zabini, blaise

[superbism-blog]

nott, theodore

WHEN: 3rd November, 8:21pm WHERE: Slytherin Boys’ Dormitory WHO: @superbism​

“Where d’you think Draco even fucking goes these days?” There’s not even real weight to the question, just mild curiosity. Theo’s currently sitting on his bed in their near-empty dorm, his wand held aloft. He murmurs a spell and the socks he’s placed on the floor in front of him Vanishes. “Lovely. I thought I was going rusty with that spell. That’s what Crabbe gets for leaving his stuff by my trunk.”

Satisfied, he shifts to lean backwards on his pillow, glancing at Blaise in the room. “I’m serious. I’ve seen Draco maybe three times this entire week. Where does he go? Have a tea with the Carrows? A nice chat with Snape?” He shakes his head. “Poor bastard.”

He means it in more ways than one. 

“How should I know?” Blaise returned irritably, leafing through his Arithmancy text with little focus on the words, as if being questioned on Draco’s empty bed was a personal slight. Malfoy’s the last thing he wants to discuss with Theo. Blaise supposed as his friend  –  once his friend – it should matter to him more beyond noting the disappearances and the darkening bags under the other Slytherin’s eyes ( as if the entire student population doesn’t look exhausted nowadays, as if Theo himself didn’t sport some impressive luggage ). Self-preservation overruled anyways; energy better spent worrying about himself.

“My guess is he slips off to wank over his own misery,” Blaise said, injecting a purposeful flippancy into his words as he finally pressed quill to parchment with short, purposeful strokes. Poor bastard, indeed. Malfoy knew what the hell he was getting into. 

Blaise didn’t even look up from his work as he continued, still slightly annoyed, guessing haphazardly at a soft spot before he pressed his thumb verbally into it anyways. “Why? Are you interested in getting involved with his extracurriculars?” 

[superbism-blog]

brocklehurst, mandy

There was no comeback sitting on the tip of her tongue like usual, as Mandy had disgracefully not appeared in a costume. It slipped her mind, being too focused on having a proper drink for the first time in months. She came in her casual attire instead, a full sleeve white shirt and a denim skirt paired with heels, and she was unfazed by her lack of costume. “Costumes are a bore. As if I need one to participate and fit in.”

She didn’t want to his answer his question. He probably knew the truth anyway, but admitting it made the situation seem even worse, in a way (and maybe she deserved to feel bad about herself for this). Rolling her head sideways towards Blaise, Mandy released a small sigh. “No. But it’s easy to pretend for now.” She’s reminded of a time when she used to think she and Blaise would conquer the world, before she knew non-Purebloods existed. Now more than ever, she yearns for the nostalgic days of her childhood when she didn’t hold people with Muggle blood so close to her heart.

Lifting her glass up to her lips, her eyes wandered back over to Wayne. A pang in her heart reverberated in her chest, and she didn’t attempt to hold back her thoughts – not with Blaise, not when he quite possibly knew everything there was to know. “I don’t think we’d be together if he knew. And Mother and Father wouldn’t hesitate to disown me if they knew about him as well,” she paused to swallow the rest of her drink, but the lump in her throat wouldn’t budge no matter how hard she tried. “I know you like to poke fun, but he’s so good to me, Blaise. It makes me think he deserves someone better, someone who won’t inevitably hurt him.” And I’ve never felt self-loathing until he started falling in love with me, and I decided to hide the biggest part about myself. “Doesn’t it make sense for me to just end it now? Tell him we’re not right for each other or whatever, before he finds out? Because I feel like I should do that for him. Save him from his own girlfriend and her shitty family.”

As Blaise listened to Mandy speak, it became glaringly obvious just how far in over her head she’d gotten while his attention was focused elsewhere. Toying with some hapless halfblood for some idle amusement was one thing, but here she was defending him, speaking poorly of herself instead. Now, that was worthy of shock. “For now,” Blaise echoed darkly, sparing no emphasis in pointing out the inevitable in her own words, “We both know how quickly that can change.” He knew Mandy, or he thought he did. They’d matured together in the same glittering, exclusive social circles, after all, molded their unforgiving childhoods out of the same hard clay. Even before Hogwarts, he had memories of her face, as serious in one minute and mischievous in the next as his own. Blaise would’ve thought she’d learned to guard herself just as well – yet here he was, watching incredulously as Mandy’s eyes wandered uncertainly but unavoidably back over to the Hufflepuff. 

