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narcissa black: “are you bored yet?”

the fair maiden with insecurities

flossieabbott:

Where: Courtyard When: Second Saturday of term Who: Flossie && Narcissa ( @springnarcissas )

Flossie had always been a bubbly, friendly person and that was why the words, “I love your outfit!” fell from her mouth like they were the most natural thing in the world. It didn’t matter that she knew Narcissa little better than any of her other classmates, in that moment they might as well be best friends as far as Flossie was concerned, because, “we’re totally coordinated!” It was true that they had the same base colours and similar tones to their outfits that day. “Can we do a picture for my mirror story?

cissa has never minded backhanded compliments. when you grow up in pureblood circles, almost all the compliments you’re given are backhanded and you just grow accustomed to them. immune. your skin just thickens over the years. you learn to reply gracefully and to not let the comment bother you.

this one though? cissa can’t quite tell if it’s backhanded or genuine.

she looks at flossie, analyzing her for a bit. flossie abbott is someone cissa has never really interacted with. sure, she passed her watering cans and fertilizers in the herbology classes they shared but they’ve barely ever exchanged a world. what cissa knows is that flossie is a hufflepuff and hufflepuffs are usually genuine. so cissa pastes on her neutral smile. “thank you,” she replies, “it seems we’ve matched.” it kills cissa a little that someone else is wearing a similar outfit to her. nobody owns the colour palette she’s wearing, she knows that, but merlin knows cissa’s outgrown her triplet matching outfit days. she doesn’t need a rehash of them. “i’d rather not take a picture. my eyeliner’s a bit wonky today.” it’s an excuse but it’s a nice one.

#c: flossie abbott #thread

igzists:

he lets her words linger , lets it thicken in the air between them. it’s a miracle none of the other snakes have entered the room and interrupted them. but it’s that thought alone that drives lucius to grab her arm , pulling her into one of the many alcoves for privacy.

it’s instincts , he tells himself , instincts to pull her to his chest and quiet her cries when he sees her tears. lucius doesn’t know why he’s doing it , definitely even more so why he’s crossed a line he knows he shouldn’t anymore.

‘ it’s unfortunate , you know , ’ he starts tucking her head under his chin , keeping his arms around her. ‘ you’re marrying my best friend. ’ lucius laughs , quiet and empty. ‘ — and i can’t even find it in me to be angry. ’

when he pulls her into one of the alcoves and wraps his arms around her, she melts into him. rests her head on his chest. revels in his warmth. it’s only natural to do so, to seek comfort from lucius. for a second, cissa can pretend that the summer didn’t happen, they never broke up and she wasn’t engaged. she can pretend, but the illusion shatters quick. the reality trickles down. she’s painfully aware of the line they’re crossing just for this one moment.

she smiles through her tears. “nothing we can do about it,” she replies. pureblood engagements are a custom. you don’t wake up one day and get to severe it without any consequences. you have to live with the consequences and the repercussions and the suffocating disappointment.

“don’t be angry,” she looks at him, “i've been angry. didn’t help.” cissa doesn’t know what to say next, what to do next. should she bid him goodbye? can she? “maybe fate’s trying to tell us something.”

#c: lucius malfoy #thread

margotdaily

#musings #{my parents gave me a name} cygnus + druella

perilovs:

“i don’t want to talk about bella.“

it’s short. rod’s notorious for embellishing his words and can chatter longer than necessary with those he’s comfortable with, but it’s clear from the pinch in his brow and the finality of his tone that this isn’t a topic he’s willing to linger on.

and rodolphus lestrange? not cool? he scoffs, “you were locked away in your tower for most of your childhood, love. it’s no surprise you missed it.” and, ah. there it is. “were you going to say lucius? you don’t have to avoid it.”

hypocrite. he hasn’t talked to his best friend about the engagement at all.

