by and she didn’t realize how long she’d been sitting there, she was so entranced with her book. She could’ve sat there through the whole day, had her only source of light not been suddenly blocked, casting a shadow over her book. 

      It took Andrea every single ounce of willpower not to let her shoulders drop. She bit back the need to snap at the person, forcing herself to remember that they probably didn’t know that the moment they were interrupting was a moment she had been waiting for for so long. They didn’t know. They didn’t know. She repeated that to herself as she looked up and tried not to look completely disappointed.. 

      “Can I help you?”

The silence of the library had always been a blessing. Her sensitivity at ease within the walls of the giant room. The smell of ancient parchment, stained with ink, had always reminded her of her mortality. Paper -- knowledge -- would always outlast her. She believed this the reason why she had thought school so important. Why she had put her studies above the human need for healthy relationships with others. Antoinette had thought life precious and she would not squander it with those who had no influence nor interest in her. A hefty stack of tomes sat atop the little table she had declared her own. Their spines faded beyond legibility, pages crackling whenever she opened them. But as she sat down, she had realized she forgot one particular transfiguration book. And with a sigh, she lifted herself gracefully from her seat and crossed the aisles of Hogwart’s library, glancing at the labels to find the correct shelf. 

Antoinette had gotten particularly good at ignoring those around her. To the point where she did not register that she had been in anyone’s company. Her fingers brushing along the spines of old books until she had found the correct one. Pulling it from the shelf and splaying it open across her forearm. It was not that she didn’t care for the girl who had sat down on the floor like a child nor that she had interrupted her reading. Only that she had been so engrossed with herself and her studies that she had forgotten to watch for other beings. And when her voice had cut through the air, she had winced. Her voice irritating the quiet she had gotten so used to. Her delicate head had turned slightly in her direction, noticing she had blocked the light from the little window. “Did I ask for help? I haven’t spoken a word.”

[dailyzendaya]

[morbiditi-blog]

LUCYWEASELSY.

“I’ve had a bit more than a glance, if you know what I mean.” Lucy adored Antoinette–she was something incredible. She enjoyed her presence much more than she cared to admit. “Have you? I quite like the Beauxbaxton’s boys.”

She shook her head, curls bouncing off her shoulders and brushing against her cheeks. “How wonderful. Seems like you’ve enjoyed yourself.” A brief image of one particular student flashed across her mind’s eye. Forcing its way into her consciousness before she forced it back, squeezing it into the little box that held most of her unwanted emotions. “Just glances. None of them. . . interesting.”

[morbiditi-blog]

EVIEQXINN.

        “We’re only getting started, haven’t you heard?” Evie drawls, glancing to the younger girl. Whether or not Antoinette wanted a reply, least of all from her, Evie cared little—she couldn’t stop herself from offering up a remark. How could she not, when she was one of the lucky ones chosen? The Slytherin seemed as detached as ever, cut off from the rest of the school, hovering above everyone else. “And if you’re thinking you’re going to watch me crash and burn,” she smiles, wide and challenging, “I’ll be more than happy to prove you wrong.”

“Why, yes. I have. It seems as if even the walls won’t keep quiet.” She tapped her chin, “Quite literally. Seeing as the portraits swoon whenever you walk bye.” Antoinette dared to offer a bitter smirk. Their relationship had been ambiguous. Bordering between tolerant and dislike. Her eyes had fluttered delicately towards the Gryffindor, realizing she did not mind keeping her company. She’d been a bit pleased when word had finally reached her of Evie’s Champion status. Lips pressed together into a soft smile. Of course, she would never admit it. Seeing as it would ruin the teetering status they held. Antoinette would rather have her believe she could barely tolerate her. “Ah, well. Perhaps the Beauxbatons Champions will keep me entertained.”