“Oh, well if he’s good to you,” He scoffed, rolling his eyes to look away from her and avoid having to see that foreign expression on her face, “That excuses anything.” Mandy may have been having trouble with her cup, but at this point, he certainly wasn’t. “The least important thing is what he ‘deserves’.” Now, of all fucking times to grow a sentimental heart. If she couldn’t be cold enough to see the obvious solution, he would be instead.

Then a rush of relief, there it was – regardless of how mournfully she mentioned a break up, at least Mandy was clearheaded enough to consider it. “It does make sense,” Blaise said with no hesitation and all the confidence she was somehow lacking, swishing the dregs of his near-empty drink thoughtfully around his glass, as if they were discussing the next move in a particularly tricky game of wizard’s chess, “But you might have to be honest if you think he wouldn’t buy incompatibility,” Which seemed to be a likely thing for a badger to do. Blaise could see Hopkins now, loitering outside Mandy’s common room with his big, pleading eyes, “Tell him the truth, break his heart, the problem hopefully goes away,” Blaise snorted, “Or if he’s masochistic enough, he’ll stick around and try to ‘redeem’ you.”

[superbism-blog]

parkinson, pansy

Childishly, sticking out a tongue in response, Pansy nonetheless sank into his presence. She was not so much an ice-queen as one of fire - a blazing inferno that threatened to swallow everything whole, her included. Blaise was a remedy for that ferocity, his cool detachment calming her down. “I do trust you.” She protested after a moment, the weight settling equally across their shoulders. “I do.” If pressed, Pansy wouldn’t have been able to define a point when she had begun to, the shift between harmless bantering and a friendship with depth, but it had happened. Where Draco had faded, Blaise had only grown more vibrant in her life. She needed him there. His question hung in the air, burning through oxygen. It was suffocating. Eventually, she sighed, tongue curling with self-revulsion. “You’ll hate me.” She began feebly, her voice a stark contrast to the strength it had presented mere moments ago. I hate me. She deserved it though, didn’t she? She wasn’t worthy of people like Blaise and Daphne and Tracey, real people with real hearts. “It’s Padma.”

' I do trust you ’  – Blaise smiled thinly at that, half-visible in the gloom. It was a valuable declaration from the likes of Pansy Parkinson. She didn’t trust, or even like easily; delivered with such sincerity (drunken or not), it meant something. Something there was no need to draw any attention to. It would hardly be good manners to punish one another for being each other’s interpersonal weakness, though Blaise’s consistent reticence over the years perhaps didn’t match the confessions she had made to him. And it seemed tonight Pansy was wilting heavily into a confessional mood. “Padma?” He repeated back, and if there was a note of surprise in his voice it’s less about the identity of Pansy’s paramour and more about her actually thinking he’d be shocked by it.

Did Pansy really think he would’ve taken the task of distracting Tracey without putting two and two finally together? That he hadn’t known her long enough to see such a request in all its glorious transparency? In the end, Blaise actually laughed, short and incredulous. “And? Merlin, Pansy, I’m not going to hate you for shagging Patil,” No, Pansy’s juggling fire was all her business, he’d let the Tracey of the inevitable future get the first shot at hate, “I might question your taste, but otherwise...” A pause, Blaise’s head lolling to the side so he could well and truly look at her, “I’m more interested in why you’re telling me now. When did you grow a conscience?” 