“do you want my mother to send you multiple owls with my pictures? she’ll do it.“ his mum had always wanted him to marry a black, enough that she had albums upon albums of his interactions with the sisters. “kyoto it is then. we can book a ryokan and do as the locals do. i hope you’re alright with raw fish.” once her pinky hooks with his, rod shakes them. “no take backs. you have to be nicer to me now.”

cissa raises an eyebrow. she wants to ask him why. did they fall out over the summer? are they fighting? instead, she nods. “okay,” if he doesn’t want to talk about it, they don’t have to talk about it. merlin knows cissa has her own list of topics she’d rather not breach. “and i wasn’t locked away in a tower-” she suddenly pauses. thinking back to her childhood, rodolphus’s not wrong. she sort of was rapunzel while druella was gothel... “-how did you know that muggle fairytale anyway?”

when he says the name she avoided, she simply nods. “right,” she knows she can’t avoid the topic of lucius forever. but right now? rodolphus certainly can return the favour he owes her for not talking about bella, “i don’t want to talk about lucius.”

“she can send them over. unless, of course, you’re scared of losing to me in childhood adorableness.” her tone reads challenging but it’s easy to tell that cissa is mostly joking. childhood pictures are hardly things to be competitive over. “i’m alright with raw fish,” cissa hasn’t eaten sashimi much but she reckons she’ll be fine with sushi.

“i’ll be nicer,” she promises before adding in in a more joking manner, “do you want me to wear a heart locket with your baby picture inside?”

#c: rodolphus lestrange #thread

igzists:

his eyes widen at the statement , surprised that she’d actually admit to something like that. lucius bites down on his tongue , feeling it ache and nearly bleed — just like how his heart squeezes with a fresh ache. he wants to lash out , to scream. because she isn’t being fair — hell , he isn’t being fair.

instead , he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath , before turning around abruptly — not wanting to look at her as he walks away.

but two steps and he pauses , hands on his sides , balled into fists. this scene was familiar , all too familiar. lucius lets out a small noise of frustration , whipping around again as he faces her.

‘ i’m not good at this. ’

it all comes out in a single breath , chest almost heaving. ‘ i’m not. reaching out isn’t my thing. ’ too honest , too open , he slowly starts to deflate. ‘ — i never knew how to reach out to you , never even knew how to love you. ’ his voice trembles , shoulders sagging.

‘ — but i did. ’

she watches as he walks away, feels her heart dropping each step he takes, and tells herself she’ll be fine in time. time will cover all her wounds and bury all her feelings. she’ll be okay. she’ll feel numb toward him soon enough. she presses her hands together and takes a deep breath. she tries to collect herself.

when he turns around, she doesn’t expect it. doesn’t expect his honesty, his vulnerability. doesn’t expect the ache in his voice that mirrors hers. she blinks, feeling the tears coming and trying to hold them back.

“i know you’re not,” she replies, tears blurring her vision, “but you knew me and that was--is--enough.”

she takes a deep breath. “i just would like you to meet me halfway. you didn’t have to know how to love me. you didn’t have to know how to reach out,” tears stream down her face. she quickly rubs them away, “i just wanted you to be there. i just wanted to know that you’re there. that i could reach you.” she has never minded reaching out to him, never minded feeling like she was the one who put the most into their relationship. she was happy just to have him there, to know that he was in her corner. when he pulled away, when he wasn’t there, she minded it.

“and i still do.” like a fool, she looks at him, searching for an answer.

this feels like a conversation they should have had months ago. a conversation that arrives and starts too late.

#c: lucius malfoy #thread

bitchmare:

if there’s one sound she has carved into her memory, it’s the detonation of narcissa’s whine; the specific timbre it catches in open air, & what exactly that means for bella’s next move. her youth was spent minding it, acting accordingly, cradling it with a calloused touch. spilled milk, missing toys, splintered thumbs ⏤⏤⏤ they were bella’s problems before they were narcissa’s. owl shit, however? she was on her own. "well, you cleaned it up, didn’t you?“ she faces her, something akin to a smile playing on her lips; the expression could even be called gentle, if you forgot it was her. "shall i give a golden star for the golden girl?”

at the question, her eyes roll into the back of her head & run the risk of getting stuck back there. if there’s anyone who could make her cut against the grain, make her say nothing if she couldn’t say something nice, it was her baby sister. bella could only thank merlin’s soggy bottom that narcissa didn’t often ask her to. except in the case of owling their mother. gag.