[superbism-blog]

parkinson, pansy

It was quite an achievement, to push forcefulness into your whisper, to assert yourself without raising your voice. Shoving a cushion in Blaise’s face, Pansy managed it effortlessly. “It’s my birthday, I get to do what I want.” Not that un-birthdays ever stopped her. Not where Blaise was concerned. Until she had met her gang of serpents, Pansy hadn’t understood what family meant. She hadn’t known what unconditional love felt like, or the relief of being constantly forgiven. Until she had met Blaise, the word brother had held no meaning. Drunk or not, Pansy couldn’t help the tips of her ears pinking slightly at his words, guilty beginning to slip in as the alcohol waned. With effort, she pushed it away. Tonight was not a night to lament. Tonight was supposed to be about celebration. Whether it was the alcohol or not, Pansy knew she couldn’t mislead him. Nor, right now, did she want to. “Okay - but - I know how much you like gossiping. And you can’t pull that shit. It stays between us. And like, our graves. Got it?” Trust me, she added silently, it’s worth it.

"And you turned eighteen or twelve?” Blaise clumsily pushed the cushion off his face as he fumbled for his wand, mumbling a sleepy muffling charm as the hangings whisked shut around them again. “Speak.” The second of silence between them hummed with Pansy’s nervous energy, enough for Blaise to lower the hand draped over his eyes and squint at her in the greenish-dim light. For all their bravado, he couldn’t find it in himself to turn off his reactions to her, the instinct to pay attention to the changes in her mood, in her voice. Where had it come from? When had she snuck up on him like this? “I like to hear gossip, Pansy,” Blaise said with a soft snort of laughter, tucking the arm behind his head instead, “You don’t trust me to know when not to spread it?” Oh, she was deadly serious, what the hell had she gotten up to? "Between us and the grave,” He replied, holding up his other hand, solemn-vow style. “You going to tell me now?”

[superbism-blog]

☁ - "Why don't you think baseball hats look good?"

“They’re ugly polyester sweat traps that loudly declare to the world that the wearer considers liking a sports team to be a primary personality trait. I rest my case.”

“Doffing your cap for me was real cute, Boot, but the hat hair doesn’t exactly get the loins burning.”

[superbism-blog]

when: october 26, 1:06 am where: birthday bash, slytherin dormitories who: closed to @stvneheart

“ Send ☠ for our muses to do shots together. ”

Blaise has realized over the course of the night that he and Nott are playing at the same game, or at least it looks that way, catching glimpses of Tracey laughing delightedly at various points with him as the usually reticent Slytherin runs through his drinks at an unexpectedly impressive pace. To watch Theo, always so tight-lipped and careful, pounding back his firewhiskey with that single-minded determination  – Blaise actually grins when he catches his eye after the latest swig and cocks an eyebrow at him, pushing impulsively through a duo of very affronted Ravenclaw girls to get to his target. 

"You have to tell me who you’re competing against,” Blaise drawls conspiratorially by way of greeting, bracing both his hands on the narrow table between them to lean in until he’s sure he’s close enough to be audible, “I need to check if the poor bastard is still standing.” 

Even more amazing than Theo’s endurance is the fact that there’s still tequila left after all of the bodyshots ongoing in the dungeon, a gleam in Blaise’s eye as he reaches for the bottle, and two (probably) clean glasses. 

“Or maybe we keep going and make certain you win?” 

[superbism-blog]

davis, tracey

date & time: october 25th, 23:52 location: slytherin common room status: @superbism

“for merlin’s sake, blaise,” she laughs, “he’s brooding, just there – look at him, he’s not – why did we even – that doesn’t even count as a costume!” they look at draco’s slumped figure, resting against the edge of the couch as he tries to not get even more disgusted at the snogging couple that’s splayed out next to him. she’s got half a firewhiskey in her glass, the bottle somewhere close to them, and they’re leaning against the glasses that show the water that surrounds them. it used to be a little frightening – but tracey’s used to it, by now. plus, blaise’s solid, amused presence makes it easier, naturally.

she presses the glass against her lips, cooling the fire in her bones. it’s – it’s been a long evening. she’s been alternating between theo and blaise in terms of drinking company for the last – hour? or so, and she can feel the buzz of being properly drunk right down to her bones, and it’s so good, that she can almost forget padma’s laughter and the tone of her voice and the glimpses she got of her hair – almost.