“it’s been, like, a day. unless you’d like me to relay your little accident just now, there’s nothing to say. if anything, i’m doing her a favor, saving her from the gory details of her favorite daughter’s dirty escapades.”

narcissa looks down at the floor, sidestepping around more owl poop to walk closer to bellatrix, carefully making sure that none is going to find its way onto her favourite pair of shoes. when she finally reaches a safe place free of white goo, cissa looks up at bella. “i did,” she nods, gesturing to her now clean shoes and its glinting surface area, “i’d only like a golden star if it’s a medal or an o grade in astronomy, please.” cissa grins, showing her teeth. at this point, she’s gotten immune to bella’s remarks. they’ve lived in the same house for more than fifteen years. she’s heard everything. bella’s nicknames for her? no longer creative or scathing enough to get under her skin.

besides, cissa knows bella doesn’t really mean them most of the time. so it’s better to retort back some nonchalant remark than to take her words to heart. “does my hair look more golden in this light?” cissa feigns vanity and brushes her hand through her hair. the rays of sunlight fall on her blonde locks, turning them slightly golden.

meanwhile, the owl she gave her letter to starts to fly away. it flaps its wings past the two of them and takes flight. “it’s a check-in letter,” cissa watches as the owl makes its way out of school grounds, “just to let her know we’ve settled in okay.” cissa understands why bella hates writing letters to their mother. letters from mother are hardly ever not demanding and scathing. there’s few praises there. few acknowledgements of what they’ve achieved. but druella black is still their mother despite her lack of maternal instincts. “and we both know i’m only her favourite because i give her the least headaches. and my actual dirty escapades are few and far in between.”

#c: bellatrix lestrange #thread

perilovs:

ah. bella.

“can you ever really be bella’s friend?“ he laughs, making light of the comment, even if he’s always thought the lestrange’s asscher cut diamond would sit on bella’s ring finger. after all – it has always been bella that rodolphus, and perhaps the rest of their little friends group, rotated around like planets to a sun. there’s a gravitational pull about the older black sister. but rod’s future sits on cissa’s hand instead.

“you were never cool, cissa black.“

at her accusation he rests a hand over his heart. “speak for yourself. i was adorable.” he’ll have to ask his mother for his more flattering pictures with narcissa, just to make a point. “fall is good middle ground. i hear it’s prettiest in greece, or perhaps kyoto. which would you prefer for a honeymoon?” he raises his right hand, pinky out for her to hook a promise of – “truce. let’s make this less miserable for the both of us.”

cissa laughs and shakes her head, disagreeing with rodolphus. bella might be the hardest to get along with but she does have people she consider friends. or at least that’s what cissa finds from her observation. “she does consider several people to be her friends though,” she replies.

when rodolphus tells her she was never cool, cissa pouts. indignant. “i didn’t remember you being cool either,” it’s a cheap shot, cissa is aware of that. but cheap shots are what petulant cissa is constructed out of, “if there was anyone who was cool when we were little, it would be-” she stops herself before she could finish her sentence. lets out a shrug that she hopes sounds nonchalant before steering the topic away from coolness.

“where’s the proof of that?” cissa asks teasingly. she wonders how many childhood pictures their parents have of them together. she can probably charm little her to look prettier. “i’ve never been to kyoto. we never visited.” the house of black prefers europe for overseas vacations. the portkeys are much more bearable. “truce,” she hooks her pinky around his, a gentle smile rests on her lips, “to a less miserable engagement.”

#c: rodolphus lestrange #thread

perilovs:

“it’s alright.“ he smiles, genuine now. “we’re in this fucked up situation together, aren’t we? might as well work through it together.”

there’s something charming about cissa when she softens. the blacks are a motley, prickly bunch, and rod is more accustomed to bella’s more edged personality. perhaps he’s been conditioned to being cut down by bella’s words that the conciliatory gesture from cissa is both surprising and welcomed. “what? was i the only one who thought we were friends? i have an arsenal of awkward pictures of us growing up. don’t make me use them.”

their conversation drifts to lighter territory and rod is more in his element here. “swimming, sure, but we can’t have our wedding in the water.” he lifts a hand and taps her nose. “don’t get ideas. but fall –” rodolphus sighs. “i can do fall. then the water is too cold for you to swim away and i won’t sweat quite as much.”

fucked up situation is an understatement. a great deal of an understatement. their situation is less than ideal. but rodolphus is somewhat right, it’s better to work through it together. cissa’s never been a team player. she thinks she can try, just this once.

“i always thought you were more bella’s friend than mine,” she confesses. though they did grow up together what with their parents being close, she didn’t remember spending a great deal of one-on-one time with him. little cissa was always off playing tea parties alone upstairs while everyone else was on the grounds. she reckons he was outside too. “i was too cool for friends back then.”

cissa smiles, “don’t pull out the photos. you won’t do yourself a favour because you looked just as awkward. we weren’t exactly magazine cover children.”

when he taps her nose, she laughs and tries to swat his hand away. “fall it is.” cissa can’t say she looks forward to the wedding but civility with rod is better than anger. they can sort through the engagement. come up with their own terms and truce. find some way to make the situation slightly less fucked up. “a truce then?”

#c: rodolphus lestrange #thread

esterexpositio

#face

igzists:

he waits. and during the time he’s done so , he should’ve just walked away. because as soon as narcissa starts , the emotions he’s stored away and buried under all his responsibilities , start to resurface.

this conversation .. he already dreads this conversation.

and again , a lull of silence. but this drags on for longer , with narcissa’s words making the silence almost suffocating. lucius looks away , hand on his tie again , tugging it until it loosens completely.

it’s still too hot all of a sudden , too stuffy. and he knows he won’t last long , won’t be able to keep his words and emotions in check. it’s a long while until he meets her gaze again.

‘ why should have i been the first to reach out if you had something to say ? ’

that hurts. why should i have been the first to reach out if you had something to say? he asked.

“because i was always the one reaching out.” she mutters, the hurt evident in her voice. the last few months of their relationship, when he grew distant and seemed to avoid her, wasn’t she the one who reached out then? wasn’t she the one who always asked? hadn’t she done enough of that? couldn’t he reach out for a change?

cissa smiles. she wonders what she thought she could get from this conversation, what she thought the end result of talking to lucius would be. she should have known the conversation would go this way, that all it would show is his carelessness toward her. maybe she shouldn’t have put her heart in his hands in the first place.

“you know-” she starts, wanting to say more, but she shakes her head. holds back her words and sighs. she looks away, not wanting to look at him. “you can go.”

#thread #c: lucius malfoy

igzists:

he studies her for a moment , letting a stretch of silence drape over them both — like those times they’d delve under the blankets , sharing nothing but the silence and each other’s presence in the safety of silken sheets. and the longer he stares , the more he realizes he doesn’t really know this version of narcissa before.

or was that how things were since the very start ?

lucius bites down a sigh , and an ache that stretches over his heart. ‘ what is it ? ’ the words are out of his lips before he could even think. and really , lingering for far longer was a mistake in itself already. but that’s the effect narcissa’s had on him — a gentle pull , one he couldn’t have avoided but should have.

he should have , and if he did , he would’ve avoided the heartache.

‘ what is it you want to tell me ? i have nowhere else to be , not yet anyway. ’

she opens her mouth, contemplates her words for a moment. tries to order them, perfect them, before they leave her mouth. it was never this hard talking to lucius before. she’s always liked him and his company and his laugh and his voice. she liked talking to him. it was easy. being with him was natural.

now nothing feels natural between them.

“i wanted to tell you-” she starts, “-about the engagement.” she takes a deep breath and steadies herself. “over the summer. but you were distant and we were broken up and i didn’t know what to do.”

she pauses. “i owed you that. i should have told you myself. but why didn’t you reach out?” she finally resolves to ask.

the radio silence was the most painful part of the summer. no owls. nothing. each time she wanted to write, she realized that he wasn’t writing to her so what was the point?