“okay, thing is –” she looks at blaise, point blank, “we’re too sober to look at draco malfoy like this. and i’m very drunk, so that’s saying something.” she has to laugh, leaning against the side of his chest for support. “i can’t believe this party is happening. half the people in this room want to kill each other. we did it! blaise!” she looks up at him, then remembers – “oh. yeah, as i was saying – we’re too sober. shots?”

blaise rolls his eyes, barely even bothering to look at draco because he already knows he’ll have to reason with what he feels when he sees him. disinterest, yes, that’s a given. annoyance, maybe. disappointment? well, that particular emotion as draco is involved reaches much too far beyond the costume party to linger on, not at this stage in the drinking. “we?” he interjects instead with a short huff of laughter, “don’t pin this on me, davis, i didn’t write any of these invitations,” blaise gave the swaying crowd another once over before amusedly adding, “half of them, i don’t think you wrote either. you’d think these people didn’t have anything else to do with their sorry lives.”

the facts are this: this is ( partly ) pansy’s party, tracey has organized a great deal of it, and blaise is being trusted to occupy the latter so the former can get her birthday rocks off with the particular patil twin tracey would like to see least ( or is it the other way around? ). what he’s feeling isn’t... exactly guilt. trepidation is the better world, anticipation of the dam of secrecy breaking. whenever it happens, blaise just wants to be fucking far away.

“just lead me to the drinks,” he sighs theatrically, reaching up to unwind the turban he’d been sporting for a truly authentic costume, but it’s too damn hot now to give a shit about authenticity and besides, the scarf he’s using is probably nicer than anything quirrel ever owned in his life. “you’re far too enthusiastic to endure or resist.”

[superbism-blog]

brocklehurst, mandy‌

TIME: october 25 / 8:55 p.m LOCATION: slytherin common room STATUS: closed ( @superbism )

❝ – drunkenly reveal something.

Slipping away from the crowd to a quieter corner, Mandy clicked her tongue against her teeth as she approached her longtime Slytherin friend. Mind you, she had vodka before the party even started and didn’t bother holding back once someone put a drink in her hand in the Slytherin dungeons. So naturally, she was speaking all over the place.

“Just when I thought you couldn’t get any uglier, you decide to voluntarily wear that,” she gave his Quirrell costume a once-over, a mockery of shock on her face at the sight of his turban. “Is this your way of covering up all those grey hairs? Merlin, you never cease to amaze me, Zabini.”

Leaning against the wall beside Blaise, she crossed her arms across her chest and observed the ongoing party. Mandy’s eyes drifted over to Wayne, and a random, but familiar, feeling of guilt crept up her throat. “Did I ever tell you,” she suddenly began, forcing herself to look away from her boyfriend. “That I told my parents Wayne’s a pureblood? I only did it because he was staying over at our place for a few days in the summer, and they kept asking questions.” A pause. And then, “They still send me lists of eligible Purebloods every week.”

It was too early in the night to be seriously blitzed and as someone who tended to get drunk slowly and by sheer volume rather than potency, Blaise was taking his sweet time with a glass of (surprisingly decent) champagne when the Ravenclaw broke off from the crowd with her usual cheerful insults for him, a habit practically formed from childhood. "You’re one to talk, Brocklehurst,” Blaise shot back with a smirk, his eyebrows quirking up as he gave her a purposeful once over and patted the back of his turban as if primping an invisible updo, "Is that some elaborate costume I don’t understand or have you totally forgotten how to dress well for any situation?” 

His nose crinkled in distaste at her sudden confession, Blaise shooting a look in the direction she had so suddenly turned from and quickly spotting the subject of conversation looking as oppressively benign as ever as he mingled with the other guests. That Mandy and the Hufflepuff had even gotten together to begin with struck Blaise as a monumental feat and the noise he made at this revelation from her could only be described as derisive, “Do you really think the problem’s just going to go away?” 

Whether Blaise was addressing her darling boyfriend’s blood status, her parent’s reaction to it, or both, he didn’t specify. She was smart enough to fill in the gaps, knew full well Blaise would be straightforward with her always even if it wasn’t in his blood to be gentle with his opinions. “Be honest, Mandy, does he even know what your family thinks about people like him?”

[superbism-blog]

✖

Well, it’s not Michael Corner, which is more than half of the people at this party can say. 

But it is someone who Blaise wouldn’t be surprised is playing less for the cheap thrill of snogging other drunks in public and more to make a point to someone else or themselves. He catches Cornfoot’s eye as he looks up from the bottle, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards in a small, lopsided smirk at the expression on the Hufflepuff’s face.

For once, Blaise will spare someone else the judgement call on their motivations in favor of judging his own. Because Blaise’s default impulse in front of a crowd hooting for a spectacle is far from subtle and Blaise and Runcorn are far from bosom buddies, but it is (half) Noah’s party and anyone with a pair of working eyes and seven years of sharing a room could recognize the sour twist on the birthday boy’s face when his badger is around (or even more damning, the queasy uncertainty that no amount of Noah hard-assing will cover up for).

So, dramatic setup nevertheless, Blaise has adequate enough conscious to know that at the very least, deep-throating Cornfoot’s tongue would be rather tasteless. Either way, his actual taste doesn’t tend to run towards solid slabs of meat dressed in Quidditch gear.

Blaise closes the gap before the Hufflepuff can make his own move, gets one hand anchored on the back of Cornfoot’s neck and kisses him brief but deep enough to satisfy his own ego, half-tempted to bite but breaking away before the hooting of the crowd gets any louder and it becomes any more of a spectacle. 

“Just remember,” Blaise stage-whispers before he pulls away entirely, patting Cornfoot’s cheek with an loose open palm, just on the side of too hard, “It’s always sloppy to rebound with someone from the same House.”

He lets him go with a wink. The circle of seventh years around the two is already calling for more blood. 

[superbism-blog]

parkinson, pansy

WHEN: 26th october; 4.13am WHERE: slytherin boys dormitory  WHO: closed @superbism

It was a good job that in darkness, it was pretty hard to discern between sex hair and general-drunken-messiness hair, if not, Pansy would have been screwed. And not just as she had been, in the good way. Tiptoeing across the common room and weaving in-out-and-between the throng of bodies who slept there, Pansy darted up the stairs towards the boys dorms, slipping silently into the seventh years. Ignoring Draco’s slumbering figure, she padded towards Blaise’s, pushing him over. “Move up.” She hissed. “You’re my debrief.” It occurred to Pansy that she was probably still drunk. She didn’t care. “Aren’t you supposed to high five me? Isn’t that bro code?”

Blaise wasn’t totally passed out when Pansy shook him, drifting and just drunk enough that the sound of the lake water against the windows coupled with his mind’s disorienting tilt of the room around him was somehow pleasant rather than nauseating. Pansy’s arrival, meanwhile, was just as much of an event as usual, but he actually shoved off rather agreeably to make room, lolling onto his back. “Climb on in, why don’t you?” Blaise returned, sleep-rough and sarcastic all once as he patted the square centimeter of free space left on his bed, “Been waiting all night for the raunchy details of what hours of my dancing with Tracey Davis accomplished.” Decently true, considering how much unexpected information he’d already collected from the drunken masses. Didn’t matter they were both obviously still a part of it. 

[marchofwarhq-blog]

Below the cut is an ask meme for our Slytherin party event. This is a bit different than a typical ask meme, so here’s how it will work:

Reblog this post to participate (you can still send things to other people if you don’t participate yourself).

Send a maximum of one symbol to each person who reblogs, so no one gets flooded with more than they can write. 

Unlike typical ask memes, the content of these replies will be considered just as “real” as a normal thread. 

For this reason, event memes do count towards activity. 

We also want to be careful with god-modding here, since anything you send someone is an actual event that will be happening. If you haven’t already discussed it, please shoot a quick message before sending a meme in order to make sure the other player is down with the idea / hasn’t already gotten too many of that same symbol. 

These memes can serve as starters for threads if you wish ! Just make sure you copy & paste the first reply into a new post rather than reblogging the original ask. 