#thread #c: lucius malfoy

perilovs:

“now you’re putting words in my mouth. when did i say it was wrong?“ rod softens his voice around the next words he speaks, attempting to deescalate. “we’re friends first, cissa. before –” he waves a hand between them. “all this. we were, and i like to think still are – friends. why are we even fighting? i’ve forgotten”

this is not his fault. or hers. but it’s easy, he supposes – to rage against the nearest, most tangible symbol of their parent’s decision.

when cissa challenges him with her gaze rod is the first to look away. he suddenly feels tired, and he slouches back into his chair and abandons the edged flirtation he’d initiated, choosing instead to keep his gaze on the shadows of tree branches swaying behind the library windows.

“i don’t want a summer wedding.” it’s petulant. rod crosses his arms. “i’ll leave you at the altar if they make me sweat in a suit.”

it’s always easier to be angry at something else or someone else that isn’t her parents. she’s always been good at that, bottling up her emotions and feelings or redirecting them elsewhere, channeling her frustrations in some other way, leaving her family unscathed from her emotions. and she supposes rodolphus is right. he shouldn’t be in the line of her fire just because he’s the closest person she could misdirect her anger onto.

“i’m sorry,” she apologizes, “that was uncalled for. i just... attacked you.”

she mulls over his words. friends. can they ever truly be friends? after what their parents have boxed them into? can she see him as a friend? someone she can trust to have her back? “friends, huh?” the word “friends” is loaded. the most unsimple of words. she doesn’t think it describes them. but it works for now.

“i like summer,” she watches as he crosses his arm, “it’s the perfect season for swimming. perhaps i’d leave you before you could abandon me at the altar.” she closes her book. they both know leaving the other is not an option, it isn’t on the table, their table at least. “a fall wedding, then?” she asks, hoping for a compromise, a truce of some sort as she looks to him. “the weather won’t be as bad.”

#thread #c: rodolphus lestrange

dprssdnhyprfxd:

♡ _ narcissa took studying far more seriously than regulus ever could - he cared about his studies but the idea of studying in the common room was far too much for him, it was ⌜ LOUD ⌟ and noisy. he certainly didn’t envy narcissa in her trying to do so, though rather unsuccessfully with his sudden arrival. ❝ WELL YOU’RE STUDYING, YOUR HOPES HAVE SURELY DWINDLED INTO NOTHINGNESS AND HERBOLOGY MADNESS, YOU’RE A MENACE TO SOCIETY CISSA, YOU’RE HAVING TOO MUCH FUN. ❞ teasing his cousin may have been for studying may have been mean but he couldn’t help it, he surmised it was in his ⌜ NATURE ⌟. ❝ MERLIN I HOPE SO, DO YOU KNOW HOW BLAND FOOD WAS YESTERDAY? FOR A FIRST YEAR FEAST THEY DIDN’T GO ALL OUT DID THEY? CAN’T WAIT FOR THE SUNDAY DINNERS TO BE BACK ON THOUGH, MUM CAN’T COOK TO SAVE HER LIFE. ❞

“the essay is due in five days!” cissa answers indignantly, already shoving her essay into her book bag, “that and i actually enjoy herbology. it’s interesting.” cissa has always liked herbology, it’s practically her favourite subject. she likes to learn about magical plants and their properties and how to take care of them. it’s a bonus that she turns out to have green hands too.

“don’t make fun,” she smiles at reg, “herbology madness is a good kind of madness.”

“they really didn’t!” cissa grimaces, remembering yesterday’s abysmal dessert selection and overall blandness. in all her years, the first feast has never tasted quite so horrid. “did the house elves change this year?” she starts to close the books around her before brightening up slightly at the topic of sunday dinners. a black family tradition cissa actually likes for its excellent catering most of the time. “please don’t tell me your mother is insisting on cooking again,” cissa shudders, “aunt walburga isn’t a very gifted cook.”