They can also be short if you’d like — they’re meant to allow for quick, fun interactions like one would have at a party. Although if you’d prefer to go deeper into it, that’s fine too !

Keep reading

[superbism-blog]

patil, parvati

It’s late on a Saturday night and as she fixes the final touches on her makeup and adjusts her garishly large hoop earrings a final time, she smiles at her reflection in the mirror, seemingly satisfied with the finished product. She had made quite the habit of sneaking out to muggle bars on the weekends, and though none of her usual partners-in-crime had been up for tonight, she decides the lack of company wouldn’t be a deterrence. She needed a break from the castle, a place free of the responsibility she carried so heavily on her shoulders, where she could pretend her life was normal and everything was fine. She needed a place where she could be anybody she wanted, anybody but herself.

Most nights, her escapes went off without a hitch. She managed to work out ideal timings to avoid an unwanted attention and through countless hours of practice had achieved the ability to produce an illegal, generally untraceable portkey (to think what would happen if she applied herself as much to her school work). Save the once time McGonagall had caught her stumbling back into the Common Room in her drunken state, who let her off the hook with no more than a stern warning, she was yet to be caught, perhaps only emboldening her late night antics.

Tonight, however, as she made her way towards the Courtyard, she finds herself turning the corner, only to run in to perhaps the last person in the world she wanted to see.

“Ugh. You,” she groans instinctively to herself as her eyes meet a familiar face. It wasn’t fair that someone so awfully repulsive was also so goddamn attractive. (She thinks there ought to be a law against that or something.) It was a strange feeling simultaneously wanting to strangle and kiss someone, but she supposed, at the very least, it kept things interesting. Her attraction to him, however, did little to temper her hatred of the man, leaving her with few options to proceed. Eventually she opts for a slow, deep breath, pressing her lips together in her signature, dazzling smile as she approached the figure. She refused to let him of all people ruin her night. “Why hello there Mr. Zabini,” she says, her tone bordering on sickeningly sweet, “Now, before you say whatever vile comment you have waiting for me on the tip of your tongue or threaten to report me to your little friends, I’m going to request one time and one time only for you to shut up and keep it to yourself, because it’s a far too lovely Saturday evening to spend on you and seeing as I have far more important places to be, I rather not get started right now,” she says with the decisive lift of her brow, the wicked smirk on her lips begging, daring him to try and say something. 

“ You. ”

And Merlin, does that word in that tone of voice indicate some entertainment fast approaching. Fast approaching, Blaise discovers, with all her teeth bared in a glittering smile he’s far too familiar with not to know exactly where this is heading before she even opens her mouth. One time is an incident, two is a coincidence, three is a pattern  – but the number of times they’ve done this? Practically ritual.

Blaise might’ve actually left Parvati alone early on, let her face blur to match all the other people who didn’t matter that he passed in the halls every day, if she hadn’t made it so satisfying right from the beginning not to. The designated lion out of the two Patils had Gryffindor’s stupid, stubborn fire in excess, he could see it burning hot in her gaze every time he so much as grinned in her proximity – she was too fun to not set off, to keep pushing further, to see just how far he could make her anger go. Blaise didn’t find it in him to have much concern about what the tipping point of that anger might look like; it wouldn’t be the first time a girl had tried to hex him, after all. Rather not get started? Please. The expression on her face is pleading for the exact opposite of his deference to her so-called wishes.

“If I was going to report you, Patil, I’d have to care enough about seeing you get in trouble to bother,” Blaise replies, injecting a flatness into his voice that suggests he’s already bored with the conversation a single sentence in, “And shockingly, I don’t.” He hadn’t noticed her lack of uniform robes at first, but once Parvati steps close enough for her perfume to settle around him, it’s obvious her common room is the last place she’s headed.

“In fact I won’t even bother asking what you’re trying to sell with that getup,” He continues cooly, only the anticipatory glint in his eye betraying the set-up as he takes his time looking her up and down, “Considering the fact that if that’s the outfit you’re advertising with, we already know the contents must be cheap.”

[chrystelle-deactivated20181001]

my mom is really that bitch and i’m that bitch jr

[bwboysgallery-deactivated202007]