#thread #c: regulus black

perilovs:

“you can solve some problems with violence,“ rodolphus counters. it’s the privilege of being rich, pretty, and peaceful that cissa can sit comfortable on her pedestal of moral superiority, rod thinks. the edges of his own personality make it harder to swallow. “it’s self-defense, love. i’m more … acquired taste than you are.“

her skin under his grip is soft, the wrist slight, but there’s no rabbit-hearted beat under the tips of his fingers. cissa remains cold to him, and he withdraws his touch, clearly disappointed.

“and there are some things books can’t teach.“ when cissa leans forward rod remains in place, the breath of her words warming his skin. she’s being a little bit cruel and rod isn’t immune to it. the double-entendre of her words prick into his pride, and drag the curve of his mouth higher as he narrows his gaze, focusing on her mouth before her eyes. “of course. if i had anything for you to read.”

people are watching. rod doesn’t leave just yet.

“everyone’s talking about a winter wedding. the snow would match your dress, i suppose.”

acquired taste. narcissa won’t deny that she’s always made herself palatable. easy to like. it’s what her family has instilled in her, the perception they would like her to shoulder. what they would like her to seem to everyone around them. the idea that she isn’t an acquired taste.

“i can see that,” she finally mutters, “but there is nothing wrong with not being an acquired taste. not everyone has to be rough around the edges.”

she stares at him, at his eyes and where they flit to, and pretends she doesn’t notice. this close to him, she wonders which one of them is the prey and which one is the predator. she wonders if they’re not both preys. she leans ever closer, trying to get a better look of his eyes, searching for the answer before pulling back. “if you had anything for me to read.” she nods, parroting his words back to him before reaching for one of her books and flipping it open, resolving to continue her study.

his next words grate on her though.

she hasn’t thought of the wedding. it’s something for her mother to worry about. something she’s sure she and rodolphus would not have any say in. she looks up and over at him. “and would the snow match your suit?” she asks, “my mother hates the cold. she’d veto that in a heartbeat. i doubt we would even have any say on the wedding.” just like how we didn’t have any say on the engagement, she didn’t add.

#thread #c: rodolphus lestrange

-the essence of narcissa

lost in translation (2003), tweet from @ultragloss, joan didion, pinterest, joan didion’s essay, pinterest, margaret atwood

#ww.task #musings

perilovs:

“ah, cissa.”

he rubs the heels of his hands into both eyes, jaw loosening in an open-mouthed yawn as he stretches. “you’re a little pricklier than usual today. did someone hurt you? i’ll hex them.”

he knows well enough why she’s short with him. it’s the elephant in the room, and the heirloom on her finger – a ring with a diamond too large, and almost too pretty to be a foreboding symbol of what they’re about to be forced into.

darling, hmm? she’s an impeccable actress as always. rod rises to match, sliding her books forward with a sweet – “beloved. everyone knows you’re smart enough to not need these books. you’ll have to help your poor–“ he reaches out to place a hand over her’s, fingers curling around her wrist to feel her pulse beat. “–stupid but handsome fiance with his own work.“

❥

“no one hurt me and you can’t solve problems with violence,” she replies pointedly, bothered by his nonchalance regarding hexes. cissa’s a non-confrontational person. she’s diplomatic. rodolphus is obviously the opposite of that. guess their parents thought they could balance each other and not just their families’ checkbooks. “you shouldn’t hex people.”

she watches as he wraps his hand around her wrist. she can feel the prickle of his skin against hers. a simple contact meant to elicit something from her. but she keeps her breath steady, controls her pulse, does not let herself be toyed with. because there is nothing swoonworthy about rodolphus and the predicament they are in and cissa doesn’t like to play games when the outcome is already set.

“well, sweetie, no one gets smarter from never picking up books,” she lets his hand rest where it is, smiling at him and bringing her face a little closer to his, “and, darling, i never thought you were too stupid to do your own work. i can certainly proofread your essays for you!” she unwraps his grasp on her wrist, squeezes his fingers once with a sickly sweet smile on her face, before dumping her books and settling onto the seat next to his.

#c: rodolphus lestrange #thread

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